Work Text:
There was something about him. Editor had a different type of air to him that night. Maybe seeing that he was starting to get the better of Polyblank had given him an ego boost. The spy was starting to falter here and there. Slip-ups. Tripping and stumbling because he wasn’t focused on his feet, he was focused on the man in front of him. Getting so hasty with trying to retrieve items that he’d forget simple things, like a place being infested with goons.
He was starting to crack. And Editor knew.
It came to a head on a cold night sometime in late October. Another item, another fight, another slip up. The floppy disk with the information (that Polyblank was pretty sure that Director wanted for a sandwich, or something along those lines) had slipped from his grasp and he was too late to pick it up.
Polyblank turned on a dime to face the antagonist. He muttered a soundless swear under his breath when he saw Editor standing with crossed arms; he knew the spy wouldn’t leave the info behind.
“Now, Polyblank, dear-” the spy made a lunge for the disk, which Editor quickly side stepped. He just barely had enough time to catch himself on a freezing rail.
“That was just uncalled for, don’t you think?” the shorter asked, stalking dangerously towards him. He spun the floppy disk expertly between his fingers and Polyblank found himself distracted by the movement. Enough so that when he didn’t have the time to move away as the antagonist drew closer.
“Polyblank,” he breathed, a puff of warm hanging in the frozen air. “You have been awfully rude to me tonight, you know that?” he paused, making sure the spy was hearing every word he said, “I think I deserve an apology.”
Polyblank could only look at him. Apologize? Editor tugged the spy’s tie loose from under his jacket, twirling it around his pointer finger in such a way he felt dazed just watching. In a split second, his grip tightened and Polyblank was pulled far closer than he was used to.
“You want it back, don’t you? Go on. Apologize.” he hissed through a crooked smirk.
Polyblank’s eyes darted to the ground, to his feet, to the side, anywhere but-
“No no, I want you to look at me. Look me in the eyes,” he pulled on his tie again, “and say you’re sorry.”
His stomach doubled over and he could feel the air leaving his lungs. He locked eyes with the antagonist and rasped a quiet ‘sorry’, praying that would be enough.
“Come again? I don’t think I heard you.”
Oh motherfucker.
“Sorry-” he mumbled, a bit louder.
“You’re going to have to speak up, Polyblank.” The spy was fed up, and practically shouted sorry and made a grab for the disk, desperate to just be out and get away from this and- Editor pulled it back, tutting slowly.
“Sorry.. what?”
Polyblank just gave him a perplexed look.
“Say sir. Say sorry, sir. ”
Polyblank’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest. Was he out of his mind? You don’t just- you can’t just say that-
“Say it, Polyblank.” Editor’s voice hardened, his gaze sharpening and pinning the spy to the spot where he stood. The disk was just behind his head, taunting him.
“Sorry- sir sorry sir just please-” he rasped, hardly able to get the words out fast enough.
“Mhm, now that’s what I like to hear.” Editor brought the floppy disk between them and pushed it into Polyblank’s hands. Still holding his tie, his now free hand rose and gently grabbed the spy’s chin. He directed his gaze to be on him and only him. He brought his face close to his own, close enough to feel his warm breath skating over his lips. And just like that, he vanished. A door slammed somewhere in Polyblank’s peripheral, telling him the antagonist was long gone.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should probably give chase, but he felt paralyzed. A numb hand drifted up to his face, running along the spot where Editor touched his skin. There was a fleeting warmth there, a hint of what could be. The more he thought about it, the warmer his face became. He barely noticed the cold as he sank to his knees, then sat back. The disk slipped from his grasp once more, but there was no one to grab it away from him.
Something in the glint of his glasses. Something in the tilt of his mouth in the shit eating grin. God- fuck- he was sitting on some roof in the middle of an unfamiliar city, dazed out of his mind because he … because Editor was doing something to him. And he couldn’t bring himself to say he hated it.
Polyblank picked up the floppy disk. He shakily rose from the cold spot on the ground. He left.