The breeze ruffled through Dirk's hair like the fingers of a lover. He smiled, enjoying the playful caresses along his scalp. He picked up his speed and the wind reciprocated. What had been flirting before was now full on foreplay.
That was probably taking the metaphor too far. He was running really fast. It was kind of fun.
Not long ago he'd been ashamed of his unique talents. That was when he'd made his living as a male model. The fashion industry prized men with tall, muscular bodies and facial features too bold to be feminine yet still very, very pretty. All of which Dirk Allen had. He also had the ability to run at near the speed of sound, pick up a car with one hand and hardly ever get tired. Those were not useful skills for a man whose job it was to stand still and look good, so he'd kept them hidden.
That all changed when he changed his career. Now he was a secret agent in training. Tina, his partner as well as his mentor, said speed and strength and stamina were essential. The fact that he could run faster, lift more and stamina longer meant he had the makings of a legendary secret agent.
It was possible, she had told him, that one day he'd be the second best agent in the SWSO. Tina Blondel was the best agent and she planned on keeping that position.
At that moment, the position she was keeping was more of a fetal position. Dirk held her in his arms and tried his hardest not to grope her ass or her breasts. It would've been easier if he didn't have to think about where he couldn't touch her and just place his hands where they needed to be so that she wouldn't fall out of his arms.
Not that Tina wasn't grope worthy, because she was. Her breasts filled a hand perfectly, with soft flesh to cushion one's fingers and pert nipples to poke one's palm. Her ass was round and bouncy and oh so wholesome. Dirk couldn't look at it without thinking about working the land.
But it was inappropriate to think of her that way. They were coworkers and nothing more. Yes, he'd seen enough of Tina to know she wasn't a natural blonde, but that was work related. He had pleasured her orally and she'd given him a hand-job to save lives. For secret agents, the ends justified the means. They were prepared to do whatever it took, with whoever was handy, to protect the world. That's why, nowadays, Dirk made sure he had a condom on him. He'd feel awful if the world fell into the clutches of an evil despot simply because he was afraid of catching something.
The jury was still out on whether General Zero was a global despot or simply a municipal annoyance. So much about Zero was a mystery, such as background, motive and preferred pronouns. It was impossible to predict what their next move would be. Tina and Dirk with the help of Fac-Tel, SWSO's mastermind computer, had managed to foil one plot, but Zero had escaped. It looked as though the villain had dodged justice... until now.
In the wee hours of the morning, long before Dirk woke up (so like, around 9:30), Fac-Tel had intercepted a series of coded tweets. It'd taken the artificial intelligence nearly an hour to break the encryption but once it had, it presented Tina with the coordinates to Zero's hideout. Soon Dirk and Tina would capture Zero. The city of Middleburg would be safe once again.
There was no doubt in Dirk's mind that he and Tina would succeed. How could they not? With his strength and speed and her intelligence they were unstoppable.
"Stop," Fac-Tel chirped in Dirk's ear. "You're going to run right past it."
Dirk was still getting used to the earpiece that connected him to the A.I. at regional headquarters, but he did manage to slow down to a jog without stumbling.
"Fac-Tel," Tina said as she stirred in Dirk's arms. "Where are we exactly?" She was in the habit of shielding her face against his chest when he ran. The wind tended to dry out her contact lenses.
"This," Fac-Tel said with a touch of dramatic flare, "is the section of Middleburg known as Old Crap Town."
"Of course." She slipped out of Dirk's grasp and looked around, taking in their surroundings. "I should've known by all the abandoned manure factories."
"And the smell," Dirk added. "It smells like shit."
"How close are we to the coordinates?" Tina asked.
"Turn left," the A.I. instructed, "about 20 degrees."
Dirk put a hand on Tina's arm. "Let me do it," he said. "I'm a trained model. I know how to turn."
It was perhaps the most perfect turn of his career. He pivoted on his heels in a smooth yet decisive manner. When he stopped he lifted his chin and struck a pose that showed off his body and, by extension, his clothes at a favorable angle. A tight, blue T-shirt and black jeans never looked so good.
"So the red, abandoned, poop factory?" Tina asked.
"Yeah," Fac-Tel confirmed. "The red one."
Dirk followed his partner across the street to the massive and dilapidated building, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of a sniper in the windows or booby traps in the trash scattered along the sidewalk. He'd trained the past few months for just this sort of situation.
When they got to the double doors of the red manure factory, Tina reached behind her and pulled her gun from her holster.
She owned a lot of guns and a lot of holsters and she had a knack for coordinating them with her outfits. There was a thigh holster for skirts that fell just above the knee. Or there was the back holster for ensembles like the one she was wearing today, gray slacks and a white spaghetti strap tank top. On rare occasions, when she wore a micro mini, she'd tuck her gun into her thigh high boots. That was Dirk's favorite. There was something about that outfit that made him want to surrender to Tina and then defile her. Of course, those sorts of thoughts fell into the inappropriate category, so he never thought them.
"Draw your weapon, Agent Allen," Tina whispered.
"What?" He patted his pockets. "Oh. I forgot it."
"It's protocol. Our lives could be at stake."
"Sorry," he said. "I guess I don't feel the need for a gun." He shrugged. "I'm comfortable with the size of my penis."
"We follow protocol regardless of the insecurities we may or may not have," she reminded him. He could tell she struggled to keep her tone gentle and encouraging. "If you were invulnerable or could shoot heat rays out of your eyes then a gun might not be necessary, but you can't and your big dick isn't going to save you today."
"You're right." Feeling the full weight of Tina's words, Dirk looked down at his feet, which were partially obscured by the bulge in his jeans. He'd never be the Secret World Security Organization's second best agent if he kept forgetting protocol. He wouldn't even be the maverick agent who got put on suspension but was ultimately right. Those guys broke the rules because the rules needed breaking. Dirk broke the rules because he was absent minded.
"Everything's a learning experience," Tina said, "and it's about to be a learning experience for General Zero." She nodded toward the door. "I'll go in first. You cover me. Shout or something if anyone's about to attack."
"I can do that." Dirk took up position next to the door. "I can shout."
He watched as Tina cautiously pushed open the front door to the abandoned factory. Beams of sunlight streamed in through the broken windows, but for the most part it was dark inside. Dirk peered up and around, his eyes in constant motion, on lookout for any sudden movements.
Tina moved quickly, ducking inside and finding cover behind a large piece of dusty machinery. She took a moment, cocking her head to listen, then she motioned for Dirk to follow her.
Stepping inside what was possibly the enemy's headquarters, Dirk was acutely aware of his own vulnerabilities. There were so many ways General Zero could take him down. He forgot his weapon. Zero could make wicked fun of that. What if they knew he cried during holiday movies? The ribbing would be ruthless. And if anyone ever found that contraption in the bottom drawer of his dresser...
Images of junior high school flashed through Dirk's mind. He couldn't live through that again. He just couldn't.
By the time he joined Tina behind the machine, he was sticky with nervous sweat.
