First Blood

by Aleksandr Voinov

  pleasures.

  Here they could watch discreetly. He could make Chris see what

  freedom and release he could have if only he'd let go of that impudent

  facade he clung to for support.

  CHRIS noticed the traffic upstairs and back down, and felt Nikita

  watching him, as if waiting for something. Finally, he picked up his

  glass and headed upstairs, too, Nikita following closely. There was a

  face check at a door, but security let them in, no questions asked.

  Up here, the interior was upper class, leather, chrome, low light,

  but sexually charged as hell. He sank down on one of the designer

  couches and noticed a guy not too far away giving another guy a blow

  job. While wearing a leash. God. That image went right into his groin,

  and it didn't help that Nikita noticed, and placed a strong hand around

  his bulge, possessive more than protective. Gradually, as his eyes

  adjusted to the low light, he noticed that wasn't the only thing going on.

  The room was huge, and there were a couple two-way mirrors at

  intervals along the perimeter. “You brought me to a bourgeois peep

  show, huh? Classy.” He raised his drink. Then he got up to take in the

  sights.

  Some slap and tickle and fuzzy handcuffs between a middle-aged

  couple, a three-way with a dumpy balding guy and two nice twenty-

  somethings. Chris raised his glass. Way to go, old dude. He moved past

  the unoccupied space and stopped in front of a mirror giving a view of

  a guy who bore a passing resemblance to Nikita as far as build and

  coloring.

  The guy was alone, waiting patiently, the crop in his hand,

  slapping gently against his leather-clad leg. From behind a folding

  screen came a guy, nothing special, kind of a Joe Average, but there

  was something about him, something about his stance that said he was

  nobody's bitch outside these walls.

  He watched the guys talk. It wasn't bedroom flirtation. It looked

  more serious. More like business.

  “They're setting limits,” Nikita said, coming up behind him, so

  close he could feel the Russian's body heat.

  “Shouldn't that happen before the clothes come off?”

  “It probably did, if the Dom is any good. It never hurts to reiterate

  things. Don't you review your plan before a big job?”

  “Yeah, well.”

  “This is no different,” Nikita said, with way too much amusement

  in his tone. “He looks like some kind of executive, maybe in finances,

  or politics,” Nikita murmured. “That kind of power sometimes cries out

  to be purged.”

  Purged? Interesting choice of words. Chris watched, breathless, at

  how the two men kept each other's gazes. The tables could just as

  easily be turned, he thought. There was no cringing subservience

  anywhere in the second guy.

  Once the men had struck their deal, the Dom made the sub get

  into some kind of metal and leather rack, bent over, securing him there

  with leather straps, checking the tightness of each restraint before he

  moved on, until the guy was completely immobile. Tension in his body

  betrayed anticipation, maybe fear. The Dom stepped back and circled

  the restrained man, tip of the crop tracing the lines of the other's body,

  nothing short of meticulous, even tender, the spine, the neck, the face,

  and back again.

  Chris stared at the scene, could only imagine what was going on

  in both their heads. One helpless, the other in control. And both had

  agreed to this. He felt Nikita's hand between his shoulder blades, knew

  the man could feel him breathe, knew that Nikita was watching both

  him and the scene before them. He remembered Katya's submission to

  Nikita, and what she'd said.

  He’ll take care of you. He’s the best.

  The cuts left by Nikita itched on his thigh, a reminder of the rush

  he'd felt when Andrei had translated the Cyrillic. This is mine. God

  help him. He wanted to be Nikita Kazakov's pet. He set his drink on

  the little ledge below the mirror window. He turned, stared into those

  icy Russian eyes, his blood heating and pulsing, bringing him back

  alive after being dead inside. “Let's do this.”

  Nikita blinked but did not move.

  Fucker.

  “This isn't a game for me. Not anymore. If that's what you

  want….” Chris nodded toward the slap and tickle crowd at the other

  window.

  He sucked in his breath, stepped forward, his chest bumping

  Nikita's. His voice was low, barely controlled, and he didn't know how

  long he could keep it that way.

  “Don't you fucking get it? I don't know what I want. I always did,

  but then you and your knife fucked with my head.” He only hoped that

  Nikita wouldn't make him beg for it. He couldn't do that. But then he

  had no clue what he was capable of until he tried it. “Guess that means

  you win, asshole.”

  Nikita's lips curved into a small smile. “No, it means you win.”

  “Whatever. Let's do this.”

  There was a door in the wall, and behind it, some guy with a

  board in back of him with keys. Four keys were still on there. Nikita

  reached out and received a key. One hand on Chris's shoulder, he

  steered him to one of the empty rooms and closed the door behind him.

  Chris knew that the mirror wasn't a mirror, that just about anybody

  could watch them, but he didn't think John or Andrei had followed him

  here, and well, if a tail from GORGON had, let them report back that

  he was doing this with a potential enemy operative. They could have

  full video coverage for all he cared.

  “What are your limits, Chris?” Nikita asked.

  “I have no idea.” Chris felt his heart beat so hard he was nearly

  dizzy. “I mean, you fucking cut me on our first date.”

  “Second.”

  “Whatever.” Chris gave a laugh that held little humor. “Don't piss

  on me, I guess.”

  “That's not my thing,” Nikita said.

  Could he be more fucking deadpan if he tried?

  Chris ran his hand through his hair. Christ. He was sweating. He

  hadn't been this nervous the first time he'd fucked a guy, or girl for that

  matter. He doubted he could even get it up. Was that even the point of

  this little exercise? He wasn't sure.

  He hadn't noticed the balloon shade above the mirror until Nikita

  broke away and unfurled it, giving them privacy.

  So, not a show for the masses. Nikita wasn't using him to

  entertain any of his friends.

  “If you don't trust me, it doesn't work for either of us,” Nikita

  said softly, as if reading his mind.

  Chris simply stood there watching, his hands sliding into the

  pockets of his pants. “I don't trust many people in my line of work. Do

  you?”

  “Precious few. Only two of late. Katya is one.”

  Shit. No. Chris broke eye contact. He ran his hands through his

  hair again and looked up. Fuck, the Russian was too unreadable. He

  turned away.

  It wasn't what he thought, was it? The second person. He could

>   only think of two choices, and either way, this wasn't good. Was it?

  What was wrong with him? Why did he feel so utterly fucked in

  the head?

  “You are the second one, but you know that. You should.”

  “I know nothing anymore.” Chris wanted to pace, fight, ram his

  head against the wall, but instead began to unbutton his shirt.

  Something to do with his hands. “I used to trust John. Maybe Andrei.

  But they cut me loose.”

  Nikita simply watched him, unmovable as a rock.

  “They don't trust me anymore. Why do you?”

  “I guess that happens when somebody sticks a hand into my guts

  to get a bullet out.” Nikita gave the hint of a smile. “Nothing to prove. I

  know what you're made of.”

  No, you don't, Chris thought, but it was a reflex. He shed the shirt.

  The boots came off next, followed by the socks, the pants, the

  boxer briefs. He stood before the fully clothed Nikita naked, afraid, yet

  not. What did he feel? Anticipation? Yes. Trust? Maybe. Fear? No, not

  that.

  “What do you want, Chris?”

  The words wouldn't come, partly because he didn't know.

  Everything, anything didn't seem to fit. But maybe they did.

  He didn't fucking know!

  His heart was pounding, the blood pumping everywhere, even to

  his dick.

  “I want you, I know that.” He gestured down. “Pretty obvious.”

  “It's mutual.” Nikita cupped his own bulge.

  Damn, his mouth was dry. He wished he'd kept that drink.

  “I want… I….” He stopped, took a deep breath, waited while his

  stubborn pride and desires waged a silent war inside him. He shifted his

  stance, let his fingers brush against the healed cuts. Shit. He wanted

  them back.

  “I….” He took one final deep breath, exhaled it sharply. “I want

  what you wrote. If I'm yours, prove it. Take me, use me, I'll do it. I

  want it. Anything. I don't care. I want to try it all. With you.”

  Nikita didn't react, and part of Chris panicked. Here he was, laid

  bare, and the fucking Russian didn't even answer! But then he noticed

  that something in Nikita's face and eyes had changed. Softened.

  Opened.

  He wanted to be touched, dammit, but Nikita didn't make a move

  on him despite his enormous erection. Could Nikita get any bigger? He

  doubted it. Just anticipation. Just because of him. He liked being the

  cause of that boner. He wanted to drive Nikita wild with wanting him.

  All this cut both ways, he realized.

  “I'll show you the ropes, Chris.” Nikita's voice was low and firm.

  “I'll show you what it means. I won't abuse that power. What's your

  safe word?”

  Chris drew a deep breath, feeling the significance of all this like a

  weight on his chest. He wanted to get through the fine print and on to

  the good stuff. Something. A word he'd remember. Something that

  would not normally come up during sex. “Sniper.”

  Nikita nodded. “How long do you want to play?”

  “Until they kick us out?” Chris grinned.

  Nikita's expression remained serious, though his eyes still held

  that touch of softness. He kicked off his sturdy shoes, removed his gun

  holster and knife and set them on one of the small tables. He moved to

  stand before Chris, that steady, powerful gaze of his the sexiest thing

  Chris had ever seen.

  “Undress me.”

  “Now we're talking.”

  Nikita grabbed his forearm, squeezed until it began to hurt. “No

  joking and no touching beyond what's necessary.”

  “Fine.”

  Nikita held the grip a moment longer and then released him.

  Chris went about his task with care, getting more turned on with

  each button he unfastened on the crisp white shirt. He pulled the

  shirttails loose and removed the gray sport coat, taking his time peeling

  it off Nikita's muscular shoulders and down his arms the way a stripper

  might undress himself.

  He peeled off the shirt next, dying to touch the mark left by the

  bullet wound. He wanted to soothe the still reddened flesh with a kiss, a

  soft lick, but he didn't try.

  He undid Nikita's belt, unzipped and pulled down his dark jeans.

  He was going commando, so that was a nice visual treat.

  Chris licked his lips but didn't dive on that hard, thick cock the

  way he wanted to. He tapped Nikita's calf, pulled off the left sock, then

  the right, and placed them across the other things he'd set atop the table.

  Nikita backed away, took his sheathed knife from the bottom of

  the pile, and gestured Chris to approach.

  “It surprised me that time in London, the way you didn't even

  flinch when I used this on you.”

  “Never let 'em….” Chris stopped the quip before it could escape.

  “I've been in tough situations. That one didn't seem so bad.”

  “Very good.” Nikita touched the sheathed blade to the center of

  Chris's chest and slowly walked around him, dragging the leather

  across Chris's skin, enough pressure to make it felt, enough to signal

  that if he chose to free the blade, Chris would face serious injury.

  He circled again, slid the knife sheath from the back of Chris's

  neck down the length of his spine, pausing at the crack of his ass.

  Chris exhaled. Kinky shit, and he could see himself going further,

  taking the hilt up inside, feeling the scrape of the grip against him. But

  that wasn't to be. Nikita pulled the knife back.

  “There are things in the closet. Bring them, a spreader bar, a

  blindfold. A dildo, the biggest one you think you can take. No, the next

  size up from that.”

  Chris's cock twitched at that order, but he wanted something

  inside, even if it was just plastic. He opened the closet, staring at the

  assortment of gear. Lube and condoms provided too. Fuck, a butt plug

  with a horsetail attached. Jesus. Dildos in various materials, ranging

  from naturalistic flesh-colored and silicone to metal and glass.

  The blindfold was easiest. This one didn't look so different from

  the ones he'd worn on overnight flights. The spreader bar was a sturdy

  piece with cuffs attached. Now, choice of dildo. Nikita doubtlessly

  watched carefully which he chose. What the hell.

  He took a silicone one, measured it against his hand, comparing it

  to the biggest one he owned, and then took the next larger. Not quite

  horse cock, but Jesus, still a challenge. Would Nikita fist him? Possibly.

  Nikita had promised to show him the ropes. And the chains and whips,

  too, no doubt. He couldn't wait.

  He turned and offered the implements to Nikita, who took

  everything but the blindfold. “Put it on.”

  “I like watching you,” Chris murmured.

  “You'll get enough clues to read me,” Nikita said, just explaining,

  not relenting. “Put it on.”

  Chris slipped it over his eyes and made sure it blocked his sight

  completely.

  “Spread your legs.”

  Nikita snapped one leather cuff around his left ankle. God, that

  was hot.
<
br />   “Right foot out a bit more. Too much.”

  Chris slid his foot back over, felt the other cuff close around his

  ankle.

  “Down on all fours.”

  Shit this was weird, not being able to see. He reached out. Nikita

  gripped his bicep.

  “It's all right. You aren't going to bump into anything.”

  “Okay.”

  Damn, talk about a humbling experience.

  Chris lowered into a squat and then all the way down to the floor.

  He heard Nikita move. Something soft hit the floor. It came forward.

  Pillow. He pictured Nikita sliding it into place with his foot, his balls

  swinging with the movement, that cock of his hard and bobbing along.

  “All the way down, ass in the air.”

  A “yes, sir” almost slipped out, but Chris bit it back and lowered

  his head to the pillow.

  The darkness behind the mask was absolute, the room silent save

  for the soft sound of Nikita's feet on the rug. Anything could happen.

  Nikita could do anything, hell, Shkadov's crew could bust in and kill

  them, the place could catch on fire and he was fucking trapped—

  Chris swallowed the unease and took a calming breath. He had to

  trust that Nikita would watch out for him. Hell, he'd felt comfortable

  enough to fuck him bareback. This should be a piece of cake.

  “You're doing well, Chris,” Nikita said, close. “Very well.”

  Damn, spread open, that position was all about offering himself

  without the ability to defend or protect. He only ever opened that far

  when already fucking, and he asked for more.

  “I fantasized about this,” Nikita suddenly said. “But you're

  beating it in real life.”

  Chris felt himself relax a little into the position. A fantasy. Nikita

  wanted this, and he did too. Yes, he did. He felt warm, slick fingers on

  his ass, two of Nikita's long fingers pushed inside him, finding the

  sweet spot almost immediately. Chris tensed and shuddered. “More.”

  An amused huff was the only response while Nikita worked lube

  into him, now avoiding the prostate, skirting around it, focusing on

  loosening up the ring. Three fingers? Yup, felt like it. Chris pushed

  back to demand more and felt Nikita withdraw and take his left wrist,

  attaching it to the spreader bar. Oh fuck, that made him even more

  helpless. Right wrist too. Chris forced himself to breathe against the