Work Text:
Superspies. Saving the world. Shooting bad guys. Stopping nuclear war.
Benji smiled at the customer as he passed her her venti frappuccino.
He served a cookie on a plate and charged two quid.
He added an extra shot to a man’s Americano.
He wiped his hands against his apron, clammy from the heat behind the counter.
Benji was a professional superspy. He was the eye in the sky. He was the best hacker this side of Luther. He shot a man in a fight and managed not to shoot a fellow agent in the process while under the pressure of stopping global destruction. He was definitely not going to spill boiling coffee on said fellow agent’s hand as he approached to be served.
But for heaven’s sake, why was it Benji who had to act the new recruit at a hipster café in the winding streets of London? It wasn’t as if Ethan and Brandt were bad at accents- they were both highly trained agents who’d impersonated targets countless times. He guessed this would explain the mandatory skills test he’d had to take to become an agent- how to use most machines one might use whilst in disguise in the field.
“Espresso,” William said, not looking up from his phone as he reached the counter, playing a busy businessman. This was his role, the douchebag rich guy, but god, Benji thought, couldn’t the man at least look at him while he was serving? Well. Whatever. Two could play at this game.
“Can I get you anything else, Sir?” Benji asked, voice sweet.
“No. Just that.”
Benji was glad the operation was going on in the dead shift, it meant he was the only one behind the counter and so had free reign. There was nobody behind Willam either, which meant he was free to take his time. He glance back once, to find William stealing a look, that read quite plainly ‘it’s an espresso- are you in danger- how long does it take to make- are we being set up- is Benji an idiot- has the plan been foiled’.
Since working together at the CIA, Benji had learnt to decode these small looks of Brandt’s, these tiny analyses, on the spot mission reports. Being the only two from the IMF who had had regular contact with Ethan (who wasn’t Luther, because really, everyone knew that even the CIA was afraid of Luther,) had meant the two of them had traded these looks down corridors, in meetings, when Benji was having his polygraphs, when Brandt was telling courts that he couldn’t reveal any more information without the Secretary’s permission.
They pretended to date when they needed to share information.
The first time had been when Brandt had been told the IMF was to be shut down- he called a general meeting, of course, of all the active members, telling them that they were all CIA now, congratulations, there’d be an email sent around about postings in the following weeks, it had been an honour to work with them all.
As Benji had gone to leave with the rest of the agents, Brandt had pulled him aside. “Cheesecake was your favourite, right?” he asked when he was fairly sure nobody but the CIA bugs could hear.
“You remembered!” Benji had continued, smiling like his crush was finally talking to him.
“You in for a date this weekend?”
“I guess I’ll have to check my diary.” Benji’s laugh was real this time, no longer talking in codes. “What with the whole being fired thing hanging over my head.”
“Benji… you know you’re going to be put into the CIA’s best data mining team, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, back to the office, reading emails, deciphering codes…” Benji sighed. “Only been an agent a year and I’m already back where I started.”
Brandt looked like he could sympathise. “I’ve been put in the control room, up with Hunley as my babysitter.”
“What’re you going to do there?” Benji asked, nose wrinkling. “Analyse Ethan’s flight pattern?” The warning in Brandt’s eyes made Benji realise it would be just that and he calmly changed tact. “What is it with that bastard anyway- he never listened to us and now- now it’s too late-”
Benji sighed and melted closer to Brandt. If movies had told him anything, romance made authorities uncomfortable. That had been their agreement, anyway, in their little corner of the IMF before it had been disbanded- to set up little relationships to use for a rainy day. Ethan had had Carter before she’d been promoted. Nobody would disbelieve it if they caught them together, after all, not with Ethan’s less-than impressive track list of women. Which left Benji and Brandt (and Luther, but nobody fucked with Luther) to come up with a lovely little gay story they could feed to the higher-ups.
Poor old nerdy Benji with his hero-worship crush on the jocky, model analyst, who’d gotten together after a passionate mission in Mexico. It was certainly plausible, and they’d all had a good giggle as they’d come up with the story, inserting little details in case they needed to tell the story at any point.
So they had their dates, shared information while they had sex and went home with no-one in the CIA the wiser. Benji still couldn’t really believe the CIA would go so far as to actually watch two of its agents having sex, surely they had something better to spend their budget on, but hey. It was consensual, it was enjoyable, and they had other options if either of them decided they didn’t want to continue.
And so was the life of Benji. Having casual sex with another superspy in order to cover up leaking information lest the CIA overhear. Oh the sacrifices he had made to help Ethan. If only secondary school aged Benji could see him now: friends-with-benefits with James Bond’s attractive younger brother.
Benji sighed.
Or rather, pouring James Bond’s attractive younger brother a coffee.
Well. Coffee would be a generous term for what Benji was concocting. He’d poured Brandt’s espresso, only on top of it he’d pumped in about twelve different flavour shots, three types of milk and was topping it off with a handful of cinnamon. A rather generous handful. He whisked it all together and handed it over. “Two pounds thirty, please.”
Brandt eyed the cup, wary that it wasn’t being handed to him in a tiny, espresso-sized container, but paid, looked back at his phone and walked to a nearby table where he sat, ignoring the drink for ten minutes.
When he finally took a sip, Benji was ready for it. When Brandt looked up, giving him a disgusted, barely concealed look of pure hatred, Benji waved, acting dreamy. It was in his character profile, after all, to have a crush on Brandt’s character. Brandt was the one breaking it by interacting with him.
Brandt took another sip and scowled as he drunk it, obviously making an effort to swallow the mass of sugar. He scowled again when he saw what else Benji had inflicted on him- scrawled around the cup was first the number to Benji’s burner phone, and a small message.
‘Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my #, call me baby.’
“Hey, excuse me?” Brandt called, after taking another sip. “Can you change the song?”
“Aw, sorry, get stuck in your head?” Benji grinned but changed the song playing overhead, mouthing Carly Rae over the top of the generic song actually playing.
{I hate him} Brandt texted. {Whoever made us partners is the worst.}
{You said he was cute.} Ilsa was first to text back, positioned at a desk a couple of buildings over.
{I thought you British were supposed to be averse to being rude.}
{Common misconception. Must be rude as possible to those we like.}
{What happened to the British gentleman?}
{Someone realised most of them were gay and it ruined the entire effect.}
“Target approaching entry door, Crowley, eyes on the prize?” Ethan’s voice whispered to them all and Brandt picked up his now-ringing mobile.
“Crowley has eyes on the prize.”
“Aziraphale in three, two, one-”
“What can I get you, Sir?” Benji asked, no longer slouching behind the counter blowing kisses at Brandt.
“Peppermint tea, please.” Benji nodded, going to make it.
“You’re not the usual boy,” the target said, interested. “You new?”
“Just been transferred from the branch up North,” Benji said with a service-industry smile. “Steph the usual kid, right? He’s gone on holiday or something? Last minute, won tickets to a festival I think.”
“Lucky boy.”
“Right?” Benji asked, enthusiastic whether feigning or not. “Last time I won tickets, turned out to be some scam.” Ethan sighed in his ear, once again apologising for the Vienna-opera incident.
The target raised his eyebrows, obviously at ease in the conversation. “You ought to be wary about them, some of them can be pretty malicious.”
“Don’t I know it,” Benji sighed. “I think my house is targeted by them or something, I keep getting weird mail and phone calls and they won’t leave me alone.” Benji let out another sigh, playing the weak-and-feeble-young-thing expertly.
“Oh really.” The target’s interest was piqued, but still wary.
“Crowley, on my count, three, two, one…”
Brandt stood, gathered his things went to leave. As he passed the counter, he put the empty cup on it and paused, minutely. “Never do that again.” He shot a look at the target, who moved out of his way, before exiting.
As he did, Benji let his eyes trail on him until he’d passed out of sight, before his attention clicked back to the target and he blushed, as if embarrassed to have been caught. He snatched the cup away (Benji’s message having been placed squarely in the target’s view) and threw it in the bin, looking mournful.
“Peppermint tea, sorry, I’ll get that right away.”
“I could fix your problem,” the target said, a sudden cockiness to his voice. “With the junk mail.”
“You could?” Benji laughed, huffing out a small exhale of air. “Are you a magician or something? Pretty sure junk mail doesn’t ever just stop.”
The target blew himself up a little, standing a little taller. “I work for some people, could get you taken off the lists.”
“Oh really?” Benji asked, his smile turning sly. “And what would that cost me?”
This looked like exactly what the target wanted to hear, his eyes going from Benji to the tea in one hand, and the sharpie on the table. “Your number.”
“Purely for professional reasons, I should hope,” Benji said, raising an eyebrow and hinting that he would very much not care what reason he was writing down his number.
“Oh of course. Strictly work, me.” The target accepted the tea and his lips quirked. “You going to charge me?”
“I was thinking about letting you have it on the house, actually,” Benji admitted. “In honour of our new relationship.”
The target’s eyebrows bounced, pleased, and he went to leave. “I never caught your name.”
Benji leaned against the counter, elbows on table, chin on palm. “Simon.”
“Well Simon. Nice to meet you.”
“Nicely done, Aziraphale,” Ethan said once the target had left. “Hook, line and sinker, I believe.”
“Very suave,” Ilsa agreed, “the butt waggle clinched it, I think.”
“I did not waggle my butt,” Benji said, character completely broken. He wasn’t quite sure how exactly he’d managed to form whatever suave creature had come out of him, but he wasn’t it now, he was clammy, sweating like a pig and could feel a ramble bubbling at his very soul. “First of all, I thought we all agreed that it was Brandt’s turn to seduce the rich douchebags? Since when have I had to waggle my butt, which I didn’t, by the way, and I know for a fact that you can’t see me, Ilsa, so screw you, for people like this? I’m the tech guy, guys, I’m the one who puts magnets on robots and presses enter when you need someone to press enter and Luther isn’t around.”
“You’re his type,” Ethan said, not for the first time this mission.
“I can so see you,” Ilsa added, “opposite you, seven floors up. I’m waving.” Benji waved back, though he couldn’t see her. He trusted he wasn’t opening at an empty office block.
“You’re a field agent. It’s part of the job.” Brandt sounded like he wasn’t quite aboard the ‘Benji is great’ train, which actually kind of made Benji a little more relaxed. Brandt’s mistrust was something solid in this world. Something sure. He wasn’t sure if it was healthy to build such walls around what was basically Brandt’s insecurities, but eh.
Benji still had a while to go before his shift ended, and not wanting to risk the target coming back to find him disappeared, he stayed on until he had to lock up at the end of the day. When he’d finished setting the alarms, he coughed into his fist and started to whistle.
“Aziraphale, message received. We’re looking for your tail now. Do you need backup?”
Benji was silent for a second, looking up and down the street.
“Aziraphale, confirm you do not need backup.”
He coughed, once, and then walked right, towards the fake-home they’d be using for the operation.
“Crowley, Anathema, Aziraphale is on the move, can we get eyes on the tail?”
“Negative,” Ilsa said, “Unless I change position. They’ll be leaving my line of sight in a couple of seconds.”
“Anathema stay where you are. Crowley, you have eyes?”
“Yes.” Brandt’s voice was hushed, breathy, like he’d just been running and had found himself trapped. “Should I follow?”
“He saw your face,” Benji sung under his breath, “And now I’m a believer.”
“Aziraphale’s right, target cannot see you, it’ll ruin the plan.”
“There's not a trace of doubt in my mind,” Benji’s song continued.
“But-”
“Aziraphale will be fine, Crowley, return to the safehouse and wait for further instruction.”
There was a bounce in Benji’s step as he commenced the plan, to think that Brandt was worried about him. Something in Brandt’s voice too, made it sound less like he was worried about Benji fucking up, and more about Benji full stop.
It made Benji think about their fake-dates, no longer necessary since Ethan’s rise back to respectability, no longer needing to hide the IMF’s existence.
Benji didn’t give a toss about sex, if he was perfectly honest. He enjoyed the cuddling bit, and the attention, and having a laugh with Brandt, but he could very happily live without it. Which gave Benji pause. If it wasn’t the benefits Benji longed for...
-
Nobody had talked about the vest bomb. Benji had thanked Ethan, quietly, and Ilsa too, but he had mostly tried to ignore it. He was a superspy. Saving the world. Shooting bad guys. Stopping nuclear war. Getting kidnapped from busy railway stations and used as a human bomb.
Benji closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. It was like he could still feel the weight of the explosives on his shoulder. He hadn’t been able to talk, to encourage Ethan and Ilsa, to warn them about what was to come.
He’d known that he’d be used as a hostage at one point or another, but being held in some underground dungeon waiting for distraction was a lot different to sitting at a café on the banks opposite the tower of London, just waiting to kill the civilians around them.
He recovered from the bubbling panic as the kettle started to rattle, letting off an annoyed steam. He was halfway through pouring the water into his mug when Brandt called.
“There’d better be a good reason for this, Brandt.”
“Busy, Benji? So early in the morning?”
“Just making tea, actually.”
Benji smiled at Brandt’s attempt to be serious, to not laugh. “Mission briefing at nine.” Benji looked at his watch- he’d have to leave now to make it there on time and moaned.
“Brandt you don’t know the guilt an Englishman feels when we have to abandon a tea. It does things to us. Terrible things. I get nightmares, sometimes, when I come back home after work and see the cold, dark abyss still waiting for me on the countertop.”
“See you at nine, Benji.” He could hear the grin in Brandt’s tone, now, and suddenly leaving the tea didn’t seem quite so blasphemous.
-
Benji held the door open, waiting for the next guy to pass through, who did, without even a nod of thanks. “You’re welcome,” he muttered after the guy. Keeping his eyes fixed on the culprit, Benji shook his head and sighed. “Unbelievable.”
“Benji you open the door for our enemy and you’re complaining that they didn’t thank you?” Brandt fell in besides Benji, matching their strides like he hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere.
“No manners,” Benji said, rolling his eyes. “Also, IMF’s reinstatement or not, I don’t think you can go around calling the CIA our enemy.”
“You’re going to tell me that after you shot that look at him?”
“You might have a point, but I refuse to accept it.”
“Here.” Brandt passed over a mug and Benji stared at it.
“Tea?” He asked, hopefully, popping the lid and greeted by the confirming smell. “You bought me tea.”
“Couldn’t risk one of our crucial team members losing sleep.” Brandt held up his own coffee like a cheers.
“You even put the right amount of sugar in it,” Benji said, amazed. “God, you’re beautiful.” Both men’s pace stuttered, eyes widening. A slip of the tongue, they both knew it, and yet it felt so odd, not just a part of their usual banter. He cleared his throat. “So this mission?”
Brandt was eager to jump onto this new conversation, Freudian slip pushed deep, deep down. “Bolivia. Something about goats, I think.”
It felt strange to be picking up their mission from the office, for once, Benji realised. They’d been living such a high-paced life, recently, that they barely ever returned here, rather picking up their missions at telephone booths in downtown parts of Russia, or via glasses sent via rocket-missile. Since the record shop and the breach there, a lot of the safe spaces had had to be closed down for maintenance, meaning agents got to have a day trip to America.
The meeting itself was boring, there being little need for them to gather so formally, but their IMF afterparty was a little less so, the five of them grouping together in a little room they liked to use. Hunley, Ethan and Brandt were discussing the best air vent-scaling tactics, Ilsa was checking the equipment they’d been graced with, and Benji was downloading every map he could find of the place.
He only realised time had elapsed with Brandt put a hand on his shoulder and flicked the still-full mug beside him. “Your tea’s cold.”
Benji stared at the mug in abject horror. He picked it up, flinching at its tepidness and took a sip. He frowned at the liquid, took another sip, and then necked the rest, feeling a small dribble escape from one side. He wiped it away with his hand and put the mug back on the desk. When he looked up, the boys were looking at him.
“What?” he asked, sharing a confused look with Ilsa.
Than raised an eyebrow. “You could have made a new one.”
“You can’t just abandon your tea,” Benji said, affronted, and only half-joking. “You’ve got to commit to it.”
“Right.”
“Plus, Brandt bought it for me and put the right amount of sugar in.” He looked at Ilsa, who’d completely failed the friendship test by adding three teaspoons instead of two.
She held her hands up, guilty. “Sorry I’m not as good as your boyfriend.”
Benji and Brandt glanced each other. They’d not… told Ilsa about their front, and they’d not had to fake date other than on a mission for a while. They’d certainly not actually dated.
“I read your file,” she explained, now sounding less guilty. “Mexico, huh.”
“Ohhhhhhhh, she believed the thing.” Benji looked at Brandt, who shrugged, allowing Benji to break the news. “We had sex when we had information on Ethan to share when he was on Interpol’s most wanted and the CIA were listening to all of our conversations.”
Ilsa blinked. “What?”
Ethan had a similar expression. “What?”
Hunley cleared his throat. “I feel like I shouldn’t be here for this conversation.”
Benji shrugged. “You’re one of us, now, right? I’m sure one day, one of us is going to have to pretend you’re our sugardaddy.”
Hunley seemed more concerned that none of the other agents in the room reacted to this with anything more than an accepting nod.
Benji pointed at Ethan. “Captain America,” his finger turned to Ilsa. “Natasha. You kiss on an escalator and security guards walk right by you.” Benji pointed at himself, then at Brandt. “We have sex and no-one at the CIA thinks we have information on Ethan Hunt.”
“Did it work?” Ilsa asked Hunley.
Hunley opened and closed his mouth. “What the hell, I don’t work for them anymore. Yeah, we just thought they were fucking.”
Benji held his hand out. “See? Clueless. Too awkward to tell their new staff not to be so loud and gay.”
“Jesus Christ, makes me wonder why it took you so long to find me in the first place” Ethan asked, disbelieving.
“Come on, there’s no need for that.”
Brandt did a double take and sent subtle throat-cutting motions at Ethan. He knew that phrase, that doomed phrase, it meant that everything was getting drastically out of hand for Benji.
“I mean it’s 2015, being gay is hardly new.”
Hunley frowned, thinking, but then brought out his phone. “I have a phonecall to make.” He excused himself and went to call whichever poor sod had the task of being Diversity and Welfare manager for the CIA.
“So... we’re leaving at three, then?” Ilsa asked, standing. “I’m going to meet a friend for lunch, I’ll be back for takeoff.”
Ethan said something about something in the fridge with his name on it, which left Benji and Brandt, and Benji still had a lot of prep to do.
“Can I grab you something to eat?” Brandt asked, no longer standing behind the sitting Benji, walking towards the door.
“Yeah, sure, anything’s fine, don’t worry.”
“Ham and cheese?”
“Uh, no. Thanks.”
“Chicken? BLT?”
“Er… no, really, anything’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
“Benji your face is telling me you hate life.”
“Really?” Benji tried to clear his face. “Sorry I thought I was smiling.”
Brandt’s reply was to smile himself, a too-soft expression after having had his stony-faced business mask on all day. “Falafel salad.”
Benji could feel his own smile flicker on now, and he nodded. “Perfect.”
“Right, I’ll be back shortly.”
-
“Oh my god you can’t just- if you’re not in the queue, can you not stand so near it? You’re causing an awful lot of tension right now.” Benji pulled Brandt aside, letting a group of British holiday makers pass with a relieved sigh.
“Tension? What? Why? If then need me to move they can tell me.” Brandt turned, but his frown melted into a smile when he took in Benji. “Sorry I’m late,” he smiled, then hugged Benji, wrapping his arms around Benji’s neck. They’d arrived at the airport in the same car, but Brandt had had to change disguises.
“That’s okay, I didn’t wait long.” Benji wrapped his arms around Brandt’s waist to pull him closer and they kissed, both rocking slightly as if excited to be meeting for the first time in a long time.
“You get my present?” Brandt asked and Benji nodded, grinning. “Right then, shall we go?” His arms dropped to his side and he caught Benji’s hand, the two of them walking with their suitcases in one hand, clutching each other with the other.
“I really didn’t know if it would work but oh man I really am a genius it must have gone completely unseen too.”
“I don’t think many people observe guys giving other guys tongue in airports.”
“But you have to admit it was clever.”
“What exactly were you thinking when you thought ‘oh I know, I’ll craft a USB port that looks like a tooth and the other agent can stick their tongue in with the sensitive information?’”
Benji laughed as if Brandt had told a hilarious joke, forcing Brandt to smile as well to keep their act together. “Who would ever look for a USB in an agent’s mouth?”
“You, probably.”
“And now you, Luther, Ethan, Carter, Ilsa, you’re all gonna be looking for data chips in people’s teeth.”
“Hurry it up, guys,” came the voice in Brandt’s ear, and he looked at his watch.
“Oh my god, we’re going to be late if we don’t hurry!” he enthused, pulling Benji’s hand a bit harder as they sped to a jog. Benji pretended to check gate numbers as if he didn’t know where exactly they were heading, looking down at his phone every so often with a fake ticket on the screen.
To anyone who might catch a glance at the screen it would tell them that Benji and William were heading to gate G12 to catch a flight to Madrid. With Benji’s contacts in, the screen was far different, hardly a screen at all, more a holographic map of the airport with little red and green dots blipping around it.
“Oh shit-” Benji stopped, and Brandt did too, lightning reactions meaning he caught both of their suitcases before the contents could spill. “Mind if I spend a penny?” Benji asked, “I’ll be real quick. You can wait here, if you like, maybe over by those telephones?”
“Of course, darling. Did you need me to hold anything?”
Benji removed the laptop bag from his shoulder, handed over his phone and blinked the code to disable the contact lens. “Ta. Won’t be a sec.” Benji dashed into the loos just as a group of security guards rounded the corner.
Brandt settled into his corner, watching as the men, holding machines designed to sweep for the specific information they had stolen, passed. It was a tense couple of seconds, the men going slowly, waving side to side, pausing longer in front of doors, physically stopping before the toilets.
The information Brandt was carrying contained code words. Benji, now that the information had been split, contained the algorithm that de-scrambled it all. One without the other, and neither could be used. Except the guy they’d stolen the information from had thought of that, and had put it all on non-copyable USBs, which would automatically wipe if not within a certain distance of one another.
Stealing the two had been Ethan and Ilsa’s job, thankfully within a dry storage room rather than underwater, this time, but it had been nigh on impossible.
Brandt tried not to move from the space he’d been designated, knowing that if he and Benji were standing exactly where they should be, they’d be outside of the blinking machine’s range, but without wiping the asset. Brandt looked down at the phone, but Benji was the one with the contacts to read the material, so it was as good as useless. No way to tell where Benji was.
For the second time on two missions, Brandt realised he was irrationally worried about Benji’s safety. Not like during ghost-protocol, where he had been fairly sure the newly-accepted agent would fuck everything up, but because he was genuinely concerned. Brandt frowned at the toilet doors. He never particularly enjoyed sex, and it had been necessary at the time, so why was Brandt so caught up with Benji’s safety?
Benji’s kiss had still tasted like falafel, Brandt realised. Which meant the man hadn’t eaten since they’d had lunch together in a different time zone. He had to admit that the mission had been all go since they’d left at three yesterday. It made Brandt pause, and very nearly miss the glance shot over at him by one of the security guards.
“Holst, the gig is up, I repeat, we’ve been spotted.”
“Roger that, Debussy, walk away, Stravinsky, do you copy?”
Brandt left their luggage and walked into the toilet, strides not quite as suspicious as a run. Brandt caught Benji’s eye as he entered, Benji already halfway through unscrewing the air vent. “Stravinsky is with me,” Brandt said, quietly removing his gun in order to watch the door and protect Benji while he worked.
“Haydn is on her way, stand by for extraction.” Seconds after Ethan said the words, Ilsa appeared behind the vent, waving at them. She helped unhook the thing, pull them through and replace it.
“Wow you guys weren’t joking, the men’s lav is the pits. What is that smell?” she asked, whole face scrunching.
“”The odour of manhood,” Benji replied, half a grin directed at Ilsa.
“Team you’re coming across a sound monitor, radio silence from now on.”
“They say it’s meant to rain this weekend,” Benji carried on, as if oblivious.
“Typical,” Ilsa muttered, and Brandt suddenly wondered whether he’d completely missed a session of codewords. “Thought we could have a barbeque and everything.”
“Bloody typical,” Benji sighed again. “Well we’ll see how it turns out, hey.”
“Knowing our luck we’ll end up in a hurricane.”
“I might order some Pimms and three gallons of milk,” Benji laughed and Brandt got the sudden feeling like he was being hazed.
-
“I’m glad you got your confidence back,” Benji told him quietly. It didn’t sound like Benji had meant to say the words out loud, but now that they had, he was going to babble the rest. “When we first met, after the Secretary, you were clutching at your bags like they were a lifeline and I remember thinking you were so scared, here was this office boy, out in the field, shit scared of the world like I had been and it gave me the confidence to catch you because I was finally not the baby in the group, not the one to be coddled.”
“And then I turned out to be a perfectly good agent, just with PTSD.”
“Well.” Benji half-smiled, knowing he was the least adept field member on their team.
“You did shoot the guy without hitting me,” Brandt remembered, trying to derail Benji’s imminent lack of self-worth. “Even if it was just your ego trying to impress me. How’s the leg?”
“Fine. I mean, it hurts, quite a bit, but it’s fine.”
“We could try to take the bullet out now.”
“Yeah, we could do that, or…” Brandt had known Benji for a while now, and he knew that that was his way of saying ‘That is a terrible idea and I’m putting it firmly, but gently, in the bin.’
“Charlotte, Piper, do you copy?” The voice in their ears was quiet, crackly, but they could finally hear it and grinned.
“We copy. Charlotte is shot, non-fatal wound to the leg. He’s being a baby about it.”
“I’m not being a baby about it, this is my first gun wound! Anyone would cry a little bit about being shot in the ruddy leg, you wanker.”
“Edwards destroyed your computer,” Ilsa said suddenly, and then made a noise like her mouth was being covered.
“He did what?”
Ethan’s voice reemerged, sounding sheepish. “I may have had to use your computer as a shield. There were a lot of bullets.”
“You’ve never struggled with bullets before,” Benji groaned, leaning back into his rather comfortable Brandt lap pillow. “Not to worry! That’s fine.”
Brandt smiled, then shocked both of them by patting Benji’s head. “He’s saying everything is ruined and we’re all horrible.”
“But he said ‘not to worry’,” Ethan said, evidently confused.
“No, nope, Brandt is right, I’m saying everything is ruined and you’re all horrible. Not Brandt though. Brandt is offering to pull bullets out of my open wound and is patting my head. It’s quite nice. Also, his leg muscles are an amazing pillow.”
“Be ready for extraction in one hour,” Ethan said, sounding dazed and confused. He was probably swinging his hair or something, Benji thought, or riding a motorcycle up a winding mountain range.
“I was thinking,” Brandt said, taking out his earpiece.
“Uhoh, that’s dangerous.” Benji’s smile grew when Brandt swatted his head.
“We’re in Mexico right now.” Brandt’s hands continued to stroke through Benji’s hair, which was a feat, considering how little he had. It had grown a bit during the mission, sure, but it wasn’t more than a couple of centimetres. “I like your frown. And your beard. And the way you chew the end of your glasses despite them costing a couple of thousand each and contain a ridiculous amount of nanotech.”
“I think I’ve lost a lot of blood because it kind of sounds like you’re confessing to me, which would be ridiculous because we’ve just prevented the sale of a chemical meant to destroy the world and we’re trapped in a cave system a couple dozen miles deep under Mexico and this is probably the most we’ve ever talked when not on one of our fake dates so it’s sounding a lot like one of those rather than real life.”
Benji shut up for a second, winced as he moved to a more comfortable position, then forced Brandt to look at him by pulling at his jaw. He considered Brandt for a second, wide-eyes, always looking strangely lost when he wasn’t in his hardcore action-hero mode and Benji smiled, releasing him. “I like you too. I’m in a lot of pain though, so I’m going to have to work up the courage to tell you again when I’m not really high on pain medication. I do though, I really like you.”
Brandt let out a rush of air, pleased and suddenly looking very young and innocent. He bent further down to kiss Benji’s forehead and Benji reached up to put a hand on the back of his neck, guiding the kiss to his lips instead. “This is great,” Benji said, his voice suddenly sounding very loud in the cavern, “And quite romantic, but I am really not up for kinky sex an hour before extraction in a dirty cave while I still have a gun wound that’s hurting quite a lot.”
“About the sex thing, I uh, I don’t really like it.”
“Oh thank god. I didn’t want to say anything but holy shit that’s a relief like I’m up for it every now and again but I’m really against founding our entire relationship around the act if you know what I mean it makes me incredibly nervous and I don’t really see the whole appeal to it all.”
Benji closed his eyes as Brandt kissed his forehead again, this time reaching its mark. “I’m not as confident as you think I am.”
Benji made a ‘pfft’ sound, dismissing Brand before he could even begin, but Brandt just continued. “I was worried about you, after the Opera. When I couldn’t get in contact with you. And then through the car chase, when your car rolled- and then you weren’t awake when Ethan was, and then you were kidnapped-”
Benji laughed. “Ilsa owes me a tenner and a six pack of cider, I knew you’d be the first to bring it up.”
“Oi, I was trying to make this a moment,” Brandt chastised, but he sounded like he was smiling too. “When you caught me, you gave me confidence.”
“Well that’s just as likely as the UK winning Eurovision.”
“I thought to myself- what could possibly go wrong now that I’ve jumped down a really long cooling fan into an oven with sharp spikey things only to be saved by Benjamin Dunn’s stupid robot toy?”
“I will admit that I am amazing and my robot toys deserve a lot of recognition.” A wave of pain went through Benji and he grimaced. “You can take the bullet out now, I refuse to believe anything could be more painful than that right there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well now that I know that you might possibly be invested in not, y’know, hurting me due to your crush.” Benji elongated the word, beaming as he said it. “Hey that’s a plan, get me blushing, move all my blood up into my face to avoid bleeding out. I wonder if it works with boners, does your heart prioritise your dick or your leg? Not that I want to find out, I’m more than happy not experimenting with my own body, but it would be great to know for like, future reference.
“I would’ve thought someone in the IMF would’ve found that out before now? ‘Just saying you guys, but last time I was shot and I found a miracle cure by having sex.’”
“Ethan would know.” Benji flinched. “No, bad conversation, sorry, let’s go back to this crush of yours. You like it when I frown?”
“Your face does a scrunchy thing and your mouth looks funny.” Brandt laughed. “It’s cute.”
“Oh you mean this?” Benji made the expression and touched his face. “The one where the crow’s feet and eyebags and forehead wrinkles all come out en force.”
“Adorable. And when you’re excited your eyes go big and bright and happy.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been described as adorable before. Apart from by that aunt I have, always pinched my cheeks and kissed me five ways to sunday.”
Brandt pinched one of Benji’s cheeks. “Adorable.” He pressed a kiss to Benji’s forehead, his two cheeks, the tip of his nose and finally his mouth. “Adorable.”
“This is extremely surreal.”
“I like your beard, too.”
“Thank you, it took me about thirty years to grow.”
Brandt ruined whatever graceful image he had left by letting a ‘pfft’ escape, and with it a spray of saliva.
“William Brandt, that was gross.”
“That was gross, you’re right, I’m extremely sorry.”
“The blush suits you,” Benji said, looking pleased with himself with being the one with more dignity in the situation. “Also, never ever grow a beard again, the attempt in Brazil, seriously, I’ve never been so turned off someone because of facial hair before.”
“What, the-” Brandt mimed his goatee and pencil moustache.
“That’s the one, truly the worst thing ever. Also,” Benji added, “No stubble-burn this way.”
“Is that an invitation?” Brandt asked, dipping closer.
“Yes, most definitely. Also no, wait, first-” Benji held out his finger, addressing the ceiling. Injury first, kissing second.”
“Injury first, kissing second,” Brandt agreed, who proceeded to do just that.
-
“Where does your salt live?” Benji asked, picking up the condiments. It was the job every British house guest knew they could get away with, the putting-back of the salt. It was just inoffensive enough to let slide, and little effort not to make it a pain in the ass.
Brandt pointed at a cupboard with his soapy-water dripping hands.
“Shall I dry?” Benji asked, “Or do I get the pleasure of watching you being disarmingly domestic?”
“We can be disarmingly domestic together, if you’d like?” Brandt nodded at a tea towel, hanging up on the radiator just besides Benji. “I’d ask you to make coffee, but I don’t think I’ll ever trust you again.”
“I can handle drying, thank you.” He picked up the first dish waiting in the drying rack and pretended to let it slip, catching it at the last second.
“You’re a massive nerd,” Brandt told him.
“This coming to the man who called me adorable. Multiple times.”
“My adorable nerd.”
“Right back at you, my adorable, incredibly hot, emotional wreck of a superspy.”
Finishing the washing, Brandt grabbed the tea towel and wiped his hands, handing it back when done. “Is that t-shirt glow in the dark?”
Benji’s eyes lit up as he pulled out his black t-shirt, on which there was the bright green racoon. “This t-shirt does indeed glow in the dark.”
“I love you so much.”
“Are you not embarrassed to be seen walking down in the street with me?” Benji asked. “I mean everyone’s going to know that you spent about three thousand dollars on your clothes, and you don’t even glow in the dark a little bit.”
“I own cheap t-shirts. Nowhere near as cool as yours, though.”
“I guess I’ll have to buy some for you. Or...” Benji smiled. “You wanna fuck with Ethan?”
“Gladly.”
“We should swap clothes. Wait.” Benji turned Brandt around and they stood toe to toe. He waved his hand from the top of his head to the top of Brandt’s. “We’re the same height. Did you know we were the same height?”
“I thought you were shorter.”
“I thought YOU were shorter. This changes everything.”
“Do I still get to wear your clothes?”
“I don’t think I’ll fit in yours, they’re tailored, right?”
“I want to see you in a tux. Never got to see you at the opera.”
“Well there’s an easier way to fix that…” Benji returned the now-damp tea towel and wrapped his arms around Brandt’s neck instead.
“You want to go to the opera?”
“I want to go to the opera.”
“You want me to buy you a ticket to the opera?”
“In an ideal world, yes, yes I would. Also, tickets to the IMAX preview of the next Star Trek film, but the opera first.”
“What do I get in return?” Brandt asked, moving his own hands to Benji’s waist.
“I’m sure I could stretch to buying you three t-shirts. And a pack of socks. Not just any socks- glow in the dark ones. Probably with pictures of space on them. I’d like to see Ethan’s face- we’re in the field,” Benji said, setting the scene, “It’s all quiet. Suddenly, the lights go out. We can’t see anything. Except- BAM. Glow in the dark space socks.”
“You’ll be able to find me, make sure not to shoot me because you knew only one person would have a boyfriend buying him glow in the dark space socks.”
“The ultimate romance.”
Brandt relaxed into Benji’s body, breathing calmly, feeling- feeling at home in his little apartment, with Benji putting his salt back in his cupboards, Benji drying his plates, Benji asking him to buy them opera tickets.
Beautiful, hopeless, adorable Benji.
“The ultimate romance,” Brandt agreed.