Niolai

Moscow, Russia. January 3rd, 1956.

It was a cold Russian night, but the warmth of our bodies could have fed a thousand suns, as we barely crammed our two bodies into a single sleeping bag, staring up at the twinkling Moscow sky. The KGB, searching beneath us, we sat atop an empty business building. We were star-crossed lovers, fearing for our life from both sides. The most important thing to us was to stay safe tonight. After that, we can get out of Russia. If not, all three of us are headed to a Gulag. I wrapped my hand around her belly as the near unthinkable crossed my mind. Feeling both the faint heartbeat of my lover and the kick of my child, I was terrified one minute, at peace the next. A tip for you spies out there; love and fatherhood are the two leading downfalls of patriotism, honor, and duty.

Langley, Virginia. September 12th, 1944.

The older gentleman scanned through the sheets of papers as I stood at attention before his desk.

"Master Chief Joseph Jager.... Jager? That's 'hunter' in German, isn't it? Tell me, Joseph, are you a hunter?" Man asked with a confident look on his face and a cigarette in his mouth. His uniform was that of an Admiral, standing behind him was a Fleet Admiral; two of the highest ranks within the naval service.

"If that is what is required of me, I most certainly am, sir. I want to serve my country. If that means stalking, I will stalk. If it means hunting, I will hunt. If it means killing, I will kill." I replied.

"Blunt," He smirked. "I like that." He turns to his compatriot, "I like him" he turns his head back to me, "Now, your skills profile says you speak four languages. Is that correct?" He asked.

"Yes, sir. That is correct, English, German, Russian, and French," I replied.

"Good, very good. It also mentions that you were experienced in fighting, at least in boxing, before reporting for SEAL training. Have you kept up your skills and ring work, and have you ever coached or trained others?

"Yes sir, and no sir," I started. "I can still handle myself well when I find a capable sparring partner, but I have never trained others. I know enough about the basic skills and techniques that I could help others develop, if needed"

"I like your enthusiasm, Seaman. Lt. Lynch here will brief you on your mission." He put a hand on my shoulder "Make us proud, boy. You will do well, I can tell." He said, and then walked from the conference room.

I was told that I would be going into Berlin. My cover was cool. As the owner of Hans' Boxing Gym, I was a part of a covert Navy operation focusing on the, hopefully soon, aftermath of WWII. My objective was to gather intelligence and keep an ear to the ground. It would be dangerous, considering my own country would be bombing my location until the end. After the first year, Germany surrendered, then the atomic bombs hit Japan. Unfortunately, soon after that, the Iron curtain was formed, separating the Soviet-occupied sector from the rest of the Germany. It just so happened that my gym was now located in East Germany, so I knew I wasn't going anywhere soon.

East Berlin, Germany. September 4th, 1948

The things I do for my country. There were four semi-routine years in the Soviet sector, working, sleeping, and blending into the struggling society, as were many small businesses. My gym was not in good condition, an attribute that it shared with adjacent houses and stores.

It was business as usual for a while. Then I started seeing more soldiers sitting outside of the gym. There were also GRU agents following me home. All of them were tall and build like freaks of nature. They weren't hard to spot. Despite this, I went along with business as usual, not wanting to draw any more attention. One day as I was sparring with a client, a stunning redhead walked in. The way her eyes darted all around the room; finding exits, cover points, and human shields, I knew she trained, my best guess was GRU from the recent activity. I took off my padded helmet and spoke out.

"Can I help you?" I asked in Russian.

"You don't speak German?" She asked.

I quickly switched to German. "I speak both. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Yes, I would like to spar." She said.

"Okay, one Deutschmark, then you and I can spar."

"Are you sure you can handle me?" She asked, smirking.

"I don't know, but I'll give it a try." I said, knowing I would need to lose to keep my cover. She most likely knew Combat Sambo, the Russian martial art, and if she was GRU, she would know it very well. Combat Sambo combines punching, grappling, kicking, and aspects of close quarters combat into one, deadly art. It is a training style I am familiar with. The Navy trained us in Krav Maga; however, in my youth I was involved in underground fighting clubs. There I fought individuals with all different styles of fighting; Sambo, bare-knuckle boxing, Judo, Krav Maga, and people who trained in all of them. I was well rounded in the fighting department. However, I couldn't use much of this against her because she was most likely vetting me for the GRU to make sure that I am not trained in the slightest, besides for boxing. I handed her a sparring helmet, she threw it to the side, and this was more than just sparring. I threw mine to the side as well.

Her attacks came out of nowhere, starting with two fierce kicks to the legs, then a fist to the ribs. As she wound up to throw a hook, I saw an opportunity and threw a hard right jab. It connected perfectly, having her take a step back. I saw her lip start to bleed; she wiped it away and immediately went back in for another round. This time, she did a takedown maneuver to get me to the ground; she straddled me and started firing punches to the face. They hurt, but I've had worse. She soon stopped as she realized I was laughing as she was still laying into me.

"What is so funny?" She asked.

"I just realized that I haven't felt this soft a punch since a schoolyard bully in 5th grade." I spit out some blood onto the canvas "If you're gonna hit, hit hard!" I said, taking the opportunity to roll on top of her. Instead of laying into her in turn, I stood up and walked back to my corner.

She got back up, instead of going for another round; she stepped out of the ring. She soon left, looking over her shoulder towards me; she had a smirk on her face. It seemed as though she enjoys her work, that's a plus.

As I locked up the gym for tonight, I didn't see any GRU operatives following me home. I was relieved that the vetting had been successful. As I rounded the turn to my apartment, a masked assailant came and blindsided me with a mean cross to the face. Good thing he showed up, there was no one watching, and I had some pent up aggression from earlier today. He picked me on the wrong day.

My punches were in rapid succession, a jab and a hook to the face, two body punches. Then a kick to the side of body, along with a fierce elbow to the cheek. This resulted in a KO to the would-be assailant, upon taking off the mask I quickly learned that I was fucked. The assailant was the same GRU women from today. She wasn't KO'd either, she just looked up at me with her same smirk. But she had desire in her bloodshot eyes. "You American," She said in broken English, she spit out a wad of blood from her mouth "Good shot." She was smiling now. I had two options as far as I can see. One, I can knock her out and take her back home. Two, I can kill her...

I slung her unconscious body over my shoulder and walked the block to my apartment, swearing myself out the whole way home. She was soon tied to a chair in my living room. I made myself some dinner waiting for her to wake up. She woke up to the smell of burgers and fries... What? I had to have a little fun.

"You don't speak English well, How about we both stick to German. Da?" I asked. She nodded.

"An American spy with an American dinner. How does your last meal taste?" She asked, pure loathing in her voice.

"Delicious!" I said, popping a fry into my mouth. "What is your name? I know you are GRU, Helga maybe?"

"Not even close, American." She snarled.

"Okay, give me a second." I said, going over to her purse and grabbing her wallet. "I am going to guess Anika?"

"Bravo!" She faked enthusiasm, "Now you know my name, what's yours?"

"I am Pierre." I said, keeping my cover name.

"Not uh! Pierre is your cover name. What is your real name? Jack? Bob? Ted?"

"Joseph." I said "Now that we are on a first name basis and we don't deny what either of us do for work; what's you mission?" I asked genuinely interested. "I haven't seen you around so I am guessing your high ranking, correct?"

"Da, I am here from St. Petersburg. I was brought in to vet the East German population; to find the likes of you. I guess I am a winner too? What was your mission Joseph?" She asked, seemingly warming up to me.

"I was stationed here in 1944, deep cover. I knew as soon as the Iron Curtain was put in place that I wouldn't go anywhere soon. What do you say we just pretend like this whole interaction didn't happen between you and me. We will both go our own way and never speak of this, sound good?" I asked.

Surprisingly I heard her laugh, which was surprisingly cute. However the cuteness quickly faded as I heard the distinct sound of rope fibers being cut. Fuck. "Baby," She started, as I went to put my dishes in the sink, where my knife was located. "That won't be happening."

I was quick to grip my knife, thank god I did. She charged towards me, to quickly be stopped in her tracks as my knife touched her neck. I patted her down, I found two knives that I hadn't found before. I sat her down with no restraints, I tossed all of the knives and weapons in the house; besides for the one still pressed to her neck. I knew I could take her with no weapons, I think to a certain degree she knew it too.

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous, I didn't kill you, I was nice enough to bring you back to my home and how do you repay me? An attempted escape and murder? Were not so different, you and I. Let's just call a truce, no weapons, no hostility, you can stay the night and I won't try anything, so long as you won't. Deal?" I asked. She nodded her head; I threw the knife out of the window along with the others. "Good, now, let's some Chinese takeout, cool?" She tried to hide a small smirk, but it wasn't lost on me. An hour later we were chatting over dumplings and fried rice. There was still tension, but it was slowly depleting as we became more familiar.

We seemed very similar to one another, despite our respective allegiances. We talked of our military backgrounds, martial arts training, and patriotism. She may be a communist, but I certainly can respect her patriotic attitude to Russia, comparative to my own of the US. As the night progress we cracked into some alcohol; Vodka to be specific. Shot for shot she was next to me, ready for more; damn Russians.

On the verge of alcohol poisoning, we switched to coffee. If Anika Vasili worked for the US; she would be perfect. By the way she was chugging her coffee, I don't think she was planning to sleep; I soon knew why. As the hostility faded, a new feeling arose; sexual tension. She sat on the couch next to me, slowly inching her way toward me as we conversation. This ended with her face on my chest. We were no longer shit-faced, yet she was still making advances. Her head slowly dropped and was now resting on my lap. Sadly, I can't control my cock too well, needless to say that my now-tenting dick was poking her cheek. She said nothing; she just turned herself over, slowly unbuttoning my pants.

Her mouth took all of me in, keeping me in her warm mouth until she needed air. Slowly she moved up and down, paying extra attention to my head, swirling her tongue around it. Building me up, and bringing me back down again. Did the GRU give her blowjob classes? Jesus.

"Are you going to cum for me Joseph?" She said in the most amazing accent I have ever heard.

She followed through alright; she moved her hand faster and faster on my shaft while her mouth was sucking my head. I finally felt the buildup, the tension in my balls. Just as I was about to cum, I grabbed her head and held her down on my cock. I moaned as I began to shoot several ropes of cum down her throat. She too moaned as I held her down, flexing her mouth and throat muscles, milking every drop out of me. I released my grip on her head and she took me out of her mouth. I quickly grabbed her and threw her onto the couch. Our kiss was like a bolt of lightning, my hands trailed down to her clothed tits; I ripped her shirt off and caressed her small but firm breasts, pinching a nipple in between my thumb and index finger. My other hand made its way to her nice round ass. I grabbed her, carried her to my room, and tossed her onto the bed. Our groping and make out session went on until my member had proper blood-flow, then it was open season. I slid into her, her tight walls enveloping me. Every time I started to pull back, it gave me resistance, sucking me back in like a vacuum.

We fucked for what seemed like hours, multiples of positions, orgasms, and intimate embraces. Our marathon ended in the shower, only three inches of air between us. We stared aimlessly into each others eye, knowing that after this escapade ended we would need to come back down to reality, which bluntly shows a CIA and GRU agent sharing a bed. Enemies, both of state and citizenry, rolling around, our bodies a blissful entanglement of sensual romanticism. What was to be done? What could even be done? As soon as the showers knob was twisted to a halt, so was our reverie, we stepped out of the shower unsure of what we were to each other; lovers, enemies, something in the middle perhaps?

Life just got more complicated.