May I Offer: Bisexual Loid Forger.

may i offer: bisexual loid forger.

you cannot tell me that this man hasn't had to mingle with men on missions and realize that oh no... they're hot.

“he’s quite a looker, him.” franky says over a glass of wine. he and twilight are watching nightfall attempt to seduce a westalis veteran in a gala.

franky isn’t wrong. the man is incredibly fit, years of military training not lost on his physique. he’s wearing a form-fitting suit that was clearly tailored to highlight his, um. assets, so to speak. twilight gulps.

from where they’re standing, he can hear the smooth baritone voice of the man above all the chatter of the hall, laughing lightly at nightfall’s quips.

from time to time, his eyes flit to twilight for a quick second, and twilight’s heart races.

he convinces himself that it’s from worry that the man will pick up on the intelligence eyes on him. yeah. definitely not from the way he seems more keen to talk to twilight than the attractive woman in front of him.

“bet he pulls all the ladies.” twilight hears franky say, oblivious to the growing tension beside him. he grunts in response.

marcus belante. thirty five. 203 lbs. 6’3. served in the westalis military for ten years.

when he reviewed his info sheet, twilight remembered something about marcus that wasn’t on it, something he learned when he was serving in the military himself.

he allegedly had a love affair with his commander, who eventually died in the war.

“i bet he does.” twilight takes a swig of his own wine.

nightfall eventually comes back, obscuring franky and twilight’s view of marcus, looking dejected.

“so? anything?” franky asks.

nightfall grunts, and twilight sneaks a glance behind her. he tries not to react when he sees marcus’ eyes on him, almost predatory.

“why do you look like you just got rejected?” franky teases. “i was,” nightfall rolls her eyes, “apparently i’m not exactly marcus’ type.”

she turns to twilight, who’s still trapped in a silent, heated exchange with the man.

a sharp elbow to his ribs breaks the trance twilight is in. “what?” he grits through clenched teeth, rubbing the tender spot on his side. “i said, i’m not his type.”

franky hums. “what now, then? is there another way we can—“ “i’ll go."

franky and nightfall look at twilight in surpise. he shouldn’t have offered himself so quickly, but what’s done is done.

it’s for the mission, after all.

he slicks his hair back and flags down another waiter. nightfall and franky say nothing as they watch twilight’s wine glass get filled to the brim.

“i’ll see you later.” twilight nods to his colleagues and walks toward marcus, who straightens up with a smirk.