solohux:

The bar is quiet for a Thursday evening.

Paul
shuffles his way past the two bouncers on the door, giving them an
apprehensive smile as he enters, stumbling slightly as the hard floor
changes to a plush red carpet underneath his feet but luckily manages to
stay standing.

He bites his lip and subconsciously hunches his
shoulders, feeling like a giant in a room full of humans, too tall and
too conspicuous, eyes scanning the room for his target.

Being
completely honest with himself, Paul hadn’t wanted this task. His
talents extend far beyond stalking & spying on suspicious CIA agents
who have been accused of smuggling goods. He’s a communications
analyst, not a field agent, but after the incident with the alien child,
Paul’s boss has told him to get out more. Reluctantly, Paul had
accepted the mission.

Still, an assignment is an assignment, and Paul will do his best.

It’s
the ginger hair that Paul looks for; he’d been handed a picture of his
target during the debrief earlier that morning, and hoped that the blush
on his cheeks at the man’s ruggedness was ignored by his comrades. His
red hair sweeps across his forehead, covering his ears only slightly, a
full beard covering the bottom half of his pale face, sharp cheekbones
on show.

But after waiting around for the better part of an hour,
Paul thinks their intel is wrong. The target is a no-show, a dud. After
a quick trip to bathroom, he decides he’ll leave and return to the
office to report his findings.

The bathroom is empty, much to
Paul’s delight, and as he’s washing his hands, he’s already thinking
about returning home to his cat and a microwave meal for one, but the
door opens slowly, and the strong smell of expensive cologne fills the
small space of the men’s lavatory.

Paul turns, tap still running, and his tummy sinks.

“Mr
Sevier, if I’m not mistaken,” the man says, adjusting the collar on his
black suit. “Charmed. You’re younger than I expected.”

With his
bright hair, sharp gaze and proper suit, Monty Schafer looks like a
deadly sin, lust specifically, and Paul wants to break every rule in the
book.

“I’m–I’m no one,” Paul replies, disliking the fact that
Monty is almost the same height as him, but his presence seems to
consume the room.

“I’ll bet,” Monty says. “When they told me an
FBI would be on my tail today, I didn’t expect it to be a fuckin’
analyst. Your work with the little alien boy spread through the
departments like fire, you know. A field agent now, are we?”

Paul
nods, backing away from the approaching agent and hitting the wall, the
jolt making his glasses slip down his nose. He gasps, blushing, licking
his lips, feeling 3 inches tall underneath Monty’s stare, as though he’s
undressing him with his eyes.

“I’m not the bad guy, Sevier,”
Monty tuts, arms spread out wide. “I’m helping our country. Making it
better for everyone. Arms dealings shouldn’t be the FBI’s priority.”

“It is when it’s illegal, like you’re doing,” Paul retorts, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Drugs, too.”

“Bit
of a thrill though, isn’t it,” Monty reaches up and touches Paul’s
lips, rubbing his thumb across the bottom one before sliding his palm
down Paul’s chest, whose breath is quickening by the second. “Doing the
forbidden. Breaking rules. But you look like a good boy to me.”

“Don’t,
please,” Paul whispers, moaning when Monty’s nimble fingers unfasten
his belt and unbutton his black jeans, palming his hardening cock
through the material. “I can’t, I can’t–”

“Oh, but look at you.”
Monty’s fingers are warm, soft, like he’s never done a wrong thing in
his life, but his eyes say differently. He pulls Paul’s cock out,
tugging his jeans down a little to allow it freedom, and Paul is forced
to put a hand over his mouth. “Blushing like a little virgin. I
shouldn’t imagine that a talented analyst like you gets much time out
of the office, ey, boy?”

“N-no, god, you’re my assignment, this–”

“Just
as you’re mine, Sevier,” Monty pumps his fist around Paul’s cock,
making the man preen underneath the pleasure. “Track the little doe-eyed
FBI agent and show him who he’s dealing with. Think I’m doing a good
job?”

Paul doesn’t answer. It’s been much too long since his cock
has had any sort of attention and he comes quickly, knees buckling as he
groans gutturally, though the only thing that keeps him standing is
Monty’s other hand against his clavicle, otherwise Paul has no doubt
that he’d be a shivering mess on the floor at his target’s feet.

“Pretty
thing, aren’t you? Tell you what,” Monty licks his lips but wipes
Paul’s own come over his cheeks and glasses, coating his freckled skin
perfectly. Paul doesn’t flinch. “I’ll make you an appointment with me,
how’s that? So you can show me the rest of you. You could even bring
more of your FBI friends if you like, make it a party.”

Paul is
still gasping, his glasses smeared with come obscuring his vision of the
gloriously filthy man in front of him but he sees Monty pull a small
card from inside his jacket and place it in the waistband of Paul’s
unbuttoned jeans, pushing it down until it’s in his underwear. Monty
chuckles and reaches up, and Paul closes his eyes when the man’s finger
is on his cheek, seemingly etching letters in the liquid on his face.

’S-C-H-A-F-E-R’

Paul swallows hard.

“Until next time, Mr Sevier. The pleasure is all yours.”

Monty
winks at him before leaving the restrooms, and Paul finally allows
himself to slump down the wall, spent cock still hanging out of his
pants. With a groan and a sneer, Paul pulls his glasses off and squints
as he cleans them on his yellow shirt, unable to think of anything but
being ruined by the most corrupt man in America.