The stenches felt overwhelming, even to him, who smells blood almost each and every single day. It was his blood, though. Maybe that was the distinction needed to be made to feel revolted. Tied to a chair, hurt and bruised, his mind was wandering. A predicament not the best for his current position, especially as his target was in the same building as him. But how to get out? His tools nowhere to be seen, armed just with his own bare hands?…

He closed his eyes briefly as a drop of sweat fell from his forehead. The pain was great, but he’s been in worse. His feelings were the culprit here. The lack of power he felt over his current situation. The frustration and lack of immediate solution. He took a deep breath once again and did a brief analysis.

The room was small and quite empty. There were only a few barrels in the corner but they were of no use even if he managed to somehow make his way to them. The door handle was one of those annoying ball ones, meaning there was no good ways other than the intended one to open it. The walls were splattered with drops of dark blood and various bodily fluids, after his head was hit against them. His own white shirt was wet from those as well. It felt uncomfortably sticky in front, and very itchy in the back, after a knife quickly entered and exited the area right below one of his ribs.

Suddenly, he felt very ill. The adrenaline was slowly lifting from his body and all that was left was the burning pain of his back and the throbbing sensation of his forehead. His neck was sore in places where his tie was sitting. He was quite a skinny man for his age but his weight was still enough to slice the fabric into his skin once the aggressor grabbed the other end of the tie and lifted him.

There were also scratches and cuts on his wrists and hands. After a few failed attempts at escaping the plastic cable ties, he felt blood dripping and mixing with sweat. Pain and trauma caused a fever and over the course of barely a few minutes, he was exhausted. The feeling of powerlessness certainly didn’t help it, either.

And then, he heard a loud bang. And then another. Three bangs coming from the corridor neighboring the room he was in. The gap underneath the door revealed a spillage of dark red liquid as it crawled onto the tiled flooring. Then, the door sprung open and a man wearing an olive drab uniform appeared. In addition, there was a hat on his head and the shadows it was casting hid the man’s facial features. His heavy black military boots stood in a pool of blood which, from what could be seen, originated from someone’s skull. The man in the uniform took a couple of steps, his soles leaving bloody imprints on the floor. His hand, covered by a black leather glove, shut the door behind him.

A few more steps and he was now by the chair. The man tied to it tried to look up but his neck interrupted the movement with a sharp pain. Who was this mysterious man and why did he kill people who were guarding the interrogation room? Was he here to save him? Was he sent by the Agency? Who was he?

The man went around and then behind him. He unsheathed something that sounded like a blade and definitely didn’t instill hope. Thus, cold chills went through the hot and sore back of the one who was tied to a chair before he realized his hands were suddenly free.

They still hurt, they were bloody and scratched. But they were free. He waved them around a bit to regain the feelings. His mind was racing but he didn’t want to show it.

“Returning the favor,” a voice sounded. It felt familiar but not exactly clear. Realizing that he was weaponless and the other man had a blade, the decision ended up being to stay calm and silent.

“47,” he heard. “Buddy, are you okay?”

He turned his head so quickly, he felt a painful pinch. Looking from below, the hat’s shadows were no longer covering the man’s features, and the one called “47” could now make out a big nose, square-shaped face, and maybe a bit overgrown ginger hair coming from underneath the headgear.

“You?” he grunted, genuinely surprised.

“Didn’t expect me, eh?”

“Can’t say I did,” 47 agreed.

“Well, I’m getting you out of here. Whether you like it or not.”

The second sentence was added after a short period of silence, meaning it was triggered by 47’s behavior. This awkward, wordless demeanor was almost too still, if this could even be said in regards to this man.

47 also noticed something was off. He was extremely grateful for helping him in this predicament before it could get any worse but he couldn’t go through with saying it aloud. There was a barrier stopping him from expressing his feelings in such a way, but then again – maybe something should be said once a man saves you from what might have been a certain death? He cautiously stood up and the ginger-haired man jumped to shake his hand. It surprised 47 so much he was left dumbfounded as his bloodied wrist was going up and down repeatedly.

“It’s nice to see you, man! Really! So happy I could finally return the favor!”

“You did me a solid, Smith,” 47 muttered.

“Oh yes, I have,” the ginger-haired man replied with a wink.

“Is there anything I could do?”

“Start by pulling your pants down.”

A strange request for sure, and the confusion was now thick in the air. “What do you mean?” felt like a wrong type of a reply, after all the message was quite clear. Thankfully, Smith was the one to open his mouth before 47 even could.

“If it makes you feel better, I can drop mine first.”

He was still holding the blade in his hand, and 47 could now see that it was a short and very sharp kitchen knife. Its tip cut the belt of the olive drab uniform, and Smith’s pants dropped to the floor revealing his red and white boxers.

“I have a new pair of undergarments,” he announced. “I’m being loyal to my favorite sports team, you see.”

Upon closer inspection, the elastic band of the boxers was decorated with three letters which 47 couldn’t quite make out. He was staring at them long enough for Smith to notice it, however.

“Wanna see it up close?” he offered.

“I think I’ll pass…” 47 replied. He was hesitant to come into physical contact with this man anyways and yet their hands were still touching in a more and more intimate handshake. Not only that, his arm was suddenly pulled towards Smith and he found himself in his embrace. He froze in confusion.

For the first time in his entire life, he was so close to another man in a way very different from violence. He felt warmth coming from Smith’s body and the stench of sweat under the uniform.

“I was waiting for this moment,” Smith said. “And I want to make it last as long as I possibly can.”

His hands quickly untied 47’s tie and wrapped it around his own wrist. Then, his fingers started unbuttoning the bloodied shirt. 47 wasn’t sure how to react and it took him a few seconds to regain his composure.

“Stop that,” he ordered. But Smith didn’t comply, going further and further down his shirt. “Stop it.”

“Maybe freeing you wasn’t such a good idea after all…”

He pushed him away. The movement was so sudden, 47 stumbled and fell back on the chair. Smith approached him once again and grabbed him by the arms. 47 was shocked by this series of events. Soon enough, he was bound to this position once more as his hands were tied by his own red and gold tie. The ginger-haired man circled around him letting out an upbeat humming sound. He was more than happy to have tamed the world’s best assassin now entirely left to his disposal.

47 could now very clearly see the letters on Smith’s boxers. FCK standing for FC Kopenhagen. Considering how patriotic towards his home country the man usually was, this was a peculiar change.

“What do you plan on doing?” the assassin asked cautiously. He wasn’t sure anymore if Smith was really here to help him. Maybe he double crossed him? Maybe 47 let his guard down too quickly?

“Something I wanted to do for a long time now,” Smith replied. “You know how Diana always tells you to keep it clean? I’ll try to keep this in mind.”

His fingers returned to the task of unbuttoning 47’s shirt. Once that was done, he was also freed from his belt and the buttons and the zipper of his black pants. They slid down his legs. Now, both men were in their boxers, albeit still fairly clothed otherwise. But the movements did not stop there as Smith’s fingers went down under his boxers and removed them, revealing a long erect penis and a bush of fiery ginger-colored pubic hair.

47 gasped.

There was nobody to help him now. No Agency, no Diana. In his head, he was begging for this to be just a terrible nightmare. One sprung to his mind by the fever as he was still sitting in this very chair, hurt and bleeding. But it wasn’t meant to be…

“I was waiting for this moment,” Smith repeated in a hushed voice. “I love you.”

Their bodies met once again, yet this time it was with their lips. Smith slightly gaped open his and tried to force his tongue into 47’s mouth but the reaction wasn’t what he was expecting. The assassin’s knee knocked him away. The ginger-haired man tried again, rushing at 47, embracing his bald head and joining him in a passionate kiss. His persistence was staggering and that’s why 47 dropped his guard.

A slimy hunk of meat found his way into his mouth, paired with Smith’s hums. The initial grossness turned into a warm and quite intriguing experience. A one 47 never had before and he had to admit, he was starting to get more and more into this.

The kiss stopped. The saliva of both men mixed together and its last drops were now stuck to 47’s lips.

“That was just our first step,” he heard. “Relax. We’re gonna get there. Slowly but steady. Now, let’s get you off this chair at last.”

Still tied with his own tie, 47 was pulled from the chair and dropped down the cold floor. He was now kneeling. Suddenly, a hand was rested on his sore back. He pressed it, getting the assassin into a proper position before removing his underwear.

“Fuck, I guess I’m not really that creative,” he muttered. “Okay, deep breaths now. It’s not gonna be long.”

47’s buttocks spread but before learning what was the thing not lasting long, they both heard a loud noise coming from the outside of the room. The adrenaline hit both men and the long, snake-like penis of the ginger-haired man approached 47’s anus. The noises were getting louder and louder, drowning out what’s been happening in the room. But as they were getting closer and the movements got faster, the men both realized what the noises were and the realization shocked them.

Smith pulled out and began to get dressed in panic. 47 was left on the floor. This time, they needed weapons to battle what was coming.

The noises were gunshots. They were distracted by pistols.

And if you couldn’t tell, yes, this was an April Fools joke.