Flank and File (/tg/, lizard, Phoebe, m/m, trap)

Phoebe fidgeted in the restroom.  She gave herself another look in the mirror, making sure she had enough make-up on to cover the bags under her eyes.  He was late.

It should have been a quick and simple transaction.  He would give her a blue folder, and she would, in turn, hand over the red folder she was entrusted with.  The syndicate never explained what was contained in them, nor why such an exchange had to commence on their rival company's space station.  The pay was good, and on this metal deathtrap, the drugs ran like water.  Idly she thumbed the plungers on the filled syringes in her pocket, debating on whether or not she should take another hit to pass the time.

Finally, the door opened.  Through it strode a hulking figure that swiftly closed the entrance behind him.   His rugged grey scales clashed with the prim, vibrant suit that strained against his form.  He glanced over the room briefly, eventually letting his eyes fall curtly upon the ID card hanging from Phoebe's lab coat.

"Misss Lotsssu, MD."

She nodded meekly. He had a bellowing, icy voice, like that of an melancholic dragon.   There was no mistake that this was the agent she was waiting for.  He extended his right claw to her.  His other grasped firmly at a leather briefcase.

"Ivory. Attorney at law."

They shook hands.  It felt like he could tear her arm off with the flick of his wrist.

"You had a sssensssitive matter that needed attending to."

She nodded once more.  He pointed his jagged maw towards one of the stalls that lined the corner of the room.

"We ssshould talk in there.  Thisss will only take a moment."

The toilet cubicles had airlocks, providing much needed privacy for their meeting in such a trafficked area.  Phoebe had no reason to object.  He followed closely behind her as she walked up to the stall.  When its door opened, a blow landed on the back of her knees, causing her to stumble through the opening.  She tried to catch herself on the toilet, but one of her flailing wrists was seized by the lizard.  In one smooth motion, Ivory placed her in an armlock, and slammed her into the stall's tiled wall.  He neatly placed his briefcase on the floor before using his now-freed hand to flick her radio headpiece off.

His body alone could barely fit into the cramped interior, causing Phoebe to struggle for air as his rigid chest pressed against her back.  He craned his head over her own, taking in deep breaths of her hair and nape before nudging his snout to her ear.

"Are you sssure you're Phoebe."

"W-what are you talking about?"

His hand slid down her body.  Sharpened digits slipped through her lab coat and under her nurse outfit, coming to a rest on a silken bulge between her legs.

"Your profile failed to mention thisss.  I thought gender reasssignment was outlawed."

Phoebe squirmed as he grasped her dainty package.  She could barely eke out a reply.

"T-there was a b-bluespace accident-"

He tightened his grip.  A soft gasp passed through her lips.

"Bulllssshit."

Her breathing started to get heavy.

"I-I-"

Ivory paused for a moment as he realized she was getting hard.  He let out a snort before stroking her tented panties.

"...Do you like being treated like thisss."

Phoebe couldn't answer.  She told herself she didn't try to seek out situations like these.  Yet, on an almost-daily basis, she would wind up at the mercy of some assailant.  It was routine, something she grew to be content with, as long as enough chems were coursing through her veins at all times.  They called her a slut, a defining example of how degenerate the station's medbay staff had become.  She hated her reputation as much she hated getting off to being handled so roughly.

Razor-sharp teeth dug tenderly into her neck.  Pain mixed with ecstasy, causing her to stain her undergarments with pre.  The hand that wrapped around her dick withdrew to hike up her coat and skirt, causing the contents of her pockets to spill out onto the floor.  A swipe with his claws easily sundered her lingerie.  She heard something unzip, and then felt a prong of rods rub against her rear.  The left was longer and tapered at the end, while the other was blunt and boasted far more girth.  Ivory let each of his hemipenes sweep between her pert cheeks, alternating between the two in slow, tantalizing strokes.

"Which one do you want."

"L-Right-!"

He wrapped his arm around her waist, positioning her to accept his throbbing mast. It rammed up against her pursed starfish, her outer sphincter dilating rapidly in response to its width.  She had taken larger, sure, but it was still a fine example of an reptilian phallus.  Just feeling him grind against her entrance was almost enough to make her cum.  A little more force and-

Suddenly, Phoebe felt his tail slam against her thigh, followed by multiple stinging sensations.   Her face was still pressed against the wall, but out of the corner of her eye she could see her syringes sticking out of her leg.  Each one was fully spent.  Even her tolerance to morphine couldn't handle a dose that large.  She soon went limp, falling to the floor as Ivory detached from her.  He quickly searched through her medical satchel, adding her red folder to his briefcase.  With both documents in his possession, he tucked his members back into his pants, straightened up his tie, and wordlessly departed from the stall.

Before she completely lost consciousness, Phoebe heard a click and something clattered next to her.  A syndicate minibomb.  Ivory was a professional.  No risks, no romance, and no loose ends.  Phoebe was no more.