ajeankirschtein:
cont.
//got a āmy muse kills yoursā at first but I thought it would be no fun so I drew again, hope thatās okay with you~Ā 31. Untolerated: Your muse punishes my muse for insubordinationĀ {ā}Ā Marco. Of all people, the superior who he has the hots for has the honors of doing this to him. Just standing outside his little office, waiting for him to finish whatever the fuck heās doing in there and just come out already and bring him in- itās intimidating, to say the least. The last thing he wants to do is dig his hole deeper, and as tempting as that hallway to freedom looks, he would be caught and dragged back in no less than ten seconds tops. It sucks, really. Leaning his head back, he begins to think about why he ended up in the middle of this in the first placeā¦ right. It was a late night a week ago. Everyone was chatting behind this building, drinking and bitching about their latest assignments or how their wrists hurt because of so much writing after reports. Boo hoo. Anyways, he doesnāt know if it was because they all drank to much (violation of rules right there, but nobody really cares as long as itās on a day with no shifts. Something about cleaning up their image. Heās seen several of his higher-ups do it, so whatās the harm?) but this one girl threw the first punch at him after some unintelligible slurring and screaming. He fought back to defend himself, of course, so a bunch of other people couldnāt resist joining in. Jean ended up with a few scrapes because heās much more agile than them, and since he was the most sober one there, when a superior came outĀ heĀ was the one put to blame. And some guy named Larryā¦ Or Harry, whatever. Doesnāt matter.
So now here he is, charged with drinking and fist fights just to make an example of him or something. Heās watched countless fist fights go down right in front of the superiorsā noses, but they didnāt do shit. Thatās right, blame the good guy who was too drunk to think about it. He honestly has no idea what goes down once a guy is punished for something- but theyāre not allowed to speak about it after itās done just to make it seem scarier. Itās working, unfortunately.
Marco sighs and tosses the report back down onto his desk after reading it over for the fifth or sixth time. Those idiots. It was common knowledge that the officers were more than willing to turn a blind eye to drinking and even indulge themselves as long as it was kept quiet and out of the view of the public. But no, someone had gotten a little too drunk and decided to start a fist-fight, so now there had to be a little punishment handed out to keep up appearances.
He glances at the small hourglass--a fifteen-minute-glass really--on his desk that he had turned over as soon as he had heard one of the chairs outside creak and watches the last few grains fall through to the other side. There, the soldier outside should have sweated for long enough. The freckled officer stands to cross the small room and open the door, and then pauses, a crafty smirk pulling at his lips.
The man that he would be dealing with today, Jean Kirschtein, is someone that he is quite familiar with. They had graduated in the same cadet class, and although Marco had been promoted rapidly and therefore didn't come into direct contact with him very much anymore, there were certain things that he had noticed about him. Part of the reason for his promotion was because he is extremely perceptive, especially where his fellow soldiers are concerned, so the hot little glances when Jean thinks no one is looking and the subtle tension in him when they are speaking to each other have been child's play to pick up on.
Still grinning faintly to himself, Marco takes off his jacket and casually hangs it over the back of his chair, then rolls his shirt-sleeves up past his elbows to expose his forearms and a little of his biceps, and as a final touch he unfastens the top two buttons of his shirt and pulls his collar apart a little to make sure that the other soldier would be able to get a little peek at his freckled chest. There, that should fluster him a little. He is supposed to be getting punished after all.
Quickly composing himself, Marco strolls over to the door and pulls it open. "Please come in, Kirschtein. I do hope you weren't waiting for too long," he says with a sweet smile.
