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“Owen, light of my life, my heart of hearts, I’m going to need you to hurry the fuck up.”
Curt stood over Owen, shifting his weight in a way that made Owen want to stop sorting through files and shoot him through both knees just to get him to stop moving. His gun was aimed at the doorway where voices were getting progressively louder, being entirely unhelpful in Owen’s search for the key to a cipher they’d been sent to steal.
Well, not quite steal. They were supposed to scan the cipher and then put everything back exactly how they found it. That way, their respective agencies would be able to keep tabs on the correspondence between a couple of well-known weapons dealers without alerting them.
But why would things ever go as planned? Why would this tiny, out-of-the-way facility be empty when their intelligence said it would be?
“Well, love, I don’t see you doing anything particularly helpful,” Owen snapped.
Look, he was stressed, alright? He had Curt nagging him, footsteps approaching which meant their day was about to get a whole lot worse, and Owen was about to ruin a wonderful streak of perfect assignments.
The footsteps inched closer and Curt lowered his voice, “I’m keeping watch! You got upset that one time when I didn’t keep watch!” Owen could feel eyes burning into the back of his head as he skimmed through documents as fast as he dared.
Owen didn’t respond, putting all of his focus into finding this damn cipher.
This meant that he only vaguely registered the muttered cursing from behind him and the rustling of paper blended into his own.
“Owen,” He flipped a page, eyes darting across the words that were all starting to bleed together, “Owen!”
“Bloody—what, Curt? What could you possibly—” Owen cut himself off, taking in Curt’s new position. He was holding various unimportant papers under one arm, the other hand resting on the doorknob, “What are you doing?”
The voices stopped for a moment, and they both froze. It sounded like there was a group of six, maybe seven out there. The chatter resumed and Curt quickly explained his plan, voice lowered.
“Alright. They don’t know that we’re here. If I run out of here with papers and distract them, it’ll hopefully give you enough time to find what we need and get the hell out of here. Got it? Got it.”
Owen went to stand, “Curt, do not—” but Curt was already out the door.
Almost immediately, shots started firing, sending Owen crashing back down so he wouldn’t be seen.
“I am going to kill that man, bloody idiot,” Owen muttered to himself, throwing caution to the win and haphazardly tearing through the frankly absurd about of documents in search of this stupid fucking cipher, “Curt, you better not be dead when I find you because I will bring you back to life solely to kill you again.”
With a yell, the gunfire goes quiet.
And Curt doesn’t come back.
“Shit! Shit shit shit where the hell—finally!” There, near the very bottom of the stack, was a slim piece of paper with the information he needed.
Owen quickly scanned the information before shoving everything back in a general approximation of where it had been before. Strangely enough, subtlety was no longer his top priority on this mission, and whoever needed this cipher so damn badly was just going to have to deal with it.
Christ, this better be worth it.
Sliding the gun out of his holster and switching the safety off, Owen slipped over to the doorway to see what kind of havoc Curt had managed to wreak.
Blood was splattered across the walls, bullet holes indicated the frankly terrible aim of their targets, and five bodies littered the floor. Owen allowed himself to relax momentarily after a quick scan determined that Curt’s was not among them.
Unfortunately, that meant he was somewhere else with the one or two men that remained unaccounted for.
How lovely.
He wasted no time, moving through the hallways with a speed that would have bordered on carelessness if he wasn’t the best agent in the MI-6. No one stood in his way, which meant that the ball of fear and anger continued to grow inside of Owen, just waiting for someone to appear so that he could release it. So that he could do something.
Finally, he heard voices. There was no attempt to assess the situation, no evaluating the risks and planning his next move because all Owen could see was red.
“What were you looking for?” A man asked, raising a hand to strike Curt once more by the looks of it, “Tell—”
BANG!
From his near-immaculate suit, Owen guessed that he had just killed someone very important. Too bad that he couldn’t be bothered to give half a damn.
He glanced at Curt only to see his eyes widen. Owen dove off to the side before he could even utter a warning, twisting as he hit the ground to fire off a shot to the second man who had appeared behind him. It hit him square in the shoulder, forcing him to drop his weapon, and Owen didn’t waste any more time before putting his next bullet between his eyes.
The red receded from his vision and, when he spoke, his voice sounded as though it came from somewhere far away.
“Well,” Owen stood up, brushing himself off, “That certainly was eventful.”
Then he turned to face Curt, taking in his sheepish grin and the way he was shoddily cuffed to the chair with a truly, deeply unpleasant stare. Neither of them said anything for a moment and Owen just blinked at him, slowly.
When Curt finally spoke, it was as though he was trying to convince a very unstable bomb not to go off. Which, to be fair, was currently not very far from the truth.
“Hey, baby,” Owen could see him actively trying to dial up the charm, “Did you get what we came for?”
He took an extra moment to really compose himself. “What the fuck were you thinking?!’
Which evidently did not work.
“I—”
“No. Shut up, I’m talking now,” Owen began to pace, “Yes, I got what we were after. Not that it’s going to be much use considering I probably killed the head of this operation and there’s no chance they won’t change the code they’re using after they realize this base of operations has been broken into and seven members have been killed.”
Curt looked like he wanted to say something but Owen cut him off with a sharp look. “Also, you threw yourself into frankly unnecessary danger. It was reckless and it was terrifying and you are never to do that again. When the gunshots stopped and you didn’t come back I thought you were dead you bastard.”
In a split second, all the anger that had been festering in Owen flooded out, leaving him with the remnants of his fear only visible in the trembling breath he forced himself to take.
“Owen,” And wasn’t it sad that Owen had to keep himself from flinching away from the softness that encased that voice? That it tore into him faster than any bullet could ever hope to?
“Owen.” It was sharper now, more desperate, and Owen finally looked up to meet Curt’s gaze, to see the smile meant just for him. “There you are.”
Curt shifted in his seat, handcuffs clinking against the metal chair, “Look, I won’t say I’m sorry for what I did, because I’m not. It was the best plan we had in the moment and all I could think was there there was no chance in hell that I would let them get close enough to take a shot at you, okay?”
He waited for Owen’s reluctant nod before continuing, “Good. I know that I’d be pissed if you pulled that kind of bullshit, not that you would because you’re you and you’d probably have some elaborate scheme ready to go, but I get it and I am sorry for not coming back.”
Damn, it really was impossible to stay angry at this man for long.
“I’m still going to kill you.” It was unconvincing, more of a sigh from a longsuffering partner than an actual threat.
Curt picked up on it, posture relaxing as the atmosphere finally began to lighten. “Oh yeah? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
Well, the danger was mostly gone, and Owen was certainly going to be in heaps of trouble later for the outcome of this mission, he might as well have some fun while he was still here.
“Well, let’s see,” Owen circled around Curt’s chair, allowing his fingers to trail across his back and up the nape of his neck, “I do have one idea.”
“Owen, let’s talk about this.” And oh how Owen adored the little tremor in his voice, that inkling of real fear that Curt couldn’t quite hide in anticipation of what was to come.
He ran his hand through Curt’s hair, giving a little tug just for the hell of it. It was followed quickly by running a finger down the shell of his ear, taking great pleasure in how the shift in sensation forced Curt to choke on his breath, letting out a slightly strangled, very undignified, snort.
Owen was sure his fond smile showed in his voice, “Hm. I’m not sure I want to.”
He shot his hands down to jab Curt in the sides, earning himself a “No dON’T!”
It was then a truly evil idea occurred to him. Owen had always expected that Curt enjoyed these particular rescues more than any of their other games, and he’d always idly wondered what it would take to make him admit it.
Perhaps it was time to find out.
“Alright,” Owen shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked away. He peered around the room as though looking for something.
A glance back at Curt revealed an expression that was the perfect mix of utter bafflement and the devastation of a small child witnessing someone kick a particularly cute puppy. He had a feeling that this was going to be almost too easy.
“What?” The clang of metal against metal echoed throughout the room as Curt shifted, “Just like that?”
There was nothing stopping Curt from getting himself out of those cuffs. Owen knew for a fact that the A.S.S. taught its agents dozens of ways to slip out of situations like this, and not all of them even involved dislocation of some kind! He wouldn’t be surprised if Curt had a lockpick up his sleeve as he spoke.
Which meant that as long as Curt remained bound, he did so of his own volition.
Owen spun around so he was facing his partner once more with a casual grace that belied his keen, predatory gaze.
“Why not? You just asked me to, did you not?” And he could see the exact moment that Curt caught wind of the new game. His jaw snapped shut and he schooled his features into an expression that could almost be called neutral were it not for the blush burning high on his cheeks.
“Yeah, well,” Owen’s smirk sharpened when Curt had to pause to clear his throat, “You’re normally not very good at listening to me.”
Oh, the irony. “I fear that you’re thinking of yourself, love. One of us has a history of being unable to follow orders and I can assure you that it certainly isn’t me.”
“So you’re saying that if I gave you an order right now, you’d follow it?”
Owen’s eyebrows shot up at that. Well, this is certainly getting interesting. “I don’t see why not. What did you have in mind?”
“Agent Owen Carvour,” He has to actively refrain from straightening his posture at Curt’s authoritative tone which doesn’t seem entirely fair, “I order you to get your ass over here and touch me goddamnit!”
Now, this is certainly something that Owen can work with. He has a certain talent for following orders in a peculiar way, and nobody can ever say that he directly disobeyed.
Curt’s eyes track each movement Owen makes as he saunters over and Owen drinks up the attention. Hands come to rest on his shoulders, thumbs just barely brushing against his collarbones as Owen leans in close, stopping just a hair’s breadth from touching their noses together.
“Alright, love. Here I am.” A slow, evil grin starts to form, “Now what?”
Owen can feel the sharp puffs of breath against his lips as Curt struggles to maintain his composure. He isn’t asking for much, truly, just a simple trade; Curt’s dignity in exchange for what they both know he wants.
And honestly, from the state that Curt’s currently in, it looks like he’s seriously considering it.
“Owe, c’mon.” That confidence from before is nowhere to be found, replaced by a vaguely desperate whine as Owen keeps brushing back and forth. Over and over. He can feel the shiver that comes from moving his touch up just a bit. Owen only stays there briefly before moving back, giving Curt just the slightest taste of what he could have. “You know.”
He really does. “I don’t have the faintest idea as to what you might be referring to my dear, I’m going to need you to clarify it for me.”
A frankly pathetic noise punched out of Curt’s chest, only serving to stoke the fire burning within Owen. It takes everything within him to not chase that sound, to take Curt apart until nothing remains. But this is a battle, a test of endurance, and Owen is going to win.
Curt tipped his head back in defeat, “Owen, please.”
“Please…?” The curve of his neck was tempting, but Owen wasn’t one to be easily fooled by Curt’s tricks.
Which Curt clearly didn’t appreciate when his head snapped back up to glare at him, “God just— Just tickle me already you motherfUCHKER! SHIHIHIT!”
And just like that, Owen latched onto his sides, finding weak points and exploiting them like it was something he’d been training to do for years.
Which, to be fair, he has.
“Now, Curt,” Owen spoke casually, as though he wasn’t currently tearing his lover to bits, “You should know that I would never disrespect your mother like that. Mrs Mega is a lovely lady and I would take her out to dinner first at the very least.”
Curt attempted to sputter out protests, rather unsuccessfully, “You—Yohou nonono wahahait!”
“I suppose you’re right, she’s not exactly my type.” Owen crawled his fingers upwards, matched by Curt’s laughter rising in pitch, “But I must give credit where credit is due, she created someone who very much is my type.”
Curt threw his head back once more and Owen didn’t bother resisting this time, “Why, I really could just devour you.”
Without bothering to remove his hands from Curt’s torso, Owen leaned down to press a featherlight kiss against his partner’s neck. Any attempt to slam his head down was thoroughly prevented by Owen’s complete and utter refusal to be deterred.
They stayed like that for a while, Owen skimming his lips over sensitive skin while playing Curt’s numerous other weak spots like a finely-tuned instrument, Curt simply letting it happen, welcoming it.
Then, Owen remembered something.
“What are you dohoing?” Curt asked as Owen pulled away, residual giggles still tumbling out.
Owen unzipped his jacket and reached inside, “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet. I just thought that you might appreciate a visit from an old friend.”
Sure, giving Curt a break was all well and good, and was part of the reason that Owen had decided to do this now.
But watching Curt’s expression as Owen pulled out the feather he kept tucked away in his jacket pocket just in case? Seeing the shift from confusion, to shock, to fear, before finally settling on a mix of excitement and dread? Now that was what Owen had been looking for.
Well… “Owen. Baby. You really don’t have to do this! We can talk about it and work something out! Just please, anything but that.”
And the begging was certainly an added bonus.
“Oh, love,” Owen placed the father under Curt’s chin like one would a sword, “I don’t think you understand how utterly unconvincing that was.”
If you had asked Curt, he would’ve said that a sword may have actually been less threatening in this moment.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately depending on who you were asking, Curt was unable to answer any and all inquiries on account of frantically laughing himself hoarse.
Owen relaxed, simply dragging the feather along to wherever tickled his fancy in the moment. Watching Curt lose himself in hysterics, letting the curses and the pleading wash over him in favour of seeking out more pleasant noises, like the squeal he let out each time Owen managed to worm the feather behind his ear.
The situation brought Owen great joy, reducing America’s greatest spy to a shrieking mess with something so delicate. It was laughable, really.
Or, at least, Curt was certainly laughing.
Suddenly, a warm hand wrapped itself around Owen’s wrist and wrenched it away, and he looked down to see Curt, free of his cuffs, red-faced and giggly.
“Satisfied?” Curt rolled his eyes as he released Owen from his grasp, allowing him to safely tuck away the feather for future use. A brief, calculating look flashed over Curt’s face, gone before Owen could register its presence.
He heaved himself up, rubbing at his wrists, “Yeah yeah, laugh it up. You got me.”
And Owen did indeed laugh at that, “Yes, because you tried so hard to prevent it. In fact, if I recall correctly, you actually—”
“Okay!” Curt cut him off, going so far as to slap a hand over his mouth, “Shouldn’t we be getting out of here? That sounds like a really good idea to me!”
Owen didn’t say anything, letting Curt cling on to whatever scraps of dignity he’d managed to preserve, simply following after him as they made their way out of the facility.
Abruptly, Curt whirled around to face him, “One day, I’m gonna get you back for all this.”
Owen snorted, “I highly doubt it, love. I'd have to make a Curt Mega level mistake in order for you to have the opportunity, and we both know that I don't make those.”
And he firmly ignored the twinge of nerves deep inside him, choosing instead to briefly entangle his fingers with Curt’s. They both savoured the warmth, the irony of feeling safe within enemy walls, if only for a moment.
Anything else could be a problem for another day.