The first big difference is the hair. Julia's hair always slipped through his fingers like fine thread and smelled like her flowery shampoo. Brandt's hair is cropped short and uniform and a little starchy with gel. It's almost funny that he's the one with the long hair here, still shaggy from the last mission.
The height is actually the second thing that throws him. Even under duress it takes a lot for Ethan to own up to the fact that the 5'9" on his driver's license is maybe being entirely too generous by an inch or two. Brandt's 5'10" frame may not be that much taller but he still feels a bit dwarfed as Brandt leans down to capture his lips.
No taste of lip-gloss here, no full lips to nip at, no cloying scent of perfume. Brandt tastes like the scotch he drank at the bar, smells like soap and kisses with a begging, open mouth.
Ethan's used to the yield of a female form. Not that they were all that submissive (that particularly kinky ex-Brazilian spy he spent a night with years ago could hardly be called submissive) but instead of finding curves and smoothness on Brandt he gets angles and roughness and the hard shift of muscle under a smart gray dress shirt.
Ethan's not used to another body that has as much power as his own, a body that could shove him around all he wanted if he'd let him. But Brandt doesn't seem to want to toss him around, if the persistent tug of his hands on Ethan's hips is anything to go by.
Ethan feels silly, a feeling that comes rarely and unwelcomingly to him. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, and they end up flittering across every part of Brandt he can reach; hips feel wrong when his forearms knock into Brandt's, chest feels dumb since Brandt is missing parts that Ethan's much more used to finding there, around his neck feels like he's choking him, and the hair is shot down, again.
The kissing part he's much more sure of. Brandt kisses like he's grateful, all eager and slow. Ethan can work with that, kisses back till he feels a bit light headed and short of breath.
It's the hand thing that throws him off again when he realizes that Brandt's tugging at his belt loops and his own are hanging at his side, clenching and unclenching into anxious fists.
So he gets distracted from the kissing and suddenly he's far too aware of all the things he's not used to and how this isn't disarming a bomb or hang-gliding off a cliff or something he has to learn in a heartbeat if he wants to, you know, save the world and it's more like learning a new language in a matter of seconds.
Brandt pulls away and squints at him, "You okay?"
He doesn't look confused or accusing or angry, just questioning and dazed, mouth slick and pupils a little blown. His eyes are soft in a way Ethan doesn't recognize but it irks him for some reason.
"No, all good." He replies, throwing in a trademark little smirk just to throw him off. Brandt's eyes get a little softer and Ethan scrambles to take control of this again.
He takes the opportunity to grab Brandt by the front of his shirt - a completely neutral place, he thinks - and push him up against the wall, fixing their mouths back together. If Brandt notices the unease and desperation in the move, he doesn't say anything. At least, the moaning doesn't count as saying anything.
He keeps his hands in his shirt, figuring it the safest place while still making Brandt think he's totally in control of the situation. Tongue gets added to the equation of the kiss - neither sure who did it first - and this time it's Ethan who's moaning.
It's not that he's not enjoying this, hardly. This night has been coming since Ethan got into that van in Russia and locked eyes with the analyst and then they both got distracted by that whole 'not letting the world get blown up' thing. Even after the mission it was a while before the subtext stopping being just that and became full blown sexual tension - nicely pointed out by the ever tactful Benji with a well timed, "Oh get a room you two." Jane had stopped loading her gun and punched him in the arm for that and Benji gave her an exasperated look, hissing to her, "What? Jesus it's like working with Mulder and Scully."
Brandt and Ethan had tried to pretend like they hadn't heard the comments, but when their eyes met as they headed out of the hotel room that was serving as a makeshift HQ, it was all too obvious this thing had come to a head.
By the time they'd made it out of that mission alive and just barely, there was no adrenaline left to carry them to bed and a hasty resolution to the situation - which Ethan is now extremely grateful for. Brandt had given him a small smile over the shoulder of the nurse who was finishing up stitching Ethan's arm and when she'd left the room had proposed dinner and drinks. Of course Ethan said yes.
That part had been easy. Now that it was out in the open it was easy to let it carry them through the night, talking and joking easily, finding no awkward silences in between. Ethan hadn't been that at ease with anyone since Julia. One night stands, fly by night affairs and the odd girlfriend were simple and safe but none ever inspired the pleasing ache in his chest like Julia's laugh or Brandt's crooked smile.
But taking Julia to bed had been a no brainer, it was uncomplicated and simple, the two of them falling together like puzzle pieces. With Brandt...it's as if his brain is giving him the go sign but his body's unsure of how to move forward.
They kiss for as long as they can before it passes that point where moving to the bedroom would be next on the list and Ethan can tell Brandt's noticed. They're standing against each other, leaning against the wall in the hallway, Brandt's large hands occasionally pulling him gently closer, Ethan not even realizing he's been pulling away.
He sets his shoulders, determined not to let Brandt know that he might be panicking, just a little. Determined not to let him think he doesn't want this, doesn't want him.
He sets about kissing him breathless again, planting his feet, one on the outside of Brandt's right, the other between, and surges against him, pressing their chests together, hitching his leg up to rub his thigh against the hard line of Brandt's cock-
He pulls back sharply, trying not to blink like an idiot, body going rigid all over. He opens his mouth at Brandt's confused gaze and finds no words coming out.
"Not okay then." Brandt says, that look in his eyes again.
"No, I'm fine." Ethan says, realizes he practically spits it out. He ducks his face away, shifts against Brandt.
"Hey," Brandt says, reaching up and gingerly placing his hands on either side of Ethan's head, turning him back to him. "Hey, don't shut off. Be honest, have you ever done this? With a guy before, I mean?"
Ethan looks into his eyes and realizes it's sympathy that he's reading there, not a look Ethan gets a lot and it rankles on his pride. He clenches his jaw. He could lie. Ethan Hunt is a great liar, has to be, his job requires him to be one of the best. He's so good even Brandt wouldn't be able to tell, well, if it weren't for everything leading up to this moment.
But what does he have to lie about? He matches Brandt's gaze and finds it unaccusing, unjudgemental and what did he really expect to find? Him laughing that the great Ethan Hunt has found something he's not great at? Brandt's thumb traces little calming circles at his temples and Ethan closes his eyes.
When he lets out the breath he's holding it ends up as a self degrading laugh. When he opens his eyes to Brandt's he can't help but give an abashed smile.
"No." He answers.
Brandt matches his smile and then some, eyes crinkling at the corners. He leans forward and plants a soft kiss on Ethan's lips and mutters, "Idiot."
"Hey." Ethan says, though the frustration and anger is gone and Ethan's grinning too, appreciative and giddy at Brandt's overwhelming affection.
"You should have just said something." Brandt says pushing off from the wall so they're standing upright, his hands still against Ethan's jaw.
"When was I supposed to mention that? After the nightcap but before the making out?"
"Good a place as any." Brandt gives him a playful shake.
Ethan can't help but kiss him again, steady and slow, hands careful on the backs of Brandt's arms.
"You still sure about this?" Brandt asks in the space between their faces, warm breath against Ethan's wet lips. "I mean, we can stop, if you'd like."
"Yes." Ethan assures him, angling their heads to catch Brandt's eyes, matches his look with honest eyes, "I'm sure."
"Alright," He says decisively, "In that case, let's try something else. I'll take the lead this time, okay?" He squints, unsure, but Ethan forces himself to nod.
"Okay." He agrees. Ethan Hunt, giving up control. God, half the IMF would have a field day with this.
Brandt moves his hands to his waist, touching him surely but slowly as he meets his mouth again, leading the kissing confidently. Ethan doesn't allow himself to tense up, lets his hands fall where they will and focuses on answering every slide of Brandt's tongue, every gentle bite at his lips.
As the kisses get more desperate, hungrier and greedy, Brandt's hands grip tighter at his waist, body closing in on Ethan's and Ethan lets him crowd his space, tilts his body into Brandt's, doesn't let the hardness and strangeness of it scare him off or into fighting back.
He starts a little when Brandt catches his right hand in his left, guides it from where it's been sitting passively at Brandt's bicep to his chest. Ethan lets him press his open hand against his sternum, Brandt's hand on his firm and certain.
Ethan notes the sharp line of collarbone under his fingertips, the swell of pectoral muscles, the hot skin beneath the shirt and the heavy beat of his heart. His breath catches in his throat as his thumb brushes a nipple and Brandt bucks against him.
Brandt keeps pressing his hand lower, across defined abs and the dip at his navel. Ethan pulls his face away, finding his breath coming harsh and fast. His left hand's balled up in the sleeve of the dress shirt, eyes on the way his hand's splayed across Brandt's stomach, Brandt's fingers pressing little red marks into Ethan's wrist.
"Hey." Brandt says, voice rough and quiet. He bumps Ethan's head up with his other thumb, demands Ethan's gaze match his own.
Ethan doesn't look away, tries to look as determined and willing as Brandt's making him feel.
The fingers guiding him press a little tighter as they lead Ethan's hand down more, past the metal on his belt, smoothing it across the hardness at the front of his pants.
Ethan's eyes stay on Brandt's but he's swallowing hard, face feeling flushed and hot. Brandt pushes his hips into Ethan's hand and Ethan's lips fall open and a soft sound escapes him and Brandt gets a heady little smile on his face.
Brandt's other hand moves to the small of his back, pushes Ethan closer with a steady pressure until their hands are trapped between Brandt and his own eager cock.
Brandt bucks like a wave and Ethan makes another sound he wouldn't normally be proud of but it inspires an appealing groan from Brandt. The hand still on his starts moving, drags Ethan's along with it as his hand closes around the bulge of Brandt's cloth covered dick, Brandt's hips stuttering against his as the back of his hand brushes Ethan's. His right hand encourages Ethan's hips to move against his own, large and firm and hot on his back.
Brandt presses their foreheads together, "Okay?."
"Okay," Ethan manages.
Ethan tries to take in the scene. He's hardly an analyst like Brandt, but he knows a learning experience and he's fighting to categorize all the ways Brandt's driving him insane for future reference. However he doesn't need Brandt's suggestion to find how to tangle his free hand in Brandt's hair, fingers catching the short locks. Brandt looks up at him and Ethan kisses him as hard as he can.
There's another groan from Brandt as he stops pulling at Ethan's hand, instead bucking his hips against him in quick, sharp movements, Ethan finally brave enough to push back. The kiss grows messy, Brandt catching Ethan's lip in his teeth, hand moving from his back to his ass, grabbing him possessively, thumb tucked into the crease.
Their breathing's high and harsh between them, mouths shiny with spit when Brandt says, "Ethan - Jesus - I want to do something."
Ethan pauses; not 10 minutes ago he'd been prepared to fake it through this whole situation, not willing to admit that he didn't really know the protocol for this and Brandt had to pull him back from the edge like it was the damn Burj all over again - Ethan jumping in head first like the crazy person he was and Brandt forcing him to admit maybe this time he should let someone else take the lead. If only he didn't trust Brandt so much, if only he hadn't fallen so completely - for another man, for the first and only time in his life. Lucky for him though, lucky it was Brandt, who's looking at him like he's the most incredible thing he's ever seen, like he might be the one doing the jumping this time.
"Okay." He agrees and Brandt steals his hands back. Ethan's left a little bereft and anxious, feeling he's floating without Brandt as his anchor.
It doesn't last long though; Brandt grabs Ethan's arms and turns them around, somehow still steady and sure even with a raging hard on. He reverses their places, pushes Ethan up against the wall, pulls his hands back and holds them out as if making sure Ethan's going to stay, as if Ethan might just fall over (which, honestly, he might. All the blood missing from his head is making him a little dizzy.)
Then he falls to his knees in front of him.
"Uhm." Ethan says.
Brandt looks up at him with an amused twinkle in his eye. "You've gotten blowjobs before, right?"
Ethan gives him a half hearted scowl. "Yes."
"It's not that different, promise." Brandt says, smiling as he goes for Ethan's belt.
Ethan's reflexes have been honed by years in the field, making him one of the best, even if he is also one of the oldest. He really wants to grab Brandt's hands away when he moves, the momentary pause in this seduction setting him just enough back off ease that he's wary of going from fully clothed hand jobs to Brandt putting his mouth on his cock. Part of him tells him that he's being a complete idiot because that thought alone makes him harder, but the other part's telling him to school this breath, let Brandt lead, let himself trust him.
The clink of his belt being undone brings him back. He smoothes his palms against the wall and pushes his hips out as Brandt tugs his pants and boxers down. Brandt regards him with an appreciative growl, which actually surprises a breathy laugh from Ethan and Brandt looks up and smiles at him and then takes the opportunity to lean forward and lick a hot stripe up the length of his cock.
The laugh dies in his throat and he can't stop himself from bucking his hips torwards Brandt's mouth, face suddenly hot and feeling desperate.
Brandt goes slowly, licking every inch of his cock, hands going up to hold Ethan's hips in place. Every time Ethan's sure he can control himself, Brandt does something new - tongues at the slit, sucks at the head, takes him down as far as he can go - and Ethan loses that little bit of self-discipline he's gained back and he's grateful for Brandt's grip.
He takes his hands from the wall, places them on Brandt's head. Brandt catches his eyes as Ethan strokes his hair.
He pulls off with a wet noise that sends a jolt of arousal straight to Ethan's stomach. His thumbs trace the dip between Ethan's thighs as he gazes up at him.
"I've wanted this," he says, "Since I first laid eyes on you."
Ethan's brow knits, hands stilling, "Since..."
"Since Croatia." Brandt says. "I thought you were the sexiest fuck I'd ever seen," He unbuttons the bottom of Ethan's shirt as he talks, slides his palms up against the flat planes of his stomach underneath his undershirt, "even if you were married." Ethan huffs out a laugh, Brandt smiles.
"Never thought I'd actually get you. Not like this." The look in his eyes is earnest and honest, "For a lot of reasons. Not least of which was the whole 'into women' thing."
Ethan has to smile. Yeah, that one kind of caught him off guard too. He pets Brandt's hair comfortingly. Brandt presses forward and nuzzles against Ethan's cock and Ethan allows himself to let out a moan at that, wants to let Brandt know he does really, really want this.
"Turn around." Brandt says.
This time Ethan can't even manage an 'uhm'.
"Is that okay?" Brandt asks, suddenly nervous, eyes wide. "I mean, you don't have to do anything you don't want tonight, I'm not going to push you-"
"No." Ethan finds himself saying, mouth working ahead of his still in shock brain. He shakes his head, "I mean," he says, "That's...okay. I mean, I want you to."
He catches himself off guard with his own willingness, blames Brandt's confession and that lovely ache the man puts in his chest. He licks his lips, makes a conscious effort to remove his hands from Brandt's hair and turn around to face the wall.
Brandt mutters something that sounds like, "Jesus fucking Christ..." And there's a moment that stretches out long enough that Ethan peers over shoulder and finds Brandt readjusting himself through his pants.
"If you want me to stop, just tell me to stop, okay?" He says as he gets his hands back at Ethan's hips, fingers in his belt loops, hesitating.
Ethan nods, realizes that's not enough, says, "Okay."
Brandt pulls his pants down just to his thighs. Ethan feels his hot breath at the small of his back and he has so swallow past the lump in his throat. He can't tell if it's apprehension or arousal.
Brandt runs his hands down his sides and Ethan gets distracted enough that the lips on his back make him jump. Brandt stops but when Ethan doesn't say anything he continues.
Ethan braces himself on his arms against the wall, head hanging between his shoulders, hair falling in his eyes. Brandt's slower now than before even, touching every inch of skin he can reach, mouthing at the swell of muscles. When he finally licks at the crease of Ethan's ass, Ethan nearly falls over.
Brandt's hands go around Ethan's thighs as he presses his face closer, pulls his legs apart, spreads him open and Ethan swears he's never felt so vulnerable in his life. A quick flare of panic sizzles through his nerves and settles in the pit of his stomach, brain rejecting the feeling of being so exposed, so at the mercy of someone else. Escape plans pound through his brain and then every thought flies from his head when Brandt licks him open, presses his tongue in and sends Ethan spiraling off into oblivion.
"Fuck." Ethan groans, hips stuttering completely unheeded of his command. Brandt takes the hint and presses in harder, moans and makes Ethan's knees go weak. He brings up a hand to hold him open as he mouths at him, becoming surer with every movement of his tongue.
Ethan's hands are in fists, the back of his neck is hot and his mouth's hanging open, panting like he's overheating. When Brandt presses a spit slick finger into him he actually shouts.
"Fuck! Fuck, Brandt." He seems to have lost control of his body and some vague, still-working part of his brain tells him that's the whole point.
"No one's ever done this for you?" Brandt asks, his own voice sounding a little ragged.
He has to shakes his head exaggeratedly from side to side, not trusting his own voice to answer.
"That," Brandt says with a wicked little twist of his finger that sets Ethan off balance, "is a fucking shame."
He puts his mouth back on Ethan, tongue pressing in beside the finger, gets bold enough to slide a second one in up to the second digit.
Ethan removes one hand from wall, fingers uncurling, feeling tight. He runs it down his own thigh till he finds Brandt's, grabs at his fingers until Brandt gets the hint, takes Ethan's hand in his, twining their fingers together.
Ethan can feel his pulse thrumming through his head, every nerve focused on his heavy untouched cock and where Brandt's mouth and fingers are fucking into him.
"Brandt," his own voice sounds horse to his ears, "Brandt, God, I'm going-"
Brandt pulls away suddenly, and Ethan actually stumbles against the wall, head spinning.
"Ethan, let me fuck you."
"God yes." He breathes.
Brandt's turning him back around, yanking the pants and underwear the rest of the way off, fumbling at his laces when they catch at his shoes. Ethan helps to get one off and when he's got the whole kit gone and lying in a heap on the floor of the hallway, Brandt's wrapping his arms around his thighs and hefting him up.
Being carried: definitely a new one. Never had a partner strong enough to mange that. If his brain wasn't still in shut-down mode from Brandt's ministrations he might be able to be a little ashamed on behalf of his reputation.
Brandt practically throws him on the bed, bites his lip and gives him an almost pained up-and-down look before disappearing into the bathroom.
Ethan lies back on the sheets and stares up at the ceiling light, regulating his breathing and trying to set his mind back on the tracks. He resists putting a hand to his own cock, settles on unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way.
"Hey, that's my job." Brandt emerges from the bathroom with something in his hand that he throws on the bed, pauses to look down at Ethan.
"Never," he says, "never thought I'd get to see you like this."
They share a smile for a beat, Brandt running a hand down Ethan's shin.
Ethan takes in the sight of Brandt's cock straining at his pants and makes up his mind. So far, he's let Brandt take the lead, let him do all the work. Ethan finally acknowledges that his complete lack of experience has left Brandt not only in charge but neglected.
He sits up on the bed, scoots forward until his legs hang over the edge, knees between Brandt's and he looks up.
"Okay?" He asks.
"...fuck." Brandt says.
Ethan removes Brandt's belt entirely, gets his zipper open and button undone, pulls his pants and boxers down to his knees. Ethan Hunt does not panic at the sight of another man's cock, especially not when it's Brandt's, but he'll admit he does hesitate.
Before Brandt can protest Ethan licks at the head and Brandt's statement ends up sounding like, "Ethanaaaahholyjesus."
It shouldn't be difficult, Brandt sure didn't make it look like it, nor have any of the women that have blown him over the years. He does what he knows he himself likes, puts his tongue to the slit, traces the vein - it feels strange and cursory to him, to Brandt it must be awkward, unappealing. Except that Brandt's lengthy stream of curse words tell him otherwise. This is something Ethan can get good at, he decides. He never would have done this for anyone else, can't imagine anyone else he'd do it for, much less enjoy doing it, until Brandt.
Brandt's tentative hand in his hair stops him and when he pulls away Brandt descends on him, kisses him open mouthed and filthy, tasting like mouth wash.
Brandt's got his hands under Ethan's thighs again, and Ethan thinks in a far away way that Brandt's large hands on him may be the first thing he could get used to. Has gotten used to. Brandt's pushing him back up onto the bed, rutting against him, their cocks sliding together.
Ethan starts working on the buttons on Brandt's shirt, deftly getting all but the last one until Brandt throws the whole thing off and the remaining button breaks off and makes a distant clattering sound. They fumble with getting his undershirt off, their hands bumping into each other’s as they tug it off and Brandt throws it the ways of his shirt.
Ethan stills Brandt with a hand on his shoulder, holding him back for a beat. He's seen Brandt shirtless before, on missions, during quick changes as they rush into another disguise, that time Benji got shot in the leg and Brandt wrapped his t-shirt around it. He's never had the chance to appreciate the view, or at least not overtly, until now.
He follows the same path Brandt guided him to not 20 minutes ago, fingers tracing the collarbone, the flatness of his sternum, thumbs over a nipple and gets an appreciative hiss in return.
Brandt curls a hand around the back of his neck - Ethan wonders if he can feel how hot it is - and kisses him, pushes his tongue into his mouth, mirroring his actions from before which only makes Ethan feel hotter.
Ethan gets lost in the kissing, ears muffled by the too-fluffy pillow beneath his head, eyes closed and feeling miles away. The agent in him knows this is dangerous, to be so helpless, but the part of him that's Brandt's? Couldn't care less.
Brandt's hand leaves his neck and he shifts, pulls at Ethan's legs until he gets the hint and wraps them around Brandt's middle.
"Okay?" He asks.
He's more than okay, wishes there was a better way of telling Brandt that. "Yeah."
Brandt presses slick fingers into him, two go in easily, he' s still open and ready from earlier and Ethan gets an overwhelming feeling in his chest from that. He lets Brandt finger fuck him for long minutes, Brandt's eyes sharp and attentive, catching every flicker of movement across his face.
Ethan trusts Brandt when he pulls out his fingers, puts on a condom, replaces Ethan's legs around him. He doesn't ask if it's okay, but it's in his eyes as he lines up. Ethan never looks away.
Brandt pushes in in one long even movement. Ethan feels it in every part of him by the time Brandt's fully seated. The ache in his back is unexpected, the knot that forms in his chest is not. Brandt moves in small, shallow motions though Ethan feels every centimeter all the same.
Brandt's nearly red in the face from the effort of holding back, he hangs his head against Ethan's chest, hair brushing against his skin.
Brandt looks up, "I'm not going to hurt you," He says, though it's strained.
Ethan smirks, "You couldn't."
Brandt presses their mouths together, thrusts his hips up and Ethan regrets for a half a second that he gave him permission though not because it hurts but because he's suddenly terrified he could be addicted to this, that he might not ever tell Brandt to stop. There's ache to it, an unfamiliar fullness that brings back that itchy vulnerable feeling again but he doesn't feel exposed, he feels owned. God if he'd known he'd end up feeling like this he'd had let Brandt lead him towards this from minute one. He'd gladly followed him with a smile on his face.
Brandt's panting into the crook of Ethan's neck as he thrusts ups into him, hand gripping his thigh almost painfully and the other stroking aimlessly down Ethan's neck, thumb rubbing against his cheekbone. He's muttering nonsense into Ethan's skin, spilling everything like Ethan was an open page.
"Always wanted you, fucking torture watching you get hurt, gave up everything because I thought I let you down, could never not want to save you."
His hips slam into Ethan, the words fighting against the hazy feeling building in his head, he grabs onto Brandt and holds on tight as he comes so hard his vision goes white.
Brandt claims his mouth again as he keeps fucking him, thrusts turning erratic, desperate sounds escaping him, eyes screwed shut. Ethan covers his hand on his neck and Brandt stills, climaxing with a choked little moan, has to drag in a deep breath afterward, meeting Ethan's eyes and looking almost pained.
"Hey." Ethan whispers between them.
"Mmm." Brandt says and the pained looks turns exhausted, his lips turning up at the ends. Ethan kisses him.
Brandt drags himself away, heavy limbed, as he disposes of the condom, walks out of his pants on the way back and flops down in the bed. Ethan laughs as he makes a half hearted move to wrap his arms around him.
Ethan rolls into Brandt's arms, too tired to care about the shirts still rucked up around his chest, the half-assed way they toss the blankets over themselves. He wipes the semen off his chest with the corner of the sheet, then throws it away from as best he can manage, body feeling like lead.
"I thought only women cuddle." He murmurs. Brandt squints at him, tries to figure out if he's joking.
"Well, then I guess in this way I'm a total chick." He drags him closer, tucks his face next to Ethan's.
"Okay." Ethan says, and dozes off in a manner of seconds.