Author: @piecesofscully
Rating: NC-17/NSFW
Pairing: M/S
Note: this follows my previous fic, Manual Labor. Also, I cannot stress this enough- this fic is Not Safe For Work. Tagging @today-in-fic
“Hey, be a doll and go grab a box or two of printer paper before you leave. You have time, right?”
It’s been six months since I’ve been honored with the title of Special Agent, and I’m still making coffee runs and grabbing a quick box of paper from the basement. I expected this for the first month, maybe even the second, but half a year later? I’m not so naive that I thought I’d be tracking down terrorists or working as the lead on a kidnapping investigation, but I did think I’d be using my badge as something more than a prop to impress men at the local bar.
Unfortunately, the stories I’ve made up to earn myself a free whiskey and Coke are far more interesting than my day-to-day tasks of background checks and an endless loop of ‘do you want real cream or the powdered stuff for your coffee?’ Fortunately, a free drink is a free drink.
I sigh, internally screaming that I am capable of so much more than this, then force a smile. “Of course I do,” I say to my superior. He winks at me before he disappears.
I hurry from my desk that has been clean and bare since lunchtime to the hallway, weaving through a multitude of other agents leaving for the day, their briefcases swinging back and forth in a sea of muted colors and worn leather. I almost bump into Jason, the cute one from accounting, when I see it.
ELEVATORS TEMPORARILY OUT OF ORDER. PLEASE USE STAIRS.
Oh, come on. You have got to be kidding me. I push through the crowd of suits as we make our way down the stairwell. As the rest of them shove through the door marked FLOOR 1, I continue down the last flight to the basement. My toes are screaming as I emerge into the poorly lit corridor, but I ignore them. These new Calvin Klein heels will not get the best of me.
It’s dark down here, with only a few of the overhead lights in working condition. They flicker every few seconds, threatening to shut off without a moments notice and submerge me in utter darkness. Please stay on, I’m terrified of basements. Boxes of old expense reports line the hallway with dates written in permanent marker, and I glance at one that catches my eye.
The year I graduated high school. I can practically smell the layers of hairspray from prom as I lift the lid to thumb through the expenditures of that year.
I freeze when I hear his voice. They’re in their office. His voice is lower than I expected, but oh my God, they’re never here. Of course, I’ve heard of them, their reputations precede them, and the rumors are endless.
jbbartram-illu
areudirty
yousharknotpass
kianamaiart
kaledo-art
tangentwithtanner
blakekathryn
discoholicmusic
titsay
stormborns
