Curt was on a mission. It wasn’t a dangerous mission, not really. It was quite easy, actually. All he had to do was to bust an arms deal, take the bomb that was being sold, and go. Simple. However, there was one complication. MI6. Cynthia had warned him that they wanted the bomb, too. Maybe they thought they could use it. Maybe they didn’t trust the ASS with it. Curt wouldn’t know. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that a British spy might interfere with his mission, so he had to be quick, and leave before the Brit had the chance to steal the bomb.
Well, that didn’t work out quite the way he hoped it would. At first, it went well. While the dealer - Sergio Santos, he heard the other call him - was taking the other through the specifications, he could easily walk up to them with his gun, demand that they give him the bomb, and Sergio didn’t offer much resistance before he handed the bomb to Curt.
Apparently it was his nephew’s birthday and he needed to get home quickly. “I don’t have time for this, I need to get to Marco’s birthday - by the way, would you mind signing something for him?” he'd said. Curt had been confused at first, but eventually agreed to trade his signature for the bomb. The other didn’t seem to like it, but he wasn’t stupid. He saw that resistance was futile, and only glared at Curt before retreating. Sergio thanked Curt for the signature and Curt was on his way.
Or so he thought. Because before he got out of the dark alley, he was stopped by a tall figure. He was handsome, was the first thing he noticed. The second thing he noticed was that he was pointing a gun at Curt. The third thing he noticed was that he had a British accent, when he started speaking.
“Surrender the bomb,” he said. Curt shook his head, raising his gun. “Absolutely not. You’re MI6, aren’t you?” The other tilted his head, seemingly trying to figure out what to say, but eventually settled for “sure am, dear. American Secret Service, I presume?”
Curt nodded, slightly tilting his head as well. “Uh huh. And what is a Brit doing here, so far away from the UK?” The Brit laughed. Curt was surprised. He hadn’t meant to make him laugh. He didn’t mind though. He had a nice laugh. It was airy and light and sweet and very nice to listen to.
“I’m supposed to get MI6 that bomb you’re holding, if I didn’t make that clear enough for you. So give it to me. Let’s get this over with.”
Curt shook his head again. “If I don’t deliver this bomb to my superiors, I’m gonna look like a damn fool, and worse, my boss is going to kill me.” The Brit was quiet for a moment again, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “That’s your problem, love, not mine.” Curt hadn’t noticed him slowly stepping closer. If the Brit reached out, his gun would be on Curt's forehead. Curt considered stepping back, but ultimately decided not to. It would make the Brit think that he was weak, which he wasn’t. He stood his ground and waited for the other to leave. Surely he’d understand that he didn’t stand a chance.
“You’re not gonna give me the bomb, are you?” the Brit asked him. He almost sounded disappointed. Curt snorted. “Of course not. So I suggest you leave and tell MI6 that the bomb is in American hands.” The Brit nodded. “I see. Then I suppose I’m going to have to play dirty.”
Curt barely had time to process his words and come up with a witty retort, because the Brit’s hands were gripping his shoulders, and then the Brit’s mouth was clashing against his. Curt tried to back away, but the other was pushing him against a wall and he was holding his arms so that he couldn’t get away. Curt’s eyes eventually fell shut and he melted into the kiss. He felt the man smile (or smirk, he couldn’t tell) and almost didn’t notice the Brit trying to take the suitcase with the bomb from him. Almost. He tried to keep it away from him, but their bodies were pressed together and he couldn’t do anything but wait for the man to pull away so he could get the bomb back.
He did pull away, eventually. Only a bit though, and he was still holding Curt’s shoulder tightly, pressing him against the wall. He was breathing heavily. So was Curt. He finally really noticed that he wasn’t holding the bomb anymore. He saw that one of the Brit’s arms was behind his back and he was quite sure that the bomb was behind his back as well. If he let him get away, Cynthia would have his head. He’d really fucked up massively.
The Brit tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. He wasn’t holding Curt anymore, but he was still standing close enough for Curt to feel his breath, and he made it just about impossible for Curt to get away. “Well, love,” he said, punctuating the endearment with a peck to Curt’s mouth and a smile when he saw Curt’s dazzled look, “I better be going. Wouldn’t want to be late to deliver the bomb.” There was a smug smile on his face, and he backed away.
Curt couldn’t let that happen. “I’m sorry,” he said, and though he really was sorry, he pointed his gun at the Brit, who turned around at the sound of Curt’s voice. He sighed. “You’re not the only one here with a gun, darling. But I’d really prefer if we don’t have to get violent.” He took his gun from his pocket, but didn’t raise it.
“So would I,” Curt said. “So I recommend you hand me the bomb, or else I’m afraid I will have to get violent.” “Then I suppose I’ll have to play dirty again.” Oh no, was the first thing Curt thought, and the last thing he thought too before the Brit was once again kissing him. Curt tried not to give in to it, after all, that’s how the bomb was stolen from him and it was probably how the Brit was going to steal his gun now, but it felt so good and one little kiss wouldn’t hurt. So he leaned against the man's chest and did what felt right. The Brit had taken his gun and pocketed it as soon as Curt closed his eyes, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered, and he let his hands find the Brit’s hair and he let the Brit wrap his arms around him in a tight embrace.
“I’ve got to go, darling,” the Brit mumbled against his lips. Curt pulled away and shook his head. He enjoyed the view in front of him for a few seconds, but finally responded. “Not until you hand me the bomb,” he said. The other stroked his cheek with the back of the hand that wasn’t holding the suitcase. “You know I can’t do that.” Curt bit his lip. The man cupped his cheek. “I don’t want to shoot you,” Curt said. “You don’t have to,” the Brit smiled. “Name’s Owen, by the way.” Owen. Not a bad name. “Mine’s Mega. Curt Mega,” Curt introduced himself.
“Well then, Curt Mega, I’m going to deliver this bomb to my superiors. Goodbye.” He pressed a kiss against Curt’s lips and he was gone.
I’m in love, Curt thought.