First Blood

by Aleksandr Voinov

  his balls. Nikita gave a groan and fell on his hands, hips low to give

  him access. That, of course, put Nikita's ass into very easy reach indeed,

  and Chris lubed his fingers before he pushed one inside the Russian's

  tight heat. He could feel the shudder race through the powerful body

  when he located the prostate, teasing it by flicking across it.

  So far, so good. Nikita didn't cringe, didn't pull back, and his

  erection didn't falter, either. Chris did the same with two fingers. There

  were guys that were difficult first time, tense and too tight, and they

  didn't get into it, but Nikita wasn't one of those. He seemed pretty

  ready for that challenge, mentally ready to do it. He pulled free and

  pushed against Nikita's belly to get him to sit up again.

  “Take it slow, no false bravado on this, okay? There are other

  positions if this doesn't work out.”

  Nikita nodded. “Understood.” He positioned himself, and Chris

  helped, holding his cock and guiding Nikita, helping him to line up. It

  might be a bad idea, but it gave Nikita control. Which might be exactly

  the way to fuck that man.

  Nikita winced when the head of Chris's cock pushed past his

  virgin opening. He held still a moment and then eased back, taking him

  in an inch at a time. It was all Chris could do not to push up to get in

  deep, but he held back, letting Nikita set the pace.

  “You okay?”

  Nikita nodded, a sly smile curving his lips. He bent forward,

  kissed Chris slowly, letting Chris's cock slide out a bit. He broke the

  kiss, pushing back, engulfing Chris's cock once again, pausing, taking

  it in, driving Chris crazy at the same time.

  Chris grabbed Nikita's strong hands, entwined their fingers.

  “You're so tight. I could damn near come from that alone.”

  “Where would the fun in that be, eh?”

  Apparently comfortable with this new experience, it didn't take

  the big guy long to get the hang of it, and Chris moved with him,

  arching his hips up, meeting Nikita's downward slide. And the sight

  was tantalizing, Nikita, all defined muscle, colorless eyes gleaming

  with lust like those of a wolf, breath coming ragged, small sounds of

  pleasure, somewhere between moans and groans. This was completely

  deliberate, and they found a rhythm that felt natural, in sync. Chris took

  Nikita's cock and began to jerk him off, which made Nikita move faster.

  He was wrestling control from the big guy, but he wanted to come with

  him, and he for one wouldn't last very long. “Damn, you're hot,” Chris

  muttered.

  Nikita grinned and tightened against him, fucking him faster and

  harder, sweat beading between his pecs. “Come for me, Chris,” he said,

  clenching his ass. As if he could refuse. Chris thrust up and grabbed

  Nikita's hips, almost more to steady himself than Nikita. So much for

  taking control. Orgasm was fierce, maybe because he hadn't fucked

  bareback for quite a while, or maybe because everything about Nikita

  made him desperate.

  His cock stayed semi-hard after the last spasm, and Nikita settled

  back, jerked himself like a man who couldn't wait another minute.

  Chris stared at the precome beading. He licked his lips.

  “In my mouth. Please.”

  Nikita shifted, moved to straddle his chest, his own climax hitting

  just before he pushed himself fully into Chris's mouth. Chris lapped up

  the hot fluid, loved the feel of it dribbling down his chin like another

  mark of ownership.

  Ownership shit.

  Still, the thought of that felt good.

  Nikita caught his breath, stretched out atop Chris and kissed him

  slowly, hungrily, as if eager to taste himself in the mix. Chris hated

  having the kiss end, but it was worth it to see the look Nikita gave him.

  Ownership, definitely.

  Nikita stretched out next to him, sweat cooling on his skin, and

  before Chris could wonder if cuddling was allowed or welcome, Nikita

  simply pulled him closer, their sweat mingling, heated skin against

  heated skin, the smell of sex around them. Chris kissed Nikita's throat.

  “You liked that.”

  Nikita huffed. “You didn't promise too much.”

  “Say it, you liked it.”

  Nikita ran his strong fingers through Chris's hair. “I like you,

  Chris.”

  “I'm glad.” Chris reached for Nikita's hand, clasped it, lifted it to

  his lips to kiss the knuckles that held the potential to cause so much

  damage but now were just an extension of the man they belonged to.

  Though he gave Chris's hand a quick squeeze, Nikita pulled away

  and moved off Chris. He reached for the box of muffins and pulled out

  two blueberry, finishing the first in two bites before starting on the

  second.

  Chris sat up. “Yo, no sharing?”

  Nikita gestured with this half-bitten second muffin. “Help

  yourself.”

  Chris laughed. “Should have claimed those for myself. Not a fan

  of cranberry, and banana nut is just plain nasty.”

  They took turns showering, Nikita going first, and when Chris

  emerged from the bathroom, Nikita was looking at something on his

  netbook. His expression was full-on business mode, and Chris was

  tempted to look over his shoulder but thought better of it, instead

  turning his attention to getting dressed and toweling and combing his

  hair.

  He studied the Russian for a while and then tore his attention

  away. They still had work to do, and Nikita had already started.

  “What's going on?”

  “Just checking work e-mails.” Nikita tapped a quick response.

  “You know about me. Time to tell me about your job?”

  “I fight organized crime,” Nikita said. “That's it.”

  “You're a cop.” Chris wracked his brain, but he knew next to

  nothing about Russian law enforcement. “Secret service? What's it

  called these days, FSB?”

  “It doesn't matter for our purposes here.”

  Chris smirked. Probably still secret evil KGB-type shit, no matter

  what they called it in public. “GORGON has its tentacles in all sorts of

  criminal pies,” he mused. “Any of your most wanted have ties to

  China?”

  Gibson shoots and scores, judging from the way Nikita's head

  shot up. Chris held his hands up. “Just asking, dude. I'm not the prying

  type.”

  Nikita eyed him warily, and Chris wished he'd kept his big mouth

  shut, especially since he really didn't know anything.

  “There are certain people on the radar some might find surprising.”

  “I've run up against a few of those in my day.” Chris took a seat

  in the larger of the two upholstered chairs, draping one leg across the

  chair arm. “Any more thoughts on that airport thing?”

  “Germany isn't my jurisdiction… that thing is too big.”

  “Means you have the rights to kill one guy—like Zaitsev—but

  can't do much more?”

  “That about sums it up.” Nikita closed the netbook and turned to

  face him. “I was going to tip off the German police
and pick off

  Shkadov while I'm at it.”

  “Like you promised Zaitsev's goons.”

  “The original plan was that Zaitsev's men blame Shkadov, but

  they don't have any effective leadership. A while ago, Zaitsev purged

  the officers in his organization. Like Stalin, he ended up with only

  sycophants and imbeciles after the purge, none of which have enough

  balls to take the fight to the enemy. I should have factored that in.”

  Nikita shook his head. “I was going to leave the women to be rescued

  by the Germans.”

  “And then what? Go home and back to busting old ladies and

  their illegal bingo games?” The words came out fast and angry, and

  Chris didn't realize what a total ass he was being until he noticed the

  confused look Nikita gave him. “Never mind.”

  He dismissed his outburst with a wave of his hand and grabbed

  his boots and socks. He needed to get out and think. Maybe give John a

  ring and… something. He wasn't sure what yet. Only that fucking was

  out of the question.

  Chapter 11

  CHRIS met Andrei in the Berlin Zoo, outside the tiger enclosure. John

  was nowhere to be seen, which only meant that Andrei hadn't really

  learned double-dealing yet or John was being good at the cloak-and-

  dagger stuff.

  “Hey, how are you doing?”

  “Good. Worried,” Andrei admitted.

  “Why's that?”

  “Worried about you. I'm sorry… I saw you with him.”

  “Kazakov.”

  “Yes.”

  Chris studied Andrei's eyes, trying to see anything in there,

  memory or recollection, but while the wound at Andrei's temple had

  turned into an impressive scar, the lacerations on his brain hadn't fully

  knitted back together. Andrei bore it incredibly well; he kept his shit

  together most days, and sometimes Chris actually believed that Andrei

  had simply moved on, left his former life as the lawyer of Russian

  crime lords and economic criminals behind. Just like his career as a

  corporate lawyer in the magic circle of London law firms—nice, shiny

  offices and large houses in Sevenoaks with customized Jags, Bentleys,

  and Maserati Grand Turismos included.

  “What do you remember?”

  “You know I fucking hate that question.”

  “Yes. Try.”

  “I know he scares me.” Andrei's lips tightened. He didn't like

  being scared or admitting to it. “Dangerous. I look at him and I'm

  scared.”

  Which was as much as John had told him. “Anything else?”

  “No details. It's all gone.”

  “Okay. Sorry for that.” Chris shrugged like it didn't mean

  anything. “You know your way around Russian law enforcement…

  what agency deals with organized crime?”

  “The structure is complex, but corruption is everywhere. In

  Russia, there are no lines between mafiya and law enforcement... or

  politicians. There's convincing evidence that the Party was the largest

  mafiya of them all, and many of the old structures are still intact.”

  Andrei shook his head and gave a deep sigh. “He might be criminal

  police, might be SOBR. It was… changed into OMSN.”

  “Which means?”

  “Otryad Militsii Spetsialnogo Naznacheniya. Translates as

  „special police unit'. It's one of the troops of the Internal Ministry. Like

  OMON, but OMON are just thugs. They messed up in Beslan and beat

  up gays in Pride marches.” Andrei shook his head.

  “What about OMSN?”

  “I'm not an insider, Chris. I refreshed myself enough to know

  they fight terrorism these days. Possibly kill a journalist or two. You

  know how these things go.”

  Chris nodded. He knew exactly. While he certainly could see

  Nikita being part of the thug police, he imagined the big guy had a

  loftier impression of himself. He'd be a do-gooder. Most of the time,

  anyway. Still, he had as many questions now as he'd ever had. He

  clapped Andrei on the shoulder. “Want to grab a hot dog?”

  Andrei pulled back and gave him a long look. “Is this another one

  of your amusing ways of asking for public sex?”

  Chris laughed. Those early days as a trio had been fine, hadn't

  they? He shook his head. “No, my man. I mean find something for

  lunch. I'm starving.”

  They found a cart that served hot dogs, and Chris paid for the

  food for them both. “Hey, any chance you could keep me in the loop

  regarding your mission?”

  Andrei stared at him, and that stare was more than mock outrage.

  “He asked me that. I'm sure of it.”

  “Nikita?”

  “Yes. He asked for information.”

  “About Zaitsev.”

  “I think.” Andrei shook his head. “ I can't tell you what happens

  now. You're suspended.”

  “I might stage a brilliant comeback.” Chris grinned. “And God

  help Stefan when I do.”

  Andrei smiled at him. “I can't. They'd find out, and I'm the

  rookie without a track record. But I'll let you know when we leave the

  city. Just stay close.”

  “Yeah, you got my number.” He wasn't really getting anywhere

  here, but it felt good spending time with the other Russian. What the

  hell was it about Slavs that made them damn near irresistible? Half a

  year ago, he'd thought he'd end up in a happy fuck buddy/teammates

  with benefits relationship with John, and then in had come Andrei and

  John had been all over that guy (and Chris had been too; at least it had

  felt like that for a while until he'd realized he was a bit of a third wheel

  there), and then he got a Russian all to himself.

  Granted, Nikita was an evil motherfucker when he set his mind to

  it and seriously into that S/M shit, but ironically, that fit Chris to a T.

  “Good to see you guys are happy. You'll be a great team together.”

  Andrei smiled. “You're still invited.”

  Chris nodded. “No matter what, you guys know I'll always have

  your back.”

  “I know, and John does too.”

  CHRIS watched him go and then slid his hands into the pockets of his

  jeans. Shit. What was he going to do now? He had enough credit and

  cash reserves to check into a decent hotel or even rent a little place—

  with a real bed and furniture, thank you—but what would he do?

  He hadn't been without a job of some kind since his balls had

  started growing hair. The military, then GORGON. Being a paid killer

  was pretty much all he knew, and doing it freelance was a definite

  possibility, but most of those jobs were on the wrong side or in crappy

  places he never wanted to visit again. Shit.

  He needed to have a backup plan, because when the day came—

  and he had a gut feeling it would be too soon—Nikita was going to

  blow away in the wind, and Chris would be totally fucked, and not in

  the ways he enjoyed the most.

  With a muttered “Ah, shit,” he walked along the Budapester

  Strasse until a car slammed on its brakes, nearly hitting him when he

  approached a corner. The passenger door open
ed.

  “Get in.”

  “Jesus, Nicky, you could have killed me.” He pulled out his cell.

  “You could have called me to meet you.”

  “Well, I didn't. Get in.”

  Chris plunked down and pulled the door shut. There was tension

  around Nikita's jaw, even more than normal. Note to self—sex only

  relaxed this Russian for about three hours. “You tracked me? Aww,

  that's sweet of you.”

  “The Tempelhof job is cancelled.”

  “Why's that?”

  “I talked to the German police. They have a mole or some kind of

  informer. My contacts at Zaitsev's were in touch and said the auction's

  been moved. They don't know where yet.”

  “That's shit.”

  “Also means I can't get the Germans involved at all until they've

  found the hole. Shit. That would have been too fucking easy.”

  “There's still GORGON.”

  Nikita glanced at him at the red light. “You didn't seem

  convinced they'll let me in on this. Besides, what's your people's stake

  in this?”

  “Hey, we fight international crime too.”

  “And hire criminals.”

  “Normally we don't. I mean, they don't, but they made an

  exception with Andrei. And if you aren't playing completely ignorant

  when they do say yes, I'm in serious shit.”

  “Don't worry about that.”

  “Yeah, well, it's my ass.” Chris glanced out the window. “You'll

  see, they'll fix everything in the background. John's good at playing the

  upper levels. He'll get us the mission, the expense account, and a

  general pardon for whatever boo-boo they think I committed. Let's

  hope he'll get you in on this too.”

  “And I'll worry later about how to explain that to my side.”

  Nikita pulled into a parking place. “I brought your gym kit. Let's have

  a workout, then lunch, then wait for your friends to get in touch.”

  CHRIS took the spotter position, content to put off his own workout in

  order to watch Nikita bench press. Power and its effect on sex was

  evident in each ripple of muscle, each drop of pheromone-laden sweat

  that beaded on the Russian's skin.

  More than once, Chris had to adjust his aching cock and dissuade

  himself from dropping down to fuck Nikita then and there. It was so

  fucking hot to watch him push that weight, his gaze fixed on some

  imaginary point as he strived to make the 220-plus pounds his bitch.