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He messed it up. He flubbed, fumbled, dropped the bag, however you want to phrase it Curt Mega messed up the mission. The mission was simple: break into the Russian base and steal the information stating where all of their safe houses are. It was supposed to be a walk in the park, but Curt was too cocky and arrogant to realize that the guards he thought he had knocked out were not only awake but behind him while his partner Owen was trying to complete the mission.
“Shit,” Curt yelled as he felt the a guard put one of their hands on his shoulder. He was caught off guard, but he was still a trained spy. He quickly took his gun out of its holster and shot both the guards in their knees.
“Curt, what was that?” Owen called out from the file cabinet he was looking through.
The guards were now on the ground, squirming trying to get closer to Curt.
“Uhhh nothing O, just keep searching. I've got it covered.” He, in fact, did not have it covered. The bloodied, now kneeless Russian goons were crying out in pain too loudly. Curt knew this was to draw attention to the agents and get them caught. These guards were clearly trained to withstand torture, they could handle a couple of gunshots to the knee.
Before Curt could knock them both out, again, one of the guards spoke into what must have been an intercom, “Nam nuzhna podderzhka! Nam nuzhna podderzhka!”
Agent Curt Mega was the best of the best for a reason. He was a linguistics expert, that's how he got into espionage in the first place. He understood enough Russian to know that that guard just called for backup. They needed to get out of there quickly.
Curt knocked out the guards and called out to Owen, “Listen, O, we really gotta go!”
“But, Curt, I didn't get the files! We’ll be leaving empty-handed, Cynthia will kill you and you know it!”
“O, we HAVE to go. If we don't leave right now, we won't be alive for Cynthia to yell at us. Come on!” He grabbed his partner's arm and ran.
After running out of the compound successfully, the pair of agents got into their car and drove away as fast as possible.
“So are you going to call Cynthia and tell her we flubbed or am I going to tell her myself?” Owen questioned as he drove to the nearest hotel. They would have to go to a safe house, but until they got the address for it, this would have to work.
“O, I really don't want to tell her,” Curt whined
“Well she's your boss, old boy, not mine” He smirked and handed Curt the phone.
“Fineeee. But when she kills me, know it's your fault,” Curt complained as he dialed Cynthia's number.
Curt looked so anxious typing the number in. Owen giggled at his partner's misery and fear. It was funny. The worst Cynthia could do from where they are is berate him, Curt wouldn't actually die.
The phone had barely rung when Cynthia picked it up.
“What the actual fuck happened. Your mission was easy, your instructions were simple, so how in the flippity flappity fuck did you mess it up?” She yelled through the phone.
“Why are you assuming it was me who messed us up?” Curt responded. It was Curt. It was always Curt. Owen was too cool and calculated to make the mistakes that Curt made, and of all people Cynthia knew that.
“Mega. Are you really trying to blame Agent Owen Carvour for this?”
“I'm not trying to blame Owen. I'm just saying that you always assume it's my fault, never his.”
“Hold on there, old boy, don't try to drag me into your mess,” Owen said with a tinge of laughter in his voice.
“Mega, was it you or Owen?”
There was a pause. Then Curt said, “... It was me…”
“That's what I thought. Now, I just had Barb send the address of the safehouse to your communicator. Unfortunately because of your colossal fuck up, you will be there for a month before you can continue the mission. Keep a low profile, stay inside. Owen can go out for groceries once a week but you cannot”
“Wait Cynthia why can he leave, but I can't?” Curt whined. That was so unfair.
“Because Owen isn't the reason that you two are in this predicament. Now go to the safe house, and don't cause trouble.”
“Goodbye Cynthia,” Owen called out.
“Yeah bye Cyn- and she hung up on me.” Curt rubbed his temples and sighed.
“Well at least you're alive, love,” Owen suggested. Which was fair. It could be worse, he could be dead. Curt was honestly surprised Cynthia hadn't killed him yet. She had had many opportunities after all.
After a very long drive, they finally arrived at their home for the next month.
This was going to suck. To explain why this was going to suck, we need to establish some background. Curt Mega had always been attracted to boys. Whether the government thinks it's file, disgusting, or any other negative and slightly biblical label, it’s how he is. Curt Mega was a homosexual, and yet he never let it get in the way of his job. Well, that’s not entirely true. As of recently, and recently means when he first met Owen 2 years ago, Curt had been festering feelings for his British counterpart. What started as the need to be better than him turned into admiration which very quickly became romantic feelings.
So yeah, this was going to suck. Curt had to stay in this safe house with only Owen for a month, and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t accidentally out himself before the month was over.
“Alright, love, we’re here,” Owen said as he put their getaway car into park.
They walked inside the cozy building. It was a nice safe house, not too big, not too small. Toilets and sinks that worked, lights that didn’t flicker. The only issue was that there happened to be only one bed.
Curt felt his face light on fire as it fully registered to him that there was only one bed, and that could mean only one thing.
“Man, I am exhausted,” Curt huffed out as he sat down on their new found couch.
“Yes, that escape we just pulled off was incredibly harrowing,” Owen giggled a little as he said it. Any flub that Curt makes is always a bright light in Owen’s otherwise gloomy day.
“Ha ha laugh all you want, I got us out of there alive.”
“Barely, love. Just barely.” Owen put his fingers together to help Curt visualize just how barely they survived because of his screw-up.
“I need a drink, we need a drink. What do you say?”
“What do we have?”
~~~
30 minutes and 5 drinks later, Curt and Owen were telling each other more about themselves then they had in the 2 years of knowing each other.
“O, who do you think you’d be if you weren’t MI6’s greatest spy?”
“I don’t know, I’d probably retire to the countryside. Live in a small cottage. Have a garden. I- Well I, nevermind.” Owen clearly looked like he was going to continue that statement before cutting himself off.
“No no no, continue that statement.” Curt was practically on the edge of his seat.
“No, I’m too tipsy for this. I’m cutting myself off,” he laughed and rubbed his temples.
“Please, O?”
“Good lord, Curt, you’re going to be the death of me. Fine, I was going to say that in my dream of retirement, you are there with me.” He put his head down onto the table they were sitting at.
Curt’s ears perked up. Did Owen really mean that? What did Owen mean by that? Is he hitting on him? I mean, sure they flirted with each other on occasion, but that was always passed off as banter or just a joke. “Do you want to elaborate on that, old boy?”
“I just, and don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You are like the one constant in my storm of a life, and I just don’t see a world where we don’t interact.” Was Owen blushing right now? Oh my lord he was totally blushing right now.
“What about you, Curt. What would your life be if you weren’t the world’s most famous spy?” Owen asked, clearly trying to take the pressure off of himself, but Curt wasn’t going to let this subject fade. He had been relentlessly pining after his partner for years. He was not going to miss what could be his one chance.
“My dream alternative life? Well, apparently the only person I could possibly imagine spending my life with wants to live in a small cottage in the English countryside, so the English countryside it is.” Owen’s jaw dropped. Was it the alcohol making him this bold? It had to be the alcohol making him this bold because while Curt had wanted to say things like this for the past 2 years, there is no way he would’ve been able to do it sober.
“Curt, what do you mean by that?”
“What do you want me to mean by that?” Seriously, where did this sudden confidence come from? This was not his normal arrogant bravado. No, this was something else.
Curt had no idea what had come over either of them, but very quickly Owen put his drink down and closed the gap between them. Suddenly, very suddenly, Owen Carvour was kissing him. Curt dropped his drink to kiss him back. This felt so cliche, but Curt was convinced that in this moment he was dreaming. Maybe he had been drugged and this was a fever dream of sorts because this could not be actually happening. Owen put his fingers through Curt’s hair, pulling him closer. Curt kept one hand on Owen’s cheek and the other on his back, holding him as close as was physically possible. He held onto Owen like without a point of contact he might die. He breathed Owen in like the air in his lungs was the only air left in the world. If it were up to him, he would never let go of Owen. He would hold onto him and kiss him for eternity. But unfortunately the human body requires oxygen to continue to function. Once Curt had become so light headed that he couldn’t see straight, although he would later argue he felt that way because he was kissing Owen Carvour and not because of the duration of the kiss, he broke off and held Owen’s face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. He felt Owen smile against his face, and in that moment Curt Mega determined that Owen Carvour smiling against his lips was his favorite thing in the entire world.
“You, you like me?” Curt panted out.
“Of course, love. Was it not obvious?” Owen was smiling harder than Curt had ever seen him smile.
“How long have you liked me?”
“Since our second mission, Monte Carlo”
Curt quickly kissed Owen on the lips and then proclaimed, “Ha! I win! I've liked you since Budapest.” He smirked and looked Owen in his eyes, just taking the sight of him in for a moment.
“That can't be true, you hated me in Budapest. You thought I was a posh snob!” He teased
“I did think you were a posh snob, a very attractive posh snob who, as you would say I really wanted to snog” Owen giggled at Curt’s use of British slang. That's something that they enjoyed about being from different countries. Curt could use British slang to tease Owen, and Owen could use American slang to tease Curt.
“Besides not that you're one to talk, you outwardly told me you didn't like me in Monte Carlo. You said I was ‘an annoyingly loud, attention grabbing, show stealing American and that you didn't want to have to work with me ever again,” Curt cooed.
“And I did not lie. You were an annoyingly loud show stealing American, and I did not want to work with you again because you were, and still are, a very charming loud show stealing American. You kept distracting me with your perfect hair and your cute smile. You radiate charisma, and it makes it very hard to focus.”
“God, I can't believe you feel the same. I can't believe I said anything. Are we sober enough to remember this tomorrow?” Curt's conscience was clearly speaking here. What if they didn't remember and they had to go back to pretending that their relationship was only professional?
“Love, I promise you there is no amount of alcohol in the world that could make me forget this.” Owen closed the gap between them again and kissed him.
Curt pulled off to ask one more question, despite Owen pushing forward trying to continue the kiss. He whined a little at the loss of contact.
“So is it cool with you if we share the one bed? I'm okay with it, but I don't want to push you, and we don't have to do anything. I just don't want either of us to have to take the couch.”
“I'm okay with it, my dear, but I must warn you. I am what some may call, well, a serial cuddler…” Owen confessed.
“Oh? Care to explain further?” Curt pried.
“I, okay I subconsciously and unconsciously grab onto and hold whatever is closest to me when I'm sleeping. I know it sounds stupid. I don't know why I do it but I do.”
“I don't think it's stupid. I think it's adorable, and I never would have guessed that the infamous Owen Carvour was such a romantic. In fact, I implore your serial cuddlerness. I think it's cute”
“You won't think it's cute when you wake up and my arms are wrapped around you,” Owen smirked. Curt didn't know why Owen was acting like this was such a bad thing. Like Owen wanting to cuddle would be such a deal breaker. Luckily for Owen, Curt was incredibly touch starved, and the thought of waking up in Owen’s arms sounded like a dream.
“Oh I promise you, baby, I will.”