Title: "Wolf in Sheep's Clothing"

Author: lance du lac

Email address: lancedulac@ureach.com

Pairing: George Fraley/Bailey Malone

Rating: NC-17 for enforced sex and sexual content

Date: Jan 6, 2001

Archive: Sure, why not? (Where?)

Category: Slash - male/male sexual stuff!

Disclaimer: I don't mean to disturb fans or anyone else. I don't even pretend this is factual in any way. I gain no payment for this stuff and want none.

Summary: This is in answer to the mini-challenge: Write a hot sex scene between George and person of your choice -- inside VCTF Headquarters and have someone watching.

Warnings: Enforced sex, sexual content, slash

Thank you: Thanks to Fat Joey for doing the beta. You're the bomb, guy!

Note: I don't have much writing experience, so I apologize for the quality of the writing.


"Wolf in Sheep's Clothing"
by lance du lac

VCTF Headquarters was always dark, even during the daytime, due to the underground location. Still, at night when most people were gone for the day, it always seemed even darker to George Fraley. Maybe it was fewer desklamps turned on inside the various offices -- or maybe it was just his imagination. If you knew it was midnight, you expected inky skies and darkness.

He hadn't really decided if he preferred it darker or not. Maybe that depended on his mood. He sometimes fell into the habits of many of his computer-oriented friends. (Hell, call a spade a spade -- his computer-nerd friends!) Many of them liked to live in places they'd practically turned into tombs. One guy he'd hung out with a lot before joining the VCTF had covered every one of his windows with the heaviest towels he could find -- all dark brown -- and then only used tiny lamps around the room, with 40 watt light bulbs.

George hadn't found it all that crazy at the time. Maybe there was something sort of 'womb-like' about these dark, almost airless rooms. Warm and comforting in some really weird way.

But George found he'd changed during his tenure with the F.B.I. As he'd gained new working relationships, and these had grown to become new friendships, he'd also become more outgoing and better adjusted in the world away from his computer. And considering George's negative childhood and teenage experiences, this was a major change for him.

He now enjoyed getting out in the fresh air at least once every other day -- usually on the golf course -- and didn't find himself feeling somewhat agoraphobic in bright sunlight and open spaces.

So tonight as he considered all this, George decided he really didn't care for the additional darkness anymore...

He'd stayed late to try and correlate some data regarding a closed case from the previous week. They no longer needed it for actively pursuing the perpetrator (now caught and awaiting trial in the mental ward of a large county hospital), but it would be useful for the prosecution when they finally took the man to court.

So George had made the offer to continue the work, and Bailey Malone had agreed it was a good use of his time. Things were a little slow now that the only active case was completed. And George decided working late wasn't such a bad idea. He could always find a use for the overtime pay.

It was tedious, but less so than the usual prerequisite paperwork. Just today John Grant had been complaining for the umpteenth time about how much he hated paperwork...

George typed on, squinting at the computer screen. But the thought of John Grant refused to fade away, and George allowed himself to fantasize as he continued his automatic gathering of information.

He pictured John entering the room and dressed in his usual dapper style. Then he changed his mind and had John re-enter dressed down -- wearing only snug jeans and a white t-shirt...

No. John would never wear that unless he was really messed up. George didn't even want to think about the rare times he'd seen John rumpled and unshaven. Those had been bad times.

George went on to John dressed in Dockers and a sweater. God! Did the man ever look nice in sweaters. But, then, what didn't John look good in?

As he concentrated on his fantasy and his work, George failed to notice the sound of soft footsteps moving across the floor. He jumped when two hands came down on either of his shoulders.

"Don't you ever go home, Georgie?" The voice was Bailey Malone's, but in some way it wasn't Bailey's.

George tried to turn around in his chair and look up at Bailey, but the strong grip on his shoulders kept him pinned. Bailey leaned down and spoke into George's ear, and the smell of Bailey's breath hit George with full force. Bailey had been drinking. In fact, he'd obviously been drinking quite a bit.

"Bailey? Is everything okay?" George was embarrassed by the tremor in his voice, but knew he was just a bit nervous about this unexpected and unusual situation.

"Okay? Sure. I'm just a little lonely, Georgie. Want to keep me company?"

George wished he could look into Bailey's face. Could see the expression on Bailey's face. This wasn't the Bailey he'd come to know and respect. This was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Cat got your tongue, George?" Bailey asked, and there was now a touch of annoyance in his voice.

"I... I'd love to keep you company, Bailey. I'm just really tied up here."

Bailey's breath was hard against George's scalp, and he found the warm air was making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He was soon sporting a rather impressive hard on, and was glad the table obscured Bailey's vision.

"I'm the foreman. I say when it's quittin' time," Bailey said. It took George a moment to place the quote as a line from "Gone With the Wind."

"Quittin' time!" Bailey called loudly, making George bounce in his chair.

The hands lifted from his shoulders, and George continued to sit, paralyzed by confusion. The room was lit only by a small lamp in the corner and the eerie glow of George's computer monitor.

Bailey was no longer leaning over him, and George found himself relaxing a little now that Bailey's heavy-testosterone presence was no longer invading his personal space. He decided he might be better off if he rose and put a piece of furniture between him and his superior.

George stood and swiveled around to face Bailey. His boss had taken a step back, but was now standing and staring at him.

George couldn't read Bailey's expression, but could see the man was in a fog from drink. He'd often worried in the past that Bailey's constant bottles of Scotch might someday become a problem, but George would have rather not been able to say 'I told you so' to his less-judgmental 'self' who had decided it was just a relaxation tool. Relaxation indeed!

"Jesus, Georgie. You look like I'm about to drag your ass on the carpet for something. What's the problem? I thought we might just get friendly for a minute. You like to be friendly with men, don't you George?"

George wondered if he were reading too much into what Bailey was saying. Bailey couldn't be saying what it sounded like he was saying...

Bailey shifted, and George tried to hide his reflective jump. He was surprised by his own cautious reaction to Bailey's drunken state. Bailey wouldn't be difficult, even if he were inebriated.

"George, do you plan to answer me, or should I just give you an order?" Bailey's expression had grown less friendly, and George could feel himself starting to sweat.

"How about a nice blow job, George. You could stand in the corner and I could face you. I suspect it wouldn't show up on the cameras at all. Or maybe you could just use one of your fancy programs to shut down surveillance in this room. Whatta ya say, Georgie?"

George considered making a dash past Bailey, but wondered if he could make it around the other man. And he really didn't want to draw attention to this incident, and there were still other people in the building -- and even on this same level. It would be terribly wrong to let Bailey get into trouble when he'd gone out of his way to keep George out of trouble.

Bailey was right. George knew he could easily shut off the cameras in this room. It might be discovered at a later time, but most likely not. And maybe the easiest thing to do was to simply humor the man. He realized he was avoiding thinking about the possible repercussions -- he had no answer for what he'd do later when Bailey sobered up and remembered what happened. Hopefully Bailey was drunk enough now to cause an alcohol induced memory lapse.

"Okay, Bailey. Why not?" George answered as lightly as he could manage. He turned and bent over his computer, shifting screens several times before reaching the site he was looking for. Then he tapped a few more keys and glanced up at the cameras in the two corners cattycorner to each other. The green lights were now shut off.

Bailey moved close to George again, and wrapped strong arms around George's chest. His hands moved up and down, and George could feel his nipples growing hard. Bailey's fingers found and began pinching one nipple, and George sucked in air sharply.

Then Bailey was moving him swiftly forward toward the corner of the room. Bailey spun George around and George forced back gagging as Bailey kissed him fully, the stink of his breath making George's head spin.

"God, now, George!" Bailey's voice was demanding, and George didn't hesitate. He dropped to his knees, taking another glance up at the camera closest to him.

George reflected that this wasn't the first time in his life he'd had sex with someone under a certain amount of duress. And Bailey was a friend who appeared to be in a certain amount of need. Why not help his friend if he were able to?

Bailey's hands moved into George's hair and locked there, tugging him forward. George unzipped Bailey's pants and gently pulled out Bailey's
organ.

George opened his mouth wide and allowed Bailey to press inside his lips. Then he reached forward with one hand and grasped Bailey's penis firmly at the base, using his hand to keep Bailey from choking him, and to pump in time with the actions of his mouth.

Bailey was moaning. The sound was a low keening in the quiet room. George breathed through his nose and used his tongue to enhance the motions of his lips. He sucked with both care and enthusiasm, deciding he might as well enjoy the experience as much as possible.

Bailey gasped and shoved forward, and George let his head move backward to avoid any greater invasion into him. Then came the eruption, and George swallowed without disgust. He was not squeamish about oral sex.

When Bailey had finished, he stood for a moment, swaying and uncertain. George rose, and helped Bailey to zip up his pants. He could see Bailey was out on his feet and needed to be put to bed. He suddenly felt sorry for his friend.

George half-gathered Bailey in his arms and walked him to his nearby office.

"Come on, Bailey. Why don't you lie down here?" George said, guiding Bailey to his office sofa. A bed would be better, but George realized he wouldn't be able to manage Bailey for much longer. He couldn't afford to have the man pass out on him somewhere else in the building.

Bailey collapsed to the sofa and immediately closed his eyes. George figured by the following day the incident would either be forgotten or ignored. George found a pillow and placed it awkwardly under Bailey's head. Then he used a jacket to cover Bailey's shoulders.

George walked back to his computer and turned the cameras in the room back on. Then he shut down his computer, running the back of his hand across his mouth and through his messed hair.

Finally, he grabbed up his jacket and headed toward the elevator. George never noticed the man who was standing in the dark outside the room, pressed into a corner. He didn't know he'd been observed. He would have been more than a little upset if he had.



The end.