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Owen snapped awake as the sun’s rays filtered into the room. With his occupation, he doesn’t afford himself the luxury of slowly coming to consciousness, of basking in that hazy space between the sleeping and waking world.
It was never a certainty, where Owen would find himself in the morning. If everything went as it should, it would typically be the same place he fell asleep the night before. But then there’s also the abductions, the drugging, the being knocked out, all things that would result in needing to be alert as soon as possible.
Thankfully, he woke up in his own bed, curled under his barely-used sheets and tucked snugly against against a warm chest.
Reassured that he wasn’t going to plan some sort of escape, Owen let himself sink into the embrace, enjoying the rare feeling of being protected. Due to the height difference, something that he knew that Curt secretly loved, Owen tended to do a lot of the holding. But here, with his head tucked underneath his partner’s chin as strong arms wound themselves around him, Owen figured that he could bear getting used to this.
He listened to the steady beat of Curt’s heart as his thoughts trailed off. It was moments like this that made going back to their respective countries all the more difficult. It wasn’t easy, going from the certainty that Curt was alive and breathing here next to him to not knowing if one day he’d show up to work to receive the news that his partner had been killed in action.
Owen hadn’t even realized how much he’d tensed up until a thumb started rubbing back and forth along the nape of his neck and he let out a heavy sigh, allowing the hands on his back to coax him into relaxing again.
“It’s too early to be thinking about whatever you’re thinking.” Curt’s voice was rough from sleep and half-muffled from the way his face was buried in Owen’s hair.
It’s one of the most beautiful sounds that Owen’s had the fortune of hearing.
“I find that I’m rather inclined to agree with you there.”
Curt’s fingers being trailing across Owen’s back, tracing the all too familiar scars that map out his career, that illustrate their time spent together. He allows the soothing motions to lull him back into a doze, his body trusting Curt to look out for both of them should anything happen.
Of course, things can never stay calm for long, but Owen’s enough of a man to admit that this one might be his fault.
It starts when he shifts up just a bit to press a kiss to Curt’s neck, earning a pleased hum. Owen can’t help but smile and chase that sound, brushing his lips over his collarbone before tangling his fingers in Curt’s hair in order to pull him down for Owen to reach.
The sharp exhale fades into stuttering breaths as Owen continues to kiss his way up his partner’s neck, tugging gently at his earlobe with his teeth before moving behind his ear. He only manages a quick kiss there before a muffled noise escapes Curt’s mouth and his shoulders scrunch up to protect his neck.
Oh, he’d forgotten about Curt’s little weakness.
Owen could feel a smirk push its way onto his face as he leaned in close to whisper, “Sorry, love. Forgot you were a bit sensitive there.”
He leaned back just enough to see how Curt’s face had scrunched up, grin only widening as Curt caught his eye with a nervous smile.
Something melted in him at the sight. Curt Mega, the best spy that the American Secret Service had to offer, laid out and vulnerable just for him. Smiling at Owen even though Owen finds great joy in exploiting what Curt thinks is an embarrassing trait for a spy to have.
Owen thinks that it’s perfectly Curt, so they agree to disagree.
“Owen,” Curt’s voice trembles with the giggles he’s holding back and isn’t that just precious, “You don’t have to do tHIS. Hehey!”
He really should be paying better attention to where Owen was keeping his hands, put those spy skills he’s always bragging about to good use. How could Owen resist when a few sneaky flutters of his fingers against the back of Curt’s neck drew out and honest to God squeal?
Bracing his arms on either sides of Curt’s head, Owen leaned in close, “I don’t know, Curt. It’s not good for a spy to have a weakness such as this, it’s my solemn duty as your partner to train you out of— oof!”
Before Owen could even finish his sentence, Curt had managed to hook a leg around Owen’s waist, flipping them over so that Curt was now looking down at him, sporting a particularly proud grin. A quick tug at where Curt had tucked Owen’s hands under his knees confirmed that he was well and truly stuck, and a faint warmth began to crawl up his cheeks.
“You have me at an advantage, Agent Carvour.” Curt placed his hands on Owen’s shoulders and Owen had to suppress a flinch when his thumbs smoothed across his chest.
Still, Owen had to scoff, “I have the advantage? Need I point out that you’re quite literally on top of me at the moment?” He shifted his hips a bit to prove his point, but Curt only tightened his hold.
Spoilsport.
“Yes, Owen!” The suave tone Curt had been going for slipped into more of a whine, “You know where I’m ticklish, but I have no clue where you’re ticklish. It’s not fair!”
Ah. So this is where this was going.
Owen pasted on his most charming grin, “Yes, well, that happens to be because you’re ticklish everywhere, dear. Fortunately I am not predisposed to such an enfeeblement, so do us both a favour and give up before you embarrass yourself.”
Instead of conceding the point like he’d been hoping, Curt’s smile only grows.
“What?”
Curt makes a show of cracking his knuckles, and Owen does a worse job than he’d like to admit at pretending it didn’t effect him. “You’re using fancier words than usual. You only do that when you’re nervous.”
He opens his mouth, perhaps to protest, perhaps to deflect, but Curt continues before he has the chance to speak.
“So, you definitely are ticklish, and I’m gonna give you two options. You can either tell me where your worst spot is, and I’ll call it even, or I can find it for myself.” He leans in closer, a mirror of how Owen had done the exact same thing just moments earlier, “And I promise to be very thorough.”
Owen considers his options, despite the fact that he already knows what he’s going to choose. Owen Carvour is a proud man and a damn good spy, he didn’t get this far by simply giving up information.
So, he flattens his lips and raises his eyebrows in a clear challenge.
And if there’s one thing that Curt loves, it’s a challenge.
“You know, I was hoping that’s what you would say.” His finger’s came to rest under Owen’s jaw, and Owen did not appreciate the way his grin sharpened as he flinched. “I think that we start from the top and work our way down. What do you say, Carvour?”
It’s rare that anything holds Curt’s attention for long. His mind jumps from topic to topic with no discernible link, even Owen struggles to keep up when he really gets going.
But now? Curt’s laser-focused on Owen beneath him. Even if Curt hadn’t had him in a very secure pin, there’s a chance that his gaze alone could keep Owen in place and, normally, Owen does not appreciate being made to feel like prey.
It’s different with Curt. Right now, all Owen can feel is a curl of giddy nervousness that he’s trying very hard to ignore.
The fingers twitch against his neck and Owen curses his wandering attention as a small gasp escapes him.
Curt’s still looking down at him, but his grin is softer. Amused.
“Cat got your tongue? Or am I really just that breathtaking?”
“Well,” Owen drawls, trying to cover for his lapse, “This certainly isn’t an unflattering view. As for your other proposition, I find it completely unnecessary to—Wait! Cuhuhurt nononono!”
Christ this was embarrassing. Owen had been hoping to last a little bit without cracking, but from Curt’s smug-ass grin, he’d probably gotten Owen talking looking for this exact outcome.
“Awwwwww! Has anybody ever told you that your giggle is adorable, baby?” Suddenly, Owen is significantly more desperate to regain control of his arm to, at the very least, cover his burning face.
“Sod ohohohoff!” Curt switched sides and Owen was doing his level best to connect his shoulders with his head, “I do not gihiggle!”
Yeah, he knows that he’s not exactly making his case here.
And apparently, Curt agreed with that assessment.
“Sure. Whatever you say, giggles.” He used one finger to scratch a little mockingly under his chin, and Owen wanted nothing more than to melt into the bed at the snort that escaped him.
It took Owen a moment to realize that Curt had paused his attack, and he allowed the residual laughter (that were not giggles) to pour out of him as he opened his eyes.
Curt’s face was flushed a light pink and sporting an awestruck smile. He gently brushed away some of Owen’s hair from where it had tangled around him before leaning down and pressing a tender kiss to his lips. A soft sigh escaped Owen as a hand cradled his cheek and he leaned into the contact, savouring the moment.
When Curt pulled away, that same dopey smile on his face, Owen raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Sometimes I can’t believe that I get to see you like this.” It was said like a confession, breathed into the air between them. “You’re beautiful, Owe. Your laugh sounds just like sunshine and you snort which is fucking adorable.”
Curt ran a hand through his hair and Owen had to admire the way it fell back into his face, framing soft brown eyes in a way that not even the most talented artist couldn’t begin to replicate because it would be Curt, here with Owen. Safely tucked away behind locked doors in a place where they can just be.
“I love you, Owen. Sometimes I feel like I’ll explode with how much I love you.”
Owen would love to have his arms back, to take Curt’s face in his hands and never let him go, but he settles for trying to pour every ounce of what he feels into his smile.
“Didn’t know that you were a poet, love.” Curt huffs a laugh and tweaks his side, eliciting a yelp. “Okay! I love you too, you twat. I spend our time apart counting down the seconds before I get to see you again.”
And it’s true. Owen would spend every moment of the rest of his life with Curt if he could.
They stay like that for a bit, just savouring the moment, until Owen offers up a dry, “Does this mean that you’ll get off of me now?”
Curt’s evil grin snaps back into place and Owen’s going to take that as a resounding no.
“Look. Your giggles were cute and everything, but I think we both know that that wasn’t what I was looking for.” He starts walking two fingers up Owen’s stomach and towards his ribs and, yeah, maybe it’s a little more intimidating than Owen had been anticipating.
“Curt, love,” Owen curses the way his voice wobbles just the slightest bit, but he powers through, “You don’t have to do this. Can’t we come to some sort of agreement?”
He feels Curt begin to lightly trace his topmost ribs and snaps his jaw shut, breathing sharply through his nose in an attempt to keep his composure.
Curt just sits there with a shit-eating grin on his face. “You know, I’m pretty sure I said something like that earlier and you didn’t look like you were going to have mercy on me. But,” He adds, slowly travelling down, “My original offer still stands. You give up your worst spot, and we’ll call it even. After I test it out to make sure you’re not lying, of course.”
He wasn’t daft, Owen saw the bargain for what it was: An out. Curt was always willing to put Owen’s comfort above all else, and he was giving him the chance to escape if it was all too much.
But, to be completely honest, Owen had dished out his fair share of this kind of affection, and he wasn’t exactly opposed to being pinned by his extremely attractive boyfriend. He could think of worse ways to spend his morning than laughing under Curt’s hands. Not that he would ever admit to that out loud.
So… “You can take your offer and shove it right up your arse—CURT! Shihihihit I cahahahan’t!”
Owen had barely had the chance to finish his sentence before Curt dug in, clawing down his ribs and occasionally rubbing his knuckles over the bones. The sensation was overwhelming in the best possible way and Owen threw his head back as frantic cackles were drawn out of him.
Distantly, he heard Curt chuckling above him, “This is definitely closer. What do you say, Agent Carvour? Did I find it?”
While he was speaking, one of Curt’s hands had switched to sporadic pokes and light tracing between his ribs while the other one continued its ruthless attack. Owen honestly didn’t know which one was worse, just that both desperately made him want to curl up into a ball to protect himself.
He decided to throw a Hail Mary in the hopes that he could sneak one by Curt, “YES! Yehehehes it’s the wohohohorst! Lehehet me gohohohoho!”
A contemplative hum sounded and Curt’s fingers slowed, allowing Owen to suck in greedy breaths as he fought to recover from the brutal attack.
“You know,” A small squeak escaped Owen’s lips as Curt’s breath curled around his neck in a way that should not be that sensitive, “I don’t believe you.”
Owen’s eyes snapped wide in panic. “Curt wait! Waitwaitwait you can’t! Shihihihit cohohome ohon!”
Curt, not exactly known for his patience, had already moved to his stomach, kneading it like a particularly dedicated cat before scribbling up his sides, pitching Owen into a significantly higher octave than before.
“I think you’ll find that I definitely can, baby.” Curt mimed pushing up a pair of glasses before noting, “Hm, not as bad as the ribs, but perfect if I’m itching to see the way his nose scrunches up. Good to know.”
At that, Owen desperately tried to smooth out his face with very minimal success, prompting Curt to prod at his ribs, speaking over his surprised shriek.
“Ah ah ah, no hiding that smile! Got it?”
He gave a few more pokes until Owen frantically nodded. At this point, he was pretty sure that his smile was glued to his face anyway.
“Excellent!” Curt cheered, “Now, where to next?”
Owen spared a second to be grateful that Curt was perched on his hips before he started squeezing down his legs and his struggling increased tenfold.
“Oh? What do we have here?”
Oh shit. Ohhhh shit.
“Curt!” Owen tossed out desperately, “Cohohome ohohohon! Just gihihive it uhuhup! Plehehease not thehehere!”
“What was that?” Curt sounded absolutely delighted, that evil, evil man, “Did Owen Carvour, the best agent the MI6 has had literally ever, just beg?!”
The further Curt moved down his thigh, the more frantically Owen kicked his legs in an attempt to dislodge him. The shocks running through him were slowly tearing what little composure he had left to shreds, but it was more the anticipation of what was to come than the attack he was currently suffering.
Owen could barely bring his addled brain to form words and settled to shaking his head in denial.
“Aw, c’mon!” Curt goaded, pausing for a moment as his hands hovered threateningly, knowingly, over Owen’s knees, “If you do it again, I might consider showing mercy.”
That was a bald-faced lie and they both knew it. Owen pretended to consider Curt’s proposition, and Curt pretended to believe him, both gearing up for what was sure to be the grand finale.
“Curt…” Owen infused his voice with a note of defeat just to see the way he briefly cocked his head in confusion like a puppy, “Fuck you.”
A shocked laugh echoes between them, “You little—” He cuts himself off, shrugs, “Well, you asked for it.”
He squeezes at the tops of Owen’s knees, and Owen almost manages to send Curt flying with how hard he kicks.
“CURT! Nonononono plehehehehease! I’m sohohohorry SHIT!” This is how Owen’s going to die. He dug his fucking grave and now he has to lie in it but holy fuck what a way to go.
Owen manages to worm a hand from under Curt’s knee, but any and all coordination and strength that he might’ve had has been effectively sapped out of him. He gives Curt’s leg a few frantic slaps before holding on for dear life, using Curt as an anchor even though he’s the cause of the fucking storm!
Curt, for his part, is having the time of his life. He’s getting some long awaited revenge on the many attacks that Owen’s launched on him ever since he pressed that first too-light kiss on his neck. And it’s not an unwelcome boost to his pride to have one of the greatest spies ever at his mercy, pleading from just a few fingers.
Yeah, he might be a bit of a sadist, but there’s a reason he and Owen fit together so well.
Owen can just barely remember what Curt had said about being thorough, just that he was holding very true to his word. He could feel his partner mentally cataloguing his reactions to different techniques, testing for weaknesses and then fully exploiting them before moving on to the next.
Squeezing at the tendon just above the knee produced shrill hysterics. Scribbling and slowly dragging nails over his kneecaps introduced incoherent babbling that could’ve been pleas for mercy or threats to his life.
By the time Curt moved to the soft spot behind his knees, Owen was nearly spent. A few tears trickled down his temples and his hair was a complete disaster. As curious fingers wormed between his legs and the bed, Owen’s laughter pitched up desperately, cracked, and went completely silent.
Curt only kept it up for a few more seconds before deciding that revenge had been exacted to its fullest extent. When he heaved himself off of Owen, watching him recover with adoring eyes, Owen couldn’t even find it in himself to curl up. He simply laid there, catching his breath and sinking as far into the sheets as his body would let him.
He flinches a bit when Curt reaches out to him but Curt just says, “Don’t worry, I’m done,” and wipes away the drying tears before leaving his arms open in an invitation.
Maybe Owen should’ve hesitated more before collapsing into his partner’s chest, but he was exhausted and Curt was there, running soothing hands through his hair and down his back.
“You’re an evil, rotten man, Curt Mega.” Owen mutters this into his chest, body betraying him as he presses as close as he can manage into the comforting warmth.
Curt just places a fond kiss on his forehead, “Well, maybe. But you deserved it and now the playing field has evened itself out. And,” He says, scratching at Owen’s scalp and earning a contented groan, “I didn’t hear you say red, which makes me think that, maybe, you didn’t mind it as much as you were trying to let on.”
There’s a cutting remark sitting on the tip of Owen’s tongue, but then Curt’s hand gets caught in his tangled hair and the gentle tug washes it away. He settles for swatting at Curt’s arm and mumbling, “Whatever. Like you’re one to talk.”
Curt’s breath hitches minutely in his chest, but Owen still counts it as a win.
“You know,” Curt says, “We should probably be getting up. We only have one more day before I need to go back to America, there’s lots we could be doing.”
Owen just clings on tighter, “I swear to Christ, if you try to drag me out of bed after what you just put me through, I’m never letting you stay here again. And anyways, love, I can’t think of much I’d rather be doing than laying here with you. Just try to savour the moment.”
Neither wanted to think about their inevitable separation, so they didn’t, choosing to bask in the others’ presence for as long as they could. Enjoying the warmth and security that came with being together.
“I love you, Owe.”
“I love you too, Curt.”
Everything, every mission and life-threatening injury, was worth it as long as it lead them back to each other.