The Secret Agent's Mafia Mate
- Genre: Werewolf
- Age: 18+
- Status: Completed
- Language: English
- Author: David Fox
“I didn’t know car salesmen traveled so much,”
Michael rolled away from the man, lying next to him, and got up.
“Well, it’s what a driver does.”
“I thought you said a salesman.”
“Did I say that?”
“Yes, you did, big guy.” The man purred. “But I was sure you weren’t, not with all the muscles and everything.
“Yeah, I was trying to impress you.”
The man giggled.
Since when did men giggle, anyway. Michael thought and looked around for his jeans. He made a face at the thorn shirt, lying next to them discarded on the floor. Michael reminded himself next time to be more careful with the display of strength, or whatever he’d been thinking when he had left the bar with the dark-haired guy, who was looking at him with the puppy eyes all guys like him looked at Michael. It was not bad, though - he liked to see them desperate and vulnerable.
There was nothing hotter than a guy begging on his knees, obviously intimidated and thrilled by his height and muscles, asking for more of it.
Maybe desperation was something Michael was getting off from since, in his line of work, emotions were such a rarity that he was always ready to give his partners in bed everything if that would make them look even more open and raw when panting from underneath him. And he never failed to get them to the state of a pleading, moaning mess.
The guy - Justin - Michael would have never remembered the name unless his job wasn’t to remember things like that - propped himself on his elbow and purred.
“When are you coming back?”
“Uh...in a few weeks, I guess. I don’t know, might be longer.”
Michael zipped his pants and put his leather jacket directly on. The shirt he’d been wearing was completely ruined, but he couldn’t be bothered to lift it.
“Will you call me?”
Michael was fully dressed by now- that was- except for the ruined shirt and went back to bed. He bent over the smaller man and paused.
Justin was indeed hot- jet black hair, and Michael had always been crazy about pale guys with black hair - it was probably the nerd speaking in him and dictating all his actions, and not his wolf, but in the rare cases, Michael slept with a guy it was always someone slender, more on the cute side and obedient.
Michael bent over and licked Justin’s neck. The guy shivered and his arms went directly for the lapels of Michael’s jacket. Justin was so reactive that Michael could sense the guy’s arousal right away and that made him even more pleased with leaving with the guy last night.
Justin moaned as Michael’s lips moved up and he nibbled at the sensitive skin behind his ear.
“Won’t you stay?”
Michael planted a last kiss on the spot he’d been licking and straightened up.
“Sorry, gotta go.”
He was already walking towards the door when he heard the guy say.
“Guys like you never call, do they?”
Micheal turned back and glanced one last time at the guy and shrugged.
“Just take care of yourself, kid”
He smiled and pressed the handle.
“Kid? I’m probably older than you are.”
Justin straightened up and crossed his arms.
“Jesus, you’re weird.”
Michael snorted and went out without turning back.
“Yeah, thanks. I get that a lot.”
“You take care too, Trent.”
He heard the guy saying something else after, but he was already closing the door behind himself.
“Trent,” Michael muttered and shook his head on his way out of the hotel. He never gave his real name to anyone, and from all the years using fake names and identities he was beginning to forget what his real name sounded like. But Trent- that was painfully generic and he decided he should come up with something more exciting next time.
Michael went out in the busy street in Chinatown and looked up at the grey sky.
He put his dark sunglasses on and plunged into the pool of people, flowing around him like a river.
It was always very easy to get lost in the brimming hive of bodies in New York.
You could be anyone, no one knew anyone and it didn’t matter what you’d done before or after.
Michael always came here when he wanted to forget life, what he was, and what he did, even for a night.
Not that it was possible, but it was at least something. Something that felt remotely normal before the next task he was given.
And Michael was hours away from finding out what he was going to do for the next few months. Or perhaps years.