In which Dirk gets frisky with Jake.
Your name is Jake English and you are currently in a bit of a pickle. There is, at this time, a very attractive male kneeling in front of you, touching you quite intimately and, while ordinarily you wouldn't mind, right now you do mind because 'ordinarily' this wouldn't take place at an airport for all to see.
You have no idea why the security officer picked you out, the metal detector portal had compleatly ignored you and, despite this only being your second time on a plane, you hadn't been the most nervous person in the crowd. But something you did must've caught his eye for when you stepped through the aforementioned portal he was waiting for you.
The man currently running his hand across the surface of your chest is wearing, in addition to his uniform, a pair of black shades that could best be described as Anime. His face has, throughout the pat-down, has been pretty impassive, almost as if he's been waiting for the barista to finish his order at a local cafe. His features, what little you can see of them, are pretty handsome and his slightly callous hands are a firm kind of gentle. And with that you've successfully managed not to think about boners the entire second half of your public groping (the first half-
A slight tap to your ass brings you back down to earth, the slight smirk on the security officer's face telling you that a) the search is over and b) you've been daydreaming again. You blush a little darker than you already were, if possible. You brush down your slightly ruffled feeling clothes and when you look back up at him he's already got his back turned to you. He's talking to his colleague.
You put your stuff back in your pockets, on your face, wrists and feet. You finish this quickly and without further incident or disruption from the guards. When you walk away you touch the spot he'd tapped and, much to your surprise,you feel something that wasn't there before. You pull out the note, unfold it and read it. It has a number on it, the text "call me" and a drawing of the pointy shades the officer who'd frisked you had been wearing. When you look back at him he notices and makes the universal 'call' signal with his hand next to his ear, his lips again parting in a smirk. You crumple the note and shove it in your pocket. No way you're going to call him. But you know, even as you make this pomise to yourself, that you aren't going to keep it.