As Owen dragged his American partner into their motel room, he couldn’t help but think to himself, this man is a fucking moron.
Owen was the best damn agent MI6 had, and when he’d been told that the ASS was sending their best agent to assist him on a mission, he’d, well. . . Expected someone more competent.
Instead, he got Curt Fucking Mega, a certified drunk who would probably lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his body.
Owen sighed in irritation as he helped Mega down onto one of the beds. “Jesus Christ, Mega,” He hissed, not wanting to be heard through the thin walls, “could you possibly be any more idiotic?”
Mega looked up at him, dazed from the blood loss. He had a bloody nose from where the guard had punched him, and his side was growing dark with blood as well- a stab wound.
Owen sighed, grabbing the first aid kit from the desk and cracking it open. He handed Mega a tissue. “Hold this to your nose,” He commanded, tugging his partner’s shirt up to clean his injury.
Mega was looking down at him as he knelt at his feet. Owen could practically see the cogs turning in his brain, the dolt. “You’re pretty.”
Owen paused. “Pardon?” He hadn’t taken Mega for. . .
Owen shook his head, resuming wiping away the blood. “You shouldn’t say such things, Mega,” He chided. “One might get the wrong idea.”
“And what’s that?” Mega asked as if he didn’t see any problem with it.
Owen just began to stitch him up instead of answering the question.
“Owen. What’s the wrong idea?”
“I didn’t give you permission to use my first name, Mega.” Owen had to calm himself. He’d spent his whole life bottling himself up, he wouldn’t let one imbecile come in and fuck it up for him. Besides, for all he knew, Mega was just trying to goad him into confessing to homosexuality for blackmail purposes.
Mega ignored him. “Maybe I want you to get the wrong idea.”
Owen put down the needle. “You’re all patched up, Mega.”
Mega blinked at him. “I’m hurt?”
Owen came to the conclusion that one of them was delusional. Probably Mega, but it was a possibility it could be himself. “Yes, you’re hurt. Now go to sleep.”
Owen helped maneuver him into bed, tingling at the contact.
Mega might be a moron, but. . . Owen had always had a soft spot for morons.