a/n:this little fic was inspired by a power-outage that happened late Saturday night.Don't ask how.
The Hose
The black-out was city wide and the citizen were rowdy, the day was hot and now there wasn't any air-conditioning to be had. During times like this that mobs broke out, trouble for the cops, but seemingly worse for innocent bystanders that just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Though being a being a spy and having been in worse situations than this helped.
But it wasn't good when there was a prisoner in your custody, and your prison was like at hot box.
Michael knew that he had to move Victor, but at the moment was reluctant to do so. But at the same time, now would probably be one of the better times to do it. Victor looked exhausted, covered in sweat and his clothes clinging to him. Michael was in a similar condition, though a little less exhausted.
After a moment, Michael had a realization; maybe he didn't have to move Victor to a whole other place, but just to a location with better access. Michael grinned as he looked at Victor, the other ex-spy watching him with a suspicious grin.
"I know a better spot for the sights," Michael told him, a spark in his grey eyes.
"Do you now, Sport." Victor said, his voice a dry drawl,
Michael just nodded as he walked over to the other man, releasing him from the chair but not unbinding his hands. Victor got up reluctantly and Michael pulled him along. Victor raised his brows as Michael led him outside, hoping that the burned spy didn't plan to make him eat lead. Michael left him by the wall, and gave Victor a pointed look, before he went around the corner. Victor didn't even try and make a run for it, Michael would either catch him any way before he even got anywhere, or he's be eating a bullet.
He looked as Michael came back around, a hose held in one hand. Victor took a step back and shook his head.
"Come on, Sport." Victor said, never taking his eyes off the nozzle of the hose.
Victor was hot, hell yes. But seriously, a hose?
"Come on, Victor." Michael grinned. "It's better than nothing."
"Yeah," Victor agreed. "But—" he never finished.
Michael pressed the trigger and water sprayed from the nozzle, the stream shooting out and into Victor's face. Victor coughed, his bound hand coming up to block the spray. Michael lowered it, now spraying his chest. Finally he shut it off, lowering it slightly.
Victor tried to glare at him as he tried to blink the water from his eyes, but it only caused him to look as if he were pouting—he looked like a drowned rat.
"When I get out of here," Victor threatened, "You'll be the one getting the hose, Sport."
Michael just grinned, raising the hose again and pressing the trigger.