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Alastair was exhausted.
Their first day in Syria had been a roaring success, although having to fight his way through customs wasn't ideal (who would have thought being considered a genocidal war criminal in Arab countries would affect his ability to travel to Arab nations) he’d made it to the hotel without killing someone. On arriving at the hotel in Damascus, he’d barely managed to squeeze in a shower before knocking on the door to Rory’s room across the hallway. Alastair reflected that they had greeted each other with only a nod, then rushed to the Palace of The People to start the first of several interviews with various Syrian officials and, finally, President Ahmed al-Sharaa himself. In the chaos, Alastair hadn’t even had a chance to ask Rory how he was doing.
As they conducted the interview, Alastair could feel Rory staring into his soul, an occurrence that seems to happen far more often since their “entanglements” (Rory’s words, not his) in Chicago and various places around the UK. But thankfully, they managed to complete the interview without drawing too much attention to their relationship and were returned to their hotel for “safekeeping”.
After a day of this utter lunacy, being locked away in a hotel room, Alastair decided to go to the balcony to at least see some of Damascus if he couldn't experience it in the flesh. Alastair stood lost in his own world when, all of a sudden, he heard someone cry out in pain. He looks left to see his podcast partner attempting to jump balconies like he's fucking Indiana Jones, not a club-loving 52-year-old academic. “Stewart, what the actual fuck are you doing” Alastair yelled like an exacerbated school teacher pulling Rory over the balcony onto his own. “I wanted to see you” was Rory's response, “I'm sick of being cooped up like a prisoner awaiting yard time”. “Something you'd know about Stewart,” was Alastair's frustrated response.” Yes, I was prisons minister after all”, Rory replied proudly. “So let me get this straight: you chose to climb over three balconies, all of which you could have plummeted to your death, just to see me?” “Yes”, Rory replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world to do. “God, you're an idiot”, Alastair grumbled, but even the master of spin couldn't keep the smile from his face.
“What do you say we get out of here,” Rory said quietly like people were listening in “Rory, what on earth are you on about?” Alastair questioned. “Let's get out of these stuffy hotel rooms and see Damascus properly”, Rory uttered forcefully like he had been planning this interaction in his head for hours “Right, how on earth are we going to do that, we're under lock and key with armed guards at all hours of the day” Alastair uttered bitterly. I’ve been watching carefully, and there's about a 10-minute gap in where we aren't guarded, we can run, then Rory admitted. “God mate, if I didn't know any better, I would believe the rumours that you are a spy” Alastair half laughed with utter disbelief at Rory's ingenuity, if they weren't in public, he very well might have kissed him.
Precisely at that 10-minute switch, he and Rory were able to shirk off their guards and travel around Damascus unchaperoned, running around like feral schoolboys (you’d be surprised how fast Rory can run) and allowing Rory to show his utter knowledge about the Arab world (perks of befriending a nerd) While Rory explained the significance of this mosque or that statue (“God, he loved an “explainer”” Alastair thought to himself) Alastair took in the beauty of Damascus, even in its war-damaged state. It reminded him of the images he had seen post Operation Iraqi Freedom of Baghdad, something he usually preferred to forget despite the refusal of the world to let him. “Can we get something to eat? I'm famished,” Alastair requested “On it”, Rory responded like a boy who had received a request from his favourite teacher.
One thing Rory doesn't have is fluency in Arabic, despite walking across the Middle East, he learned Farsi instead of Arabic, and it makes interactions like simply ordering from a street vendor difficult, so when he starts stumbling over his words trying to order two portions of Kibbeh, Alastair jumps in. “when on earth did you learn Arabic Alastair?!” “un polyglotte ne révèle jamais ses secrets ma chérie” Alastair responded flirtatiously as they sat against a wall to eat and people watch.
Rory, using a combination of his broken Arabic and his better Farsi, managed to rent two bikes for himself and Alastair, “Still prefer your bike to me?” Rory asks like a cheeky child. Alastair cocks an eyebrow “Debatable”, he responds. “Race you to the top of Mount Qasioun?” “You’re on”, “Better go easy on you old man,” “It takes one to know one, Stewart”
As Rory and Alastair raced up the mountain on their bikes, Alastair felt a sense of calm wash over him for the first time on this trip. Here he was, with one of his favourite people (who would have thought when he started this podcast he would be best mates/borderline in love with a Tory), cycling up a mountain like a young boy.
As they reached the top, Alastair looked at Rory with confusion, who seemed to be pondering something. "There is an isolated lookout point behind those trees; we should go there for the best views, apparently", he finally admitted, as they sat down on a cliff edge overlooking Damascus, Rory talking about various rocks and their significance to Syrian and Middle Eastern culture when all of a sudden he grabs Alastair by the shirtfront and kisses him.
Alastair is still for a quarter second and then starts kissing back in earnest – to use his phrase violently. It all feels almost too passionate for men of their age, but Alastair’s too caught up in it to care. “Jesus Christ, Rory,” Alastair says when Rory pulls back. Rory's hair’s more messed up than usual, eyes blown wide in pleasure, and he looks, in fact, completely delighted. He brings a hand to the side of Alastair’s face and thumbs over his cheek, pulling him down for a softer kiss.
“Not here,” Alastair gasped suddenly. Wait until we get back to the hotel, and then I'm all yours.” Rory’s geeky grin turned into a beaming smile reminiscent of a small child on Christmas. As they rushed to their bikes, desperate to get back to their hotel, not caring what happened to them for having left without consent, Alastair’s brain was consumed with fantasies he hadn't allowed himself to feel since the last time they’d allowed themselves to act on their urges for each other
God, although he loved Fiona, she was his partner in crime and life, there was something about Rory that just intoxicated him. It was the same feelings he had for both Tony and Peter, that both terrified and enthralled him, the terror was the fear of losing those he loved, although he and Fiona had an open marriage, his relationship with Tony had driven him to the brink of insanity and his family on the verge of destruction, and he and Peter had loved each other so violently, it broke their relationship beyond any point of repair. He can’t bring himself to lose Rory, too.
They arrived outside the hotel, thankfully having within the other ten-minute window to get back to their rooms and snuck back into Alastair's room. The door was hardly closed before Rory grabbed Alastair's face and shoved him up against the wall.“Ali”, Rory groaned breathlessly, Alastair usually hated that nickname, it belonged to his
mother…or Tony, but from Rory, it sounded like sweet honey dripping from his mouth
As Alastair used his strength to scoop Rory into his arms and carry him to the bed, Rory reaching for his belt, he’s overcome with ecstasy and kisses Rory up and down his body, making sure he knew every part of Rory belonged to him,
After they finished, “We’ll just have to do this again another time, then,” says Alastair coyishly, “Oh, of course. Good thing we’re in these hotel rooms for a while more. You should be positively buzzing to have some human contact after being stuck in here by yourself, consider it a team-building exercise,” Rory says, suggestive in an open, teasing sort of way, “You've never been able to resist a conquest.” “You think so?” Alastair grins.“Yes, I do.” “Sounds like a promise.” Alastair jokes, “Maybe it is.” He helped Rory back over the balcony and crawled into bed, dreaming of Rory as he dosed into his best sleep in months