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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: R
Pairing: Smecker/random guys
Feedback: Spelling errors to constructive crit., whatever.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: For dien in return for the icon. Put this around the 1970s.
Summary: Conflicting instincts.
***
Glam glitter, strobes turning the scene flickering apocalyptic, smoke and drugs and drinks and sex all flying high above the crowded dance floor. Someone’s grabbing Paul’s ass and he can feel one fucking impressive erection grinding between the butcher-fingers clutching his hips, his tongue’s stuck halfway down the throat of a pretty lithe thing and somehow his brain’s still working.
Check right, it whispers. Colombian hotshot approaching local bosses.
Shut the fuck up, he says, and he bites the lip of the boy in front of him like he’s got something to prove. Fucking FBI training. Fucking mind. Won’t. Ever. Stop.
“Let’s go.” Sweet invitation, sweet asses, sweet glazed look tilted up towards Paul. Hand on his crotch, heel on the line of his cock, hard slow teasing rub.
He wants to say yes. But it’s “No” because he has to stay and find out.
***