(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

synteis asked
Ironflint Alex and Washington at a gala with Alex whispering in Washington's ear à la Devil Wears Prada?

The good days don’t always fall when he needs them to, but right now he feels like a thousand bucks, and he looks it too. Even invested a little time and money to get a person off craigslist to cover the bags under his eyes and the high hickey on his neck, looking like a respectable member of society. Flicks the cufflinks onto his cuffs and folds himself into Washington’s shadow, letting the little ache about it fuel him. It’s a good shadow to be in, but a shadow nonetheless. But it’s a work in progress, anyway. Washington looks like gengkis-fucking-khan or something, broad like a building, tall and strong and dark and impossibly powerful. Alex feels twice-better about the cage he locked around his dick before they started this: first because it twinges when he thinks too much about the powerful curve of Washington’s neck, and how strong his hands look, and secondly he was promised a very thorough reward if he does his job beyond his expectations. Popping a boner obviously is not beyond expectations.

A man catches Washington’s eyes and begins to walk towards him. He feels more than sees Washington’s attentions towards him. They’re like that, now.

Alex glances again at the man. The address book in his brain flashes. information travels like electricity across his neurons, faces appearing and disappearing. Then. A match, and a dossier comes up. Taken by the tiny little chemical senses that know how to navigate the rush-hour-traffic of his brain. thrive, even, in that enviroment. What would it even be like, to have an empty highway?


“Charles Gravier de Vergennes,” he says, low into Washington’s ear, “French diplomat, recently off an embezzlement scandal. Cleared by a judge but obviously guilty - yachts and everything. Just returned from vacation in the Maldives.”

Washington doesn’t say acknowledge, but he knows the feeling, just as much.

“Mr. Vergennes,” Washington says, offering his hand, “How was the Maldives?”