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They should’ve known by now, but there wasn’t a sign. And yet, for Alex, he never wanted anyone knowing, yet he yearned for them to see, coveting to make it obvious, but at the same time, not.
Motivation drove him to let any one of them (if not everyone) get comfortable, having them perceiving this was possible and meant to be. But no, the opposite happened — as to how Alex saw it.
He wished to be buried deep into the ground, or become a ghost for a few hours, wholly escaping from the moment, ideally with Frank. But despite the sheer yearning to do neither of those, he decided to face the consequences.
Every thought crashed in his mind, but it never ended there, manifesting into something bigger, eventually seeping into his work, performance tainting from it.
From there, Alex pursued being alone, solely having a heart-to-heart talk with Frank, understanding the situation like bricks from the ground, building them brick-by-brick to see the bigger picture.
In fact, the marine knew from the beginning, but why didn't he care?
They’ve known each other for years. Countless times blood shed, lives were at death’s doorstep in a time where a single step went in the wrong direction, seeing comrades pass and go. They expected to be the next in Vietnam, all settled with a revolver, with one bullet in the barrel.
But they never had the chance to peek or have a single second experiencing afterlife as they both had a second chance, getting them to where they were: West Berlin, surrounded by their team, having one goal — find Perseus.
It was a chore to mingle with unfamiliar faces: missed encounters of a duality in Hue City, additional outside help from the West (United Kingdom), a volatile and lauded member from the adversary's hands. It was a diverse yet turbulent dynamic, questioning their principles if one word, action, or idea could make the house of cards fall.
Some never understood each other on a deep level as their work required objectiveness over subjectiveness. While others had their walls built sturdily, some were opened and brought down for them. There was no other way to seep in the personal things in life into their work without fully encapsulating the big picture of why they were there in the first place — get the job done, no mishaps, nothing else whatsoever.
But ignoring work, Frank was the only one who wrapped himself around his countless fallibilities and shortcomings well, hiding them from everyone's nosiness. Said misunderstandings not only shaped Alex much differently than before but molded the marine in numerous ways: being transparent, understanding, and persevering.
Relating to that, numerous times, they talked in the van, bantering or secretly talking about their colleagues. Sometimes, they chatted in Hudson's office while checking papers and rearranging intel for Bell and Park, but short talks were needed, or else someone stepped in and relayed the words verbatim.
Few weeks after that, Alex and Frank fit well in the group despite the differences they had with a couple of their fellow agents.
What was unusual yet welcomed was the change of activities when they had spare time.
Usually, Lazar was the first to speak on where to go at night: Chinese restaurants, liquor shops, and parks. Frank was all in for the first with their fellow CIA agent, while Alex preferred the last.
Other times, Sims immediately planned out of nowhere, having the same plans, but during the morning, along with planning on who else had the opportunity and time to go with them.
Lazar immediately thought of Park as the Brit had had enough of decrypting intel, but the method of him insisting her wasn’t the best as he begged on his hands and knees. Frank and Alex snickered at the distance as their colleague tried his best, but the woman accepted it straightforwardly.
After the fiasco, Park casually waved off Lazar, but not to the point she won’t hang out with the four of them, explaining why it wasn't a good idea to beg and reel someone in straightaway out of nowhere. Even though there were mishaps, Park, Lazar, and Sims knew how to bond, learning everything they wanted.
But what the former three never knew was how Frank and Alex hung out privately. Sims and Lazar tried guessing but failed, while Park was silent about it.
Others never bothered aside from Adler. He anticipated something extravagant: a simple night out at the bar or the nightclubs a few blocks from the safe house, dancing the night away. Their commanding officer took note of their flamboyant nature long before in his mind, speculating them to have a bet in swooning the most ladies in one night.
But Frank never wanted the latter, nor even had fun at the former. With a couple of strangers ogling individuals, Frank never sought to let either one of them be in their arms no matter how amiable they were.
For Frank, Adler was dumb emotionally and intimately. Alex, at first, defended their commanding officer, explaining to Frank that he didn’t know the true nature of their relationship.
However, when Adler relayed his last statement on getting ladies and having a bet on them, it piqued both of them, immediately having second thoughts.
Alex blissfully ignored Adler after that, with the latter having no idea what caused them to flinch from his insights of their liaisons, along with not allowing him to go into that area.
Putting that away, Frank and Alex only had one place where it was safe to be away from the curiosity of everyone: the safehouse.
Although the team had their rooms, Frank or Alex snuck out on their own on numerous occasions late at night. But it was not without getting caught by a handful of their fellow agents.
A couple of times, Alex was called out by Lazar slithering his way to Frank's room. Although the fellow CIA agent was, in question, checking up on everyone to see if no KGB spy breached the safehouse, Alex waved him off as he reasoned out; he was getting a glass of water.
Another time, Frank got caught by Sims briskly sneaking to Alex’s bedroom. Sims rubbed his eyes upon catching the marine, yawning after leaving the restroom, commenting to Frank on how he was horrible at stealth. Frank managed to convince him by approaching Alex’s door, leaning and asking for more blankets.
When the coast was clear, they knocked at their doors quietly. After letting either one of them enter, they bonded with the door locked tacitly, having the peaceful night pass.
From there, no one ever knew their true dynamic. That was until someone managed to crack it over time, taking a peak and decode every minute detail like an artisan finding an imperfection in their craft.
Alex got it right away due to her incapability of hiding it; she never had shame in doing it right in front of them; frankly, she did it right next to him one time. Park bulldozed and hurdled the walls Alex built, all thanks to a simple stare and flick of a pen, writing away on a blank sheet of paper or sticky-note.
Even though she wasn’t deplorable for doing them, the team never bothered noticing her; it bugged Alex internally.
In addition to Park, she took more hints of their relationship. From the elusive intimate gestures, sudden pitch change of their voices, to the way Frank and Alex brushed their shoulders and hands, which she picked whenever they were close together.
It bothered Alex as he stole a glance at her crumpled notes at her desk. It was ironic for Park to be a little messy from time to time, but the reason for it was much more than what Alex envisaged.
They — how Alex briefly looked at them — were almost like magnets not allowed to be pulled apart; opposites do attract, but this was nearly inseparable, defying the laws of physics.
She was like a scientist working with lab rats, studying them, learning the enthralling bond to mean best for her research, leading to an exact answer.
Alex grabbed his jacket, wrapping his cold, tensed frame, shaking away the memories as he hopped a little. After a few minutes of combing and tidying up, he stepped out of his bedroom.
Opposite to his door was a long rectangular mirror, stretched across. Alex huffed, mirror reflecting an image of himself blushing lightly, redness concentrating around his cheeks.
His eyes closed shut as he pinched his thigh through his pants. Next came chewing his inner mouth, relieving the stress, shoving the conjuring uneasiness and perturbation away before heading off.
Alex rubbernecked Frank despite the hint of seriousness at the back of his mind, preparing for debriefing with others, but his breath hitched, along with his heart pounding, almost passing out at the moment.
But it wasn’t Frank who made him want to collapse onto the floor as never had Frank made Alex faint.
Alex leaned against a ladder stool. Beside him, Frank sat on a black metal chair, left foot on top of an empty toolbox, slackly laying his elbow on top of his knee.
Lazar approached from their side, then sat down on the stack of small crates, rifle in his free hand.
Hudson patted his jacket, then adjusted his shades before standing in the middle.
While everyone was comfortable, it wasn’t the same for Alex. It’s as though he was the center of attention despite the lights illuminating the information-loaded evidence board up front, harmlessly screaming pieces of evidence at their faces.
He anticipated the debrief to be short, but for every debrief with Adler and Hudson, the whole thing was a lifetime.
It was like reading someone's autobiography in just 1 hour, all without stopping for a break to go outside and have a breather. Said autobiography had its ripped out papers, yet finding — or even creating — the missing pages meant the unknown discovery, either leading them to their demise or ambivalence about their thoughts regarding the future. The autobiography wasn’t meant for one person anyway.
Eyeing from the evidence board like an eagle was Park, waiting to strike if any of them flinched. Curiosity and idiosyncrasy plastered her face, but it wasn’t only her (from Alex’s guts) who’s been taking into account their actions in the safehouse.
Someone else may have been watching them in the shadows long before Frank and Alex noticed.
Behind Alex, Bell crossed his arms, listening to Adler; the commanding officer approached the evidence board, tapping it with his knuckles.
“This is it. The recent movements of Theodore Hastings has led us here. Cuba. Right in our backyard,” Adler pointed at one of the pictures of a birds-eye view of a specific area in Cuba and the stolen nukes, looking at it for a few seconds until he turned back to the group.
Pictures at the board distracted Alex from Park despite sweat trickling down his neck, palms sweating. The bomber jacket made him appear he showered two times today, and the perspiration only accelerated as Park gazed at him.
She turned to Adler but glanced at Alex and Frank through the corner of her eyes. The former was fidgeting, encircling his thumb on his index finger.
Park tilted her head slightly and turned towards the evidence board, straightening herself, breaking her captivating observation of Alex. “A vacant government facility in the Cuban countryside has been a hub of activity for Perseus. And the likely location of the stolen nuke.”
“No doubt Castro allowed it,” Lazar commented.
“Twenty bucks to anyone who could bring him down before me,” Frank’s cocky and confident voice beamed, making Alex jump a little.
The CIA operative met Frank’s face, but the marine had no signs of discomfort, sending waves of malaise swirling in Alex’s chest, heart racing.
Lazar smirked and raised his eyebrows. “Who? Castro or Perseus?”
“Whoever,” Frank raised his arm, forming a fist, hovering it towards Alex.
Alex bumped it, quickly smiling at Lazar, but it faltered as soon as Park gawked at the three of them. Heat rushed on Alex’s face, but his hands can’t cover it as it will only exacerbate the quandary with Frank.
Hudson paced midway conversation, sternness plastering his voice, waving his pointed hand at them. “We’re not gonna let him move this nuke inside the States. It’s time to take down Perseus, once and for all.”
“Team, wrap up any unfinished business. Once we strike, there’s no coming back,” Adler reminded, then turned to Sims, with the latter nodding.
Alex had nothing else to take care of objectively since he already helped out Hudson and Adler regarding where he and Frank will be deploying alongside Adler. Frank had nothing else to say and was instead silent over it.
Alex shifted his gaze to Frank, sweat creeping up on his back the more he took in Adler’s words. He did have unfinished business with Frank; he had to tell him.
A brief silence ensued, but it ended right away with the sound of a magazine being put inside of an assault rifle as Sims reloading it, solid metal clanking, ammunition box disturbing the serene yet uncanny atmosphere as he picked up.
Everyone stood and walked, going to their equipment and workstations as they prepared for their operation in Cuba for the following day.
Alex went first to the van before Frank followed behind, but Hudson intervened, blocking his way, towering him.
“Woods! Don’t get any bright ideas over there,” Hudson met Frank’s audacious face as the marine rolled his eyes.
“Yeah! You’ve got my “sure as shit” guarantee, Hudson!” Frank exclaimed, grinning wide as he walked backward and twirled, going to the van
Alex darted his eyes at the evidence board, and beside it was Park approaching Adler. The CIA operative listened intently to every word escaping the Brit’s mouth.
“May I have a word?” Park asked, tapping Adler’s shoulder.
Adler took his last drag before stubbing the cigarette on the ground with his shoe, responding to her inquiry. “What’s up?”
“I need a few minutes of your time to discuss something,” she requested, handing a brown folder to him, stealing a glance from Alex. “In private and" —at the corner of her eyes, Frank was leaning on the crates that were inside the dark maroon van— "something more than just this,” Park whispered, bringing out a cigarette from her metal casing.
“Let’s talk.” Adler traversed with Park, going to the private office. Park glanced as soon as they passed by the van, having one last look at the men.
Hands covered Alex’s face as his head lolled forward while Frank gazed absentmindedly around the safehouse, elbow on the crate.
She may have taken it too far, causing her not to light her cigarette protruding in between her lips, prompting Adler to question. “Is everything all right?”
Park removed the stick, “So as long as you understand, Adler,” she desolately voiced.
Alex peeked through his fingers, and from there, he reflected.
The aforementioned imparted disclosure was buoyant, despite the anguish in between the lines when she addressed Adler. Alex never heard nor saw Park this way before when she was around him and Frank; it was this very moment Alex took those in deeply.
Despite the MI6 agent having a mask of unalloyed professionalism, it was replaced with the complete opposite, ousting what used to be a poster girl for British excellence to a simple woman, sporadic affinity coating her accented voice.
Alex questioned internally whether Park was driven by concealed conscience alongside dialectics, finding out the true nature of their relationship which was out of the ordinary for her.
Locutions may be manipulated, but the sudden change of intonation and tone, coupled with the veracious facial expression may prove it wrong.
He raised his head as his heart hurtled, listening to the deafening footsteps of the Brit and their commanding officer. In the next few seconds, the two disappeared when the door was shut closed, along with blinds turned in.
Alex turned to Frank, sweat trickling down his neck and forehead.
The marine leaned a little, murmuring. “Wanna talk?”
Wordlessly, Alex nodded as he shuffled, going in the van, closing one of the backdoors. Clambering further, he sat on one of the chairs. Frank followed, closing the other door, then sat opposite to Alex.
As soon as Frank adjusted himself, he looked at Alex’s eyes, reflecting dread, lips pressed together, almost trembling. For a few seconds, silence loomed, drawing them closer.
“Hey, you alright?” Frank asked, leaning close to Alex.
“She knows.”
“Park?”
“Yeah. She’s gonna tell Adler,” Alex clasped his hands, holding their fate, turning to see Frank’s face as the marine shifted his head towards the ammunition boxes, staring at them absentmindedly.
Frank’s heart raced, galloping from the words along with his stomach sinking to the floor, acidity building up. At this point, both of them wished to be buried six feet in the ground, and yet, one word made Alex queasy and widened his eyes, contradicting what he expected from Frank.
“So?” Frank scoffed, twitching a smile.
“What do you mean ‘so’?”
“Why the fuck would Park, or anyone rather, care about us?”
“I…” Alex deeply sighed as he rubbed his face from the asseveration, mind shattered, words and letters scattered all about, mixing into incoherent and jumbled sentences.
“Hey,” Frank tapped his knee, “Look around.”
“No one’s around here except us. No need to feel like shit,” Frank smirked, lolling his head sideways, proving it. His words were smothered with serenity as he continued rubbing Alex’s kneecaps with his gloved hand, thumb encircling through the pants.
Alex uncovered his face, eyes twinkling placidity. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Alex, y’know our code right?” Frank's fingers pointed to what’s going on: windows halfway-closed and front and back doors locked shut.
The van was their world, despite the stuffiness to it. Even if one of their colleagues crashed and slept in the vehicle, everything was kept in it, not letting a personal thing concerning anything go out.
Alex softly groaned, justifying and reasoning out to Frank. “I keep talking like I’m monologuing for hours on end. Hudson was right.”
Frank bent forward to hear Alex better, despite arm’s length close. “Don’t bother with that wet blanket. I'll be more than happy enough to hear all of those, Alex.”
Frank never got accused by anyone of being a gentleman, and yet, here he was, devoting all his time not because he had it, but intended to sacrifice some of it for cognizance of every kind with Alex.
He had his dedication to comfort Alex from his nightmares and lack of transparent communication ever since Vorkuta. No one had the most open talks aside from Hudson and Frank, yet Alex treaded beyond what the marine handled.
Both of them explored the unknowns, with Alex leading, even if he was the most affected, leaving forgotten memories and broken thoughts after every sentence uttered. Despite all of that, slowly but surely, Frank rebuilt and organized them, taking one step at a time until all was well for Alex.
Apart from that, they discussed the little things in life that meant a lot to them since joining the Army and the CIA; some missed opportunities they managed to fulfill despite their work overtime until where they were at the moment.
One of them was going out, enjoying the quiet city of West Berlin with Lazar and Park trailing behind them, but the latter duo had their ways of spending their afternoon or evening — coffee shop, ice cream van by the road, vinyl recording store.
Of course, Alex and Frank bonded on their own without them knowing what the real deal was about their relationship, but some activities weren’t enough for them to manifest into something they wanted after everything is over – being together in America in either of their states.
The silence was looming between them and it was torturing Alex, making him want to say something he wished to do after a long time. Words and fragments lodged his throat, choking him. At first, he held back from saying them, but not until the spark lit the wick.
“May I kiss you?”
“If you’re down” —Frank laid his gloved hand atop of Alex’s— “I ain’t holding back against it.”
“I am.”
Butterflies fluttered in their stomachs, wings flapping wildly as Frank’s eyes focused on Alex’s lips.
Alex, on the other hand, gazed at his face. Frank’s eyes glimmered despite the dim lighting, ocean blues the CIA operative longed to sail on them as Alex cupped his cheek, caressing it. Frank hummed from the gesture, but it was only for a few seconds until Alex leaned in, pressing their lips together.
The kiss was raw, purely unadulterated fervor. Frank tilted his head, finding a better angle while Alex’s hand trailed behind his neck, pulling him closer. Frank’s hand shifted, going to Alex’s back, leading him to his lap as Alex stood and gently sat on him, weight making Frank scoot and lean against the walls.
Everything was familiar. Before, neither expected it to bloom into something further until Alex was the first to act.
Much to Frank’s denial during that time, he suddenly gave in to it, succumbing to Alex’s unfathomably unsullied smooth movements of his lips and hands contrasting his roughness.
Even though they never confessed — or maybe they’ve forgotten it long ago — there were a couple of times their obliviousness bested them: the brushing of their hands and shoulders, the simple acts of kindness turned amorous, being open to each other as the years passed.
Alex’s hand ghosted from Frank’s neck to his head, massaging the scalp, eliciting a soft hum from the marine, lips curling to a smile.
To make things better, Frank ungloved his hands, setting the leather beside him. With his ungloved hand at the back of Alex’s neck, he let his other free hand hold the CIA operative’s lower waist, making Alex arch his back slightly despite the jacket not allowing Frank’s hand to touch the skin underneath.
As soon as their actions and senses escalated, Frank pulled back, panting, dazed gaze following Alex’s. “You wanna go further?”
Alex tilted his head, insouciance washing over his face despite the van's window wound down almost half-way, allowing anyone to eavesdrop or look through. “No one’s around, remember?” he traced his fingers through Frank’s beard, touching the rough skin under it, evoking a chuckle from Frank.
Their lips pressed again, Frank’s chapped against Alex’s soft ones as the CIA operative led it. Frank permitted him to make every single unique and familiar movement, with the marine following them as their hands roamed their clothed bodies.
A groan escaped Alex’s lips as Frank’s thick vest was in the way, hands not going to where Alex yearned to touch after their weeks-long absence of intimacy. The CIA operative’s hands slowly spread it open, going through Frank’s arms. After a few attempts of fumbling, along with Frank wriggling to accommodate the action, the leather fell on the floor with a soft thump.
Frank’s flannel was the only thing left, and Alex traced his fingers across the rough fabric, finding the buttons. Cold plastic met his trailing fingers and he unbuttoned the collar, followed by the upper portions effortlessly, lips still pressed against Frank’s.
Alex roamed his hand on Frank's broad, toned chest underneath the half-opened flannel, making the latter shudder from the cold hand while his free hand was at the back of Frank’s head, slightly tugging his hair, kissing deeper.
The burgeoning motivation prompted Frank, in return, to unbutton the collar of Alex's bomber jacket, exposing his neck.
There was a particular spot on the CIA operative’s neck he desired to be kissed by the marine. Frank never shoved it away in his mind on where it was, and he went there, lips traveling and leaving soft kisses.
It all happened one night when Bell asked them to check his films hanging on a string. It went well, but not until Bell stepped out of the darkroom, leaving the two at their own accord, passing the night by checking every film of the suspects and where the next op will be.
At first, neither talked, but in the flick of the moment after checking Bell’s films, Alex silently confessed where to be kissed. It was all reserved for Frank when the marine asked questions regarding their sweet spots and other things about their exploration.
After that, Frank’s gears immediately turned, flicking off the amber light bulb, leaving the red light the only thing illuminating their faces. The marine asked before he slowly pressed his lips against the warm skin, testing the waters out, eliciting a whine from Alex.
Alex begged Frank not to leave a hickey, but despite the self-restraint Frank developed in his mind, it was unsuccessful and broken, which, in turn, resorted to him leaving multitudes of them.
As Frank left them, he had the thought of their fellow agents looking at Alex funnily, bombarding him with questions, making the marine hysterically laugh in his mind, not giving out hints on who Alex belongs to.
But he had to consider Alex’s statement as he expressed anguish if any of them found out, and with that, Frank used his bandana, doing his best by covering them from the prying eyes of everyone.
For the most part, it was effective, but they had their close-calls.
One was Alex trudging past Hudson and Adler after lunch the next day. Their eyes squinted, balefully staring at the CIA operative, immediately sending Frank to hover beside him, grace under pressure as they washed the dishes together. By the slither of luck, Adler and Hudson walked away as they never knew what was beneath his bandana, relieving Frank and Alex, carrying on with the rest of their afternoon.
After the unfortunate and awkward incident, Frank trained himself, in the long run, to not leave a mark on Alex’s neck; it was working slowly.
It was… slowly.
That was ironic for Frank, given he was in a position of steering away impulsiveness in his (or their) line of work.
There were numerous things in his job he wanted to avoid — if not vanish entirely: leaving bodies found and causing collateral damage to property.
They were controlled, leaving Frank consumed by his cockiness and complacency the more he initiated into casting the caprice away.
This type of situation, on the other hand, was out of the question.
Like a glass of water, despite the obscurity or questionable consistency, left on the table, without anyone knowing what was in it, the thing was there to quench thirst, leaving one satisfied and carrying on the whole day after one drank it.
Frank’s thirst, however, was libertine.
Sometimes, the desirability was torridly strong, leaving another a few weeks ago after the darkroom incident below Alex’s collarbone. But it was covered by his jacket perfectly, so no one knew what was underneath it as Alex kept adjusting it from time to time.
Aside from the hickeys was Alex’s muffled rhapsody, sending Frank into overdrive, letting go of his hand on his mouth, reveling his sensual whines and moans in the comfortable, late night with everyone sleeping.
That was if they got the best of him. But there were a couple of accomplishments overcoming them.
One was where he stifled them in his bedroom after midnight, not getting caught by Hudson working in his office next to their room. Another situation was Park and Lazar, much to their oversight, allowing Frank to assist Alex to the restroom, helping him let off some steam, and have breathing space from the overloaded information. Lastly was when they were in the weapon’s storage room, with Frank letting Alex dig his teeth into his shoulder as the flannel muffled his soft, satiated moans when the team went back and were searching for the pair as they hadn't finished their business.
The motivation burned to a wildfire as soon as Alex gyrated his hips on Frank’s lap, rough pants meeting and creating friction, sending a rush of blazing heat in between their legs.
Alex tittered as to how he was practically torturing Frank as the CIA operative learned every single thing that vexed him, with the result being sent to his bedroom after something like this happened: giving him the stare or sending out body cues; this was just one of them.
Frank pulled back and growled, cupping Alex’s ass. “You’re gonna fucking regret that, Alex.”
Alex chuckled, then mischievously smirked as he leaned down, eyes reflecting keen and iniquitous ardor against Frank’s lecherous ones. “Oh yeah?” Alex circled his hips again, drawing out a mix of a groan and moan from the marine.
Frank caught him off guard just by the sheer closeness of his face and pressed his lips against his, noses bumping against each other, wasting no time from teasing, letting Alex rue from his own doing by grounding back, drawing a soft, muffled moan from the CIA operative.
Now, this was where Frank had the most fun.
“Frank,” Alex whined as he pulled back, surrendering almost instantly as he grabbed a fistful of Frank’s hair, with the marine kissing from his lips to his neck fervently.
Frank cursed softly against the warm skin, groaning as he stayed quiet as much as possible, not letting anyone know what was happening in the van, sensations skyrocketing as they rolled their hips together.
Frank moved his head around a little, tickling Alex’s neck with his beard, eliciting a giggle from him, but soon turned to a whimper as he trailed his tongue on it.
They prayed the van was brand new (along with its doors, windows, and walls being thick), or else a single squeak from the rusty suspension from their doing will shift someone's head to approach it, knocking on the sliding door. But Frank knew how to work around the situation and let Alex take the lead, with the latter pressing his lips back at Frank’s.
Alex’s eager tongue pressed Frank’s lips, and the marine allowed it to enter, letting Alex taste the bittersweet aftertaste of cigarettes and fruity beer.
A few seconds later, Alex’s lips part, letting Frank’s tongue push into his mouth. He whined as Frank sensually tasted the coffee and chocolate, humming lowly from the sweetness as the marine savored and devoured all of them, along with Alex’s soft moans of satisfaction.
At a time like this, Frank craved leaving hickeys, yet Alex’s sweet mouth didn’t allow him, and for the sake of their dignity and secrecy, he fought the temptation. Frank pulled back, biting his lips and inner mouth, not getting carried away from the way Alex was weakly moaning his name and showing his exposed neck.
Despite discerning the CIA operative’s voice and its tones for a long time, with them slightly despotic whenever he was around Adler or Hudson, Frank treaded beyond them. The marine explored what went ayont the humdrum and typical veneer, swooning anyone after getting to know Alex just by the dictation and intonation of his words.
Said further exploration led to Frank's demise, incessantly finding the different sections of them just by splaying his hand all over Alex’s body, drawing out every single pitch music to his ears.
It was a drug for Frank, endlessly taking them; rehabilitating from it was demureness, refraining from plunging deep into their arms, leading to outbursts of broken passion in one night in their rooms.
Everything got better for the both of them as Alex was practically and subtly bouncing on Frank’s lap with the latter spreading his legs out slightly, eliciting a short but lewd noise from Alex while Frank's tongue darted back inside his mouth, tasting him again, devouring the flavors
It went on and on until they were sweating with arousal, coupled with breathy pants in between them pulling back, catching a breath. Their eyes were lost in the iniquitous lust as Frank's hand sensually roamed his ass, while his free hand went to his waist.
He gripped them, not letting him fall off his lap as the ardor, mixing with desperation, was consuming them for every second passing, turning into eternity in their arms.
If only they weren’t in the van, everything would've been different.
For a brief moment, they pulled back. Frank grasped Alex’s cheek, gliding his thumb along the wrinkled skin, admiring everything: his flushed face, blown pupils, swollen lips, all faintly lit from the fluorescent light outside the van. Alex leaned against Frank’s calloused hand, caressing and tracing his face and stubble as he hummed.
It was only for a few seconds as their eyes darted everywhere on their faces’ features. Something was reflecting on Alex’s eyes as Frank gazed at them briefly.
The CIA operative wasted no time and immediately pressed his lips back to Frank’s, earning a surprised sound from the marine as he straddled Alex again with the former tugging his flannel.
A tear trickled down Alex’s cheek, and reflection immediately battered Frank into reminiscing the moments where they had to keep their relationship a secret for merely weeks until this moment, safely kept with Alex’s request, despite a time he wanted to let them know.
There was an attempt to lay low from the nosiness of Adler and Hudson, but it backfired as Alex blushed from the appeal of letting him and Frank be together, sending each other to Yamantau. The situation prompted Adler and Hudson to wonder if the sudden pitch change of Alex’s voice connected to the operation with the two of them side-by-side.
It only made their relationship much more overt as Frank stood up for him. But Adler said otherwise, leveraging it with their persistence for their rich knowledge about Dragovich and sleeper agents in the mainframe.
Hudson, however, set Adler’s point aside as one of them — Alex specifically — started the quarrel on several occasions.
Alex and Frank being close (intimately close, as to how Hudson perceived it) to each other, if ops were conducted in the States, got the overseer's bulb lighting up. But the momentum of the disputation about Yamantau turned it off (possibly not turning back on any time soon), letting Hudson exchange the emotional repercussions for firm logic, shoving it at their faces.
And with the destruction caused in the Ural Mountains, along with them checking each other objectively from time-to-time, made Hudson stray away from digging deep into their minds about their relationship.
Belikov never bothered to ask about their relationship in the first place, even with the look he had when they were very close to each other at the infil point before heading off. He was all in for the job to assist them logistically; that was his goal. Not that Belikov cared, but he focused on not getting caught being the KGB's mole - working for the Americans for almost a decade.
The absence of intimacy grew out of control with the sexual tension being unresolved as Park weighed in, informed that they were going to Colorado and the Soviet Union; comms set to be heard by everyone, including Bell.
There was nothing to alleviate it, and they had no other choice but to let it brew for a couple of weeks in the pit of their stomachs, conjuring into one big problem before it was all destroyed by a kiss.
“I’m sorry, Frank,” Alex pulled back, breath heaving as he cupped Frank’s rough cheek, shakily caressing it, apologizing from the brusque and abrupt kiss, trying to hold back more tears.
“Hey, hey… I ain’t blaming you for that, sweetheart.”
The moment Frank uttered the name, Alex broke, burying his face in the crook of Frank’s neck as he wrapped his arms around Frank, sniveling.
Frank hugged as he comforted him, rubbing his back affectionately. “Shh… It’s okay, Alex,” he continued kneading.
It's at this moment both of them shared a part of themselves, dedicating to be open, even if it meant doing it at unconventional places like the van or Belikov’s helicopter as Belikov looked at them in the mirror.
After a few moments of solace, Alex pulled back slowly. He frowned as he met Frank’s face, blabbering out excuses from what they were doing. Frank reassured him, keeping the whole thing only to themselves, not letting anyone know.
It was only for a few seconds until contradiction came from the sliding door being dragged open, making the two of them jump as a figure stood against the light, holding take-out boxes. They had no time to react and fix themselves when it spoke right away, staring back at them with revelation, flabbergasted.
“Oh!” Bell leaned back, averting his eyes — yet at the same time, he can’t — from the situation unraveled in his eyes: an acutely flushed Alex, sitting on top of Frank’s lap, along with Frank straddling him, flannel half-opened. The brunette coughed, still holding their food. “Am I… interrupting?”
Frank immediately retorted, vexing at his rhetorical question, slightly raising his voice. “What the fuck do you think?”
Frank tried to find Alex’s face, ignoring Bell’s presence subsequently. Alex was facing away from the men, mortified as he held the jacket’s collar, trying to hide his face, but it was fruitless.
Bell twirled his body, looking around to see if anyone was nearby.
Thankfully, Hudson was on the phone, leaning against Sims’ desk a few feet away, probably talking to President Reagan. Sims and Lazar left as the door closed, metal loudly echoing throughout the safehouse, making Bell jump a little in his spot from the intensity, almost sending a shiver down his spine. Adler and Park were having their private conversation in the office, blinds closed, figures barely apparent through them as Bell squinted his eyes, leaning forward.
Turning back at the men, Bell exhaled. “May I come in?” he asked kindly, holding out their lunches, still standing by the ajar sliding door. The gentleness of Bell’s voice, requesting a simple action to climb inside made Alex’s head turn slowly.
“Yes,” Alex murmured, allowing him to enter. Frank’s face sneered with umbrage, attempting to hold off the brunette, but Alex’s face was calm and composed.
There’s no hiding back now.
Frank set Alex down carefully to his original seat. After a few moments, Frank grabbed his vest, putting it back on while Alex buttoned his jacket. Frank followed as he buttoned his flannel, face flushed, sweat trickling his face as Bell entered the van with their hot, steaming lunch.
Bell shuffled, clambering to sit on the crates. After making himself comfortable, he placed Alex and Frank’s boxes beside them. They were beside each other, innocuously tempting Alex and Frank to eat up.
Alex never expected Bell to be kind enough to give them food, let alone be this comfortable from the incident earlier as if nothing happened, silently eating beside him.
Nothing else came out of Bell’s mouth. The sound of the paperboard opening softly broke the silence, aromatic umami flavors diffusing a few seconds after.
Bell ate his food, savoring the pork and vegetables, then briefly asked Alex and Frank to open theirs, talking while chewing his food.
It momentarily irked Alex, wanting to scold him to not eat with his mouth full, but he waved off Bell’s juvenile attitude, garnering his abstractions from the fact Bell wasn’t blaring questions and comments, or even shouting to get Hudson’s attention.
“Bell?” Alex asked quietly, grabbing his box. He snapped the chopsticks from their conjoined state, preparing to dig in.
“Hm?”
“You’re… not mad?”
Bell swallowed, then grabbed his bottle of water, pointing his finger up for a second, refreshing himself. “What do you mean?” he breathed, twisting the cap of the bottle closed.
Gripping the chopsticks, almost stabbing the rice with them, Frank exclaimed, grinding his teeth. “Are you fucking dumb, huh?”
Bell was taken aback by the retort, wanting to apologize right away, but not until Alex intervened.
“Frank,” he set his hand on top of Frank’s, free hand holding his box, trying to keep their voices down. Alex caressed Frank’s clenched fists, thumb encircling the trembling fingers as he ought to reassure Frank that Bell will understand the situation through pacifism.
The touch was warm, composure traveling slowly from Frank’s hand throughout his whole body. It was a familiar gesture (always familiar) ever since they were together in their lowest points. One of which was Alex giving it whenever Frank had nightmares if he's awake, jolting upright, quivering, and sweating. Countless times the marine screamed; a rare time, he wailed.
But the cushion to those was just beside him all the time, always there to absorb the tears and countless redress he always addressed despite the bawling late at night.
Alex continued as Frank’s shoulders relaxed, with the marine controlling his breathing and animosity from Bell’s nescience.
To everyone, Frank was a hard and complicated man. Adding with his volatile personality, sending someone melting to the floor if they bugged him in the wrong way, not a single person had the opportunity to see what was beyond the loud, stiff demeanor. But there was a side Bell discovered for the first time.
A tear formed, slowly trailing down Frank’s cheeks, blue eyes twinkling frangibility from the fluorescent light shining through the van’s murky windows.
He endured Frank’s hardships since the beginning of their relationship; he got to see what was beyond him apart from the tattoos, ear-splitting voice, and rankings, all making anyone tremble before him if they met his eyes — Alex brought those down.
The CIA operative was always the shoulder Frank to cry on if he got overwhelmed, yet Alex was always told by Frank before that crying was a sign of weakness, bringing down the marine’s façade, along with every other attribute that shaped him.
But to Alex, it was a sign of strength, initiating to know oneself, letting go of the uncontained turmoil with courage. It took a while for Frank to get used to Alex’s bolstered words, accompanying those with kisses, acknowledging his own actions when he did it in the long run.
It worked, confidence fortifying him, growing his disposition as it was a testament to his integrity and perseverance.
Alex unfolded the situation, pecking the back of Frank’s hand as the marine sniffled, his grip loosening on his chopsticks. After a few moments, the marine set his chopsticks inside the box. With Frank’s hand free from any other item, he placed it on top of Alex's hand, still caressing his, returning the gesture.
Bell stopped eating and tilted his head slightly, finding and studying the marine's face further.
Frank, unexpectedly, turned to Bell fully, face plastered with remorse and affliction from the sudden outburst. He wanted to make reparations — twice if he had the chance.
But Bell smirked faintly; it was an indirect acceptance.
The silence wrapped them, but the only thing to break it, abstractly, was their minds and body language speaking, faces broadcasting a mixture of emotions.
Bell’s smile didn’t falter as there was never a time he let it fall from the way a simple act of humanity may deem forbearing, carried right in front of him despite the out-of-the-ordinary relationship. They were all human anyway.
Frank set his warm hand on top of Alex’s, exchanging heat with his cold ones, warmth rousing for every subtle movement and circulation of their hands and thumbs, making Frank deeply sigh and close his eyes, leaning forward, almost falling from the crate.
After a few minutes of tranquility, Bell began sedately, clasping his hands, leaning to the side of the van. “It’s okay if you guys need some more time alone. I’ll gladly let myself out.”
Alex needed to pick his words carefully, and after a few cogs in his mind working together, he processed, taking a leap of faith.
“You can stay if you want,” Alex uttered and nodded slightly.
Bell lingered, acknowledging the overture.
The brunette hummed softly, shifting his body marginally from side-to-side as Alex kept caressing Frank’s hands. It wasn’t familiar (a piece of unknown Russian music to the two men), but the way Bell tenderly thrummed added comfort to Alex’s hands ghosting on Frank’s, appeasing everyone inside the stuffy van.
Whiffs of gunpowder mingled the mouthwatering scent of their rice toppings, tantalizing and burning their throats. The contrast of something so volatile, only to be crushed by the smell of comfort after a few minutes, explained there were things in life they needed to relish for a single moment.
“You two look cute together,” Bell remarked, taking a sip of his cold water.
Goosebumps popped throughout Alex’s body, sending a cold shiver down his spine, heat rushing and enveloping his face, twitching a smirk. “Really?”
Bell nodded, setting his bottle down, “Yeah. It’s like you guys were made for each other. So… inseparable,” he crossed his arms, picturing Alex and Frank just themselves, having their affectionate moment.
Frank stroked Alex’s hand on his lap, caressing it with his thumb and the former surmised, meeting Bell’s face.
“‘til the end of the line where we always go.”
Their quote was their tenacious commitment to one another as to how Frank described it in minute detail, all without judgment from others.
In a couple of analogies, Frank placed himself alongside Alex, watching their backs even if one of them bites the dust after dedicating their lives to each other. They were always there for each other despite the circumstances changing the course of action if the butterfly’s wing fluttered or a mine went off.
Bell reflected on the statements, heart melting as Frank and Alex had a little thumb war; Alex won. After a few minutes of passing, Frank gently kissed Alex’s forehead as the latter closed his eyes, exhaling and humming deeply, shoulders relaxing.
It made sense for Frank to kiss his forehead when Bell checked Alex’s dossier a few months ago. The very thing the marine did made Bell smile, wide enough not letting it fall for at least the whole day or op in Cuba.
Such a rare occasion Bell witnessed as Alex always had a blank, looming façade when he met him for the first time in West Berlin, but the way Frank kissed him was something more than just being romantic.
Immediately, Frank apologized, scrutinizing if it came unexpectedly to Bell, but the brunette never asked Frank to eat humble pie. Bell declared he had no repulsion in their current situation where empathy and benevolence were present, even though those were absent in their line of work if any of them turned their backs against everyone.
“How long have you two been together?” Bell implored, shifting his position, cozying up.
Frank simpered widely at his avid curiosity, raising his eyebrows. “How old are you?”
Waves of electricity traveled throughout Bell’s body, eyes widening. He wasn’t any much older than Park, but with the juvenile attitude and good sense of humor (even if some Russian words never made sense to the team), never has Bell been given the hints of their relationship lasting as long as his age.
Additionally, Bell grasped at their underestimated, inseparable bond built from the ground up from war, with nothing and no one else bringing it down apart from themselves as Frank and Alex endowed their relationship with fortified, unconditional, and everlasting love.
“I” —Bell scratched his scalp— “oh…” He tittered at his cogitation the more he answered the question, looking at his fair skin, fingers scratching it ever so slightly.
The trio chatted for a few minutes, with Bell eagerly asking more queries; Frank and Alex were more than kind and glad enough to answer them without discomposure. Some of the questions Bell asked was if they planned on retiring to their home states.
Frank answered that question right away, bridging how he wanted Alex to live with him. One was getting Alex to bask and adjust in the busy city of Philadelphia; vast parks and numerous diners. But the CIA operative negotiated, drawing out a sour sigh from Frank.
On the other end, Alex inquired if Frank yearned to see the beauteous nature of Alaska along with the gorgeous view of Denali, watching the sunrise through the window in his bedroom whilst in their arms.
Frank scratched his head, but smiled as soon as the picturesque nature in the morning seeped in his mind, along with what he planned to do once everything was over: peaceful morning strolls, hiking, and skiing with Alex — that was if Frank allowed himself to move with him.
And yet, despite the numerous things Alex offered about Alaska, Frank preferred waking up to a beautiful sight of Alex; the poor, bashful execution of his pick-up line made Alex scoff, while Bell chuckled, sending the marine’s eyes rolling.
Everything went well until someone knocked on the door, prompting their heads to turn. It continued again as Bell clambered his way, answering it, hand on the plastic door handle. Sliding it fully open, Park immediately trumpeted. “Bell! Didn’t expect to see you in here!”
Bell jumped and bumped his head on the roof, thud loud enough to send Alex and Frank laughing. The brunette groaned and hissed, rubbing his aching head from the wallop. “Oh, Park. I— do you need anything?”
Park’s head peered inside the van, dumbfounded as she found Alex and Frank sitting comfortably, laidback and indolent. “I do, indeed. Sorry for the inconvenience,” Park atoned fleetingly from the rush of excitement, leaning back as she helped Bell step out.
After Bell hopped out, he leaned sideways a little, eyes squinting. Spotting a figure at the middle, Adler smoked, leaning against the table. Despite the man’s blank-faced expression, his lips curled into a smile, growing wide as Park nodded while Bell tilted his head.
Bell twirled to the men before heading off. “Do you guys need something, or…”
“Don’t worry about us, Bell,” Alex assured, allowing him to go and talk to the Englishwoman.
Once the door was shut, Alex met Frank’s face for a second, but not before the CIA operative’s gaze shifted to the floor. “So” —Alex hummed and crossed his arms, drooping on his chair— “what do you think will happen?”
“Whatever the fuck will happen, I always, and will watch your six,” Frank beamed, voice raw with troth as he leaned forward, patting Alex’s shoulder.
“Fuck, I got yours too y’know? But what if Adler will—”
“To hell he goes,” Frank declared, holding and lifting Alex’s hand, planting a soft kiss. Alex chuckled but grinned as soon as Frank alluded, pride and hauter manifesting in their chests if the worst was yet to come to them, casting away anxiety.
“To hell they go.”