Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Groznyj Grad, Tselinoyarsk, USSR

September 1960

Weapon construction was in the preliminary stages of planning when he arrived three months after his sixteenth birthday. He'd been deemed old enough since he was able to show exceptional aptitude and skill in most areas they required passing. His defection from the NSA to the KGB would be believable because of his innate talents despite his young age. Youth served as an advantage in the eyes of the Russian intelligence agency, who believed he would be above suspicion because of it.

He was sent with an older female agent pretending to defect as well, and she was to keep an eye on him for their KGB handlers. Her cover was further helped by altering the rumor of defectors, claiming the pair were both men. The CIA informed him he would receive special treatment because of his war hero parentage, a backstory he assumed they concocted seeing as how they never let him know anything about his parents before. They also told him there were warnings delivered that he was of unique interest to the Philosophers, who raised him, and therefore untouchable.

Adamska read the reports on the colonel in charge here. Sadistic and abusive use of power, tolerated because of his extreme wealth and dangerous connections. He supposed he should be grateful his superiors thought it useful to set his status untouchable, although he considered they'd only done it because Colonel Volgin might get angry they sent a kid to his station. The man was known for killing subordinates at will to make a point.

His eyes scanned the vast interior hall of the military base. He wouldn't get anywhere close to the weapons labs in the West Wing anytime soon. Not when he was a fresh face and in his present position of lieutenant because of privilege. It raised quite a few eyebrows when his fellow comrades learned he was on the fast track to ascend the ranks. It wouldn't be easy to get friends here.

That was fine by him. He wasn't here for friends. He was here to learn everything he could about the brand new compound in the mountains. Russia knew Volgin had plans for the country that might be of serious concern in the near future. Watch, listen, and learn. This was his mission to date.

Hm… Nearly lunchtime. He strolled toward the mess hall, stomach grumbling. A day at a time as they taught him.

July 1961

Every day he trained to improve his shooting skill while trying to gather anything he could for his impatient bosses. When he found out construction of Hind tanks was underway via blueprints brought outside the zone they were meant to remain in, this satisfied them for a few months. But he still had zero evidence on the location of the Legacy. He rarely saw Volgin, who was often away working on other secretive affairs the lowly soldiers were told nothing about.

Adamska didn't have friends. His special status alienated them which made him wonder if it was the wrong move for the CIA to do. He participated in special assignments because of that status, which earned him praise for successful completions, but no notice from higher command. The few times the colonel put in an appearance, it was usually to beat a soldier to death or near death to make clear he didn't tolerate poor performance. He wasn't making any headway.

Twirling his Makarov pistol before sliding it into the holster, he examined the woman in her mid-thirties seated across from him in the library.

“I've heard talk they're considering promoting you.”

He reclined in the chair. “Already?”

“You were trained exceptionally well.”

She meant the CIA training, and there was warning in her tone.

“Stop showing off, Adamska. We have time.”

“For now. And it's boring here. What else am I going to do?”

Laughing quietly, she glanced around before leaning over the book she was pretending to read.

“I'm surprised you haven't made friends. You're very endearing.”

He sneered. “To them I'm an entitled teenager who reeks of America no matter how Russian I might look and sound.”

“Could be the cowboy thing.”

Ignoring the jibe, he complained, “The age doesn't help. And this insistence it be known the secretive Philosophers have claimed protection on me. I don't get it. It's working against me.”

EVA, she preferred he think of her as such always, sat back to stare into her book.

“It was the right action to take for someone like you, being anywhere near someone with inclinations like the colonel.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

She worked in the medical ward. Was she referring to the punished soldiers received into her care on occasion? Did she believe he might face harsh punishment like they did even more so because of his age? He assumed that would be the case if he ever screwed up. Adults tended to look at a child in the Soviet Union and see potential to mold them.

“It means our handlers have been doing this for longer than you have,” she said, sounding like she was avoiding saying something else. “Trust them. You must complete the mission.”

Rising out of her chair, she murmured goodbye and parted ways. They never wanted to be seen together for too long. Although they were known to be fellow defectors from America to Russia, it was wiser to play at being cordial former colleagues and nothing more.

September 1961

The new captain looked at him strangely. He arrived two weeks earlier without regulation haircut and a sharp tongue. Quite rude, he made it no secret he was tolerating everyone around him and despised his placement. Adamska couldn't figure out for the life of him how the guy ended up in the GRU, or how he reached the rank of captain with that attitude.

Like his own rank of lieutenant, Captain Raikov was rather young to be a captain. By the carefully kept shaggy hair reaching down to his uniform collar as well, he must have connections himself to be granted such leeway.

His position was primarily desk duty inside the main building of the compound, so no reason for him to worry about hair maintenance falling to the wayside out in the forests. EVA uncovered he'd been relegated to this duty that amounted to bookkeeping as punishment for incidents in a sealed file. She didn't bother trying to get into them, seeing little to be concerned for.

He agreed with her lack of concern until the moment he was cornered in the back area of the library. Adamska observed the older man had an affinity for books in the brief time he tried to learn if he was someone to worry about. That day, he hadn't noticed the man's presence until he was shoving him into a shelving unit he was browsing, hand over his mouth from behind to muffle the startled yelp.

The hand released and withdrew once his automatic noise response died. Twisting around, he identified his attacker and sought to remain professional.

“Is there something wrong, captain?”

Uncertain, he started to raise his arm in a salute. Raikov pressed it back down to his side. Crossing arms over his chest, he was examined by bright blue eyes. This close to him, Adamska considered the paleness of his blond hair nearly made it gray. He was taller than him by a few inches. How his shoulders filled out the uniform hinted at hidden muscle.

Frowning, he was annoyed he had yet to put on any real definition despite all of his hard work and training. He was probably destined to be a soft-skinned, lean body type forever. He vowed in his head to add to his daily workout routine.

“No, no... Nothing wrong…” He studied the uniform and reacted with the usual surprise. “Lieutenant? How old are you?”

He sighed. “Seventeen.”

“Important parents or grandparents perhaps?”

Adamska nodded and risked suggesting, “I presume you have a similar situation to grant..allowances.”

The corner of the other man's mouth tilted up. “Something like that, but I wouldn't call it similar. Seventeen… I'm twenty-one. I didn't think it was possible for there to be a lieutenant so young.”

He scowled. “It's not that young.”

His remark went ignored in favor of a formal introduction. “I'm Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov. I serve in whatever capacity the GRU requires.”

“I'm Adamska Ocelot.”

“I noticed you don't tend to socialize with anyone around here. Work, work, work. Is that it?”

“Uh…”

A hand grasped his crotch. “I'll be your companion, if you like.”

Slapping a hand over his own mouth to swallow the gasp, he quickly squirmed free of the inappropriate hold. But he was still trapped in the corner where he'd wandered in search of a text on advanced strategic warfare. He tried to settle the shocked expression stuck on his face.

“Captain Raikov, I really don't think-”

When he boxed him in on either side with both arms, his words were forgotten as he focused on whether he was in danger of being harmed. The captain leaned in close, lips practically touching his cheek.

“I think you're incredibly handsome. I can already tell, you are going to be beautiful your whole life. So..I appreciate a perfect specimen. Let's have some fun together. I guarantee I'm an excellent lover.”

Conceited, exaggerating, and aggressive. Not traits he admired. Well, not the former two anyway. Although he could admit Raikov had a nice complexion, his aggression was the creepier, alarm bells ringing kind.

Sighting his exit, he ducked under the right arm and pivoted to steer clear of the arm that came up to meet his retreat.

“No, thank you, sir.”

He strolled out of the library as quick as his adopted swagger would allow without revealing something was out of order. His fingers strayed to his belt, eager to toy with his gun but refraining in this area of the base. There was reputation to uphold after all.

Later that night, he suggested to EVA over their radio frequency they find a new place to meet for mission chatter.

October 1961

“The way you're racking up accomplishments, you're going to be promoted to captain within six to eight months.”

Adamska all but shrieked in surprise, covering his privates immediately as he spun around to face the fully dressed man standing in his shower stall. Fighting to regain some dignity and footing, he put on a smirk.

“Jealous?”

“Curious,” he admitted. “I've watched you train and practice new techniques. You learn quickly just by watching. Very impressive.”

There was no pretense of formality in their situation, so neither one of them would bother with titles here.

“What do you want, Raikov? I was in the middle of something.”

“Do continue,” the man replied, unfettered by the violation of his privacy.

Unwilling to be beat, Adamska slowly backed under the cascading water of the shower head to wash out the shampoo. His hands stayed exactly where they were covering him. He wished he didn't care to be seen, but he did. It felt weird and embarrassing.

“You lived in America as an NSA analyst, half-Russian, half-American. Defected to the Soviet Union and joined the GRU at sixteen. So you were always smart.”

The eyes lazily scanned his nude form up and down, expression betraying nothing.

“Associated with the Philosophers though? I must say, that was startling to read.”

“Well then you would know it's only because they raised me to be a patriot. My parents were busy fighting wars to ever give a damn about me. The U.S. branch thought they had my loyalty but I always felt I truly belonged in Mother Russia.”

“Word is you're not to be touched in any manner unbefitting an officer.”

He frowned, knowing precisely what his interest in the matter was in regards to him.

Raikov stepped beneath the steady spray of water, soaking himself and his uniform, eyes zeroed in on his widening gaze.

“Seems a shame not to admire raw beauty by touch.”

Ugh. What was this obsession with claiming he was pretty? He was a man, damn it. Sure, he thought he had decent looks, but he wasn't some creature to be put on a pedestal like Raikov obviously wanted to do to him.

A gloved fist punched him in the stomach and he doubled over, hands yet covering himself. Fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, drawing his head backward. Adamska stared awkwardly up at him, craning his neck to see. His eyes were narrowed slits from water leaking into them.

The other hand grabbed the arm that came up to try and hit him, before yanking painfully on his neck. Shoving bodily into him, he pushed them flat against the wall past the falling water. He attempted to get him off by using both hands but his wrists were seized and held to the side.

Clenching his teeth, he glared at the superior officer overtly abusing his position.

“Get off.”

The uniform pressed to his nude form. Raikov's face connected with his to plant a kiss on his lips. He could feel something hard and large against his hip. It didn't take a genius or an experienced person to work out what that thing was.

Soon as the assault began, he leaped back, out of his immediate attack range and out of the water. Smiling smug and intrigued, he waved farewell and strutted for the exit.

“I'd make you scream, Ocelot. You'd love every minute of it.”

Adamska was left alone in the shower room with those words hanging over his head and worries this would not be the last time he was uncomfortably propositioned.

He showered hurriedly to wash the stench of whatever body scent rubbed onto him from Raikov, and then practically raced for his room. There was nobody in the corridors of the officer quarters this late at night and he arrived without incident. When the door was locked behind him, he radioed EVA.

Chapter Text

June 1962

The months passed with occasional flirtation from Raikov and no progress on the mission front. Fortunately, he mostly just insisted on sitting with him at meals if he happened to catch him while he was eating. The man used to eat in the officers' dining room, avoiding the main cafeteria where everyone else ate. It would seem he was special enough to spur him to suffer the presence of his compatriots for a meal's worth of time.

There were a few occasions when he was groped in the crotch or his rear squeezed when no one was looking as they passed in the halls. Otherwise, they were kept occupied with their responsibilities, Adamska often venturing beyond the compound with the other soldiers, while the captain had to remain in the offices where the sensitive paperwork was done.

He was monitoring drills outside one late afternoon and a soldier ran up and saluted. Returning the salute, he waited for the man to catch his breath. The soldier jabbed a hand in the direction of the main building.

“Colonel Volgin requests your presence in his office, sir.”

Brow furrowing, he pondered on it. This was a first. He knew the colonel held a lot of responsibility for his freedoms and schedules to build a fine GRU officer. Technically joining at his young age and with his circumstance as a defector, put him under the explicit custody and care of the man high in the Soviet hierarchy. However, they never had a private face to face meet prior to today.

“To what is this concerning, comrade?”

He barely refrained giving a shrug before correcting himself, stiffening his posture.

“I'm not aware of the reason, lieutenant. Apologies, sir.”

Waving him away, Adamska headed straight for the man's office, thinking on what this could be about all the while. A promotion? There was a strong possibility. Achieving a new rank would result in the base commander wishing to give him the news personally.

When he entered the office and one of the guards announced his arrival, the big man behind the desk didn't even look up from papers spread across its surface. He walked forward to stand in front of the desk and angled his head to get a read on what was there. The colonel glanced up and he jerked his head straight to peer at his face instead.

The man was reading his file, the old photograph of his recruited sixteen-year-old self staring into the camera dead-eyed. He'd never been happy with his life and caretakers, that much of his cover story wasn't a lie. He was never treated like a child as much as the dutiful agent and deceiver they were molding him to be for their causes.

“Lieutenant Ocelot. Two years service to the GRU. Every one of your superiors has given you glowing recommendations and referrals for top placement. They think you shouldn't be on the front lines and should be the brains behind military plans. Do you agree?”

He hesitated. “I don't know, sir.”

A frown creased his forehead, warping the heavily scarred face. He tried not to stare at the jagged lines.

“Do you doubt your abilities as an officer in your present assignment?”

His expression hardened. “No, sir.”

The colonel barked out a laugh. “Good. Good. I feared the gossip about your vanity and smugness were overstated.”

It was his turn to frown, puzzled. He wasn't putting on the showy, center-of-attention character at present. Had he been watched by proxy to a larger extent than he realized?

“As I'm sure you already suspect, you are indeed being promoted to captain.”

He couldn't fight the grin and it slid into place. The joy was tempered slightly when he found himself studied head to toe, as though the colonel was seeing him in a new light. Somehow he didn't think that would bode well for him if he was accurate in the assessment. He was beyond reproach. They didn't have a clue who he really was and he worried for nothing.

“Your promotion was delayed, the system insisting on waiting until you turned eighteen,” he revealed. “You've also been ordered to be sent for further training before the rank is made official.”

“By the Philosophers?” he guessed.

“Correct.”

They wanted him out of Tselinoyarsk for some kind of training? Seemed odd. He knew it was probable they were sending him to his KGB handlers in reality, but still, odd. Orders were orders, whether he understood them or not.

“When do I leave?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

“The helicopter should be arriving within the next thirty minutes.”

Surprise overtook his features. “Today? Now?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem, lieutenant?”

Adamska shook his head. “No, colonel. It's just all very sudden.”

Standing, he moved around the desk and approached, clapping an arm about his shoulders.

“You'll find sometimes orders seem to make less sense the higher in rank you climb, Ocelot.”

He maneuvered them to the door and they began the walk to the front entrance together. His arm never shifted its grasp, keeping him held to his side. He felt threatened and he didn't know whatever for.

They were strolling leisurely across the landing strip when the aforementioned helicopter appeared as a black speck in the distance. He watched it come, thinking on a lot of things at once. Volgin released him into their care with a farewell wave, and he went.

The flight was long and he might have fallen asleep if he wasn't so uptight concerning the situation. When they arrived someplace he didn't know, he stepped out of the helicopter and was greeted by the sight of waiting soldiers saluting him. Adamska studied the nondescript building as he was led toward it. Something felt off.

His American handlers were inside, as were his KGB handlers. The CIA agents were acting like this was their first time meeting him, signaling the KGB remained in the dark on his triple agent status. He played along and looked to his superiors in the KGB for guidance.

“Can you tell me what this meeting concerns?”

“There's been an incident between Russian and American intelligence agencies. You can't be read in on the mission details, but know you are here as a courtesy.”

He narrowed his eyes at the CIA man. “What does that mean?”

His primary KGB handler, Arkady, opened a door and held it to indicate he should go in.

“It means you will sit in this room and wait until we've come to a decision on what to do.”

Adamska felt a twisting sensation in his gut. Something didn't feel right. He strolled past, into a plain room with a table and chair. The door shut and locked behind them, leaving him alone.

Reluctant, he sat in the chair to wait as ordered. Espionage required he trust these people responsible for him. What else was he supposed to do?

Hours dragged on. He was up and pacing intermittently before once again resigning himself to be seated. Eventually he laid his head down on the table, imagining accomplishing his mission, walking out of Groznyi Grad with the Legacy in hand.

He must have fallen asleep because he woke with a start when the door audibly opened. Wiping his mouth in case of drool and running fingers across his eyes to clear them, he was met by his KGB handlers. There was no sign of his CIA contacts.

Digging for information on their questionable presence here, he asked offhanded, “Where are the American dogs? What did they want?”

Arkady brushed off his inquiry with a vague nonanswer. “Back home to stir more trouble, no doubt.”

The man in his mid-forties, no stranger to deep cover operations like his, regarded him congenially.

“You've been doing great work for us, Adamska. The Motherland appreciates your sacrifice.”

“But although you've uncovered good information on Colonel Volgin's ambition,” the other one said, “You are no closer to recovering the Philosophers' Legacy.”

“I'll get it,” he declared. “It's only a matter of time.”

The two men exchanged glances before Arkady addressed him.

“You were very young when we accepted your service. Your partner is not the right agent for what we now would like you to do. You are eighteen. We believe it time you are given seduction training.”

His jaw dropped. He hadn't been expecting that to be the area they wished to educate him. What about combat training? He was basic at best, and nobody was particularly gifted at it within Volgin's ranks, aside from Raikov strangely enough. The man occasionally showed in the gym when officers typically worked out and sparred with the men charged to maintain the area.

Offended by this waste of his time, he rejected the insinuation he would need such training to continue to be of use to the KGB.

“What good is that? I can complete the mission as I am.”

Arkady nodded, solemn. “Perhaps consider it an addition to your arsenal of options. We've found seduction to be a very effective technique.”

“I don't need it.”

The man he couldn't be bothered to remember the name of for all his use, placed his balled fists on the tabletop.

“I'm going to be forthright. We selected you personally, intending this to be an eventual necessity to achieve our mission.”

Scowling, he folded his arms across his chest.

“What are you talking about?”

Arkady looked less than happy to say what he said next.

“You're a very handsome boy. Ideal, sharp features. And you're young, and blond.”

He stared, a dawning realization occurring to him. Stunned, he stayed mute.

“Colonel Volgin is well known in the right circles, to have an attraction to this type, male or female.”

His eyes grew wide as he fully thought that out.

“But you've seen how he treats his allies and subordinates. I can't imagine the nightmarish treatment he doles out to sexual partners to get release.”

Adamska was firmly opposed to ever examining that avenue of collecting information. Forget it. He'd never survive.

He settled a hand against his stomach, feeling nauseous just thinking on what it might be like. Never.

The secondary handler took his hands off the table, eyes cold.

“We understand you've attracted the interest of a captain with access to high value documents. Yet you don't befriend him, actively avoiding him.”

“So? He's a repugnant excuse for an officer.”

“It doesn't matter what you want or like,” Arkady said. “This is what the training will teach you. How to seduce targets whether you like them or not.”

“I won't seduce Volgin. He's an idiot and tends to brag. I don't need sex to get to him. The promotion to captain is a start. It will give me access to meetings with him and the higher rank command. I can do it.”

Arkady seemed to believe him, but the other was displeased.

“Stay here. We'll send in your teacher. She will teach you techniques. Ways of altering behavior to make you suitable to a target's personal tastes. Then you'll practice.”

“No.”

The two men walked out of the room without a single glance back at him. They read EVA's reports. They knew he could do the job and only needed time. What was the rush? Was this about him or about making him into every other KGB agent they ever taught and dispatched?

An objectively gorgeous woman entered the room. Beautiful to the extent a blind man could sense it. He glared at her.

“Get out.”

“There's nothing to be afraid of,” she reassured, presuming his age was a factor. “Relax. I'm going to cover the basics of behavior first. Then I'll teach you a few contact points of anatomy that tend to turn us on.”

“No.”

“Adamska, this is part of being KGB. These are orders and you are to follow them.”

“No.”

She reached for his hand and he shoved the chair back, standing up.

“Get out or I break bone.”

The woman laughed and he could tell it was fake, meant to calm him. People were so often dishonest, never showing their true selves. He hated the falsities where it wasn't necessary. He was playing a role, but he still used his own self wherever possible. This charade they were asking of him, it was appalling.

He broke her wrist when she came close to kiss him. She ran from the room. Adamska had no patience for this ridiculousness. Anyone who had to turn someone on to get information was pathetic.

They sent him back without training. He received promotion to captain and was handed the duty of shooting practice supervision in addition to previous responsibilities. He was also required to attend regular meetings with the colonel himself among the higher tiered officers present.

The downside to this advancement in the mission was that Raikov attended the meetings too. He didn't expose a hint of his relentless crush during the meeting, but always managed to catch him out in the hallway for a quiet flirtatious remark or loud jeering comment. After, he'd stride purposefully away, grumbling about how hungry he was.

What did he need seduction training for? He couldn't shake off his harasser regardless of his open disgust.

September 1962

EVA glanced up, initial surprise to see him softening into a casual, brisk medical professional.

He was pretending to have hurt his wrist on a recoil with an unfamiliar gun while on the range. It was a reason to go to the medical ward so he could tell her what he learned in the latest meeting.

“Please tell me this didn't happen because you were busy being cocky and smug again,” she started, careful to keep her voice low. “This promotion is making you brash.”

Quickly twisting his wrist to show it was fine, done low to avoid notice by anyone else, he got to the good stuff. Shuffling him to one of the beds, he revealed the existence of a secret project beginning in the West Wing. Some kind of advanced weapon that was going to be a big deal.

“If Volgin's keeping it quiet,” she murmured thoughtfully. “He must believe it has serious potential to turn the tide in his rebellious efforts.”

“I doubt it's gone far,” he told her, sitting on the vacant bed. “At this point it must be in the planning stages for building. There haven't been new material shipments, no notable alterations to the scientists' schedules or elevated security.”

Taking his am gently into her hands, she rotated and tested its flexibility.

“This is really good. They're going to be pleased to hear this.”

He sensed something wasn't so good. She wore a slight frown despite her positive words.

“What is it?”

She wasn't meeting his eyes, focusing on the pretend injury.

“I wish this news came a day earlier.”

“Why?”

“Our handlers have put the false word out on the network that you've chosen to separate from association with the Philosophers. The official statement in the message relayed to me was this is to grant you the appearance of complete disinterest in the secret organization seeking to obtain the Legacy.”

“But I'm not under any suspicion.”

“No, you are not.”

He understood. “They're sending me a message they'll no longer back me.”

A nod. “Promotion or favoritism you might have gained because of them is gone from this point on.”

“Those advantages were to get me close to the Legacy and anything Volgin might be planning.”

EVA lowered his arm, surveying the room. A nurse on the far side was making up a bed. She was out of earshot. They were fine.

His hand reached for his gun, posture tense. Orders coming to EVA meant ADAM was yet their asset as well, therefore the spreading news was certainly a complete lie. It was an attempt to force his hand to approach Volgin, seduction or not, and earn them more information. Fools. They'd get him killed and end up with nothing.

He studied the woman playing with one of her long, dark brown curls. He suspected the habitual motion signifying her discomfort and concern was not cover. It was the real person peeking out.

To outsiders, it would appear she was simply not at ease caring for a high ranking officer. Captain Ocelot had a reputation after all. He put on a good show, reveling in the fight or task at hand, but when it came down to it, he was prepared and did the duty well.

“Were you ever trained in the art of seduction?” he asked her.

Visibly uncomfortable to even the untrained eye now, she shifted away from him to fiddle with supplies on the table to her left.

“It was a requirement when I was selected to join the agency and take on a deep cover operation.”

Adamska watched her face. The eyes and minuscule facial tics shared there were bad memories running through her head. He didn't want to make her talk about them just for his curiosity.

She met his gaze, unflinching and certain.

“It's the right thing you did, turning them down. I worry this is their method of pushing us, trying to collect concrete results fast.”

He slid off the bed. “Well, we can't always get what we want. Same goes for them.”

“Be extra careful, Adamska. Maybe we're fine and nothing will change. You've been here long enough and worked exceeding expectation to earn respect and trust. Many have said they believe you deserve your rank, whether it's because of powerful connections or not. This is good.”

He flashed finger guns at her with a smile. “We're good at this.”

Sauntering off, he heard her sigh and grinned.

The next time soldiers were allowed to take a trip to real civilization, he volunteered to accompany them and ensure they behaved. As the day turned into night and it was time to return to base, he stepped inside a small shop that caught his eye.

He bought a pair of cowboy boots, spurs and all.

Chapter Text

October 1962

It was pouring rain as he observed a group of soldiers jog by, completing their morning exercises. They looked miserable about it with the dismal weather. He strolled past a row of tanks, twirling his gun and tossing it from hand to hand. Today was especially boring.

He swung to a halt, catching the gun and returning it to the holster. Squinting through the rain falling onto the ground in blinding sheets, at first he thought he imagined him. But no, there was a man standing among the trees.

Adamska wandered closer, careful to keep the stranger in his sights in case he tried to flee. The person wore a dark rain slicker on top of military fatigues. Prescription glasses and the slicker's hood concealed the face well. Gaining ground, he identified the stranger was male and thought the man to be in his fifties. He was staring right at him, smiling.

What was he doing out here? Why risk standing in the open? Was he a foreign agent sent to infiltrate Volgin's fortress? Get in line, friend.

He turned to glance at the building behind him, a second at most. When he looked back, the man was somehow closer, standing on the tarmac. His arms were extending outward, gaze still locked on him.

Heavy rain letting up, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the man. The jogging soldiers went by, inches between them. No way did they miss seeing him with the rain stopping and providing clear visibility on their path.

He blinked and the unidentified man was gone. What?

Adamska walked to the last spot he saw him but there was nobody. Scanning the trees revealed nothing either. He shook his head, letting out a light chuckle. Been in one place too long... Losing my mind...

December 1962

The covert agent felt a gentle touch to his elbow and turned to find the new major smiling softly at him. It was late December and two and a half years in, he continued to wonder if one day somebody was going to get wise and discover him. Paranoia was a prerequisite for the job, he supposed.

This event was a party celebrating a recent promotion. He knew the big promotion was undeserved. The man teasing Volgin shamelessly without giving anything for months landed him the rise in rank. But the CIA agent didn't care. Ever since his own promotion to captain, Raikov left him alone save for the ineffective aggressive flirtation every so often. And ever since he began manipulating the colonel, he stopped bothering Adamska entirely.

The other soldiers he was talking to excused themselves out of politeness. He sipped his wine, glancing at the glass of bourbon in the other man's hand. As a spy, he avoided drinking too much. A clear mind was important in this line of work.

“It's nice to see you enjoying finer things, Ocelot.”

“I suppose it's alright, Major Raikov,” he replied, using the proper address like a good soldier. “Pleased with your promotion? You'll have to do actual work and in a supervisory capacity. Do you remember how to have responsibility for others?”

He was given a hard look. Adamska knew he should tread carefully now that the other was such a high rank. It was difficult when he knew what sadistic scum he truly was. The other men gossiped often enough about his abusive treatment of them whenever he felt like treating them so.

Scoffing, a thin smile graced his lips. “I'll do what I need to. I'm loyal to those who care for me, and I them.”

Adamska frowned. Was that a jab at his past defection from the NSA and America? Or possibly a jab at the more recent division between himself and the Philosophers? The divide was a fabrication, but the insinuation he wouldn't be devoted grated on his nerves.

It was tempting to draw his gun on the man who would use his looks to win favor. That it came so easy to him was increasingly irritating. What it must be like to have such an unimportant and simple life.

He'd prefer his life to mean something, even if it meant something to a single person alone. He was raised in an unloving environment, sought to be made as his caretakers deigned fit. Adamska recognized his worth was always going to be measured and decided by dishonest men. Still, he couldn't help the jealousy viewing a man free of worries and true purpose. The new major got to just live and be as he wished.

Raikov peered into his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Didn't somebody else want to praise him on his promotion? Where was the colonel? He hadn't seen him since the first hour passed.

He looked away. “I'm fine.”

Maybe being rebuffed by Raikov too many times altered his mood for the worse. He pitied anyone unfortunate enough to stumble upon him if that were the case. Tonight would be ill-advised to try to coax information on the secret weapon out of him.

Damn. He'd probably be drunk too.

“Please excuse me, major.”

Adamska drained the rest of his wine before setting the glass on a table by the nearest exit. His eyes scanned the hallway while he considered where Colonel Volgin might be. He'd make a sweep past his location and check what kind of mood he was in. Impatient handlers weren't great for stress levels. It could be his lucky night.

A few yards from the corner, he realized he'd been followed.

Turning around, Raikov joined him.

“Would you have a few drinks with me in my room, Ocelot? I'm sick of the menial chatter with people I don't give a damn about. Grant me an excuse to escape them.”

That sounded like the last thing he wanted to do. He doubted Raikov missed how little he liked him. He didn't want to deal with his frustrating personality now.

“No, thank you,” he said, rotating away, hand resting on the part of the belt near his weapon. “I don't really drink.”

The man appeared in front of him and Adamska raised his eyebrows.

“Just one. I have vodka or whiskey. Won't you indulge your new major? Superior officer discussions and choices can be terribly ugly sometimes.”

It took effort not to glare. The guy was essentially blackmailing him with promises to make trouble for him. He sighed internally, weighing his situation.

A stupid drink. One stupid drink. Then he could get out of there and find Volgin. He had to be careful not to let the social visit go too long or he'd arrive in time to find the colonel retired to his room for the night.

He met Raikov's firm gaze, making clear he was permitting the abuse of his authority to earn a drinking buddy on his celebratory night, nothing more. Adamska didn't intend to let this become a regular occurrence. He gestured a gloved hand in the opposite direction he'd originally been heading.

“Whiskey, and just one. I have a few things I need to check on before I can officially call it the end of a work day.”

The other man smiled victoriously. “Splendid! Let's be on our way.”

Raikov strolled ahead and once they reached his room, he opened the door for him.

A while back, he memorized the layout of the building and every officers' name, rank, regular disposition, and bedroom location. It was impossible to tell if information like that could be invaluable in a tight spot or in times a bit of creativity was required. His general thoughts grew specific as he looked at the major.

The man managed to appear befitting of his uniform. The hat he adopted with his rise in rank suited the absurd hairstyle perfectly. How obnoxious.

Adamska followed him into the room as the light switched on and took it in.

His own room he kept mostly plain, bare of anything much resembling personal. Raikov seemed to have taken the opposite approach, filling shelves and tables with a variety of books, hair products, and pictures.

As he walked across the room a short distance to sit in the comfy looking armchair he was offered, a box of packaged snack foods pushed under the chair caught his eye. He smirked, amused. He knew the man loved to eat.

Raikov went to a table storing liquor bottles and empty glasses. His back to him while he filled two of the glasses, Adamska swept his attention through the room a final time.

There was a narrow window on the back wall, bed off to the left of it. He stared at the bed for a long moment. It was definitely some kind of special request. Bigger than Adamska's own typical single bed, there were thick sheets and blankets neatly placed and tucked, as well as multiple fluffy pillows.

He fought to keep his eyes from rolling at the ridiculous luxury, Raikov coming to sit in the identical armchair positioned diagonal of him. Accepting the drink, he waited until the other drank deeply before sipping a small amount of his own.

Practically beaming, the new major raised his glass. “To our meeting.”

Another deep swig. Adamska copied his action. The whiskey was good. Taking a second gulp, he lowered the glass and eyed the man opposite.

“Can I ask you something?”

A smile. “Of course.”

“Do you actually like the colonel at all? He's not objectively bad looking, even with the scarring, but...”

“Do you think he's too old for me?”

He shook his head, taking a drink to gain a moment to string his thoughts together.

“Well... Yeah... By three decades, but that's not what I meant.”

Intrigued, Raikov's eyes lit up mischievously. “What do you mean?”

Adamska frowned into his glass. Suddenly he was finding it a struggle just to think coherent. He grappled inwardly until he recalled what he was trying to say.

“He's not a nice man. He's brutal and abusive and..electric.”

The other laughed. “You might prefer earning your rank by skill, but I have no issue gaining promotion and perks by teasing the big boss man. Maybe I will let the colonel fuck me one day. I imagine he'd be a force to reckon with in bed.”

He sipped at his drink before setting it on the table to his right. His head was spinning. He tried to stand up and his body sagged in the chair, protesting the decision. It was like he was weighted down. What was going on?

“The colonel might hold favoritism for me, Ocelot. It's no secret. But I've shunned his return sexual advances because he's not the one I want.”

This time when he attempted to stand, he succeeded briefly. He would have collapsed onto the floor if Raikov hadn't stood and caught him in deceptively strong arms. Adamska allowed himself to be put back in the chair. He didn't feel very well.

“I've wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on the stubborn, reckless kid eager to prove his worth.”

The man was moving out of view and he didn't want to use the energy to get him back into it. A drug. The drink. It had to be. He was feeling weak, incapable of making his mind send signals to his arms and legs.

“Your eyes are amazing. Your face, the picture of innocence,” Raikov went on from somewhere he couldn't see.

He slipped out of the chair onto the carpeted rug in his attempt to get up. Panic rose in his throat and he swallowed it to speak level, hide his fear if it came to it. He had to reach the door.

Wait. He remembered the gun on his belt. His arm lifted off the floor, heavy. Fingers wrapped around the handle of his weapon. He pulled it out and lost it.

Raikov loomed over him, shaking his head in disagreement for the reaction. He let out a strangled wail, reaching to take back his gun. Anger flooded his system.

“You drugged me!” he spat.

The man's head tilted, contemplating him where he sat on the floor hardly able to move. Adamska noticed he was clad in only boxer shorts. He was after what he'd worried. He couldn't believe he would go so far.

Dropping onto a knee, he reached to grasp his chin. He yanked his face away and Raikov simply took it back in his palm. What did he give him? Everything physical felt like an enormous effort.

“I know you're a virgin. Everything about you screams inexperience.”

His chin was released in favor of beginning to undress him. Adamska tried to punch and the limb flailed out instead. Occupied hands spared a second to shove it out of the way before returning to the job of taking his clothes. This wasn't right. This wasn't okay.

“Stop. Stop it, Raikov!”

He paused, but to consider the task at hand. Yanking open the belt, he tugged it off and resumed removal of the jacket, freeing it from his shoulders with minimal effort. Adamska might as well have been a rag doll for what tiny movements he achieved.

“Your everlasting confidence is a turn on, did you know?”

His eyes located the pistol set on the chair vacated by this bastard. He summoned the scraps of will power he could, concentrated on what he needed to do, and lunged for his hope.

The sudden spryness surprised Raikov, who got out of his way unintentionally. Adamska scrambled for the gun after his speed knocked it to the floor. His body was dragged across the floor by the legs.

“Naughty,” the man scolded.

He tugged off his boots, his socks. He screamed out his rage at the helpless nature in which he found himself. How could he let this happen?

Raikov flipped him onto his back with a foot dug in his ribs. “I'm a fantastic lover. I'll show you what raw pleasure is.”

His undershirt was taken. His gloves pulled off next, an earlier oversight. He was making quick work of his pants when he desperately tried to beg again.

“Stop! Don't do this! Stop it!”

“I'm going to claim you, possess you,” he said, like Adamska wasn't pleading for the opposite. “You'll scream my name.”

The man went away and he shifted his body around, crawling for the door despite knowing he would never be allowed to reach it. He was naked, terrified, and praying somebody would hear them by chance, save him from his fate. As usual, no one arrived to rescue him out of this cold life.

Strong arms lifted him beneath the armpits. He was positioned into the side of a muscular and toned chest and torso, skin pale and flawless. Anger and fright kept trading places within him, an inner turmoil reserved for his private nightmare. There was not a thing he could do and that was unacceptable.

He was lowered on the bed and a body covered him. Trying to roll onto his front to heave himself up, he discovered the arms and legs on either side of his body prevented him from doing so. Lips pressed to his and mortified, he froze.

This was the first time anyone ever kissed him on the lips. Raikov kissed him quickly on the lips in the shower room, but that was a ghost of a kiss, mouth hardly touching his before rescinding.

This kiss was soft and impassioned. His superior officer was finding some kind of romantic notion in this horror. He was able to bring his hands up, but they couldn't get a good grip, too tired to be effective.

He was realizing Raikov had discarded his boxers, the well-endowed genitals rubbing across his thighs. Occasionally they'd bump into his own genitals, easing a strangled noise out of him. It wasn't unpleasant. But he didn't want this.

Something was clasped in the hand resting near his head. He saw it when his assailant broke away from his rigid mouth to let him breathe normal. Teeth nipped at his neck and collarbone, lowering to his shoulder and chest. Biting and sucking on his body, Adamska tried to think of what he could do to get free.

“Raikov, please stop. Don't do this. You can't do this.”

A mumbled, indistinguishable response, and lustful eyes turned to stare into his frightened ones.

“You want it,” he ludicrously stated.

He sat back on his heels, knees on either side of his hips, large penis resting on his stomach. Adamska's eyes went to it and then to the man smiling down at him. Every ounce of control he could muster was gathered, and as he struggled for the edge of the bed, a fist hit his stomach.

Groaning in pain, he sought to keep going and rough hands flung him back to the middle of the bed. A fist sank into his ribs and he cried out, gasping for air. He shouted “no” repeatedly while his arms were pushed flat above his head.

Teeth bit harshly into his shoulder and he yelped. Licking the blood from his lips, he grinned at him.

“You taste delicious.”

“Oh no. Please. Please!”

Raikov was doing something with the object in his hand and he realized it was lubricant. He never had sexual relations of any kind, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew what it was used for and when the wet fingers sank in his anus, he screamed.

His attacker slapped him across the face, abandoning the attempt to hold his arms. They both knew he didn't have the ability in his drug-induced paralysis to put up much resistance. And he couldn't.

He watched his legs spread apart and pushed upward so his knees were raised. With clearer access to his bottom, the two fingers pushed back into his ass and twisted around. Adamska weakly shoved at the arm currently resting on his chest to hold him flat.

“Please stop,” he whimpered.

More of the lubrication was applied to fingers, three shoving in deep. It hurt and felt weird. He couldn't turn, couldn't move away.

“Get off me, bastard!” he managed to shout, despairing rage in every syllable.

“That's enough,” Raikov muttered to himself.

He didn't understand what he meant until he was rubbing the liquid onto his thick penis. No, no, no, no...

“No!”

Chapter Text

His attempt to squeeze his legs closed was thwarted by the body sitting between them. Raikov forcibly inserted his penis into the ill-prepared cavity. He howled in agony.

Adamska wailed, failing to knee him with the awkward and vulnerable position he was trapped in. It was too wide and he continued pushing in. Immense pressure and pain spread through his body from the terrible sensation.

“It's big, I know. Shh... Shh...”

No slouch in length either, he trembled fighting to endure the invasion. Halfway and he was sweating incessantly, straining out choked breaths. Raikov pulled out to the tip and thrust in roughly.

He shouted in pain.

“Oh, come on. Alright. Hold on.”

The large erection left his ass. Fingers were slicked with lubrication before pressing into his sore and painful entrance. The three fingers pushed in and out as deep as the hand would allow, touching something that made his hips buck upward. It was pleasant.

Moaning in surprised enjoyment, the fingers flexed, spreading and turning to open him up.

“See. It's good.”

“Go to hell,” he cursed.

Fingers pulled out, the larger weapon positioned against his opening. He braced himself and realized it was the wrong call. Raikov shoved in and got a couple inches before he was stopped by squeezing and tensing muscles. It burned.

“You have to relax or it's going to be much worse for you.”

So he could admit this was bad for him. What a gentleman. Such class.

“Look at me,” Raikov snapped.

He peeked at him through half shut eyes.

“Relax your tension.”

Whimpering, he didn't want to obey. He didn't want it in him. Fuck it hurt.

“You must be pleased to have someone like me for your first time.”

He went still at the claim, eyes widening as he stared up at the narcissistic rapist.

“A lot of my lovers complain I'm too big. That it hurts. Some wouldn't even let me do them when they saw it. Not you.”

His jaw very nearly dropped. What the hell was he talking about? Was he insane?

“So sweet,” he murmured sensually, lying chest to chest on him, lips brushing his cheek.

He buried his penis in to the hilt. The air was knocked out of him, scream emerging breathless and low. The sound of flesh smacking against flesh began as Raikov thrust in and out, hard and fast.

“Ahh. Ah. Yes. Unnnhh...”

Adamska could only lie there while his assailant thoroughly satisfied himself using his body. It still hurt, but it had dampened to a kind of aching, distant pain. There were occasional spikes of random pleasure, but mostly this felt gross and violating.

“You feel so good. Ahhh... Mmmm...”

The guy was loudly enjoying stabbing into him over and over. Tears leaked down his face, in pain and humiliated. He was caught crying and the repeated thrusting stopped.

“Don't cry.”

A sob emerged, staring in the older man's eyes that didn't seem to comprehend anything wrong with what he was doing.

“Shut up!”

Slap!

Stunned into silence, Raikov angled his hips a bit and resumed pumping in and out. Now he seemed impatient, hurried. He started moving faster, slamming into him harder. It was brutal, and his body was sending pleasure signals to his brain.

A befuddled mess, he had to listen to his audible rapist all the while, cheek to cheek with him.

“Oh yeah. Uh. Uh. Uh. Fuck, you're hot.”

The man climaxed inside him with a jagged breath and loud cry. A gratified moan slipped out and he removed himself, tossing sideways to lie next to him like this was fine. Adamska didn't move a muscle.

Expression amicable, he rested his head on the pillow, mouth puffing air lightly into his ear. Raikov laid an arm on his chest, stroking a breast and grazing fingers across the nipple. He still didn't move. Somehow he was more afraid now than he had been before and during.

“It was every bit as wonderful as I imagined.”

He said nothing. For all he allowed to show on his face, he'd heard nothing.

“Anybody who gets to have you is a lucky bastard.”

A moment, and he risked turning over onto his side, facing away from Raikov. His fingers twitched of their own accord. He clenched his hand into a fist successfully. The drug was wearing off. He was fortunate not to have ingested most of the drink he was given. He probably wouldn't want him when he could fight, yeah?

“Sorry,” the man apologized, “I got carried away.”

Did he get carried away when he put a drug in the damn whiskey?

“Give me a few minutes. The next time will be even better.”

His eyes widened. That was not going to happen. Once with this bastard was enough for a lifetime.

Adamska shifted his legs, bending them inward. He threw himself onto the floor and was able to drag to his feet. An arm swung around his throat and exerted pressure.

He was face down on the mattress, rear in the air when he regained consciousness.

“Such a beautiful boy.”

Damning words as he was penetrated from behind. He screamed and Raikov smacked him across the back of the head. A hostile growl and he was viciously fucked, no pretense of gentleness.

Grunts and periodic moans exited the man hurting him so foul and cruel. Long minutes passed until finally his assailant came with a huff. It was like the task had been a necessary chore.

By the look he wore after Raikov pulled out and leaned in to examine his face, that was precisely what he'd just done. He cringed into the pillow, wishing this was a dream he would wake from. Hands stroked his back, a stark dissonance between what he did to him seconds ago.

The man got up from the bed. It was over. Wary relief filled him.

He sat up and winced, feeling a sharp pain below. Semen leaked along his inner thighs. He slid off the bed and tested his legs.

A limp if he wanted walking to be painless at the moment. He would have to play sick should his body refuse to move normally by morning. He couldn't be seen like this.

His eyes scanned the floor for his scattered articles of clothing.

“Where are you going?”

He stiffened, eyes finding Raikov approaching with a drink in hand, the one he slipped something into.

“I want to go.”

His voice came out hoarse and weaker than he thought it would.

The man stood in front of him, holding the drink out.

“Finish the drink. We got through the awkward first time phase and I curbed a common instinct to run away instead of learn. It will be great now.”

“I'll report you,” he threatened.

“No, you won't. It would be easy to convince everyone some kid shouldn't be out here in the first place. I'm a major now. Assignments can be changed, transfers made.”

He was right on everything. And his job needed him to remain where he was or the mission couldn't be finished. Too much time he invested in this place and his reputation. He wouldn't give up his task. He had to show them he could do it.

Apparently taking his silence to mean he was mulling through options, he added to the reasons his hands were tied with invisible rope.

“Even if they somehow believed a kid over a major, a major in Colonel Volgin's good graces, they'd never believe it wasn't simply a bad reaction to a regretted consensual romp.”

“You're drugging me!”

“Drink up, darling boy.”

Adamska planned to take the glass and wash his face in it before knocking him out, but the other man saw right through him. The glass was pulled from his closing grasp and he was taken down with abrupt and swift close quarters combat. Flat on his back on the ground, he sought to orient his thoughts and sense of direction.

Before he could, he was tugged into a lap from behind, fingers digging painfully in his mouth. The drink poured in and hands sealed his mouth and nose tight. Flailing, the burning liquid went down his throat. Running fingers along his neck to ensure complete passage, Raikov adjusted to hold his wrists.

He was making sure he wouldn't force himself to throw it back up. Soon, his head lolled and he became a pliable doll again. Whatever this drug was, it was terrifying. He knew he'd be having nightmares of paralysis in the future.

Raikov lifted him, slinging an arm onto his shoulder, and carried him to the bed. His feet dragged the whole way and he couldn't raise his head. He sprawled on the mattress and nothing was working for him.

Laid on top of, this time he was entered smooth and quick, body adjusted to the foreign intrusion. The man was adept at recovering for another round of sex within minutes. This time he moved in him slow and measured.

It was not lost on him this was love-making. A mockery of it since his participation was the utmost unwilling, but still an attempt at love. The way Raikov caressed his cheek, licked strips of skin, kissed him affectionately...

Coaxing his knees to bend and placing them on his shoulders, he fucked him leisurely and close. That spot in him was getting hit again and again. Quiet moans and breaths leaked out of him, thankfully smothered because of the dose paralyzing his actions. It felt good.

He was ashamed to admit how good, although his erection exposed his pleasure outwardly. A hand grasped his penis and began to stroke it in time with the deep, erotic rhythm. The pace picked up slightly, Raikov moaning and uttering satisfied noises.

Climaxing into the manipulating hand, the other man climaxed a few minutes afterward.

They laid together, the older man resting on top of his still body. His ejaculate on their stomachs was cold and dry when he decided to pull out to lie beside him. A kiss to his cheek and his lips before he rolled off of the bed.

“I'm hungry.”

January 1963

He came out to the forest to be alone, and nowadays, he came to the forest to show emotion. Adamska knew he could do this in his private quarters, but his room was a more obvious place to be found and called upon for advice or permissions from a soldier. Out in the wild, no one would find him and ask anything of him.

Crying on a regular basis was new to him. A lot of things were new because of that night. It was his own fault. He was a damn spy and he couldn't exercise caution and a proper level of distrust. He would never report it. EVA would try to get him pulled out and he didn't want her to be by herself in this terrible place. His KGB handlers would probably suggest he use the incident to his advantage and begin a relationship. Scum.

It started to rain. He sighed and decided to remain exposed to the showering droplets of water. Maybe it would clean him better than the shower seemed to do. Raikov's filth was all over and he couldn't scrub it out. The man didn't tease him in the halls anymore, ate in the officers' dining room exclusively, and never gave a hint he had memory of what happened. He got what he wanted. Why bother with him?

“Sad. So sad…”

Adamska nearly fell off the fallen log he was sitting on.

“Wh- Wha?”

The man in the rain slicker, the one he swore he'd seen maybe..three or four months ago, stood beside him on his left. Slightly behind him with the log in the way. He jumped up, drawing his pistol and aiming at the intruder.

“Identify yourself! What are you doing out here?”

His demands went ignored, the stranger continuing to stare straight ahead.

“A host of sorrows.”

Uh… What?

The man removed his hood, revealing a kindly face and slicked back gray and white strands of hair. His hairline was receding and Adamska stood by his initial estimation of the man's age being somewhere in his fifties. He turned and acknowledged him.

“And you are one of them.”

He startled, gripping the gun firm. His eyes were somewhat eerie. Light with dark pupils mere pinpoints. He would say the eyes were gray if he had to choose a color.

“Like you, I, too, am filled with sadness.”

His gun lowered a little, brow furrowing. “Are you...?”

He sometimes saw things when he was growing up. People nobody else saw that he was told he was imagining. But they felt real to him, and if he concentrated on them, he could feel their feelings and sense thoughts. To this day, he wondered if he really was crazy, and did imagine other people who were lost in order to deal with his own life.

The man smiled at him and spoke in his soft, calm manner.

“This world is one of sadness.”

Adamska frowned. He was aware. Who was this guy?

“Don't cry. The spirit of the warrior..will always be with you.”

He glared. Was this man intentionally vague? He glanced around to see if they were alone before risking a step closer. He had yet to determine whether this stranger was solid or less than. The figures he'd seen in the past never spoke to him.

The man vanished in a blink. What?!

A gloved hand rested on his shoulder, or well, the see-through appendage of a ghost. He'd appeared behind him. He did see ghosts! Or… Or he really was insane.

“Don't be sad…”

His gun hung at his side. “Why not? The world is sad, right? It's how I can fit in it.”

This guy didn't know him, and he was showing bitterness and anger along with the grief. Did he intend to make it sound like his life was worse? The man at his back was dead!

The spirits who hung around typically weren't ones who died when they wanted to die. Something kept them here, forcing them to wander lost until they discovered what would grant them peace. Or at least, that was the impression he got the times he eavesdropped on the spirits cloaked in shadows, mournful and depressed. They tended to think what was on their mind, and it was usually how they desired resolution to their pain.

They scared him mostly, so he stayed away. He was a child the few occasions he saw something, and didn't want them to see him. At present, he couldn't sense a threat from the man. He just seemed..interested in lamenting on things.

Silence. When he turned around, the spirit was gone. Figured he would be left by himself. Nothing new there.

Adamska put his gun in the holster and considered returning to the compound. It was his day off and he would rather avoid the place, but he wanted to stop being a coward too. He turned to go and gasped in surprise.

The man gazed sadly at him. “You want to finish your mission, don't you?”

His eyes narrowed. “How could you know-?”

Could ghosts be spies working for the enemy? Was that stupid? He wouldn't risk it.

He corrected his error. “I don't know what you mean.”

This brought a smile to the man's lips, face creasing and eyes glowing to show it was genuine. A hand reached forward and he stood still, uncertain. He didn't get threatening vibes from him.

If he was solid, he would be caressing his face, grasping the side of his head. It reminded him of gestures Raikov used with him and he tilted his head toward the ground, fighting back emotion. He wouldn't be weak. He was strong! He could do whatever he needed to!

The hand moved with him, and it managed to feel real. His eyes flickered upward to look into a face he could only describe as loving. Who was this man?

“Who are you?”

“Remember, lives are made of moments… So many moments…”

He stared, eyes wide. He was close to tears and he didn't know why. It was beginning to make him frustrated, but he realized the anxiety and doubt he could do his job had faded.

“We'll meet again,” he promised, lowering his hand.

He disappeared in the blink of an eye. Adamska stared into nothing for a time. Until he was soaked to the point shivers disturbed his thoughts.

“See you around, sad man,” he uttered into the void.

Spinning on a heel, he strolled back to base. Adamska was confident he could and would achieve his mission objectives, no matter what. A moment. It was one night. As an agent, he had to be prepared for whatever happened and confront issues accordingly. He refused to be broken by a single person taking what they wanted because they thought they had the right. The world was filled with people like that.

He focused his thinking and contemplated how he was going to get his hands on the Legacy.

Chapter Text

January 1963

An uneventful week ended in the worst possible manner.

He was in his room writing out schedules for training and potential recruitment rosters. The hour was late, but he was unconcerned as the following day was his rest day. Someone knocked at the door.

Adamska answered the knock, pulling it open to find Raikov, not EVA. With the hour, he assumed it would be her. They were studying the West Wing and devising a plan to sneak in for reconnaissance.

The man had never come to his room before, and on instinct, he leaned an arm in front of the frame to discourage entering. The major seemed not to notice, breaking through his pitiful guard with a light but insistent push. Scowling, he watched the man walk into his room and with enormous reluctance shut the door behind him.

“It's late, Major Raikov,” he pointed out, refusing to reveal how the man intimidated him. “Did you need something important?”

Raikov was examining his room, ignoring him for the time being. He heard lately the major had especially been giving everyone in his surroundings a hard time, hitting a few subordinates for no apparent reason. Pompous asshole didn't get called in for his cruel attitude and abuse. Out here in this secluded outpost, people seemed to care less about strict regulations. It was out of line and if he wasn't working a cover, Adamska would never stand for it continuing.

“Yes,” the major replied, turning to look at him. “You. I'll spend the night with you, tonight. I feel like the company and you're the only one I can stand around here.”

Alarmed at such a bold claim, his eyes darted over to his jacket and belt. Raikov was between the weapon and him. He supposed he could worry about explaining the dead body of a major in his bedroom at a later date. Then again, the investigation that would result, the critical examination they would subject him to… Searching for the Legacy would be delayed for months.

“Get out, sir,” he added sharply, reminding him of his duty as an officer.

He should have known it wouldn't work in his favor.

“I traded shifts to ensure I have the day off tomorrow as well.” He glanced about again. “My room is much nicer, but having you in your room will more than make up for the drab style you have here. Don't you think about adding some color?”

Did this man truly not see he was trying to force him? Did what he want mean so little? He tightened his fists at his sides, seething and fighting not to go off on him. GRU major, Adamska. He couldn't start something.

His brow furrowed. “This room is for sleep and work. That is all.”

“Right. Work, work, work,” he said, waving the thought away with an arm in the air. “It's suitable.”

He began to loosen his tie, pulling off his hat and tossing it on the desk where he was working. Glaring openly now at the presumption he would just lie back and let him rape him, he strode quickly to the door and yanked it open. Adamska held it wide and gestured to the opening.

“Get out of my room, bastard.”

Raikov walked to the door but he hadn't retrieved his hat. He leaned into his face, smirking with pride. After a moment, he straightened, and the agent hoped he would leave. His gloved hand reached above him and applied pressure to the door. Enough to close it partway, not entirely.

“I'm a GRU major, Captain Ocelot. I would be regretful to recommend and sign off on the transfer to a more central location. You're already being considered.”

His eyes widened. “You lie.”

The other shook his head, shaggy hair momentarily falling across blue eyes which looked almost gray today. He tossed his head back and the hair fell into natural place.

“Someone of your talent would be better served outside a compound in the mountains, plotting revolutionary or not. Colonel Volgin wants you to stay, but few others think you belong. Your attitude, reckless behavior… Discipline in a mainstream position might improve your outlook as a career soldier.”

What the hell? They were discussing a transfer? Unfortunately, it didn't surprise him at all the higher ranked officers would be debating such a thing without notifying him. It was easier to tell somebody they were being displaced once everyone else was on board. Damn!

“I decide you should stay, Volgin surely won't allow the transfer to proceed.”

He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't. He was a man.

“Well? What do you say?”

Adamska shoved Raikov away. He put his back to him, focusing on keeping regular breaths. This wouldn't be so bad. He could try to pretend he wasn't making him do this.

He shut the door the rest of the way and turned the lock.

Raikov moved above him moaning his name. His hips were raised on a pillow, knees bent and elevated off the bed. He found this caused him less pain and more pleasant sensations. The man was big and that hurt, but they were on their third session and his ass was finally adjusting to the repeat intrusion.

He seemed okay with him as a passive participant. When he let him have him and returned kisses on his mouth, he was satisfied. The first time, he was uncomfortable and grunting in pain. Lying there while it was forced into him, the major remarked it was typical for a recent virgin to behave like this.

How could he not get this wasn't consensual? Adamska wanted to retain his position; he had to go along with this hell. Resentfully, he imagined his KGB bosses would be pleased to hear of him attracting Raikov, and advise him to use the connection to gain intelligence. He'd never put it in a report for that reason alone, even if there were other reasons solidifying the decision.

Sex was an ugly thing, he decided. Nothing but pain and ill-advised vulnerability. Lips pressed to his, trailed across his jawline, tongue licked sweat from his chest and shoulders. Quivering breaths against his neck, Raikov moaned his name a final time and climaxed. The both of them glistening with sweat, he blinked away a drop that dripped in his eye.

Adamska shut them, wishing he couldn't feel the semen filling him fuller than he was already. The older man pulled out and laid beside him, slinging an arm and leg over his still body. He fell asleep and he didn't dare move an inch, afraid of waking him and getting raped again.

You let him. Took off your clothes and laid on your back. Spread your legs. Coward.

He stared up at the ceiling while the minutes turned to hours. Raikov cared about getting what he wanted and nothing else. Far as he could tell, he was chosen because he was attractive. Peering out of the corner of his eye, he examined the face of the quietly snoring man.

His superior officer was objectively handsome, his physique carefully maintained and sculpted. Vain. That definitely explained the hair. The soft looks were a lie. He was a hard man, cruel and pompous.

Major Raikov liked to eat. His enormous appetite extended into the bedroom. This insistence to have sex with him explained by such a factor, yet inconsistent with his weak stomach in regards to the food he craved. Did it mean he took on more than he could handle? Or he liked the challenge of trying to handle more than he should? What did that say about Captain Adamska Ocelot?

Always trying to give explanation to every little thing. Shut your mouth, bitch. You're a terrible spy. They were right about you. Too young. Too undisciplined. Too desperate to make an impression.

The ceiling gave him nothing in return for all his glaring.

The sleeping man rolled them onto their sides, firmly pasting himself to his backside. A hand fell against his groin and Adamska lowered his gaze, considering if he should push his hips forward a bit to throw it off. The hand he couldn't see spread his buttcheeks and he realized the man wasn't sleeping any longer.

He grunted as the big cock entered him from behind. There was no pain this time, even without new lubricant, but it felt like he was stuffed full when it filled invasive and deep. The feel of pubic hair and testicles pressing to him announced when it was completely buried within.

“Can't sleep, lover?”

“No,” he uttered through clenched teeth, concentrating on accommodating the girth.

In and out the penis moved, agonizingly slow. He could feel every part of it, how it rubbed and scraped inside him. His body seemed to approve of the sensation and so the hand stroking his limp penis only added to the recipe for his unwilling erection.

The slow fucking went on eternally. He thought he'd lose his mind about the time he climaxed with a choking noise of protest and humiliation. Sagging farther into the mattress, Adamska did his best to convince himself it wasn't nice and sexually stimulating despite the evidence dampening the sheet in front of his crotch.

Raikov continued to move, unhurried. Lips kissed the back of his head. His eyes went to the clock on the wall he was unfortunate to be facing. Almost two hours when the man at his back finally shuddered and faltered, pushing in deep to climax with a sigh.

Silence. The penis slipped out and he could relax his alert body a little. His bed dipped as the man rolled over. He could still feel his body heat. The bed was sized for one person so they kept very close when they were in it.

He hoped the other was planning to go back to sleep, but he could certainly hear him messing with something. Maybe he was wiping himself off. Maybe he'd leave. He swallowed at how much he wanted that last contemplation to be true.

He couldn't take not being able to identify the noises and started to turn over. His shoulder was caught and he looked up into the man's face. The beginning rays of dawn were leaking through the small window in his room, casting enough light to partially see his expression. Lust. The sexual appetite was far from vanquished.

“I'm going to make you feel so good.”

Adamska shook his head. “What do you-?”

“Roll onto your stomach.”

He didn't want to. He rolled to his stomach. A pillow prodded his side, a hand resting on his hip, and he took the hint. Lifting his lower half, the pillow was placed beneath, angling his hips upward, rear elevated.

Raikov straddled the lower half, thighs encasing him, boxing him in. Hands settled on either side of his shoulders and Adamska gripped his hands tightly in the sheets. Lying on one side of his face, he tried to see behind.

The man leaned his upper body low, mouth ghosting across the skin of his back. “You're beautiful.”

Something cold touched his entrance and he jumped a little. A hand caressed his lower back soothingly before sliding to his butt. Tugging a cheek to the side, his large penis coated in rather cool lubricant pushed in.

His hand went to his mouth. He bit down on it to avoid expressing how he liked a dick going into him. How could he like it? Ugh...

“Damn!” he bellowed.

He peered back to witness Raikov grinning. “Hard enough? Or should I do it like... This!”

Adamska screamed as the second brutal thrust rocked his body forward. Hands settled on his shoulders to hold him in position. A rapid, harsh pace was set, hips snapping into his ass in a vicious and unrelenting fashion. The cock was burrowing in, slamming deep and rough. There was pain with each jab, and tremendous pleasure exploding throughout his body.

He was erect in seconds, leaking in minutes, and climaxed less than seven minutes into the experience. That damn clock was staring him in the face again. Why didn't he turn his head the other way?

The severe pounding movements never faltered. He groaned and shouted his surprised pleasure all the while. Thirty minutes in and he was hardening again. Raikov showed no signs of slowing or reaching orgasm.

“Yeah. Uh. That's it. Uh. Uh. Yes. Take it.”

Every thrust brought an aroused sound out of Raikov. It wasn't until the hour mark that every so often a couple thrusts would be followed by huffing breaths as he strained to breathe proper during such exertion. He climaxed a second time and whimpered, overloaded on the inducing motions.

His shouts shifted to exclusively moaning and gasping. The rough fucking never let up and he reached forward to hold onto the bars of his headboard, tilting his head back. Bleary eyes fought to focus on the man as he felt himself semi-erect. It was too much. He wanted more.

“Raikov.”

The man paused mid-thrust, narrowed eyes settling upon him, dangerous and feral.

“Fuck me harder. Be a savage.”

His head tilted, eyes continuing to search his face, for what he didn't know.

“You're my darling boy, yes?”

He glowered, fierce and confident. “Make me yours.”

The cock drove into him with such force the entire bed shook and he slid upward. Gripping the headboard better, he waited for Raikov to figure it out, which he did. The hands left his shoulders and grabbed his hips, nails digging into flesh. They were sweaty and breathing heavily and horny.

He cried out at the next forceful push. Stuck precisely where he was increased the depth, as well as pained pleasure. The speed picked up, powerful thrusts shaking the bed and making him scream approval. He was begging for the violent banging, moaning helplessly, calling out the man's name over and over.

Adamska barely noticed his orgasm, ejaculate coating the pillow yet again, rubbing into his crotch and belly. All he could feel was the hard and thick tool penetrating his insides, demanding he acknowledge who owned him in that moment. Blissful moans and commands for him yelled in his ear.

“You're mine! Take me in! Oh! So good! Yes! Mine! Take it! You like that! Oh! Oh! I hurt you so good. Delicious. Mine. Uhhh...”

Raikov stopped, sitting deep in him, unmoving. He could hear him breathing in and out carefully, measured. Several minutes passed. He worried about losing his erection.

The penis pulled out to the head, still hard as a rock, and lunged into his depths. Air knocked out of him, he gasped as the vigorous and cruel fucking resumed like there hadn't been a break. Dazed, he gasped and choked after each new ram of flesh stabbed into his stomach. He climaxed as if his body wasn't experiencing mass confusion on whether he was feeling solely pain or pleasure too.

He was fucked into with intense brutality on and on. Knocked senseless to it all, he almost missed the question poised to him.

“Do I own you?”

“Yes,” he whispered, hardly capable of breathing at this point.

He was driven into mercilessly nonstop for several minutes before he stopped to ask again, “Do I own you?”

“Yes!” he cried loudly.

“You want my seed?”

“Please!” he begged, desperate for him to orgasm and cease these uncontrollable sensations streaking through him incessantly.

“Please what?”

Adamska spat it out before his dignity refused to let him.

“Please give me your seed. Fill me up. I want it all. Please!”

“You want it?”

“I do!”

“You're mine?”

“I'm yours!” he growled, furious to be teased.

Propelled into again and again, Raikov climaxed, exploding orgasm spraying seed into his bowels. He removed the shrinking organ from the cavity, flopping satiated to his back. Adamska tried to move but his ass hurt horribly and so he stayed put.

Snoring on his right let him know the man had gone directly to sleep. His eyes flickered to the clock, noting how the room was brighter now. Over three hours he fucked him like that. No wonder his body was beginning to numb as the sweat grew cold and then dried. When he felt it later, he was going to be sore and tender, possibly too much to walk. Thankfully he had the day off to try and recover in his room.

He swallowed hard, remembering a comment made earlier. Major Raikov said something about having the day off too. He wouldn't remain here the whole day, would he? The thought of taking another fucking like that...

Exhausted as he was, sleep escaped him. He stared blankly at the wall, uncomfortable to be in the bed with the major. The relief of numbness faded as late morning arrived, and he was left every bit sore and hurting as he assumed would happen.

“Can't sleep?”

Chapter Text

Shocked out of his directionless rumination, he forced himself to move, rolling onto his side to face his bed's unwelcome occupant. He didn't say a word, knowing it didn't matter what he would say. His rapist was a major in the perfect position to transfer him away if he posed a problem to his dark desire. He had the mission to remember. He would do whatever was necessary to succeed.

When he received no answer to his inquiry, a hand reached to caress his face. He was too tired to remove it.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

He gaped, stunned. A bemused face stared back at him.

“I like being fucked.” The gaze lowered to his groin. “You have a nice penis.”

Was he dreaming? This was bizarre. He watched Raikov reach for the lubricant. Mute, he was still while his dick was coated in the cool substance.

“It's thrilling to be your first,” he told him, studying his face. “Do you want to be on top or the bottom?”

His confusion must have showed.

“Can you sit?”

He tried to sit up and was surprised when he could. It hurt but apparently not enough to stiffen his movements. Raikov took the pillow and flipped it around before propping it against the headboard.

“Sit here with your back to the pillow.”

He stared.

“Kid, you can trust me.”

The agent had to catch himself before he blurted how he could not trust him. If he didn't go along with this, he would be transferred, he would fail his mission, and be put on some other less important duty. He couldn't fail at his first mission. This was where he had to prove himself.

He did as he said. Raikov had him sit cross legged and then reached into his lap. When stroking his length for a few minutes did not produce an erection, the man frowned and met his eyes. Adamska averted his gaze. Did he see how he didn't want any of this? How could he not?

The fingers slid to massage his balls. Nothing. Two fingers pushed into his anus and he hardened. Satisfied, Raikov removed them, looked in his eyes, and sucked on the digits. Dirty bastard.

Retrieving the lubricant, he applied some to his fingers and raised his own body off the bed, inserting them into his ass. He watched him work the fingers in and out of himself, curious to see it done in spite of his aversion. A minute and he twisted them about inside briefly before pulling them out.

He crawled the short distance to where he was sitting, climbing into his lap. The move jostled his hard dick and he winced at the closeness, at the big but flaccid penis pressed to his stomach. Raikov adjusted so his penis laid up toward his chest and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Rising with his knees, he glanced behind himself and told Adamska to separate his cheeks.

A gasp slipped past his lips as his penis slid inside a tight heat. Oh, it felt..enticing. He didn't want it, he didn't want it, he didn't want it.

“Ocelot. You can move now.”

He peeled open eyes he hadn't realized he shut. Peering into bright blue eyes inches from his own, he peered down to examine the situation. Raikov was sitting in his lap, legs wrapped around his hips, arms holding his own legs so they were just about wrapped around his own hips. His penis was completely inside the unbearably clenched ass.

Adamska finished wrapping his legs around the other man's waist and put his arms around him too. He felt the sphincter relax about his hot flesh. He gently pushed upward with his groin. A little harder the second time. He glanced at Raikov, who was watching his focused expression in adoration.

“I'm not a China doll, Ocelot. Fuck me.”

When he made no move to do so, the other started fucking himself, bouncing up and down on his cock. Groaning, he shifted his hands to narrow hips but let him continue, turned on by the feel. Eventually, he began automatically jolting his groin up each time the ass slammed down into his lap, and Raikov moaned in approval.

It couldn't have been very long when he climaxed into the amazing feel of the heated cavity. A glance at the clock informed a duration of fifteen minutes possibly. He couldn't be certain when they got going. The semi-hard dick solidified along his stomach, reaching toward his chest. Shit.

“My turn.”

Raikov climbed off of his lap and applied lubricant to his own penis quickly. He spread Adamska's legs wide, lifting them onto shoulders. He let him grab his shoulders for a grip and Adamska groaned in pain as the girth reignited tender and abused flesh.

Sheathed in one push, he fucked slow but hard, rocking them both into the headboard with each thrust. Practically folded in half, he was putty in the man's hands, whimpering and groaning, reluctant pleasure obvious. This went on a while and the method of claiming ownership switched.

He let the legs fall off his shoulders, moving them backward on the bed, shoving his legs bent upward. Adamska latched his hands beneath his legs to hold them to his own body, exposing his utter vulnerability to new heights. That's what the other man wanted.

Dominating him further, Raikov held onto the headboard bars instead, allowing him to hump bodily against the man penetrated firm and forceful. Sweat-soaked skin rubbed along sweat-soaked skin, nipples swept across each other, his semi-erect penis pressed into a solid stomach. The added friction released cries from them, and he let his head fall back in ecstatic enjoyment.

Taken as an invitation, tongue and lips explored his revealed throat. He groaned as teeth gnawed at him, screamed when teeth sank into the crook of his neck. Reduced to a quaking mess, he felt like he was being eaten as the teeth and lips bit and sucked until every accessible spot of skin was marred.

“You're mine,” the man declared.

The pace increased, bodies viciously battering together. He hollered and groaned, taking the abuse. His endurance was astonishing and when he eventually climaxed, Adamska found his own penis yet hard, incapable of achieving orgasm smashed into like it had been for a long time. As soon as Raikov pulled out and provided space for his legs to fall to the mattress, he came all over himself.

Gasping, he collapsed on his side, struggling to gain breath and rest. A hand stroked across his skull, hair too short for fingers to run through it. As always, the other man was quick to recover and his breathing evened out to regular a couple minutes later.

“Lovely,” he murmured. “My darling boy.”

Adamska merely groaned. He was spent. Hands turned him onto his front and he feared another session so soon.

It was shocking when hands began to massage him, beginning with the back of his head and neck. He laid there while expert hands kneaded his muscles, loosening him, relaxing him. His upper back, shoulders, his arms, even his hands and fingers. Returning to his back, his spine, his lower back, waist, hips. He started to tense when the hands massaged his butt, dipping between his crack to stroke his hole a bit, but then they continued on to his thighs, the rest of his legs, his feet.

He felt no shame he let out quiet moans the whole time. It was such a calming and comforting experience. His body had never felt this free of tension and anxiety. He wasn't sure whether he should reprimand or absolve himself when the inevitable turn came.

“This should help your endurance for the rest of our day.”

Perhaps as a somewhat small gesture of punishing himself, when he was asked to move to the end of the bed, he did. When he was asked to position his body so he lay on his stomach with his rear hanging over the end, knees toward the floor, he did. Raikov asked him if he wished to be ravaged.

His eyes closed after accidentally catching the time on the wall. It wasn't even ten o'clock.

“I'm yours.”

The fucking was ferocious and sadistic to the extreme. His screaming died out to rasping breaths with every plunge after the agony turned to dubious gratification. He could no longer grasp sense proper, confused body sending charges of mixed signals every which way. When Raikov climaxed, spilling into him, he couldn't move a muscle.

Finding the strength to open his eyes, he let out a cry he smothered in the sheets. Barely past noon. He couldn't make it an entire day enduring this. He couldn't do it.

“Hm... I'm hungry. Got any food in here?”

Raikov pulled off and away. Exhaustion swept over him and he was falling asleep. The bed bounced and he woke when he was drawn onto the bed, into a lap, and slapped brutally on the butt repeatedly. He was throwing muscle behind the blows and didn't let up until Adamska was crying and begging him to stop.

He was turned over in the arms, raw and burning rear set onto the bed with care. Lying on his back, the other man sighed at the pitiful sight of him. He ran fingers lazily across his chest and abdomen.

“I get cranky when I'm hungry and you don't keep food in your room,” he explained, like it made it excusable to hurt him. “Guess I'll have to make do with what you can give me.”

To say he was shocked and mortified when a mouth swallowed his limp penis would be an understatement. Raikov sucked and licked and swallowed his length repeatedly until he was erect, until his orgasm filled a hungry mouth full. He ingested it all and wiped him clean with his tongue before licking his lips.

“Think you got another one in you?”

Adamska was reduced to whines and groans once again as the mouth insisted on being indulged. He didn't know how his body managed to function so well, but a couple minutes of his oral manipulations and he was hard and aching for release a second time. His dick spilled into the mouth shortly after, mind frayed.

A belabored sigh. “Now I'm aroused.”

Blue eyes peered in his, half-lidded and thick with lust. “Look what you do to me. I'm a wreck.”

“Can you...? Please...”

“Hm?”

“Be gentle this time, please...”

The lustful stare swelled to match his swelling organ. “Oh I will, kid. You know how to earn it?”

He didn't. He thought showing submission might do the trick so he shifted around to lie on his back proper on the bed. Adamska opened his legs wide, bending his knees upward to expose his opening and create the room for the space between his legs to be filled, and soon, his most private center. Baited, the image of a jaguar descending on an ocelot entered his head.

Invaded to the hilt in one quick thrust, Raikov draped over him, resting on top of his exhausted and sweat-slicked body. He moaned in discomfort, wriggling and trying to find a way it wouldn't be bad. A mouth puffed air into his cheek, taking a moment to enjoy how it felt to be in him no doubt. The inevitable speaking came.

“You love this.”

“You're-!”

His angered cuss was extinguished as he was kissed rough. The kissing became lenient, and he obediently participated, afraid if he didn't he'd be used as a piece of meat with no regard. They kissed lazily and tender. It was nice, a stark contrast to how he could be treated by the very same person.

He spent the rest of the torturous day doing his best to think of mission points and ideas. There were a few hours he slept when Raikov caved and abandoned him to locate food. A short time after waking him to try and teach him how to give oral sex, despite his tired protests to the contrary, the guy rushed out to seek a toilet. He smirked and fell to peaceful sleep.

Raikov did him a few more times into the afternoon and evening. During the time stuck in close proximity to his rapist, he tried to get him to talk about work, whether anything interesting crossed his desk ever. Adamska was shut down and told this wasn't a place for business, only pleasure.

Devastated all of this suffering could be for nothing, he called him an exploiting pervert. That earned him a punch so hard to his stomach he knew it would bruise. He doubled up and said he was a privileged brute who would never amount to anything.

Punched twice and kicked once for his tongue, Raikov threatened to tell everyone what a cock whore he was for him. Adamska laughed in his face, reminding the men didn't respect him, major or not.

Held to the floor, Raikov vowed he would make him pay for the insults.

“I haven't paid enough?”

The look was murderous. He didn't care. All he had to do to keep his cover and stay on mission left him out of patience now. Raikov wasn't going to tell him anything. Adamska knew there was a better chance to get him to spill by accident on the job, not here. He learned that much today.

“I should have you transferred.”

“Then you can't look at me, bastard. Bet you'll miss me.”

He lost his mind for real. What was he doing? At this rate, he would be transferred and the mission would fail and he let himself be abused twenty-four hours for nothing. False confidence flooded his faculties. It had to or he would collapse under the weight of this assignment, this life.

“I gave you what you demanded. Now we're done. I don't like you. You disgust me. You're callous and an offense to the Soviet Union. You treat people like trash. I will be civil for my commitment. We will work together fine. Go be shameful elsewhere. It is time for me to sleep so I may be prepared for duty tomorrow morning. Goodbye, Major Raikov.”

“Your allegiance requires checking, Captain Ocelot. Be cautious.” He sniffed following the warning, searching for his clothes and beginning to put them on. “I wish for a bath so I need to be going. As you said, we're on shift tomorrow. Farewell..boy.”

Adamska was shocked to witness the back of him and visibly released pent up aggression and rising fear. He didn't think his words would succeed in convincing the superior officer to leave him be. He sought his underwear immediately and put it on, wondering how to go to the facilities to clean up. He had a personal sink and toilet, but bathing was done in the officers facilities, where Raikov had just fucked off to. Not going there while he could be present.

He sat on the soiled sheets, careful not to sit too heavy on his throbbing ass. His whole body was sore and causing him discomfort. Adamska glanced at the bed and looked away to the window above. Sleep was unlikely to ever come easy in his own bed again.

EVA opened his door and slipped inside, startling him. She hurried to his side and gripped his chin to make him look her in the face. A few moments and she let go.

“How long has he forced himself on you?”

“It's consensual. We're secret lovers,” he lied. “I'm trying to manipulate him to gain information on the weapons lab.”

She shook her head and sat beside him. “It's not you. I know he attacked you for it. You've never and him...”

Adamska sighed. “Two occasions. He drugged me the first time. The second, used blackmail. He claims there's talk of transferring me. I believe it.”

“Damn. This? And now a transfer? We're running out of time.”

He flinched when she put hands on his body. He made himself relax as she was checking his injuries. EVA stood mid-exam and entered his small bathroom, returning with a basin full of water and towels.

“Lie down.”

He did. She told him she was removing his underwear and removed them, not blinking at the sight of his nude form. Right, she underwent seduction training which probably involved a lot of invasive shit. Besides, she'd been an agent longer than him too. The water was warm. He cried softly at her care while tenderly bathing him slow and gentle. She was soothing him in addition to cleaning Raikov's mess away.

She rotated him to his side and started in on his butt and insides, broadcasting what she would do before doing it and awaiting verbal confirmation he heard. EVA scooped copious amounts of semen out. It would be mortifying, but he was exhausted. As soon as this procedure began, she began a conversation.

“In situations of blackmail, you must never let the situation get out of hand. Find something on them to dissuade their belief blackmail will be effective. Showing weakness is understandable, but dangerous. No more so than overconfidence. If anyone has power over you that you cannot change, elimination or your own exit may be the next step.”

“I won't give up.”

“You don't have to.”

“You think I can't do this. You think I'll be victimized because of my age. I had no choice to have this life. I can choose how it ends up though. I have to control my end. And I will control this mission to our favor.”

Her fingers curled in him a final time and withdrew, soft damp towel patting the crevice and rear. She rolled him to his back and turned away to wash her hands in the water. When she looked back at him, her eyes were filled with tears, several having fallen down her cheeks, but her gaze was hardened.

“Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov is a known sadist. The second he loses Volgin's protection he will be imprisoned and disgraced. Until that day comes, watch your step around him. Don't let him do this to you again.”

Adamska sat up and moved to sit cross legged in her direction. “I said some things to make him leave. If he dares come near me in that way again, I won't make it easy. I think he wants easy prey. He'll learn I'm not.”

She smiled. “No, you're not easy. Anyone who thinks that is a fool.”

The smile dropped. EVA walked to the bathroom with the towels and basin. She got him standing and ripped the sheets off, finding the spare set in the closet. He watched her remake his bed.

EVA was changing out the pillowcase when she announced, “I will stay here tonight. It's not for discussion. Sleep. No one will bother you.”

He thanked her and laid in the bed without a fuss. Too tired to let his new hatred of the bed plague his waking thoughts, he grew sleepy fast. She climbed in on the other side of the single bed with her back to him, likely careful to maintain boundaries for his comfort. He thought he might dream, but he didn't.

Chapter Text

Four days later, EVA was dead. Some things he learned thus far in his mission: He hated EVA, he hated sex, and he hated his life.

His handlers' version of events in the report was that she died in an effort to prove her worth to the mission. Adamska knew she tried to protect him and finish the task of gaining possession of the Philosophers' Legacy. If they should hold the Legacy, at least one of them would potentially be extracted to deliver it. EVA was trying to get him out the way he wanted, with success, and now she was gone.

He didn't know she was going to sneak into the West Wing. She successfully drugged the guards with a tranquilizer gun and was inside the area with the secret project. She probably identified it and got evidence of it by how much rage Colonel Volgin held. But a scientist spotted her and sounded the alarm, soldiers came, a firefight ensued, and she was killed.

Adamska heard the guards she put to sleep ended up dead. Volgin tortured them for their failure and accidentally went too far. In an officers' meeting, he expressed regret he couldn't torture her. He hated spies and would have relished in the opportunity. It was the one moment he felt grateful she died before that could happen.

Her attempt to help him put him in a bad position. There was tension among everyone because of a spy being among them. Many meetings were held. He felt anxious and paranoid he would be discovered. It didn't even feel good to learn Major Raikov was Colonel Volgin's lover now and he'd hopefully work free of harassment.

EVA died on him. She left him alone. What was he supposed to do now?

March 1963

“You carry so much pain for yourself, yet you weep for another.”

Adamska jumped, staggering away from the tree he was leaning on and peering up to the sky turning dark. A thin rain began, pouring down, and the tree coverage allowed him to remain mostly dry despite the change in weather.

If this spirit was going to keep showing, he really needed to hide his surprise better. He turned around to find the man standing just beyond the tree he'd been curled into for hiding, comfort, whatever he thought he might get. It didn't matter. Did anything?

“Oh, sad man. Hello.”

He wiped quickly at the tears staining his face, hoping he would think it was rain. The guy could sense things and was probably wiser though, like him. The man must have had a gift in life to connect with people, living or dead.

“You lost someone important to you.”

He played dumb. “Huh?”

“You lost a friend.”

Eight weeks since EVA was discovered and killed. He wondered if he was making a wrong assumption this man lingered only in the forest. He knew an awful lot about current events for a guy who should be past caring.

“How can you know?”

“You know better than most. The dead are not silent.”

He peered around, searching.

“She is not here. She has moved on.”

His shoulders slumped. Well of course she had. Who would want to stay in this place any longer than they had to?

“Let's sit.”

Wide-eyed, he followed the lead of the dead man, barely solid to his eyes. He found a large stone and sat down. Was he concentrating and making sure he didn't disappear into the rock? Adamska joined him slow and uncertain. This was weird. He truly hoped his mind hadn't cracked.

“She wanted to prove her worth. You were good at your job and she wished to contribute too. She wanted to protect you from what the KGB wants of you concerning Colonel Volgin. She saw what Major Raikov did to you and feared it would happen again. So she stopped it. All of these things led her to her fate. Our choices bring us to our end.”

This stranger held more insight into the woman who was his partner in this spy game than he did. It seemed unfair. He filled with bitterness.

“She exposed there was a spy and got herself killed. That's what she did. If she wanted to help me, she can't anymore. So where's the sense in her actions? It-”

“Is irrational? Love often is. She looked after you like a mother might her son.”

“It- I... People are wondering if there might be another spy. There's tension everywhere.”

“The major...?”

He looked hard at the man, wondering why he was so interested in any of this.

“Raikov and the colonel are a thing now, lovers. It's technically a secret, but there isn't anyone who doesn't know about it. Raikov acts with more impunity than ever before, and the colonel is more often found in a pleasant mood.”

“You...?”

Was he...? Did he know? How?! EVA? His ability as an apparition? He could be reading into things too much, mishearing his tone. He raised his knees up onto the rock and buried his face in his arms. He'd pretend he didn't hear him. Make him go away.

Silence. Whole minutes went by.

“Are you safe?”

There was a strong and resolute quality to his question that made him feel he owed an answer.

“Since the day EVA caught him leaving my room. They're busy with each other. I'm alone.”

He meant it with double meaning. He didn't have to fear being forced into sex again, or so he desperately hoped each night before trying to fall asleep in that bed. Two months later, he remained on edge often and was learning how to hide it. In that regard, alone was great. EVA dead, leaving him to continue the mission alone, the opposite of great. He was truly alone and on his own now. This was a dangerous place to be.

“You will find someone to trust and love one day.”

“I'll be alone. It's safer that way.”

“Is it?”

He didn't answer. They sat there in silence a very long time. Eventually, he had to return to the compound for duties and asked him whether he would see him again.

“You can find me here,” he replied, indicating the forest, and vanished from sight.

The sad man was waiting for him on the rock when he arrived two days later. A light rain started to descend as he reached the treeline.

“Filled with sadness. Discover what will bring you joy.”

He laughed bitterly. “In this place?”

Sitting beside the spirit, he glanced toward him. “Everybody is still tense, but I guess they're not thinking there is another spy. We had a meeting with the officers, with Volgin. Thanks to EVA, I'm under even less suspicion. I wish she hadn't done something so reckless, but she did help me in her final moments, her final choice.”

The agent really was lonely if he was confiding in a ghost. It didn't make him as self-conscious or ashamed as he thought it might. It was nice talking to the man. He didn't have to worry about hidden agendas, at least he hoped not.

In the spirit's presence he could be himself and feel reassured. The mission was difficult for him to focus on after everything that happened. First to him, then to EVA. He refused to admit he wasn't doing so well. His confidence and beliefs were marred by circumstance, and he didn't know how to regain devotion and clarity.

“You removed the radio from her quarters?”

He arched an eyebrow. How would he know something like that? Who was this guy? Former military. Perhaps a former spy. Definitely some kind of agent or other expert. Speculation would tell him nothing.

“Of course. A final act should be something special. Something that means something. I put in my report her actions and resulting death did mean something. I painted it in a positive light to my handlers. They don't need to know how she reacted with emotion; how years of undercover work had been getting to her.”

“Hm... I agree.”

Adamska turned to him, curious of something. “What's your name?”

“The names of the dead are often forgotten...”

Er... Did this mean he wasn't giving his name?

“Let me show you my fate.”

“What? You don't have to do that.”

“This way...”

He was floating off into the forest. Adamska clambered to his feet and trailed him through the trees and bushes. Occasionally having to go around an area while the spirit soared straight, he fell behind, but the man always reappeared somewhere he could see him.

The destination was an area with cliffs. A skeleton lay crumpled in the rocks. His eyes grew big realizing this was the man's body. He looked to the spirit hovering in the air.

“This is you?”

A nod, the sad smile fixed to his face. “Shut your eyes. I desire to show you my fate.”

Respectfully, he closed his eyes and something icy cold touched him. It felt like it was traveling through his skull. Shivering, he wiggled in slight discomfort, and then his eyes opened.

Their surroundings seemed murky, hazy and unclear somewhat. It was suddenly much darker than it had been before. The rain came down steadily, thick sheets. His ghost rose higher into the air.

He looked up, watching as the sad man removed his hood and slicker, revealing those peculiar eyes. Adamska gasped when a gunshot rang out, left eyepiece shattering in his glasses. A trail of blood leaked from his eye and along his face. He reminded himself the guy was already dead and calmed.

His eyes closed, feeling weighted by an invisible force. There were noises, people moving about. The voices entered his head. It wasn't like he was where the people were, it was like they were somehow inside his mind.

“Boss, you have to shoot me!”

It was the sad man speaking.

A choked, emotional voice responded, “I can't!”

“Shoot me!”

Silence from the other person, a woman.

“You want to finish your mission, don't you?”

Silence.

“Then... You'll have to shoot me,” he told her, sounding grave.

The woman let out an anguished noise and Adamska could hear a firearm pulled out of a holster. She seemed to have feelings for this man. He gathered the distinct impression of family welling in his chest.

“The spirit of the warrior..will always be with you.”

Reassurance from a man about to die. He was probably smiling that same smile he always wore.

“Don't be sad...”

What kind of will power was this? He wished to have such a strength the day he faced his own death. Still... Adamska pondered if the man knew how difficult it must be to kill someone you care about, and have to live on. Surely he recognized it could damage her as much as it damaged him. The pain would just be harder to see, buried in a living, breathing individual.

“We'll meet again..someday.”

A gunshot and he burst upright, finding himself lying on the grass. He looked around until he spotted the man hovering lower, watching him. His throat suddenly felt very dry and he swallowed several times to moisten his mouth.

“That was..different.”

He glanced about. The area appeared brighter again, rain still coming down hard, but the mist had gone. Or had he gone away someplace else?

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” He stood up, filled with confusion and questions as the emotions that were not his own dissipated. “Why did you tell that woman to kill you? She was your boss? It was her mission to kill you, is that right? Why did you let her? It sounded like maybe you were friends. I..don't understand it.”

“Questions which have no meaning to the dead.”

He glowered at the vagueness. “Well I'm not dead.”

“No, you are not.”

Groaning, he squashed his mounting frustration and tried to think of the other instead. He waved an arm in the direction of the slumped corpse. The man shifted to float the opposite way, peering at it too.

“I should bury you, yeah?”

The man turned back quickly. “No.”

“But, uh, don't you want to..you know, rest?”

“Leave my body there, Adamska. It allows me to remain as I am. I'll rest when I'm ready. For now, I have purpose.”

A frown creased his forehead. “Out here? What could that be?”

Wait. Did he give him his name? Well, mind-reading of some sort. Guy clearly had powers outside the average person. To know about EVA, could have been her becoming a spirit, could also have been that extra sense. Explained why he was often waxing poetical on sorrow and life. He saw things uniquely, and he had plenty of time to think them through as a dead man.

“Captain?” a voice yelled.

He swore under his breath. What time was it? He wasn't meant to be out here long.

A new voice joined the earlier one. “Are you out here, captain?”

Right. He was supposed to be on duty. He came to the forest for a break, never intending to go on a trip far into the wilderness. Adamska scanned the trees but didn't see any of the soldiers yet.

“I have to go.”

The man waved goodbye and vanished. Would they meet again?

April 1963

Things gradually returned to business as usual. It took three months. They officially concluded the spy was working by herself. She had main access to the medical ward and not much else. Her attempt to sneak into the West Wing reeked of desperation and foolishness. No one outside the fortress gained intelligence from her. They had from him, but nobody knew that.

What was abnormal was Raikov's freedoms. Now that he was the colonel's favorite nighttime lover, the bastard got treatment like a colonel. His duty was patrolling the East Wing of the weapons lab, and he was often seen sleeping on the job or stealing employees' food. When an alarm would sound, by accident or during a drill, he was always caught hiding in the bathroom. His primary mild-manner and quiet nature while on duty did nothing to reassure those under his authority. The major didn't know the meaning of personal space, grabbing crotches if the mood struck, making inappropriate comments if he thought a man pretty, or hitting soldiers for no apparent reason.

He pitied the men forced to serve under him, but had to admit relief his days of sexual assault from Raikov were behind him. Adamska was interested in the access to the West Wing the major gained. He had been in there. He would know what was inside or intended to be built inside. The agent could use their relationship to get information.

He put his cover identity in overdrive in the wake of EVA's death and his depression did have a positive effect on him. Struggling to like things in life, becoming extra theatrical to disappear behind the theater of his role, kept the loneliness at bay. He allowed pride in the abilities he had, worked to master as many as possible, and remained eager to learn and improve in order to be impressive.

“Nice shooting, Petrov,” he complimented, shifting to the man next to him who was doing less phenomenal. “Ivanov, watch how you're bending into the aim.”

The man clueless somehow, Adamska grinned and spread his arms wide. “Don't, soldier, got it?”

“Yes, captain.”

He surveyed the bright skies. No visitor today. It was a little disappointing. His arms spread again, showing off to the soldiers practicing on the range as he started in on a spiel geared toward finding the target in rougher terrain.

May 1963

He shivered. It seemed to rain at the strangest of times, when there previously wasn't a trace of cloud in the sky. He wandered the airfield, monitoring security was tight and guards were appropriately alert. Ever since the weapon Volgin was so secretive about was planned for construction, it was top priority to secure their borders.

They had no idea an ocelot already slipped within their ranks.

The man in the rain slicker was standing behind a tank when he turned the corner, on his way back toward the compound. He was watching several people discussing together, beneath an extended roof granting them shelter from the elements. The colonel was among them. Raikov was there as well, but he dismissed himself with a salute and disappeared inside the building through a side door. Wouldn't want to let the humidity frizz his silky soft hair.

He pushed his resentment and discontentment from conscious thought.

“Sad man, what are you doing here?”

They were far enough away; he could speak freely to the spirit.

“I come, I go.”

Oookay.

“I'm gaining ground on my part. There's a scientist essential to the project Volgin intends to get his hands on. He tried to defect to the U.S. Didn't end up pulling it off. He'll put me in charge of retrieving him when the time comes, I'm certain.”

The ghost was silent, stare on the colonel and the men chattering.

“Our faction and the KGB are at odds with claiming the guy. Supposed to be some kind of weapons genius. Created a game-changing weapon schematic. With Khrushchev's support waning further, things are going to escalate in the coming years. This mission no doubt has an end date.”

“You trust me.” His tone was one of pleasant surprise.

Adamska gave a single shoulder shrug. “Yeah. I do. Don't let me down.”

He said it jokingly, but he would be crushed if his trust was betrayed. Someone who managed to make him feel okay, who could calm him, was needed. Colonel Volgin's gaze traveled across the distance to him. He looked away, loosening his military stance and thinking he should walk away.

“I'm sorry.”

No idea what that meant. His only friend, not even ranked among the living, vanished in a flash. The sad man seemed to almost exclusively bring the rain in these parts, and with his departure, precipitation started to slow. Huh. That was powerful spiritual activity.

Chapter Text

June 1963

The schedule was thrown off by an impromptu request for his presence in Colonel Volgin's office. He was told his orders were to come right away, so he was stuck in his tank top, shorts, and gym shoes. Adamska was about to begin a workout in the gym when the soldiers came to usher him there.

Stepping inside the office, he halted at the door to salute. The higher officer returned the salute and sat down behind the desk, gesturing for him to be seated in the chair on the other side. He strolled to it and sat, but his attention went to the guards, who dismissed themselves for the evening sounding like they were following prior orders to do so. They departed with his pair of escorts, leaving the door shut behind them.

Adamska looked at the colonel. “I apologize for my dress, sir. I was told this couldn't wait.”

He was hoping to be told the reason. He was not. The older man glanced at the door, then leaned back in his chair, scanning him over.

“You've been a part of our cause for almost three years. You excel in most anything you do, seek ways to improve, and seem capable to lead. You're fitting in nicely here. Do you agree?”

“I do, sir.”

Volgin studied him a moment. “You are nineteen now.”

He frowned a little. “Yes. Two weeks ago.”

“What type of partner do you look for? Do you have preference for females? Males? I, myself, favor the finer specimen of both sexes.”

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. What kind of talk was this? He decided to be frank.

“I don't know, sir. Never been attracted to someone yet.”

The colonel chuckled. “Sometimes a person is an acquired taste. Not someone like you. Any interest in becoming my lover?”

So direct, so horrifying. Taken completely off guard, he shook his head a couple times. The man kept staring at him with this penetrating gaze. He remembered himself and straightened, facing him head on.

“No thank you, Colonel Volgin. You already have a lover.”

He said it snippy, like the other man might require reminding. The corner of his mouth upturned at the attitude. Adamska relaxed only when his superior officer waved a gloved hand as if to dismiss his comment and spoke on a different topic.

“I rely on you, Ocelot, I trust you've noticed.” His eyes started trailing across him below the neck. “I consider you my second in command should the need arise, and you are my most worthy soldier.”

Happy to hear such praise, he smiled softly. “Thank you, sir. I won't disappoint.”

This was fantastic news. To be trusted to that extent by his commander could only grant him more access. Important things were commonly left to him in the fortress. He bided his time long enough, he could earn access to the highly restricted West Wing.

“You came to me at sixteen, placed in my custody as a minor. I supervised your growth from afar, raising you proper. Your status as defector grants me custodial power until you turn twenty-one. A five year period. A young man's prime formative years. You are doing well, Ocelot.”

He nodded formal, wondering on why all the commendations. “Thank you, colonel.”

Volgin smiled, resting his elbows on the desk's surface, contemplating him above the neck, gratefully.

“I thought you would be too difficult when you initially arrived. Your former connections could make you troublesome, not worth the headache. It was an assurance after you separated from the Philosophers. And how you've grown.”

The sinking feeling was returning. He forced not to look toward the exit. He feigned a relaxed demeanor.

“Two years before you might strike out on your own, should the urge appeal to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Where was this going? Please don't go where he suspected it would. Please. It was not a discussion he wished to engage in.

“Ivan had quite the infatuation. He's spoken about you in the past. Refuses to give details. He did say he was the one to have your virginity, in every sense of the word. You like a big cock? Like it rough? I'm that kind of lover, amplified by a hundred.”

Adamska wished he had his gun to shut this guy up. He would have to use his words.

“I'd guess you end up fucking corpses more times than not, what with all the voltage,” he mocked.

Volgin was not amused. He recalled their respective ranks and stiffened, losing the scorn. He overstepped and knew he was but said it anyway. Stupid.

“I'm sorry, Colonel Volgin. That was inappropriate.”

He'd become meek, and the colonel decided to laugh it off. He wished he could say he was pretending. At least he hadn't done harm to the positive way he was seen by the commander.

“You're young, captain. We can let that one slide.”

Volgin stood and walked past the desk to the door. “The higher command has seen fit to give you your own unit. You will be personally responsible for their training and prepare them for tactical missions.”

The lock turned. The man turned afterward, moving to the other side of the room to remove his uniform. He wore his short-sleeved full body rubber suit beneath to protect him from when he utilized maximum power. Adamska eyed him, measuring the distance to the exit. He was hyper-aware of what he was doing and barely registered the news of earning unit command.

“They will be an elite unit. It's enormous confidence being put in your hands. Understood?”

His eyes tracked him strolling back to the door. “Understood, colonel.”

He dragged a heavy shelf in front of the door, completely blocking access or view to the outside. He got up from the chair, uneasy and trying not to panic. Volgin swung around and began tugging off his large gloves, looking at him.

“I wish to see you as you are. Remove those clothes.”

Adamska glared, offended. “No, sir. I will decline.”

“Show me.”

He crossed his arms, solidifying his opposition to the request. Why did he apologize for an inappropriate comment? This was ridiculous behavior.

The colonel finished reaching his abandoned coat and deposited the gloves near it. He unzipped his rubber suit, exposing big tight muscles to match his large, imposing figure. There was a lot of scar tissue, thick and jagged lines on his whole body. It was as messed up as his face.

He tried not to stare, then it was easy not to stare when the man exposed himself. He was as huge as one would imagine someone of his size would be. Eyes averted to the doorway where he wished he could flee far from here.

“Your turn.”

“Colonel Volgin, I must protest-!”

The guy could be quick on his feet if he wanted to be. Adamska struggled to avoid the hands grasping for him. They got hold of his tank top and tore it. The powerful hands shoved him backward and his gym clothes stretched before tearing from his body. Nude, he faltered, and Volgin gave him space.

“Breathtaking, as I imagined.”

Horribly self-conscious, he covered his privates, standing awkward. He hardened some of the softness with the passage of time and training, however, he wasn't going to like being naked in front of his superior officer. His body would never be one to bulk up like Volgin. He relied on cunning and skill to achieve his victories. Base acts left him..perplexed.

“I know you only let Ivan touch you because he left you no choice,” Volgin shared, coming near. “It would be a shame should you be transferred.”

The blatant ultimatum paralyzed him. The mission. He was getting somewhere, getting more privilege, feeling like he was belonging with a purpose. How did he miss the signs of possessive lust coming his way? Had he gotten too comfortable?

“You can deny me. It's your choice,” the colonel told him, setting hands on his shoulders and peering down at him. “I strongly recommend refraining from defiance right now.”

Unable to encourage himself to action, to any type of response, he was guided to the desk near the chair where he was sitting before. The man moved away, clearing his desk of everything and dumping the contents on a table off to the side. He opened a desk drawer and removed an item. Behind him again, the larger man enveloped him with his body and turned them to the desk, bending them together at the waist. He felt so small in comparison to the hulking commander holding him.

Cold fingers pressed into his asshole slick with lube. One big hand was resting on his wrists, keeping them there should he shift. He was still frozen to the spot.

He was confused how they got here. He was horrified his nightmare of Volgin taking advantage and doing this was coming true. The fingers worked fast, careless, and not nearly enough to prepare the opening. The massive cock speared him open and might as well have been a knife stabbing inward.

Adamska couldn't seem to breathe. He chucked his head forward and buried his mouth in between his wrists. The thickness withdrew almost entirely to try prying in again with more force, and he screamed into the outside of his hands. Volgin flattened him farther onto the desk, lying heavier against him while he rutted inside deeper and deeper. His hand abandoned Adamska's arms to wrap the limb around his chest, holding them how they were.

The other hand burned heated on his hip. They were so close. This was so wrong. When he tried to raise up, a shock of electricity jolted him out of the notion. He clamped down on his arm to stifle the cries of agony.

Volgin fucked him a while, room silent save for the sickest of noises. Shooting pain with every thrust prevented him from holding anything but total awareness. Sweat formed and combined on the two of them, bodies sticking together even more. He thought he might vomit at the satiated moans emerging above his head.

Cum spurted into him without warning and he groaned discomfort, trying to free the back of his hair from the muscular chest. Distance was only gained because the older man separated them, working to tug his flagging erection out of him. After it slipped out, a decent flow of blood leaked out with it. He whimpered and Volgin swore.

“Ah, no matter.”

The colonel grabbed his arm and pulled him along to the opposite side of the desk. He sat in the chair and yanked Adamska close, beginning to stroke his penis. A thought to pull away and he must have partially followed through because suddenly a shock jarred him to stay put. It hurt greatly and he was fairly sure this was Volgin's idea of gentle.

His eyes widened at the sight of the growing erection. Twice Raikov's surprising length and girth. He couldn't believe that was in his ass a couple minutes ago. He glanced down at the blood soaking his inner thighs.

“Prove your loyalty. Come on.”

He wanted him to climb onto his lap. He didn't listen. His body was shaking. He worried his legs might give out on him and he was absolutely terrified.

“Your situation is precarious. Obey your colonel or pay the consequences.”

Adamska was cornered, lacking choice. He was traumatized and fighting the shock working to take hold. When Volgin leaned forward and brought him against his side, he didn't struggle. Numbly, he helped the man set him in his lap. He had to kneel on the muscular thighs, avoiding the pulsating organ which was too close.

There wasn't much point to it. He was coaxed into lubricating the penis with his own spit put in his hand and rubbed on it. His eyes wandered while he did so, not wanting to look at it, wondering what happened to the lubricant used the first time. He used as much saliva as he could muster and let his hand drop to grip the man's shoulder while the other hand held tight on the opposite side.

Volgin helped him impale on the cock, a whine escaping at the intense pain it was causing going in. About halfway on the penis he was ordered to move up and down. It hurt so bad he couldn't move even the slightest, let alone be capable of obeying the command. The older man's solution was to bodily do it for him by lifting and easing him back down repetitively.

Eventually he started repeating the motion on his own. He wasn't aware if it was an automatic response or if he was desperately struggling to gain back control of his body. Maybe it was both. On one of the drops down, he sank all the way onto the length, seating in his lap. Bursts of pain dotted his vision. He nearly blacked out.

“Ocelot!” he gasped, euphoric.

Tears streamed from his eyes. Volgin shifted the big hands from his waist to his buttocks and moved them, rubbing and rotating erotic and grotesque. When he was done with that, he settled back and told him to move.

Adamska fell forward, resting his face in the crook of the colonel's neck. His arms wrapped tight to keep from screaming or sobbing, he began mimicking the up and down motion he knew was desired. The hands on his butt did part of the effort with each attempt to fuck himself. It hurt really bad. He did the best he could.

An agonizing amount of time passed, followed by fresh pain when electricity shot through him with Volgin's climax. He cried, waiting for the ejaculate to cease. The sick bastard aimed to do it when he came to cause pain.

Gratified, the colonel sat there letting him lie on top, limp and mute. His dick was still in him all the way. That size he could not avoid awareness of the feel, the fullness. He likened it to a pole jammed in his ass and he would have laughed out loud if he didn't think it would increase the major discomfort.

“You're special, kid.”

Ugh, why was he talking?

“A prodigy. Someone raised from birth to excel and be vital to our future.”

If this guy only knew. The Philosophers were behind his engineering, and they wanted the Legacy. They would get it. Adamska would make certain he was successful. After that, he could imagine the possibilities of where his life would go. His hope was this success would provide him freedom to choose his own future. Should it not, he could always disappear and create the future himself.

“I wanted you like this since you stepped on base. You were too young for my tastes, so I waited. You grew into a pleasing man.”

He whimpered, the cock growing and thickening, pulsing deep in him.

“How I ached..was set aside for important work. I gained a beautiful lover. I care for him. But you... You're on another level. I had to have you.”

Volgin lifted him in his arms as he stood, erection moving while he moved them. Adamska flopped weakly on the surface of the desk, the older man spreading his legs wider, leaning over him. He fisted his penis for a few seconds but it proved unresponsive. Growling, he ignored his lack of receptiveness and began rocking into him.

“Ocelot, you're a beautiful creature.” He rammed in hard. “My pet.”

Adamska hollered, wishing he would stop. The pace sped up, a violent pounding stealing air and leaving him gasping and clawing at the muscular arms. Volgin's weight maintained his position on the desk, fists bracketing his head. He couldn't look away. Too close, too close.

A palm settled on his breast and shocked him. It happened again. The brutal banging refused to end. A particularly enduring shock tore choked screams from his throat. Volgin cupped his testicles and used the power, reached up to his stomach and electrified his whole body. He convulsed, quivering powerlessly.

He plunged in and out, sent a surge of electricity inside, paused and resumed. The thrusts were unrelenting and giving painful jabs deep. Adamska howled on a sloppy, rough jerk of the dick and Volgin slapped him across the face. Startled, the man leered down and gripped his throat, squeezing vicious.

The colonel flattened him to the desktop, hovering above his lips. A bruising kiss and the hand finally quit crushing his neck. He groaned, teeth biting his lip and trailing lower to bite his chin and throat. Grunting his way into a second orgasm, the massive weight fell on top of him.

Silence for several minutes. He was in pain. It was stiflingly hot and there were layers of sweat sticky and wet. Volgin drew up his weight and examined their joined parts. He shoved his knees upward, putting his feet on the desk. Three fingers pried in alongside his softened penis. He whined protest and a backhand smacked his head to the hard surface.

“Why don't you get erect?”

“Go fuck yourself,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

Silence. The fingers pulled out. He wanted to go numb, just stop feeling. It hurt... A soft hum made him open his eyes out of self-preservation curiosity.

His eyes shone, grin malicious. “I'll fuck you.”

Volgin screwed him savagely. It was excruciating and he suffered through every angle he was positioned, every speed or random punch. Sporadic jolts brought a squeal past his lips and a laugh from his tormentor. This twisted man was probably living his fantasies. He was caged in the office, living his nightmares.

At a certain point he couldn't generate sounds. That wasn't good. He'd been feeling drained and fading energy for some time. The electric power prevented unconsciousness, the dull pain was now worrying.

Adamska would be pissed if after all of this, he failed his mission and died. EVA would be dead for nothing. But here he was allied with monsters for cover, who were preying on his vulnerability. This was a bad place.

“Beautiful boy.”

He laughed hysterical, coughing and then gagging. Volgin turned him and continued untamed assault against the wall in which he was presently pinned. It was unclear when that happened. He went horizontal to vertical. His vision spotted. Somebody help me!

A moan in his ear. “Kitten.”

The colonel shifted and he felt the top of his chin rest on his head. “What a celebration this is. When word came down about your promotion, I knew just how we would celebrate.”

He was dropped. Kicked to his back, a heavy, hot body covered his own. It felt like he was burning. He couldn't think straight. Was he dying?

“Congratulations, Ocelot,” a smiling mouth uttered into his cheek. “You've been promoted to major.”

Chapter Text

July 11, 1963

Justice was more often a myth perpetuated to comfort lives of interminable suffering than a tangible thing. People spent their lives searching for reasons and meaning in which there existed no perfect answer. Everyone one day would have to accept their lives were empty of meaning. The reasons they created to stay alive summarized the brief life afforded them. Every single person was doomed to be forgotten. Such was the massive scale of the universe.

Adamska opened his eyes to the sight of the duty nurse assigned to his exclusive care. She avoided his face but took one of his hands into her own. It was conflicting. Her job and training prepared her to showcase sympathy and professionalism. The reality was she didn't want to get involved when it came to the base commander's leftovers.

“Are you ready to eat by yourself today? Think you can do it?”

He stared and uttered coldly, “I think I can manage that.”

His tone was belittling and uncalled for, but his ass still pained him and the entirety of his body dreadfully sore. He knew he must look terrible and tried not to be conscious of it. The sick bastard put him in a coma for two weeks. It had been one week since he was told that jarring fact. Now he was intending to get himself released the following day.

The nurse departed to bring his lunch. He laid back tiredly. He didn't mean to drift off but he must have. When he blinked awake it was to the sound of the lunch tray set on the bed rails. It wasn't his nurse delivering the soup and beverage. He narrowed his eyes at the man who should technically be his equal in rank, yet rated higher than him simply because he selected the precise lover that granted perks.

“You look awful, Ocelot.”

“That's Major Ocelot, and don't you forget it.”

Raikov smirked, watching him struggle to sit upright and leaning forward with his cheek resting on a loose fist. “Adjusting to your new rank nicely, are you?”

“I earned it with legitimacy, unlike you,” he pointed out, fine with the pettiness.

The other removed his hat and placed it on the bedside table. “You must be hungry.”

He balked, realizing the guy intended to feed him. “I have to prove I can do it myself or they won't discharge me.”

The spoon persisted toward his lips. “I have final authority on whether you're released tomorrow morning or stay an additional week. Now open.”

His surly expression remained as he opened his mouth to receive the spoon. He swallowed the contents and waited for the action to repeat. Four times this occurred in silence, and just when his face was lightening, Raikov had to open his mouth and spoil the fraction of contentment.

“Pride. This is the fault you have. You would accomplish easier if you relaxed a little.”

So many things he wanted to say to that. He wasn't a total fool. Hard work and dedication brought him the rank of major and put him in the colonel's good graces. It was..Volgin's less public willingness to give in to unsavory compulsions which made the ascent to his current status difficult.

“You're wrong,” was all he said.

The spoon rose up and he received the sustenance. It was impossible to enjoy the merit of the soup in any other manner with his present company. He polished off the soup and was happy the chatter paused, even if an end to it was inevitable.

“You hide. It's appealing.”

“Wish it wasn't.”

“You're beautiful too.”

Adamska thought about how he froze and submitted to the colonel's desires. He was utterly defeated. The man threatened transfer and his well-being in actions and words. He made him feel the only choice was yielding and his fear stole the ability to think straight.

Once he could start thinking intelligent, he comprehended Colonel Volgin wouldn't transfer him. The colonel said as much when he reminded of his status in his custody, and he couldn't be pressured into sex should he be transferred elsewhere. But he made sex seen as compulsory. His opportunity to deter the man's impulses came and went. It was too late.

“Did you need something? Or just here to brag how much better you look than me right now?”

The spoon dropped in the bowl. He took the cup into his hand and Adamska risked snatching it from him. Raikov let him, watching him take a drink of his own volition. A simpering face greeted him as he put the cup down and he cringed, sensing a giggle was a moment away. He glowered at what was impending.

“Did he make you peak?”

“Get out,” he snarled.

He shook his head in mock pity. “A selfish fuck. He's an avid admirer. You should have said yes to his offer.”

“Fuck off!”

The major gripped him by the gown, tugged him close, and kissed his forehead. “Goodbye, Ocelot!”

Adamska threw his spoon after him. He threw the bowl blindly at the wall next. He hated this. The agent had to prove himself. He wasn't endangered. He wasn't compromised. He could do his duty. Things were fine.

The following morning, he was released on modified duty entailing a desk job and paperwork. Everyone saw his appearance and gave the exact same reaction. They winced and looked straight ahead. If they needed to speak to him, they stared at his chin or a spot beyond his shoulder. The only time they were forced to look directly at him was during the salute, and their eyes went blank at that moment so as not to really see him. His mood soured as the days ticked by and the behavior continued.

Resentful, he started declaring at random intervals he was Major Ocelot, whenever the opportunity presented. He didn't want pity, or sympathy, or anything done for him. But turning a blind eye that a bad thing happened to him at all was one step too callous. They were his comrades. Pretending nothing was wrong made it feel impossible to try getting past the horrifying night. He struggled to feel he had power and meaning.

The official report emerged and he was indignant. Adamska never confessed what happened, knowing he could not tell the truth. But the medical staff had to be aware based on his injuries. A telltale limp and visible electrical burns informed anyone with eyeballs the who and the what. Not a single sign of concern or care from anybody. No one was going to confront or stand up to Volgin; they'd die. Official report read it was a training accident and not a soul questioned its accuracy or authenticity. It wounded.

An act of rebellion, the only one he could think to do, was wearing the incorrect insignia. He maintained his captain insignia, despite reaching major rank. It was stupid. It didn't have meaning. But he controlled it, and nobody asked him to fix it, not even Colonel Volgin.

There was a factory office designated for desk work. It was common for people to grab quick rests during long shifts. A thin mattress with a blanket and pillow was set at the back of the room, boxed in on three sides by a wall and two desks. If the door was shut it meant someone was sleeping and not to disturb, otherwise the door would remain open around the clock. Adamska rarely took advantage of the office but sleep was reluctant to come these past nights in his bed. The rarity of his presence was how he knew Volgin must have been looking for him.

He was really tired to sleep through what he did. The much older man had his belt off and his uniform coat open. His hands were opening his pants and trying to lift him to drag the fabric down his hips when he opened his eyes. The room was badly lit but this close, he recognized his assailant and his assailant saw him alert.

“Shh... Don't resist.”

Adamska resisted, scrambling to push at the man's shoulders which wouldn't give. He switched to twist and crawl off the mattress but a heavy hand planted on his chest. His pants were clearing his ankles with him having removed his boots prior to resting, the pant fabric easy to shift, and Volgin hesitated to go for his underwear to grip the scarf around his neck.

“Gah!” he choked, Volgin wrenching the fabric just so to lessen his air supply.

“I won't prepare you if you don't cooperate.”

The colonel didn't wait for a response, releasing the scarf and drifting a hand to his waist. He looked at Adamska while removing his underwear. The other hand fumbled for something in a coat pocket. Not risking being seen as resisting, he tried to crawl backward to get away. The big man dragged a retreating ankle and arm and flipped him onto his stomach. Bastard was strong.

“Stop,” he demanded. “Stop this!”

Dry fingers jammed into his asshole to make a point. When he expectantly froze, Volgin leaned a forearm on his back to press him flat on the mattress and the fingers pulled out. The substance used to lubricate was applied to the same fingers before pressing in him again. He laid there whimpering and gasping, forced to accept what was happening.

Put on his back, the colonel laid heavy over him. A hand attempted to fist in his short hair and settled for cupping his skull. Big thighs raised his lower half up as they moved forward. The other arm wrapped around his shoulders, hugging him tight for a moment.

It still felt like Volgin pushed in too soon. That thick, huge girth stretched him painfully open, filling him impossibly deep. He moaned and whined, loathing the sounds of the old man grunting into the top of his head. The cock pumped in and out, slow and steady. He was panting for breath when it bottomed out inside him and he gave a yell.

“Such a fine man,” he murmured. “Kitten.”

After their bodies heated them up a bit more than tolerable, Volgin loosened his hold and supported himself on forearms. Adamska stayed still while the colonel patiently drew out but roughly thrust back in, consistent. He stared upward in a daze, wishing he wasn't so sensitive to every second and wishing for it to end.

When it did end, he closed his eyes at the disgusting feel. He wanted to die. No, he wanted to be anywhere else. He recoiled from the sweaty hand grasping his chin to turn his face forward. The spent penis tugged out and the man made a heavy thud as he settled on the floor beside the foot of the mattress.

“Well, that was refreshing.”

July 17, 1963

It took two days before he felt able to venture to the gym. He wasn't afraid of running into Volgin or Raikov because they were known for never going there. That amount of time was what it took to feel able and mobile enough to rehearse combat moves.

The first thing he noticed was he was alone. The hour was late so he wasn't surprised to see no staff present. He nearly jumped when Colonel Volgin emerged from the changing room and produced an exclamation upon seeing him. His right fist raised in front of himself as a form of greeting and invitation.

“Major! Perfect!”

Adamska stared at the man stepping onto the mat wearing identical gym clothes consisting of a tank top and shorts. He sparked electricity in a sort of teasing move and then banished it, smirking.

“I promise not to use it. Now come on. Show me what you can do.”

He told himself this was a superior officer testing his subordinate. It wouldn't go farther than that. This was an opportunity to prove his skills. After all, the unit he was to command would be here soon. He had reason to prove he was worthy of the honor.

Giving the colonel a nod, he went to stand at the center of the mat to square off with his opponent. He lifted his fists after Volgin did and they began circling, eye to eye. The larger man attacked sudden, closing the distance and swinging a fist. Adamska ducked and punched the arm out of the way. He threw a punch at his jaw.

The hit landed but didn't affect much. Volgin smiled and swung a leg around, the knee catching him in the side. He stumbled and hands dropped onto his shoulders, shoving him backward. A foot kicked him in the chest and he fell. Rolling sideways, he sprang up and moved into an attack right away.

His attack failed when his arm was grabbed and when he tried to counter with the other fist, that was grabbed too. Volgin yanked the limbs and when he tried to wrench them free, his momentum was used against him and a foot shot into his leg. He tumbled to the mat.

“Good thing you're a major. Your men serve to do the fighting for you.”

Glaring, he got up, assuming a generic fighting stance once more. “I can fight. I'm a soldier.”

“You're a leader to others now,” Colonel Volgin said. “However, with me, don't forget your place.”

Provoked, he attacked, landing a hit to the chest and ribs with either fist. The colonel absorbed the blows and faltered momentarily. He regained balance and threw a series of disjointed punches which he steered clear of. A knee came up and he dodged it but wasn't expecting the big man to twirl about completely. The subsequent kick knocked him almost clear off the mat. Adamska struggled to his feet and hands gripped the back of his neck and the arm he tried to use to loosen the grasp.

Flung to the center of the mat, he struggled to rise a second time and a foot planted on his backside.

“Victory is mine,” declared Volgin.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, ego bruised getting defeated.

His sour mood vanished when the foot left his spine and an entire body on top replaced it. He squirmed to climb out from under him and Volgin just crawled with and pushed him down. In shock, he contested his shorts and underwear sliding down his legs and screamed out helpless fury when he wasn't allowed escape.

Hands tugged his cheeks apart and wet fingers started digging inward. He slapped at the mat, straining to kick a leg at this raping bastard. A fist drove into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The fingers left his ass and returned wet again. Had to be saliva. There was a consistent burning pain while he worked the hole to be more pliable. The air came back and he hollered objection. Volgin punched him in the jaw and kept doing what he wanted to do.

Adamska laid there in stony silence, the colonel removing himself from his shorts and pushing in at the first opportunity. He flinched and cried out as pain flooded his system, but he did his best to hold in what noises he could. His superior fucked him on the practice mat, and he just glazed over, letting him have his way.

July 18, 1963

The colonel sent down the chain of command he wanted a certain room cleaned out and made ready for prisoners. It was to be a torture room, located near the cell area. Adamska was ordered to oversee the job and was irritated for two reasons. It seemed like a waste of time and he thought torture itself was a waste of time. Torture was cruel and vile. A clear-cut bad thing.

He would do his duty though, and monitored the soldiers to be quick and efficient. The task itself wasn't too arduous. Move some boxes so a room was empty, enable the ceiling to hold a decent amount of weight, and attach cords for a prisoner's wrists to be tied above their head. The men were fixing up the last part while he watched and his gaze caught sight of the lines of drains along the wall.

Gross. It was for ease of washing blood and other bodily fluids out of the room. He hoped this room wouldn't be used much.

“Excellent. You are dismissed.” He turned to look at the colonel strolling inside to stand by the spot a prisoner would go. “Not you, major. I need a word.”

The soldiers filed out and the two were left alone. He measured the distance to the exit, contemplating how terrible it would look if he fled the room. He internally sighed and held his position. The mission...

“Come here. I want to test out these restraints.”

“I'd rather not,” he told him bluntly.

The grin was worrying.

“You wanna make this more authentic, huh?”

Colonel Volgin approached and hit him just as he was realizing he was truly going to do it. He was better than Raikov at tempering his sadistic tendencies while on duty, channeling them into perceived enemies. To attack his major out of the blue was alarming and a new degree of brutality.

Slammed against the wall, Volgin systematically “helped” him out of his uniform, announcing it was for testing purposes. He began talking about a soldier who failed at keeping Granin in line and how he made the fool pay. He had some pent up frustrations to unleash because the guy went and died too quickly. Adamska was upset he didn't have the opportunity to hit the scum presently forcing him to the middle of the room.

Naked from the waist up, the air was cold on his bare skin. He felt even more vulnerable since his weapons had been stripped off him too. Volgin raised his arms over his head and tied them firmly with the black cord. He couldn't believe this was happening and was angry he hadn't been prepared for the possibility.

“Let's take a look at your body, shall we?”

Volgin groped and rubbed him while examining. He walked away to remove the heavy coat and returned to continue the inappropriate touching. A few test yanks on his arms and standing in front of him, the colonel opened his subordinate's belt and lowered his pants and underwear. This was so wrong. He examined Adamska's face a few moments and lowered his gaze to take in the rest of him as he circled to stand behind.

“You have a beautiful body. Like a newborn baby.” Volgin laughed at his own remark, probably because his body was horribly scarred in comparison. “I promise to keep it that way.”

Sounds behind him and although he flinched when fingers pried his buttcheeks apart, he was relieved to feel the cool substance of an actual lubricating agent. After getting forced open with spit-slicked fingers, the oils or gel or whatever used felt infinitely better. He had the urge to throw up having a casual thought on his own assault like that. What was this man doing to his psyche?

“I hope you'll prove more entertaining than he was.”

“Bastard.”

He could tell the colonel was smirking as he said, “You're a tough one.”

Silence. He didn't wish to inspire this man's violent attitude with what he was about to do to him. Hands gripped his hips, that thing pressed between the cheeks, pushing for entry.

“I am a patient man.”

Chapter Text

July 21, 1963

Khrushchev would be driven out of power. He was making the prediction right now. It might not happen today or tomorrow, but he had no confidence from the military and they were strong. Brezhnev was the inevitable replacement. He reflected on what would become of this country when a new government solidified.

Behind the scenes drama afforded additional time for him. The KGB and CIA coveted the Legacy, but they had other concerns to contend with as well. The cold war wouldn't end in coming days. Tensions and differing philosophies divided the two world powers. He wondered if obtaining the Philosophers' Legacy would even change anything. It was the hope, but he was becoming disillusioned with his masters.

Adamska started frowning, feeling something was off. He felt he wasn't alone in the hall. It wasn't the soldier walking ahead of him. It didn't really feel entirely physical. He ignored the strange sensation of someone near and continued patrolling.

The automatic door to a room opened. He paused to glance back at it, thinking he hadn't walked close enough to activate it. Volgin was standing just inside, staring. It dawned he'd been waiting for him, knew his patrol route. Why?

The colonel strode forward quickly and grabbed him by the arm. He checked either direction to ensure they weren't drawing attention. The agent did the same out of habit. Someone was turning the corner ahead of them, out of sight, and then they were by themselves. Adamska yanked his arm free and the back of his neck was gripped, dragging him into the storage room where the man had apparently been waiting for him.

He knew where this was going and he was terrified. “Volgin!”

“Volgin?!”

He realized his blunder.

Colonel Volgin threw him to the floor and jammed a boot into his back. He kicked him in the ribs with the other foot and lifted his weight off him to stoop down. A hand settled on his askew arm and released electricity. He screamed and shook, humiliatingly releasing his bladder when the shock lasted too long.

Adamska peered upward hearing Volgin walk away laughing. He didn't go far and began removing the necessary clothing. He shakily climbed to his feet. Warm urine soiled his uniform pants. He contemplated how he would return to his room to change without witness. No different than the times he limped to his room with semen and occasionally blood too painting his inner thighs.

In a bit of a stupor, he strolled toward the door, walking wider to keep his wet pant legs from rubbing. An arm curled around his neck and he felt the other hand take his gun. He was drawn farther from the exit and pressed into a shelving unit stacked with boxes. The gun clattered to the floor, his pants worked on to be lowered.

Volgin didn't seem to care about the smell, shoving the damp material down to his ankles. Fingers hurriedly prepared his opening, gloved fingers poking inside his mouth while the other lubricated fingers pushed and twisted. He released panicked breaths, still reeling from the intense electricity he was subjected to moments earlier. It pushed in too soon, always too soon.

The man rumbled pleasured moans in his ear, proclaiming a few minutes in, “My precious little pet.”

Sometimes he thought his primary Soviet Union contact wanted Colonel Volgin's plot to succeed. A military overthrow favored him. The path to total power would be easier for his Soviet Union overseer and the KGB backed that. Unless he received new orders, his cover required he support the extremist factions. Sometimes he thought he would trade his clever mind to feel free a single day.

July 22, 1963

He was driven into the wall and his cheek scraped the tiles, drawing blood. He touched the raw flesh and felt a rather significant abrasion. It would leave a mark. He tried to turn but was not allowed. A heavy body weight, also nude, kept him to the wall. Water ran across the shoulders of the bigger man who grinned down at him, a hand cupping his crotch.

“Stop! Leave!”

Volgin reached to separate his buttcheeks. “There's no one but us. Relax, Ocelot.”

Adamska squirmed to get his arms away from his sides, away from the wall. He was so damn big. He sobbed as fingers buried into the hole. They were dry and it burned but that wasn't why he was crying. This man made him helpless. This man treated him like an object owned. This man was proof he could be weak and defeated.

He wept quietly during the time Volgin assaulted him. The colonel tried to awaken his penis but it didn't work and he didn't try long before giving up. He was getting himself off and that was plenty for him. Did his lover know about the visits he was paying his newest major? Would he care?

Finishing, he pulled out and Adamska collapsed to the shower floor. The man started washing in the shower spray, paying him no attention. He gazed at blood disappearing into the drain. His struggle did nothing but cause physical damage. If he kept it up would there be lasting damage? The horrifying idea of permanent scars to forever remind him of Volgin's sadism evoked words to emerge.

“Your methods are dishonorable. You care nothing for your own comrades. This is where it ends.”

Volgin crouched in front of him and gripped his chin, sneering. “What are you going to do? Report it to the authorities?”

July 24, 1963

Countering lightning was the goal of the week tactic to learn. He practiced thinking on his feet and increasing his response time. He had an issue with hesitation when he got confused or intimidated. Memories interfered at the most inconvenient times. He would have to work through fear and tension.

That wasn't going to be happening tonight. His shift at an end, he was crossing the lot where several trucks were parked. A light mist began to fall from the skies. Colonel Volgin walked leisurely toward him, arms extending and face looking up to the sky.

“Kuwabara, kuwabara.”

He didn't think the weather would evolve into a storm. His mood though...

Volgin crackled his entire body with lightning, reaching his position. He smiled and glanced at the truck a foot away from them. Adamska twitched, wanting to run. He concluded a fast walk could work and tried hurrying past the colonel.

His wrist grabbed, he was pulled into the other man, then shoved against the vehicle. “Not so fast, my dear.”

Adamska fought and Volgin opened the door to the back, lifting and pushing him into the truck. On the backseat, he moved to drop to the floor and out the other side feeling like a pathetic child. The much older man chuckled and prevented him from leaving the seat, slamming him to sit proper.

“I'm in command here.”

His glare softened when he saw the glare on his superior officer's face. He wasn't playing. He knew what Volgin could do if he truly wished it done. He slumped grumpily in the seat and obeyed when the colonel ordered his weapons and belt be placed in the front of the truck. This was bitter defeat, again.

“Good... Good...”

He sat stiff. The colonel undid his coat and shrugged out of the sleeves, slinging it over the nearest seat. Adamska looked away when he opened the rubber suit.

“Come. Taste me.”

Adamska refused. An arm wrapped around his shoulder and tugged him to the leader's side. He shifted uncomfortably but nothing more. Volgin spit into the palm of his free hand and stroked the flaccid meat.

“Taste me. Make sure it's soaked. It'll be all you get.”

Eyes wide, he looked up at the man. “You can't! I'm a major. I have duties..sir.”

No smile. No frown either. His face empty of identifiable emotion.

“Take off your clothes. I want you naked.”

He shook his head. Volgin stared him down. Minutes passed. It was dark outside, quiet except for the rain on the vehicle's windows. No guards were passing by. The patrol routes didn't take them this way. The arm still had him pinned to the warm, suffocating body.

“How much money did it cost to build this fortress? How much for your weapon projects? How do you just get whatever you want?”

The agent in him was fishing for information. The human in him was fighting to prevent this oppression. It was crushing his spirit and he couldn't lose anymore. To the man with all the power, it likely appeared he was attempting to delay the inevitable.

“I'll tell you, after you bring me pleasure.”

No grin, no real expression, just a stare. Adamska closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled, and opened them. He would be raped no matter what he did here. The least he could manage was to try and gain something from the tyranny.

He leaned forward and curled on the seat to better position while he lowered his head. He licked and mouthed at the penis, beginning to suck the tip. Volgin let him taste as he liked for a while and blood was finally flowing into the organ. That was when he was stopped and pulled off.

“Clothes. Lose them.”

Adamska relented the instinct to attack in defense. He desired using his knife to stab his face until it wouldn't exist. He removed his clothing and abandoned them on the opposite seat Volgin put his coat. The colonel didn't have to tell him what to do. He went back to giving oral sex.

The erection popped up quickly. He kept on sucking down the length a ways, then back to the tip. Hands gripped his head and “encouraged” him to go lower but it hurt. There wasn't a choice and the pressure didn't let up. He choked and gagged as the warm cock entered his throat, clogging his ability to breathe.

Volgin fucked in and out of his throat and mouth repeatedly, groaning and rubbing the back of Adamska's head while he enjoyed it. Tears streamed from the difficulty breathing, the immense discomfort. The old man exclaimed, ejaculate spilling into his mouth, coating his tongue. When Volgin pushed in deeper, the cum coated his throat too. He swallowed rapidly, desperate to be rid of the taste, desperate for it to quit spurting.

He tugged off the flagging dick at the first opportunity, gasping and coughing. Slumping against Volgin, he concentrated on his breathing. The arm around his body moved lower and stroked his thigh.

Basking in his satisfied afterglow, it was several minutes before the colonel spoke.

“You have your own connections to the Philosophers, of course, but have you heard of their Legacy?”

He straightened and slid to sit apart to properly face the man, playing dumb. “What? Like some philosophy they want passed down to future generations?”

Volgin chuckled softly. “No. Treasure. Money. One hundred billion dollars divided up and hidden all over the world. My father was in charge of money laundering operations for the Philosophers. During the war, he held onto it and I inherited it from him. The secret fund was established by the three great powers during the two world wars.”

“Russia, America..and China?”

“Yes. They think my father shouldn't have had it and many seek to steal my Legacy. We must always be on guard. There are spies everywhere. This cold war will be fought with espionage and information. It will be a long war. The unity of our organization is everything.”

He crinkled his brow, expressing blatant confusion. “If the money is all over the world, what good is it? How could you get the funds you need when you need it?”

The colonel looked at him. “There is a microfilm which contains records of the transactions revealing where the funds are located. These funds will dictate how wars are fought in the future; what technologies are developed. That is the power I have.”

“The power to control the future of the world...” he mused, fascination clear.

He hoped it might encourage conversation. Maybe Colonel Volgin would let slip where he hid the Legacy. Instead it excited and he registered the hardening cock. He told a man who loved power he was indeed extremely powerful.

Volgin stretched out his arm to him. “Come to me.”

Adamska listened, figuring how he could use this to his advantage. He was grabbed and turned to half kneel, half hang on the coat covered seat. Grasping it, the puzzlement didn't last and fingers spread his buttcheeks to access his anus. They were slicked in saliva and it burned. He grunted in pain.

“My coat. The pocket.”

Searching pockets while still awkwardly hanging and kneeling simultaneously, knees bracketing him, he discovered a bottle. He removed it and passed it to the man seated behind him. This time the fingers were soaked in lubricant, pushing and prodding at his inner muscle. He shut his eyes, feeling hotter the longer the preparation went on.

His eyes shot open when arms slipped beneath his shoulders and lifted him into the lap. He spread his legs automatically to avoid the protruding object and it jutted upward between his thighs. Adamska gripped his crotch, trying to prevent their penises from touching. Disturbingly, a twinge of pleasure coiled in his gut. His body knew what was going to penetrate his ass and anticipated the carnal gratification possible.

Fuck you, Raikov.

Volgin pulled him to his chest, peering over a shoulder. He poured lubricant in a palm and wrapped it around the massive erection. Adamska watched and sealed his lips, worrying.

He clutched for the seat as his balance was lost, arms setting under his thighs to lift his lower half. Volgin struggled to line up cock to butt and he let go of the chair with one hand to pry a cheek open. The tip moved between his cheeks and pressed to the hole. Gravity and a firm grasp lowering him down propelled the penis inside.

Wiggling at the feel of it sinking in, he cried out when all of the cock filled him within seconds. An arm wrapped around his chest, tugging his back to the muscular chest behind him. He moaned, head falling onto the broad shoulder, an arm hooked over his thighs as Volgin moved his groin upward and about.

He moved along with the rocking sway, reveling in the fullness and hot flesh rubbing sensitive, intrusive. It was so big, so adamant, so possessive. He imagined how great sex would be if it was with someone he wanted to be with. Adamska gasped at the cock constantly shifting and often hitting the spot bringing out moans.

“Ah... Ah...”

He failed to control himself. Volgin groped and massaged his chest, tweaking delicate nubs. Adamska's feet pressed against the back of the seat, seeking purchase to keep the motion going. His own cock was really hard. He started writhing and panting when the colonel thrust upward at a steady interval, grunting and huffing.

His orgasm felt like it drained him but he wanted more. Groaning through the next unknown number of minutes, he left one hand near his groin and the other held Volgin's forearm. The fucking continued and they began aiming to move the cock out about halfway before plummeting back in. He swore and panting, watched his penis go hard again. He closed his eyes, moaning fulfillment.

Raikov's complexion appeared in his mind. This was his fault. Although he knew the major had nothing to do with the colonel's proclivities in regards to him, he blamed anyway. The abusive officer betrayed inherent trust, robbed him of peace of mind, violated his body and damaged his mental faculties. That man made it possible to enjoy coerced sex acts.

Ruiner.

July 25, 1963

“Colonel!”

“Where are you going, major?” A sidestep left him cornered against the tree. “I came out here just for you.”

Adamska was testing his sense of surroundings, of being out in nature. Admittedly, it got a little boring after an hour, but he saw it as a piece of the training he needed to work on. Colonel Volgin caught him lying on his back, sun in his face, deciphering if that was running water in the near distance.

He had jumped to his feet, hand on his holster, searching for signs of life. The colonel sent a bolt of lighting outward to freak him out and he stumbled on branches. It was the moment to box him in with a tree at his back and a predator at his front.

Volgin started laughing, tossing back his head. The compound wasn't far. Ocelots were preyed on by large carnivores. All he had to do was get into sight of a single soldier and this hunt would grind to a halt.

His weapon drew out of his holster, the other man's doing. Examining the weapon, he pointed it at Adamska. He lowered to aim at his leg.

“An unfortunate discharge?”

He sagged. “No, sir. That won't be necessary.”

A wide grin. “Let's start on your knees.”

Chapter Text

July 29, 1963

A scientist by the name of Nikolai Stepanovich Sokolov was the talk of the hour. The man had been placed under heavy KGB guard to prevent extremist factions from getting their hands on him and his work. Smart move, since the meeting consisted of discussing how to get their hands on the rocket scientist. He was building a nuclear capable weapon. No real details were revealed concerning the project. Adamska suspected this was the weapon Volgin and his forces were anticipating to build for some time.

As the intelligence discussion drew to an end, he ran through his head what would be reported to his KGB handlers. He recently requested from his CIA contact to have a fake Legacy created. Once he located the microfilm, he would replace the real thing with the false one. It would have to be very convincing. He was specific with the contact not to screw it up. He also made clear that no, he did not have a clue where the genuine article was as of yet.

Everyone rose from their chairs, the meeting concluded. Salutes for dismissal and the visiting officers were first to depart per usual. He glanced to the hallway where weapons were deposited prior to entry for security purposes. Wandering over to the door, he envisioned twirling and spinning his firearm. It was a perpetual habit of late instead of occasional. He relished the control and skill involved in fancily rotating the dangerous weapon safely.

“Stay a moment, Major Ocelot.”

He turned toward Volgin, shrugging and stopping his exit. “Yes, colonel.”

Colonel Volgin was making a show of his arm raised in a fist to a couple lower ranking officers. He was celebrating the belief they would soon have powerful weapons to add to their already substantial arsenal. Hinds, Wigs, flying platforms, heavily customized tanks... Adamska pondered on the Soviet Union's aims.

A longer haired officer caught his eye, the vain man smiling at him on his way to Volgin's side. The other soldiers were excused and he leaned into Raikov, murmuring something. Impatient to be told what was wanted of him so he could go about his day, he walked closer. The older major looked at his approach and said farewell to the colonel, whose eyes darted to him a moment before returning to Raikov.

“He has spunk,” the old man murmured.

Raikov smirked at him on his way out. He tensed. He let calm settle along his entire body. It was fine.

“Let's see...”

His attention went to the colonel.

“In five days your selected unit will arrive on base. You will train them in the wilderness. You will train until you are certain they are ready.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Do you think you're prepared for the responsibility this entails?”

“I do, colonel. I mean, I am.”

They were face to face now, a foot between them. Volgin checked over his shoulder and he just knew. Shaking his head he reached for a weapon that wasn't there, spinning on a heel to walk away. A big hand settled on his shoulder and even with his back to the man, he heard the smile in his voice.

“Excellent.”

He yelped, yanked back and propelled forward sideways in the next instant. Held down on the surface of the table, the other hand tugged at their clothes. Rigid, Adamska shut his eyes.

July 30, 1963

What defined being alive? If blood ran through veins, heart beating, but the body was comatose, was that living? If no one ever knew an individual lived because nothing was left behind in this world, no other to remember the life that faded from existence, could it be certain they were alive to begin with? What of a person who lied to the outside regarding who he truly was on the inside? He'd forever be unknown, or worse, despised for who he pretended to be. Would this be his fate?

“Come. We're going to my room.”

He snapped out of his thoughts. “What?”

A stern gaze set upon him. “Come. We're going to my room.”

“Why?”

“Silence! I am your commanding officer.”

Adamska stared at the back of the man strolling quickly away, expecting him to follow. Go to his room? There could only be a single reason to order him to his room. He wasn't doing that. What the-?

Colonel Volgin came to an abrupt halt, looking past his shoulder to where he stood. “Are you questioning my authority?”

The incidents were becoming more and more public, reckless, nearing discovery if kept up. Becoming common knowledge would make it impossible to stop. It dawned on him how dangerously close he was to being the pet desired, how far this had gotten.

“Let's go.”

He followed the man, staying a few yards behind. They walked through hallways and doors to the section of the building where the colonel laid his head at night. In a few days he would be leaving the compound for nature. Volgin would be far away. The time apart, the distance, maybe the colonel would forget this obsession and let him be.

The door to his room open, he calmed himself and strode inside. He gazed around the plain room without much to it. A framed photo of his father was the sole personal touch to the place. It was uncomfortably similar to how he preserved his own quarters.

He pulled the gun out of his holster and began twirling the weapon, tossing it over his head and catching it behind his back. He had control. The gun slipped into his holster and he tugged it out to flip it the correct direction and in its holder again. Control was a myth here.

Volgin removed his uniform coat, hanging it by the door. He started on the gloves and Adamska scanned the room for no real reason. Sitting on a chair, the colonel pulled his boots off.

“Go on. Refuse me.”

He sensed the threat. Securing his self-reliance he could survive this and find a method out of the oppression, he leaned against the far wall. Tugging off his boots, he saw a spot to lay his uniform carefully and systematically undressed. When nude, he looked to the man approaching him.

“Refusal it is.”

“I won't.”

“You do.”

Confusion. Raikov's words while he was laid up in the hospital revisited him out of nowhere. “You hide.” Fingers gripped the lower half of his face tight, painfully so. “Avid admirer.” He couldn't free his face and grimaced. “Beautiful.” Whoever his parents were, he hated them for his face for a moment.

“You think yourself better than me, is that it?”

“Pride... This is the fault you have.”

“No,” he uttered, surprised by the comment and responding doubly to his former tormentor's voice locked in his mind.

Volgin groped his chest obscenely, refusing to let his head move. He slugged him in the stomach and shoved him away using the grip on his jaw. Bumping into the wall, he straightened fast, unsure what was happening.

“You think me profane? Think I seek to defile your virtue?”

“I-I-no. Sir?”

He cowered into the wall, the punch to his shoulder smarting. Volgin grabbed his left breast and released electricity through his body. He yelled and a hand grabbed and rubbed his privates briefly before pushing him down. On his hands and knees, a hand laid on his back and electricity flowed for a longer period of time. His screams were fading when he realized he'd flattened to the floor.

The colonel picked him up and carried him bridal style to the bed. He dumped him and clambered on top, kissing his cheek and jaw. Pausing to suck on a pair of fingers, they dug in, seeking the hole to widen it. He wet the fingers again, digging and pressing relentless, and his mouth kissed his mouth. Trembling from the previous shocks, he was all too pliable.

Electricity drove into him with the pumping fingers and he choked on a scream. Volgin backhanded him across the jaw, as if punishing him for feeling pain. He flipped Adamska to his stomach when he was definitely not opened enough for that huge rod. It jammed in and he screeched, wailing and clawing to crawl away. Bastard was tearing him. What the hell mood was he in this time?

Volgin slammed in over and over, dragging him back each time when he tried getting away. Eventually he ran out of strength and took it, squirming and breathing out agony. Shocks flooded his system at random, haphazard intervals, “spicing up” the sex. His hatred and contempt didn't do much to help him.

When he climaxed, cumming inside buried to the hilt, the colonel pulled out and flipped him to his backside. He licked his chest, licked a strip on his stomach, shifted upward to lick his cheek. Roughly he bent and shoved his knees to fold into him. Pain exploded in his lower half, gut throbbing after the old man penetrated fully. He thrust violent and fast like the first time. Gasping, he fought to bear it.

“Kitty, kitty.”

His eyes he hadn't realized shut opened wide. Volgin met the gaze and kissed him sloppily. It felt like mockery in the wake of the brutality exhibited. He was possessed, in every negative sense of the word.

“You hide.”

Adamska narrowed his eyes. He knew what to do for himself. Hide.

He was given three days to recover and be in condition to depart the base. It was an immense relief the colonel complied and retained strict professional standards around him. Adamska didn't have to watch his back for an unexpected assault. When the day arrived, he went outside to meet his new unit.

The soldiers were handpicked from the Spetsnaz squadrons. His Ocelot Unit was to be an elite special forces group. They answered to him and would undergo rigorous training. He intended them to be the best shots in GRU, worthy of legendary status.

Training would commence out in the wilderness, learning how to navigate and position as a unit within different terrains. He was excited to leave the main compound behind for months. After initial introductions where he gave a suitably flashy speech, he checked the supplies. They had enough food for two months. Some of their food they would be required to scavenge during survival training.

Farther into the wild, he stopped to give them a rest and another speech. Spreading his arms and doing fancy twirls with his pistol, he scanned the assembled soldiers. It was intimidating to have rapt attention and it didn't take long to learn they were impressed by his young age and equally skeptical he would hold up to the reputation he was making from his talent and progression in GRU.

One month into training, after a day of rehearsing ambushes, he began practicing cat noises on a lunch break. A couple of the guys overheard coming back from taking a piss and asked him what he was doing. Embarrassed to be caught out, having moved a short distance for privacy, he admitted the self-appointed task. Surprisingly, they were invested. When he offered a cat mewl which could be implemented as a signal to bring them forward into position, they applauded. Tracking back to the rest, he repeated the cat noise and it stuck.

Another month out there, still relieved nobody thought it was dumb, he gave the cry and monitored the soldiers assembling. They arrived quickly and readily, weapons aimed on his spot. He ordered a few of them to do their best to attack him close quarters and noted the lack of skill when in proximity to a skilled opponent. The confrontations weren't on the top of his list to correct for the time being, as it was a weakness of his own as well. For now he'd neglect the issue. Besides, if the Ocelot Unit excelled at ambush and shooting, they wouldn't need to get close to the enemy.

Weeks passed by and survival training was replaced with shooting training from multiple distances and angles, utilizing varieties of terrain. They would need more trips outside the base to truly mark them as experts in any situation, but he aimed to accomplish such a feat. These soldiers had a distinct style and attitude to them in their collected team. Adamska was prideful in the loyalty he earned and the deep respect they showed him for his leadership and the skills he possessed and passed on. His age was no longer a factor to how they viewed him. This work was a dream. He was having fun.

November 5, 1963

The return from field training was difficult. He managed to push out of mind the abuse suffered. At first sight of his commander and commander's lover, it rushed back into conscious thought. Ocelot started planning a new schedule of training.

Yes, he reminded for the hundredth time, it was Ocelot now. The rapes happened to someone named Adamska, not Ocelot. The young major was a skillful, up and coming officer who intended to make the Ocelot Unit famous. He would be known for his calm and cool attitude, nothing fazing him for long. His special soldiers would be recognized and feared. Adamska was the person he could remember and reclaim when this was all over.

Twirling his gun while walking along the forest path, cocky and enjoying the sunlight, clouds rolled in. He frowned, studying the sky and debating where the thickest trees were to seek shelter. The skies opened and a downpour began. He stepped beneath a nearby tree, spinning the gun a final time and then tossing it hand to hand.

“Ah..a host of sorrows.”

Well, well, his only real, honest friend was here. He was building relationships with his subordinates, but he wasn't even really KGB. He was and he wasn't. His cover was his true self and it absolutely wasn't. He'd determined to fully devote to his cover, embrace and adopt parts of it as part of himself. Until the job was finished, that was how it got completed.

“Hey, sad man.” He flashed some quick finger guns in his direction. “What are you looking at?”

The spirit was staring off into the distance. He broke the stare and shifted to look at him. Silence. A smile appeared on his face.

“Your heart weighs heavy.”

Weird thing to smile about. Or was it a polite smile? He holstered the weapon and leaned against the tree, crossing his arms.

“Doesn't yours? You were murdered by someone you loved, right?”

It was deflection, an obvious one. He uttered an irritated noise, staring at the dirt with a little shame. He could do better. Ocelot wasn't expecting a response.

“We loved and lost. That loss weighs heavy on my heart, on hers.” The guy was smiling again. “We loved our home countries too. Times change. We both went home.”

He looked up. “She came to your home to kill you. Orders?”

“Yes. A soldier's duty. A parent's duty.”

Ocelot uncrossed his arms and straightened. “Huh?”

The man lowered the hood of his slicker. “Have you found your joy?”

Narrowing his eyes, he stalked out into the rain. “When did you die?”

“Time is..strange.”

“It's November 1963. Can you remember when?”

“1962.”

Ocelot realized this told him nothing. He was grasping for information without context or details. It was a poor way to get to know his companion. The man in the rain was dead and apparently he could only focus on that aspect to socialize.

“Uh. What food do you like?”

Smiling, he turned to face him proper. He studied him and it was..odd. He pulled his gun to spin around. At one point when he wasn't looking, the man disappeared. Did he scare him off?

“Have you found your joy?”

He unleashed a surprised shriek, embarrassed, and nearly dropped his gun. He'd reappeared right behind his left shoulder. Ocelot smoothed his features, refusing to be seen affected.

“What joy?”

Sure, now he was quiet.

“I like teaching the Ocelots to improve their capabilities. Away from the base is nice. I prefer it.”

More quiet. His eyes flickered elsewhere, shifting his weight. He put the gun in its holster. Ghosts weren't superb conversationalists, but he would take what he could get. Just his luck he would run into the strong, silent type for a meaningful companion to his life. Ugh, what was he even saying to himself?

“It's Ocelot, okay? Call me Ocelot.”

The unprompted request might have gone unnoticed. He couldn't tell with this shifting in and out of existence soul. He wiped rain drops from his brow before they could drip into his eyes. The man extended his hands outward, kind of reminding him of the manner he did when making a scene of himself. He reached toward him with his right arm, placing a hand on his shoulder that he could not feel.

“There will be someone you can be honest with one day.”

His friend dissipated in front of his eyes, the rain following soon after. Why did he feel like crying? He shrugged the emotion off and wandered back to the compound. His promotion got him into the mess with the colonel and it got him out of it. He required the field more often than not for his superior soldiers, and would declare it to be so at the next opportunity.

He was Major Ocelot, damn it, and nobody would forget it.

Chapter Text

February 8, 1964

One of his Ocelots blew her face off. She tripped and fell just right to pull the trigger while the barrel aimed at her head. He couldn't comprehend it happened for several minutes, locked in horror on the gory catastrophe. Two others raced to her side and stood by helpless, looking to him for leadership. He broke out of his daze and gestured by throwing an arm to the side.

“Mistakes can kill you! Get her off the ground! She deserves a proper burial at least. Move!”

A third member hurried to assist the two getting to work picking her up from the ground as careful as possible. They were trying to be respectful. There was no respect in death. When someone died they were gone and it sucked.

When the soldiers started moving off, he spread out his arms, stating, “Looks like her luck ran out.”

Shouldering her death for his private self, he squared his body and returned to having them practice runs to new positions. They rehearsed providing cover for one another. He focused on exercises where they had each other's backs. At the end of the day, he inspected their black combat uniforms and red berets were in tip top shape.

He rubbed on the black band on his left arm indicating his command position. His gloves were red compared to their black ones, and a red scarf was tied firm around his neck, tucked in his flattering uniform coat. He attached spurs to his uniform boots to signify his love of western films. It was a personal touch he allowed because it fit with Ocelot's “cowboy antics” as EVA called them.

“Unit, dismissed!”

A final salute and he walked away. They were his comrades and they weren't. He was raised knowing he was half Russian and half American. He was GRU and he wasn't. The CIA was his true allegiance, the organization he was taught to be at the disposal of. A fake life. His real life. Ocelot began spinning his gun.

March 1, 1964

Inside the East Wing of the weapons lab, he saw Major Raikov leaving the West Wing portion of the building. A scientist in a white lab coat was standing around in the hall. Two soldiers strolled through a huge lobby area. Ocelot wandered past the bathroom, eyeing the major.

Tselinoyarsk, the very south of Russia, was an ideal location for their purposes. It was a place the country could give or take. It could prove valuable..or it could not. The maneuvering intended for the Soviet Union might lead to many outcomes. World powers vying for control could get messy.

He gawked when Raikov clutched the crotch of the scientist out of nowhere. He shifted direction and strolled closer. Was he feeling the guy's scrotum?

The employee didn't budge an inch. Despite going along with this abuse, the major punched him and then strolled along his previous path. At his retreating back the scientist apologized.

“Forgive me for troubling you, sir!”

The pair of soldiers looked at one another and separated. One of them had to go past Raikov, who didn't disappoint. He halted to salute the higher officer and was smacked for his trouble. Not giving him a single moment more of his attention, Raikov continued patrolling.

“Thank you, sir!”

He felt like he'd been dropped into an alternate reality, some surreal experience. A dreaded gloved hand set down on his shoulder. Raikov spotted him and offered a small wave, heading toward them.

“Ah, major. Join us, would you?”

Colonel Volgin passed by to greet Raikov, expecting him to follow. He did, pouting at the disgusting display of greeting when the old man grabbed the younger man's groin. The two moved to sit on one of the couches and he sat in an armchair diagonal from them. They sat ordinary, almost belying the improper action he just witnessed. He soon saw this was going to be a conversation revolving around him since he had the fortune to be present.

“He's going to be real popular with the ladies. He ages so refined.”

“Heh. He's already a looker. Don't think he knows it. Somehow...”

Raikov leaned against the back of the couch, resting his chin in a gloved palm. He gazed deliberately into his eyes, admiring. Volgin matched where his gaze went for a brief time and then lower.

Volgin's gruff voice remarked, “He values other things, like his precious gun or combat skills.”

Ocelot sat stiffly, irritated. “Of course. I'm a soldier. I have duty to my country that extends beyond self-centered ideals.”

“The boy learns quickly and will endure a lot.”

He glared at Raikov. “I'm only four years younger than you.”

“I don't believe he knows why he suffers. Maybe it's a perverse pain addiction. Maybe he's naive.”

His eyes flickered between the two men, wondering what was talked about. Did he mean in general? Did he mean as a GRU soldier? Did he mean..sexually?

Volgin threw back his head and laughed. “Is that so?”

“What I do believe is he loves a big cock and doesn't recognize it since he was so recently a virgin.”

Whatever he meant before, the topic was definitely sexual now. What was with the contemplation? The colonel was practically drooling, taking in his uniformed body slow and delighted. Inflamed by their undesirable enchantment, he scowled.

“Stop talking!”

Displeasure set in the other major's features. “I should not have bothered giving you my precious time, body, or talent. My efforts were unproductive. He's still a prude.”

Volgin chuckled. “A killjoy to be sure.”

He stood up. “I am a GRU major! I belong to my country and don't care for your antics! Treat me accordingly. I will no longer tolerate shit from any of you!”

“Watch your tongue, Major Ocelot.”

“I will shoot you dead and call it a training accident.”

Was he giving away how he was faking? He worried they would know something was up. They had sex and power games on the mind, they shouldn't suspect him of anything. Hopefully he put on a front of an inexperienced and stubborn kid, not a spy.

“You would be executed,” Raikov said, unamused. “Remember your station.”

“Remember yours or you'll see what I can do. Colonel Volgin, I will do my job. Let me.”

“I find your spunk..entertaining.”

Ocelot relaxed, realizing the colonel was announcing he'd earned respect. They both knew the colonel required him doing his job and with him hanging around the base less, it made sense to leave him be. Besides, his resistance and repulsion was a flaw in his appreciated person once at risk of becoming a pet.

Volgin excluded his presence all of a sudden. “Did you get my gift?”

Mischievous, his lover whispered, “I'm wearing it.”

Well that triumph was short-lived. He splayed fingers their way in a ridicule of his own perpetual habit. He wanted to puke.

April 24, 1964

Ocelot thought he sensed something. He looked to the side quickly, certain there was someone standing in his peripheral vision. There was nothing. He sighed. Too many things on his mind, perhaps, or too much stress.

On the outside, it would appear he should be in a good mood. The Ocelot Unit was thriving and gaining reputation. The harassment and assaults came to a hard stop the day Volgin assigned recovery days and he spent months away from base. His theatrical personality became a second skin to him in public.

The Philosophers' Legacy? No closer to it than before. This Sokolov and his secret nuclear project? No new information since he was told the brilliant scientist existed and was of interest. The KGB was patient, but the CIA demanded substantial results. They told him using one of their assets to retrieve the Legacy was under consideration. He was to stay put whatever was decided, to continue spying on other matters. Their lack of faith embittered him.

His elite unit hurried on ahead, disappearing into the forest. He'd been working on improving his gun handling of late. He was mastering ricochet techniques and meeting enemy placements with a bullet in seconds. Ocelot intended to investigate books on a variety of combat tactics. The library had his company often during the days they stayed put on the compound.

It was a weird relationship with his bedroom in the officers' quarters. Some nights he slept fine. Some nights sleep eluded him. He would think of Major Raikov. He would think of Colonel Volgin. He would remember what they did to him and have fitful dreams where he relived sickening experiences. Never did he shed a tear or reveal emotion in public, but alone in the dark, he cried a lot.

He blamed his fluctuating emotional state on exhaustion. Mostly he was well-rested though, so the lie to himself was pathetic. His change to Ocelot marked freedom from being victimized by Volgin's brutality, but it didn't save others who were beaten or tortured when the commander wanted to punish or gain information. His assigned position was well enough, however, the pressure to gather results was enormous. He wished to get the Legacy because in his mind, mission success would mean something real. Ocelot could put in his past what ruined him.

May 10, 1964

“Get up, Major Raikov!”

The major woke, rubbing his eyes and drawing up to stand. The irritated soldier stalked off to resume patrol. Their superior officer yawned and stretched his body out of sleep. Unbelievable.

He swaggered up to someone who by all rights should be his equal, but was second only to Volgin because they were fucking. “Why are you an officer?”

“Honor. Appearances are everything. What of it?”

He blinked, not anticipating a real response to his facetious question. “Uh..don't sleep on duty, idiot.”

Raikov smirked. “Work, work, work. Lighten up, Ocelot.”

He sighed and offered finger guns after the man's retreating back. An idea brewed. It would take timing and luck to achieve. He could pull if off and it wouldn't even be hard.

Inside his room, he used the radio to make contact with the individual who was to provide the false Legacy. Ocelot was informed a drop was arranged as the expertly crafted fake had been finished. He confirmed his availability and sealed his lips concerning the possible nearness to acquiring the target. His handlers wouldn't be in kind opinion if he was wrong and things took longer.

A meeting was called the following afternoon. Seated around the conference table, he struggled to listen. His brain was reminding how he was held down on the surface and raped from behind. It was a while ago. More than nine months! Why couldn't he get over it?

The man responsible for his current fractured attention span was speaking on reasons. He spoke of taking control of the entire Eastern Bloc, of reunifying the Philosophers who were split and warring among themselves. He mentioned their intention of waging war to end the war they found themselves in. They were gathering power with advanced weaponry. Their time to reclaim the Soviet Union's glory and exude influence on the rest of the world was on the horizon.

Volgin lowered his raised fist, declaring, “I wish to invite someone of great reputation and charisma to our cause. They are a famed war hero who has earned the title, 'The Boss'.”

The room buzzed with murmurs and whispers discussing and remarking upon this news. He sat silently, frowning at the table in front of him. The Boss? The special forces masterclass, a war lord. Her love of battle was renowned. She created her own elite unit full of soldiers bearing special abilities and reigned victorious fighting side by side with them during the second world war.

But The Boss was a patriot. Her loyalty laid with her mother country. Colonel Volgin couldn't believe she would defect in favor of the Soviet Union. He seemed to, though, as he silenced the chatter and resumed his speech.

His thoughts drifted to what his CIA handler mentioned in recent time. The potential use of an asset who would retrieve the Legacy for American power. He didn't like the idea of a single nation possessing all that power. He held to this line of thinking. Once he had the Legacy in hand, the Philosophers would have to deal with however he decided the treasure was dealt with. It was his authority to perform risk assessment while undercover to be sure more good than harm was done.

It clicked. Could The Boss be America's attempt to steal the Legacy? She was their solution because he couldn't get the mission done fast enough to satisfy them. If that was true, it was a great insult. He respected Boss for her accomplishments and service, but he did not need help. He ruminated on this plausible development for the duration of the meeting.

June 6, 1964

He spotted the snoozing major and began his approach. He looked to ensure the coast was clear. It took weeks to land this opportunity and with the added benefit of no prying eyes. They couldn't be overheard. Raikov wouldn't think anything much on what he uttered as long as he played a distraction afterward.

“Wake up, you good for nothing!”

Ocelot kicked the man in the ribs, checking over his shoulder for anybody else. Still clear. The major huffed and rolled onto his side. He sat up and forced himself to tiredly climb to his feet.

“Where does the colonel keep his Legacy?”

He swallowed, nerves rising. If Raikov got suspicious, if he didn't answer, this was a thing he'd have to figure an excuse on. He could do it. Just be ready...

“In the underground vault of Groznyj Grad. What of it?”

“Safely in Colonel Volgin's possession. Excellent. Go do your job.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The other man grumbled a bit longer as he wandered off to get back to monitoring the soldiers under his supervision. “Boring, boring.”

Grinning, he deemed the mission was nearing its end. He would obtain the Philosophers' Legacy and do with it as he chose. While he had to remain in this role to collect data even after possessing their precious artifact, getting the Legacy itself was the tough part.

He started planning things out, motioning fingers in observance of his lovely gift. “Happy birthday, Ocelot.”

Chapter Text

Groznyj Grad, Tselinoyarsk, USSR

August 24, 1964

The Philosophers' Legacy was in hand, replaced with a professional replica. He carefully checked the passageway up ahead before making the turn. The underground vaults were expansive and well guarded. Ocelot wasn't too worried. He was believed loyal and one of them, granted a lot of leeway and freedom because of his elite unit. If he was seen, he would recite the prepared excuse he wanted to lay eyes on the Legacy, and that he wasn't impressed. The square microfilm didn't look like much, he'd say.

Someone thought to be a young soldier without care for greater things would be trusted..probably. He could add on he was testing security should a guard get wise, questioning his reasons. As a last resort, a guard or two missing was acceptable, but regretful. Ocelot didn't think a problem would happen, not today.

It was the early hours of the morning. Everyone was occupied with the incoming defector and Sokolov's retrieval. The Legacy secured in his custody, this portion of his job was almost done. The fake was impossible to identify by the naked eye. He had to secret it away before the Ocelot Unit was summoned. It was a good day. Luck was on his side.

He ducked and flattened against the wall, shrinking himself the best he could. His eyes stared at the floor, waiting, hand on the butt of his gun. Tension flooded his body. The guards strolled past, path taking their feet briskly through the middle of the hall. He stared at the backs of them, incredulous. Volgin needed to remove these incompetents and replace them immediately.

Continuing on, he exited safely and emerged into a spot it was okay for him to be. Major Raikov was reaching for a wrapped snack..out of the hand of a seated subordinate. The guy gaped, as did his buddy, watching their boss open the food and begin eating it. What an asshole.

He slapped the soldier on the back of the head who hadn't lost his snack. The older man never changed. He was still as conceited and aggressive as ever.

“Major Raikov, what assignment have you been given for the day?”

Ocelot strolled up and the other major beamed. “Hi, sexy major. How goes it?”

A blink of disbelief and disgust. “Unbefitting conduct, major. Correct yourself.”

The bright eyes studied his face, perhaps gauging how far he planned to publicly call him out. He took off his hat and ran a hand through silver strands. A smirk formed. The two soldiers on break made themselves scarce, scurrying across the room.

He sighed. It was early for Raikov to be awake. There was a bit of red shadowing his eyes. What version would he get?

“What are you doing here, Major Ocelot?”

Cynical. He surmised months ago that Raikov was more irked than Volgin to be an unpleasant sight. So self-absorbed was he. Wow.

“Big day ahead. I'm ready. Are you?”

“A mission for you,” he indulged. “How marvelous. It's a big job. The scientist is invaluable.”

“I know,” he shrugged. “The KGB is nothing compared to the Ocelots. It will be easy.”

Raikov finished the morsels, digging for scraps with his tongue. Swallowing, he met his eyes, licking his lips. Ocelot had to get moving. He shifted, anxious to go. A foot tapped the spur connected to one of his boots and the man offered a smile to his stony expression.

“Reckless kid,” he laughed, shaking his head and sauntering out of the area. He sing-songed, “Don't screw it up!”

The major no longer an issue, he sneaked off the base and into the trees. Locating his arranged hidden box in a hidden spot, he secreted the Legacy away. He breathed easier without it on his person. No one would discover it here in such a random place. He spent weeks memorizing how to find it from any direction. It was secure.

There was time to return to his room. Ocelot spent the free hour taking care of his appearance in the uniform. He redid the scarf, fitting it perfectly into the coat collar and front. Slipping on the gloves which molded to his hands, he flexed his fingers. The hat was tugged firm on his close-cropped hair. He wasn't a fan of the hat, but it was part of the uniform, so he wore it proper and proud. Attaching his straps and weapons came last. Time to make an impression on some hapless idiots and greet The Boss with a personal flair.

Rassvet, Tselinoyarsk

Ocelot breathed in the fresh morning air. The scientist named Sokolov was the target for live capture. Colonel Volgin sent him from the landing site of the five choppers to personally make contact with The Boss and pick up the rocket man. His unit was backing him up. He signaled them to keep out of sight as he wished to meet The Boss solo. He wanted to make a good impression on the legendary hero.

Shouts ahead. Frowning, he surveyed the area he was approaching and smiled a little. Looked like The Boss got in a troublesome situation. While he had no doubt the famed legend could get out of it, why not make that impression by lending a spectacular hand?

He strolled on the scene, observing the KGB surrounding two people. Ocelot tightened his gaze to hide his shock when he noticed The Boss was male. Perplexing. Nobody told him The Boss was female, but he assumed The Boss was the woman he heard stories about over the spy network. Had he been mistaken? Did more than one operative go by that codename? How did this information fly over his head? Too late to matter now.

“So this is the legendary boss.”

He had to sound like he knew what he was talking about. It would be offensive if the defector learned he hadn't even known what gender was expected. He reclaimed his calm, twirling his gun.

“We meet at last.”

Yep. Yep. Sounding good. The apparent soldier in charge had something to say and he aimed to impress.

“You! You're from the Ocelot Unit of Spetsnaz.”

A different soldier was notably intimidated, exclaiming before tightening the hold on his rifle.

“What's a GRU soldier doing here?” the man in charge demanded, oddly bold and annoyed for a man in his position.

“Soldier?” Ocelot asked, pointing his finger in the soldier's direction as he twirled the gun into the holster. He fixed his hat more firmly to his head and waited for the dawning realization.

“He's the Ocelot commander!”

“Heh!” He waved the guy off, turning away from the leader and his two soldiers close behind him. The Boss and the probable Sokolov were to the leader's left and back a ways. “That's Major Ocelot to you.”

He twirled and extended his arms when he returned to facing the guy. “And don't you forget it.”

“Sokolov is ours. Now get out of here.”

He gave a single warning. “An ocelot never lets his prey escape.”

“What?!”

Finger guns motioned to the guy, a small smirk appearing on his face. The Boss shoved Sokolov to the ground, stooping lower. How sloppy did he think he was? He wouldn't shoot anything he wasn't intending to shoot.

Ocelot drew his gun, pulled the slide on top back to eject a round, a new technique he was trying out, and shot the man in charge. He rotated and shot one above on a railing, shot another on his other side, and then the two on the reverse side who had been behind the speaker. He was immensely satisfied to put his skills into practice and realize he was as good as he thought. He barely had to look to aim.

He twirled the gun a bit and aimed upward. A KGB soldier in a sniper position startled in terror.

“Gah!”

Ocelot couldn't resist smiling at the man who ducked out of sight thinking he had cover. He altered his aim to shoot a pipe which deflected the bullet into the guy who fell from the roof. Twirling his gun, he holstered it.

The Boss crouched next to Sokolov, who was lying on the ground, his gun and knife out yet. He was in some kind of sparring position. Huh. Strange. He approached where his hat fell during his quick moves, beneath the KBG unit leader. He shot the bleeding man dead and retrieved the hat, patting it on his leg before putting it on proper.

“I can't say it feels good to kill a comrade,” he said to the living legend, back to him. “Even if it is for the GRU.”

“Sokolov, take cover.”

He turned and looked at The Boss, ignoring the scientist he told to go away. He extended his arm, expecting something to be said. He'd just introduced himself. Now it was this man's turn. The Boss stood but kept his gun pointing at him. Wait... He was mistaken. This wasn't The Boss.

Bending, he narrowed his eyes while examining the person before him. “Hmm...”

Tactical camouflage outfit with utility straps, streaks of face paint, earpiece to a radio in his left ear, slight facial growth forming, brown hair reaching to the neck of his collar, strands of hair forming bangs on his forehead, light blue eyes. An agent? Working for who?

Ocelot put his right hand in a sort of thinking gesture to his chin a moment and proceeded to point a finger at someone who shouldn't be here.

“You're not The Boss, are you?”

No response. He turned his back to him, frowning. He didn't belong. Ocelot tossed his head, letting out his cat call. His Ocelots hustled in, surrounding the intruder.

“GRU operatives!”

The scientist was terrible at hiding. He held up his left hand to keep his men from firing. He started walking around the unknown agent, circling.

“What is that stance?” he inquired in a mocking tone. “Ha. That gun?”

He pointed briefly at the gun when he referenced it. Ocelot was in a mood to show off and he was offended this guy would interfere with his assignment. He laughed in a manner that dictated his soldiers should join in. They did, not unfamiliar with such occasional encouragement to release tension.

“If you're not The Boss,” he uttered, throwing his gun in the air and catching it, ready to end the agent in his way.

Ocelot put a fresh magazine in the weapon. He read about the technique used earlier in a book in the library. It was a method done in the Middle East to ensure there was a round in the chamber no matter what. He thought on trying the technique to eliminate the risk of pulling the trigger and coming up empty. Seemed effective.

“Then die.”

Ocelot turned and pointed the gun, firing. Or he would have. The slide was stuck, bullet locked in the chamber. It was jammed! Where did he go wrong?

Uttering a noise of surprise, he was very close to his enemy struggling to make a gun fire that was not going to fire. He barely caught view of him smirking and his gun wrist was grabbed. His body was spun in the opposite direction, an arm landing on his right shoulder which put a knife to his throat. Wincing, he could do nothing as he was quickly taken down, thrown flat on his back. The man straddled his head and used both hands to twist the gun out of his hand.

He'd been defeated. He lost so fast. To a stupid mistake. He lost.

A panicked scream and somebody running. The civilian scientist?

“Major!” one of his soldiers called.

He was somewhat annoyed it was necessary to confirm he required assistance. Maybe his elevated bravado had exceeded what was smart. He moved a hand a little, aware these were not strong words coming from a major flat on his back, the enemy bracketing his head on either side with his legs, keeping him down.

“Leave him! Shoot the other one!”

His Ocelots attacked the agent, making him move off of their commander to engage. It was sweet the first attacker was avoiding blood splatter on his leader's uniform, but foolish. Instead of shooting, his soldier attempted hitting him with his rifle. It was to his eventual dismay, because the engagement did not go well for his man. Crawling on the ground out of range of the close quarters fighting, he turned to his back to watch.

In awe, he witnessed the operative dismantle them using his body for a weapon and the occasional tranquilizer dart. This guy was fantastic. He wasn't even breaking a sweat. Ocelot washed his hands of their failure. He did order them to shoot...

The unit soundly defeated, and thinking about how he was still on the ground nearby, he chose to act. He dropped holding his aching right arm, retrieved gun in hand. Ocelot attacked utilizing the jammed gun as a blunt instrument. The agent grabbed and spun him by the attacking arm, hitting him below the chin with his own weapon. He was thrown to the ground by the same arm, sending his gun and the previously jammed bullet sailing through air.

“Gah!”

The stranger was so quick and smooth with his movements. He was excellent at responding. He was pitiful in this man's eyes, nowhere near a real obstacle or opponent. Ocelot was on the ground squirming in discomfort.

“Impossible...”

“You ejected the first bullet by hand, didn't you?”

He had a low and gruff voice, kind of raspy. His Russian was fluent. But he didn't look Russian. Wait, was this man presently circling him..lecturing?

“I see what you were trying to do, but testing a technique you've only heard about in the middle of battle wasn't very smart. You were asking to have your gun jam on you.”

Ocelot yanked his head upward to look at him, vision blurring. “Huh?”

Was that an American accent?

“Besides, I don't think you're cut out for an automatic in the first place. You tend to twist your elbow to absorb the recoil. That's more of a revolver technique.”

Bastard was telling him how to do combat? What weapon was suitable? Defeating him wasn't humiliating enough? Enraged, he scrambled to gain the energy to pick himself up off the ground.

“You filthy American dog!”

Knife drawn from the sheath at his belt, he charged. The knife arm was blocked and he got punched in the stomach with the other hand. He grunted and the same arm hit with a forearm to his back near the neck, making him express more pain. His eyes rolled, loss of consciousness approaching. He was thrown to the ground on his back again. The third time!

Ocelot released a frustrated noise from his place on the ground. It was worse knowing the man was right. He was an idiot to try a brand new technique in the middle of real combat. He was shamed and finished. This man's mercy was the only reason he might survive the day. He was far below his abilities.

The man put his knife near him. “But that was some fancy shooting. You're pretty good.”

He grabbed the wrist holding the knife hovering above him. He lifted his head, pointing two fingers at him.

“Pretty..good?”

So offended. Weakly gazing up to the man, he felt exhausted. Everything went black.

When things were less black, he blinked awake, one of his soldiers kneeling by his side.

“Major!”

“I'm fine.”

He dragged up from the ground and dusted himself off. He retrieved his hat and gun, the bullet that jammed too. The sky was changed. It was later. How long had he been out?

Ocelot departed the facility with his still breathing people, thankful the American agent hadn't used lethal force. That man... His mind refused to quit ruminating on every moment between them. He hardly cared that the helicopters were in the process of getting ready to go.

Unable to let go of his defeat, he sat on a bench in the helicopter where Volgin boarded with some large cases. They began the journey to the fortress once the scientist's special project had been attached and carried by their five helicopters. He contemplated the suggestion a revolver was more suitable for his style of shooting, staring at the handgun and the formerly jammed bullet held in either hand. Sounds of discontent slipped out.

He watched the colonel a moment when he opened the cases, crouching to do so and chuckling to himself.

“Excellent,” Volgin said. “A great success.”

The man wasn't done talking.

“Thanks to The Boss and her COBRAS, I have both Sokolov and the Shagohod.”

Ocelot looked over. At least somebody was impressed with himself today. Was that perfume? Distracted, he stood and grasped a pole as he came around the side of the bench to look at a woman seated on the bench behind his own. She was looking away but it was easy to see thin glasses and a Soviet uniform. That's right, Sokolov's lover, or so she said.

“What are we going to do with the girl?” he asked the colonel, curious.

Volgin turned partway to see who he was referring to. “Who is she?”

“Apparently she's Sokolov's woman.”

The big man approached and she moved a bit farther away, avoiding looking in their direction. He couldn't blame her. Volgin put a foot on the bench and grabbed her face to turn her toward him.

“She's a nice catch. I'll take her.”

Ocelot grimaced internally. He hoped he wouldn't force her. He knew better. She was a prisoner if they took her to the base. The colonel could do what he liked with impunity and no one would argue otherwise. He sympathized and thought the sadistic man might offer a gentler touch since she was a woman.

The woman had been reaching into her pocket, prompting Volgin to grab her wrist. “Not so fast, my dear.”

It was lipstick. Ocelot turned his back to look elsewhere.

“A kiss of death?”

That brought his attention back around to ask, “Are you KGB?”

They happened to catch a KGB spy? What were the odds? It was an alarming development. She could mess things up for him if he wasn't careful.

“We may be able to use her,” Volgin said, returning the lipstick to her hand. “She has spunk.”

He covered his desire to recoil at the phrase that had been targeted to him before, by asking, “Shall we take her back to the base?”

“Perhaps we should,” said the colonel, now busy with a missile he was putting together. “We have no further use for Sokolov's research facility.”

Horror at the meaning. What was he doing? Why would he do this? He couldn't!

“I think it's time I gave this marvelous new toy a try.”

“What?” he uttered, spinning to face Volgin.

“Colonel.” He stood beside the insane man. “Even if they are our enemies, they're still our countrymen.”

“But it won't be me who pulled the trigger,” the commander reasoned. “It'll be our friend, the American defector.”

Ocelot moved to his other side and grabbed him by the arms, pleading, “You're going to nuke your fellow Russians?”

Volgin shoved his arm and as a result he fell away hard. “Uh!”

“Remember the Alamo.”

The guy was grinning. He had to stop this. One final try from his kneeling position after falling, he called, “Colonel!”

Colonel Volgin fired and he stared alongside him at the destruction that resulted. This would be blamed on their legendary defector. The countries would come to war and if by some miracle that didn't happen, it would still ignite the cold war into something more lasting, more dangerous.

It was a shocking day.

Chapter Text

August 25, 1964

He'd hung a very special bullet around his neck. His failures bothered him but the American agent claimed victory over his waking thoughts. Ocelot hoped he would meet the agent again. He was humbled by vastly superior skill and knowledge. The man impressed him and he desired the opportunity to earn approval from such incredible talent.

Humiliation served well to motivate making changes. He got himself a revolver first thing the day after he met this agent. The day was spent on the shooting range, refining movements and usage of the new weapon. He tried to ignore memories of how young, reckless, and cocky he'd been proven to be. His skill was commended. That was something.

Pretty..good...

He scowled, spinning the cylinder closed after a reload. Aiming, Ocelot fired at the target, making a smile on the chest area. He began flipping and twirling the gun, contemplating the man on his mind. How did he beat someone so trained? He had to show him what he was really capable of.

“Your accomplishments are formidable. Who taught you?”

Ocelot twirled the gun into the holster. He removed it and positioned it back in the holster properly. Giving finger guns with both hands in greeting, he offered a small smile.

“Hey, Boss. Is that what we call you?” He drew the gun and resumed twirling fancy. “I had some training. I teach myself the good stuff. I can learn by watching and copying.”

“The revolver,” she brought up, meandering closer. “What made you switch from the Makarov?”

He holstered the revolver. “I tasted bitter defeat. He was your student, wasn't he? No wonder he was so good.”

“How old are you?”

Everyone always wanted to know how old he was. It mattered and he wished it didn't. Did the American agent give advice and leave him and his unit alive because of his age? No... There was more to it. He chose not to kill when it wasn't necessary. Ocelot respected that.

“Twenty. I earn my rank. I might have gotten special treatment because of my parents but I was prepared for this. I'm good.”

She smiled at his defensiveness. Raising her hands to display she intended no offense before lowering them, she finished her approach. The defector stood by his side, examining his target before looking beyond and then to him.

“Be careful of overconfidence. It's common in youth.”

Ocelot examined the legendary hero. She was willing to turn traitor after decades of loyal service and sacrifice. Colonel Volgin placed the blame for the nuke on her and the Soviet Union and America bought it. It seemed too messy for his liking. He was suspicious something was up, although he had no concrete beliefs.

It was his turn to ask her something personal. “Why didn't you bring your protege with you? Why abandon him?”

Her expression tightened. A sore subject, as expected. If she could pry, he could.

“He isn't my student anymore.”

Colonel Volgin was heading their way. He pulled his gun and tossed it around. When Volgin was almost with them, he caught the weapon, loaded a solitary bullet, and fired at the target with barely a glance. He and The Boss observed he'd nailed the target through the forehead.

“How are you and your Cobras liking my fortress?”

“It's inspiring, Colonel Volgin. I know coming here has been the right choice.”

“Splendid!”

The woman became distracted, looking on either side of herself. She looked puzzled, affected. Collecting her composure, Boss sighed heavily and turned, waving farewell as she walked away. The two officers watched her departure briefly and the older of them shifted to view him.

“You haven't lost your touch,” he mentioned, gesturing to the target.

“No, sir.”

“Which has me wonder why you failed your mission so completely.”

Frowning, he holstered the revolver. “We weren't aware the Americans knew of the defection and sent an operative to retrieve Sokolov.”

It was public knowledge Colonel Volgin punished failure. He was disappointed in him. A foreign agent stepped in and succeeded where he failed. Had The Boss not been present and interceded, maybe Sokolov would be in America now. Huh. If the defector did turn out to be an agent working for America all along, that fact was peculiar. The portable nuclear weapons they may have given her to gift the target they were against was insane as well. Look what happened. Yes, she couldn't be a false traitor.

“No, we were not. But you are supposed to be trained for any contingency. Your promotion may have been hasty.”

“Colonel! That's-”

He was goading him. His actions didn't deserve reduction of rank. Volgin abused his power but that would never pass without significant misconduct on his part. The man was probably just annoyed he wasn't a fan of his choice to nuke comrades to stimulate the cold war. What a depraved soul.

“You must make yourself aware of your habits, major. Bravery is admirable, your potential is great, but your inexperience endangers you.”

Ocelot reluctantly stared at the ground, scuffing it once with a boot tip. He was right. His head rose when he was prepared to show confidence.

“Yes, colonel. Understood.”

Volgin shifted posture to scrutinize the row of targets, most resting untouched. There were two other soldiers practicing their shooting, but they seemed to be spending the majority of the time pausing to chat. Ocelot observed the commander while he shoved hands into his pockets. Fists emerged from the coat carrying bullets in his grasp. He shot them via electric power, propelling four bullets into two separate targets. Forming a shield of electricity around himself, he turned back to Ocelot.

“Don't disappoint me, major.”

He pondered the childish thought of getting a water bucket to splash on his front. The sky was fairly murky. A nice rainfall would be welcome. Volgin walked away to go inside. Considering the colonel's track record, it was strange he skipped him for punishment. Perhaps not. He was major rank after all. Ocelot was a member of his inner circle.

It started to rain. He smiled. Ocelot jerked and immediately calmed. When would he stop jumping at this spirit's presence?

“Sad man. Hello.”

“Is it raining blood?”

“Ah, I... Is it?”

He was too confused to provide a better response. The dead guy shimmered out of existence. Frowning, he glanced around for him. He reappeared some yards away, close to the tree line. Ocelot waltzed over to try and see what was what.

“Are you okay?” He felt instantly stupid questioning if the dead person was okay.

The man's slicker was up, the rain beating down on them. He looked sideways at him and smiled wider. Ocelot wasn't sure what to make of it. No hints were given on his thinking.

“The spirit of the warrior..will always be with you.”

Ocelot wiped rain out of his eyes. “Hey, have you been floating around me when I can't see you?”

The guy was gone before he could get an answer to what he remembered wanting to ask. He stared at the spot he'd been. Putting the odd visit behind him, he strolled to the range again. His thoughts were absorbed on the American agent.

August 28, 1964

The Boss would look at him strangely. He noticed because she corrected herself the second she realized what she was doing. What was going on? For three days she didn't have that look. He knew he didn't do anything suspicious or more attention-grabbing than usual.

He was currently in the West Wing, granted permission by Colonel Volgin ever since they gained possession of the rocket scientist. Nikolai Sokolov was working on something called the Shagohod. It was near completion and would revolutionize nuclear warfare. He had to wonder what the countries were fighting about. The idea and science existed to build mobile nuclear weaponry. It was inevitable. Nations would possess more and more advanced weaponry, including those with nuclear capabilities. If they wanted to bomb the globe to destruction, so be it. They wouldn't. Governments were brainless.

Ocelot turned his back to The Boss, bothered. Why did she keep looking? Too young for her to accept his position at the fortress? Could she somehow suspect he was a spy? Impossible. He didn't think she was a spy for America, but..maybe? He dismissed the suspicion as quickly as it entered his mind.

Swaggering over to the prized scientist, Ocelot narrowed his eyes at the weapon housed in their building, bending at the waist. He straightened, humming to indicate he was thinking vocally. The scientist attempted to defect. His family made it, he didn't. He was an unfortunate man because what he could create was coveted. He would never be free. The agent was relieved that wasn't his situation. If he retired and disappeared, the CIA wouldn't bother searching. If they did bother, he could stay hidden or slip into the shadows as he pleased.

“You like space?”

Sokolov startled and began cowering. He refrained rolling eyes and gave him a single two finger gesture to encourage it was his go to speak. The man gradually perked up to stand normally once he realized he wasn't going to hurt him or yell or whatever he thought would happen.

“S-space?”

“I heard you wanted to work in the space program.”

He showed surprise, regarding him differently. “Y-yes. That was my dream.”

The gun emerged, spinning on a finger. “You're a genius for weapons. That's what you should be doing.”

The man shook his head repeatedly in disagreement, gazing to the floor. A coward, or more likely just not a fool. He was a prisoner here. It would be unwise to become confrontational or obstinate.

Ocelot shrugged. “Give up, and it's all over. Don't you forget it.”

“I was in space,” a quiet voice at his elbow said. “It's beautiful.”

He peeked at the woman in her sneak suit and backed up a few steps to gaze at her proper. Tossing the gun above his head, he caught it behind his back, twirled it rapidly, and holstered it. He drew out the decorative revolver to place it in the correct direction. He looked her way.

She waited for his ear before speaking further. “It made me realize how meaningless war is. On a global scale, we are nothing. There's one essential thing to remember. We should know our own wills and do our best to let others express their wills freely.”

Sokolov shuddered at the sight of her and returned to his clipboard. Ocelot studied The Boss a moment and waltzed off without a care. His mind was turning over matters at hand.

Ocelot decided he would have to kill the scientist. He couldn't let Volgin keep him. If he eliminated Sokolov in a manner which seemed unintentional, he should avoid severe consequences. He would have to allow the procedures to progress far enough the colonel got his weapon. Destroy the Shagohod somehow then. But how?

Graniny Gorki

Since the Cobra Unit's arrival, The Fear took pleasure in scaring him to death. He would spook the other soldiers too. Ocelot walked the halls of the secret research facility searching for the troublemaker. The task was left to him to deal with the unusual issue.

Ocelot saw The End's wheelchair rolling along on its own while the super old guy seated in it was dead to the world. “You. I need to talk to you.”

The chair stopped and he stiffened, uncertain whether the famous war hero was staying put or moving on him. He regained composure, thinking he'd hear movement, so he must not be moving. Out of habit, the hand hovered close to his belt. He assumed he was listening.

“It's fallen to me to request you cease terrifying the soldiers while they're on duty.”

The soldier appeared, hands grasping the handles of the wheelchair. He wore camouflage which contained the device allowing him to vanish, blending in with whatever surroundings available. His eyes were freaky from the special eye lenses he must be wearing, and a crossbow was slung on his back. A hand swept through slicked black and white hair.

“I seek to test their readiness.”

He drifted into his prepared speech, suggested to him by another officer. “If it's a matter of boredom, we have vast nature you can explore to hone abilities. We also have a decent library selection, and-”

“I will give you a fear such as you've never experienced before.”

Ocelot ignored the “offer” and appraised the seasoned elite soldier. His claim to fame was bringing fear into battle, going to extreme measures to frighten enemy combatants. He was in his fifties now, far younger than the man in the chair.

“Is the old guy alright? How old is he?”

His tongue flicked out to lick his lips a moment. Forked. By choice. Bizarre. The older man's head tilted, nose sniffing and shoulders hunching forward. He straightened.

“Have food on you?”

Eyebrows lifted and he wordlessly tugged out a ration bar, holding it up.

“Give it to me?”

“Grandpa!”

Ocelot sidestepped, lowering his arm to his side, squinting at the bird flying past to land on the sleeping man's lap. The Fear stooped to shush the parrot, saying it wasn't time. The creature flew back the direction it had come. He shook his head, returning attention to the men.

“I heard the old man was more than a century old. Is it true?”

“Yes. Is it true you've only aged two decades?”

His face reddened, self-conscious. He muttered, “Yes.”

The Fear smiled in amusement. Another who could make him feel small. He cleared his throat, remembering why he sought the soldier out.

“Please stop using your abilities on allies. Busy yourself with something else.”

He extended an arm, palm facing up. Ocelot looked at it and then at the man seemingly expecting to obtain a thing. What? Oh. He huffed and held his arm out holding the ration.

“Soft.”

“Excuse me?”

The man smiled and unwrapped the ration, starting in on it like it was the most delicious food ever. He tilted his head, chewing and studying him simultaneously. Ocelot determined he was finished here.

“Behave.”

“I like you, boy.”

He paused, partially turned to go. He glanced to him but opted to say nothing and finger gunned goodbye. Walking out of the building into the wild outside, he mulled over whether their conversation would have any effect.

August 29, 1964

Orders came through which excited him. The American Agent was codenamed “Naked Snake”. Ocelot was to meet with him to provide aid as his true self, using his own codename “ADAM”. To confirm identities, he would be asked, “Who are the patriots?” He would answer, “La li lu le lo.” This..Snake, would be surprised to learn they were working for the same country.

Snake's mission objectives were to retrieve Sokolov, destroy the nuclear device he was creator of called the Shagohod, kill the traitor, and eliminate Volgin's threat. The latter meaning Volgin needed to be disarmed by either killing the man himself or killing his forces and resources. It was humorous to him how much America was being forced to take care of the Soviet Union's problems.

President Johnson had been phoned directly by Khrushchev and threatened into fixing the situation with Volgin and the traitor, as the Red Army believed the fired nuke was a ploy by America. Ocelot didn't doubt the possibility. Now Khrushchev and the military were both ready to start a real war. Madness. The Boss could not be their plant. It made too little sense.

Rumor had it should the American agent fail this mission, he and the mission head within FOX would be executed. That was rough. Was this particular special operations organization going to be long for this world? One of them turned traitor in favor of Russia. Ah well, he wouldn't let the agent fail. Ocelot and Snake were in this together now.

The Boss was Snake's former mentor. Mentor and apprentice. It must be a nightmare to have orders to kill the person who built him. What kind of relationship did they have? She didn't take him with her when she defected. He never had any one person to care for him. Many were responsible for his upbringing, none of them warm.

Ocelot could recall a lot of white-walled rooms, stiff-backed desks, tutors, and bland food. He spoke too many languages and missed the days when he could be his true self. This life would expect him to sacrifice personality and personal choice more times than he would like. He knew this. Accepting that reality would just take a little longer.

He was in the East Wing following lunch, lost in how he was to meet Snake when two members of the Cobra Unit caught his eye. They were seated in chairs at one of the tables in a break area. He hesitated but resumed pace just as quickly, however, he was called.

“Major Ocelot!”

Ocelot halted and looked to the two seasoned soldiers who covered their bodies except for around the eyes. The spaceman waved him over. His mind sped through thoughts of what they wanted. None of the Cobras were particularly chatty. They lived to fight.

The Pain kicked out a chair and he sat in it feeling obliged. Weren't they uncomfortable wearing their combat outfits all the time? He glimpsed the small portion of skin showing and felt stupid. One had severe burns and the other severe swelling. These men lived in discomfort on a permanent basis. He felt sad for their condition.

“What do you know of Boss?”

He examined The Fury. “She's a legendary soldier, said to be the mother of special forces, founder of the Cobra Unit for special operations during World War II, and she had strong connections to the Philosophers. Most recently, defector to the Soviet Union.”

“Textbook answer,” the man commented. “We call ourselves her sons. We fought and bled together in the war. Outcasts of society, we formed our own family and purpose, choosing an emotion to carry into battle.”

Ocelot listed them off. “Fury, Pain, Fear... End? That's not an emotion.”

The Pain chuckled. “No. End has been in this world a long time, long before us. Do you know what emotion Boss carried into battle?”

He didn't and said nothing in response.

“Joy. Did you expect such an emotion?”

“She likes fighting that much?”

“You seem to,” The Fury mentioned.

A little embarrassed, he blushed with shame. “I..like to prove what I can do.”

“Mm. The thrill of battle. You understand it, don't you? The excitement of pressure to perform, to defeat your enemy, to survive danger.”

Ocelot assented, nodding one time. He removed his hat. He hated the damn thing. It rested on his lap while he thought of his love of guns and what parts of his cover leaked into his true identity.

“Do you know Boss?” asked The Fury. “Have you met her before she defected to this country?”

He blinked, perplexed. “What? No. Why do you ask?”

The soldiers exchanged glances. Scowling, he wanted to be told what this was about. He made himself wait. Demands wouldn't exactly intimidate legends like these men.

“I don't know,” The Pain finally said. “We noticed she's been unbalanced since yesterday.”

“Unbalanced?” he queried.

“Distracted. Perhaps defection is weighing complicated on her. It's nothing.”

He stood. “Excuse me. I have to return to duty.”

They nodded a dismissal to acknowledge his departure and he resumed the path he had been on. So it was something. Did The Pain and The Fury question him because they were of the opinion it was his fault she was preoccupied? How could he say what was wrong with her? The Boss was known to him by reputation, otherwise she was a stranger.

Chapter Text

Rassvet, Tselinoyarsk

August 31, 1964

It was challenging to convene his unit and depart under the radar. By way of his radio, he was informed Naked Snake dropped into the zone late the previous night. The plan to obscure his purpose was his Ocelots. He would have them accompany him to the area outside the designated meet point, claiming a hunch of where he believed they'd send in the American agent.

The Boss told Colonel Volgin she knew her former apprentice would be the operative they selected to interfere in their affairs. There was a pod discovered the night before which had to be his means of entry. The area polluted with nuclear fall-out, nobody bothered investigating the explosion after the initial hours. Well, aside from a couple unlucky units ordered to patrol.

Ocelot didn't intend to broadcast his early morning trip but by the time they were setting foot inside their destination, it was much later than anticipated. While he ventured to his secret rendezvous alone, his unit was sent scattering outward in the opposite direction. And his track record of failure continued.

There was someone in the ruins of the facility, sitting in one of the few remaining rooms while Snake appeared asleep. Who was he? He trusted him? The agent realized he'd been replaced. A fake. How could he buy it? The impostor couldn't have the code to confirm identities.

Greatly annoyed, he crept out of the area to gather the soldiers. His mind was abuzz with thinking. Okay, if someone wanted to pretend to be him, fine. He would provide essential aid to Snake in a covert manner. Ocelot tried not to be angry he was foiled. Recovering his unit, they arrived together at the facility and spread out with the light of dawn.

He detected somebody eliminating the Ocelots one by one. A peep of the man slithering through grass and he smiled. Hm. Another in a dark yellow jumpsuit diverted his gaze. He was wearing a helmet and covering over the lower half of his face. Intrigued, he moved to gain the upper hand on the intruder.

His presence was noticed and he fired three shots to throw his target off-kilter. He ran for a bike and Ocelot shot again, forcing him to switch plans and run up a set of stairs. Pursuing, he fired two more times, grabbing the guy and aiming the revolver to his back. Ocelot brought the knife in his left hand up and to the man's throat. A close quarters approach using two weapons, just like Snake. He allowed a quick smirk and began forcing the other up the stairs to stand on the platform. Awaiting the defeat of his soldiers, he tingled excitement for their fight.

There he was! This time a tactical green outfit with utility straps. No face paint, but an earpiece, and his facial hair was thicker. Snake had a bandana tied around his head, hair falling over it a little.

A smile broke across his face. “I've been waiting for this moment.”

The American agent turned around with his gun and knife stance to peer upward at them. He marveled on the man, fingers grasping his new revolver. It was an antique one, historical and making him feel like a fancy cowboy. EVA would either be extremely displeased or she would have had a laugh.

“That's it! That's the stance!”

His hostage tried to shove him away for an escape but he grabbed the guy back. “I don't think so.”

Wait... He felt the chest on one side and was feeling a female breast. It was surprising.

“What? A female spy?”

This woman knocked him off. Ocelot put the knife back to her throat. From his position behind, he sniffed her neck.

“This bitch is wearing perfume.”

He glanced to the right, noticing Snake moving in on that side. “Stay where you are.”

Pointing the revolver at him, he said, “I've had enough of your judo.”

Ocelot had to get the better of him. It would be his win this time. He didn't want to get his ass kicked again. The man was looking at his revolver.

“I see you've got yourself a single-action army.”

He smiled, “That's right.” Studying the gun he acquired, he added, “There'll be no accidents this time.”

“You call that an accident?” Snake replied, smiling like the thought of him thinking of his stupid mistake that way was funny. “Well, it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been showing off.”

“What did you say?” he uttered, offended.

“It's a nice gun, I'll give you that. But the engraving gives you no tactical advantage whatsoever. Unless you were planning to auction it off as a collector's item.”

Ocelot stared at the revolver close to his face. Upset, he waved it low and away. A gun like this wasn't meant for combat? He was frustrated getting educated again. This man made him the fool. That wasn't him. He was a talent, an up and coming agent proving his worth. Why did this agent render him dumb and helpless?

He released a disgruntled noise, pulling the gun away from his face.

“And you're forgetting one more very basic thing.”

His eyes widened, knowing he was in trouble when the guy lowered his gun.

“You don't have what it takes to kill me.”

He was making a nice target for Ocelot. “We'll see...”

Aiming nonlethal and non-debilitating, he pulled the trigger, figuring it was the operative's fault for lowering his guard. The second he did and it clicked empty, he remembered that pesky trouble. He tried pointlessly two more times, humiliated and wishing a round would be there and just fire. Such a newbie mistake was shocking.

The woman he held hostage hit him. He tried to hit her back but she kicked him, causing him to fall off the upper level to the ground below. She threw herself off to land on her bike from above. That had to hurt. He got up from the ground, hearing her engine turn on, hoping to reach her before she could accelerate. He tightened his grip on his knife, useless revolver in the other hand, and hustled forward.

Ocelot grunted when she popped it upward, tire spinning across his face. He hit the ground hard again, nearly landing on his head. A lot of pain...

He groaned, knife missing and empty revolver landing close by, drawing up on an elbow. This was impossible. He was a sorry excuse for a combatant. The rematch ended disastrously for him and Snake didn't know he was ADAM. He could be killed right then. He started shaking his head to reorient.

“Six shots,” the agent said, approaching with his gun aimed. “That gun only carries six shots. The Makarov carries eight.”

Ocelot kept slapping himself on the forehead, a bit to keep awake and alert, but mostly in response to his idiocy. He wished for Snake not to look at him. This was the worst thing that ever happened. He had control and let it slip from his grasp in seconds because of a simple mistake. He wasn't worth much in a fight.

“You have to get a feel for how many you have left.”

He had to prove he could do well. The second Snake lowered the gun, he grabbed his weapon from the ground while halfway up from a crouch. The American agent pointed his weapon toward him out of precaution but he was busy staring at the weapon that failed him while getting to his feet.

“This is a high-class weapon. It's not meant for shooting people.”

The female spy on the bike was next to Snake watching him too. He couldn't do anything here. They had the upper hand. He was defenseless. And angrily frustrated at himself.

“Damn!” He tossed his arm holding the gun to his side after staring at it in his face too long.

He held up a finger, twirling the gun rapidly before holstering it. Ocelot removed the revolver and flipped it once to face the proper way. He set fingers toward them, backing away and maintaining his cover through it all.

“This isn't over yet!”

Ocelot turned and ran. He heard Snake exclaim but didn't know why and didn't wait around to see. He had a lot to think about.

Some amount of time later, he sulked to the old factory facility to recover his detested hat.

Groznyj Grad

A soldier leaving the room with a bandaged hand stared. “What happened to your face?”

“Stop talking!”

“You underestimated him. He's dangerous. You should keep your distance.”

His grouchy demeanor lightened, startled The Boss was in the hospital ward. When the Ocelots saw the tire treads on his face, they persisted he go to be checked for head injury. Now everyone would learn he was in Rassvet, risking radiation to fight an intruder. Not a bad thing by itself, unless someone got wise and noted the oddity. He would play it as a young, reckless major seeking approval and victory. It wasn't far off from the truth.

He seized the moistened towel from the nurse to clean the black marks on his own. The Boss reached them and took it out of his grip, brow furrowed. Ocelot held still while she began wiping the tire marks away.

“Someone had a bike?”

“A woman. A spy. She was with the American.”

She seemed to be taking in his sour mood, calculating what to say or do. He was staring at the ceiling when she gripped his chin and tilted his head back. The towel dipped in the water and returned. He didn't know what to make of this defector. Despite her reputation, she was kind, affectionate.

“You won't bruise. Incredible.”

Ocelot lowered his chin when she finished, thoughts revolving around one man. “You trained him well. My elite soldiers were fledglings to his mastery. He's good.”

A hint of a smile appeared, then disappeared. A sterner expression replaced it. “Follow orders, major. Choices can endanger us. They say you're clever. Be clever.”

He smirked, prideful. “That's right.”

She set the towel on the table. “You were associated with the Philosophers. Are you still?”

“Yes.” He realized his error. “No. We had a difference in opinion.”

“How so?”

Frowning, he hesitantly responded, “They overshadowed my potential. I want to make my own outcomes on my own merits.”

Colonel Volgin appeared in the doorway to the open room, eyes falling upon him sitting on an examination table. It was news to the commander. Ocelot avoided his questioning stare, focusing on The Boss, who turned to see who he did. Volgin called to her and she abruptly left him to join the old man.

A brief exchange of words he couldn't hear and they departed together. Curiosity won. Ocelot hopped down and strode for the way out. No one bothered to stop him and he soon located the colonel and The Boss. He positioned himself against a wall, listening to the two around the corner.

“My Cobras will deal with the intruder.”

“Hm. Should be a worthy battle.”

The Boss nodded. “My sons are ready to face my former apprentice in battle. Pain, I'll send you.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Ocelot took a peek past the corner. All of the Cobra Unit was present in the wide hallway. The colonel became distracted when Tatyana entered the area. He didn't approve of how she was allowed to walk freely about the base. Volgin went to harass the unfortunate prisoner. The Boss spoke to her unit in a hushed voice.

He was amused to discover she had a tracker planted on Snake. There was no signal at the moment but they would check in throughout the day. She was using it to let her Cobras ambush the agent. Smiling, he decided he would use their method and create his own ambush in order to get his rematch. Ocelot made himself scarce until it was safe to emerge and access the device they were utilizing to track the intruder.

While awaiting the opportunity, he went to survey the weapons cache. Pleased to find a combat appropriate revolver, he looked over the pile of identical guns available. He picked up a second one, turning it about in his hand. Two revolvers would give double the shots. He wasn't going to forget to count his shots.

Ocelot meandered outside, practicing twirling and spinning two weapons at the same time. He ordered a patrolling soldier to acquire a sash full of rounds for his revolvers. The sash would make bullets more accessible and speed up reloads. He dropped a gun and checked around to make sure he wasn't seen. He tossed and swapped the guns from hand to hand, behind his back, above his head. It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. He was pretty good.

“Major.”

He stumbled and nearly lost his grip on the revolvers. Catching them, he balanced and holstered both. Volgin walked closer, stern. Tatyana was cowering a few yards behind him. He wondered on her treatment and wished she could escape pointlessly. Spies saw and did bad things. Ocelot needed to accept that about his life.

Saluting, he greeted, “Colonel.”

“I want you to keep an eye on Tanya. She isn't feeling well and I have other matters.”

Ocelot scowled at the idea of watching the probable KGB agent held prisoner. She seemed only kept for the colonel's sadistic behavior. He claimed she could be of use to them as KGB, but he had yet to do anything with that. As she moved to stand next to the abusive bastard, he smelled something odd.

“Is there a problem?”

He lifted his arms, gesturing wide. “Why don't you put her in a cell?”

“Questioning my authority, Ocelot?”

“No.”

“Good. Stay put in the Southwest area.” He glanced at Tatyana. “Play nice.”

More sarcastic than anything else, he finger gunned toward the man's retreating back. Ocelot eyed the woman who stared at the ground when she saw he noticed her looking. He gave her his hand gestures too, sighing in irritation. Now he had to figure out how to lose her and gain Snake's location. She wouldn't fuss his ditching her. Tatyana would in all likelihood prefer the solitude.

Bolshaya Past

Sunset was upon the day. Snake was aware of him the moment he reached the edge of the crevice. It was impressive he got this far so easily. Smiling, he waltzed out from behind the tree he'd been leaning on while lying in wait.

“Ah, you're here at last.” He faced the other man. “Looks like The Boss's info was right.”

The agent didn't even think him worth aiming his weapon at anymore. He drew fast and was satisfied to successfully outdraw Snake, whose hands were only touching his gun and knife on his person. Smirking, he lifted the barrel up and away, spinning the revolver until it was returned to his holster.

“Twice now you've made me taste bitter defeat.”

He could tell Snake was working to figure him out, what his intentions were to be. Ocelot liked that. It let him feel important. The unit commander swung his head, crying out his cat call to beckon the soldiers forth.

His Ocelots were among general soldiers stationed at this location. The soldiers came from everywhere, surrounding Snake. They were here as a show of strength and to be entertained. He commanded respect from these men. He wanted Snake to respect him. Ocelot also sought a fair fight. Neither of them were running away without finishing this fight to a proper conclusion.

“I hate to disappoint the Cobras, but you're mine now,” he claimed, displaying finger guns to him.

Snake's mouth curled. He didn't look happy. Understandable. Ocelot had him cornered and there were a lot of soldiers who managed to ambush the special forces operative. Time to proceed to the matter at hand.

“All of you, leave us.” Their guns came up, ceasing aim on the target. “It's just you and me.”

“No one to get in our way,” he continued. “Ocelots are proud creatures. They prefer to hunt alone.”

He tugged out his two revolvers, twirling them. It hadn't taken him long to know he could do two as well as one. He wondered what three might be like. Excessive? Could be fun.

Ocelot tossed the guns, swapping what hand was holding which. He twirled the weapons again and holstered one, spending extra time to spin and throw around the single revolver. Tossing it behind his back and switching hands, he pulled the second gun out again and resumed twirling them. Satisfied he duly impressed everyone watching with his handling abilities, he brought the dual revolvers up to point at Snake.

“Twelve shots...” he murmured, giving a brief smile.

He began spinning the guns prior to holstering them. Snake shifted, growing restless or growing conscious the fight was imminent. Ocelot tilted his head back, reminding to count shots in his brain.

“This time I've got twelve shots.”

His stance shifted, readying to draw against his opponent. Kind of like a western. This was a real duel, because although he had orders to assist the agent in his mission, he wasn't opposed to creating an additional challenge for him. Would Snake show him mercy a third time? Or take him serious and fight his best?

Their eyes locked, studying. “Okay... Draw!”

Chapter Text

The gunfight barely started before a soldier or two opened fire on Snake. His unit was just ensuring their major wouldn't come to harm but he'd ordered them to stand down. It was his choice to endanger himself for a good battle.

“Stay out of this!”

Ocelot took shots and the other hid behind a rock. He moved when automatic fire came his way. He didn't notice Snake had an assault rifle. How'd he miss that? What? The man was climbing into a tree. Bullet spray nearly got him.

When he ran out of bullets, he gave a big display of reloading his weapon. He spouted exclamations of how the reload time was exhilarating and the tension was something he enjoyed. Ocelot did like reloading single bullets into a chamber better than putting a magazine into a pistol. But these guns were a pain in the ass to reload.

“Major! I can't just sit back and watch!”

He exhaled. Those bullets came close. Snake was using a handgun. The rifle must be out of ammunition. He flinched and ran to hide behind a tree when his opponent shot a fruit off a branch to drop on him. No honor in that.

“How dare you!”

A bullet almost hit his gun arm and he tossed himself backward to the ground to avoid it. “Son of a-!”

Ocelot swung around with guns raised level, Snake holding his own gun at him in turn. Distraction ensued when hornets appeared, their numbers increasing and beginning to overwhelm them. The Pain!

“Damn it.” He lifted his guns up. “He found us!”

He warded off the attacking insects by spinning his guns, knocking many to the ground. They were attacking everybody in the area, including his unit! He heard screams. Ocelot backed up, back hitting a tree trunk.

Something told him it wasn't safe in the spot. He moved away, ending up at the crevice again. His thoughts turned to fleeing. He had to escape these hornets.

“You were lucky!” he called to Snake, holstering his guns. “We'll meet again.”

Ocelot swiveled and was stunned to have the sensation of an arm brushing past him. He couldn't see anything there. Shuffling to the side, he pulled a revolver and turned, firing. The invisible enemy shimmered, appearing partially, but it was a brief sight. He was falling. To avoid the shot, the Cobra member jerked, knocking into him.

He was so shocked he couldn't scream on the way down. Air rushed out of his lungs and he choked in fear. He hit water which lessened the collision with the cave below. It wasn't very deep and he staggered out of the water, surrounded by darkness. Ocelot stumbled blind, pulling himself along by clutching a rock wall.

It was pure luck he found light. He entered a water-filled cavern lit by plenty of outside light from a wide opening above. Hornets swarmed through the opening, descending. He backed away, reluctant to go to the dark but not a fan of the water or masses of stinging insects either. The Pain was trying to kill him or Ocelot was getting in the way of his efforts to kill Snake. Whatever the reality, it was something he didn't favor.

“You! Major!”

He froze, peering upward as a man coated in hornets lowered into the cave system, setting on a rock in the middle of water. His foot slipped on the smooth, wet stone and he didn't try to catch himself with all the buzzing and swarming clogging his thought process. He plummeted into the water.

Deceptively deep here, Ocelot swam to the surface, coughing out water that got in his lungs. The Pain was standing on the central rock still. He paddled to the rock opposite. Dragging up onto it, he glared, soaked to the bone.

“Boss wants to speak with you.”

Ocelot was horrified at how he could wield hornets to his cause. Impossible, but he was a guy who saw ghosts, so who was he to judge? He wanted to get far from this situation to a more malleable one.

“No way!” he hollered, and raced off into the black.

His progress slowed immediate with the loss of vision. He heard a noise but could not see. He hated this. Ocelot realized he was turning a corner by a torch leaning against the wall. It was too late before he understood it must have an owner somewhere near and then he was tackled, arms encircling his midsection.

Hitting the ground hard, he squirmed and yelled. Hands grabbed his wrists and he yanked one free, but he was then rolled onto his front, the arm not free tugged behind him. A heavy body laid on top to add a definitive block to his desire to separate. His flailing arm trying to push the man on him off was grabbed by the forearm and held down to the ground. He was stuck.

“Take it easy, kid.”

Snake?!

“If The Boss wants to see you, I want to know why.”

“Hm. She didn't say whether she cares if you're there.”

Ocelot made a noise of disgruntlement. The Fear was talking. He almost forgot the jerk attempted to attack or snatch him a few minutes earlier. What was going on that The Boss initiated all of this to talk to him? They had privacy out in the wild compared to a building of possible eyes and ears, but still... This felt excessive.

“Let me go! I'm not supposed to be here!”

Footsteps. Boots stopped just short of his head. “Yet you are.”

He craned his neck to look at the massive stature of the man. It was difficult to view him well since the only light was his torch and Snake's leaning torch a couple yards from them. Speaking of, steps grew farther away and returned bringing light. The Fear held Snake's torch in hand.

“Do we allow it?” The Pain asked his companion.

Noises of thought above. “If Boss disagrees, you can have your battle with him.”

A low laugh. “I hope she disagrees.” The Pain peered down at him and crouched. “Will you come?”

“No!” he shouted, angry he was drenched and smushed into dirty ground. “You'll regret this! Let me go!”

The Cobra stood upright. “Let him up.”

Snake looked at The Pain and then Ocelot before releasing his arm and drawing away to give him space. He scrambled to stand while the American agent rose much slower. He was cautious, aware of the two Cobras. Was he not a danger to Snake? Was he not taken seriously?

They had a fight interrupted but had he been holding back, making sure not to kill him? Why did he care? Snake didn't know they were on the same side, working toward the same goals. He couldn't lose sight of that over petulant desires to be acknowledged.

“This way.”

In response to The Pain's words and shifting to walk in the opposite direction, The Fear grabbed his left arm and tugged to motivate him following. He had a torch in his other hand which should hinder reaction time. Ocelot widened his stance, reaching for the revolver holstered in the front, and his wrist was taken and twisted. His eyes met Snake's, who shook his head to discourage an attack.

He frowned, not because he was going to do it anyway, but because it was him stopping it. Ocelot lowered his arm after Snake loosed his hold. He went, walking along with them, Snake on his right but falling behind by a few feet. In case his cover was blown, he rotated stories and excuses in his mind to deter the defector's accusation.

Emerging from underground, a mile out they reached a wall of rock he didn't think was unusual. On closer inspection, there was a small opening which required bending to pass through. He was bewildered how it opened up into a rather wide, circular carved out room. There was a fire going at the center, large cut logs on four sides.

The Boss had her back to them, fiddling with something in a bag against the wall. She heard them enter and peered over her shoulder.

“Please have a seat, Major Ocelot. I'm sorry for the covert handling of our conversation.”

He flashed her a dirty look she wouldn't see and stood by the fire to dry his uniform. Ocelot could explain an absence; he couldn't explain soaking his uniform. Maybe this was for the best. Given enough time to dry his clothes, there would be no issue back at the compound.

Peeling off his gloves, he scowled at the predicament, setting them on the log. Snake was supposed to be left for the Cobras. How mad would Volgin be if he learned he tried to go after him? He wasn't to go to Rassvet either, but he did. It could be explained away. This wouldn't be a problem as long as he played his cards right.

“Why don't you talk to me inside the fortress? Why all this?”

She put the bag aside and turned to face him. “I had a mission in this location some years ago. This hideout was useful.”

It wasn't an answer. He extended his arms over the fire, as close as he deemed safe. The Pain moved to sit by the fire when The Fear wandered there and The Boss saw Snake.

“What is he doing here?”

The Pain stayed standing, widening his arms, hands in fists. “I will take him outside and fight him if that's what you wish. I relish the chance to test the protege.”

“No. Not now. Sit, Snake. No questions from you. Understand?”

“Boss-”

“Will you listen to your former teacher?”

He made a noise but moved to sit on the log to Ocelot's right. Ocelot studied him. This was the most emotional he'd ever seen the stoic man get. The Boss came to stand across from him, standing between two logs. The Pain sat and The Fear sat next to the tall guy, to Ocelot's left. Escape out the exit would be a cinch, getting far..not.

“Ocelot, will you sit?”

“I have to get dry,” he retorted, dismissive.

The Boss wasn't hostile or intimidating him. Right... These people were his allies except Snake, who was and wasn't. His little secret. He unwrapped the scarf and stretched it out on the seat, shaking his head. At this rate, he would take hours to get dry.

She sat on the remaining available log. “You're very young for your station. To be employed by the NSA, defect and move to the Soviet Union at sixteen. It's extraordinary.”

Ocelot glowered at the fire, heat felt on his legs not drying in a timely manner. Impatience wouldn't help him here. He calmed his mood and decided to settle into a bored, annoyed attitude. Fit the cover.

“I was born for great things.”

Quiet. He raised his gaze to her. She'd been waiting for it.

“Did you choose your Russian heritage over your American? I read your parents were legendary war heroes. Did knowing who your parents were change your loyalties?”

He was born and brought up in American culture. He loved America the most. It had familiarity Russia would never give him. Westerns were awesome. Ocelot couldn't tell them why he transferred from American intelligence to the Soviet Union.

Bitterness leaked into his voice. “I don't know my parents. Their names were redacted. They left high expectations on me. I thought my talents were better served in the Soviet Union. They were going to waste in America.”

Truth and lies, the best method of deceit.

“You're treated well in the GRU?”

Ocelot shrugged with one shoulder, debating the fire again and rotating around like he was slow cooking himself. “Sure.”

It was good to learn she didn't suspect him a spy. The Boss appeared curious and surprised by his age and rank, but nothing else. Her questions did make him think she could be a fake traitor all over again. It could be a new ally interested in her chosen allies, or it was a traitor assessing his risk for her mission.

He glanced at the man she was allowing to listen. She couldn't entirely let go of her mentor relationship to him or she was working for the Americans still. Wouldn't Volgin be delighted should he find he was surrounded by spies?

The Boss was observing him looking at Snake when he next looked forward. “Jack, I do wonder why you entertain the major.”

He grunted to signify his lack of awareness. Jack? Wait. What kind of answer was that? Ocelot wanted to know what he thought. Pretending not to be eager, he resumed circling to dry his uniform. He really would have trouble if he didn't succeed. Volgin would only allow so much blatant insubordination. He just had to go meet Snake for a rematch...

“I know you,” The Boss said. “He must have made an impression. You teach him when he is your enemy. Trying to fill a void now that you no longer have me?”

Snake's mouth curled, disliking the suggestion. “What are you doing, Boss?”

She tsked. “No questions. What do you have to say?”

The agent adjusted how he sat uncomfortably, gritting his teeth. “I don't know. I can't help it.”

“He interests you. Perhaps you interest each other. Talk around here says the intruder has the major enthralled. Is that right, Ocelot?”

His scowl into the fire was the only answer she would get. Enthralled? Maybe...

“I asked the colonel and he told me you were born in the middle of battle. How unique.”

The Boss looked toward her Cobras, impressing upon them a thing he could not decipher. He decided it was time to end this interrogation and dry his outfit in peace. It had to be growing darker out there and returning to the compound would be harder. Security would surely catch him trying to sneak in unseen. Panic threatened to rise and he quashed it down.

“Yeah. D-Day. How about that?” Ocelot frowned at the dampness plaguing him. “Time to end this. I should dry my clothes and claim I was patrolling in search of the intruder. If you're going to insist on keeping me long, I do need to go. Colonel Volgin will not be pleased.”

She stood and walked around the log, Snake's eyes following her movements. Ocelot watched her approaching and took a step back, nearly stepping into fire. He frowned and speculated what she was intending.

“You weren't to leave the compound. Here, take your clothes off and dry them free from your wet skin. It will speed up the process.”

“I'm fine.”

The Boss smiled. “Come on. It's the process of drying. We can return together and I'll say-”

“No! I know my place and will deal with Volgin's mood.”

He started gathering his items of clothing and The Boss gripped his arm and spun him to face her. She tugged to open his coat and belt, insistent. Ocelot wouldn't dare pull a weapon on a legend and the colonel's respected comrade. He brushed her prying fingers off.

“You're acting like a child. Wet clothes on a wet body will take forever to dry. Find sense.”

She went back to removing his coat and he shoved her. He just did it. He didn't-

Ocelot flipped over the log when The Boss yanked his arm and used his momentum to flip him. He tried to rise and she flattened him with a knee and forearm. Groaning, he struggled until she began taking his arms out of his coat sleeves. Raikov flashed in memory. Freezing in place, he quit fighting and stared blankly. It was worse when he fought it.

His pants came off as well and he was left in his boxers. It gradually dawned he wasn't with Raikov. Volgin either. He withdrew from the temporary trance, remembering it was a woman touching him. The Boss. A legend. He was probably fine.

Her hand was on the back of his head. She wasn't holding him down. He blinked a couple times. The hand was stroking his close cut hair.

“Ocelot? Are you with me?”

He shifted and focused his eyes to her. “Yes.”

“That kind of fear... I've seen glass eyes before. Going silent, going limp. A specific trauma creates the circumstantial reaction. I didn't mean to affect you negatively.”

“What's wrong with him?”

Snake had come and was crouching beside him and The Boss. She inhaled instead of responding. Immense fear and thinking was going on in that brain. He twisted, bending to recline on his elbows. It put him facing her as she leaned backward to provide space, adjusting to kneel by his bare feet.

“You will sleep here tonight.”

It was his turn to be encompassed with fright. “I can't. I have to get back.”

What was this paranoid stare? He knew Volgin would seek punishment if given half the opportunity. She could know too, but why care for his well-being? It wasn't her concern. He could handle his own troubles.

“Who brutalized you? When? Are you safe?”

Bewildered, it took a moment to gather his thoughts to respond. “What do you care?”

“I care. Answer.”

She was a boss in more ways than one. “The last time was over a year ago. I'm not in danger of..that.”

“Considering his interest in Sokolov's lover and the lover he has taken for himself,” The Fear brought up. “The colonel has inclinations for young, blond, and blue-eyed.”

Snake dropped back to sit on his rear. “Colonel Volgin?...”

“You said the last time...”

His eyes peered at his knees, wishing she and Snake would stop staring at him. “My mistake.”

Chapter Text

“Ocelot...”

She practically breathed his name. It indicated a worry he couldn't understand. What was her stake in his health or how he was treated? It was nonsensical and bothered.

He tugged his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. “They see a kid barely an adult and it makes them see vulnerability.”

“They?”

He closed his eyes. It was amazing he was a spy with the track record of revealing things he was uttering tonight. Ocelot opened his eyes and met her stare head on. He was no coward.

“One for a time, then the other a while..abused their authority. The sadistic bastards found each other, thankfully. It's in the past. I need to report in. They'll set an alert for me if I don't. Volgin will be furious. Can I get my clothes and go?”

She narrowed her eyes, examining his steady gaze. Lifting her attention to her Cobras, she motioned for them to leave. They rose and made their exit as she wished, announcing they would see her back at the fortress. Ocelot risked standing when they were gone and was allowed. Snake remained on the ground, watching.

The Boss walked away to go about setting his clothing out on the logs for drying. He hugged himself, then decided it caused him to look weak and lowered his arms to his side. Glancing at his revolvers and knife, he passed them to stand closer to the woman to ask his own invasive question.

“Why did you betray your country?”

“No one has the same enemy forever.”

“So you love Russia?”

Finished with his clothes, she went to her pack and pulled out a blanket. Ocelot observed her spread it on the ground not far from the fire. It was as far as she could lay it out, the size of the hidden room in the rock limiting her options. He realized what it was for.

“I should go back. I don't understand-”

She sat on the blanket and patted the spot next to her, interrupting his protests. “Lie down. Rest.”

Ocelot looked to the exit and Snake caught his eye. The agent smirked. “If you beat me I'll let you leave.”

Fuming, he admitted defeat and strolled to the blanket. Even if he wasn't mostly naked, he'd get thrashed and they both knew it. He vowed he would fight the man in his own style of close quarters combat before the man's mission was done. Ocelot was adept at mimicking what he saw with his own style. It would be great to test out the ability on this adversary.

The Boss gestured for him to lie with her lap for a pillow. He was torn between embarrassment and exasperation. Why was she babying him?

Wanting to keep the peace concerning her and Volgin, he obeyed, lying on his side with his knees slightly bent. She set her hand on his head and used the other to begin stroking his cheek. Blanket on stone wasn't comfortable in the least, yet he felt his eyes growing heavy after a while. Ocelot must have been more exhausted than he knew.

He woke to his head on an arm in place of a lap. A warm body was hugging him close from behind. The fire was dying down. It lit him but otherwise the area was dark, telling him it was night. He didn't have to check to know the distinct male scent along with smells of dirt and sweat meant Snake was at his back.

There was no sign of The Boss. Ocelot adjusted a bit and ceased movement. He could feel an erection pressed to his underwear-clad butt, extending against his back. A very big erection. He turned around in the arms, facing the sleeping man.

Reclining his head up with a hand resting under his chin, he scanned the man's appearance from head to toe. When he found himself lingering on the tented pants, he flushed and averted his gaze to the chest. Snake removed his shirt prior to lying on the blanket. It was fairly warm in here. His brain imagined more perverted reasons and now he had a full blush going.

Snake's eyelids opened partially and completely when he noticed Ocelot was awake and staring.

“You were tossing and turning once Boss left,” he unnecessarily explained. “It calmed down when I held you. Sorry.”

The man started to pull away and he wrapped his arms around his neck to pull him back where he'd been. “Don't go.”

Those penetrating eyes studied him after sinking into his previous position easily. Silence reigned. The urge to kiss his lips occurred and he was thunderstruck. He liked Snake. His self-awareness he was engrossed in the American agent ever since their paths crossed was fine. Comprehending his feelings extended to..a romantic leaning... And not just romantic.

The heat his body was touching now was not going to go away. There was a stirring in his boxers and to hide it he overcorrected, shuffling his body downward to mouth at Snake's crotch. The agent bucked in surprise and pushed his face off.

“Ocelot!”

Narrowing his eyes, he focused on finding the zipper and lowered it to stick a tongue in the opening. He lucked out as the man wasn't wearing underwear. His tongue connected with flesh and he saw Snake seemed to only be noting his blood-filled cock at that moment. He pushed Ocelot away again and he stopped.

“I want to,” he told him. “Do you want me to?”

Snake stared without saying a thing. Contemplating whether he should a moment longer, he moved forward. The other man didn't push him away this time when he opened his pants wider to free his penis to the air. Oh. Very big. Thick, long... It strained his mouth to pump the girth in and out.

Fingers clasped on his head and he assumed to slow down. For all he could tell from his present position, Snake didn't want this and was letting him do it because he wanted to. That would make him mad. He slowed his sucking to force himself to take every last inch in, stuffing his throat. Ocelot couldn't breathe so it wouldn't last.

Hyperventilating through his nose, he chose to go the whole way. It would give Snake the chance to spurn him if this was disgusting him or not his thing. He couldn't fault the man if he was heterosexual. Ocelot thought he might be a heterosexual forced to commit homosexual acts until the realization of what his feelings for Snake were. But then, only this man appeared to affect him deeply in every manner possible. He was entranced.

He lifted off of the penis and looked at Snake. “I want to fuck. Do you want to fuck me?”

Ocelot scooted backward and slipped off his shorts, wetting his fingers and reaching to penetrate his anus. He hesitated, which irritated him, and he shoved them in. A shriek emerged and he got real red. It was pretty damn uncomfortable sticking fingers in his butt. How'd it get done those other times? As much as he loathed recalling memories of past rapes, he dived into the bad to seek information that would be helpful.

Snake kept staring at him with that indecipherable brooding disposition. Embarrassed, he diverted his attention to the blanket as he strained to move his fingers inside his butt. He drew them out and sucked on them again and winced. They tasted terrible. When he brought them back to convince himself to do better, fingers curled around his wrist.

He looked up. Snake smiled, finding something funny. Ocelot glowered readily.

“What?”

“You've never done this yourself.”

“No. Okay? Have you?”

“No. I've never been interested in other people like that.”

“You don't want to?” he asked, despite not wanting to hear rejection. “I get it. I'm a guy and I've never been with anyone I wanted to be with-”

His eyes bulged, Snake having kissed him on the mouth. The man drew back, smiling again. He flopped to face the opposite direction and dug around, returning with a small container in his hand.

“Oil will work. I can't imagine spit's gonna do the trick.”

Ocelot reached for the container but Snake pulled it out of his reach and opened it, dipping a finger inside. “Turn around.”

He hesitantly turned, shifting to his hands and knees. The man began pressing into his hole. Controlling the noises coming out of him to not sound pathetic, Snake soon added a second finger. Ocelot wiggled and stilled, blood rushing to his groin. The third finger hadn't been inside long before he pleaded for him to stop.

The fingers pulled out and judging the silence, he twisted around and realized he'd been misunderstood. Snake looked horrified and apologetic, shifting to conceal his erection. He smirked to reassure the somewhat nervous man. Crawling close to wait by his knees, he nodded.

“I mean I want this.”

He grasped the penis gentle but firm in his hand. Snake visibly relaxed and grinned. He undid his belt and lowered straps, dragging his pants to his ankles and shucking off boots. Ocelot watched him match him in nudity and couldn't be more aroused. His mouth was agape while Snake coated his penis and crawled to him.

Ocelot fell onto his back and Snake adjusted his legs to a wider stance, leaning to cover his front. A hand gripped his shoulder and the other was gripping his cock. He aided him by bracketing his hips with his thighs and holding himself as wide open as he could with both hands. Snake located the entrance and rubbed it with two fingers before lining up to it.

Their eyes met. Snake pushed inward. He cried out as inches of the thick flesh pried him open and filled him. Ocelot locked his arms around Snake's shoulders and he panted through half of the length entering. They groaned together and Snake drew out a small bit before pushing forward more. He did this a few times and succeeded in filling him to the groin.

Gathering his composure after yelling at the sensation of his warm cock buried inside, he looked to Snake. The man lowered onto him and kissed his mouth. He parted his lips and tongue pushed in. Their kisses were wet and desperate to feel every last thing they could feel. They were tasting, appreciating. His dick was beautifully hard, laying between their stomachs. Every moment of this was perfect because they marveled in each other as much as they touched each other.

“Snake!”

He growled and mashed their mouths together again, roving along his jaw to his neck. Ocelot moaned in ecstasy, the man beginning a rocking, thrusting pattern. Their bodies created friction, pleasure continuously spiking through him. He filtered sensations the best he could to avoid being overwhelmed and missing anything.

Facial hair rubbed his cheek, mouth suckling on his throat while his head was tossed back, reveling. His nipples were hard and Snake bringing his chest across them found the nubs incredibly sensitive. The throbbing cock rubbed his insides, pulling out a few inches and thrusting back in. His thick patch of pubic hair pressed against his butt every time he plunged in to the hilt. It was so hot, sweat building and glistening on skin in the low light.

Panting, Ocelot wrapped his legs around Snake, clenching with a scream. The man choked and grunted, clearly feeling intense pleasure. He moaned for him and the older man liked that, pumping in and out rapid several times. Gasps and he came, unable to bear the amazing experience anymore.

Snake melded their mouths, not letting up the increase in tempo. His hands lost their grip on the slippery back and shoulders. He dropped his hands to lay his arms above his head, body continuing to get fucked into with tender ferociousness. It was new. It was Snake. Ocelot loved this so much.

A few minutes later the virile man was still going. His face was buried in the crook of his neck, panting constant. He wrapped an arm around his neck and the other fitted to his side, clinging to him. It went on. The stamina was impressive considering he heard the man was a smoker. His probable limited lung capacity didn't extend to his sexual energy.

Ocelot slacked the vise-like hold his thighs held all this time. The speed slowed but didn't let up consistency. Snake kissed him and he hungrily kissed back, eager for the increased connection. When his mouth was tongue-fucked a brief time, he melted, so horny. His erection was on the rise and his lover exuding masculinity wasn't to his climax.

If he was consumed by this man before, he would be possessed now. Like in their fights, Snake dominated while also strengthening him. They enlivened one another, explored for what they could glean. The rhythm disappeared and lurching bumpy pushes soon ended in a final drive deep in.

He leaked pre-ejaculate, whimpering at the hot ropes of cum spurting inside. Ocelot clenched the dark hair and brought Snake's trembling face to him. Kissing, he clung to the man with arms and legs, pressing them together. Unable to reach beneath himself to touch Ocelot's penis, he used his body to hump, stimulating it very well. He might be soft inside but it was in there moving and the semen was stirring. He suspected he didn't last longer than two minutes.

Snake removed his penis from his body looking smug and satiated. He laid on the blanket and Ocelot snuggled into him, not caring if they were supposed to be acting as enemies. Retrieving something from off the edge of the blanket, he held a cigar and lighter in his fingers when he reclined again. He lit up and took a puff. Ocelot watched the moment and then rested his cheek on a breast. Snake put his arm around him. They stayed that way in peace for some time. Sleep claimed him from this perfect memory too soon.

September 1, 1964

Blinking bleary eyes, he lifted his chin from Snake's chest. Ocelot extricated from his overt clinging and sat up, glancing down. He never woke with an erection. Should he will it away or take care of it?

The fire was out but the cave room was bright, declaring morning's arrival. He couldn't try to quietly deal with it in the dark. Ocelot looked over to check Snake was sleeping and found the man watching him, perched on an elbow.

“Want me to take care of that?”

He scanned down and saw the older man stroking a hard-on of his own. He bloomed red, a stirring in his belly. Crawling quickly over, he grabbed the oil container next to Snake and dipped his fingers, coating the other man's cock. Ocelot enjoyed how he startled when he straddled his stomach and shuffled backward, lining up his hole with the erection.

“Yes.”

“Eh..I'll hurt you.”

Ocelot smirked. “You won't do anything I don't want you to do.”

Snake sat up, grasping his hips. “Careful.”

The smile slid off and he did as he said, carefully lowering himself when the cock popped in a centimeter. Measuring breaths, the slick organ and the support of gravity eased the passage. There was a burning but it was dull and he could take it. The sex from the previous night helped.

Snake's gaze tracked the progress the entire way, grunting when he was fully seated in his lap. Ocelot tested a roll of his hips and the other man groaned, shifting his hands to grope his buttocks, encouraging more. He complied and when he could tolerate keeping the feeling and jostling in him going, he set a pace.

He held on to Snake by the shoulders, panting and groaning his pleasure. So big. So good. He surged forward to mash lips to his and the mouth tasted like cigar. Ocelot gave him opportunity to breathe, licking his lips.

The lap pumped upward and he cried out. This motion repeated and they worked to connect, Snake thrusting up and Ocelot riding it and then wriggling down. Flesh slapped, pants and moans alternating. After he came with a cry, he fell against the man, clutching on while he was fucked. When he didn't regain his vigor fast enough, Snake turned them so he was on top, screwing him into the blanket.

It was everything to retain his senses when that large cock pummeled his insides. Ocelot grasped at the man's biceps, delight ruling every part of him. It took a significant length of time with his endurance, welcome to the gratified triple agent. He shouted at the hot seed spattering deep in him, pleasure high from this man swaying into him over and over. Laying them side by side on the blanket, dick still lodged in his ass, Snake wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

“You captivate me, Ocelot. Whenever I see you, I'm...”

“Charmed by my beauty?” he teased. “Love at first sight?”

Snake made that discontented noise of his, extracting his limp penis and slowly standing to gather his clothes.

“I'm on mission. I can't believe I listened to The Boss after what she did and stayed this long. I have to go.”

He stood, searching for his boxers and finding them discarded near the fire. Ocelot tugged them on, gauging what Snake was thinking or feeling. It was obvious he was practiced at getting into his gear fast and did just that within a couple minutes. He'd only gotten his pants and boots on in the same amount of time.

Equipping his weapons, he headed to the exit and halted sudden. He turned around and Ocelot spread his arms, announcing he was indeed right here. It might have been conflict he read on the American agent's face before it cleared of anything decipherable.

“This wasn't a big thing. Don't get distracted or tell anybody and get yourself in trouble. What's between us stays between us. You see me? You have orders to take me out? You come at me with everything you've got.”

His face fell but he concealed it with a mask of his own. “Doesn't matter to me. You're the intruder.”

Snake turned and stooped to travel through the passage. He didn't know why, but he followed to see him leave. He was surprisingly rewarded when the agent looked back and noticed he'd come outside too.

“My name's John.”

Astonished to be told his real name, he wasn't quick enough to think whether he might give his own. Snake was hurrying toward the trees and grass to disappear on him. Thinking fast, he determined what to say.

“A plain name! But I won't forget it!”

Ocelot went inside the cave and finished dressing, comprehending the oversight. He was amused to find after all the effort to protect him from Volgin finding out he was where he wasn't to be, it was for naught. A thrill filled him at losing the most hated thing. He would have to hope no one noticed. He lost his hat in the fall.

Chapter Text

Luck was a fickle thing. He hadn't found opportunity to poison Sokolov's food or make an “accident” take place. A frame-up wasn't out of the question, but how to do it was the issue. He was supervising patrols in the weapons storage sector when an idea arose. Ocelot retrieved a third gun and began practicing tossing all three.

By the afternoon he had it down. He was willing to risk Colonel Volgin's wrath. A suspension from active duty? A beating or whipping? Fine. He could handle it. The agent set his mind on killing Sokolov in a manner less obvious it was intentional. The weapon was almost finished so he was running out of time. That's where Russian roulette came in.

At the warehouse docks, Ocelot strolled onto the scene of Volgin abusing Tatyana and soldiers forcing Sokolov inside. He bid them wait and examined the scientist. Putting a single bullet in one revolver, he twirled the weapon.

“Let's see just how lucky you are.”

He juggled the three revolvers, announcing he would pull the trigger six times in a row. He pulled triggers quickly, in case Volgin voiced opposition to his “game”. For now he was observing, entertained. Five trigger pulls and the scientist was cowering on the ground, literally pissing himself in terror.

“Huh. Looks like your luck hasn't run out yet.”

Ocelot tossed the revolver with the bullet chambered, preparing to catch it and shoot Sokolov. He flinched, The Boss catching the gun and firing it off into the water. Damn!

“There's no such thing as luck on the battlefield.”

Lowering his head, shamed by the legend, Volgin started laughing, tossing back his head.

“You'd better stay in line from now on.”

He narrowed his eyes. She dismantled the revolver she'd taken and he made a noise of surprise. The Boss went on to talk about how her Cobras would take care of Snake. Funny coming from her after it took two ambushes by The Pain to get the tall man killed. Glaring at the ground, he wondered how well the colonel would take it if he knew his favorite new ally had Snake in proximity and let him be.

The agent shook his head and walked away, releasing an upset noise. Looked like The Fear and The End were up next. Could Snake defeat them? He thought so. The one good thing so far today was nobody noticed or cared he was missing his hat.

Huh. Snake. Ocelot was angry they had sex. He was having doubts, thinking the field agent merely wanted a fuck. It was his imagination the guy cared for him. In that moment he was certain they fit together perfectly, but now that it was over and there was distance between them, he doubted.

He considered finding some instant noodles and decided to eat in the cafeteria today. There were a handful of soldiers eating while he was in there, no officers. Tomorrow was the final test. He debated what he was to do to delay it.

Word reached the main fortress that Snake had been spotted around the research facility. Ocelot finished his meal and deposited the tray in the proper receptacle. He wandered, searching for the colonel's location. Volgin was outside torturing Granin, the poor reject trapped in a barrel while electric strikes hit the container. He stood by, watching and waiting. The man ended up dead which did nothing to improve his mood. There was a tracker in the dead guy's shoe, proving he'd been used by someone else.

“I don't approve of your methods!” he told the sick man.

“Comrade or not, he's of no use to us now.”

The bigger man squared off with Ocelot. “I don't need your approval. I'm in command here.”

He was irritated to turn away, submitting to the intimidating glare. Ocelot waved a finger to save face a fraction while backing off as the man wished.

“And that nuclear shell...”

“Still feeling sore about that, are you? What are you going to do? Report it to the authorities?”

Ocelot stopped. Water running down, Volgin assaulting him in the shower. He asked him what he would do and impressed upon him how he couldn't report the crime. It was a reminder of helplessness and he hated feeling that way.

“This is war, major. A cold war. Fought with information and espionage. We must root out spies wherever they hide. It is kill or be killed. Potential threats must be weeded out. Your feelings are a menace to the unity of our organization.”

He tuned him out, lost in thoughts, but got brought back almost immediately. C3 was missing. Ocelot asked if he thought it was the American who stole the explosives but learned a spy was known within the fortress. The Boss arrived with her horse to reveal The End and The Fear were dead. He was suspicious of the woman's activities too, but his question of where she'd been was ignored. Tatyana lingered, always lingering behind people. He couldn't understand how the colonel didn't think she shouldn't be here. Not at such a critical period.

Ocelot put his back to everyone, considering the skill it would take to defeat three Cobras. “He's good.”

“Fallen for him?”

He said nothing. The Boss claimed Snake was here to steal the Philosophers' Legacy and kill her. She took off and he picked up Fear's crossbow, circling Tatyana after catching a whiff of something odd. Where had he smelled that scent before?

Putting a finger to his head while he tried to put it together, he twirled The Fear's crossbow in the other hand. Ocelot halted circling to point the bow at her throat. She did the shifty, look anywhere but at him move she favored. He noticed something else wrong with the supposed KGB personnel.

“Nice boots. Make sure you polish them up properly.”

Tatyana was wearing boots that were not her officer's boots. He smiled a little and chose to keep it to himself for the time being. He gave finger guns and walked away. He found the spy.

It felt prudent to take care of Legacy business. He made absolutely certain no one was around or could see him, and ventured out to retrieve the Legacy from its hiding spot. Keeping it safely on his person, he arranged for two deliveries to be made. It would take time to reach their destination but he'd feel secure sending it on.

Inside the library, he used their machines to separate the information, dividing the massive fortune into two parts. Hours passed. The task was simple for him, but time-consuming. Ocelot had to continuously wait for privacy or order people to go elsewhere. That made it take even longer, however, he completed the task and sent on microfilm to two separate contacts and locations. He gave half to the KGB for the Soviet Union and the other half to the CIA for America.

The CIA expected the Legacy in its entirety. They would just have to be disappointed. No way he was granting so much power to a single nation. Colonel Volgin would lose his mind once he discovered someone had taken all that power and money from him. The threat Volgin boasted was immensely diminished. It wasn't personal and he would have done this regardless, but he felt fantastic doing this to the man after the torment he put him through.

Ocelot sauntered out of the library feeling optimistic and victorious. Taking his time meandering to the next destination, he was confident and on a high. He sent off the packages without incident. Assisting Snake in his mission was the focus.

“Major!”

Two of his Ocelots came running up. “The intruder's been captured!”

“What? Where?”

They paused at his concern but one of them answered. “Soldiers surrounded him in the forest of Sokrovenno. He's being held in a storage room inside Graniny Gorki until he can be transferred to the prison. The Boss ordered his placement there, but if you think we should move him now...?”

“Take me to the building.”

“Yes, sir!” they responded in unison.

He smirked at their enthusiasm but allowed them to carry on. Dusk had fallen when they reached the facility. He asked to be taken to where they were keeping Snake's belongings. It was right outside the room the agent was locked inside. Doing his best to ignore obtrusive thoughts, he walked over to them for examination.

Ocelot picked up the food supply the man managed to gather and ordered his supplies be moved to the Northeast, the East Wing. He had to make it a challenge for the guy. He decided to follow their path and chose a relatively isolated space to study the items acquired inside the weapons building.

There were a few kinds of mushrooms, a rat, a rabbit, and a squirrel. He hummed over them, thinking he was supposed to cook most of these. Giving in, he brought them to the cooks cleaning up after dinner was served and made him cook them for him. He insisted on no flavoring, just plain. Snake would have eaten them that way out in the wilderness. His stomach gurgled and he figured no matter how this food tasted, he could enjoy it somewhat. He'd missed dinner.

Tatyana wandered in hoping to eat and he was at least pleased the colonel wasn't with her. The kitchen closed, she was given a fruit and sent away. She went into the back and somehow emerged carrying a tray with leftovers. Using her spy-trained wiles, was it?

She was going to sit apart from him and then she saw what was laid out before him. He huffed, watching her sit across while he chewed on a mushroom. Tatyana frowned, nudging her glasses up her nose, looking over his meal.

“Where did you get that?”

“Got it off the prisoner The Boss has locked up.”

“Prisoner?”

News to her. The colonel hadn't been made aware of his capture or was too busy to concern himself with it. He bit the rat and pretended to enjoy it more than he did. Setting it down, Ocelot tried the squirrel next. Better.

Tatyana was still staring. “Why are you eating that?”

“I want to eat like he does,” he replied distractedly, studying the rabbit. “Gain perspective.”

The woman ate quickly and left the cafeteria afterward. How suspicious. She ought to be careful if she didn't want to be discovered. Unlike her, he ate slowly and mindfully. This is the kind of thing Snake liked to do.

Raikov arrived and sauntered over, bumping shoulders with him as he sat too close. “Heard you were being treacherous.”

“Don't make fun. That's a serious accusation.”

“But you are being peculiar and eating the things the intruder eats, yeah? What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

He tossed a mushroom at the guy, not trying to aim. It hit his uniform arm and he picked it up and popped it in his mouth. Ocelot stared. This guy would eat anything. He glanced at the remains of rat and pushed the thing over to him.

“Here. Knock yourself out.”

Ocelot stood and returned his tray by the kitchen, sauntering to the exit. He glanced to where Raikov remained sitting. The idiot was eating away at the rodent as enthusiastically as he ate the mushroom. He considered Volgin the bad influence, and the guy wouldn't be half bad if he didn't wallow in his worst tendencies encouraged.

September 2, 1964

It was the middle of the night. A few hours until dawn. He should be sleeping right now. Irritated he'd been awakened, he strolled along the hallway tired. Ocelot twirled a gun, wondering if Tatyana would present the opportunity for him to use Russian roulette on her. She would be problematic should she continue to freely wander the grounds.

The interrupted sleep wasn't agreeing with him. He yawned, holstered the revolver. He fixed its positioning and bumped into a large man's back. Oh, the colonel.

“Sorry. What's this about?”

Colonel Volgin turned around, smirking before letting it drop to discuss the serious matter at hand.

“The American intruder has escaped. I wasn't informed of his capture until an hour ago. He must still be here.”

“You don't think he'd try to get out?”

“I think he's after my Legacy and to sabotage my progress. He won't leave until he gets what he's come for.”

“Your Legacy's secure, right? What's to worry? He won't get far.”

The colonel looked at him. “Perhaps. I don't like him running around inside here somewhere. I'll be in the West Wing along with heavy guard. You will personally see to it the main building is secure.”

Ocelot scowled. Snake was hardly going to come storming into the area with the Shagohod or the underground vaults under such heavy watch. If anything, the high alert status could mean the operative becomes trapped where they didn't want him sneaking. Of course, Volgin capturing him would make the man's day.

He rubbed an eye and the colonel smacked him on the back. “Stay wary, Ocelot. There are spies among us.”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered.

Clearing sleep from his eyes, he accompanied Colonel Volgin to the Northeast area and weapons lab. While he wouldn't be entering the West Wing today, it gave him time to survey the main wing. He was at a level where he could explore any portion of the base including that exclusive group of rooms. The Shagohod plans were kept there and Sokolov worked in those rooms when he wasn't with the weapon itself inside the hangar.

Ocelot observed Major Raikov had control of the East Wing as he often did. They moved up the stairs and the major walked out of sight. Once Volgin went on ahead, he stood on the glass bridge considering a tentative timeline for executing the remainder of his orders. It would depend on Snake's progression.

He began a set route, passing through rooms and halls on repeat. It bored him. Spinning a revolver, he took out the other two and juggled a short while. Ocelot put them away and sighed, keeping one weapon out and loading it. Should pretend he's ready to defend or attack if the need arises.

“Major Ocelot, I need to speak with you.”

Surprised The Boss had such an ask, he followed her out of the room into a hallway. A guard walked by on patrol, glancing in their direction. He frowned at the realization Tatyana was hanging around there. She must have been with The Boss for now, as her hovering guard. Why Volgin sometimes bothered to leave her with someone and other times didn't, he couldn't figure.

“Would you give us a moment of privacy, Tatyana?”

She nodded meekly, eyes darting toward Ocelot before she moved to stand at the fork in the hallway. He holstered his revolver, curious. The Boss was acting cagey. Checking the left turn beside them to see it was empty, only then did she look at him. He stared appropriately puzzled and she lifted his right hand, holding it between her hands.

“Try to remain calm. I promise this is the truth. You were born on D-Day. I fought in battle with my Cobras. I was pregnant and shot during battle. They carved me open to save your life and mine. You were taken away against my will, but you were mine. Stay calm.”

Ocelot would think she was joking. Her expression was solemn. He pulled his hand away, shifting his stance while gaining space between them. What was she saying?

“Ocelot, I'm your mother.”

Yeah. She was saying what she said. His brain hurt. This was confusing. This was a lie. Why would she lie? What if she wasn't lying? He felt inclined to believe her.

The Boss stood by, allowing him to digest the information. Ocelot drew his gun, twirling it to feel better. He struggled to speak anything so as not to leave them in this weird silence.

“Why are you telling me?”

He couldn't decipher whether she was mad or disappointed or fine with what he asked first after hearing news that colossal. He focused on spinning the revolver, then remembered it was loaded and wasn't wise in his current mental state. Ocelot stopped spinning it and heard a scuffing sound. Someone darted around the corner straight into them and he pointed his weapon out of instinct. He wasn't going to fire, especially when he saw it was their intruder, but The Boss shoved his arm.

Ocelot didn't know what reason prompted the action but it threw him off balance and he squeezed the trigger. The misfire skimmed Snake's cheek, gunshot having discharged in the eye. Blood spattered and the eye was blackened and horrible. When the field agent ceased screaming, he stumbled backward.

He dropped the gun like it burned him, staring at the hand responsible. Tatyana hurried to Snake, leaning into his ear and whispering. He should care, but he was too stunned by what he'd done. Ocelot looked to the woman who said she was his birth mother. This was uncontrollable and staggering him.

Snake ran by them but he didn't look. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed The Boss pick up his weapon. He avoided looking directly at her. He had to remember his job. He remembered his cover.

“I suspect he was trying to get to Sokolov. Report to Volgin immediately. I'll put us on red alert.”

“Ocelot.”

“No time to waste.”

He walked away fast. What was going on?

Chapter Text

Snow drifted down from the sky. It was still dark in spite of the dawn's rise. There was a chill in the air. A premonition of things to come?

He was reeling already. Breathing in the fresh air, he huffed, twirling a gun and wondering what he was supposed to do. Yesterday was mission disaster. He hurt Snake, robbed him of an eye. Ocelot was a failure of the highest order.

Then there was the tiny matter of The Boss, legendary war hero, American defector, telling him she was his birth mother. He didn't know what to say to that so he said nothing and steered clear of the woman. It was easier considering her insane confession led directly to his misfire into Snake. He was adrift, trying to differentiate his cover identity from his real self. Who was he? Who was he to her?

“Sir, Colonel Volgin requests your presence. If you'll follow me?”

He breathed in the air a final time and followed the soldier. Ocelot noted they were heading to the Southeast section. The prison and torture room designated for dissidents and intruders. This wasn't going to be good.

When they arrived, the soldier gestured in the direction he was to go and left. Major Raikov was present, as was the colonel, Tatyana, and The Boss. His..mother.

They were lectured. More of a rant really. It would seem their intruder knew where to go to escape or lucked out. Last he was sighted, soldiers and dogs pursued him through a sewer tunnel. Snake jumped down a tall waterfall out of it which may have killed him. The colonel was hesitant to declare him dead just yet.

“You don't trust me, is that it?”

Volgin extended an arm to ward her off as The Boss advanced on him. They were in the hall outside the interrogation room so the colonel could make a point this was where the intruder should be strung up. He was furious Snake sneaked this far inside the base undetected and escaped even though Ocelot and The Boss came upon him.

“Not that,” the big man denied, imposing figure shrinking before the tough gaze of the legend. “But I must insist you provide proof you and he are not in collusion. I find it hard to believe your famed Cobras would be slaughtered like they were otherwise.”

The Boss told him she was his birth mother, but she didn't say anything about being a spy. What if she was? He knew Tatyana was pretending to be the CIA contact for Snake that he was supposed to be. Yesterday, her boots gave her deceptiveness away. She was likely the one who stole the C3 explosives. If The Boss was a spy too, the fake defector he often thought she might be, did she let her Cobras die?

Ocelot attempted to deflect. “The intruder managed to escape easy, like he knew where he was going. Tatyana spoke to him right before he fled. She's the spy!”

“Stay out of this!”

He felt miffed by the dismissal. She didn't look at him either, attention for the colonel.

“What would you have me do?”

Smelling something while Tatyana stepped over to the opposite wall closer to him, he put together a thing he could prove. He was defensive for a woman who abandoned him twenty years ago. He didn't care if she truly was his mother. But she seemed a decent person, and he greatly respected her history of service and achievements. Ocelot felt compelled to help.

“I can prove Tatyana is the spy,” he persevered quick to not get shut down. “It was the smell that gave her away.”

He strolled up to her and circled the nervous woman. An act no doubt. He speculated if she was even KGB.

“No. Not the perfume. It was gasoline. Motorcycle gasoline. She reeked of it.”

The woman moved away from him when he tried to feel her breast to confirm it was the same one he felt that one time. She slapped him and backed up. Colonel Volgin laughed, amused.

“Have you taken a liking to my Tanya?”

“No.” He shut down the idea. “I have no interest in this woman.”

Volgin stared, expression betraying nothing. Raikov appeared disinterested, fixing his uniform and hair despite these things neatly in place. The Boss expressed no surprise or puzzlement. She could be withholding outward reaction or she knew the woman was a spy.

“I want to test her.”

Ocelot took out one gun and inserted a bullet. He looked to the colonel, who smirked. “Do as you like.”

He removed his other revolver and started juggling them. Approaching Tatyana or whoever she was, he pulled a trigger. She walked backward, recoiling at each trigger pull. He would kill her here. She was too dangerous to his mission. The gun with the bullet fell into his right hand. He raised the arm to fire and The Boss shoved his arm, causing him to misfire into the wall.

Gaping, he couldn't comprehend her doing that to him twice. Last time he shot Snake by accident. Mere hours ago. Unless she was hoping for a similar accident again or simply didn't care. He was stunned when she slapped him after taking the gun from his hand.

“Don't be so impulsive!” The Boss faced Volgin. “I'll see to the increase in security. If Snake survived the fall, he'll attempt to get inside again. He'll come for Sokolov.”

“Yes. You do that.”

The Boss walked away with purpose. Ocelot frowned. She had his second gun. He calmed, thinking he did distract the colonel from demanding proof she wasn't conspiring with Snake. They didn't appear to be, but she clearly held a fondness and affection for the man she trained. Right now he had to erase thoughts he wasn't good enough and do what was necessary to avoid discovery.

Volgin stalked toward them, grabbing Tatyana's arm and gripping her chin with the free hand. “Are you a spy, my pretty?”

He electrified her whole body, prolonging it until she screamed in pain. Ocelot was torn. The spy who needed experience urged him to pay attention and learn. His humanity caused him to stare at the floor when the colonel stooped to connect to her, another surge shaking her body.

“Heh. You do smell of gasoline. The spy on the motorcycle is you. Well done, Ocelot.”

Gasping to breathe, she strained to speak. “H-He's..the spy! Ocelot!”

Shocked she would try it, Ocelot laughed. “What?”

Raikov chuckled, finding the accusation absurd. She had no evidence, no reason. This was pure desperation to blame her accuser in turn. Luckily Colonel Volgin was aware of the lame tactic.

“Silence, whore!” He kicked her in the stomach.

Dragging her up, Volgin forced her to accompany him into the torture room. He and Raikov followed, observing Tatyana's wrists bound together, tied above her head. She objected to the treatment, giving up on the weak attempt of pointing the finger elsewhere. Realizing she wasn't going to be let free, she quieted, waiting.

The torture began, the colonel electrifying himself and throwing punch after punch. He watched because he felt he had to. Ocelot intended to kill her quick. This was awful. Her body coursed with electricity, her screams and thrashing affecting him.

“Tell me. Why did you return to that decrepit factory? There was nuclear pollution but you risked it, and for what? The rare chance you'd run into the American?”

A blow rocked Tatyana back, body slumping as much as possible with the bindings. The colonel turned to look at him, accusing. Surprised, he rested a hand on the top of his gun out of habit but released it.

“Me?”

“Tell me.”

Frowning, he shook his head and held his hands up to signify innocence. “I hoped I would find him to get a rematch.”

“Then I asked you to watch Tatyana and you disappeared. The Boss said you were scouring the forest at random, a fruitless venture to locate the intruder. You disobeyed a direct order.”

Ocelot pouted when internally he was glowering. His fingers touched the bullet on his chest, chain hanging around his neck. It weighed heavy knowing he was responsible for disfiguring the man he saved this bullet for. He'd never kill him with it, but use it to win a victory in combat and prove he was worthwhile.

Volgin spun and cracked three hits to her face. Her nose broke, blood flowing. He looked away.

“Your interest in the American is unseemly,” the colonel said. “And sometimes the way you talk, all those feelings... It's a menace to our organization's unity.”

He beat her extensively and Ocelot put his back to the horror. Raikov walked up and rotated him to watch, arm around his shoulders. A glance informed the major was enjoying the show. It was sick. Torture was pointless. They were learning nothing from her. No honesty found. She was hardly conscious.

“Disloyalty will not be tolerated.”

The next strikes may have broken her cheekbone. Both eyes were swollen to blindness, lip puffy. She ceased screaming or making noises of pain for several minutes now. Volgin faced him, satisfaction evident.

“Come. Try your hand at interrogation.”

He obediently came forward to stand with the colonel. Cringing at her condition, he lifted her face by the jaw. She whined, moaning. An eye opened a sliver. Her mouth moved, words failing to emerge. Ocelot figured out what she was saying after the same thing was mouthed for the fourth time. “Kill me.”

Ocelot backed off and threw his hands up. “She can't even speak.”

Volgin laughed boisterous. “Fine.”

The man got behind the bound woman, reaching in his pocket for a packet. He lowered the bottom of her uniform, exposing her privates. Volgin undid his clothes as needed and opened the packet to apply the condom. He shut his eyes but she found the strength to scream when he started raping her anally. Electrocution was applied liberally, exacerbating her torment.

“Gotta wear condoms with this one,” Volgin shared, pausing from his quick thrusts. “No way to know where her dirty ass has been.”

He thought he might vomit at the persistent shrieking. Raikov squeezed his buttcheek and wrapped an arm around him again. He whispered in his ear to open his eyes, licking the shell and lobe. Ocelot pushed the man away but his eyes were open. He almost whimpered at the amount of blood leaking between her thighs.

The colonel climaxed and pulled out. Ocelot waited for him to toss the condom and fix his clothing. He waited for him to move a distance where splatter wouldn't touch him. He drew his revolver out and loaded a bullet, spinning the weapon. Examining the men in the room, he listened to the harsh wheezing of a broken body. Torture had to have purpose.

He shifted and fired, shooting her through the forehead. Raikov exclaimed surprise and Volgin snickered.

Ocelot pretended not to feel anything except disgust for the dead spy. “The bitch had it coming.”

“Follow.”

The colonel strolled briskly for the door. Raikov followed dutifully. Ocelot ambled as slow as their pace would allow. He spun the weapon, trying to scrub out the new memories in his head. They walked quite a ways. His preoccupied mind scolded him for the lack of attention and he halted recognizing the building, the section.

The other major was smooth, anticipating the refusal. He'd gotten behind him during his inner turmoil predicament and wrapped that arm around him the second he wasn't moving forward anymore. They were taking him to Volgin's room. He wouldn't go in there.

Volgin waltzed up to him, smile growing. “Your disobedience warrants punishment. We'll keep your transgressions between the three of us. However, I must insist. Come along.”

His hand fisted the front of his uniform and the other pressed to his forehead, releasing electricity. He blacked out, blinking spots out of his eyes in what he thought was a few seconds later but must have been at least minutes. He was lying on a different surface. His clothes were missing.

He panicked and scrambled sideways, crawling into Volgin's arms. Ocelot didn't mean to in his disorientation. The man wouldn't release him once he had him and pure anxiety was threatening to overwhelm. The colonel was naked too.

“Take your punishment like a good little soldier, Ocelot.”

He couldn't muster but a weak glare in Major Raikov's direction. He was nude and headed for the bed carrying a container. Volgin tossed him to the mattress and pressed a big hand to his stomach, releasing electric power. He hollered and tried to get up. Raikov grabbed his wrists. Arms tugged above his head, he struggled violently but failed to prevent him tying his wrists to rails on the headboard.

“No! Gah!”

A bit of the electricity hit Raikov and the colonel's lover giggled like it was a nice tingle. He smacked Ocelot's body at random. The colonel battered him below the neck until he wasn't squirming or kicking or showing any resistance. He laid there, aftershocks of electricity causing tremors. They reveled in his distress.

Raikov kissed his lips. He drew away and was forced back for more kissing. A hand tightened on his throat until his mouth opened for air and tongue dived in. His legs were drawn up and folded over his stomach by Volgin, lubricated fingers digging into his butt. He howled, muffled by Raikov's mouth.

Tears streaming from his eyes, he wished this would end, this wouldn't happen. Ocelot's tears were lapped up with delight. He screamed, frustration and fury exploding with the two men tormenting him on either end.

Volgin pushed in and he yelled agony, the size of him forcing and stretching and invading flesh. He was fucked into brutally and utterly helpless to stop this. He thought he was safe from their idea of affection.

They set a habit where Raikov would back off to watch Volgin release electricity into him. The major would come back and make-out with his unresponsive mouth, groping and caressing his chest. The pace never faltered and it seemed to go on forever. He was losing his mind.

He was in too much pain to feel Volgin's orgasm, but the man must have. Tugging out, Raikov replaced him and shoved in rough. Ocelot cried out toward an empty ceiling full of empty promises. He swung his head to the side, sobbing. The cock pushed in, pulled out, back in.

No questions ever came; no proclaimed reasons for his hell. “Punishment” was their rationale. It was clear they loved the opportunity to do this to him. He'd given them an excuse to treat him like a disobedient soldier in need of rewiring to get back with the program. They didn't think he was a spy.

Volgin doesn't entertain the idea. No. All of this suffering was for mistakes done as Major Ocelot. The Boss saying she was his mother... A distraction which brought him to this room and these men who coveted him in a demented infatuation. Their enthusiasm; their addiction. It made him sick. No... Actually sick.

He rolled the small amount his upper body could and vomited. The colonel bashed him across the jaw when he reached that side to see what mess he left. The sheet under him was untucked and tugged off the bed, leaving the second sheet yet beneath them. Raikov was cackling with joy all the while, resuming the rape as soon as it was possible. Volgin returned to lift his head, forcing liquor from a bottle to spill into his mouth. He choked but swallowed out of instinct to get rid of it.

The old man took to petting his hair, stroking from forehead to the back of his head. Raikov's penis sank in without rest. He convulsed, feeling like he couldn't breathe or move. He was distraught they would do this to him. Use their authority to discipline him for past insubordination..in this manner.

Raikov plunged in and came, ejaculating deep. He groaned, begging for mercy internally while knowing he didn't deserve it. It wasn't surprising when Volgin moved to fuck him again after Raikov pulled out and away. He laid there and bore the assault. What else could he do?

He was at the cusp of unconsciousness, unsure what was real or imagined. Volgin and Raikov were on the floor making out, electricity buzzing sporadically. He should be grateful he was forgotten for a while. But exhaustion, pain, sweat, the wetness between thighs and in him, the cloth binds cutting into his wrists from his tugging which caused it to tighten further. These things left him restless and desperate for freedom of movement to wipe it gone.

They didn't get lost in each other forever. When either of them got hard, they turned to him for release. This pattern reoccurred twice where one would get on the bed and rape him to climax before returning to their lover. A time came the men were erect at the same time long enough their patience ran out. Raikov had just begun fucking him when Volgin told him to pull out for a moment. He did, intrigued for the why.

Ocelot watched them warily until he was rolled to his front. Volgin penetrated him entirely and wrapped his arms around him, turning them on their backs. He was lying on the front of the large man now. Raikov spread his legs and spread his buttcheeks, fingering the straining full hole. He comprehended the intent and wriggled, whimpering. Nothing he could do.

Raikov worked to pry him open to stick his cock in with Volgin's cock and he cried rejection this was happening. He was lying on the broad, muscled chest, the colonel laying his head to the right of his bound arms. Moving to bite his ear, he winced and a laugh sounded in his hair.

“My kitty,” he murmured. “Temptation incarnate.”

“Beautiful,” Raikov confirmed before grunting as he managed fully penetrating alongside Volgin. “Damn. Ah...”

He smothered a wail, stretched too much, too full. It was so hot. Raikov's weight lowered on him and he gave a thrust. Ocelot groaned and Volgin sighed. He nearly whined with the rhythm started, constant shallow thrusts keeping him packed, straining. The pressure intense, the skin to skin proximity of these men using him for their twisted pleasure he couldn't stand.

Blood flowed to his betraying organ. Rubbing, touching constantly from the crammed state of his insides the spot inside that felt good. Ocelot let out a moan and Volgin's hand grasped his jaw in a caress. The man on top groaned, complaining he wouldn't last like this.

“Ha ha. He loves it.”

Ocelot spurned the statement but he was ignored. Electricity passed through them and he choked on the scream. True to his admittance, Raikov climaxed sooner than his normal capacity to prolong sexual activity. It was no comfort. Volgin shifted their bodies to rub his insides with the flaccid cock not removed. The old man happily mentioned his enjoyment stroking Raikov's penis with his own while screwing Ocelot's ass.

The one positive of them taking him together was they finally seemed to reach exhaustion. They untied him and dumped him to the floor so they could sleep on the bed. He passed out quickly, mercifully.

He was the first awake. Ocelot checked the wall clock and was stunned it was midday. From the general feel of time, he knew it had to be midday the next day. He searched for his clothes and picked up his revolver. It was empty.

Volgin sent electricity across the room which barely missed him. He got up from the mattress, smiling. Ocelot searched around for his bullets, finding the sash set under his uniform. He turned back, hearing the colonel approaching, crackling with energy, knowing he wouldn't stand a chance. Putting the revolver down, he faced him.

“I have to get on shift. My duty...”

“Your punishment is not finished. I have some things to see to, but you will stay here. Tomorrow you will return to your duties.”

He was relieved the electricity vanished. Ocelot spent the hours primarily in the man's attached bathroom, hiding from Raikov who remained in the bedroom. The agent wished he wasn't waiting for his own torture.

Volgin returned some hours later. Raikov was harassing and intimating the things he wished to do to him. The colonel carried an animal cage, an extra large one for the guard dogs. They were big canines so they were treated to the larger than average size kennel. He could fit in it, curled or on hands and knees. Ocelot learned that the worst way.

Put in the cage while Raikov and Volgin left to be a presence on the base, seeing to affairs, maybe the intruder, he discovered the new discomfort. They took him out to rape, binding him to the bed rails again. Volgin delivered a cruel beating in addition to the forced sex. He was reminded he deserved punishment and this was his payment. When the other officers wanted to sleep, he was placed back in the cage a lump of a human.

Pulled out of his cage the morning he was told he would return to duty, Volgin coerced him to perform oral sex. He suffered through it with Raikov at his back whispering filthy things in his ear. They didn't take him anally and allowed him his clothes and weapons. He was ordered to clean himself and put on fresh clothing before going on duty.

The colonel further ordered him to return to his room that night for further reeducation sessions. Ocelot denied mere words could affect him, but Colonel Volgin's parting words were ruthless. He was breaking to pieces.

“I think I'll keep you for my plaything.”

Chapter Text

September 4, 1964

The scientist was a bumbling mess. He obviously didn't care for Ocelot twirling his gun around him after the Russian roulette affair. He ignored his discomfort for his own comfort. The control, remembering how to stay on edge, ready for anything. His mission: Assist Snake in collecting Sokolov, destroying the Shagohod, and destroying Volgin or his resources.

Snake was to kill The Boss too. His mother. His mother. He shook off the anger born from knowing. She showed him the scar. Ocelot exposed himself to suspicion and exposure because of the knowledge his birth mother was here with him. It wasn't something he could deny. And it threw him off mission and off focus. Unacceptable.

Khrushchev's forces were almost upon the perimeter of their land. The colonel's troops would meet them. The spy discovered and the American agent believed dead had the fortress out of lockdown. Volgin was still upset the Cobras had been eliminated, however, preparations for the phase two trial were complete.

Colonel Volgin called for Sokolov and the man hurried to obey, exuding shame. He didn't desire being anywhere near the old man, but he chose to be for the mission. They walked to the interrogation room and he knew the scientist's life was forfeit. He finished what was needed and his use was at an end. Ocelot would have preferred to kill him prior to the Shagohod's completion. He certainly felt pity when Volgin cruelly tortured him, beating him while demanding answers for pretending Tatyana was his lover.

Sokolov confessed giving her data on the Shagohod. He thought she was KGB and felt he had no choice but to do as she said. Ocelot was beginning to doubt they were her employers. His handlers, who he eliminated contact with until this mess was over, could tell him for certain. He figured they would have told him while he maintained communications earlier. Who, then, deployed her to infiltrate Volgin's fortress?

As often happened with the colonel's interrogations, the subject died. He walked out the moment Volgin announced he was dead. Flashes of Tatyana hanging in that room struck him. Memories of the colonel “testing” his setup on him, shoving in from behind, the pain and despair. How Ocelot put a round through her skull to end her misery. He rubbed an eye, tired.

The fifth soldier that day stared a little too long. He saw he was outside the weapons building and wandered inside, stepping into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he smiled a bit. Volgin and Raikov aimed injuries below the neck aside from the one blow to his face for vomiting. That mark had all but disappeared. His appearance was one of exhaustion though. Shadows darkened his eyes.

For some reason, the reflection in the mirror reminded him of his spirit. The sad man haunted this area, haunted him. Where was he now? He decided he wanted the company.

Ocelot strolled out of the compound on his break. He entered the forest, shouting for the guy to show. This ghost was the sole person who may be surrounding him always. Removing his revolver and loading the chamber, he scanned the foliage. Someone was here all right. Someone of the living.

“Show yourself!”

A very tall man in a camouflage yellow vest stepped out from behind a tree a few yards off. Mask covering everything except his eyes. No hornets in sight.

“You're dead.”

“Do I look dead?”

He hesitated, confident he was seeing a breathing individual and not the commonly transparent man he'd been looking for. Ocelot brought the revolver up, pondering how he could be alive. The Pain would have had to fake his death, and he didn't believe The Boss wouldn't know about that. Which begged the questions.

“Are you alone? Did the others fake defeat and dying too?”

“No. We were defeated by Boss's protege in our fights. Fury and End have passed on. Our explosives worked different.”

Our. Ocelot sensed the presence and a hand covered his mouth, gripping his gun wrist before he could point the weapon. When he questioned if The Pain was alone, he did say no. Idiot.

“Shh...”

He cursed in the gloved palm and jerked forward to pull free. Succeeding, he spun and aimed the revolver. The invisible man came into view, raising his hands outward to seem harmless. Ocelot drew his knife and assumed a stance mimicking how Snake did. They were just standing there.

“Ocelot. Wait.”

Snake's appearance confused him for a length of time sufficient to stop the fight. He noticed the eye patch, a new feature strictly his fault. His guilt urged him to avoid his face, but the agent he was forced him to stare head on. He was Major Ocelot, commander of an elite unit, one of Colonel Volgin's top officers to the American operative.

“What are you doing?”

Snake straightened, putting away his own gun and knife. “Boss found me. She asked for a favor. She asked us to promise we would get you out safe.”

“Out?” He lowered the gun and knife, baffled. “Out where? What are you talking about?”

“We can't talk here. This way.”

Ocelot wasn't sure why he followed automatically, but he did. The Pain and Fear brought up the rear. After a few minutes, he sheathed the knife and kept the gun out to twirl in circles. It was loaded and he would use it to escape if he had need. The Cobras were supposed to be on Volgin's side. Faking their deaths did not look like this was truth anymore. Loyalty to The Boss no matter what was his suspicion.

The Boss was in a small clearing through a thick perimeter of trees and bush. Enough miles from the central area of the vast fortress. It was actually a great hiding spot someone could easily miss. He quit spinning the revolver, tossing it upward and catching it behind his back before sliding it into the holster. He corrected so the weapon was snug in the holster proper.

“You weren't on duty for two days.”

She felt owed an excuse. Fine. “I had an assignment. What are you doing? Who has your loyalty, Boss? The colonel won't like subterfuge.”

“What assignment did Colonel Volgin give you?” The Boss asked, studying his posture and face, the shadows beneath his eyes.

Ocelot stiffened and consciously adjusted his stance, hoping he wasn't showing overt signs of the discomfort he sometimes experienced. They fucked him too many times, and double-teaming his ass was a pain afterward. That alone could affect him but the added electrocution and beating fueled the chronic aches and soreness. She frowned and he scoffed, playing the role of an unworried GRU major. They were meant to be his allies except for Snake. He was in a strong position.

“Fear has been monitoring the colonel's movements much of the time. He was missing for large periods of time during the last two days. Major Raikov was absent for even longer periods.”

Avoiding the topic she was broaching, he glanced at Snake. “He doesn't appear captured. Are you admitting your defection was a lie?”

The Boss aged visibly when her face fell. “They were the two who laid hands on you a year ago.”

People said he was clever. She was brilliant. He got the impression she figured him out and what happened to him over the last two days at first examination.

“They hurt you again.”

“Don't talk like you know.”

“There's been no progress on the project,” The Pain shared. “The Shagohod has yet to begin testing. Something else has occupied the colonel's mind.”

The Boss charged forward and pressed hands into his stomach. He groaned in pain, flinching away while clutching the tender ribs. She didn't look happy proven right. Sadder, maybe.

He attempted concealment despite knowing it was over. “Colonel Volgin deals with defiance with harsh severity. Beatings as punishment are common.”

“Has it ever happened to you before?” she interrogated, circling him.

“I've not shown such insubordination before.”

“Was it my fault for keeping you away for a night?”

He stared straight ahead, refusing to give away anything. “Did you kill Tatyana?”

“Did you?”

Irritated, he answered plain. “I killed her.”

Snake was shocked. “She's dead?”

Detecting genuine care, jealousy emerged as further irritation. “She was a spy, and I don't think for the KGB like she wanted us to believe.”

The Boss showed a glimmer of bother hearing the news of Tatyana's death at his hands as well. She recovered faster than Snake though, proceeding with her primary target. It seemed the news wasn't news, just bothersome fact. It was probable inside Volgin's inner circle, she was told of the spy's discovery, torture, and execution.

“If I checked, would I see signs of sexual assault?”

Ocelot gave a clearly fake laugh. “Fine. They raped me. They raped me over and over. The sadistic monsters used the excuse of disobedience to make me their sex toy. Is that what this insanity is? What is this promise they've made for you?”

She had her back to him but turned to look when she responded. “They promised to get you to safety. You won't fight them on this. Please.”

“I'm not in danger. I'm right where I want to be. Are you crazy?”

The Pain and The Fear moved to intercept his path out. He peered over his shoulder at her, annoyed.

“Ocelot. You don't need to be here. And you won't be.” She shifted to regard each of the other men present when she spoke their names. “Pain, Fear, and Snake have promised to save you for me. They will take you to the border.”

“No! What are you talking about? Save me? Save me?”

The Boss met his eyes. “Ocelot.”

Snake was disgruntled and confused. “Boss, you gonna tell me what this is all about?”

He didn't think she'd say it, but she did. “He's my son.”

“A beautiful baby boy born on the field of battle.” She unzipped her sneak suit to reveal the distinct scar. “Taken from me by the Philosophers.”

“What? Did you know when you defected? Did-?”

“No. I only learned of who he is after reading his file. His birth date along with his connection to the Philosophers and legendary heroes for parents. Even before, when I sensed..him..it stirred up the past, made me think of the child I lost, the emptiness and pain I-” She altered her speech. “He was the right age, had the right look that maybe..maybe...”

Snake was staring between them unable to choose an emotion to wear. It was a different side of the typical detached or untroubled demeanor he presented. Their gazes locked temporarily and he wasn't certain he liked the way he was looked at. It was discouraging. When they had sex maybe it was a mistake to him now. He broke the stare and examined The Boss.

She stood still, eyes to the ground away from him. “I suppressed my personal feelings and ideals for a long time, but knowing you were in front of me...”

The outburst felt inevitable. “You're not my mother! I don't have a mother!”

“That's fair. But I'm taking responsibility for you now. Hate me all you want. You're leaving with them. Okay?”

Ocelot glared, rage bubbling up again. He grasped the bullet around his neck and released it in disgust. His mother was alive and with him, and she thought him a child. Every foolish thing he did to impress Snake floated through his mind. The mistakes which put him in Volgin's abusive grasp. He was a man and he was talented and skilled. He would complete his mission, every single part. He'd be respected and known.

“Why did you let them take me?” he demanded.

The Boss, his mom. She looked him in the eye, silent. Unacceptable.

“You love to fight.” The volume of his voice was rising and he yelled, “Why didn't you fight for me?”

She wasn't speaking. It made him angrier.

“Dozens of people raised me. Strangers who weren't to know me. Just build a soldier, a servant for country. I hated it and I despised them. I wasn't a child. I was a project,” he spat the last part and quit speaking.

Ocelot reprimanded his emotions getting away from him. He thought they didn't reveal anything too telling. He had to be careful. What he said could connect to Philosophers, NSA, and GRU. No CIA connections necessary. He was fine.

“My dedication to country was powerful. I shut out what was taken from me. The Philosophers began to dissent. Those who fought together ended up on opposite sides. Two years ago I was sent on a mission in this very area of Russia. I crossed paths with a former ally, a former lover. I killed him. Another thing to bury inside what they took.”

He looked at her. She was recollecting painful memories. Her expression read a person who couldn't cry. A strength? Or had she cried out her tears until there weren't any left to shed?

“Why did you kill him?”

Her reply was simple. “Orders.”

“What orders could make you kill someone you love?”

Ocelot wouldn't kill Snake. The man fascinated him too much. He clamped down the thought of Snake and him together in that cave. He didn't love him. No way. The sex was incredible, nothing more. That was done now. Snake was like The Boss's son, and he was her biological son. Plus his cover and mission and Snake's mission. It was a bad idea and would never work.

“When there's someone you both love more,” she told him.

Confusion. Anger.

“They told us if we both made it out alive, they would kill our child. Sorrow convinced me to kill him. I knew I had to but it was difficult...”

He didn't believe it. “You killed him for me?”

A calm, “Yes.”

He was completely shocked and still his brain was wired and working. Ocelot pieced together his original reason to go into the forest and the reason he came to meet The Boss out here. The ghost said he was killed two years ago and what he experienced to be shown the man's death, the words between them. Two years...

“1962,” he began. “There was a time I was sent from base to some building, a square room... I could feel things were wrong. It was a kill room. They left me in there waiting to see if the order came for my execution. Oh...” He almost buckled.

Ocelot didn't feel his feelings like this. The stunned comprehension he was so close to death with zero awareness shook him off balance. He never saw it coming. He wiped at wetness dotting his face. It was raining.

The Boss exhaled, closing her eyes to peer up to the skies. He saw the sad man ripple into solid, visible form right next to her. He knew his piecing of the past was accurate. She killed the sad man and he haunted this place where he had been stationed. Her lover. To save their child from being killed.

“Are you my father?”

The Boss jerked a step, moving backward to stare at the space he was speaking toward. She looked back and forth between him and the spot. The apparition smiled at him and nodded. He wiped the rain off his forehead but the precipitation came down harder, negating the effort.

“You can see him?”

Ocelot glanced around to note everyone was looking at him. They couldn't see what he could see. It was just him with a bit of an..odd ability. Might require explanation for those surrounding him.

“The sad man visits me some days when I'm outside. It's usually raining. I think he causes it. His energy is powerful and now it makes sense. The Sorrow was a spirit medium. I should have put it together sooner.”

“He's here?”

“Yes,” he replied and looked at the dead man. “He's here to watch over me I think.”

That brought the sad man to nod again, yet smiling. Sorrow. One of the Cobras. He gazed at The Boss.

“So sad...”

“You're my mom.”

She eyed him. “I am.”

Unlike the first time she approached him quickly, he felt no threat or intimidation. She stopped a foot away, watching him. Ocelot watched her back and she didn't hesitate any longer, eliminating the distance to embrace him. The move surprised but he relaxed and sank into it, hugging in return with arms wrapping around her. He had a mom.

“That guy's your dad?”

“You see him?”

Snake was looking at the spot The Sorrow was hovering in.

“Yeah... After I fell in the river and nearly drowned... He was there. He showed me how he died. I saw The End and The Fury, but not the other two. That's how I knew they were still alive somewhere.”

“And then I found him,” The Boss finished. “To get you out.”

He declined the idea in stubborn fashion. “No. I won't leave. I have a job to do. If you're with the colonel, so do you.”

She was giving everything but a confession she wasn't interested in Volgin's ambition. The way she behaved, even before telling him who she was to him. It was noncommittal, off. He was suspicious of her purpose here from the start.

“I won't let you stay. They'll take you by force if necessary.”

Snake bristled at the declaration. “Abduction? Uh... Are you sure that's such a good idea, Boss?”

“I know I wasn't there when a child needs parents most. Many of us lost parents too soon or never knew them. But I feel happy they kept the name I gave you. The Russian version of-”

Caught off guard by the random reminiscing, Ocelot spread his arms wide, feeling the need to introduce himself for the operative standing close behind her. “Adamska.”

“Adamska?”

He looked to Snake, whose face was visibly working something out. “Your name is Adam? Are you ADAM?”

Verbally the two uses of the name sounded identical. Ocelot understood the difference and his cover was blown. He thought how cool it would have been to get through the mission without a single person discovering he was ADAM. Too late for that now.

“Ocelot, are you working for the CIA?”

The Cobras shifted in their places and The Boss swung around to take in Snake, then she looked at him. The Sorrow turned his smile to his former comrades, to his former lover. He offered it toward Snake, who shook his head as if he thought he was seeing things, expressing his version of events to The Boss.

“I was supposed to meet a contact said to have infiltrated Volgin's ranks,” Snake explained. “His code name is ADAM. EVA showed up in his place. A woman who defected from the NSA.”

The Boss mentioned his defection from the NSA in the cave, if he recalled correctly. Either Snake wasn't paying attention or intelligence wasn't his forte. He wasn't an idiot. He was smart and creative and adept at his job..with help. Hm. Ocelot supposed himself now good working alone maybe, but it wasn't for everyone. His mother seemed another talented at working alone.

“I thought the NSA defectors were two men,” The Boss said. “Ocelot?”

Deception was his thing, not outright lies. “No. Two men was a misdirect leaked to the information network to confuse parties outside GRU. The real EVA's dead. She died years ago.”

Snake appeared puzzled, probably over EVA not being EVA. He didn't know how he ended up trusting her. She couldn't have known the code required to confirm identities. Did his former master's defection spin his compass so far off, he failed to identify friend from foe? Was that why he bothered with Ocelot at all? Would it change?

“EVA and I were sent in together. We infiltrated Colonel Volgin's ranks. She let her emotions cloud her judgment and lost sight of the mission. For me. Trying to protect me got her killed. Like you're doing. You need to let me work..Mom.”

She was not amused nor fooled. “Don't use that name to manipulate me, Ocelot.”

“Don't you want to call me Adam?” he queried, facetious.

Her disapproval was evaded by Snake's ongoing befuddlement. “EVA wasn't EVA... Who was she?”

Ocelot didn't know. The Boss had thoughts. The Sorrow gazed upward at the lightening rain and vanished.

“She was a special class of spy. I could tell she attended a charm school with how she would use her sexuality as diversion. Whenever she met with you, Snake, I'm sure her personality was different to conceal her true intentions. I taught at a facility like the one she must have attended.”

“Who are the patriots?” Snake demanded, confronting him out of nowhere, drawing up to stand beside The Boss.

Successfully caught by surprise, he responded immediate. “La li lu le lo.” He relaxed. “Good enough for you?”

Chapter Text

The agent was shocked to hear him provide the correct response. His expression showed more disbelief than when he learned Ocelot was The Boss's son. Jealousy flared again. He wondered if feelings formed between the spy who took his place and Snake, in the brief time they had while she helped him out with his mission to better complete her own. Could be simple, physical attraction. It didn't change a thing.

Him and Snake having sex was a fluke. Ocelot did it because he was a warm body there to make him feel better. Ugh. Forget the personally meaningful sex and move on. He had a mission. Snake had a mission. They should go back to how they were, except, well, with the other agent aware of his actual loyalties.

He displayed his fingers into guns with a smirk. “But still, that's Major Ocelot to you.”

Time to drum up the bravado.

“I'm disappointed. Someone who could call himself The Boss's apprentice had no idea who I was, or that he was meeting with a fake contact.” He pulled out his gun and twirled it about. “Nobody knew I'm a spy. You can leave if you want, but I'm right where I want to be inside the Soviet Union.”

While he was making a scene, The Boss came around to his side. He didn't think anything of it until she slapped the back of his head.

“A mother knows when to temper her son's ego.”

He winced and glared, fuming she was playing with his mockery of such titles between them. It was strange to have a mother. It didn't feel real and he assumed it would be taken away. It wouldn't last. Ocelot was an agent for others. He didn't get to be selfish. Someone who earned the title of a legendary hero must be the same.

“Ow! It's my cover, woman!”

Ocelot sauntered farther away, rubbing his head. He holstered the revolver when she began sharing part of her life with him.

“On a mission two decades ago, I failed my mission. I was grazed by a bullet to the head trying to protect my unborn child. I was in a coma for three months; six more months to fully recover. The second world war had gotten worse. I blame myself. Had I not failed my mission, had I not become distracted, things could be different in the world today.”

“And you say I have an ego!” Ocelot declared.

The Boss shook her head. “I'm warning you not to let yourself get distracted. Things can't be personal. Know your will, your loyalty, and follow it.”

“Ah, so this is where you've gotten off to, major.”

The booming voice belonged to Colonel Volgin. He stood right behind Ocelot once he pushed through the thicket. Major Raikov appeared on the man's left and despite the number of trees and bushes, many soldiers could be seen spread out. Ocelot checked around and saw the armed units were surrounding the area to deter conflict. Some of them were from his own unit.

“My men inform me they stumbled upon this private gathering and heard Major Ocelot arguing against being taken away. They hurried straight to me to report it. Want to explain what's going on?”

“Colonel-”

The Boss's explanation faded when the GRU officers noticed two Cobras who were not dead. Rage replaced the calm expression on the colonel's face. His gaze flickered from them to The Boss to Snake and to The Boss once more. He electrified his body, fists clenching.

“What's this?” His eyes continued to rove the situation. “Treachery.”

The electricity tapered off. Volgin stepped forward, arm darting out and hand closing around his forearm. He gave a yelp of surprise as he was yanked into the man's chest and spun to face the opposite direction. The hand gripped his throat, threatening to squeeze.

“I can break his neck in an instant. Tell me. Where were you taking him? Why?”

“Colonel Volgin, let him go,” The Boss said, outwardly intense. “This has nothing to do with him.”

“Your betrayal? I suspect it has everything to do with the boy. Or are you telling me you were only pretending to join my side?”

“She's with the intruder. What else is there to know?”

Ocelot tried to look at Raikov when he said that and the fingers tightened. He grimaced, twisting stubbornly in the hold and tugging at his wrist to demand release. His eyes drifted to Snake, who he found staring to meet his look. Volgin loosened his grasp and pierced the side of his neck in a couple blinks time. He saw the needle pulling away from his skin, disconcerted. Drowsy, he was hefted onto a shoulder, upper half of him hanging down Volgin's back.

“If you try to follow, I'll kill him.”

They were moving, his eyes growing heavy. He strained to open them to see Snake. Dizziness made him abort the effort and he shut them, giving in to sleep.

Did someone say something about a cat nap?

Ocelot lifted his head off the table he was laying it on. He didn't remember doing that. He remembered the needle to his neck. Rubbing his eyes, he leaned back in the hard chair. Volgin was sitting across from him while Raikov loitered in the corner to his right. He received a smug smile and glared in response.

“You sedated me!”

“Bygones. Now, pay attention.”

He listened to measure the circumstances.

“Did The Boss divulge any details of her plan?”

“What plan?” He was genuinely clueless.

Colonel Volgin pressed. “She was given no limits on access. She could have sabotaged me and didn't. Turned her back on her Cobras..half of them at least. She must-have-a plan.”

“Do you think she was the one to steal the explosives?” asked Raikov.

“The C3 was stolen by Tatyana,” Ocelot corrected. “Or whoever she was.”

“Perhaps she's been arranging things in the background to trigger at a later time,” the major suggested. “We'll raise the alert level and keep double the guards on duty surrounding the fortress.”

“Very well. Get it done.”

Major Raikov exited the room and he noted there was no apparent guard outside. It wasn't likely he was suspected of conspiring. Volgin could think he had Ocelot handled alone, but he left him with his weapons. He counted himself above suspicion.

The colonel stared him down. Unnecessary. He wasn't going anywhere. He didn't have a useful thing to share either.

“Why was The Boss trying to smuggle you out?”

His squirming in the seat gave away how uncomfortable he was with the question so he played into it. Adopting a frown, he glared at the table's surface.

“She doesn't like that I'm a major at my age. She thinks I didn't earn it.” His disgust at many people thinking he shouldn't be responsible for anything important shone through. “And, she's still working for her country. Her defection was a lie to get to you. She intended to bring me across the border to have me taken into custody for defecting.”

“Hm.” The colonel raised his chin, appraising him. Ocelot couldn't determine if he was buying his story. “Still sore about losing you to the enemy, is that it?”

He shrugged, meeting his prying gaze. Leveling his stare, he offered nothing Ocelot could decipher and manipulate. He just didn't know where he stood with the man. His spy status was above scrutiny for now, but his status as the colonel's major and near second in command was in flux. Time was running out before his peculiar behavior of late was no longer tolerated.

“She must be after my Legacy. I'll have it moved and guarded by sight.”

He stood and walked to the door, which he opened and leaned out of. A soldier must have been nearby because he appeared and listened to an order concerning the Legacy. Sensing how vital the need was, the man jumped at the chance to fulfill the order. Ocelot smiled, pleased how little an idea they had the real Legacy was long gone. He'd taken the prize and played them for fools.

Bringing his mind to Snake's mission and his own to assist the agent, he settled on a couple potential plans. Volgin's power was all but taken. Sokolov's project would be erased by his hand and the threat the colonel posed would disappear. No money to pay for all his men and toys and they would abandon him in due time. Loyalty only extended so far when the starving began.

“Ocelot.” He looked up to the man standing too close, towering over him. His neck was grasped, loosely so as not to hurt, but the danger was there. “Why do The Boss and her Cobras treat you special?”

He frowned, not budging an inch to avoid the appearance of insubordination, and met his eyes. “They don't. What do you mean?”

The hand tightened and he grasped it to try and make it loosen. “Colonel-”

“Why?”

His eyes watered when breathing became more complicated and the hand stopped cutting off his airway but remained holding his neck. He tried a question of his own.

“Why did you threaten to kill me?”

“If you disappoint me, Ocelot, you'll wish I killed you.”

He lifted him out of the chair and his feet dangled. The hold on his neck was definitely painful now. He kissed him on the lips and now he had to rethink this. His loss of control was frustrating but maybe he could use it to his advantage.

Volgin sighed and set him on his feet. He coughed, inhaling rapidly and rubbing his aching throat.

“Your innocence is intoxicating.”

He was drawn into the man's side and his instinct was to pull away and get angry. Instead, he clung to the man's side and hugged him. Surprised, he could feel the man looking down at him and he nuzzled the uniformed chest for extra clarity he was demanding closeness. Whether Colonel Volgin would give in to his lust for the young man in his care or resume interrogation for essential answers was up in the air.

“You are special, Ocelot,” the older man told him. “And you are mine.”

“I didn't mean to disappoint you again, sir. I'm sorry. I'm trying to be the officer you raised. I am, sir.” He quit the babbling like it was unintentional exposure of innocence and pulled away.

Clearing his throat, he straightened and put on a tough, professional look. “I am under your command, colonel. What are your orders concerning the intruders?”

“No orders.” The man grabbed his arm and tugged him along to the door. “Come to my room.”

This man was insatiable. His latest asset turned against him and was revealed to never be on his side in the first place. Yet he wanted to fuck the soldier in his command who was more than three decades younger than him over dealing with the problem. He would be celebrating the ease in which he caused the man's mind to go elsewhere, saving him from suspicion and interrogation, except it was his ass that would pay for it. His obsession with having his body was the one thing that weakened the leader's ambition. Ocelot didn't understand his motivation to ignore duty for personal.

There was silence on the walk to the man's room. He walked on his own without the hand on him for the majority of the journey, which he appreciated. No one knew he was repeatedly attacked by the colonel before, and they wouldn't know he now willingly encouraged and had sex with the base commander either. Happiness for the small things. His life was still depressing no matter how he looked on the bright side with his successes.

Inside the bedroom, they undressed and Volgin brought out the lubricant. He left his back to the man as long as possible to wear a brave face and accept he could do what he had to do. Besides, he still preferred the old man to Raikov. This man was sadistic and cruel but he genuinely seemed to be attracted and capable of loving Ocelot in his own manner. Raikov merely wanted to own him and break him to have his own fun.

He heard the man sit on the side of the bed and he channeled the thought he preferred Volgin's brutality to the major's when he turned around. Watching him, scarred face uncertain and waiting, he straddled the man's lap, avoiding the not yet hard penis. There was a line to toe here. He couldn't ever be believed to love the man who abused him numerous times using the power of his position. Belief he could lust for the man's body like the man did for his body was his only play.

“I just want this,” he tried, angling to be the innocent and vulnerable youth he liked. “When it feels good. Uh.”

How did he want to say this? Volgin grasped him beneath the chin and tilted his face forward to look at him. He stared back and actual fear crept in from all the things he did to him in the past. He didn't have physical scars but the mental imprint of this man would be lasting. An influence he couldn't shake off. Agents weren't supposed to be his age when they were sent on undercover missions. He truly understood EVA's worry for him now that he knew he had been permanently changed.

Jerking his head out of the grasp in embarrassed frustration, the act slipped away. Well, he would just have to be Major Ocelot and own his weaknesses along with the strengths. He could do it.

He liked feeling good, so, he wrapped his arms around Volgin's neck and lifted his upper half higher to reach the man's height. The older man smirked seeing him tentatively place their faces close. Ocelot darted his eyes to his lips, wondering if he would be upset if he was too aggressive. He didn't necessarily like submissive and taking the initiative would be met with approval. Only one way to find out.

Ocelot kissed him on the lips and the mouth opened. He deepened the kiss and arms hugged him to the man's front. His crotch stirred and it was embarrassing how easily his body responded to sensual touching nowadays. Hands held him by the butt massaging the cheeks and he grunted from the feel.

A dry finger forced its way in his hole and he broke the kiss, protesting with a sound. Sadist, remember... A minute digging around and making him endure discomfort and he pulled his finger out, using the bottle of lubricant this time. Two fingers prying him open and then three far too fast. He laid against the bare chest of thick scar tissue, resigning to the fact Volgin wasn't impatient but was inclined to make it hurt for him for his own arousal. It would feel good also, he knew from experience, and didn't share his discontentment.

Gasping and huffing desire when he thrust the three fingers in at a fast pace, he patted Volgin's shoulder. His fingers withdrew and Ocelot let his face be guided up and into a kiss. They were kissing today in a way that was upsetting. With care, appreciation, arousal, and interest. It formed a knot in his stomach and caused his head to heat up as it did when he was really nervous.

They separated their mouths and Ocelot looked over his shoulder to watch the man coat his large erection in the lubricating substance. It was humorous when in general people had a problem with homosexuals since it was obvious male bodies were designed for anal sex. He raised higher, still looking over his shoulder, and together they got his entrance lined up to the penis. Volgin spread his cheeks and left it to him to finger his hole open, gripping the slippery penis inside the first inch.

Clenching his jaw, he worked to have gravity put the huge dick into his body. He sank a few inches and his body resisted, burning pain bringing him pause. Ocelot held onto broad shoulders and carefully lifted and lowered. He earned a few more inches for his efforts and Volgin's grip on his butt tightened. He knew what that meant and closed his eyes. The groin thrust upward and he cried out, seated on the lap with the cock in entirely.

Breathing heavily, he rested a hand on his stomach where he could feel it and strained to get used to how full and invasive it felt. Volgin kissed his forehead and he opened his eyes. This might have been a miscalculation. Should he be discovered a spy, the colonel would torture him to death. That would happen even without this moment here, but Ocelot was making it worse. The betrayal was personal, even if he never intended it to be personal. He didn't know what he was doing anymore.

He raised himself higher to kiss the man on the mouth and pretend he wasn't unbalanced. Desperate to be in control despite free falling in his mind, he kissed and felt the other man's mouth and tongue. Volgin grunted approval and stroked his back along the shoulders and spine. Ocelot trembled from the attention and rocked his hips, rubbing his insides on the penis. He would sigh and gasp while staring at the chest at eye level, seated on the lap and swaying back and forth.

Ocelot avoided looking at his face after seeing the awe on it. He had no idea how much time passed but he started to feel dizzy with arousal and sat still. His penis was achingly hard, he was very aware of the warm, throbbing penis deep inside him, and how while feeling discomfort, the minor pain had faded. It was just nice and their connected bodies were heated to the point of sweat beginning to form on their skin.

Volgin brought his hands around to his front and fondled his chest, cupping the small lumps of flesh. He watched without much thought and then he rubbed and toyed with his nipples. Groaning, he shifted in the lap and moaned when he made himself feel too good by accident. This apparently convinced the old man to continue arousing him via his chest before finishing by pinching them hard. It hurt and he hollered offense.

Grinning, Volgin kissed the top of his head and slowly slid his big hands from breasts, down his sides, caressing his hips, and sliding back to grope his buttcheeks. He jerked but in agreement for the touching and the man lifted and lowered him on his cock. Ocelot rode the hot flesh, forcing his butt back down whenever the hands and thrusting lap propelled him upward. Volgin watched his face, fascinated, and he was occupied feeling their bodies fitting together over and over. A grunt and he ejaculated on the man's chest.

“Clean me.”

Ocelot stared wide-eyed figuring out what he was demanding. The old man slowed the intensity so he planted his hands on the man's side and chest, leaning into the sweat damp skin. He licked a line of his own semen from the man's muscular abdomen. Blinking up, the man nodded for him to go ahead. Oddly serious. He thought it was because the other was too turned on to do more than feel what Ocelot was doing for him.

Lapping up the semen, it did not taste good nor did it turn him on. But Volgin enjoyed it, murmuring, “Kitty, kitty.”

He used his fingers to scoop up what was impossible to bend close enough to use his tongue. Sucking on his fingers, he looked the guy in the eye all the while. He really liked that.

Hugging him to his large body, he rolled them onto the bed proper. On top of him, he thrust and Ocelot shouted from the force and pressure of it inside him. He leaned low and they kissed for a bit. He wrapped his arms and legs around the man, echoing how their tongues sought each other. Volgin groped a breast and nipple and grasped hold of his waist with the other hand. He fucked him rough, relentless, and tender.

Guilt prodded in his mind because the man was giving himself and honesty while he was deceitful. He reminded what sort of man the colonel was to the world and of his mission. It was troubling he had to remind about the many assaults, physical and sexual. Major Ocelot was not who he was no matter how confused he became with his cover and true self. He was known and not known by the other.

This mockery of love ended with him cuddling into the big man's side, lying on his chest. He fell asleep in comfort and woke having the first good sleep in a long time. He was alone on the bed, room lit by a solitary lamp, and immediately spotted the cage missing. Ocelot was exiting the bathroom when he noticed Volgin lying on the bed under the covers. A glance to the wall clock informed he slept the day away. He definitely required the sleep following nights of punishment. Those nights appeared to be at an end.

His lips formed a soft smile. An upgrade from pet to lover. It would do considering he would be stuck here for months at most. Months of making himself care about Volgin would be easier than months of being a plaything to Volgin and Raikov. Of course, this was assuming the colonel had now taken him for his lover. What he did could answer that.

Ocelot quietly crossed the room to avoid waking the man if he'd already fallen asleep. Getting into the bed, he slid beneath the covers and held to Volgin's back turned from him. A few moments and he began to ponder what to think about when he wasn't tired in the least. He thought about playing memories of a western film in his mind to pass the time.

The bed creaked and Volgin gathered him into his arms. He was naked and pressed their bodies together, rubbing and humping. Grunting, arousal curled in his belly. They were kissing and soon after that they were having sex, Ocelot moaning with every plunge of the huge penis touching him deep. He clung to the older man during their second bout, overstimulated and uncomfortably comfortable.

September 5, 1964

He laid on top of the slumbering man afterward, tired but not enough for sleep. Hours drifted by and he finally fell asleep. When he woke, they were lying side to side, holding one another. Volgin was awake, watching him sleep. The thought entered his mind Major Raikov was the man's lover. The colonel solely used Tatyana for sex and a year ago used him for sex and power. The less he lingered on how awful her experience might have been, the better. But he knew he was more to the man than entertainment.

Volgin grasped his forearm and sent a small shock through him. He grunted surprise, somehow forgetting the ability until it was used on him. He was tested with small shocks on various parts of his body. He didn't resist, wanting the man to trust he was willing to be his, but not hiding his pain for the sadist.

Stretching him open, he was inside him, moving in him. Ocelot whined and moaned through the fucking and electric jolts. He didn't think it was possible to hate something and love something as much as he did here. It bothered, shamed. He shut off his brain to revel in physical gratification.

He left for his room in the early hours of the morning and went to the showers. It was disturbing how well he felt, refreshed and like his old self. Ocelot thought he should feel terrible and reluctant but the job was the job. Thus far, he was coming out accomplished.

The final test was scheduled for tomorrow. A communication with his KGB handlers let him know Khrushchev's sent forces to oppose Volgin's forces would be arriving any day. Sokolov's capture and the detonation on Russian soil were the last straws and the leader had to act or lose all faith from his armies.

Ocelot informed both sets of handlers he would destroy Sokolov's project now that the man himself was dead. Colonel Volgin would be rendered powerless and his threat ended. The KGB told him they were proud of his progress and Legacy retrieval but upset he only managed to recover half. To the CIA he admitted what he'd done concerning the Legacy. Half to Russia and half to America. Claimed it was necessary to protect his status with the KGB. They bought it while remaining furious. They ordered he carry out killing the defector if their other agent failed. Their lives depended on it. Bastards. He ended the transmission without confirming the order.

Chapter Text

Air raid sirens were blaring throughout the base. Khrushchev's forces were on the perimeter, attempting to gain access to Groznyj Grad. They arrived in the late morning hours of September the fifth. A conflict which would never be acknowledged by history. Fighting within made Mother Russia appear weak. Best to keep it quiet.

Volgin was unconcerned. Their position held the advantage and between his fighters and advanced weaponry, victory was inevitable. Ocelot walked alongside him, equally uncaring of the ground assault and pondering if he should request a new hat for appearances' sake. He hated the thing but it was part of the uniform. He had the knowledge his time here would be over in a matter of months, however, he couldn't behave as such.

The place was on too high an alert to do anything about the project today. He had plans for tomorrow to take care of the task. Attention was on the West Wing and the two directions Khrushchev's forces were fighting to invade from. They wanted the fortress and Volgin's death. They would achieve neither. The areas the colonel controlled were vast. His forces were well-entrenched and the invading forces would be repelled.

Outside where tanks were parked, he watched soldiers running around in a panic. Major Raikov hollered something indistinguishable to a pair of men who stumbled and hurried off when he was done yelling. He was a fair distance away from them but took the time to scowl in his specific direction before spinning in the opposite direction back into the central building. Volgin spotted him and strode toward the building. Lovers' spat?

As far as he was concerned, they could have each other. Sauntering across the main lot, he removed a revolver and spun it. Fenced areas, helicopters, storage sheds of food, trenches... Yeah. Khrushchev would get nowhere.

Rounding a tank, the revolver was on its way down when an invisible hand snatched it out of the air. The hand, arm, and rest of him shimmered and solidified. Ocelot narrowed his eyes at The Fear.

“You better not be here to kidnap me.”

“Do you have food?”

“Do you think of nothing else?”

“Boss wants to see you.”

“Boss wants you guys to take me away. I will not leave.”

“Bring me food and I won't take you anywhere you don't want to go.” He put up a hand. “But Boss wants to see you now.”

He didn't believe The Fear would not attempt a kidnapping if The Boss ordered it. Ocelot would take his chances to see what she wanted. Snake could be with them still as well.

“Go and get food. Plenty of food.”

He sighed. “There's a storage shed through those trees there. Come on.”

Walking a few paces, he hesitated and checked his surroundings to see if they were seen. Fear went invisible again to save him the trouble of worrying over that. A quick stop at a food shed and he emerged with a pack full of food which The Fear took off his hands greedily. The guy had a serious need for energy. Maybe if he quit going invisible it would be less of an issue.

Ocelot was brought to the mountain area, to the cave. He walked ahead of Fear through the passage and into the larger area inside. There was a fire going on one side, rolled blankets set against the walls indicating four people had been sleeping here, and The Pain and Snake were sitting around the fire on opposite sides and logs.

They looked at him when he entered and Ocelot frowned. “Where's The Boss?”

His mom. Hard to believe even when he knew it to be fact.

“She had to investigate somewhere, wouldn't tell me details.” Snake looked deflated.

He stood and sat against the back wall. The Fear sat beside his friend, putting the pack between his boots and searching what Ocelot filled it with. Hesitating a moment longer, he came farther into the cave, glancing at the spot he recalled having sex with the CIA agent. He thought of them together and images of him and Volgin together marred the memory he'd wanted to be precious. Furrowing his brow, he tapped his revolvers but left them in their holsters.

Snake toyed with his cigar, clearly itching to smoke it, but he refrained. Ocelot stood by the fire, contemplating how he was convinced to come out here to wait for The Boss. He'd stab somebody if they tried to abduct him across the border again. Boss had a task she was looking to get done, and so did he. He respected whatever she might have to do, and he expected her to offer the same treatment.

There was a snake cooking on the fire, for Snake he presumed. The Fear was partaking in some of the food he brought to them, and Pain didn't seem the type for survival eating unless absolutely required. He could be wrong. He didn't know the guy well. Ignoring the man often in his thoughts faded the moment a question occurred.

“In a survival situation, would a thing like a snake provide more energy than say, a mushroom?”

Snake perked up, peering over. “Right. Meat is much more substantial, but in a pinch, mushrooms will do the trick.”

He walked to the fire and tugged the stick out with the snake. Examining it, he leaned forward to bite into it as someone might a delicious sandwich. Ocelot stared and inquired without thinking.

“Can I taste it?”

The other man grunted, shrugging one shoulder and holding it out toward him. He was hesitant now that it was in his hands. The agent had some mushrooms and small mammals on his person when he was captured for a short time. No snakes. He tentatively licked the scaly flesh. Closing his eyes, he bit into it and struggled to tear meat off. Once he did he chewed slowly, tasting. Wasn't delicious, wasn't as bad as he imagined it might be.

He opened his eyes and passed the cooked snake to him. Snake had been observing him the whole time. When he got the food back, he sat down on the log behind him and hungrily bit pieces off of the creature. Ocelot watched him a moment before looking into the fire.

“My namesake is a species of wildcat that lives on the American continent.”

“Do you miss America?” The Pain asked.

He considered. “Sometimes. The one thing I got freedom to do growing up was watching television and movies. I love westerns.”

“The behavior, the spurs... Very cowboy.”

Ocelot smirked, gesturing double-fingered guns his way. Pain may have smiled. Probably. Hard to tell with the mask. His attention shifted elsewhere and he grabbed the bag away, pushing it to the nearby wall.

“Save some for later, you glutton.”

The Fear licked his lips, savoring remnants. “Yes, yes.”

Snake swallowed loudly and said, “Hey, Ocelot. When my supplies were taken after I was captured, you took my food. EVA said you told her it was because you wanted to eat the same things I did. Why'd you do that?”

His eyes widened. He shuttered them to hide it and worked on an answer. “Uh..to get stronger.”

“Huh.”

He was aware the Cobras were paying attention. He concentrated on the lingering taste in his mouth to distract.

“She told me you had your mind on somebody else even though you'd discovered Tatyana was a spy. Who? The Boss? Did you know she was your mother then?”

Ocelot's eyes darted to the unashamed listeners. They were looking at Snake, incredulous. How worrying. Did they work it out while Snake couldn't seem to? He was blooming red and hoped the fire would take the blame. Far too embarrassed, he wasn't going to admit who.

Waited out for a few brief moments, Snake glanced at his food and said, “You should be careful. If Volgin discovers you're a spy, he'll kill you. EVA got killed because of that, yeah?”

Two parts to those words. Snake was showing concern for his health and digging for what became of EVA as well. He let him keep eating the snake and turned toward him when he was ready to answer.

“She told me to kill her. Volgin would have done more unspeakable things; let her suffer as long as possible. Sadist that he is... Anyway, if Volgin learns I'm a spy, I don't think he'll kill me.”

“What makes you so sure?”

He squirmed in discomfort, sitting down on the log behind himself. He would not even imagine what would become of him should the colonel learn he's the enemy. Nope. Not thinking on that. Ocelot opted to change the subject.

“What's your relationship with The Boss?

Snake ate the rest of the snake and tossed the stick in the fire. “I was her student and she was my master since I was fifteen. We spent ten years living or dying together. Half of me belongs to her. She's like a mother.”

He caught the regret on mentioning the last part and ignored it. “No doubt a deep bond between you. Respect, admiration, love... Can't live without her, is that it?”

“She was the only mother I've ever known. I owe who I am to her.”

“Killing her would be like killing yourself then.”

Everyone was looking at him. He felt their looks but held Snake's gaze in the flames. Now that ADAM was known, Snake had to realize he knew his mission objectives. All of them. The silent rock of a man held firm, so he turned and asked him direct.

“Are you going to kill her?”

More silence. His expression told him he was anxious. Ocelot's own feelings were complicated. If she brought him out here to reveal she wasn't really a defector, no shock there. But the world saw her as a monster who fired a nuke on Russian soil. This couldn't end with her alive, could it?

Ocelot stood up. “Let's have our fight. Finally, we have opportunity. I've been waiting for this.”

He took his revolver out and started spinning the gun. Snake looked at him, stone as usual. Awaiting the response, he tossed and spun the weapon, showing off his skill. Did he doubt his abilities?

Snake stood and strode away from the fire, facing him. He took in he'd moved to the other side of the cave where there was space enough for a fight. Smiling, he wandered to that side, stopping the spin, tossing it up high, and catching it for holstering. He watched the other remove his equipment belt, tossing it to land near the fire.

“The only techniques you can rely on are the ones you've mastered through experience and practice.”

“Ha. You're giving me a lecture? I have my own style of fighting. Yours. Let's do this!”

He was excited to try it out. The most basic of attacks weren't sufficient to take on someone of Snake's caliber. So he thought, why not fight him with his own moves? Ocelot intended to sprinkle his personal stuff in there of course.

“Come on, Snake!”

Maybe he annoyed him, had aggressiveness to drain, or he was as ready as he was for a fight. When he smiled, Snake attacked, punching him in the face. The blow hit his left cheek and surprised.

“Uh!”

Snake threw himself on him to hit a second time. Unexpected. Ocelot clutched at his attacker, gripping his side and managing to throw him against the cave wall. He headbutted the guy a couple times and kneed him in the stomach, instantly losing civility to go animal at the first sign the older man was doing it.

His second attempt to knee the man was caught and his leg was used to carry and shove him a short ways to the other wall close by. Held there, Ocelot brought his feet up, propelling Snake away to the ground. He threw a fist and his target avoided it, causing him to hit rock wall and then punching him in the stomach. The guy grabbed his hips and jammed his head into his stomach to turn him and they rolled several times, each fighting to gain the upper hand.

The older man succeeded getting the top position and hit Ocelot three times in the face before he gathered strength and caught the arm. He hit him and rolled them to take the top, punching him three times in return. Fair is fair. Snake's arms fell aside. Not buying the fight was done, he swung to hit a fourth time and Snake reacted quick, grabbing his arm with both hands and throwing him bodily.

Rolling far enough he almost hit the far wall, he groaned, slowly rising. Snake was doing the same near the other side of the cave room. He lowered into his CQC stance and Ocelot mimicked, giving finger guns for his personal spice. Now we're talking.

Ocelot smiled brief before coming at him with a right hook. No time like the present to learn this combat style from Snake by watching and doing. His arm was caught and bent behind his back. He got himself free and reversed their positions, expertly copying the move.

Snake bashed an elbow into his face to get free and they squared off again. Ignoring the pains, he moved to elbow him back and it was caught. The man took him by the arm with two hands to twist him around, using his momentum to toss him. Ready this time for his own technique to be used against him, Ocelot used the momentum to twist himself with a cartwheel, putting them into face to face positioning again.

It didn't last because Snake managed to bend his arm lower, just right to spin and cartwheel to get his body out of the hold, gaining distance. Ocelot was miffed at the display and the smile that proceeded. He'd identified his mimic fight choice.

Squaring off, Snake tried to kick with his left leg and punched with his right hand. He blocked both. Beginning to feel outclassed, he finger jabbed an eye. His..eye patch eye. When Snake smiled, he realized that eye was completely ineffectual for the tactic.

Embarrassed a laugh was being had at his expense, he shifted to the right and grabbed his arm, throwing him to the ground. He tried to punch him and Snake got hold of his wrist, bending it down to almost breaking point. His bones creaked in protest and it hurt.

“Gah!”

He flipped him to his back on the ground with that arm, reminding him of so many takedowns received from this man in the past. Dazed from the fall, he saw Snake smirk, backing off. Ocelot hopped up, belying his wooziness by making a proclamation.

“I've picked up a few new moves.” He raised his arms wide.

Ocelot removed a revolver, holding it up to the right of his head. “It doesn't feel right to shoot an unarmed man. But I'll get over it.”

Snake just looked at him. He laughed, lowering the gun. He pulled out his second revolver and pulled free the bullet worn around his neck.

“What do you say to one last showdown?” he asked, bullet in one hand and the two guns in the other.

Snake kept right on staring, working him out. Ocelot waited and the other man uttered, “Yeah. Alright.”

Ocelot inserted the bullet in one gun and tossed the two weapons in the air. He started mixing them around, spinning and swapping which hand was gripping which. Snake watched closely. Deeming it had been enough, he stepped forward and set the two revolvers down beside each other in the middle of them. One handle laid in his direction and the other handle laid in Snake's direction. Stepping back, he looked at the man opposite him.

“Should I keep calling you Snake?” Ocelot changed his mind and put up a hand to prevent a reply. “Yes. Here you're Snake, and I'm Ocelot. But we're men, with names.” He pointed to his own chest, the other hand still in the air. “My name is Adamska. I'm Adam.”

His mother was American and he wanted her to have something unlike all the things that were taken away from her. No matter his conflicted feelings, the woman was a legend and a human being. She was owed to keep an idea of her own. His given name was what tiny thing he could do.

Snake smiled a little. “Adam, huh?”

“That's right,” he confirmed, leveling his gaze.

A moment and they went for a gun, Snake moving first. They put their backs to each other, glancing in each other's direction. They took steps apart without a word and turned back the same way. He fired, testing every chamber. His aim was off, just slightly so it wouldn't appear he wasn't aiming at his opponent. The bullet was never intended to be used lethally.

Snake was aiming straight at him but he never once pulled the trigger. Ocelot cycled through and came up empty. He frowned a bit, turning away from the older man, disheartened his luck wasn't very good.

“It looks like your luck has beat mine again.” He turned to him. “But why didn't you pull the trigger?”

Silence. How typical. He put on a smile, walking up to Snake. “Probably afraid of what Boss would do if you hurt me. She might be my mother, but I'm my own man.”

“Heh. I know.”

At least he said something.

“You pick up CQC quick. Boss and I created the techniques together. Capture without killing is the basis of CQC.”

“You could say I'm..pretty good.”

Snake grunted at his word choice. “Pretty good...”

Ocelot eyed the man, humored. He seemed dangerously close to laughing. One day he would win against this guy who kept handing him defeats. Since Snake took opportunities to mentor him, he'd only improve.

“Why don't you guys fuck already?”

They spun to the two men looking at them. It was The Fear who gave the suggestion with a smile. The Pain was visibly entertained, eyes crinkling in glee. He and Snake risked glancing at one another and ended up immediately looking away. This was awkward.

“Oh...”

Ocelot looked at The Pain.

“You two just refuse to fuck again, even though you want to.”

The Boss walked into the cave and he let out a forced laugh he was so relieved. He sat down by the fire and pointedly ignored Snake. Reverting to his purest Ocelot, he gave finger guns in greeting.

“Adorable.”

Ocelot blushed, clenching his fists. He tried to focus on why The Boss was absent for this length of time. The Fear adding to Pain's remark did not help his attempt to wipe the embarrassment off his face.

“They grow up so fast.”

Fortunately, Boss didn't notice or pretended she didn't. “Ocelot.”

She studied his appearance and he stood to spread his arms wide, smirking and rotating for her. “All good, Boss. Colonel Volgin would like your head on a platter, but mine is secure on my shoulders.”

“You'll let them take you away now.”

He scoffed at her commanding tone. “My bosses in the CIA have assured me and Snake will be executed if we fail our mission.”

Snake tossed the cigar aside and stood tall. “This is why you shouldn't be preventing me from doing my duty. I have a mission to complete.”

“I've spent time in the weapons area this morning. I acquired a standard guard uniform and explored without notice. Too busy preparing for the battle happening now.” She caught his eye and held it. “Major Raikov was loudly complaining the colonel only had eyes for a new lover.”

Glaring to avoid reflecting how irritated he was toward her and Raikov, he left his arms by his sides. “Someone had to distract him from the Shagohod's final testing. I'd rather be a lover than never knowing when he'll be in the mood and- It's better now. You have to leave me in place, please.”

Her expression, dead serious and unyielding while he began talking led him to almost plead with her at the end. The Boss was planning to stay herself and make him leave with them and he would not do so. She had to understand as an agent like him. She couldn't let her awareness of their blood relation interfere in doing what was best for the world.

“You can't tell me he's been raping you and expect me to stand aside.”

“Those times were a year away. And the last time was a first. Look. I know Volgin and I'll handle it. I've been doing this for years. I want to see it through. After everything I've endured, I deserve to-”

“What are your orders?”

“Assist Snake on his mission.” He counted off on his fingers. “Eliminate the risk Volgin poses, retrieve Sokolov, and destroy the Shagohod.” He started a matching count on the opposite hand. “Sokolov's dead by Volgin's out of hand torture, I'm all set to destroy the Shagohod and plans tomorrow, and Volgin will be nothing.”

She gave him a look that she didn't believe him. “Presuming your original orders were to watch, learn, and eliminate Volgin's threat, you must know of the Philosophers' Legacy.”

Now he was the one suspecting there was more she wasn't revealing. “Is that why you were sent here pretending to defect? You're after the Legacy?”

“Yes. America wasn't taking any chances the cold war would worsen and be prolonged.”

Ocelot chuckled humorlessly. “The colonel shooting that missile on Russian soil... I think it's too late.”

She nodded solemnly, gaze shifting to the fire. “Khrushchev is finished. He will be replaced and the cold war will endure. However, preventing a mobile nuclear weapon from mass production at Volgin's hands is important. The Philosophers' Legacy could fund such a war to disastrous effect. We must-”

“Relax. I took care of it.” He was smug but it was more role than authentic. Waving his hand dismissively, he sat on the log. “So the CIA sends their big legendary war hero to save the day with lethal weapons for a gift. The end result is assuring what they wanted to avoid. Should have left it to me. I told them I could handle it. I'm not just some kid.”

“Ocelot.” The Boss sat beside him and set her hand on his forearm. “What did you take care of?”

“The Legacy. Swapped that microfilm out with a fake I had made and sent the real one on to my bosses.”

Snake came over, mouth ajar in his disbelief. “Ocelot, you recovered the Legacy from Volgin and gave it to the CIA?” His eyes switched to The Boss. “I'd check in with my people but Boss crushed my communication device. I still think that was unnecessary.”

“You don't need to talk to them. You can do this on your own,” she responded without looking at him. “When did you steal it? A day ago? Two?”

He thought on it. “Almost two weeks ago.”

The Pain clapped and The Fear exclaimed, “Not a kid, eh? Impressive, boy!”

Shrugging and smiling, he laughed a little. “They should have given me a real challenge to complete.”

Chapter Text

September 6, 1964

The Boss promised to let him finish his mission. He returned to the base after he got her to also promise she would survive. She seemed to trust he could take care of his mission alone. Ocelot was on security duty for the afternoon and by early evening the assault on their base ended with the attacking forces retreating. They took heavy losses.

He waited until the hour was late and Volgin retired to his room. It was a concern the colonel would insist he accompany him to spend the night together but Ocelot made certain to appear occupied and busy. He didn't know if this worked or Raikov's tantrum earlier reached his ears and they had a conversation to fix their relationship. For now it wasn't an issue so he cared not to know the specifics.

Strolling along a brightly lit hallway, a guard passed by and halted to salute. He returned the salute and the guard's eyes drifted to his head. Yeah, yeah, he had to request the lost hat yet. They both continued on in the different directions and he entered an area with sofas, chairs, and tables. Empty. He checked the wall clock. It was nearing one in the morning and therefore tomorrow was upon him. He headed for the West Wing.

The final test for the Shagohod was today. Snake and his deadline were today. He chuckled in his head. Ocelot thought no matter what they achieved today, the deadline was an empty threat. Their superiors in the CIA needed them to get the job done no matter what. Russia may be threatening America, wanting to blame them for their present dilemma, but it was empty. Avoidance of a third world war was desired by the two countries.

He considered what The Boss would do now that she wasn't needed. Pausing for two guards to pass without being noticed by them, he contemplated how he and Snake should avoid the final task of killing a hero America was dedicated throwing away as a false traitor. Like they threw away his father. It was incredibly unfair and wrong. Ocelot refused to let her die like that. She was his mother, and, she was basically Snake's mother too. They couldn't kill her.

The planning rooms were empty without guard. Scientists and soldiers had been catching up on many lost hours of sleep over the last two days. Volgin overworked them horribly and they required the rest for the big day of the final test. Too bad their hard work would be for nothing.

He set the room to catch fire, destroying not only the plans for the Shagohod but also other weapon blueprints. His mind wandered to how he would go about dismantling the Shagohod constructed and he swore. The fire set reached the spot where he stood faster than expected, raging across the counter where his hand rested. Jumping back, he grumbled while tugging the glove off.

Waving it to put out the fire, he sighed annoyance. The glove burned along the two fingers and the palm but luckily fire hadn't scorched skin. He tugged off the other glove and shoved them in his uniform pocket. There were spares in his room. It was fine.

Ocelot dipped out of the room before the sabotage could be discovered. He reached the room housing the Shagohod, shaking his head at the destructive mobile unit. The stolen C3 was intended to destroy the project and Ocelot had plenty of it hidden away in this very building. An alarm sounded and he knew the fire was discovered. Hurrying to get this done, he retrieved the bag and remained hidden while a group of armed guards ran inside the area below the balcony he crouched on. They were checking on the prized weapon and left satisfied it was secure.

He waited a minute longer and descended to the floor with large doors that could open to the outside. Looking to ensure he remained unseen, he moved forward with the plan. Setting explosives on the interior and exterior of the Shagohod, he probably added far too many bricks of explosives but he wanted to be sure of its destruction. Once he was content, he set a timer and backed away. Aside from ongoing surveillance among the colonel and GRU, mission complete. His mother couldn't sacrifice herself. No way.

Escaping out a side exit, he went across open area. At first sneaking to avoid security in the towers and among the grounds, he then strolled casually into the building's front entrance. The alarms blared and soldiers were racing about on the upper level. Smoke billowed out of the rooms and he was startled to see Major Raikov up there directing those under his command. He reconsidered if it was normal his arrival was so fast.

The major glanced down and saw him but was too busy to acknowledge his presence. Ah well. Ocelot walked more urgently for the upper level, acting puzzled about what was going on. Guards wouldn't let him pass by order of the colonel, who wanted a lockdown and put Raikov in charge.

He scoffed and drew a revolver, flipping and tossing it while walking the opposite way. Fine. He'd stick around close and the boss could decide what was what. Yawning, he sat on a sofa and thought he might fall asleep when the minutes of monotony ticked by. Heavy footsteps lumbering up to him. Ocelot opened his eyes to find Colonel Volgin approaching.

Tiredly, he rose to his feet and saluted. “Colonel, what's going on here?”

“Treachery, Ocelot. With me.”

He fell into step with the bigger man and they climbed the stairs to the second level. Major Raikov awaited the colonel and saluted, standing with hands clasped behind his back. He reported reluctantly the Shagohod had been destroyed beyond salvaging and many weapon plans were eradicated. They were left with nothing.

Ocelot moved out of range of Volgin, anticipating fury to burst out in violent form. Sure enough, he snatched the soldier standing to Raikov's left and pummeled him to a bloody mess. The major backed up to stand near Ocelot while watching. Not wishing to watch more of this, he put his back to the violence.

Volgin crushed the other guard on duty who failed and Ocelot dared glance over when he could hear in his voice he calmed. The man stood motionless, eyes shifting from side to side. He was thinking on his next move.

His finger jabbed in the direction of the remaining soldiers who were with Raikov, trembling and terrified they were next in line to be beaten to death. “Retrieve my Legacy. Do not fail me.”

Simultaneous shouts, “Yes, colonel!”

Muttering now, he walked past him and Raikov, disposing of his gloves on the floor. They were soaked in blood. Sickened, he tried to forget the sight.

“I will have to use funds to try to reverse engineer whatever remains of the Shagohod. Creation of an identical weapon may prove impossible, but a mobile nuclear weapon of similar quality would return us to prior position.”

He shook his head subtle, aware he would meet failure there too. Raikov's gaze flickered from lower on his body to his face and away to the colonel. Hm. Volgin turned to address them directly and he paid attention to the volatile superior officer.

“Khrushchev will not bother us again. He has tasted defeat and his people will defy his leadership. A delay, nothing more.”

The upset was there, barely contained beneath the surface. The colonel was adept at controlling his temper and releasing it at his leisure. A part of his sadism, Ocelot guessed. Balanced impulses were wisest.

Gripping a fist aloft a moment, he lowered the hand and moved to the stairs. “With me, majors.”

Raikov was slow to follow which seemed like a first. Ocelot walked ahead of him, following the colonel down to the ground floor and outside. Volgin went across to the building with the living quarters but didn't go far and sat in a chair just inside the doors.

“Damn. This has to be The Boss. She came here to ruin my plans. Damn Americans!”

Ocelot flinched against his will. Did they think of him as American? He spent more of his life living there than he did here. His childhood, if one could call it that, was there.

The other major stood beside him, putting Volgin seated on his left and him on his right. He didn't like the caged in feeling it gave him and thought to move. Raikov grabbed his wrist, pointing at the hand.

“Where are your gloves, Major Ocelot?”

Major? It wasn't often he was called his proper title by this man, especially when it was just the three of them. He scanned his surroundings and yes, it was only them. Volgin glanced in their direction, seeming distracted by Raikov's unnecessary fussing.

“They are dirty and require cleaning. It's the middle of the night. What does it matter?”

He hadn't released the wrist and yanked him forward so he stumbled a few inches. He bent close and sniffed his uniform. Stepping backward quickly, he jabbed a finger at him.

“He's a spy! That whore you kept was right!”

Volgin looked too irritated to chuckle at the absurd claim, rising to his feet while examining his real lover. “What's this about, Raikov?”

Ocelot's bewildered stare was genuine and would suffice for cover. He would never tell him, but it was clever to use a trick he displayed in Raikov's presence on him. The agent smelled Tatyana's bike on her clothing and his own clothing revealed his location earlier. He could smell it too, now that he was paying attention to himself.

“He smells of smoke, Colonel Volgin. He was never in the sabotaged rooms.”

“What? Hm. He stood close to the area.” Volgin sniffed his own sleeve and changed tracks. “Were you inside the area on fire, Ocelot? Explain yourself.”

“I saw him arrive in the building,” Raikov continued, determined to ruin his efforts. “The only time he could have been in the rooms was during the fire. He must have left and come back to give the impression he wasn't responsible.”

Of course now he determined to be smart. Shit.

“Ocelot's my charge. How could he be...?”

He suspected the man was mulling over occasions he disobeyed orders, was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, his defection and association with EVA if he was really thinking. The colonel could be thinking on only some of these things and it would be enough to damn him. In spite of his rank and years spent here, Volgin couldn't deny so many things adding up if he started thinking of them.

Raikov's sharp eyes noted the slight bulge in his left uniform pocket and grabbed for it. Ocelot saw him spot the section and instantly stepped out of reach of his grasping hand. His pasted on annoyance faltered when Volgin beckoned him to come to him. Fight or flee.

The power Colonel Volgin could wield... He believed in his ability to defend against a strike or two of electricity. He did not believe he could beat him in a fight, not with the limited ammo on his person. Hoping for mercy he knew he would never be afforded should the full extent of his deceit be discovered, Ocelot walked up to Volgin.

He sat him on the sofa and stood above him, staring. A glance and Raikov came and sat on the other side, reaching into his pocket without resistance. It didn't take long for the glove with clear burn damage to be observed by both men. Volgin took the gloves and pocketed them.

Ocelot tried to think how he could lie his way out of this so they wouldn't find out about the rest of his activities. But then, would it matter? This would be plenty to lose the colonel's trust and earn his torture and death.

“I suspected things were amiss with the major since we found him with our false defector and the CIA dog.” Volgin turned from Raikov to Ocelot. “Let's go to your room. See if we can confirm your betrayal.”

He was yanked to his feet by the arm and Volgin gripped the back of his neck while Raikov led the way. Ocelot considered excuses he could make. He happened to be in the area and worried they would think he started it, hence his deceit. No, not believable. He did do the sabotage but because he thought it was a terrible idea to possess such weapons. No better. Destroying what he had was enough to call him a traitor even if they never discover his true loyalties.

The three of them entered his room and the light was turned on. Volgin shut the door and stood with his hand tight on his neck yet. Confirm his betrayal was what the old man said. So he already entertained he was a spy as Raikov said, and not only a traitor. The major searched through his things, looking for anything damning. Ocelot was no fool.

He imagined this is what would change. Should they hold proof of his sabotage alone, he would be tortured as punishment and possibly stripped of rank, kept by Volgin as a lesson to others who might cross him. He would spend the rest of his life essentially a prisoner and perpetually tortured until he managed to escape. It was something he could tolerate and still consider his mission a success.

Raikov couldn't find anything, throwing his books on the floor, tearing his sheets off his bed, looking beneath the mattress. Drawers, the bathroom, the bookshelf. Nothing. He dragged and tugged until the bed was moved into a different spot. Ocelot didn't budge or react with effort. The older man was determined to gain proof and he was getting closer. Stomping on floorboards to check for loose ones, there were none. He kicked at the wall out of frustration which made a light go off in his head. Don't react.

He wished for him to give up before he found the spot. The man did not appear ready to give up. Scanning the room's walls, he scoured every spot and at the back of his closet, a small section of the wall opened. He paled, stomach knotting and head hot. He'd start sweating soon to really give him away.

Triumphant, Raikov held the device he used to communicate with his handlers. “He's a spy, colonel.”

The hand tightened painfully. Electricity shot through his body and he collapsed to his knees. His holsters, belt, and revolvers were removed from his person by Raikov. He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow and pinching the bridge of his nose. Ocelot didn't think he would ever be discovered a spy. He'd been doing so well. Now he had a mother to disappoint. How wonderful.

“Your defection, Ocelot. Did you ever hold loyalty to the GRU? To my cause?”

What was he supposed to say to that? No matter what he did, he was done. This was the worst-case scenario. As a spy, he wasn't one of them, period. He wasn't a traitor. He was a foreign agent and would become a prisoner. Volgin might kill him one day, but for a very long time, years even, he would be kept alive to be tortured every single day. His freedom was forfeit and escape would be much more unlikely. Plus, Colonel Volgin was enraged.

A shove caused him to fall on his butt, back hitting the wall near the door. He stared at his partway bent knees. EVA would be saddened for him. She tried to protect him then and he couldn't survive for her sacrifice. Maybe The Boss and him should have let Snake do the mission. He might have done a better job. He was at least amazing in a fight. A heavy boot kicked him in the stomach.

“You will answer me when I ask a question.”

He murmured, “I have loyalty to my country.”

Ocelot didn't even know if that was true anymore. He felt numb. Too scared to feel fear, too caught off guard to be guarded, too lost now that he lost. He hadn't planned for failure. Mom was right about that ego, he thought bitterly.

A big hand pulled him up and gripped his throat, holding him against the wall, his feet off the floor. “You were located with The Boss and the intruder. CIA. Are you CIA?”

Strangled, he couldn't answer. Volgin took it personal despite being the one choking him out of a response, squeezing harder. His face reddened, eyes bulging. Electricity exploded through his body and he almost blacked out. The thing preventing him from it was a fist to his groin and the hand dropping him to the floor.

Gasping and wheezing, he curled into himself. His back, legs, and arms were kicked and stomped. He held his arms over his face, groaning and bearing the pain. Electricity shocked him again and again. Ocelot whimpered and rocked side to side. Everything hurt.

“That woman he defected with years back. I can't remember her name. She was killed snooping around the weapon and was sighted near your vaults. Do you think...?”

Should he encourage his own murder? He did not want to be alive and a prisoner once Colonel Volgin realized his power was gone save for his name, reputation, and connections. His money was the sole reason he got whatever he wanted and that was finished. His ambition to control Russia's path through future history prevented for good.

Kicked onto his back, Volgin kicked him between the legs and settled his boot on his throat, applying body weight to crush. Unable to scream, he couldn't even silently scream while he strained to breathe.

“Were you sent here to steal the Philosophers' Legacy?”

But Ocelot didn't want to die. What did he do? What could he do? Legendary heroes like his mother would sacrifice everything for the mission. She let everyone think she was a traitor to continue working for America and to try to stop a third world war. He would have to be strong and do the same. He could at least die knowing he completed his mission successfully.

He ceased thrashing, fighting to ignore his body's need to fight for survival. The pressure on his throat lifted and Volgin crouched to grasp him by the red scarf. A blow to his face, once, twice, a third time. He crumpled but the man refused to let him fall and lifted him into his arms, standing.

“You will learn to obey again, Ocelot. You will be my good little kitten.”

Not understanding, he was laid on the bed and Raikov moved in to strip him. It was no surprise they would use rape in their torture, however, they had to know they would get nothing out of him. He stayed motionless and let the man shift his body at will to get him naked.

The two men spoke in low voices and he screamed when electricity jolted him into pure awareness and suffering. Volgin brought an elbow into his stomach and he rolled to his side. He slammed an arm down on his shoulder and he cringed, not knowing how to position to endure the hits. A series of shocks left him breathless and pleading in his mind for the torment to end.

Raikov might have left. He thought he heard a door and then Raikov's voice. Bleary eyes saw Volgin had removed his uniform at some point, only wearing the rubber suit which he was also removing now. He was tired of getting hurt and it was going to suck being held down and raped bloody.

Electricity shocked him flat and big hands put him on his stomach, spreading his legs to provide space for the large man to kneel on the bed. He was in too much pain to react when two wet fingers shoved inside his anus.

“You may have been sent here to ruin my plans but I will keep you in exchange.” His fingers prodded and molded his body to open. “I will turn you to be mine, loyal.”

Ocelot clenched his teeth after the third finger was added, eyes shut tight, loathing what he was doing. His whole body ached and pained him. This would be no better or worse than electrocution or beatings. Although why he bothered to prepare him when he was busy tearing him down, confused.

“You're my favorite subordinate, Ocelot.” The fingers withdrew and a moment later, he felt the huge penis pressing to the hole. “My perfect, talented major.”

His eyes shot open while his body accepted the thick, warm flesh. The rigid, pulsing organ pushed in deep and he bit his lip, angry it was making him feel good. He grasped the sheets where his head lay sideways. Pubic hair and testicles rubbed on his butt and thighs, signifying he entered him completely. Volgin planted his hands on the sheets beside his chest.

“The boy I made a man.” He thrust and a quiet moan slipped out of Ocelot. “So beautiful.”

Horrified, it finally clicked. Volgin intended to make him enjoy the rape, prove he liked his rapist's body touching him, fucking him. He couldn't stop it from happening. Wailing at his comprehension while the old man moved in him, he tried to bury his face in the mattress. He was quivering and gasping pleasurable sensations. There was nowhere to hide.

Volgin leaned on him, speaking into his ear. “This you cannot hide.”

A warm hand grasped his hip, pelvis pumping the penis in and rotating it deep, slow and nice. He sobbed, covering his face with his hand. Nibbling on his ear, he wanted to swat him away but didn't want to get hurt. Then decided it would be better to get hurt and swatted his face away. Volgin pulled out and turned him to his back. He blinked up at the other man, terrified of what he could do.

He spread his legs wider and flatter to a painful extent, penetrating him with his entire length. Lowering to lie on top of him, he angled his face to Ocelot's and kissed him on the lips. He sealed them but remained otherwise motionless. Fingers massaged a breast and rubbed a nipple between two fingers until it affected enough to make him gasp. Tongue pushed inside his mouth, exploring and lapping at his tongue. He grunted protest.

Beginning a faster pace, he held their bodies together from head to toe. Volgin was keeping all of him and making him enjoy it. With enough of this, sweat slicked skin which aided his captor rubbing them tight. Ocelot pushed at his shoulders and ended up clinging to his arms, struggling not to cum. This was humiliating. He knew it was a normal bodily response but he felt at fault regardless.

A few minutes passed and he couldn't halt his orgasm, ejaculating between their hot, moving bodies. Volgin was sucking on his throat and grinned hearing him moan and pant through his release. He managed a weak glare and nothing else. Licking his cheek, he gripped his jaw painfully to open his mouth and plunged in.

The man did not let up forcing him to feel good, pounding rougher and groping his chest to make him cry pleasure. Slowing to tenderly rub their bodies together inside and out. Sometimes he kissed back out of reflex and shame would envelope his heated, exhausted, and beaten body. Ocelot tried to remember the high of sex would crash down and the pain would dominate his mind. It would be preferable. For now, he could only endure.

“You love it,” the man murmured into his cheek, pulling out after having ejaculated as deep as possible. “Kitty.”

Tears streamed freely from where they formed and gathered for a while. Volgin drew him into his lap and held him close, comforting him until he finished crying. So this was the torment he faced. A captor who would try to teach him to yearn for this rape and comfort once he was tortured physically. Isolation in a cell would amplify the effectiveness of this method. Ocelot was no idiot, but given enough time, he could imagine wanting the colonel to just keep him like this over leaving him in a cell for brutal torture. He couldn't do this. He didn't want this. How long would he hold out?

His tears dried. No longer able to cry, Volgin sat him with his back to the scarred chest. Placing a hand on his hip and the other on his chest to hold them there, Raikov got on the bed and applied fresh lubricant to the old man's new erection. Ensuring Ocelot absorbed his penis to the hilt, Raikov put the substance on his erection. The guy was naked now too, he took in with barely a reaction. The major's words he ignored.

“I always loved how little body hair you have, darling boy.”

He grunted and struggled to bear an additional above average dick entering him alongside the first. Volgin laid them down and Raikov set the intensity, touching and hurting and pleasuring all at the same time. Ocelot grunted and moaned, wishing this would end. They complimented him and expressed their own pleasure because of his body. They finished with him and the major was granted permission to beat and strangle him on the floor of his room. Volgin grabbed him up by the face and sent electrocution through until he passed out.

Waking, he was locked in a cell. Ocelot stood, still naked and every inch of him hurting. There were relatively large, open bars. No guard in sight. The cell contained high shelves, a sink and toilet on the right. He'd guess the room was four yards across and five yards the other way. A fold-out table near the bars could be opened, a folding chair next to the spot leaned closed against the wall. He returned to the bed near that fold-out table against the left wall.

Seated on the sheets, the mattress wasn't terrible. Their cells were high quality for prisoners. Lucky them. Lucky him. He laid his head on the pillow, lying on his side, thinking how to get himself out of this. There had to be some way.

Colonel Volgin arrived crackling electricity. The door was opened by a rushing guard who appeared nervous. Major Raikov was present and that was about the last conscious thought he had for himself. Two fearful soldiers guided him out of the cell to bring him to the torture room but he didn't make it that far before Volgin lost the careful control on his temper.

He was hit with electrified fists, kicked, and driven to the floor. Ocelot coughed blood, swelling sealed his eyes shut, his body in agony. Volgin would drag him up to batter him to the floor again. The brutality was relentless and all his brain screamed was pain, pain, pain.

They discovered Ocelot stole his Legacy and replaced it with a fake. Mission accomplished...

Chapter Text

September 8, 1964

He was left to recover in the cell. They required him healthy enough to be taken to the torture room. What a wonderful rule. He was uncertain whether to be grateful or regretful Volgin didn't manage to kill him.

Ocelot hurt despite the pain medication he was on. His abdomen was wrapped tight in bandages, his arms, one of his shoulders, a thigh, a leg and part of that foot, and bandages were taped to his right cheek and his left forehead. There was swelling, scrapes, and bruising marring near every inch of his light skin. He couldn't move without agonizing pain and decided he wished he died. Would the colonel still desire to keep him alive forever?

A guard came by, saw he was awake, and informed him of the date and time. He was beaten to a bloody pulp two days ago. It was nearing midnight. The guard sounded surprisingly sympathetic considering who he was revealed to be. Colonel Volgin wasn't known for benevolence so he assumed it factored into the kindness of the soldiers scheduled to monitor his cell.

He resumed staring up at the ceiling with dull eyes. Wait for them to break him all over again. What a miserable end this would be. The urgent demand to pee eventually had him attempt leaving the bed. He couldn't. His legs refused to support him and an arm felt broken. Ocelot got on one knee, avoiding putting his weight on the opposite knee. He planned to do a crawling hobble to the toilet but the cell door opened and two guards entered.

Expecting harm, they instead helped him to the toilet. They had to hold him up while he peed sitting down. He thought he might pass out or fall over from the struggle to sit upright. The sheer amount of pain prevented embarrassment at least. They carried him back to the bed and drew the sheet to cover his lower half.

“I will see if we can get you clothes.”

“Don't bother,” he muttered, straining his sore throat.

They left and he was free of their pitying looks. It somehow made it worse they cared what happened to him. He pretended for years to be on their side and their superior officer. They should hate him. He blamed his age. If he was Snake's age, maybe they'd spit at him and call him the dirty spy he was.

One of the Ocelot Unit members came by and slid a candy bar through the bars before continuing on his path. He sighed and let his eyes grow dull. Practicing shutting out his environment would be ideal for his sanity.

He wasn't sure how much time went by, no windows to tell him if it was still night or morning now. Ocelot heard a thud in the corridor beyond his cell. It was usually silent except for the guard's occasional footsteps on his route. He didn't give up on his dull stare at the ceiling. If Volgin bypassed his recovery time to torture him more already, he couldn't endure. No. Don't cry. Don't cry.

The door to the cell opened and he failed to hold in a soft whine. Not yet. Please.

Two sets of footsteps. Did he see yellow? He drifted his eyes to the left and the tall man wearing yellow camouflage and a black balaclava mask prompted tears. His rising panic and fright of the torment he thought was coming gave way to immense solace.

Ocelot pushed through great discomfort to lift his head and turn partially in his direction. “Pain!”

The man's name emerged a sob. He squeezed his eyes shut to calm emotions, tears squeezing out and trailing down his cheeks. His eyes were so swollen and bruised that that hurt too. The Fear appeared, not from invisibility for once, standing next to The Pain. They were both studying him and Fear bent to take his pulse with two fingers on his neck. When Fear straightened away, Pain removed the sheet and tested his limbs, rolling him onto his side to check the condition of his back. A gloved hand gently prodded the shoulder without a bandage and briefly lifted a buttcheek before withdrawing. Ocelot laid on his back watching them, trying to figure out their mindsets.

“I'm going to carry you,” Pain told him. “It will hurt.”

He choked on the painful exhale of a laugh, whispering to avoid hurting his throat. “Everything hurts. It's fine.”

The older man stooped and slid his arm around his back and beneath his knees. It really, really hurt but he wanted to leave this place behind. Ocelot tried to hold onto him to help and Pain put his arm back to rest on his stomach. It hurt less not stretching his arms and clenching his hands so he didn't resist.

Fear took the lead out of the cell. Ocelot noticed fallen guards as they passed them, tranquilizer darts sticking out of body parts. The pair knew precisely where they were going to reach the exit and they were not met by opposition. It was curious. When it became clear they were heading toward the lining of trees, sun beginning its rise over the horizon, he tugged on the vest collar.

“Wait.”

The men halted, looking at him. This was too easy. Volgin would never let him go unless he had no other choice.

“Snake. Boss. Where?”

Fear gestured to the trees. “We go.”

They resumed pace, entering the cover of the trees, but Pain answered his worries. “The Boss's son is facing Colonel Volgin in battle. He blames the agent for his losses, second only to his right hand spy.”

There might have been smug pride in his voice when he said he was a right hand spy to the colonel. None of them expected he would turn out to be a CIA spy. Right. Ocelot was good at undercover work without distractions. Snake began influencing his behavior and Boss and Sorrow being his parents swayed his balance. He pictured himself finger gunning since he was too worn to do it in reality.

“He distracts,” Fear added. “For you. For The Boss.”

“Where is she?”

“Completing her mission. She will end Volgin's threat permanently by destroying the base.”

His KGB handlers would rather the base be left intact for their procurement of advanced weapon prints but he was inclined to agree with The Boss's decision. He suspected she was doing it to eliminate Russia as a potential larger threat. The woman was always thinking about the greater good and the world's needs above her own. She was selfless to a fault. Disgraced for powerful men. It made him mad.

Ocelot wanted to ask them if she would keep her promise and make it out alive. He didn't ask. If he could move more than a few inches before sprawling in agony, he would struggle against their plan. He would sneak away and return to the base to help Snake.

All three of them leaving together was a child's dream. It wasn't their way. They worked alone with occasional assistance and he had to let them finish their missions as he demanded for himself. Well, and he was naked and severely injured. What good was he at his current capacity?

The dawn was turning to day when his pain became too great and Fear informed him of a sedative dose. He apologized, loathing he was a burden. Pain hushed him and Fear injected him with an instant acting sleep agent.

Awareness returned to him in a moving vehicle. He was lying in the back of a covered jeep, Fear driving while Pain sat in the front passenger seat. Ocelot had been wrapped in two thick blankets like a cocoon, a third blanket folded to pillow his head. The more he gained clarity of consciousness, the more his injuries hurt. He tried to stifle his discomfort but they must have heard.

Pain twisted around in the seat and stroked his cheek, injecting him with another sedative. “We don't have pain medication. I'm sorry. Rest now.”

He embraced the warm darkness.

September 10, 1964

Waking in a comfortable bed beneath layers of blankets, he spotted Fear at the end of the bed. He was seated cross-legged and facing him, although he appeared to be doing some kind of meditation. When he stirred to prop on an elbow to assess his circumstances, the older man did not move nor open his eyes.

The next thing he noticed was pain medication must have been acquired because he was feeling okay. Frowning, it bothered him a bit to have no memory of being given further injections or any pills. There was a metal pitcher on the bedside table to his left. A cup was next to the pitcher and his throat was extremely dry. He sat higher up and groaned, forcing his body to reach for the drink regardless of discomfort. Movement was not agreeable to enjoying a lack of pain. Fear's eyes snapped open and he wagged a finger at him.

Uncertain the reason, he paused and lowered the arm. Crawling across the blankets, the man knelt to his left near the table and lifted the pitcher and cup. He filled the cup with water and set the pitcher down. Ocelot accepted the cup and Fear tapped his forehead to gain attention.

“Drink slow.”

His body ached and he felt like he'd been asleep far too long. Sipping, he peered over the rim at the other.

“How long was I unconscious?”

“It is morning a day later.”

He blinked, searching out a telltale window and finding none in this room. “Twenty-four hours.”

It was a statement but he was asking, and Fear knew and responded. “Closer to thirty.”

“Where's Boss? Where's Snake?”

Fear produced a candy bar and shook it in his face. “Think you can eat?”

He was tempted to pout and demand an answer. That chocolate did look delicious, however, mouth salivating at the sight of the wrapper. The candy bar from his cell. Unwrapping the bar, he snapped off a piece and handed it to Ocelot. He lowered the cup and sucked on a corner, testing how his system responded. So far, so good.

Taking a bite, he chewed to savor the flavor and swallowed. System wasn't kicking it back out. He popped the rest of the chocolate in his mouth and smiled. Hopefully that stayed down. Ocelot drank more water and drained it faster than he liked. Fear tugged the cup out of his hand and refilled it.

A snap brought his head up and Fear smiled at his reaction, passing him another piece. The next snapped piece was for himself. They ate in silence. He formulated how to discover the toilet without appearing an invalid.

“Where are we?”

“A safe house past the border.”

He deflated. “We're not in Russia?”

“Yes.”

Returning to the base was out of the question. It would be extremely difficult to track Snake or the Boss this far away. He believed they were alive. Snake was definitely alive. Boss... They promised to bring him to safety for her. He wondered if she did this because she wouldn't be there later. But she promised him...

“Where's the toilet?”

Fear ate up the candy bar and tossed the wrapper to the floor. He stood and took the cup from him to set on the table. Extending an arm to assist him out of bed, Ocelot frowned and tried to drag himself to the edge. Yeah. That arm was probably broken.

He still got to the side and shoved the covers away, swinging his legs to stand. The heavily bandaged one gave out and Fear caught him in a prepared manner. Careful not to jar the arm Ocelot held to his body, he picked him up, prompting a shout.

“I can walk!”

“No, you can't.”

Fuming, he was carried to the next room where The Pain was..cooking? The man glanced in their direction and returned to the stove and counter. Hunger won over feeling coddled. He didn't put up a fight when delivered to the bathroom and held upright on the toilet. While covered in plenty of bandages, he was otherwise naked. Funny how he hadn't realized sooner.

Fear left him hunched on the toilet when he was done to switch on the faucet of the bathtub. Raising his eyebrows, the man motioned to him and the bath, walking out with a chuckle. Ocelot had the idea he knew there was nothing he could do except obey. It rankled his ego but would cause no harm to live with it. They did save him from Colonel Volgin's vengeance.

While the tub was filling, Fear returned with a medical pack. Placing it on the counter, he spread out a towel on the floor and guided Ocelot to sit on it. He leaned against the wall and watched him systematically strip the bandages. Satisfied he wasn't bleeding and was a collection of bruises and broken bones, Fear focused on the temperature of the bath.

“I have to contact my handlers.”

“It can wait.”

Ocelot flexed and shifted each part of himself, contemplating the degree of stiffness, pain, and mobility. There should be a communication device located in the safe house or nearby. The chief director of the KGB and the director of the CIA would need to hear a final report prior to in person debriefing. He couldn't report in until he surveyed what he left behind.

Lifted and lowered into the bath, he sighed contentment. The water felt glorious on his sore body. Relaxing against the tub wall opposite the faucet, he closed his eyes. A little self-care couldn't hurt. He'd sneak away tonight when these two were sleeping. As soldiers they probably slept light, and this was not a big house, but he was quite a skilled spy and agent. He could manage them.

Following the bath, he was toweled off and out of luck when the hope clothes would follow came and went. He was clear of bandages on his face, but his stomach, arm, and most of his legs were bandaged again. Scans in a hospital were necessary to accurately assess the internal damage. Bandages served for precaution and to discourage him from excessive movements.

“Do you have any clothes for me?”

“Yes.”

That was not expanded on so he asked, “Can I have them?”

“No.”

He frowned and grunted when he was picked up with no warning. The guy was strong. Pain had set out dishes for three and removed a pot from the stove once they left the bathroom. Put in a chair, his eyes flickered between the men. He had the distinct impression they were keeping him here and refusing him clothes to dissuade leaving. Effective.

They ate. Pain's head was as swollen and scarred as he imagined. Bread, soup, and liquor. Pain mumbled something about him not dying so it was fine to drink vodka. The prison did ensure he was stabilized and in no danger of death. It was probably fine.

Assistance to the bathroom by Pain this time, he was carried to the bed afterward. He was not tired and complained. His eyes were amused and Ocelot thought he was grinning beneath the mask. Sliding a cover off a shelf across from the bed, he stared in surprise at the television stored behind it. Switched on, he fiddled with the dials and a western appeared in the moving pictures.

“Oh.” He was impressed. “You remembered.”

“Son of The Boss found when the Cobras reunited.”

Ocelot assumed that to mean it was a source of fascination to them. A chance occurrence they couldn't overlook. He pushed serious thoughts to the back of his mind and watched the western with delight. He would have to procure new boots. Pain sat on the other side of the bed to watch with him, their backs against the headboard. He actually seemed to be enjoying the antics of a cowboy. He was a showman himself, him and those baffling hornets.

They watched for hours and he didn't realize he fell asleep until waking. The television was still playing a western adventure and he was curled onto a warm body. Sighing, he nestled on the hard muscle to get comfortable and stopped short of hooking his leg over other legs. Was he snuggling with The Pain and making him uncomfortable?

He sniffed. Was that a cigar he smelled? Stiffening, a low chuckle preceded his eyes darting up as an arm settled around him to rest on his waist.

“Hey, kid.”

His glare at the term for his youth died realizing he was nude on the blankets. He was also halfway on top of a shirtless Snake without his equipment but who was wearing pants and boots. Far more dressed than him. Blushing, he was irritated by the shy reaction and started to peel away. The fingers dug into his bandaged waist and he hissed pain.

“You shouldn't move,” he advised in that gruff voice, small smile appearing. “Doctor's orders.”

“Snake, er, John. When did you get here?”

Inquiring what to call him in turn, he uttered, “Adam?”

“Adam,” he confirmed. They weren't on mission. In his head he would always be Ocelot, but he'd like Snake to use the name he was born with. “Did you come alone?”

“Boss kept her promise.” His heart raced, intently listening. “The world needs to think she died. We spoke a time while she extracted a substantial amount of her blood to satisfy to Volgin she's dead. Russia will be satisfied. Volgin can spin the story however he wants, but without the Legacy and with the current state of politics, his influence has ended.”

“Where is she?” Ocelot struggled to sit upright and only succeeded in lying on Snake's shoulder instead of his chest. “I have to find her.”

Snake stubbed out the cigar in a tray on the bedside table on his side.

“She'll find you when it's safe.” Snake continued his prior train of thought, staring ahead, speaking from his memory. “She wanted to explain to you, and me. As a soldier, she suppressed her own ideals and personal feelings for years. Dreaming of a unified world, she never lived a life for herself. She asked me to live my own life for myself. She asks you do the same.”

There was more he wasn't saying. He and The Boss had history. Ocelot wondered what other things she said to him. That seemed secret and he wouldn't pry no matter his curiosity. His mother wanted him to live his own life. Any good mother would hope for such a thing, or so he imagined.

He risked it. “What if I want to live my life for someone else?”

The older man turned his head to look at him. With one eye. He wore a patch over his blinded eye because of him. Guiltily, he averted his gaze to nowhere in particular.

“I'm leaving the CIA. Them blaming Boss for everything, expecting her to die a traitor to make up for their mistakes... Without her, there's nothing for me there.”

“I finished everything I wanted to do,” Ocelot told him, eyes going to the television. “I'll leave the CIA and set my own path now.”

Snake gave him an approving look in a way that didn't seem intended to be obvious. He stared into his eye, pleased who his mother was hadn't caused a permanent rift between them. The man appeared sad and tired but intact, all things considered. His mission was successful too, as far as the world would know.

Tilting his head closer, he pondered his lips and if it was appropriate to want a kiss. When they were together, they held absolute desire for each other in every way. He wished to feel that again. Ocelot licked his lips in case they were dry and caught him looking at his mouth now. He cleared his throat and Snake's hand on his bandaged waist drifted to his bare hip.

“Are you boys resolving tension in here?”

He shoved off of Snake, yelping at the pain in his stomach and arm. The Fear cackled and strolled into the room, dutifully checking he did no harm to his body. He growled, refraining from speaking in the embarrassment.

“Pain recovered your shirt, pants, boots, and scarf when we rescued you,” he shared, eyes glancing to check his groin situation for the briefest of seconds.

He did not have an erection and was insulted, shouting angrily about the clothes, “Finally! I'll get dressed now!”

The Pain was standing inside the doorway. “Good thing Boss had a boy or we'd be raising a baby in less than a year.”

Tossing back his head to laugh on his walk out of the room, Fear said, “We'll be outside scavenging for the next hour.”

How long would they be looking after him for his mother? Flushing, he sat perched on his good elbow and stared at their backs. He heard the door to the house open and shut. Silence. Ocelot concentrated on adjusting his position to make his way to the edge of the bed to seek his clothing.

Snake rolled onto his side, tugging Ocelot's shoulder to push him to the mattress. “Get dressed later, Adam.”

Arm snug around him, the distance disappeared and they were kissing. The sex in his injured state would be awkward, but they were up for the challenge. He felt protected with him, not that he needed protection from anyone. John was someone to be himself with, and Ocelot determined this man would be worth his devotion.