Warning(s): Mafia!Blaine, Strong Language, A little bit of shaming, Violence, A very well timed joke
A.N: There's always a foreboding presence of "oh there's someone waiting to read this", or I'm scrapped for time, and it can be tough to remember, that even though I'm on a certain time crunch, I love being able to say, I put good work out today, and I'm happy with something. Rather than writing a fic like this in a bad mood (different from a dark one) and claiming it to be good work. So I can honestly say I'm very happy with this chapter, and even though it took time to arrive, it came in a fashion in which I like.
Short, sweet and (hopefully) to the point. Not as dark as my other, but up there somewhere.
Nice to know I can actually stay true to my word (haha) and make the next chapter something people have requested often. Like i.e: Mafia!Blaine who is super tons of fun to write and I really just wanna make him his own long chaptered story, not only for my benefit, but for my fans as well. So if enough people comment they'd like 'The Apartment' as its own separate spin off series, I'd be more than happy to get that started, however if you'd just like small oneshot stories and sequels strewn about like how its currently happening, the majority vote will suffice what I do.
As always thank you all so much for your kind feedback, acknowledgements, prompts, reviews, favourites and follows! You make all of this worth it, inspiring me to keep going and not stop as I have done in the past with so many other fanfics, please continue to enjoy and happy reading!
A.G.E.N.T
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"You know your job Hummel. Get in, get out and none gets hurt."
Agent Hummel grunted his acknowledgement as he strapped his gun onto his belt. He was one of the top agents in a long line up of others working this particular case, and slowly but surely, they were running out of others.
The plan was simple and quick.
Fool Crime Lord Blaine Anderson into thinking Agent Hummel was a drunk, horny slob dubbed one of Blaine's many admirers. Seduce him, get into his bed and eradicate him.
Stop the biggest drug and weapons supplier in the U.S.A. Simple and quick.
"You debriefed he hangs out at "Piper's."
"Confirmed. Shady, dark alleyway type of bar. Dress code follows as jeans, a ratty shirt and a jacket, gun in the hidden compartment."
"Acknowledged. If things get out of hand I call for back-up, if all goes according to your outline, I seduce and kill. And we don't worry about Blaine Anderson any longer"
"Correct. And…Hummel"
The agent turned to his leader with a raised eyebrow.
"Be careful. He's ruthless, top dog. Kills hundreds of people a day. Don't let the spider catch the fly. Are we clear on that?"
"Sir."
iii
The bar is entirely too shady for anyone's liking really. It's in between two buildings. Both of which are shut down, in a small backdrop, dark alleyway near a fenced gate.
Kurt glances around with a distasteful look, his features scrunched with disgust. He checks for his bugged cellphone, his fake wallet with ID and money. His badge and gun concealed within his leather jacket.
He flashed the bouncer his fake ID, and is let in faster than he assumed.
"Place like this probably doesn't call to much for body guards and security I suppose"
His murmurs give him a sense of safety, as he makes his way over to the bar and orders a house specialty. He's handed a dark liquid with smoking ice and sips cautiously.
The music is played by a DJ in the corner who looks to be high off numerous things, the dance floor is packed and there's no sign of the man Kurt is looking for.
"Excuse me" he stops the bartender.
"Another drink?"
"No. When does Blaine Anderson frequent this place?"
The bartender chuckles as he cleans a glass. "Another obsessed floozy huh? You're a dime a dozen kid. I can tell you now Blaine Anderson ain't the type looking for desperate fanboys. He likes 'em nonchalant, calm, quiet. Disinterested is his interested, get it?"
Kurt pursed his lips thinly, "got it."
The bartender walked off to serve an intoxicated man pretending to be a fisherman when Kurt spotted his intended target walk through the bar doors. He was tailed by two buff body guards with no nonsense attitudes.
"Disinterested is his interested" Kurt mumbles, as he takes another sip of his drink. He forced himself to relax, smoothed the lapels of his coat, adopted a more drunken sitting position, and pretended to be engrossed with the TV sports channel.
Within moments he felt a presence to his left.
"The usual Benny, add it to my tab"
Anderson's presence was tough to ignore that was for sure. The man had an imposing aura of power and control, not to mention the two men tailing him like blood hounds.
"Never seen you here before" came the rich voice to his left, "I know all the regulars, you new?"
Kurt gave a shrug without looking at him, appearing engrossed with a player making a touchdown. "My old bar got shut down for serving to minors, needed something new." He took another dismissive sip and shifted his body away from Anderson.
"That right? This place is pretty hard to find. I would know, it took me months"
Kurt could see Anderson leaning on the bar from his peripheral. He turned with a drunken grin on his face, a tipsy response on his lips.
"I didn't know this was your bar" Kurt smirked as he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. Watching as Anderson's attention drifted to his nimble fingers he pursed his lips thoughtfully and sipped his drink, humming as he turned back to the TV.
"Just bought it last week actually, and…." He grabbed Kurt by his coat and tugged him so they were nose to nose, "I like to know exactly who is in them."
Kurt felt breath escape his lips. The man was truly a mafia head for a reason. Powerful, smart, and always in control.
"Should I go" Kurt swallowed. Shit. So much for the routine.
"No." Blaine responded, and Kurt did well to hide his shock. He was for sure that Blaine had figured him out, but the man appeared to quite enjoy this game of chase.
"I want you to come to my bedroom, so I can make sure you don't walk properly ever again."
iii
It's way off the plan. In fact, the plan took a hike, bought a souvenir and decided to make its home in Crazyville all by itself. Ridiculous, but not more so than standing, one-weapon to the wind, in the bedroom of a well-known drug-smuggling mafia crime lord. He's screwed. He can feel that.
The carpet is blood red, as if its true color was burdened by the waste of bodies that hit it. The men behind him sniff once in a while, as if the very scent of Kurt repulses them to no ends. They have their hands grasped behind them, but one step and Kurt's sure they'll be around his neck like a vice. There's large golden curtains draped over the windows, covering any crack of light. No TV or radio in sight. Nothing but a King sized bed with floor matching red sheets, and an abundance of pillows. Like Bla-shit-Anderson, went hoarding them all just to décor his bedroom.
They do look really soft however. Softer than the ones Kurt Is forced to sleep on in hotel rooms before and after he's done his missions.
Stick to the plan he thinks, as Anderson steps out of his adjoining master bathroom, freshly showered with a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist.
He doesn't look at anyone in the room, just goes straight over to a large vanity Kurt had skimmed over, where he proceeds to apply a hair shampoo combination gel that Kurt knows is wrecking his hair more than saving it, and he barely grasps at his dreams of cosmetology before he's addressed.
Blaine slaps his hands together to foam his hair product and slicks it back and over like a fifties greaser always does in the movies.
"I try to let it hang free" he gestures to the mop of curls "when I'm alone or with people I trust" here he skims his eyes over Kurt's body, "but I don't think that's our case here is it?"
He tames the mess quite impressively, and then applies something to his face, careful of his five o'clock shadow, and Kurt has a weird thought of it jumping off its host face and running with fear from the mad man.
This elicits a giggle and he praises himself for acting drunk before this.
"You don't trust me?" Kurt begins, looking over his shoulder at Dumb and Dumber, "but you invite me into your bedroom?"
Blaine laughs, something almost evil that has Kurt staring at him. He's been found out, but the charade continues until he's certain. With the way Blaine is acting, the plan may have just hitchhiked back into Kurt's field of vision.
"This" Blaine gestures with his right hand, "is not my bedroom, I would not be stupid to invite just anyone to my bedroom" he admonishes as if he's sharing a secret with only Kurt, "this is my fuck room."
Kurt mentally pats himself on the back for not wincing at how easily that slips out, and then decides to spend time in the group therapy room back at work if he should make it out of here, wondering why he wanted to wince in the first place. It was crude, to be told you were a fuck toy when you really didn't want to be, but it was Blaine Anderson after all, and Kurt had to remember the plan was back.
"Then…..are Tiny and Tinier gonna be here for this session?" Kurt looked behind him mockingly at the two glowering boulders, eyes squinted with hate as they turned to their boss.
"They think they're my protection" Blaine dismisses them both with a wave of his hand, his lips quirking up at Kurt's glance, "but I assume I won't be needing them for this."
Blaine grabs a hold of his lapels and brings Kurt towards him. Flicks his tongue out to lick at Kurt's upper lip and smiles, "and I assume you won't need them either" as he smashes their mouths back together. They're at each other like they haven't kissed for a lifetime. Hands grabbing, someone moans loudly and Kurt's embarrassed to find it's himself who makes the noise, before Blaine shoves him onto the bed with a sly grin.
He's undoing his tie, its black. An almost after thought as Kurt begins to undo his jacket, ready to grab at his gun in a split second when Blaine calls out to him to stop.
The dark-haired man is on top of him in a heartbeat, his fingers sliding up and down Kurt's side, tugging his white shirt from its place, tucked within his pants, and grinning like the cat who got the cream.
His tongue is pink, starting its run up and over Kurt's navel, in his belly button and then up again through his pecs, tearing his shirt and flinging buttons as he goes. He's back on Kurt's mouth, tongues wrestling though Kurt knows Blaine is going to win.
He's about to help Blaine undress when the other man leans back, a wicked grin on his face, taking in the sight of Kurt, utterly debauched, panting, lips kiss swollen, his usually meticulous hair, frazzled and all over the place. Kurt goes to pull him back, throwing everything he knows out the very large window, when Blaine makes a tsking sound, swaying his finger in a 'naughty naughty' motion.
He has Kurt's gun.
Finger rocking it back and forth casually from its trigger hole, his face dark, but his smile sweet, like a cat who has its cream and is enjoying it with great gusto.
"I'm assured there's no reason for this" his face presses close to Kurt's, noses brushing, the air suddenly hotter than it was, "huh? Cop."
Kurt swallows, his fingers twitching as he racks his brain. "Huh? Wha-? Now how did that get in there?" Way to play it cool Kurt, "and what are you calling me? You know my name is Kurt" he looks around awkwardly like the answer to this horrible scenario will appear through the door. Or maybe Dumb and Dumber will be back to help their boss skin him alive and make him into a suit. He'd be a greatly fashionable suit.
Blaine's hard stare has Kurt sweating, noting the ridiculousness of the situation and his answer.
A well, long drawn out sigh, (seeing as he hasn't been killed yet) is released from his mouth, and he wiggles a bit to get comfortable.
"Well….you got me. You really are the best….."
He winces for real this time when Blaine flings the gun across the room and it smacks the wall with a resounding thud, Blaine is straddling him like a horse rider, and this would be incredibly kinky if it weren't for the fact the man knew ten different ways to slice you throat with a pencil sharpener.
Kurt panics, calms, and then whips his legs to the side so he bucks Blaine clean off of him. Without a pause he runs for his weapon, dashing across the room, when a sudden weight hits him and he crashes to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Baine is on top of him, his hands ripping at Kurt's jeans as he kicks and bucks and thrashes the other man's weight off of him.
"Shit your heavy" Kurt pants out, "what the fuck are you eating, tubs of other fat guys?"
Blaine smashes Kurt's jaw to the floor and he spits blood between his teeth, and the residual dizziness has him weak and easy to drag back to the bed as Blaine lays him out again, glock pressed to his temple as he handcuffs Kurt to the bedframe.
"We were having a good time at the beginning" Blaine comments, wiping the sweat from his brow and placing his gun on the bedside table, wetting his lips as his gaze travels up Kurt's body, "you had to ruin it. Shouldn't your fucking cop 101 training be never let the bad guy know who you really are."
"I'm pretty sure" Kurt twists and tries to pull out of the cuffs, his shoulders straining with the effort, "that if I was a cop" here, he pauses to glare at Blaine in the eye, "which I'm not" he confirms "I'm on a whole nother fucking level….that the first lesson would be how to hold a gun properly or how to not be chubby-" Blaine smashes his fist into his face and Kurt coughs a glob of blood, striking the table with a 'splat' with the force of it.
"Bitch"
"Hmmmm, you must think me a right fool Mr. Hummel" and Kurt stops his squirming to stare at the black-haired man before him, dark and passionate and oozing a charisma most men (not to mention himself) only dream about. He's power. Money. Murder. Kurt gets that.
"I am not a fool" Blaine prompts, walking around the bed, clearly itching for a fight, but Kurt can't guarantee there will be one, his insides churning as the crime lord stops dead on the other side of him, and then throws a leg over and straddles him all over again.
"I believe in second chances Mr. Hummel" he murmurs, "it may not look like it, but I do, and I'm willing to let you work for your second chance."
"Fuck. You" Kurt snarls.
"Eventually" and it's a promise.
"Now" Blaine unzips his pants, and slides them down with all the time and care in the world, his boxers are solid black and Kurt completely pegged him for a briefs kind of psycho, but suddenly he can't remember how to pronounce his name anymore, as Blaine takes his boxers off, and fluidly moves up Kurt's body to his face.
He's grinning as Kurt stares openly at the prize presented before him.
"Go on" Blaine sets one hand on the frame and the other begins to grip at Kurt's messy hair, "start making up your second chance, cop."
He really should have been a Cosmetologist instead.
