He had never been with a woman for too damned long.

Yes, that must be why he was leaning the woman in his arms, the woman whose mind he could never fathom, onto the sofa that they were sitting on, their tongues dancing in the most feral way imaginable between kisses that he never imagined that she had in her. Perhaps he had been wrong about her being just another idealistic girl…

She quickly got the better of him, and rolled over so that she could position herself above him. "You won't have me that easily," she whispered into his ear, her words all but a tease. Their fingers laced with one another's, she held his hands above his head, and nibble on the arch of his neck. He smirked, rather enjoying the fact that she had him right where she wanted him. And from the look of her eyes, he knew that the desire between them was mutual. It was a good sign.

Her hands soon left his, and she caressed every single part of his body, as though she was exploring him, studying every single inch of his being, and she marveled at him. A man in his age could not have a body this perfect, she reasoned, grazing her fingers over his washboard abdomen before placing a kiss above his belly button. And it seemed that her musings were not utterly silent at all, because Makarov actually raised an eyebrow and asked, "A Greek god?" when the name "Ares" flashed through her mind. Immediately, she stopped all that she was trying to do and he chuckled lightly while rolling himself above her. "Do you think so highly of me, Anya?" he asked, and she answered his question with a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"That depends…" she replied while he reached for the zipper of her dress, watching his surprise when he discovered that the only article of clothing that remained upon her were her red lace knickers. She brought his hand to her breasts and encouraged him to cup one of the fleshy mounds, which resulted in his assault of her nipple with his tongue. "Ohh…" was the whisper that sounded into his ear, and he swore that it would be his undoing.

And that was only the beginning.

In the heat of impassioned kisses, Anya's boldness increased and she began to take his erect member in her hand, stroking it ever so gently. He gave out a low growl, and grasped a lock of her hair tightly, silently beckoning her to do more. She took her time and brought her tongue to the head of his shaft.

Not one to be easily outdone, Makarov positioned her so that her womanhood was right in his line of sight, and he began to torture her just as sweetly as she did him. He brought his tongue through the folds of her core, licking her clitoris again and again as he thrust a finger or two into her. He heard her moan, and reached for her head, silently urging her to continue, an act which she quickly obliged without further coaxing.

Moments passed, and they soon found themselves in the embrace of lovers, her long legs around his waist, his arms wound around her lithe soldier's form. There were scars all over her body, scars of battle, and perhaps a dressing on her back. He would help her change it in the morning, he told himself, and delivered yet another kiss to her lips, a kiss that threatened to shatter the earth if they should part in that moment of time.

"Makarov…" she moaned when she felt his manhood slowly entering her. For the slightest moment of inactivity, she clung onto him and closed her eyes as her body began to accommodate his length as well as his girth, and when that passed, she kissed him briefly, and began to move in accordance to the rhythm that he had built for the both of them.

She knew that what she was doing was wrong; she reasoned to herself as smirked at him as she went on top of him and began to ride him. The man who was beneath her, he who was scoring his blunt fingernails into her hips as she gained her momentum; he was a monster with a penchant for the bloodshed of countless innocents just for one word: vengeance. He was supposed to be no less human than the ones that she had killed with the 141…

But something struck her from within. If a man was so impassioned with hatred against the rest of the world, how could he be so gentle, so seductive when they were in such a primal state of being? She had been with other men before, men that she had dated, and no matter who they were, when it came to sex, the one thing that ran through their minds was their own satisfaction. Makarov… he was another monster altogether. He knew how to treat a woman, and the fire that he had manage to rouse within her, it was not the same as what her past encounters could ever achieve.

He gasped, knowing that he was coming close to his climax, and managed to change their positions again. This time, they were spooned against one another. With his hand gently holding one of her breasts from around her shoulder, and her leg in another, he nibbled on her ear as he began to thrust into her yet again. "Beautiful…" he murmured, licking the base of her neck, his voice nothing more than a gasp of air.

She could not respond to his words any longer, for there was nothing in her mind, save for the ecstasy that could only increase and the powerful sensations that overcame her, the sight of him, the scents that filled her nose, how he had moaned her name… Her vision began to blur and white overcame her... She screamed, and it was nothing generic, she had called his name as she gave herself to her ecstasy.

He came undone not long after she did. He knew that she was taking oral contraceptives (and that was the extent of how he was close he had been watching her), and decided to remain in her depths, savoring the feeling of the walls of her womanhood clamping against him as he reached the height of his orgasm, and there he remained for a long time, until each of them had regained their breaths.

"Stay with me for the night," he told her when she sought to leave his embrace when the reality of what they had done sank into her mind. She had crossed lines that she should not cross, giving into her own desires… And she knew that soon, she would know the price she would have to pay. She knew that she should not have done this, but what was done was done…

Feeling his lips upon hers once again, it was already clear in her mind that she could not reverse what had already passed. Thus, she kissed him back and nodded her head. He smiled and started to pick her up, walking towards his room and kicked the door close.

His room was far opulent than hers, although it remained simple in design. Black and chrome graced the interiors, save for the ornate king-sized bed that seemed to belong to some sort of royalty. "This was once owned by Nicholas II and his beautiful wife Alexandra," he told her with a glint in his eyes. "It is the only… luxury that I truly appreciate."

"Really?" she asked in reply. He was a man who knew how to use his money, she reckoned, and brought her lips to his forehead. "What about all the fancy dinners, the first class flights and the suits?" she added. "Those things don't come cheap…"

"Those are nothing compared to the feeling of sleeping upon the bed that once belonged to a Tsar," Makarov interrupted her as he lifted her chin for another kiss. "And as you know, sleep is a far greater luxury than anything that I can afford."

Once again Anya's secretive smile came into his view, and she said, "Well, I should apologize for depriving you of such a luxury, then…"

His response was only a finger laid upon her lips. "And you should not dally any longer, my dear." Snaking his arms around her waist, their bodies once again spooned with one another; he kissed the base of her neck and swallowed a deep breath, taking in the scent of her hair as well. By that time, she was already fast asleep, her golden hair sprawling across the bed. He too, soon joined her, but not before a light kiss to her temple.

Captain John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Land-base (Location Classified)

Meat had returned from Moscow, bringing more news from Anya. It seemed that she had successfully gotten into Makarov's bed. That alone did not mean anything, but Shepherd had made it clear that they were to report every single progress that she had made.

"Sir," MacTavish said upon entering the Lieutenant-General's office. "Anya managed to seduce Makarov." Those were words that he found particularly hard to utter. Of course he knew that it was one of the easiest ways for Anya to get closer to Makarov, but still… he felt that Shepherd could have told her to be more… professional, as she was expected to be back here with the boys and vice versa.

Shepherd looked up from the pile of papers he was dealing with and was silent for a few moments. "That's a good start," the older man said. "At least, now that she's shared his bed, he'd be obliged to share… other things with her…" Sending a beautiful woman in order to crush an enemy was the oldest trick in the book, and MacTavish had never thought that Anya would have to deal with this kind of… tactic. But he knew that Shepherd's orders were final, and no one ever had ways of going around it, no matter how hard they tried.

"Sir, I'm worried about Anya," MacTavish added. "She's been there so long, and if she's allowed to do that with Makarov…"

"Anya's a good soldier, MacTavish," Shepherd reminded the Captain. "She'll do everything it takes to achieve the completion of her mission. I know that what we're doing here is crude and unprofessional, but it's the only way to do it because it's the last thing that Makarov'll ever expect."

Makarov was a prey that Shepherd had vowed to capture long since the formation of the Task Force 141. This man, in recent years, had even exceeded the Taliban on the Pentagon's "most wanted" list. And now, America had one of her elite soldiers who was sacrificing her own integrity and body to bring him down…

MacTavish knew that there was nothing more he could do for Anya than to hope for the best. The one thing that worried him was that Shepherd had brought in another US Army Ranger that was meant to be her "replacement" if anything went wrong. It was almost as if he was ready to cast one of his best fighters off if anything happened.

Gary Sanderson, or "Roach" as he was called was the new FNG of the 141, he was young, bright-eyed, and more importantly, he was also a sharpshooter with skills that few possessed. The kid was eager to please, and MacTavish could more or less understand that, given the notoriety that the 141 had gained over the past few years.

"I hope you're right, sir," the Captain continued with a sigh. He knew Anya like he knew each and every one of his subordinates. She was a steadfast warrior as most of the Americans were, but Anya could see things that other people could not, and her talents were not limited to peripheral vision. She could see the outcomes of actions made by the many players of their field of work affecting other variables, but this ability of hers was a double-edged sword because most times she would only act on the outcome she found most viable, leaving other options out when they could be the answer to all the riddles…

"Trust me, MacTavish," Shepherd replied. "Our girl'll make us proud. I can promise you that."