Fill Two | post hoc ergo propter hoc | 1/4shipmateeeJanuary 10 2012, 06:15:47 UTC
ahh, started writing this before i realized another fill had been posted (which is already wonderful and now i feel like my fill will be inadequate but oh well here we go). not exactly what OP wanted, but i hope you like it all the same. if anyone figures out the connection between this fic and the title, well, bonus points for you.
one.
"Now, don't get panicky on me."
Ethan's shooting quick glances over his shoulder and Brandt has to fight the unbearable urge to turn, to seek out whatever threat is hovering behind him.
He mentally counts to three, lets out a slow breath and locks his trust into Ethan.
He has a what? on the tip of his tongue when Ethan presses in close, one hand settled comfortably on the nape of his neck.
The kiss is short and swift and Brandt doesn't really think much about it at all. Which is certainly a first.
He's panicking, though. Definitely panicking. For sure.
They're supposed to be impersonating guests at a gala held in Florence, waiting for their planted art dealer to set a fake trail for their target to follow. It was supposed to be simple. Low-risk. Easy, one could even say. This was not part of the plan.
This was not part of the plan at all.
Then again, in the short time they've been acquainted, Brandt's never really known Ethan to stick to any plan.
When they separate Ethan's hand remains where it is, but his focus is clearly elsewhere, sizing up the two guards (oh) that had just discretely slunk down a staircase to the left of them. One turns and shoots a suspicious look at Brandt, at the line of his jacket where his Glock is hiding beneath.
Ethan circles round and shields Brandt from view in a deceptively proprietary stance. Brandt holds his breath until the sound of the guard's footsteps fade.
Ethan's thumb absentmindedly strokes half circles against Brandt's skin as he scans the room, and his tux suddenly feels one size too small.
"Well, that was lucky," Benji says through the com.
one.
"Now, don't get panicky on me."
Ethan's shooting quick glances over his shoulder and Brandt has to fight the unbearable urge to turn, to seek out whatever threat is hovering behind him.
He mentally counts to three, lets out a slow breath and locks his trust into Ethan.
He has a what? on the tip of his tongue when Ethan presses in close, one hand settled comfortably on the nape of his neck.
The kiss is short and swift and Brandt doesn't really think much about it at all. Which is certainly a first.
He's panicking, though. Definitely panicking. For sure.
They're supposed to be impersonating guests at a gala held in Florence, waiting for their planted art dealer to set a fake trail for their target to follow. It was supposed to be simple. Low-risk. Easy, one could even say. This was not part of the plan.
This was not part of the plan at all.
Then again, in the short time they've been acquainted, Brandt's never really known Ethan to stick to any plan.
When they separate Ethan's hand remains where it is, but his focus is clearly elsewhere, sizing up the two guards (oh) that had just discretely slunk down a staircase to the left of them. One turns and shoots a suspicious look at Brandt, at the line of his jacket where his Glock is hiding beneath.
Ethan circles round and shields Brandt from view in a deceptively proprietary stance. Brandt holds his breath until the sound of the guard's footsteps fade.
Ethan's thumb absentmindedly strokes half circles against Brandt's skin as he scans the room, and his tux suddenly feels one size too small.
"Well, that was lucky," Benji says through the com.
"Lucky, indeed," murmurs Ethan.
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