Becoming Elite

Part 1

"Pack your bags. We're going to ISC West."

Ethan lowered the Styrofoam cup of coffee he was about to sip from and studied his boss quizzically. "ISC West? I'm not familiar with that."

"I'm not familiar with that," mimicked a balding man who brushed past Ethan to reach for the refrigerator. "Just say, 'What the hell is that'? You gotta rub it in that you're going to college and the rest of us didn't?"

"Oh, shut your hole, Bob. Ethan wasn't doing any such thing." Ethan's boss, Larry Winnaker, a licensed private investigator in the state of Indiana, loosened the wide striped tie he wore and dabbed at his forehead with a napkin he snagged from under a donut. "Damn air conditioner," he muttered.

Ethan's lips twitched with amusement. "Larry, we don't have air conditioner."

"Exactly. And these Wal-mart fans aren't cutting it. I think we need to start up a fund for buyin' new ones."

Ethan chewed the inside of his mouth thoughtfully. "But, er, aren't you supposed to do that since you're the owner?"

"Larry's a cheap SOB," Bob complained, closing the refrigerator, a plastic wrapped sandwich in hand. "If we want anything good around here we gotta buy it ourselves."

"I said, shut your trap, Bob." The owner of Winnaker Investigative Services gave the middle-aged investigator a dark look. "Maybe if you managed to do your job right I wouldn't have to give clients their money back, huh? Then I'd have the money to buy the damned fans that work."

"Hey, now that wasn't my fault --" Bob began, using his sandwich to point at Larry.

Ethan sighed and leaned back against the break room's small countertop. He panned his eyes around the small office of Winnaker IS while the two men argued. This place wasn't all that bad. The office itself was situated in a strip mall between a Korean nail salon and a sandwich shop, a bonus when the owner of the eatery sometimes sent over the mismade sandwiches for free. They had a microwave and fridge, and Ethan had finally been given his own desk now that the investigator he had been sharing it with had gotten a job doing surveillance at JC Penny. It was nice to leave his things in the drawers instead of throwing them in a box whenever the other man was working. It also meant Ethan was now full-time, something he'd been shooting for.

Bob finally walked away, muttering beneath his breath about going postal on them. Ethan watched him go with amusement, knowing the man was mostly bluster. Ethan had seen Bob with his kids and knew he could be as gentle as a teddy bear.

"So, Larry," he prompted, as his boss took his turn at peering into the small fridge. "ISC?"

"Oh, yeah." The other man pulled out a can of soda and popped the top. "Stands for International Security Conference. It's held once a year in Vegas. They got booths and seminars about all the latest gizmos and doo-dads. Plus, we can go see the strippers. You, me and Bob are going. It's next week."

Ethan's eyes widened. "That -- that sounds great! We'd learn so much!"

Larry, though, grimaced. He rubbed at the white hair sprouting from the top of his head. "Yeah, well, maybe. I think these things are just excuses for guys to run up bills on their company's dime. Not that you guys get any kinda expense account. You both gotta pay for your plane and hotel and everything else. I ain't got a money tree growing in the backyard, you know."

Ethan's excitement dimmed. "I'll need to check my balance. I think I might have enough, but I'm saving for that nine-millimeter I told you about."

His boss snorted. "Ethan, I keep telling you you don't need anything better than a peashooter for this job. It's not like it's dangerous or anything."

Used to his boss's flippancy, Ethan didn't lose steam. "I still need a good gun. I need to practice my shooting, Larry. The FBI doesn't hire agents who can't hit their target."

Mention of the FBI made Larry roll his eyes. "Yeah, right. The FBI. You still think you're gonna get into that? The way I hear it they only take geniuses who speak five languages or ex-Navy SEALs."

"All you need is a four year degree and then pass their exams and interviews," Ethan corrected him, trying not to show how annoyed he was. "I was in the Air Force for two years already and I'll be graduating from the community college next month. I have a great shot at making it."

"Yeah, which reminds me, I need someone to fill in on security at the Billows Dealership. Once you get outta school I'll give you that."

It wouldn't be the first time his boss hadn't listened to what he said -- or understand what he was talking about -- but this time especially tested Ethan's patience.

"Larry, I just said I'm applying to the FBI once I graduate. I can't go watch cars sit on a lot. I'll be testing. I may end up at Quantico!"

"Okay, well, if that happens, you go, but if it doesn't -- which I'm not saying is a possibility but let's be realistic here -- then you're taking the dealership job. Oh, and don't worry about the money for the conference."

Ethan's eyes lit up in surprise. "You're covering it?"

Larry looked at him as if he were crazy. "No, I'm not covering it! I'll take it out of your next paycheck. You and Bob both." The older man chuckled as he walked away. "Can't wait to tell that jerk."

Dispirited, Ethan drank his coffee. It was bitter, kind of like his mood right now. He shook it off, though. Just because Larry and Bob didn't appreciate the magnitude of what he was trying to accomplish didn't mean it was a hopeless dream. He'd read all the FBI employment guides forward and backwards; he practiced the written and practical exams whenever he had time, and he trained himself on the physical fitness tests to ensure he met every standard for male applicants. He'd never taken drugs in his life or committed any crime, and his background was as clean as a whistle. He was confident he was everything the Bureau was looking for. The only thing holding him back was the lack of degree, but he'd have a B.S. in criminal justice in just a few months.

The dream was within reach. Ethan could feel it in his palm.

He carried the coffee to his desk and settled down to transcribe the notes he'd made on a recent surveillance job. The majority of the work that came in to Winnaker IS involved trailing and photographing spouses and lovers. Ethan hadn't realized how many distrustful people there were in this town until he'd started working here. Every week a new client came in, demanding that one of the investigators spy on and photograph their loved one in the act of being unfaithful. Despite their conviction that something funny was going on, less than half of the jobs were legitimate cases of cheaters. The rest were merely the result of insecure or suspicious partners. Either way, Winnaker made money.

It wasn't the greatest job, but it kept Ethan in his chosen field and the pay was better than working as a theft recovery officer in a department store. Plus, Larry was willing to allow Ethan to work around his school and modeling schedule. It was ideal for him.

The unmistakable growl of a Harley drew Ethan's attention to the tinted glass front door. A minute later the bell tinkled as a young-ish man in a leather jacket, worn jeans, and biker boots stormed into the office. He ripped the aviator-style sunglasses off his face and scanned the room menacingly.

"Which one of you assholes works for my girlfriend?" he demanded in a gruff, cigarette-ravaged voice. "Who's been taking pictures of me and invading my goddamn privacy? She's gonna break up with me because of you assholes!"

Ethan pushed his chair back from the desk. "Sir, please calm down. We're willing to talk to you if you'd --"

"Calm down my ass," the irate man retorted, narrowing his eyes at Ethan. "Was it you? Were you the one who took that photo at the motel?"

Bob, who'd been rifling through a file cabinet at the side of the room, tried to shuffle backwards out of the room.

"Don't you go nowhere!" the biker boomed, pointing a finger at him. "Was it you? I swear I'll kick your ass if it was you."

Ethan could have predicted what happened next. Bob let out a squeak and bolted down the rear hall, heading towards the back door. The biker yelled out in rage and took off after him.

The biker made it halfway across the room before Ethan tackled the man over Bob's messy desk, scattering papers and knocking the phone to the floor with a jangle.

"Get off me! He drove my girl away!" the man kept roaring. "I'll kill 'em!"

Ethan wrestled both of the man's arms behind his back and twisted them until the man let out a grunt of pain and slumped against the desk in surrender.

"Shit," he groaned, his face pressed to the keyboard of Bob's computer.

Ethan gave a short laugh. "You could say that again." He breathed deeply, forcing his heart rate to slow down. "Look, you can't come in here threatening to kill people. We're trained in subduing people. You could've gotten hurt." It was a lie, since only he had any military or police training, but this guy didn't need to know it. "You're Buddy Henderson, aren't you? Your girlfriend is Jenna Bakes?"

"Was it you?" Henderson growled, trying to look sideways at Ethan. "You took that picture?"

"It doesn't matter who took the photo, Buddy. Your problem isn't that your girlfriend hired us. Your problem is that you're cheating on her when you obviously still love her."

"Who says I still love her?"

"If you didn't, you wouldn't be here," Ethan pointed out. The man beneath him let out a heavy sigh. "So what's the deal, Buddy? Why are you going behind Jenna's back? She's a beautiful girl. You're lucky you have her."

Henderson mumbled something.

"What was that?"

"I said, she's rich. Richer'n me. I can't give her everything she wants. She's gonna leave me. It's just a matter of time. Figured I'd be the one to do it first."

Ethan shook his head. "You think she cares about what you can buy her? If you weren't enough for her why would she hire one of us to follow you? People hire us because they're worried. Why would she be worried if she wanted to leave you?"

"I dunno," Henderson mumbled.

Ethan released the other man and stepped back. The big biker slowly straightened and shook out his arms while he studied Ethan warily.

"She's afraid you're going to leave her," Ethan told him. "That's what she said when she hired us. She doesn't care about what you can buy her. She cares about you staying with her."

"Shit," Henderson said again. "She really said that to you?"

Ethan nodded.

The other man glanced at him uncomfortably. "Sorry, man. I - shit, I sorta lost it. She can do that to me."

"Sounds like you guys do it to each other," Ethan remarked wryly.

The other man snorted. "Yeah. You got that right. I love her maybe too much. I guess - guess I'll go talk to her." He waved at the mess of Bob's desk. "Sorry 'bout that, man."

Ethan shrugged. "Not my desk."

Henderson chuckled. "You're okay, man." With a nod at Ethan, he let himself out of the office. The Harley started up and roared off. A minute later Bob and Larry crept out from their separate hiding places.

"Hot, damn, that's my boy," Larry crowed, clapping Ethan on the back. "Good job, Ethan. That had FBI written all over it."

"Look at the mess he made!" Bob cried, pointing at his desk.

"Want me to bring him back here so you can make him apologize?" Ethan teased.

The look on Bob's face kept Ethan smiling the rest of the day.

~~~~~

"Five laps, then hit the showers, boys."

The sun was setting as Ethan and his teammates loped off the diamond and began their end of practice running circuit. This was one of Ethan's favorite times of the day when his body was pleasantly worn and his friends were in great spirits, anticipating their evening activities. While he was attending college late at the age of twenty-four, he was enjoying it every bit as much as if he'd gone straight there from high school rather than into the Air Force as he had. Ethan was a social person who thrived on the company of friends, and men in particular. He savored every day of college classes and baseball practice because he knew these carefree days would eventually end.

Five laps later, he jogged with the others into the locker rooms and showered quickly. He jokingly wrestled with the other guys and avoided towel snaps -- although he secretly enjoyed the ones he couldn't twist away from. He had a smile on his face as he dressed at his locker.

"Nice catch there at the end, Ethan."

Ethan leaned out of his locker and grinned at the man next to him who was as naked as the day he was born. Ethan resisted the urge to take a quick look. In the showers was one thing, but out in the open might be too conspicuous.

"Thanks, Mark. I'm just glad it didn't bean me in the head. Line drives always make me cringe."

Mark scrubbed a towel over his curly blonde hair. His blue eyes were steady on Ethan as he dressed. "You've got great reflexes. Never would've happened."

Ethan smiled and bent forward into his locker for his shoes only to be spanked sharply across the butt. Although his cock twitched, he gave the other man a mock glare.

Mark laughed. "You coming out for beers? Steve, Joey and I are heading to McGillicutty's to destroy Coach's hard work. They have those blazing hot wings there, guaranteed to make you cry."

"Boy, does that sound appealing," Ethan laughed. He sat on the bench and finished tying his shoes. Most of the members of the baseball team were finishing dressing. Only Mark was still completely and unashamedly naked. Ethan had a hunch the other man was an exhibitionist. Just his luck Mark had to have the locker next to his.

He stood up and grabbed his backpack before shutting his locker. "I'll have to take a rain check. I've got an exam tomorrow that I need to study for."

Mark continued smiling at him as he dropped a hand and scratched idly at his groin. His fingers 'accidentally' lifted his cock and let it drop. Ethan pretended not to notice, even though he was sure he was meant to.

"Your loss, Ethan. All work and no play makes Ethan a dull boy."

"I'll buy the first round next time you go out," Ethan offered with a grin. "It's been a while since I've had good wings, but I really can't do it tonight."

Mark sighed and reached into his locker for his clothes. "I'm holding you to that, hoss. Catch you later."

Congratulating himself on resisting the hunky blonde outfielder, Ethan hurried out of the school gym and out to his battered Corolla. He loved playing baseball, but it was no easy thing stripping and showering with his younger teammates five days a week. His eyes wanted to stray to those hard, young bodies. He wanted to accept the invitation he heard in Mark's voice and saw in his actions.

But though it would be easy to succumb, Ethan didn't. He needed to be discreet. While the FBI didn't openly discriminate against gays, Ethan understood the reality: a gay agent was a potential victim of blackmail and thus could be a liability to the Bureau. Ethan wasn't taking any chances. He wasn't hooking up with anyone close to him whom the FBI might interview later during the mandatory character and background checks.

When he returned to his apartment, he immediately looked through his email. He found one from his parents, inviting him to dinner the next night, two emails from the talent agency that booked him on modeling jobs, and one from an unfamiliar address.

As he read the latter, he realized it was a subtle solicitation from a Brazilian model he'd met a month ago on a shoot in Chicago. The other man was going to be in town on a layover on his way to New York and wanted to know if Ethan was available for a quick meeting.

Ethan smiled. Either they could grab a quick bite to eat . . . or they could satisfy other hungers. He typed a reply and then deleted the original message.

A model from Brazil? Better than Mark, anytime.

After stripping to his boxers, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and then settled on the futon in his living room with the magazine containing the photographs from the Chicago shoot. He leafed through the photos of scantily clad men until he found Marco. The young Brazilian was draped backwards over a 'beach' -- in actuality a spot on the shores of Lake Michigan -- dressed in low-fitting red Speedos which set off his dusky complexion. His dark eyes smoldered as they stared into the camera.

"Hola, Marco," Ethan breathed as he slowly slid a hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. "I can't wait until your flight comes in."

He really couldn't wait. He ran his fingers up and down his thickening shaft, groaning softly as his cock began to thicken. He dragged his fingernails through the trimmed hair at the base of the flesh. Goosebumps broke out across his thighs. He was glad he kept himself in good shape through baseball and regular sessions at the gym. His free hand rubbed the hard ridges of his abdomen, tracing the musculature that was similar to Marco's. He closed his eyes and allowed a fantasy to unfurl in his mind.

Ethan . . . The model's heavily accented voice drifted across the surface of his mind. You disobeyed Marco, didn't you?

He nodded, biting his lip. "I'm sorry."

I told you not to touch yourself, yet look at you, laid out like a golden-hair puto.

Ethan sighed. "I can't help it. Make me stop."

In his mind's eye he saw a cocky smirk cross Marco's thick lips.

No, I won't make you stop. I like the way you look. But if you play with yourself, you play the way I say you do. Take out your cacete. Make it hard for me.

His stiff cock sprang free as if it had been under pressure. Ethan groaned as he stroked it to full rigidity. He imagined Marco straddling him, the other man's dark cock leaking onto Ethan's belly.

Stroke it hard, my puto bonito. Pinch your nipples. Pinch them until they hurt you.

Ethan 'obeyed', twisting and pinching the flushed cinnamon nubs until he was thrusting his hips up, driving his cock into the tight grip of his fist. His abs quivered and his thighs shook as he jerked himself with more urgency. He rolled his head back against the top of the futon and panted for air.

Such a bad puto, Ethan. Next time I see you I will spank you across your ass. I will do it until you cry and then I will plug you with my cacete like you are a spitted pig.

"Please," Ethan moaned, visualizing Marco's cock just inches from his mouth. "Use me, Marco. Punish me."

No. You do not deserve me this time. This time you get only your finger. Put it in you, viado. I know you want it.

Ethan slid his free hand down his lower belly, following the sparse trail of hair. He ran his fingers over the slippery head of his cock, smearing moisture over the digits. Then he reached between his legs and caressed his balls, measuring how firm and tight they were. He was extremely close. His balls were solid. His cock throbbed in his hand. Biting his lip again, he slid his hand between his spread thighs until he could tease his ring with his slippery middle finger.

Marco's seductive voice washed over his senses. Do it. You need it in your hole. I know you do.

Ethan moaned softly as he slid his longest finger inside him. The canal clenched around him, smooth and hot.

"Oh, fuck," he panted.

Yes, puto. Soon you will feel me. Imagine now it is me inside you. Fuck yourself. I want to see you squirt for me.

Ethan's arousal was at its peak. He stroked himself as hard as he could stand while relentlessly pumping his finger. When the pressure in his balls reached an unbearable level, he crooked his finger forward, grazing his prostate. He arched off the futon and cried out as his cock jetted liquid heat over his chest and belly.

He relaxed into the cheap mattress, breathing through his mouth. Laughing a little, he picked up the magazine and wiped a bit of liquid off of Marco's legs.

"Next time it'll be the real thing," he promised the photograph. "You'd better live up to expectations."

He went to sleep, dreaming of his sexy Latin rendezvous.

~~~~~

Four days later

The heat that blasted Ethan in the face when he stepped out of McCarran International Airport stole his breath away. It was like walking into the center of the Earth.

"Wow." He ran a hand through his hair. "Feels like someone's aiming a blow-dryer at me."

"Shit, this is hot!" Bob yelped as he plucked at the front of his T-shirt. Dark stains were already beginning to form under his arms and a wet crescent was growing over the mound of his belly. "How do people live like this?"

"They're probably indoors a lot," Ethan suggested.

The four hour flight to Vegas had been pleasant up until they came into Vegas' air space. Then the turbulence had nearly made Bob upchuck the three bags of complimentary pretzels he'd chomped down earlier. Ethan hadn't minded the rough descent. He'd felt like a kid flying to the North Pole. He'd never been to Vegas before, although he considered it an option when the time came for him to select assignment choices with the Bureau. The lure of hunting down modern-day Mafia was irresistible. From all accounts Las Vegas was a city that revolved around money. White collar crimes -- a primary focus of the Bureau -- would be in abundance here. There'd never be a slow day.

Ethan gazed at the long lane for the taxis. "Which hotel are we staying at, Larry?"

"Mirage in the Desert," the older man mumbled, mopping the sweat which leaked down his face.

"The Mirage?" Ethan was thrilled. "That's supposed to be a stunning hotel, Larry. Great choice!"

"No, I said Mirage in the Desert. All the big hotels were booked on account of the conference and all." Larry seemed unable to look either of his employees in the eye. "I had to book someplace small. Down the Strip a ways. It'll be fine. All hotels in Vegas are great, right?"

Ethan nodded tentatively. "I'm sure they are."

But as he quickly learned, all hotels -- or in this case motels -- were not created equal.

He tried to reserve judgment as the taxi dropped them off in front of the Mirage in the Desert, but once inside their room, Bob voiced Ethan's concerns the most eloquent way he could.

"This place is a dump. It better not have cost me more than twenty-five bucks, Larry, or I'm hightailing it out of here."

"Oh, quit your whining," Larry muttered, closing the door behind them. "It's not that bad."

"It's a shithole," Bob replied.

Ethan was inclined to agree with Bob on this one. The Mirage in the Desert was a motel so far south down the Strip that it may as well have been in California. It was in the desert on a stretch of the old highway where sidewalks hadn't been poured yet. He expected to see tumbleweeds rolling past the window.

Inside, the room was tiny, dingy, and reeked of cigarette smoke. Ethan could barely breathe without choking. The two full-sized beds were overlaid with hideous orange floral bedspreads that matched nothing in the room. Both beds sagged visibly in the middle like quicksand waiting to swallow unsuspecting victims. The television looked to be fifty years old with a brick-sized remote that appeared to be glued rather sloppily to the top of the nightstand. Pictures of sad faced clowns clung precariously to the walls like drunks determined not to fall down. Why clowns? Ethan wondered, perplexed.

"We won't be spending much time here, anyway," Larry said defensively. He flipped open his suitcase. "Get dressed and we'll head on over to registration. Then if we've got time we'll go find some strippers."

"Hell, yeah!" Bob hooted. "Bring on the boobs!"

Ethan shook his head, smiling. "Are you that easy to manipulate, Bob?"

"When it comes to boobs," the other investigator assured him, "the answer is always yes."

Ethan laughed, mentally resigning himself to a boring night in a strip club.

~~~~~

ISC West was held at the Sands Expo, which was connected to the Venetian Hotel and Casino halfway up the Strip. By the time the taxi dropped them off at the front of the Venetian, Ethan had officially fallen in love with Las Vegas. It was still daytime, so only a few of the neon signs plastered over the casinos were lit. But there was enough jaw-dropping architecture to leave him stunned. He couldn't get over how creative and inventive the buildings were. An entire replica of the New York City skyline? The Eiffel Tower and the Sphinx? It was utterly amazing to him. The sidewalks teemed with tourists, the crowds as large as those you'd find at amusement parks. Every inch of the city radiated energy. This was a million miles away from his hometown in Indiana and he loved it.

"I heard this place is neat inside," Larry told Ethan and Bob as they entered the Venetian. "Someone said it's all Greek in here."

Ethan hid his smile. "Probably more Roman since Venice is in Italy."

"Maybe," Larry conceded absently. He was too busy staring at the Sistine Chapel-like ceiling. "Well, will you look at that . . ."

Ethan couldn't stop looking. Every inch of the place was painted or decorated with something guaranteed to bedazzle the eye. It looked like the mansion of a billionaire. He felt very much like a hick as he gawked at the interior of the casino, but he took comfort in the fact there were plenty of tourists around him also sharing his awe.

"There's the sign for the Sands Expo," Bob pointed out.

The three men wove their way through aisles of noisy slot machines and then past the gaming pits which were crowded with conventioneers. Ethan began looking for suspicious suit bulges, reasoning that this was a convention of security professionals so there would be armed men here. He noticed two potential gun bulges on men at one of the dice tables, the sight of which sent a frisson of excitement through him. Maybe those men worked in situations where they honestly needed the weapons. Ethan shivered with delight and lust.

They walked down a wide, plush hallway thick with men and a handful of women who all looked like they fit the security profile: clean-cut, fit, and dressed conservatively and comfortably. Two rooms in the hotel were set up for registration, alphabetized signs directing traffic to a row of tables manned by harried-looking workers. While Larry joined a line to collect their registration packets, Ethan and Bob wandered over to a cloth-covered table holding flyers, business cards, and copies of the convention program book.

"Lots of pros here," Bob murmured as he and Ethan looked through the offerings.

Ethan glanced sideways at the other man. "We're professionals, too, you know."

The older man grimaced. "Not like them, though. I didn't think -- I should've put on my suit." He tugged self consciously at the hem of his polo shirt, trying to drag it over his stomach.

"There are lots of people dressed casually," Ethan assured his friend quietly. "Besides, we're here to learn, not impress anyone. We're in Vegas, Bob. We'll never see these guys again after Monday. Don't worry about it. I'm not."

Bob picked up a business card from a stack of them. It was printed on thick card stock and gilded until it nearly sparkled. He sighed and dropped the card back to the table. "I'm a little outta my element here. Never been any place so fancy. Can't really afford it with the kids and all . . ." He shrugged, looking awkward. "Just don't wanna make a fool outta myself."

Ethan felt badly for the other man. Bob might be gruff, but he was a good guy underneath. "I think you're worrying for nothing," Ethan told him. "Think about the dry cleaning bills these guys must have. And I bet they never do anything fun like you and Arlene do. Didn't you guys go to that barbeque and bluegrass festival last month? Do you think any of these guys could go there? Heck, no. They're too busy worrying about projecting the right image. I bet they never get to do anything fun. It's all business with them."

Ethan picked up a program book and flipped through it. "Look," he said, pointing out the photograph of a dour-looking man. "Do you think this guy knows what it's like to enjoy a good barbecue or to take his kids tubing down the river? You think he ever bowled 240 back to back?"

A flush of pride suffused Bob's fleshy cheeks. "Hell, he looks like he's never picked up a ball in his life. Pansy ass," he scoffed. "Gimme that." He took the book from Ethan and thumbed through it. "They all looked like a bunch of starched pansies."

Smiling to himself, Ethan picked up his own copy of the program guide. He hoped there was some helpful information in here, although it looked mostly like a photobook of the seminar presenters. He did find the speaking schedule and perused that with interest. The topics looked promising: SSTW and EMARS - Military Applications in Urban Localized Surveillance; Body Armor in the Workplace - Discretion vs. Visible Deterrence. This conference was going to be even more informative than he'd hoped.

"Hey, Ethan, can you do me a favor and grab me a glass of water from over there?" Bob pointed distractedly at another cloth-covered table holding complimentary glasses of ice water.

"Sure thing, Bob."

Ethan strolled through the crowd, eavesdropping as best he could, although he didn't pick up anything of interest. A lot of networking was going on. Ethan wished Larry had gotten around to getting him and Bob their own business cards. He would've enjoyed exchanging cards with some of these men. One or two might be helpful in his career.

At the water table he reached for a glass at the exact same time someone else did. Their hands bounced off each other and knocked over the glass. Ethan quickly righted it while the spilled water soaked into the table cloth. "Damn, sorry."

"I apologize. I wasn't looking as I reached for it."

The deep tone of the other man's voice made Ethan's ears tingle. He looked up --

-- and stopped breathing.

Sapphire eyes gazed back impassively. Ethan knew he should probably say something since he was staring, but all he could really do was stare. That's all he wanted to do.

He'd always been a sucker for exotic and dark skinned men. While the man standing beside him looked to be of mixed descent rather than hailing from the Mediterranean, the midnight black hair, light cocoa skin, and brilliant blue eyes were enough to send Ethan's heart into palpitations. Everything about the man was aristocratic, from the expensively cut waves of his hair, to his noble nose and firm jaw line. But the lushness of the man's mouth hinted that although this man was a result of choice breeding, he wasn't untouchable.

Then he realized the man was staring right back. Ethan hardened so quickly he gasped.

"Are you well?" the man inquired, although there was a touch of something in his eyes which suggested he knew exactly what Ethan was experiencing.

Ethan leaned closer to the table to hide his growing problem. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine, sorry. I'm -- I'm Ethan. Ethan Winter." He started to reach into his pants for his wallet then remembered Larry hadn't bought him any business cards yet. Embarrassed, he gave a lopsided smile. "Sorry. Just gave out my last card. Settle for a handshake?"

The other man studied him a moment longer before his lips twitched in what Ethan hoped was an attempted smile.

"Maxmillian Poole," the man said very clearly, very slowly, and oh, so sexily. Ethan's knees trembled as Maxmillian took his hand and shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Poole." Ethan couldn't help how breathy his voice sounded. This was the most attractive man he'd met in years. Maybe ever. He swiftly scanned the other man from head to toe, noting the navy power suit and dark dress shirt. A burgundy tie was the only relieving color. If Maxmillian had dressed with the intention of looking as intimidating and powerful as possible, he'd succeeded in spades. It was all Ethan could do not to drop to his knees and kiss this man's polished shoes.

"First time attending ISC, Mr. Winter?" Maxmillian cocked an elegant eyebrow as he looked over Ethan's khakis and white button-down shirt.

Ethan laughed uneasily. "Am I wearing a 'Hick from Indiana' sign on my back? I thought I was blending in pretty well."

The small smile Maxmillian graced him with made Ethan salivate. "At least the sign is in neon, as befits Las Vegas."

Ethan felt his cheeks heating. He lost his smile. This wasn't turning out the way he wanted it to. Maxmillian's cool confidence was chopping away at his own with every breath.

"You're in the industry, Mr. Winter?"

Oh. Maxmillian was still asking questions. That was a good thing, showing he was interested. Determined not to blow it anymore, Ethan nodded and squared his shoulders. "I work for a private investigator. Doing surveillance. Tricky work. Dangerous," he added lamely as Maxmillian continued to stare at him, unblinking. "Just last week I had to take down a client -- let's just say it wasn't pretty. Nearly -- nearly drew my gun on him."

What in the world am I saying?!!

Maxmillian considered him a moment longer before he leaned in close. Faint, obviously expensive cologne, wafted into Ethan's lungs.

"You're sweating," Maxmillian murmured against Ethan's ear. "Your pupils are dilated and you're breathing rapidly -- all of which leads me to believe you're either lying to me, Mr. Winter, or you're aroused." Lips grazed Ethan's earlobe, making him shudder. "Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me as to which one it is."

Oh, my god. Ethan struggled for control. "Which answer would you prefer?" he joked weakly. "Both seem pretty bad."

Maxmillian's breath puffed into his ear. "Not necessarily."

Ethan tensed in shock as he felt the other man's hand slide into the front right pocket of his khakis. His cock, already half-hard, strained against the back of his pants' zipper. He sucked in his breath when the tip of Maxmillian's fingers grazed the side of him.

"My card," Maxmillian explained softly. Though Ethan couldn't see his face, he imagined the dark man was smirking at his expense. "When you reach an answer you feel comfortable with, give me a call."

Then Maxmillian Poole walked away, leaving Ethan very aroused and helpless to do anything about it. He turned his head to watch the other man walk away. Many other men acknowledged Maxmillian. He must be somebody important.

"And I just looked like an idiot in front of him. Great," Ethan groaned. He grabbed a glass of ice water and held it to his burning cheek.

"Hey, Ethan!" Larry's booming voice cut through the polite conversation in the room like an axe through a birthday cake. Ethan cringed as his boss joined him at the water table and held out a lanyard. "You're all set. Where's Bob? You ready to hit the strip joints?"

Just thinking about the next four hours made Ethan wilt. He let out a breath of relief and surreptitiously adjusted himself. "Yeah. Strippers sound like a great idea, Larry. I can't wait."

The two of them went in search of Bob while Maxmillian Poole's card burned a hole in Ethan's pocket.