“Here, have this tortilla with the most random shit in it, it’s good.”
J&J MEME - no longer acc
fork CAREFULLY digs into the absolute mess andrei christened a tortilla (it’s hardly deserving of the title - more of a blob really) and despite the fact that visually, it’s less than pleasing, he can hardly deny it doesn’t smell half bad. there’s a spark of hope that maybe this isn’t an assassination attempt … empireman slowly but surely wiping out kingsman? not TOO far fetched, is it? come to think of it, this whole thing could just be elaborated psychological torture. first bite and he relaxes ❝ ––– GOOD ‘s a bit of a reach. ❞ chewable, reasonably seasoned. personally, he’s not a big fan of the combination of minced meat and tuna but at least he got rid of all the leftovers. ❝ actually it almost IS good. how is this almost good? ❞
1. it’s their job. that’s the mantra he is going with for now –––– this is their job. hardly the first mission andrei’s ever been on, not even the first one since their little fling started and yet charlie can not help but be on edge, nervous, coffee in his hand long gone cold over him thinking about all the possible outcomes of this. he would not particularly describe himself as a pessimist, never been much of an optimist either. you grow up in an environment like he did - privileged but broken, spoiled but afraid … and you are left with only one option: you see things the way they are, facts only, there is no sugarcoating! and realistically speaking, andrei is damn fucking good at what he does ( it’s why they send him on those missions in the first place ). this isn’t coming out of the blue either. charlie was fully prepared for this day, mentally, from the moment andrei announced there’d be a new assignment for him. he knows enough details to take andrei’s spot in a heartbeat ( would never suggest it out loud, not to his face, but if he could swap places with him? if he could be out there instead of him? he would not hesitate ) but it is suddenly so very real that he can barely breathe. he’s leaving. though it’s not that thought that makes his throat tighten, makes his heart rage in his chest. it’s the ( admittedly small ) possibility of him not returning … “you got this, right?” he interrupts andrei’s rambling about combat boots and how, from his experience, they are better suited for running than a pair of oxfords ( he has a point! ), puts his cup down leaving his shaking hands empty, stripped of anything to do and just looks at him - takes him in like he wants the image of andrei’s face burned into his memory ( like it isn’t already ). “andrei, you got this, yes? you - you are completely prepared? you read the file again? do you want to go through it one more time?” he wishes he didn’t sound this pathetic, prays andrei is not noticing how he stumbles, just a tiny bit, when he gets up and walks over to him. there’s more! he wants to ask what weapons they suggested, what his exact strategy of approach is, if he remembers all the names and the emergency plan. if he knows he can call him for backup. but he doesn’t get the chance to say more, pulled in by a pair of pale hands gripping his shirt tightly. he bends as andrei rolls his eyes, frowns as andrei smirks ( the look on his face says /shut up, idiot. i got this/ … he wants to believe him! ) and then their mouths meet - tongue and teeth and raw at the edges but gentle, deep down. soft. vulnerable. a kiss that has andrei written all over it and his protest dies, is groaned into the russian’s mouth. only a breathy “you better come back to me in one piece, andryusha.” whispered against his mouth and a “идиот” thrown back at him in return. he gets the message /yes i will, charlie./
2. “not now.” he’s sitting with his eyes closed, hands pressed against his thighs to stop them from trembling. the gentle touch to his shoulder is unmistakable andrei’s and it makes him flinch - with guilt. he shouldn’t have brought him here, should not have forced all of this upon him. he can’t even pretend that he’s surprised this escalated so remarkably fast. knew all it would take was one look at the boy for his father to entirely lose his mind. oh, he didn’t yell, didn’t snap at either of the them right then and there, no. richard has more etiquette than that, has to keep face when they have guests. but charlie knows the man, could see the way he shook andrei’s hand ( a grip way too tight, almost yanking the way smaller man forward like a threat. like he wanted to say /we both know you don’t belong here. one wrong step and i will remind you of that/. ), felt his icy glare cut through him like tiny daggers. he was prepared for this, confident that andrei would not mind. if anything? this was a chance to for the russian to piss off some entitled rich old men. who’d pass up on an opportunity like that? he was also prepared for his father pulling him to the side with a grin that might have looked bemused to anybody else but looked positively threatening to charlie. hissing into his ear that he knew exactly what they were up to - wasn’t particularly impressed with their funny little act. but charlie was! more than impressed. andrei, so casually making conversations with a distant aunt of his. laughing along to terrible jokes, being the absolute life of this event. drawing attention to him so effortlessly, so charmingly, he had no doubt it was driving his father absolutely and positively crazy ( had no doubt there would be consequences for that eventually ). his panic comes completely unprompted, hits him like a tidal wave and where he was just peacefully watching andrei one second, he is gasping for air the next, excusing himself to hide somewhere on the premise ( ends up sitting on a stone bench behind the house counting to ten - over and over ). he can’t even find the strength to feel embarrassed that this is how andrei finds him - that charlie is the one who can not handle this when it’s him who is so openly on display here. this was his idea to begin with. “you shouldn’t be here.” he looks up and almost flinches at the way the light hits the man, making somewhat tamed hair today look like a halo. and it’s only when he spots the look on his face that he feels like he has to clarify. reaching, pulling him down until he sits next to him. “i want you here - that’s not it. but you shouldn’t be here.” shouldn’t be exposed to any of this. he is ashamed - scared. doesn’t really matter when he just feels the russian shrug next to him and reply with a simple “i want to be here. is fun!” and the honesty in his voice catches charlie so off guard that he leans in almost on impulse. hands coming up to cradle andrei’s face, soft at first than with a grip a bit more tight, pulling - desperately - until he is kissing him. open mouthed and needy, angry at his family and the world but so utterly pleased with andrei, grateful in a way he fails to express with words. he hopes his tongue does a better job. a distant voice in the far back of his mind reminds him that anybody could walk by and see charlie tugging and pulling with one hand moving to andrei’s hips almost forcing the boy to move, shift until he is half on his lap. the voice, albeit quiet and distant, also reminds him his father might see this. but then there’s a sound coming from andrei, the russian coming to life under his touch all teeth and tongue and groans that make his heart ache and he finds that he doesn’t care. they can see. they can all see.
3. he hates it. the strobelights, the loud noises, people bumping into him left and right even though by height alone, he stands out from the crowd. admittedly something you might not want in your agent. everything about them being there together seems off and he fails to understand, entirely, why merlin thought it was a good idea to pair them up in the first place. they can not particularly stand each other, that’s not the issue here though. it is more so the fact that they are so very obviously the most unlikely pair to ever set foot into this club together that has his nerves on edge. they will be spotted, he just knows it. there is no way anybody is going to take a look at him - grumpily staring into the crowd holding on to his water silently praying it just magically turns into vodka, anything stronger to make this more tolerable - and then at andrei - bright smirk on his face, moving a little to the music and so visibly enjoying this that charlie wants to punch him in the face - and not realize something is … off. “focus.” it’s almost growled at the russian when he sees him wink at a couple (impossible to tell whether it was meant for the blonde girl or her visibly irritated boyfriend). he dressed down for this to a point where he almost feels naked in just a jeans and a button down, ignored andrei’s comment about how he still looked far too posh and is now left here, so far out of his element it makes his skin crawl. their target is a middle aged guy sitting in one of the private booths. ties to the mafia, apparently. drugs, weapons, human trafficking. they are just supposed to bug him, nothing too dangerous, but his goons look less than cuddly and he assumes if they spot them, neither one of them will make it out looking particularly sharp. there’s another glance thrown andrei’s way, taking note of how short he is. not fragile, he knows that, has seen him in the training room a few times, but still… he wonders how much it would really take to leave some serious damage. he finds he doesn’t like the thought, considers actually ordering some vodka just to wash the irritation away. the russian turns in the exact moment charlie frowns at him, spots the look on his face instantly and stops his dancing in favor of turning fully, head tilted and an almost smug expression on his face. “what? jealous?” russian accent audible even now, even over the bass and the noises surrounding them. he only realizes then that andrei must think this is about him openly flirting with other guests and he almost laughs, resists the urge to reach out and ruffle his hair a bit just to mess with him. perhaps there is the smallest flare of irritation at the simple suggestion andrei hitting on someone could bother him but it’s shoved aside to make room for a more narrow focus on the mission at hand. “they are watching us, andrei. we should leave - we should leave and try this another time, maybe wait until they leave the club and surprise them. this won’t work! they KNOW!” and he has more to say, about how really? this is more andrei’s fault than his for having told one of the guys built like a brick wall he has a nice tie just short of ten minutes ago and catching their attention but andrei’s smirk just widens and charlie’s irritation grows. “they are not onto us, charles.” he flinches at that, doesn’t even realize andrei moving closer. “they think we are a couple. met one of them in the bathroom, remember? when i said i had to go? acted like i was drunk, told him about my boyfriend and how he hates places like this … rambled a bit, slurred the words, you know? told him that i love him coming with me to places like this cause he looks handsome in those flashing lights.” and charlie knows he is fucking with him, knows andrei’s just like that. a tease, bit of an asshole and he really and honestly hates him in this moment, glares down at him with his jaw set tight and only now realizing he is almost pressed against him. “do me a favor, tristan.” the use of his codename throws him almost more than him calling him charles did. “make it look believable, yeah?” and before he can even ask, there’s a hand at the back of his neck, grabbing a fist full of his hair and pressing. andrei’s mouth is so hot on his that he gasps, leaving enough room for his fellow agent to wiggle a tongue into his own mouth and he should shove him away, should bite, curse, punch but he melts so embarrassingly fast he really prays he can brush this off as trying to be convincing, trying to make a bunch of people buy the thought of andrei and charlie together, that two people like them could actually work. and it’s when an arm sneaks around andrei’s waist almost picking him up from the floor that he gives in entirely. closes his eyes, softly hums into andrei’s mouth and explores (almost savours the taste of tobacco mixed with something cold, pepperminty). to anyone observing them, they probably look like a couple very much into each other, passionately making out in the middle of a dancefloor. when andrei pulls away, charlie gasps, audibly - immediately chastises himself for it when he spots the bright grin. “that wasn’t too bad. try grabbing my hair next time - “ this time, the wink is definitely meant only for him.
4. “this is making me a little nervous.” it’s said with a grin, his focus not fully shifting from his own hands skillfully chopping an onion in tiny little squares. andrei is by no means an amateur - not in the kitchen in general and most certainly not with knives in particular. but it’s that exact fact that leaves him a bit tense. he’s cutting quick, knife meeting the wooden board in a staccato beat. it’s not solely the pace, though. it’s andrei rambling and almost exclusively looking at charlie while doing so that is alarming. how does he even know what his hands are doing? “if you chop off a finger, i won’t be able to drive you to the ER. i’ve had almost half the bottle of merlot.” and while he feels absolutely sober, he really just wants andrei to be careful. his first aid skills might be superior to most people’s - kind of comes with the job - but still… “i told you i’d only let you in here if you behave!” and it is kind of a joke, said with a smirk even, but it is somewhat of an unspoken rule between them. what with andrei causing mayhem almost anywhere he goes and charlie treating his kitchen like his church, the only place he finds real comfort outside of their now shared bedroom. andrei mumbles something about how charlie is no fun, no doubt ready to start a colorful and lively little speech about how life is all about taking risks and how cooking is about passion when it happens. a quick movement, a small yelp and the carrot andrei’s been cutting into pieces is red. fair - he didn’t chop his finger off, it is not that dramatic, but the sight of blood and andrei’s face twisted in pain ( the extent of which unknown for the time being ) sends charlie into a small panic, his own knife dropped as a hand darts out to grab andrei’s wrist, dragging him over to the sink to wash both their hands. it’s a small cut but it’s bleeding a lot and andrei is looking at him with the expression of a pouting child, like he is waiting for charlie to say “see, i told you!!” but charlie is just frowning, examining the cut with careful fingers and narrowed eyes. when he speaks, there’s no humor in his voice, no sharp edge to tease andrei about the fact he just proved him right. it’s soft, almost a whisper. “you ought to be more careful.” and he doesn’t allow andrei to free his hand from charlie’s grip, just shoots him a glare when he tries and brings the bleeding finger up to his mouth, pressing his lips against the cut until he can feel the slight taste of copper on his tongue. when his gaze meets andrei’s then, the russian is completely still, almost looks defeated. he rolls the r’s when he says sorry like a young boy caught defying orders and charlie pulls his mouth away from the tip of his finger, brings his whole hand closer instead and kisses his palm. “let’s see if we can find a bandaid.” 5. a call is not what he expected. a personal call, from merlin himself ––– this is either a testimony to how observant the man truly is or just a simple sign for charlie that he’s been nothing short of completely obvious regarding his emotions towards andrei for the last couple of months. of course he wasn’t foolish enough to believe merlin didn’t know that something was going on, he just never imagined he could suspect that this is anything more than a casual fling, anything more than blowing off some steam post missions. there is an edge to his handlers voice that makes his blood freeze, scottish accent heavy when he says his name like he is talking to a child. “stay calm” is what he says and “what you need to know is that he is okay.” and it’s then that he knows something went wrong. he barely registers what the older man is trying to tell him, is already halfway through putting on his jacket and stumbling out of the door, in his ears nothing but white noise and the prominent sound of his own pulse. a usually comforting thrumming that is now nothing short of terrifying, gets louder with every step he takes. he hangs up somewhere between turning the car keys and hearing the engine roar, isn’t sure he let merlin finish whatever he was telling him. something about a mild inconvenience. a shot wound, nothing fatal or particularly dangerous but still enough of a hassle that a bullet had to be surgically removed (he will snap at merlin later. why he hasn’t been informed sooner - why nobody considered immediately calling him) and after that? it’s an absolute blur. so is the drive to HQ, anything, really until he lies eyes on andrei and blatantly ignores merlin who doesn’t even make an attempt to address him again, obviously noticing how wired and tense charlie is. again, perhaps a clear indication that merlin is well aware of something charlie himself might not be entirely sure of at this point: his feelings for andrei go beyond camaraderie, go beyond a partnership or some mutually beneficial arrangement involving sex. it’s bad enough that the sight of andrei, pale, eyes closed, medical equipment arranged around him, monitors beeping, makes his chest tighten to a point where he literally has to gasp for air. he remains at the door for what could be five but might as well be forty minutes, frozen and too afraid to move closer. knowing that with each step taken this gets more real and the attempt to deny any emotional involvement on his part becomes outright ridiculous to a point where him even trying to play this off as an absolute normal reaction, concern for a friend, just sounds pathetic. he doesn’t even notice when merlin leaves with an almost uncharacteristically soft “he’s going to be okay, charlie.” and a squeeze of his shoulder he only feels long after the door is closed behind him. it’s with long strides and a wildly beating heart that he crosses the distance between now closed door and the bed, a shaky breath escaping him when he is finally close enough to touch, close enough to properly see. just like he’s sleeping with perhaps the tiniest hint of a frown on his face - he assumes maybe the pain - indicating that this is not a peaceful slumber but a recovery. when he wakes, charlie will chastise him for being reckless, will tell him that he told him a billion times to not let his guard down, will scold him for taking the mission in the first place. will do almost any and everything to prevent andrei from realizing what is becoming more and more clear to him in this very moment: the thought of losing him now is so unbearable, so painful he almost wants to scream. for now he just stares, lifts a hand to run it through dark curls over and over again like the simple touch can convince him andrei will never go anywhere. he bends when he feels the lump in his throat, a wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm him and pull him under until he suffocates. when his lips meet the cold, slightly sweaty skin right below his hairline he has to squeeze his eyes shut or he is afraid he might cry. the “don’t ever fuckin’ do this to me again.” is mumbled against andrei’s forehead and only for charlie to hear. maybe, when he wakes up, he will also tell him that he is glad he is okay.
❛ SHHH , quiet . head is fucking spinning . ❜ it is mumbled into the pillow which his head is pressed against & a hand FLAPS , shamelessly , in the general direction of the voice . a second , perhaps two , before his companion is registered in his mind , & his face lifts with a sharp , sated grin . sleep lines from the pillow line his face & his hair sticks up in completely different directions . every inch of his annoyance at being awoken so quickly fading away only to be replaced with delight .
❛ drunk me is a genius ! ❜ an appreciative eye glances over naked form , before he flips around ( missing kicking his partner of the night in the face narrowly ) , reaching for his jeans of the floor & grabbing for something in the back pocket . ❛ want a smoke ? ❜
Q watched the feet in front of him disappear and change into a dark-haired smug head (ducking away as the feet mindlessly swung near his face). He hadn’t really expected to wake up next to AGENT KALASHNIKOV, but he supposed that that was what you got when you got hammered and already was pretty desperate to begin with.
His cheeks got slightly pink when he realized that he’d actually had a one night stand. In his line of work he knew loads of people who went to bed after a night of drinking, Q’d never considered himself to be one of those people. HE SHOOK HIS HEAD.
“ I don’t smoke, ” he told him, embarrassingly unable to keep his (un-bespectacled) eyes off Andrei’s body. “ Can you see my glasses down there? ” His inability to properly see didn’t really help his headache.
