Curt rang the doorbell apprehensively. He wasn't sure why he had come, but Owen had given him the address and offered. He'd openly invited Curt even, then why did he feel so strange about visiting Owen at his home . They had slept together, goddammit that was far more personal than visiting his apartment. The door swung open with a satisfying creak.
"Curt! What are you doing here?" Owen looked around the corner curiously. "Are you okay?"
"I just happened to be in the neighbourhood, you offered last time we were in Stockholm." What if he took back his offer, maybe he didn't want Curt in his home after all. Owen smiled,
"Come on in, love."
The apartment wasn't exactly the glamourous abode he had expected, but there was something so…Owen about the place. It was somehow both a disaster and neat. In one corner there was a stack of books, in another a dying plant. An aroma of tea filled the air as the two men stepped inside. "Tea?" He gestured to the just-boiled kettle. Curt scoffed as he sat down on one of the two beige chairs.
"Don't you Brits understand the joy of coffee." He was met with a smirk as Owen rustled through some disorganized cupboards.
"Will whisky do?" He brought it to the table along with a cup of tea. Curt raised his eyebrows.
"No glass for me?" Owen sat himself down, pouring a generous glug of bourbon into his teacup.
"I assumed you brought a flask, love." He took a gentle sip from his teacup then looked back up at Curt. "Why are you in London anyways? I'm guessing it's not for the upcoming coronation of dear Lizzie." The American smirked again, taking out his flask and filling it with the Bourbon. “Waste of money if I do say so myself, as if the agency isn’t lacking in resources.”
"Not a royalist, Owen? She's technically your boss isn't she?" Owen rolled his eyes playfully, grinning across the table.
"Churchill too, and Eisenhower's yours, but we both know how you feel about him." They raised their respective beverages.
"Fuck Eisenhower!" And lightly knocked them together.
With a chuckle, Owen stood up, slowly making his way to the battered radio in the corner of the room. He fiddled around with the dials for a moment, deciding on an upbeat tune.
"Wanna' dance ?" Curt discarded his flask on the table and got up to join Owen.
The pair danced in silence, song after song. Finally, Owen spoke. “I missed you, It’s been far too long since we last had a mission.” He smiled at Curt, as they swayed to the music, now a slow, mournful tune.
“Why do we have to restrict ourselves to missions.It wouldn’t be seen as strange, agents can be friends after all.” They stopped dancing,Owen seemed uncomfortable.
“But we’re not…” His words faded into silence as Curt tensed. Then, finally he spoke, quietly at first almost a whisper.
"Then, what are we? Casual acquaintances, co-workers, lovers?" His voice got louder as he pulled away from Owen. "I tried to act as if this was just some fling. But goddammit Owen, it's been nearly a year." Curt sighed, sat back down and took a big swig from his flask. The brit stood awkwardly for a second before he joined Curt at the table. The music played on, filling the silence. Finally, Curt tucked his flask into his jacket and got up to leave. It seemed both urgent and reluctant as if his body both needed to leave and stay. He knew it was a bad idea to come here after all a spy should always trust their gut. "See you in Strasbourg then." Curt started to open the door.
"Partners, we're partners, love. In every sense of the word." Owen had stood up, walked over to the door and pulled on Curt's hand. He immediately shut the door, and the two men stood awkwardly, holding hands. “I thought you wouldn’t want to label it, we both know how dangerous this is.We didn’t plan for this to last so long.”
“Did you want it to last ?” Curt pulled away.
“Of course. I love you, you know that?” Owen took the American’s hand again and started dancing to the music. And sure, they knew the risks, they knew outside that door, there was a world not yet ready, but as they danced everything was serene.