Drunkenly picking an argument with Graves is unavoidable.
The man is irritating, snarky, and wearing jeans that hug his ass just a little too tightly. Rudy responds like any man would, by asking him if his rates have gone up for the night because he looks like a male prostitute.
When the man follows him outside when he heads for a smoke, he is unsurprised and reluctantly grateful. If anything, the American is amusing with his brattiness and unrelenting urge to take a kick to the teeth.
Only when Graves backs him up into a wall, with a sly smirk on his face, does Rudy feel out of his depth.
"Admit it, I get you so riled up that it gets you hard."
Hard? No, Turned on? Absolutely. Years of working with Alejandro have adapted him into a man who enjoys situations that pose danger. For that, he resents the colonel.
"It doesn't."
Rudy chokes on the smoke from his cigarette as a hand is shoved into his pants, and he mentally curses himself for not wearing a belt to prevent such intrusions. He isn't hard, but his underwear is damp, and his cunt is throbbing.
He expects Graves to pause, back off. Perhaps hurl a slur. Maybe walk away from the interaction without a word and with blackmail material in mind.
He doesn't expect the wandering of curious fingers until they settle over his clit, with the thin barrier of his boxers in between. The slow drag of digits circling him over cotton and the truly ravenous look in the commander's eyes.
"Don't lie to me, I can feel it. You like picking a fight with me because it gets you hard."
Alejandro will wander out minutes later to find him squirming, fingers curling against the wall, with nowhere to grasp as he pleads with Graves to move the two fingers that have been bullied into his pussy. The colonel will let him cum on Graves' fingers before they take the man home.
For now, he asks, "Are you going to do anything about it?"
