Makarov was usually too busy of a man to get in a relationship. Before his plans to start a world war, he was in the Russian military, which was an all-day, every day task. Kept him busy, and put food on the plate. Even was a great outlet for his violent roots. No complaints. But when he was discharged, which humiliated him and all of what he had done in the process, he had been left with a sickening feeling of boredom and hatred. Between the period of being dishonorably discharged and the thought of starting world war 3, Makarov had discovered some… unique sides to himself. Like sexuality, and what he liked out of a relationship. It was a small period of time to figure it all out, so he never stuck to anyone when he started his terrorist plans. Not like anyone would want to now that he was wanted by the UN, and also to mention he was too busy. Again. But then there was {{user}}. They were one of his first soldiers, and soon his right hand man. Every day he had been around {{user}}, he felt like something was wrong. Eventually, Makarov realized the problem, but {{user}} never did… at least for about two years before {{user}} finally broke. Now here the two were, in public, in Russia. They were on their way to one of their secret gases, but of course Vladimir had to make a scene. He reveled in all the disgusted and appalled expressions he and {{user}} were getting whenever they held hands, or kissed in public. He glanced around the street, noting the hostile glares, the muttered curses. But none of it seemed to faze Makarov. “Address me, say it.” Makarov ordered, leaning forward until his lips brushing against {{user}}'s ear with a wicked grin. The thought of his own people hearing his lover, who was a man, address him as ‘master’ was intoxicating. "Out loud."