graculus

The building where I work has stairs, lots of them, and funny rooms on different levels so you go across then down and up again to get from my room to the nearest other office. How nobody has fallen and broken their neck there yet, particularly considering the large files we regularly hump around, is beyond me.

So, it probably shouldn't have come as any surprise to me this afternoon that, going from one office back to mine in an attempt to skive off work early, that I tripped and went face first into a wooden doorframe. As a result, I now have a swelling lump on my forehead, I expect I'll have a black eye and one of the lenses popped right out of my (now somewhat twisted) specs - fortunately I have another pair. Also bruising etc. on my knees and forearms, so owwww. :(

Wanted: sympathy, chocolate, smut and naked men, not necessarily in that order!

Current Mood: sore

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Sympathy and a snippet from a fic I'm working on to cheer you up. Don't laugh at the names - there's a reason for them ;-)

The sound of the door being locked made him spin round. Both guards were watching him, their faces expressionless.

“Strip,” Boris ordered. Daniel stared at him open-mouthed too stunned to comprehend. Boris stepped forward, the action menacing. “Either you remove your clothes or we will. It would be shame to ruin such an expensive suit, would it not?”

The suit wasn’t expensive, but that hardly seemed relevant. Daniel snapped his jaws together and reluctantly slipped out of his jacket. He held it in front of him uncertainly, then saw Igor jerk his head towards the table. Obediently he crossed the short distance of concrete floor and laid his jacket on the smooth wooden surface. He tossed his tie on top of it, then his shirt. Cold air bit at his bare skin, raising goose pimples. He crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed at his forearms for warmth.

Igor’s gaze moved to Daniel’s pants, the message clear. All his clothes were to be piled on the table. With an irate huff, Daniel swiftly removed his shoes, socks and pants. Finally, holding Igor’s gaze as though it didn’t matter to him whether he was dressed or not, he stepped out of his underwear and dropped the boxers on top of everything else.

Boris picked the garment up, one finger crooked into the waist band. “Not Calvin Klein?” There was contempt in his tone. Daniel bit back a snarky comment. Let them have their fun at the expense of the naked American. He had more important things to worry about. Like what the hell they were going to do with him now he was wearing nothing but his skin.