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August walked through the Red Room’s halls, humming an old Russian song to himself as he went. He passed soldiers who gave sharp salutes as he walked past, which he acknowledged with a nod, and Widows shooting at targets on the gun range and practising martial arts in the sparring areas, their form as graceful as it was deadly, each strike delivered swiftly and with pinpoint precision.
It was quite some distance to his office, but he didn’t mind the walk for it gave him time to think. Whilst age had left him softer around the waist than he’d have liked, the vigour of his stride and the bulkiness of his large frame gave the impression of a man who’d been powerfully built in his youth and was still formidable even now. The “Black Russian” he’d been called for he was literally a black Russian, born of a black father and a Russian mother. It hadn’t been easy growing up, his dark skin making him a target of mockery and bullying, but those experiences hardened him and taking his father’s advice to fight when no one else would fight for him, he began fighting back when the discrimination got physical, the Black Russian becoming the Bear, quiet and peaceful when left alone, but vicious when roused to anger.
He’d joined the military after completing his education, his accolades eventually drawing the attention of one General Dreykov, the head of the Red Room. The man had taken him under his wing and under his tutelage, teaching the ins and outs of spy craft before he eventually earned his place as the General’s right-hand man. He respected Dreykov, but the man was as fearful and paranoid as he was proud and ruthless. They lived in a world of constant change, alliances forming and breaking, new players entering the game, new pieces winding up on the board – it was a game Dreykov had played well.
Emphasis on had.
It had started in with the millionaire arms dealer turned philanthropist, Tony Stark, building a suit of high-tech battle armour that was light years ahead of even the most technologically advanced militaries and defence companies of the modern age. Then, Bruce Banner, a brilliant scientist who had become a vessel for a deity of wrath, had torn Harlem apart brawling with another gamma-empowered abomination, the Norse god of thunder in New Mexico, and SHIELD finding the legendary war hero, Captain America, and waking him from his icy slumber when he was believed to have died sacrificing himself to save the world from Nazi conquest.
In the face of such extraordinary developments, Dreykov had become reclusive, sheltering in his various safe-houses and mobile bases, then seeking to build an impractically inefficient sky base to hide from the various enemies he’d made over the years.
(Did he think he was Dr. Eggman? Did he know how much fuel and other resources it would take to keep such an aerial fortress running?)
In the face of a changing world full of gods, monsters and superhumans, he squandered his position as a player in the Great Game, unable to cope with the changing nature of America’s geopolitical landscape, its heightened potency as a national superpower, and hid in the shadows for he was afraid of the light – a true spymaster operates in plain sight as fluidly as they work in the shadows; deceit, knives in the dark and spies mere tools of their trade – and unwilling to find soldiers to match the power America now brought to bear with the Red Guardian, Russian’s answer to Captain America, rotting away in some prison over a petty disagreement with the General whilst his own daughter’s talents were wasted as his brainwashed bodyguard when her ability to mimic body language, movements and combat techniques made her a nigh-peerless fighter and killer.
A powerful man unwilling to change had no place in this new world.
It was for this reason August had him killed; poisoning his food and drink would be insufficient given how paranoid the man was. No, August had to resort to more arcane methods – methods one such as Dreykov had no counter to. His magical talents were nothing special, hardly enough to qualify as an apprentice sorcerer even after years of study, but he knew enough for a simple summoning ritual, specifically, one to summon a succubus.
Dreykov had his appetites and indulged in his desire for women when he could be they gold diggers or simple paid whores, they were brought to his bases blindfolded and left the same way. It was laughably easy to have the succubus assume a different physical form, affect the mannerisms of a vain, vacuous slut, give him the night of his life whilst draining his vitality to nothingness in the process and leaving with any attempts to find her being fruitless for Dreykov’s men would be hunting a woman who didn’t exist whose name, face and body were mere fabrications.
August assumed command of the Red Room after that and had begun making moves to undo Dreykov’s mistakes from pardoning Alexei and giving him the chance to serve his country again as a free man, deprogramming Taskmaster from years of brainwashing and giving her the choice to serve as an asset or live a free life, unbound and under no obligation to serve his goals for she’d be allowed to walk her own path. He’d already sent Natalia Romanoff, one of their most prodigious agents, to Fury with a fake story of defecting and wanting redemption after a life of wrongful bloodshed when she was still his agent and would feed him information on SHIELD, having spent years earning Fury’s trust as one of the Director’s best agents, having gained his ear as part of his inner circle.
Whilst her objective was to help them navigate the changing landscape of power, she wasn’t their only asset embedded within SHIELD, far from being outnumbered should her cover be blown.
He made his way to the safe in his office, which had been sparsely decorated since Dreykov’s overdue retirement. Unlocking it, he retrieved the book that had become one of his most prized possession. It was blood red from the cover to the spine to the back save for a pitch-black star surrounded by a pentagram on the front’s centre and began speaking the words of power required for his task after finding the desired pages, the inherent magical power within the book rather than his own minor magical talents doing the heavy lifting for this ritual.
"Longing, rusted, furnace, daybreak, seventeen, benign, nine, homecoming, one, freight car." The words on the book's page glowed with pink light, a large, similarly coloured pentagram appearing on the floor before him, heralding the appearance of the one he desired most, who materialised in a puff of pink smoke.
“Drith,” he breathed, his heart warming as he beheld the summoned incubus. Appealingly tousled blond hair framed a youthfully handsome face, bright blue eyes landing on August and the bright smile he’d come to love forming on lips he loved to kiss. His body’s well-toned musculature was revealed by the fact he stood before August in all his naked glory, which he more than approved of, and the pink smoke he’d arrived with hadn’t just remained but thickened, growing larger until it filled August’s office with the heady scent of lust, August feeling caresses run across his body even through his business suit whilst his pants grew tighter. He didn’t fight it, letting the incubus work his magic on him for they’d been parted for far too long.
Drith strode through the smoke towards him, his elegant stride made seductive by the subtle sway of his hips, the way his manhood bumped and swung between his muscled thighs, and the look of naked desire he gave August as he approached. When he was within arm’s reach, August pulled him towards him, taking his lips in a hungry, possessive kiss that had their tongues dancing and their hands roaming over familiar ground. Reluctantly, August pulled back, Drith lapping up the spit that connected their lips with a swipe of his tongue that almost made August forget why he summoned him.
“I’m here, my love,” Drith whispered, looking up at August with pure adoration in his eyes as he reached up to lay his warm hand on the bigger man’s cheek, August leaning into the contact, greedy for his touch.
“You haven’t aged a day,” August said, Drith’s face as flawless and his body as perfect as it was the first time he saw him despite the fact that they’d known each other over the course of decades, but then, demons aged slowly, if at all, August noted.
“You got fat,” Drith replied with a teasing grin, yelping as August made his ass cheek bounce with a heavy smack. “Cheek,” August grinned in turn.
“You look good with weight, though,” Drith’s seamless slip into a perfect Russian accent made August snort in amusement as Drith’s arms tightened around his waist, “like bear.” He leaned upwards on tiptoes to brush his lips across August’s who leaned down to meet him, whispering the next words so quietly August only heard them because their faces were so close together. “My big, strong Bear.”
“You kept the glasses,” August noted, brushing his thumb across the side of the glasses leading to the shell of Drith’s ear.
“You said I looked cute in them,” Drith replied, August smiling at the memory of when he’d first met Drith when he himself was a young man; even then, Dreykov had been ignorant to the greater powers that moved within the mortal world. “You always look cute, Drith.”
“Still,” August began, pulling back slightly so his hands were on Drith’s hips rather than holding onto his waist. “I didn’t summon you just so I can see you again.”
“You have a mission for me?” It wasn’t really a question, Drith recognised the change in his tone for what it was.
August nodded. “I’ve had Romanoff embed herself in a rival agency as an undercover operative, her cover story is that she’s defected to their side when she still works for me and regularly feeds me their intel.”
“Little Natalia’s all grown-up,” Drith’s tone was wistful, his smile lustful as he sent images to August’s mind of the redheaded spy’s stunningly curvaceous figure garbed in various tight and revealing outfits. “That she has,” August agreed, poking Drith’s stomach with his erection. Once they both stopped laughing, he continued.
“I’m sure Hell has heard what’s been going on up here over the past couple of years.”
Drith nodded. “Nice touch by the way, using your old boss’ desires to get rid of him.”
“He deserved one last taste of Heaven before being chucked into the fiery pit.” August shrugged. “Anyway, Romanoff’s employer is putting together a group of skilled, superpowered individuals as part of his ‘Avengers Initiative.’ where she’ll be my woman on the inside. I’m putting together Russian’s equivalent of these Avengers in a group called the Winter Guard, which I want her younger sister, Yelena Belova, to help lead; I want you to make contact with Yelena and join this team where you will all help protect this world.”
“You want us to be heroes?” Drith asked with a raised eyebrow, August smacking his ass again in response to that question.
“Not even remotely,” he scoffed. “The world ending is bad for business, and it needs bad men and women to keep it turning when heroes don’t swoop in to save the day. So, my incubus love, are you ready to comply?”
“Always,” Drith promised, pulling August into a kiss. He lifted Drith to his level for them to be face-to-face, the incubus wrapping his legs around his waist as August took them to his desk, no longer able to contain his desire, needing to feel Drith fully after so long spent apart.
“I doubt your old boss ever got to fuck someone as hot as me,” Drith got out between kisses, August laughing in response.
Yelena stood in the office of the Director of the Red Room, eyes forward and silent as he sat behind his desk.
“With your sister being sent to SHIELD, it leaves a vacuum on skill within our ranks.” Yelena arms were folded behind her back, allowing her clench her fists at hearing the reminder that Natalia was their best agent without the Director seeing. The reminder – intended or not – was one that her trainers and other Widows had uttered many times as she was inevitably compared to Natalia being that she was the younger sister.
Whilst they were both considered two of the best Widows of their generation, and Yelena had sufficient skills to rival her sister, it was never enough to truly surpass her when it came to combat, espionage or seduction. Though she loved her sister for they’d been raised (even if it had only been part of a mere cover story) and trained together all their lives, there’d always been an element of envy-fuelled resentment on Yelena’s part from always being second best, no matter how hard she worked.
“A vacuum I’d like you to fill.”
Those words broke through Yelena’s train of thought. “Sir?” She asked, her confusion at hearing that statement making her speak out of turn. She caught herself, clamping her mouth shut and awaiting reprimand.
It never came, however. “Relax, Yelena. Unlike the late General Dreykov, I welcome my subordinate’s input for you and all the other Widows have your own thoughts and feelings on matters, you’re not an army of emotionless machines.
“I’m not sure I understand, sir,” the confusion his words filled her with once more made unbidden words come out of her mouth. He chuckled as she caught herself, her wide-eyed look amusing.
“I mean what I say, Yelena. Changes are to be made to the Red Room. He may have built it, but Dreykov made mistakes during his leadership that have made us lose ground to the Americans in the superhuman arms race of the modern world; mistakes I intend to fix.”
“The first of these,” his eyes held hers steadily as he spoke, “is to remove the Red Guardian from his imprisonment for him rotting in a cell has done nothing for our country and has been a complete disservice to the man and all his achievements.”
Yelena didn’t allow herself to speak the word that came to her mind, part of her always having yearned to see the man she called Father again, fond memories of him reading stories to her whilst she was balanced on his knee, singing to their (fake) family during Christmas dinner after having more than a few drinks, tucking her in at night with soft kiss to her forehead. Despite the decades since she’d last seen him, despite the fact that their “family” was mere façade, a well-crafted piece of theatre, for their mission of foreign infiltration, he was still the closest thing she’d ever had to a paternal figure.
“The world is changing, Yelena,” the Director turned his gaze from her to his office window, the wide, clear view allowing him to see the outside world before him. No, the intensity and focus behind his gaze seemed to breach the barrier of immediate view, looking past it to the world beyond, “and it’s time we change with it. I need to expand our spy network, a greater amount of skilled agents and assets need to be spread across the globe, boots on the ground to serve as my eyes and ears, and I need leaders such as you to help me run it.”
Yelena was beyond surprised by the nature of this conversation, never having been spoken to so openly by one who commanded the Red Room. She’d lead missions before, the same as any Widow with the appropriate skill and seniority, but that had been restricted to fieldwork – for a Widow to attain a tangible leadership position within the Red Room was practically unheard of.
“I understand that this must be a lot to take in,” August’s words drew her from her musings, his gaze returned to her as he stood before his desk, “so take some time to think about it, but understand that your abilities and experience are invaluable to this organisation as either a leader or an agent whatever you decide.”
Yelena’s years of training in emotional control prevented her from being fully overwhelmed by all this. “Thank you, sir,” she snapped to attention and gave a sharp salute as he softly dismissed her, striding towards his door in evenly measured steps.
For the first time in her life, she’d actually been given a choice in the path her life went next.