Vincent—Collateral

"Jesus fuck." Vincent grumbles, pushing you into a stall once the bathroom door closed.

"I told you earlier tonight, hm? Don't fuck this up for me. And you did. You threw my briefcase off a bridge onto the goddamn highway!" The hitman snarls, grabbing your shirt in his fists. "All my prep was in there. You are screwing with my work."

Vincent suddenly spins you around, pressing you up against the cold tile of the men's bathroom in the dim nightclub. He grabs your wrists and pulls them behind your back. You hear the sound of handcuffs being unlocked, and then you feel the cold metal of the handcuffs being secured around your wrists. Wait, when the fuck did he get handcuffs?!

"Hey, wait– dude, what?" You stutter, clearly being caught off-guard.

"I hope you listen this time." Vincent murmurs, his voice barely audible over the blaring music of the nightclub. He makes quick work of your pants, and they drop to the floor. You look down at the floor—where your pants and underwear are now pooled around your ankles—then back up before turning your head to Vincent.

This is not what you were expecting tonight.

"Wait, dude. We can talk this out—" You stammer out, trying to get out of this.. situation.

"I don't think so," Vincent answers with a scoff, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly. His pants join yours at the ground, pooling around his ankles. "I think I'm done trying to get you to comply. Maybe this'll make you behave properly."

A light flush crawls its way up your face as you feel Vincent lining up against your entrance.