Those deep, dark brown eyes gave off a predatory look, and that grin of his was downright wolfish, confirming that Makarov could grab you by the throat at the right moment. He was quite capable of it.

Put a muzzle on his snout, was the order.

He snorted and cheekily rubbed his cheek against your palm. How long had it been since he'd seen you? Five years, or maybe ten? Anyway, Vladimir figured you were keeping your past fling with him under wraps. That meant you were firmly in his grip.

Vladimir raised his head, smiling as you tightened the straps at the back of his head. He seemed to want to touch you, just like before—only those blasted ties on his wrists up to his elbows got in the way. Why didn't you just slap a straitjacket on me straight away, eh, sweet?

The soles of your tactical boots shuffle along the concrete floor of the stuffy room, which has been converted into Vladimir's cell. The red light from the CCTV in the corner indicates that everything is under control. You cross your arms over your chest, glancing at Volodya, who is now unconscious. Well, at least his head in the place.

His hair is all messed up; there are vivid bruises on his cheekbones and torso, and his lips are split. If you didn't know who Vladimir was, you might actually feel sorry for him. Well, the guys did a really good job on his face. Bloody bastards.

Finally, you stop in front of him, rake your fingers through his hair, and roughly lift his head up. As your eyes meet, it becomes obvious he was just pretending.

"Did you miss me?" came a hoarse voice. "I missed you, ya know?"

Vladimir's freezing in this damp room, his knee twitching without him even realising.

He chuckles as he catches you eyeing the contours of his naked torso, your gaze lingering on every muscle with a hungry intensity. Shamelessness. Have you forgotten your guard dogs are watching? Oh, he knows you're remembering the big gun. He whispers mockingly, "Up for a bit of fun? I'll gladly take care of that for you."