By Stiles' count, it takes 47 seconds for the handsome stranger to follow him inside.

As soon as Stiles walks into the restroom he starts counting, checking his reflection in the mirror quickly as he times the man. Then he kicks open each stall door to make sure nobody will be getting a front-row porcelain throne to what's about to happen.

It's either going to be a fight or a fuck—hopefully both—and while Stiles may indulge himself in a few kinks, exhibitionism isn't really one of them.

He's just finished kicking in the final stall door when he hears the faint squeak of the door opening and closing.

And then the click of a deadbolt latching into place.

Goddamn, Stiles is about to get it.

He feels adrenaline start to course through his body at the sound of steadily approaching footsteps. Stiles pivots slowly in the cubicle's doorway, relaxing his shoulder against the stall's frame as he turns to face the man.

Holy mother of Captain Crunch, he's even more beautiful up close. Stiles can see every little detail now, and he is not disappointed. Everything that made him sexy as hell from a distance just makes him breathtaking in HD. His scruff is darker, his suit is crisper, his hair seems more meticulously parted.

Even his eyes seem sharper, cutting through Stiles in a way he's never felt before. His head is tilted in a curious angle and his skin seems more tan than it did under the terminal's harsh lighting. The man's got one hand resting in his trouser pocket and the other…

Well, the other is casually holding a shiny SIG Sauer.

Huh.

He's cocky enough to bring a metal gun to an international airport.

Stiles thinks this might be love.

It also answers the question of whether the suit was able to spot Stiles as Stiles spotted him.

That would be a firm yes.

"Assignment number and designation."

Oh. That's more of a hell yes.

Guh, that voice. Stiles has to hold back a shiver at the man's smooth baritone.

When Stiles just smiles at him and doesn't say anything, the guy lets out a quiet huff of annoyance. "Assignment number and designation."

Stiles peeks up at the man from under the dark fringe of his lashes, eyes wide and innocent. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mister."

The man frowns, taking out a suppressor from the inside of his jacket and slowly screwing it onto the muzzle of his pistol. He tuts at Stiles. "My, my, that's quite the predicament we've found ourselves in. You see, if you did know what I was talking about," he gestures between them with his gun, "then that would mean we're on the same team, as it were. But now that I know you're not..." the man shrugs, unapologetic. "Well, that just means you're an outlier."

He rakes his gaze over Stiles from head to toe. "A dangerous one, by my estimation." The man's eyes hover a little too long on Stiles' mouth, and Stiles can just make out the man's whispered, "Very dangerous."

Oh, baby, yes.

They stare at each other for a few more seconds before Stiles lets his Bambi act drop. He grins at the man wickedly. "You have no idea what game we're playing, do you?"

The gorgeous devil's brow furrows a little, but he waves off Stiles' question. "This is your last chance. Be a good boy and tell me what I need to know."

At those words, the predator sleeping in the back of Stiles' mind perks up. His grin turns vicious and his dick gets hard. "A good boy? Oh, Daddy—all you had to do was ask." And then Stiles reaches behind himself and grips the top of the stall, swinging his body out violently. He kicks out out a long leg and knocks the gun out of Mr. Suit's hand, releasing the stall and ducking to the floor just in time to miss the guy's fist crush his windpipe.

Crouched low, Stiles launches himself at the man's legs with a vicious swipe of his own. When he goes to pull his ankle back, the guy turns his foot so that Stiles' is trapped. Stiles uses their locked ankles as momentum to slide across the linoleum and under the man's spread legs.

He delivers three quick, nasty kicks to the back of the guy's left knee, flipping back up neatly when the Suit's knee crumples and he falls forward.

Stiles doesn't waste any time watching him try to stagger back up, jumping forward and wrapping himself around the man's muscled back. He winds his legs into the man's groin and squeezes, locking his elbow around the Suit's throat simultaneously.

He lurches at Stiles' weight, gasping for breath as he struggles to get his knee back under him.

When he straightens, Stiles still wrapped around him like a vice, he hurtles backward into the sink basin. Stiles tightens his grip, and the guy tries to dislodge him again, slamming him into the hand-dryer.

The loud whir of the air-dryer kicks on, Stiles' hiss at the metal digging into his back getting lost in the noise.

The guy levers them off the wall and then wraps his large hands over Stiles' and yanks, pulling Stiles up and over his head. Stiles lands hard on the tile floor, sucking in quick, ragged breaths.

He grins up at the man towering over him and savagely kicks at his ankle, causing the man to stumble forward until Stiles is just in reach of that brilliant, purple, dangling tie.

He sees it as soon as Daddy understands what he's about to do, and the violent rage in the man's eyes makes Stiles moan out loud.

Stiles wraps a hand around that gorgeous silk tie and pulls until the man has no choice but to go down with it. He lands on top of Stiles with a delicious slap!

There's something cold at his neck, so Stiles tilts his head just enough to see that the man has a thin stiletto pressed against his throat.

Oh, fuck.

"God, you're gorgeous," Stiles breathes out. He can't help but giggle at the man's disconcerted flinch.

Stiles uses his free hand to pinch the guy's chin, forcing him to look at where Stiles has his own gun (small and plastic, because he's a professional, thank you) pressed into the man's gut.

That violent rage mellows to a violent sort of respect, and Stiles can't stop grinning.

"You little bastard," the man pants, equal parts angry and incredulous, and glaring at the Agency logo etched into the side of Stiles' gun. "Why couldn't you just tell me your assignment number and designation?!"

Stiles rolls his head back and forth across the floor, chuckling softly. "Because I wanted to see you in action." Stiles fake-glares up at him. "Besides, it's not like you gave me yours."

The man huffs. "I asked first. It's procedure."

"It's pro-ce-dure," Stiles mocks childishly.

The man lets all of his weight drop onto Stiles in retaliation.

Yeah. Like feeling every inch of that chiseled body is some sort of punishment?

Stiles can't help the gasp of pure want that escapes him.

"Recruits these days," the Suit drawls. "Where are they digging you children up? A middle school career-day fair?"

Stiles huffs dramatically. "Now that's just hurtful." He quickly lifts his head and bites the man's chin. "I'd rather you hurt me in other ways."

The man's face goes entirely blank. "What?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I already told you that you didn't know what game we're playing." Stiles grinds his hips upward, his erection hard and aching against the man's firm belly. "I meant it."

Mr. Suit looks down between them. Stiles can see the moment when the realization hits home when the man's shapely eyebrows fly upward.

He looks genuinely surprised. "You mean you...? And I—? You want to...?"

Stiles nods seriously, biting his lower lip and giving the man his best seductive look. "Oh yeah, big guy. I definitely want to." He grinds his hips again. "I wanted to as soon as I saw you."

He drops his gun and runs his hand over the man's pert ass. "It's Loki, by the way," he murmurs distractedly.

The man stills above him and pins Stiles with a funny look. Then he throws his head back and laughs, giving Stiles a great view of his lovely throat.

"What's so funny?" Stiles asks, hand still fondling and squeezing that ass.

The man's grin turns a different kind of predatory. It's the kind that actually makes Stiles want to be good.

Be so damn good.

Stiles' breath hitches in his throat as the man lowers his face until their lips are barely touching. "It's nice to meet you, Loki. I've heard a lot about you."

He drops his knife and buries his hand in Stiles' thick hair. "I'm Fenrir," he rasps.

Then he slants his mouth over Stiles' in a rough, punishing kiss.

The man bites Stiles' lip as he retreats, rocking his hips slowly against Stiles as he does. Stiles stares up at him, awed and quiet and so very horny. The suit, Code Name: Fenrir, turned Stiles' new Daddy, leans back in and whispers. "But you can call me Peter."