Why were there so many buildings in the world with too many fucking floors? Was it really, truly sensible to have about a thousand goddamned storeys?

They had just struck a deal with some smug assholes, about a rival he wanted them to get rid of. The usual shit. Now they were walking down the flashy corridor lined with paintings they called abstract these days, although a toddler's acid trip would've been a more apt description. Michael glanced over at his old friend, feeling a trickle of embarrassment run through him at his grubby attire. Why the fuck couldn't he take a shower every now and again like a normal fucking person?

"Sure you don't want to take the stairs, Mikey man?" he said when they reached the elevator, hitting the button a bit harder than what was really necessary.

"Oh someone wipe the floors down, I just pissed myself laughing," he deadpanned back, tapping his Italian leather shoe against the ground and glancing at his watch.

"Yeah you would, you're getting a bit incontinent in your old age arentcha? Might invest in a colostomy bag if I were you..."

"Yeah, fuck you too," Michael said uncaringly as the elevator dinged and the shiny steel doors rolled open.

"Ladies first," Trevor grinned, trailing in behind him. Michael exhaled, fixing his eyes on the glowing numbers above their heads as the other man pressed a button. Fifteen fucking floors of this hilarity. Fantastic.

The pleasant music droned on for a good few seconds before he realized something wasn't quite right. There was something in the air that seemed...off. He felt his skin draw tight over his bones, all the hairs at the back of his neck standing up. He looked around, confused, trying to pinpoint what was making him feel so uneasy.

And then it clicked.

It was way too fucking quiet.

He glanced at the other man out of the corner of his eye and felt his stomach do a funny little twist.

Trevor was staring at him unblinkingly.

Just staring. And staring.

"Take a picture T, it'll last longer..." he told him, aiming at flippancy although his chest had suddenly become way too tight, feeling his flesh prickling with heat. A familiar mixture of faint fear was flooding his senses; fear, just a touch of revulsion and...and something else.

How long did they have to go?

Fourteen fucking floors.

"Seriously man," he said, chuckling a little as if it would help relieve the burning tension in the air. "The fuck you looking at?"

Trevor didn't answer. Instead, he slowly bared every last one of his teeth in a predatory smile that made everything feel too hot without warning, too thick, too heavy and way too fucking close.

The tightness in his chest seemed to move up to his throat, closing it over and he swallowed hard around the constriction, not breaking his gaze. He looked like he wanted to eat him alive.

"Something about elevators," Trevor drawled out in a voice much lower and more dangerous then usual. "Does things to a man..."

Oh good fucking God...

He was moving closer...


Both men whipped around as the elevator doors rolled open, Michael letting out the harsh breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in. A couple with a chattering toddler walked inside, the husband laughing at some joke the kid had made as his wife pressed the button for the first floor.

The little girl stared at Trevor, who was glaring at all three of them like he wanted to flay their skin off with his bare hands and wear it like a suit. She slowly started to whimper and the woman wrapped her arms around her, drawing the child in close to her chest. Glancing around, the man smiled awkwardly at them.

"Ground floor eh?" he said, as his wife backed slowly away into the corner. Michael shifted on the spot, trying to ignore the burning ache in his lower belly, swallowing down the thick arousal in his throat.

"Obviously," Trevor annunciated each syllable through gritted teeth, eyes blazing. The man let out a high-pitched laugh in response.

"You...you got a bit of an accent there buddy," he went on cheerfully. "I got a friend who lives in Ca-Ca-Cana..."

He stared over at Michael who was cutting his hand over his throat maniacally to get him to shut up. All the blood ran out of his face, smile dripping away like candle wax as Trevor's nostrils flared and his eyes flashed like a million razor-sharp knives. If looks could kill, the entire family would've been roasting down in the fiery pits of hell by now.

"The fuck you mean?" he was on him in a second, all his muscles coiling tight as he grabbed a fistful of his hair, pinning him to the elevator door. The woman screamed and the toddler began bawling at the top of her lungs.

"You can't even fucking tell, you shit-eating horsefucker, piece of fucking shit...!"

"Trevor for Christ's sake!" Michael sent both hands through his hair, moving around behind him. "There's cameras...!"

"...I didn't even fucking grow up there, the fuck you think your talking about, I'll kill ya and your fucking wife and your fucking kid...!"

The man against the door looked ready to piss his pants, his face sprayed with a fine layer of spittle. Michael didn't know what the fuck to do, so he said the first thing that came to his mind;

"Trevor, I'll give you a blowjob if you don't kill them..."

The other man stopped in mid-shout, going very still as his victim gawped like a goldfish against the door.

"Go on..." he said, voice trembling viciously with anger. Michael sent the woman an apologetic look and she stared at him with pure terror in response. The numbers above his head singled ten more floors and he breathed out hard.

"Soon as we get out. Right in the car. No waiting or shit..."

The muscles in Trevor's arms twitched as he considered it.

"You're gonna have to give me something else," he said in a very slow voice, like the urge to maul the man's flesh and drink his blood was getting stronger by the second. "I really wanna kill this asshole, you have no fucking idea..."

"God, really?" Michael threw both hands over his head, staring up at the ceiling like it would provide him an answer. "Uh...a handjob?"

"You give shit handjobs!" Trevor snapped, body shaking with barely repressed rage again. His hapless victim started whimpering louder then ever and Michael stared at the glowing numbers, feeling panic rise in his chest – eight more floors. Could this lift go any slower?

"You can fuck me, okay?" he threw in, but the other man's fist was curling tighter and tighter in his victim's hair, pulling him up against the door. "Without a condom! C'mon, that's a good fucking deal...!"

The woman was wailing hysterically along with her child now, sinking down towards the floor. Was he gonna have to say it? Was he gonna have to throw in the last ultimatum, something that he had always hated doing with a burning passion?

"You can come on my fucking face Trevor! Is that good enough? You can come all my goddamn fucking face!"

The other man stopped all together and looked over at him.

"You serious?" he demanded. Michael nodded warily and Trevor's entire face lit up, like a kid at Christmas.

He let go of his victim's hair, dropping him in an ungraceful heap to the ground next to his wife.

"Alright...you got yourself a deal hot stuff."


The second the words left his lips, they hit the first floor, the steel doors opening at last. The family scrambled away like ants, but Trevor didn't even take notice, turning to the other man, his grin taking a far from innocent turn.

Before they knew it, they were on the ground floor. As they walked out, Michael felt him put an arm around his back, whispering in his ear; "that elevator isn't the only thing going down y'know..."

"You're fucking crazy," he snapped back with pure exasperation and Trevor laughed so loudly, Michael thought he might of just busted an eardrum.