What's In A Name?

by fi3fi3

Summary:

Ethan Hunt’s latest mission, should he choose to accept it, is to seduce the international thief and master of disguise known only as The Saint. But Ethan didn’t bank on uncovering the real man behind the disguise… let alone falling in love with him.

Takes place between 1997 and 2000 - after The Saint but before Mission Impossible 2

Chapter 1: Bruno and Dimitri

Notes:

Wow... it feels great to finally be posting this.

The moment I first saw The Saint I absolutely fell in love with Simon Templar and I adored the idea of a crossover with both the Mission Impossible and Top Gun fandoms. I had seen a lot of people managing to combine the three fandoms really well with Ethan and Mav being the same person but there weren't very many fics that dealt with the fact that Simon and Ice looked the same too. This started out as a small contribution to that.

At time of posting this first chapter, I am currently about 70k words and 3 fics into what has now become an epic, sweeping series. It would be fair to say that things have gotten a little out of hand... I hope you all enjoy delving into this world as much as I have had creating it.

Huge thanks to my beta reader the_melon who only watched The Saint in order to shut me up, and who has put up with me yelling about all this for months. You're the best!

Enjoy!

 

October 1998

Your mission, should you choose to accept it…

 

It was a honeypot mission. As missions went Ethan didn’t hate the ones where he had to whore himself out to get the job done, but he didn’t exactly relish them either. 
His target tonight was a chameleon - a thief for hire known only as The Saint, as that was the common thread connecting his many aliases. Other than that, nothing much was known about the man, except that he was currently in possession of a floppy disk containing data that the IMF wanted very much to destroy. 

The plan was twofold. A team of agents in rubber masks were posing as the buyers that commissioned the Saint’s skills in the first place. Should he hand over the disk as arranged then that would be that and Ethan would go home unmolested. But should they not succeed for whatever reason… Ethan was the failsafe.

The Saint often seduced people in order to get close to his targets. Not everyone reported him afterwards, but most did. Often enough to build up a picture of his methods and now the IMF were playing him at his own game. Ethan had been specially selected as the agent most likely to peak The Saint’s interest enough to tempt him into bed. And after that it became standard honeypot mission parameters: flatter and fuck until the target’s attention is elsewhere and then make off with the goods.

Which is how Ethan found himself circulating around the fanciest party he had been to in a while in the ballroom of one of the oldest and grandest hotels that Berlin had to offer; the Kempinski. He scanned the party guests, keeping his eyes out for their target. The other agents wouldn’t arrive until the rendezvous time and, given the nature of his mission, Ethan wasn’t wearing an earpiece or a wire which meant that he felt oddly alone despite the room being quite crowded. His eyes kept searching for the target. No one knew what he looked like, not really, as he was a master of disguise, and that added to Ethan’s sense of unease. Any one of these people could be the person they were looking for. Any one of them could be the man he was going to have to force himself to be aroused by.
Ethan had never gone into a honeypot mission without knowing beforehand what his target looked like and that, more than anything, was setting him on edge.

Every man he looked at became, terrifyingly, someone he might have to fuck. Ethan kept his fear inside him as he smiled and made smalltalk, charming everyone he met just in case they were to be the one later. It was exhausting, pitching every social interaction to make himself just memorable enough that he could collect on it later whilst also remaining as anonymous as possible. Ethan was a man built for action, not intrigue, and so it was with a sigh of relief when he excused himself to slip over to the bar to get a drink, but more importantly, a moment to himself.

The bar, though long and well staffed, was consistently crowded as patrons in their dinner jackets and expensive dresses jostled to get their next fix. Ethan slithered between the throng and leant on the bar, running his fingers through his floppy hair, pushing it out of his eyes. He got served immediately - he knew the power that his smile had over people, and turned to extricate himself from the crowd as quickly as possible.
Someone jostled his elbow, threatening to spill his drink and he turned. His stomach dropped like a stone as he recognised a familiar face.

“Ice?”

The word slipped out before he could stop it. A relic from a past life that had no business being dragged into the cloak and dagger world of his IMF work. The man before him was tall and blond, just like Tom Kazansky, and was similarly sharp jawed. But when Ethan looked again he saw more and more differences. This man held himself differently, his hair was longer although pulled back into a ponytail, and he was pouting in a way that seemed deliberate. And when he spoke it was with a thick German accent.

“Oh no, baby, is your drink too warm?”

Ethan cursed himself for the slip up but focussed his mind on the task at hand. He fixed a dopey grin across his face and pressed a little closer to the man.

“Sorry! Clumsy of me, are you alright sir?”

The stranger lifted a hand and stroked a finger down Ethan’s cheek before cupping his jaw. God this man was devastatingly handsome and the touch felt electric on his skin.

“Call me Bruno.”

“Bruno. Hi, I’m Dimitri.” 

Dimitri was one of Ethan’s many aliases, and one that he’d been using recently to befriend a Russian scientist as part of an ongoing mission, and so the identity was fresh in his memory. It helped him to play a character on these kinds of missions. It was much easier for Dimitri to sleep with a target than Ethan.

“There was a Saint Demetrius.” Bruno mused, moving his hand to flick a speck of dust from the lapel of Ethan’s very expensive tailored suit. “A military man and a martyr… which are you I wonder?”

Ethan froze but Bruno seemed not to notice. He continued…

“I am named for a saint also. A wealthy man who gave all his money away and went to live in the forest, in the nude.”

There was no longer a shred of doubt in Ethan’s mind that this man was the one. He grinned and allowed his eyes to roam up and down the length of him, turning his flirtation to a maximum.

“Is that so?” He grinned and ‘Bruno’ mirrored the expression back to him. “Sounds like your Saint had the right idea.”

“You don’t like parties Dimitri?”

“Oh I like parties just fine,” Ethan stepped closer and fingered the buttonhole on Bruno’s velvet lapelled jacket, “but naked in the forest also sounds… fun.”

He looked up through his eyelashes at the man it was his job to seduce. His lips were full, and now he was up close he could see that they were coated with lip gloss - tinted pale pink with just the vaguest hint of glitter. Ethan licked his lips and fluttered his eyelashes at the man. 

Bruno made an appreciative noise and the corners of his mouth twitched into a smirk. 

“How naughty you are Dimitri! I like that in a young man,” he paused, his eyes flicking up and focussing sharply on something over Ethan’s right shoulder, “but if you’ll excuse me, my friends have arrived and I must greet them.”

Bruno took a step back and Ethan almost missed him. Almost on a whim he reached for Bruno’s hand and grasped it in his own. Bruno seemed surprised at the touch, focussed as he was on the action over Ethan’s shoulder. He knew that he had one chance to make himself memorable, should his part in the mission become necessary, and Ethan was determined to make the most of it. He brought Bruno’s hand up and pressed a delicate kiss to the back of it before looking up through his eyelashes again and to meet Bruno’s gaze. A faint blush appeared on the other man’s cheeks and Ethan felt a surge of pride. He kept his voice husky deliberately. 

“Auf Wiedersehen, Bruno.” He relinquished the hand and straightened up to his full height. “I do hope I shall have the chance to see you again this evening.”

The Saint, to his credit, managed to keep his composure remarkably well and returned a smile that was merely polite. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Dimitri, I insist.”

And then he was gone. Swallowed up by the crowd in an instant. Ethan turned and saw, as he expected, his IMF colleagues, disguised as a pair of nefarious international gangsters and their bodyguards settling onto some plush sofas in one corner of the room. He wandered innocuously in that direction, pausing here and there to exchange pleasantries, until he had a good view of the meeting. 
Bruno had gone straight over to them and was lounging nonchalantly in one of the plush chairs. Ethan briefly caught himself admiring the way the man’s tight trousers accentuated his form, before he pulled himself together and focussed instead on their interactions. 

The negotiations seemed amicable at first but grew more tense as the meeting went on. At one stage The Saint slipped what appeared to be the floppy disk that they were all after from his inside jacket pocket and laid it on the low table between them. Things seemed to get heated after that and it wasn’t long before The Saint snatched it back up and tucked it away again.

Ethan secreted himself behind a pillar as The Saint stood and moved away from the group, moving purposefully. He glanced back towards his colleagues and received a brief, discrete hand signal in response. He was on. Phase one of the mission had failed and it was now down to him.

Gracefully he moved through the crowd, snagging a drink and taking a sip on the way - not enough to impair his judgement but enough to get the taste of vodka onto his tongue, and placed himself in the path between his target and the exit. It was worryingly easy to stumble, as though drunk, into The Saint’s path and collapse against him.
Strong arms caught him instinctually, stopping him from falling and Ethan clung to the man for a moment before righting himself.

“Bruno!” He acted surprised and then delighted, fixing a sloppy grin across his face as he got to his feet. The other man seemed annoyed, then surprised, then mildly amused in quick succession.

“Dimitri! I am surprised.” Bruno purred in his ear. “I was not gone long but already you seem much less steady on your feet.”

The man didn’t seem to be particularly put off by his apparent drunkenness so Ethan leaned into it and flung his arms around Bruno’s neck, bringing their faces close so that he could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“I missed you. Will you dance with me?”

Ethan moved his hands to Bruno’s hips and pulled him a few steps in the direction of the dancefloor but was stilled by a hand gripping his shoulder in warning. Bruno hadn’t pulled away but was looking into his face intently, as though searching it. Ethan smiled at him and batted his eyelashes once again.

“Like what you see?” He asked, flashing his full, most charming smile.

Bruno glanced around before finally settling his gaze on Ethan’s face.

“Oh very much darling, but I’m afraid my friends were not as happy to see me as I had hoped and now I think it would be best if I leave this party behind.”

“You can’t just leave,” Ethan whined and pressed his body closer until their chests were flush together, “not so early… people would talk…”

“No one is looking at me princess, they’re all staring at you. So I would like to leave now before we attract any more attention.” Bruno began to extract himself from Ethan’s grasp, teasing his hands away from his hips and Ethan allowed a little space to come between them.

Seducing a target, especially a nervous one, was a delicate game and he didn’t want to ruin it by coming on too strong. But, similarly, he could see that The Saint was anxious and so Ethan knew he needed to get his attention back.

“Let’s you and I go somewhere more private.” Ethan suggested, keeping his tone low and flirtatious, “I can help you get out of here, and we can go to my place.”

The IMF had set him up with a small apartment, fully furnished and lived in for his role as Dimitri, just in case. It was fitted with cameras and microphones too, but Ethan tried not to think too hard about that.

“And how will you manage that Dimitri?” Bruno was gazing down at him again with a slightly fond expression.

Ethan stood on his tiptoes so he could lean in and whisper directly into the taller man’s ear.

“Let’s give them something to talk about… slap me.”

The shock barely had time to register on Bruno’s face before Ethan swooped in to kiss him. Ethan put everything he had into the kiss, wanting to make an impression in the short time that he had. He knew he was a good kisser, you had to be in order to be assigned this kind of mission, and he could feel Bruno responding instinctually to his seductions.

But then Bruno pulled back and his hand whipped through the air.

Ethan’s hand flew to his smarting cheek as he turned back to face the front from where his head had snapped round with the force of the slap. He fixed a look of faux concern and outrage on his face, one that he was hoping The Saint would be able to see through, and rounded on the man.

“What was that for!”

Bruno remained calm. “You are drunk. You are making a scene.” He replied, taking Ethan’s elbow in a firm grasp and turning them towards the door.

Ethan went willingly, struggling only a token amount for show, and slurred his words as Bruno guided him away.

“-’m not drunk baby… please let’s stay and dance…” He whined when Bruno shoved him a little roughly towards the exit in response. Around them people were giggling behind their hands and gossiping in low voices as they passed.

“You have embarrassed me quite enough already.” Bruno’s German accent was clipped and unamused. “I am taking you home before you can cause any more trouble.”

Ethan turned and grinned at the man. “You like it when I cause trouble.”

The giggling intensified around them. Bruno rolled his eyes and shoved them both through the open doorway into the hotel’s grand lobby.

“Not in public, princess.”

Ethan pouted, but stumbled along compliantly until they’d made it all the way out of the front entrance and around the corner into a back street. Then he stood firmly and grinned.

“See! I told you I could get you out of there!”

“So you did.” Bruno seemed more relaxed out in the open air and Ethan leaned in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“What do I get as my reward?” Bruno raised an eyebrow at his question. “For rescuing you?”

“I believe you offered to take me home.”

Ethan giggled. “So I did.”

He took The Saint’s hand and beckoned him to follow with a bat of his eyes. Bruno was flushed and Ethan could see that his flirtation and their proximity was having an effect. He led them through the dark streets of Berlin, taking a somewhat circuitous route out of habit more than caution. Bruno seemed content to be led and they walked together in silence. 

It wasn’t long before they arrived back at Dimitri’s apartments in a faded but grand building, as fitting for a man of his apparent wealth. The IMF had hoped that this might provide The Saint with additional motivation to stick around, but Ethan wasn’t so sure. The thief didn’t seem to be the type to steal on a whim, but rather specialised in unique and well planned heists. Such as the one which had yielded the floppy disk currently in his possession. 

“This is me,” Ethan gestured, feigning shyness, as he welcomed Bruno into his ‘home’. 

“You have a beautiful home Dimitri,” Bruno complemented, looking around, “I feel one can always tell a lot about a person from the space they inhabit.”

“Oh yeah?” Ethan grinned, wondering what Bruno could possibly have inferred about ‘Dimitri’, “and what can you tell about me?”

Bruno stepped towards him with a smirk. “That you are horny.”

Ethan threw his head back and laughed, genuinely amused by the statement. 

“Yeah?” He grinned, closing the gap between them, “How’d you figure that?”

Bruno chucked. “Because there is a strange man in your house.”

Ethan laughed again and started to relax a fraction internally. This man was genuinely funny and handsome to boot. Perhaps this mission wouldn’t be such a chore after all. 

“What can I say?” He grinned, floating his hand up to rest lightly on Bruno’s chest. “I always go home with the handsomest man at the party.”

“High praise.” 

Their lips were close now, almost touching, all Ethan would have to do would be to raise up a little on his tiptoes and-

“I don’t normally like to draw so much attention…” Bruno pulled back a little and Ethan couldn’t help but chase the warmth slightly before accepting the gap between them. 

“Well we’re alone now.” He said, pouting a little which came alarmingly naturally. 

“Yes we are.” Bruno replied, eyeing him suspiciously, “That was a clever little stunt Dimitri.”

“You liked that huh,” Ethan allowed himself to blush, “not the first time I’ve had to sneak off in plain sight, I’m afraid.”

Bruno regarded him for a moment, and then smiled, “I am just sad I did not get to finish kissing you.” He whispered. 

Ethan closed the gap between them again and murmured into the shell of Bruno’s ear, just as he had at the party. 

“You can kiss me now.”

Their lips met again, finally, and the kiss soon became heated. Ethan found himself wallowing in the sensations, his brain clouding over with want as, more and more, he pushed himself into the embrace. Dimitri was slipping away. It should’ve been alarming, but Ethan couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Bruno’s lips were warm and soft and tasted faintly of strawberries. Bruno’s large hands were cupping his jaw, pulling him in close and he went willingly, the touch feeling electric on his skin. Then, suddenly, Bruno pulled back and slapped him, hard. 

Ethan’s hand flew to his cheek in shock and he stumbled back a couple of paces. The real reason he was here came suddenly flooding back to him. 

“Is that going to happen every time I kiss you?” He said sharply, fighting to keep his voice under control. 

Bruno shrugged. “You blushed so prettily the first time, I had to see if it would happen again.”

Ethan’s heart sank. He knew what this guy wanted. His blossoming hope that this encounter might’ve been different from all the other honeypot missions suddenly crumbled and faded inside him. It had been stupid of him to lose himself to this man’s charms, even for a moment, because now the Dimitri identity had slipped from his mind and he was now going to have to endure the rest of the night as Ethan, however unpleasant that might end up being.

He steeled himself, and fixed a dopey smile across his face and bit his lip coyly  as though the harsh treatment had aroused him. He stalked forward, trying to be as alluring as possible. 

“You can shove me around,” he kept his voice low and husky, “hurt me, if you want. I don't mind.”

The Saint regarded him with a deep, probing gaze.

“Is that what you want?”

Ethan licked his lips. “I want whatever makes you happy baby.”

Bruno seemed to make a decision before stepping forward and running a gentle hand down Ethan’s red blossomed cheek. The touch stang a little bit Ethan pushed towards it in an encouraging manner. 

“Whilst I’m not… un-intrigued by your suggestion,” Bruno replied thoughtfully, “I think I would rather cherish you tonight.”

Ethan was still on guard, expecting the worst and didn’t find Bruno’s words particularly comforting. 

“Oh yeah? Make me yours.” He whispered seductively. 

Bruno’s fingertips danced across the handprint on his cheek. “I think I’ve done that already sweetheart.” 

He caressed Ethan’s face lightly and leaned in for another kiss. This one was just as sweet and alluring as the last but this time Ethan didn’t allow himself to get lost. 

Bruno pulled back after a moment to speak. “Will you allow me to take you to bed sweet boy?”

Ethan nodded and The Saint kissed him again; slow and seductive and sensual. The slap had caught him off guard but the gentle treatment since had been enough to relax Ethan’s mind a little. He was still on alert, and cursing himself for ever dropping that awareness whilst on a mission, but now he had to change his focus. 

He allowed the kiss to influence his body, feeling himself begin to grow hard with little encouragement. He allowed his hands to roam, drawing Bruno closer and together they stumbled towards the bedroom without breaking the kiss. 

Once they reached the bed, Bruno’s hands worked quickly, unbuttoning the fastenings of Ethan’s expensive suit and pushing the garments from him. Ethan tried to reciprocate but kept finding his hands occupied in other ways as The Saint turned him expertly this way and that. The Saint’s jacket and, presumably, the floppy disk disappeared into a neat folded pile on the side and Ethan made a mental note for later. 

He wriggled out of his own trousers, taking advantage of Bruno’s distraction, before trying to add them to the folded pile as a cover for a quick search. Bruno didn’t let him get that far. Now devoid of his own trousers the thief pulled him back to the bed by two strong hands on his waist and Ethan allowed himself to go willingly. 

They both fell back into the bed naked and lay next to one another, breathing heavily. Bruno’s lips were red from kissing and his eyes were dark with lust. 

Now that he was up close - up really close - he could see that Bruno’s hair was in fact a wig. A bloody good one, actually, that could fool anybody from a distance but he was now only a hair's breadth away and trained to look for these sorts of things. He ran his fingers through it, searching for the telltale scratch of bobby pins instead of a scalp. He found them before Bruno caught his hands and moved them gently away. 

“Let me take care of you.”

The words dripped like honey from Bruno’s lips but were backed by a fierce determination behind his eyes.

“I can- you don’t have to-” Ethan reached down, seeking the hardness that he could feel against his leg but once again came up short as Bruno caught his hands and brought them up to kiss them.

“Sweet boy... I want to cherish you.”

There was that word again, although now Ethan had more of an idea of what that might mean. Clearly Bruno wanted to set the pace tonight. Perhaps he was worried about his wig falling off in the heat of the moment, or maybe he just preferred to be in control. Either way, it made Ethan’s job easier. He lay back and posed, shyly, on the pillows, allowing the other man to see all of him. 

Bruno smiled and Ethan knew he’d made the right call. 

The thief started sweetly, with a kiss, as he crawled on top of Ethan until he was straddling his waist. Ethan brought his hands to Bruno’s thighs, caressing and kneading the firm muscles he found there that spoke of a life of action, same as his. The man really was incredibly handsome and Ethan focussed on that as his anchor for the mission and used it to guide and fuel his responses. 

The kiss was sensual, and gentle, and Ethan wondered if he should moan into it to encourage the other man, but before he could decide one way or the other Bruno left his mouth behind and started kissing his way down Ethan’s throat to his chest.

He looked down as Bruno began mouthing his way along one of Ethan’s collar bones and the sight almost took his breath away. The blond hair was pulled back, flat against his scalp in a way that would’ve been painfully tight, had it been real, before ending in a cute ponytail which curled adorably at the ends and fell delicately over his neck. The muscles of the man’s neck and shoulders were obviously strong, popping as Bruno braced himself on his arms in order to keep his full weight from pressing Ethan down. Beyond that, as Ethan allowed his eyes to travel further, he could see an equally strong back and two, perfect, round arse cheeks pushed up into the air as the man kept his balance on his knees.

Then a warm, wet sensation of his nipple being sucked in between two plump, talented lips had Ethan moaning for real. He bucked up involuntarily, his filling erection brushing against Bruno’s thigh, and the man chuckled against his chest. The thief’s tongue flickered out to circle the sensitive nub and Ethan moaned again and allowed himself to relax further into the encounter. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. So far the man seemed courteous and inclined to treat Ethan gently, and was beautiful to behold… hardly standard honeypot trappings, which were usually hard and cold and impersonal.

Bruno released Ethan’s nipple from his mouth and glanced up. Their eyes met, and Ethan felt his heart skip a beat. There was nothing impersonal about this encounter, not any more. He could see it in Bruno’s sharp grey eyes which had softened with a fondness and amusement that was undercut with lust. His smile, full beam and radiating sunshine, stretched across his face causing his cheeks to dimple. Ethan couldn’t help but smile back and reach out to caress his thumb over one of the dimples at the corner of the other man’s mouth. Bruno’s smile widened and he pressed a kiss to Ethan’s palm.

“Lovely boy…” He kissed the tip of Ethan’s thumb, “Oh sweet, sweet boy,” Bruno sucked the digit into his mouth and curled his tongue around the shape of it once before pulling off again, “I am going to ruin you.”

Ethan whimpered before he could help himself and Bruno’s grin changed from sunny to predatory in a blink of an eye. Ethan noticed the change of expression with a bolt of alarm but forced himself not to react for the sake of the mission. Bruno pushed himself lower down the bed, leant his weight fully on Ethan’s hips and swallowed his cock down to the base.

Ethan couldn’t help but buck and whine at the sudden envelopment but The Saint held him down.

He wanted desperately to grab the man’s hair in a tight fist, whether to pull him off or encourage him further he didn’t quite know, but he could sense that the other man wouldn’t tolerate such a risk to his cover identity. Instead, Ethan settled for a bruising grip on the man’s shoulders, his fingernails digging into the soft flesh and hard muscle beneath, and the man seemed to tolerate that just fine, going so far as to hum pleasantly, deep in his throat, in a way which sparked with pleasure at the base of Ethan’s spine.

For all his camp posturing and seductive manner, Bruno knew how to pleasure a man and Ethan felt himself slipping further and further away into the sensations, despite his promise to the contrary. The thief’s tongue was just too damn talented and, because of his apparent capacity to bypass his gag reflex, his throat felt endless. Ethan writhed beneath him, grateful to the bruising grip on his hips which kept at least a part of him grounded.

Normally Ethan had a decent level of control over his ability to orgasm, it being part of his job and all, but whatever Bruno was doing was bringing him dangerously close to the brink after hardly any time at all. And when Bruno’s hand left his hip to caress at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, Ethan knew it was all over. He came with a shout down The Saint’s throat and watched, flushed with embarrassment, as the thief swallowed around him, milking every last drop as though it were the most precious commodity. 

Slowly, divinely, Bruno pulled off him, caressing his length one last time with his tongue, before letting Ethan fall out of his mouth. He smiled a small, bashful smile, and licked his lips. Ethan hooked a hand around the back of the man’s neck and drew him up into a decadent kiss. He could taste himself on the thief’s tongue, but that only spurred him on.

He deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into the thief’s mouth almost insistently, high on the endorphins of his orgasm. His cock began to fill again as The Saint caught his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down lightly, possessively, before taking the upper hand once again. Ethan let himself be led and was soon lost again in the entirety of the man in his bed, as their bodies pressed flush together and wandering hands mapped the landscape of skin available to them. 

They were both panting by the time they eventually broke for air.

Bruno regarded him thoughtfully, his chest heaving as he restored oxygen to his lungs, but he spoke quietly; controlled.
“I should very much like to know you Dimitri.”

Ethan initially panicked, thinking that his secret identity had been rumbled, before settling into amusement when that appeared not to be the case. 

“I would say we’re already pretty intimately acquainted,” he joked, flashing Bruno a winning smile but found his gaze serious. 

The smile slipped from Ethan’s face as he regarded the man currently coiled in his lap. Something deep within Bruno had changed and the man seemed to have dropped a certain level of pretence, although exactly what he couldn’t tell. He wondered if this was his first glimpse of the man beneath the many aliases. 

Bruno stroked lazily along the line of his jaw with a long, delicate finger. Ethan swallowed. 

“No,” the German accent had faded to barely a hint of what it had been, “I am asking your permission. I would like to know you. If you will allow me the honour.”

Suddenly the truth of what Bruno was asking hit Ethan like a truck. His mouth opened a little in surprise as he turned the old fashioned turn of phrase over in his mind. Knowing… in the biblical sense… appropriate for a man who seemed uniquely caught in the mythos of catholicism. The Saint was asking permission to fuck him. 

“Oh…” Ethan breathed.

Bruno was still watching him intensely with a serious, inscrutable, expression. Ethan felt a little overwhelmed in the face of it. Never - not once, in his entire back catalogue of missions, had a target ever asked his permission before. They usually took what they wanted from him and Ethan let them, even spurred them on because after all, he usually took something from them in return. But here was an internationally renowned criminal, treating him kindly.

Ethan almost wished he could give up the mission there and then and just revel in the moment but the hidden cameras he knew were concealed in various places around the room stared down at him judgmentally. No, he still had a job to do, and he couldn’t let himself forget that now.

Blushing came easily, although perhaps not for the reasons Bruno might think, and Ethan bit his lip seductively, shyly, falling into a role that might explain his long, reluctant, silence. He nodded, hesitantly, and spread his legs a little wider beneath Bruno’s thighs.

“Use your words princess.” The German accent was back as strongly as ever as Bruno grinned at him teasingly. The guy was giving out mixed signals like crazy but Ethan stuck to his guns, knowing that they were being equally as honest with each other, which was to say, not at all. He whined, for show, and threw his arms around Bruno’s neck.

“Yes, please…” he breathed, planting feather light kisses along the man’s jaw. A faint chemical smell of foundation makeup came away on his lips, “...please,” he whined again for emphasis, “get to know me good and deep baby!”

Bruno snorted but seemed pleased. He guided Ethan down so he was lying on his back and gently spread his legs before settling between them. Ethan purported himself coquettishly, as though he were embarrassed to be so on display, and allowed his gaze to drop to the long, leaking, length that was bobbing between the other man’s legs.
Although not the biggest he’d ever seen, or had inside him, The Saint had nothing to be ashamed about and Ethan spread his legs a little wider to show the man that he was impressed. 

Bruno leaned forward to kiss him again and Ethan allowed himself to relax into it, despite the imminent threat bushing lightly against his entrance which made him want to tense in anticipation of pain. He moaned and pushed into it though, because that was his job.

“I’m afraid you will find me lacking.” Bruno murmured into his mouth and Ethan made a questioning noise in response. “I was not expecting to find company tonight, so I have come out unprepared.”

It took a moment for Ethan’s brain to catch up to what Bruno was saying.

“Oh,” he breathed into the kiss, “there are supplies in the drawer.”

And then his mouth was suddenly empty as Bruno pulled off him and leaned over to rummage in the clutter of the bedside table. Ethan wanted to close his eyes but forced himself to keep them open and alert, as it was tactically important to see what the other man was doing. He knew that the prep team had dressed the room with everything he might need for the mission, which included the aforementioned supplies, but he hadn’t bothered to check them beforehand. So rarely did his targets ever want to use such things that he had been a little surprised by Bruno’s request. But he forced a look of anticipated excitement onto his face and tried to keep himself from tensing too much.

It wasn’t long before Bruno found what he was looking for and returned triumphantly. He kissed him again, once, lightly before moving back down the bed to settle again between Ethan’s spread thighs. 

A slicked finger circled his entrance, slowly, teasingly. Ethan braced himself but nothing more came, and he looked up to see two soft grey eyes staring down at him.

“I won’t hurt you.” The accent had faded again… the voice was soft and sweet.

Ethan expelled a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and encouraged his body to relax. Bruno - if this was still Bruno - leant down to kiss him sweetly. The man was bigger than him, as most men were, but he was bracing his weight carefully so as to give Ethan space. He was glad of it too, and returned the kiss with enthusiasm. The slicked finger was still teasing him, spreading the cold gel all around his hole but still not making a move to intrude. Ethan relaxed further and The Saint deepened the kiss.

Then, just as he was losing himself to the sensations of The Saint’s swirling tongue, the single finger pushed into him. Ethan gasped and the thief swallowed it with his kisses. The finger slowly moved, in and out, giving him time to adjust while all the while the kisses continued. Ethan couldn’t help but moan because it felt good. It felt like he was a precious thing to be handled with care and respect and he wanted more. He moaned into the kiss and bore down and The Saint chuckled into his mouth. A second finger slipped cautiously in beside the first and Ethan keened at the stretch. It was all so gentle! And then the thief crooked his fingers and Ethan saw stars.

He whined in appreciation and relaxed back fully against the pillows.

“There you go…” The Saint murmured, his voice soft and neutral, “...just relax for me… just like that.”

A third finger joined the first two and Ethan keened softly. He could feel the stretch quite intensely now, although it still didn’t hurt. He pictured himself obscenely stretched open around three whole fingers and moaned at how the thought made his cock jump. He was hard and leaking against his own stomach, even though he’d already come so recently.

Ethan grabbed The Saint by the back of the neck and pulled him back into another kiss, fiercely this time. The man met him in kind and they were soon both panting again. Ethan found himself bucking up against the other man’s torso, desperately seeking friction and was rewarded with a couple of sweeping tugs up the length of him before The Saint pulled away completely.

Ethan moaned with the loss and bore down further on the fingers buried in his arse, desperately seeking any kind of stimulation. Above him The Saint’s face was flushed and his lips were red and wet from where they had been kissing. His smile was radiant and bright and overwhelmingly dazzling. He pressed a kiss to Ethan’s thigh lightly before looking him in the eye to speak.

“Do you trust me?”

And that was the question wasn’t it. Ethan wanted to trust him, he really did, but the fact that this was a job was still holding him back. He nodded, trying desperately to stay in the moment and enjoy what this gorgeous, kind man was offering.

Then the fingers were gone and he found himself being manhandled, his knees being pushed up to his chest to expose his empty, desperate hole. He watched as The Saint plucked a condom from the box he had retrieved from the bedside table and pause, waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” He lied, “Please, I want you to fuck me.” At least that part was true.

The Saint efficiently rolled the condom over himself, angled his hips and pushed in. 

Ethan gasped at the intrusion. The man was bigger than his three fingers had been but, although it was an intense sensation, it still didn’t hurt. Ethan willed himself to relax and the thief pushed in further, slowly, until he was fully seated with his hips flush against Ethan’s arse.

Both of them stilled, taking a moment to breathe and adjust to this new position. The Saint reached forward, seeking Ethan’s hand and he grasped it, before interlacing their fingers. The thief let out a long exhale before bringing their joined hands up to his mouth and placing a light kiss to Ethan’s knuckles. He blushed as warmth spread through him at the gesture.

“You’re exquisite.” The man whispered as their eyes met. 

Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. Whoever this was, it wasn’t Bruno who had been brash and confident and a little rough. This person who was looking at him now was sweet and romantic and seemed so genuine. This man had a kind smile which had an innocent quality to it that struck something deep in the core of Ethan’s being. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before and he couldn’t help but be drawn to it.

Then the man began to move and the physical pleasure joined with his emotional overwhelm to produce a bodily ecstasy the like of which he had never experienced before. The tortuous drag of The Saint pulling out almost the whole way before pushing back in, quicker with each stroke, caught him in all the right places and soon Ethan was writhing, desperate for more.

“Please,” He moaned, entirely genuinely, “Harder… more…”

The Saint groaned.

“So good…” He began snapping his hips faster, praise falling from his lips as he squeezed Ethan’s hand, “What a good boy you are for me Dimitri… so pretty… so perfect.”

Ethan whined at the words and suddenly found himself desperate to correct the man, wanting nothing more than to hear his own name fall from those shapely lips. He wanted to revel in the praise and soak it all up until he was drunk on it. He wanted to believe it. 

With his free hand, still slick with lubricant, The Saint grasped Ethan’s aching dick and began stroking him firmly. Ethan whimpered and tensed in pleasure around the man inside him which caused delicious noises to spill from him in return.

Together they moved as one, never letting their joined hands break apart, moaning together in a symphony of pleasure as they worked each other towards release. The feel of The Saint filling him, stimulating him in all the right places, was driving Ethan wild, but it was the breathless endearments that kept falling out of the man’s mouth that were really driving him towards the edge.

“...perfect …so good …pretty boy…” The praise kept on coming and Ethan felt each utterance pierce his heart like an arrow. 

In too short a time, for he wished to live in this moment forever, the sensations overwhelmed him and Ethan came with a shout, clenching involuntarily around the man buried deep inside him.
Clearly The Saint was close to the edge too as that seemed enough to trigger his orgasm, and his rhythm faltered and he groaned though his release.

Once he began to soften The Saint pulled out, gently so as not to pull unnecessarily at Ethan’s stretched opening, and delicately disposed of the condom before lying himself down on the bed alongside Ethan. Ethan watched him carefully through half lidded eyes, mindful now that their carnal encounter was ended, the mission proper had begun. But the thief made no move to collect his clothes and leave the apartment. Instead he leaned in and placed a soft kiss to the corner of Ethan’s mouth. He couldn’t help but tilt his head to invite the man in further and they revelled in the afterglow together, lazily making out as though there were nothing in the world that demanded either of their attention.

No words were exchanged but eventually The Saint broke the kiss and tucked his chin into Ethan’s shoulder whilst wrapping his long arms around his torso in a loose cuddle. Ethan trailed his fingers up and down the man’s back, lightly, soothingly, as he noticed the rhythm of the man’s breathing change and his eyes flutter shut.

Ethan feigned the arrival of sleep too, lengthening his breath until his heartbeat slowed but he kept himself awake, waiting for his moment.

Part of him still couldn’t believe how this encounter had gone. The target that he had seduced had somehow, through his kind words and gentle caresses, wormed his way closer to Ethan’s heart than anyone had ever managed before. He wondered if the thief had experienced something similar, given how he’d allowed his accent to slip, as though the personality he had been hiding behind had slipped away from him. 

Ethan swallowed. It didn’t matter. After today he would never see this man again so there seemed little point in wondering. Still, he lay there cradling the sleeping criminal in his arms for longer than strictly necessary, enjoying him for as long as possible before he would have to betray his trust and complete the mission.

He gazed down at the slumbering face that was open and relaxed with an expression of contentment. Ethan took time to memorise the features. The shapely, full lips that had felt so good against his own… the strong nose and perfectly manicured eyebrows which framed the soft grey eyes that seemed to be able to see into his soul. Eyes that were currently hidden beneath relaxed eyelids that fluttered as the man behind them dreamed.

A small raised area on the point of the man’s jaw caught his attention and Ethan searched his mind for whatever memory had triggered him to notice. It looked like a small spot, or something equally innocuous but it played at Ethan’s subconscious. There was something about the placement of it…

Carefully Ethan licked the pad of his thumb and brushed over the mark. Flesh toned makeup came away to reveal the darker tone of a birthmark which had been deliberately covered over.

And then Ethan remembered. The Iceman… his wingman from another life, bore that same mark. And there were other similarities too… their faces, their eyes… now Ethan was really looking he was astonished by the revelation. He had even mistaken the thief for his old friend when they had first met, but there had been something about the Bruno personality that had driven it from his mind. But now that they were up close and Ethan had this chance to see the man unguarded he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

He slipped out from the thief’s embrace, careful not to wake him, and padded across the room to the pile of folded clothes. He slipped a hand into the pocket of his target’s jacket and retrieved the floppy disk that was still sitting there, completely unguarded. The man had trusted him, Ethan realised with a small pang of guilt, but he pushed it away. He dressed quickly in fresh clothes and tucked the disk into his own pocket before heading towards the door.

He allowed himself one last, longing look back, desperately ignoring the question of what could have been, before turning and disappearing into the night.

 

Mission accomplished.

 

Chapter 2: Ice and Maverick

Notes:

Thanks so much for the great reception to chapter 1. This chapter is how the fic earns its Ice/Mav relationship tag, but have no fear… we haven’t seen the last of our Saint.

 

November 1998

Ethan had delivered the floppy disk to IMF HQ and then spent the subsequent few weeks trying his level best to forget about the man that he had stolen it from.
But no matter how hard he pushed him from his mind, The Saint had gotten under his skin in a way that Ethan had never experienced before. 
He found himself distracted, wondering about the mysteries of the man and knew that it was beginning to affect his work. No one else had noticed yet but… it was only a matter of time. He couldn’t afford distractions, not when his job was so often a matter of life and death. 

He’d listed, recited and memorised the few things he knew about the man that haunted his thoughts:
He was an internationally renowned master thief, wanted in several countries under a succession of different aliases and the subject of an interpol manhunt.
He always named himself after Catholic saints, for reasons unknown, and his real name was an enigma, but at least it was a pattern… somewhere to start. 
He looked just like Tom Kazansky… down to the birthmark on his jaw, although often covered it with makeup. 
His eyes were grey like the soft clouds after a rainstorm... his fingers were gentle and warm... he was beautiful. 

The more Ethan tried to distract himself the more intense his obsession with the man became and then, finally, one day he snapped. He had to satisfy his curiosity if nothing else.. and there was one avenue of enquiry that it would take no effort at all to follow up. 

 

---

 

Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, ever punctual, was waiting for him when Ethan arrived at the bar. 

“Mav!” He greeted warmly, smiling wide and honest, “It’s so good to see you. It’s been an age, what brings you to North Island?”

“Do I need an excuse to drop in on my wingman?”

It was easy, slipping back into the role of Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell; the carefree and cocky pilot who had one job and didn’t have to worry about saving the world. It wasn't even really a role that he was playing. He was Pete Mitchell, had been since birth, but everything else that had been added on top had changed him. Pete Mitchell was still there, underneath, but he wore Ethan like an overcoat. Ethan Hunt was his armour.

Maverick greeted his wingman with a solid, lingering hug. Ice was firm against him in all the right places and Mav blushed as the memory of how Bruno had felt under his hands rose in his mind unbidden. He pulled back and settled into a seat at a discreet table that Ice had chosen at the back of the bar. 

“You look good Ice.” 

Maverick smiled as he flagged down a waitress and ordered in the first round of drinks. Now that he had a chance to look properly he was struck by just how similar Ice was to the man he had met in Berlin. Their features were exact, even down to the birthmark that accentuated the point of their jaws, although Ice’s mark was dark; he hadn’t tried to cover his.

Ice was smiling, a fond, knowing smile, the kind that meant something to an old friend. Bruno hadn’t smiled at him like that, although there was the same mischievous streak behind the expression.

“You look good too,” Ice replied, “but what’s with the hair?”

Mav ran his fingers through it a little guiltily, pushing the floppy fringe out of his face. It was well beyond regulation navy length, but that wasn’t something he had to worry about much these days and truth be told he preferred it long. Given that he hadn’t travelled back to Miramar officially he hadn’t thought to get it cut, but obviously Ice’s curiosity would be peaked. It wasn’t everyday that naval officers turned up looking like they’d just rolled out of a boyband. 

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been on leave for a few weeks. Wanted to see how long I could get it while I had the chance.” 

He grinned. Ice raised an eyebrow but didn’t press any further. 

“It suits you.” His wingman conceded and Mav preened a little at the complement.

“But what about you?” Maverick changed the topic as their drinks arrived, “You’re a Captain now? Congratulations!”

Ice nodded and raised his glass so that Maverick could knock theirs together in a toast.

“And you?” Maverick could see that Ice was curious. Who wouldn’t be, if their friend and colleague kept dropping off the face of the earth for months at a time. One day, it was more than likely, Ice would be promoted high enough that he could find out all about Ethan and the IMF, but for now Mav deflected.

“Still a Lieutenant…” He grinned, “I guess I’m not very good at staying out of trouble.”

Ice regarded him quizzically.

“Are you in trouble now, Mav? Anything I can help with?”

Mav shook his head. It was typical of Ice; ever loyal once you’d earned his trust, to try and move heaven and earth to help his friends.

“Who me?” Mav grinned again, “No, I just came to drink with an old friend.” He downed the rest of the liquid in his glass and motioned for the waitress to come back over. “Your round I think!”

Ice rolled his eyes but downed his drink too and gamely ordered more.

During rounds two and three they reminisced about the good old days at Top Gun and caught each other up on who was doing what and where their various friends had ended up.
By round four Ice had become melancholic but perked up when round five - a row of shots each, turned up.

Maverick knew what he was doing. His work with the IMF had conditioned him somewhat to the effects of alcohol so he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he appeared, but he wanted something from Ice, something that he was sure the other man wouldn’t give up when sober.

As Ice slammed down the first shot, Maverick dropped the first question.

“Where are you from, Ice?”

“You know where,” Ice wasn’t slurring his words, but he was swaying slightly, “Here in California, you know that.”

“No,” Maverick pressed, “I mean originally… where were you born?”

Ice stilled.

“Is that what this is about? You came all the way back here to get me drunk so we could talk about how we’re both adopted or some shit?”

Mav didn’t bother correcting him that he, personally, had never been so lucky as to have been adopted, let alone by anyone as well off and prestigious as the Kazansky family. He let the silence build until Ice filled it, as he knew he would.

“I don’t know where I was born. Just that I was in that orphanage when I was very young. Mother and Father adopted me through some church organisation… I was four.”

Ice hiccuped. 

“Church organisation?” 

“Yeah, some Catholic order. Monks, I think… I don’t really remember it.”

Catholic… could be a connection… The Saint persona had to have come from somewhere. Ice had grown melancholic again, but he seemed to be talkative, so Maverick pressed on with his questions.

“I don’t suppose you… had a brother, or cousin..?”

Ice froze. His hand trembled and some vodka spilled out over his fingers. He looked shaken as he looked up into Maverick’s face. His eyes spoke of a yearning that was decades in the making. It suddenly struck Mav how young Ice looked. He had never seen his wingman so vulnerable and he ached to reach over and hug him, but he forced himself to stay put until the other man answered.

“I don’t know.” Ice’s voice was small and unsure. “My parents swore blind I was an only child but… I remember a boy just like me… they told me I was making it up, that he must’ve been imaginary but… he felt real.”

Maverick wasn’t heartless. When Ice’s lip began to tremble he reached across the table and gathered the man’s hands into his own.

“I’ve always wondered…”

Maverick squeezed Ice’s hands gently, and then let go in favour of handing his friend another drink. He’d got what he came for, but he couldn’t leave until his wingman was back in one piece.

“Drink this whilst I get you some water. I think it’s high time we sobered you up a bit.” Maverick called the waitress over, “I wonder if this place does food.” 

 

 

A couple of pints of water and a greasy burger out of a roadside van later, Mav and Ice settled on the beach as the food and fresh air worked to bring them both back towards sobriety.

“God it’s been ages since I’ve cut loose like this,” Ice was exuberant as he flopped back on to the sand. “This has been so great. Thanks Mav.”

Maverick grinned and settled back next to him so that they were both lying on their backs looking up at the great expanse of starry night sky above them.

“You work too hard Ice, you deserve to let your hair down.”

Ice snorted as his head rolled over and he shot Maverick an amused look, “You can talk.” 

He rolled onto his side and brought his hand up to fiddle with a lock of Maverick’s hair that had flopped back down over his eyes. Mav looked past Ice’s fingers to where his sparkling grey eyes were staring at him. The same grey eyes he remembered in his dreams. He swallowed, and rolled onto his side bringing them nose to nose in the sand.

“Damn,” Ice whispered, “you look so good Mav. You’ve got a glow about you. Like you found some part of you that was missing…”

Maverick’s heart was in his mouth. “I don’t know what you mean..”

Ice stilled, seeming troubled but in that way he got when he was trying to be supportive. 

“It’s okay Mav,” he whispered, averting his gaze, “you don’t have to tell me. I’m not asking. Heaven knows we’ve all got our secrets.” He added the last part almost wistfully before looking back to catch Mav’s eye again.  “You’re happy though, Mav?”

“I’m happy right now. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

Maverick’s gaze flicked down to Ice’s lips and then back to his eyes. He’d always been attracted to Tom Kazansky, had been since the moment he’d laid eyes on the man, but now his desire was taking over him. He was clean, his latest medical had been only days ago so there would be no risk to his wingman… no reason not to… 
Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe it was the knowledge that in all likelihood he would never see his Saint again but… if he ignored the part of him that knew differently, it was almost as though it were the thief who was lying here next to him in the sand. 

But it wasn’t and he knew the dangers involved in pursuing such feelings whilst Ice was still in the employ of the navy. With his work for the IMF Maverick knew that he would be safe from such relatively mundane accusations, but Ice wouldn’t be. Even now that the new policy might protect Ice should he keep that part of himself hidden, but if they were caught… there was no doubt in his mind that Ice would be the one to pay the price.

Ice, however, was still looking at him with those wide, pleading grey eyes as he curled a lick of Ethan’s hair around his fingertips and he knew what Ice wanted. He wanted it too. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, keeping his voice barely audible above the sound of the waves crashing in the inky blackness beyond.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Came the equally quiet reply.

Maverick searched Ice’s face, made softer by the low light of the moon, and found him serious, resolute and more than a little hopeful.

“Alright,” Mav agreed and Ice broke into a wide smile, “My place is closer, come on.”

Together they stumbled to their feet and wandered back up the beach, deliberately not touching one another but both flush with excitement. The walk to Maverick’s house, kept up for him as an IMF safehouse as well as Pete Mitchell’s official address, wasn’t long but he felt every minute of it.

Maverick wasn’t drunk any more. Ice strode confidently beside him without even so much as a stumble. He wasn’t drunk either. They walked in silence until Mav turned up an unassuming garden path which lead to the front door of his house. 

“You still live here?”

Silently Maverick cursed Ice’s keen observation and excellent memory. He would make a good IMF agent in that respect, but Mav knew that his wingman required the structure that the navy could provide. He thrived in it whilst Maverick found it stifling. 

“Sometimes.” He shrugged, as he unlocked the door with his thumbprint using the discrete scanner on the base of the handle. It would disable all of the high tech anti-intruder measures that were primed all over the house. He fished out a key to make things look believable, and pushed open the door. 

The interior was sparsely decorated, in keeping with the story of a man often away for long stretches on deployment. It had that shabby quality of assignment housing, lived in by too many people none of whom felt the need to treat it too kindly, but Mav knew that in this case that was merely set dressing. Once he had joined the IMF a specialist team had come through upgrading and reinforcing everything to bring it up to standard as an active safehouse. There was even a panic room behind a hidden wall and a weapons cache in the new, secret basement.

But Ice didn’t need to know about any of that. Maverick pushed the door closed behind them, again subtly registering his thumb print again, before turning to face his wingman. 

Ice’s eyes were dark with lust and he was fidgeting and restless. 

Mav felt a sudden jolt of nervousness as he saw how Ice looked at him. The thought suddenly occurred that this might, for the other man, be more than just a casual tumble between friends and he didn’t want to hurt the guy. Not when his own affections were directed elsewhere. He paused to think and used the time to slip his shoes off his feet. Without ever breaking from staring at him, Ice did the same.  

“Ice,” Maverick began once he knew what he wanted to say, “I... I’m not exactly the relationship sort... I don’t want to lead you on if you have any romantic notions.”

Ice had looked terrified for a moment when he’d begun to speak but soon relaxed and rolled his eyes. 

“Who said anything about romance?” He advanced a step towards Maverick who stood his ground with growing confidence. “I spend my days surrounded by fit young men who I cannot touch or even look at for too long. I’m like a starving man at a buffet. Are you gonna help me out or not, wingman?”

Mav grinned, “Well when you put it like that Ice! Tuck in!”

It was a better situation than he could’ve hoped for. His friend had an itch that needed scratching and so did he. It didn’t have to mean anything. 

Ice let out a groan of annoyance before leaping towards him. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Maverick did so enthusiastically. Their teeth clashed together as Ice devoured him. He kissed wildly, passionately, as though he truly were starving. Mav kept up with him and gave as good as he got, nipping at Ice’s full lips; making the man moan into his mouth. 

Ice’s hands found their way under his t-shirt and began caressing over every inch of him that he could access. Maverick pulled the shirt over his head, breaking the kiss as he did so, causing Ice to pull back. 

“Jesus Mav,” Ice whimpered, “what have you been doing?”

Maverick stilled, suddenly self conscious. His body bore scars and traces of his work that couldn’t be easily explained but in the heat of the moment he had forgotten. There were many small blemishes from scrapes and cuts over the years, and a particularly nasty scar from a stab wound which had thankfully just missed his liver by millimetres. 

Ice reached forward and touched, not the scars, but the rise and fall of the washboard of his abs. 

“Do you do anything besides working out?!”

Ice had a look of wonder on his face as his hands moved to feel Maverick’s shoulder and then down his arm. The man was practically drooling and Mav couldn’t help but feel a little proud. He was in the best shape of his life and the competitive part of him felt smug that Ice was impressed. 

“See something you like?” He grinned and Ice’s eyes snapped to his own. 

Ice seemed to take a moment to consider something before speaking, but when he did so he was resolute. 

“Mav I want you to fuck me.”

Maverick grinned, delighted at the suggestion. “Sure.” He hitched Ice’s shirt up and pushed it over the man’s head. “But you’re wearing too many clothes.”

Ice growled and threw his shirt to the floor before pouncing on Maverick once again. This time their bodies were flush as they kissed and neither man kept his hands to himself. Ice was touching every part of Maverick that he could reach, running his hands across his back and kneading at any muscles his fingertips encountered. Meanwhile Maverick had slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of Ice’s jeans and was grabbing handfuls of bare arse cheeks in order to pull the other man closer. Maverick could feel that Ice was hard in his jeans and he knew that the other man could feel that he was too. He moaned into the kiss as their erections ground together through the rough denim. He bucked towards the sensation and Ice bit down on his bottom lip in response. 

It was as though their old rivalry had resurfaced, making each movement a grab for power and it was fun! Ice was behaving so differently to the way The Saint had that they were separating again in Maverick’s mind but he found he didn’t much care. He was enjoying this tussle with his friend and wasn’t nervous in the least. He trusted Ice completely, in the air and now in the bedroom. He allowed himself to lose himself in the man and give in freely to all of his desires. 

Maverick flipped them round and pushed Ice against the wall. They were still in the hallway, just feet from the front door, but the desire to get Ice out of his trousers was too strong. 

With one hand he fiddled with the button of Ice’s jeans whilst his other arm kept Ice pinned to the wall by his shoulder. He leaned in to suck at the point where Ice’s neck disappeared beneath his collarbone, although he was careful not to leave a mark. Ice wriggled a little against his hold but didn’t seem unhappy at the position in which he was placed. 

“You’re so strong..!” Ice moaned as Maverick kept him still whilst pushing the trousers past his hips and to the floor. He grinned. 

“You like that? You like how strong I am?”

Ice moaned, his eyes fluttering shut. “I bet you could pick me up and carry me around like I was nothing.”

Maverick laughed. “I bet I could.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, he squatted and hoisted Ice over one shoulder, pulling him straight out of the trousers that were puddled at his feet. Ice yelped a little but Maverick held him in place with a firm arm hooked around the back of his legs. He could feel Ice’s erection pressing against his shoulder. 

“Mav!” Ice protested weakly, but Maverick laughed. 

He made his way up the stairs, careful not to bump Ice against anything on the way, before heading for the master bedroom. Mav deposited Ice on the bed, not bothering to set him down gently, and laughed at the indignant squawk that his wingman produced upon landing. 

As much as he was pouting about his rough treatment, Maverick could see that Ice was achingly hard through the thin material of his boxers, so he didn’t feel even slightly guilty about it. 

Maverick pushed his own jeans off, boxers and all, and stood proudly in his nakedness at the end of the bed. 

Any protest Ice might’ve made about their mode of travel died on his tongue as his jaw fell open and he stared openly at Maverick’s crotch. 

“You really are gagging for it aren't you?” Maverick grinned, once again preening under Ice’s gaze. 

“Shut up Maverick.” Ice scolded, although the command lost any authority it might’ve had, as it was spectacularly undermined by the bulge in Ice’s boxers and the ravenous look on his face. 

Maverick allowed himself a moment to look at his wingman. Whilst Ice didn’t have any of the hardness that IMF work brought to a body, he was still well within shape and in his prime. Golden skin stretched out like a canvas before him and Maverick ached to touch him. 

The Saint had been paler, although that was likely down to the amount of time Ice spent in the California sunshine as opposed to the drab climate of Europe, and he had been strong, but in a way that spoke of practicality and flexibility rather than the hours Mav knew that Ice put in at the gym. 

“I don’t think it’s fair that I’m the only one with his cock out here,” Mav grinned when Ice snorted, “Come on, shorts off big boy.”

Ice glared at him but wriggled out of his boxers before throwing them straight at Maverick’s face. His aim, honed from years of beach volleyball, was impeccable and Maverick disentangled himself with a growl. Ice smirked at him from the bed. 

“Dick.” Mav scolded, discarding the offending item. 

“Hopefully.” Ice smirked

Maverick climbed onto the bed, swung a leg over Ice's torso and pinned him to the bed with both hands on his shoulders. Ice looked gleeful and his eyes had gone lustfully dark again. 

“Who’d’ve thought Captain Kazansky was such a brat!” He grinned and then leaned down to capture the man’s mouth in a kiss before he could reply. 

Ice moaned into the kiss and tried to buck his hips but Maverick bore down and kept the man immobile beneath his thighs. Ice whined and Maverick laughed. 

“I wouldn’t have to be if you’d just hurry up and fuck me.” Ice pouted up at him and Maverick laughed again. 

“I don’t believe that for a second!” He pressed a kiss to the tip of Ice’s nose which earned him a playful scowl, “I think you’re really quite pleased that a big, strong man has overpowered you and intends to make you beg.” 

Ice growled. “I’m not going to beg you Mitchell.”

Mav grinned, “We’ll see about that Captain.”

Maverick kissed him again, slow and languid this time. He kept his weight braced on Ice’s shoulders, keeping him pinned, but allowed Ice’s arms and hands the freedom to roam. Ice was taking full advantage and was caressing every inch of skin available to him as though he was trying to memorise the sensations beneath his fingertips. 
Sparks of pleasure rippled through Maverick under Ice’s fingertips. He deepened the kiss and rolled his hips, grinding his aching cock across Ice’s stomach. 

Ice whimpered and Mav took pity on him. 

He moved down, kissing, licking and nibbling across Ice's body until he was able to settle on his knees between Ice’s spread legs. He hovered just above his wingman’s straining prick and blew gently across the top. Ice, now unrestrained but overwhelmed with lust, bucked up, chasing the sensation. Maverick backed off, tutting, denying the man what he desired. 

With a quick, practised move that Maverick had last used during a particularly nasty tussle with a Swedish arms dealer, he flipped Ice over and captured his hands behind him whilst leveraging the strength of his legs to hold the man down. He hooked a foot around the back of one of Ice’s thighs and pulled his wingman’s legs apart, spreading him open beneath him. 

With his remaining free hand Maverick leaned over to the bedside table and retrieved the tub of lubricant that he had stashed there and quickly slicked up his fingers. 

Ice, ever observant and controlled, even in this position, had noticed his actions and was practically vibrating underneath him. 

Maverick took a moment to tease, circling Ice’s entrance to coat it with lubrication, just the way that The Saint had with him. After an initial flinch at the contact, Ice immediately relaxed under his touch and let out a small whimper. Mav couldn’t help but enjoy the little noises that were escaping from his wingman’s mouth and he took it with a feeling of pride that Ice, who had been so closed off and shielded when they’d first met, trusted him enough now to let him in like this. 

In a moment of charity that may or may not have had something to do with the ache between his own legs, Maverick ceased his teasing after only a short moment and pushed a finger deep into his wingman. Ice sighed contentedly and relaxed around the intrusion. Mav flexed and wiggled a little before adding a second so that he could begin to stretch Ice open. 

Ice was clearly trying to push back against his fingers, despite Maverick’s full weight holding him down, and with his face turned to the side against the duvet Maverick could see that Ice was biting his lip with the effort of remaining silent.

A third finger only added to Ice’s predicament, and Maverick could see that his eyes were screwed tightly shut with the effort. With his efforts to push back onto Maverick’s fingers yielding no results, Ice had clearly tried to go the other way and was grinding his hips down into the mattress, presumably seeking friction against the soft duvet.

Maverick tutted and withdrew his fingers causing Ice to let out a great whine of loss. Mav chuckled at the sound and then lifted Ice’s hips into the air to prevent his wingman from getting any kind of relief.

Ice looked glorious like this; bent in half with his face pressed down and his arse in the air, all wet and prepared. Maverick lined himself with Ice’s entrance and slowly pushed in, revelling in the breathless, needy sounds Ice made as he was stretched open.
Once Mav was fully seated and Ice had relaxed against him he began to rock in and out gently, watching his wingman’s responses carefully. Ice’s eyes had fluttered shut again and a small, contented smile played across his lips. Maverick sped up and Ice sighed.

After a few minutes Ice pushed himself up on his hands so his back was parallel and he settled on his hands and knees. 

“You that keen to do push-ups sailor?” Maverick taunted, and knocked one of Ice’s hands out from under him causing him to crash back down into his previous position with his face pushed into the mattress. Mav gathered up the offending arm and twisted it back behind Ice’s back again, immobilising him into that position, face down, arse up, and ploughed into him hard, targeting the spot within him that he had so far neglected. Ice’s free hand tangled in the duvet desperately and he moaned.

“You’re not being very gentlemanly Maverick.” Ice growled after he’d settled into the rhythm and regained his voice. Mav patted his flank. 

“I tell you what,” Mav grinned down at his friend, “admit I’m the better pilot and I’ll be nice to you.”

“Like fuck I will.” Came the stubborn reply.

Maverick suddenly leaned down flush against Ice’s back, gripped him tight with both arms and rolled the two of them over without ever pulling out. Ice yelped at the sudden move and Maverick settled back against the covers with Ice like a blanket stretched out on top of him. He pushed the man up until he was sitting, speared on Maverick’s cock, facing away from him. 

“Well then I think you’d better demonstrate how good you are!” 

Maverick allowed himself to relax and pillowed his arms behind his head, splashing a look of calm contentment on his face. Ice twisted to look over his shoulder, seeking Maverick out and he grinned at him when their eyes met. 

Ice’s eye held a spark of determination as he turned back around and braced himself on Maverick’s thighs. Slowly he levered himself up and then sank back down on Maverick’s cock, huffing slightly. 
The view from where Maverick was lying was spectacular. Iceman’s hole was spread wide around Maverick, stretched and taught and twitching around him. It was addictive seeing the way how Ice grew and shrank around him, fitting snugly throughout, as he fucked himself shamelessly. 

The egotistical part of Maverick which enjoyed sparring with his wingman couldn’t help but poke the beast. He thrust upwards, once, hitting Ice’s prostate in the process which made the man above him falter and groan.

“Enjoying being filled up at last are you?” Mav grinned as Ice caught himself and regained his composure.

“Shut up.”

Maverick smirked to himself but settled back quietly and allowed Ice to take his fill. The man was soon bouncing happily again, trembling with the effort of it all, and making all manner of pleasing sounds that even a porn star would be proud of. Mav noticed with interest that Ice hadn’t even tried to touch himself, and was still using both of his hands as additional leverage to fuck himself harder and faster on Maverick’s cock. 

Maybe he has just missed this, Maverick thought to himself, Screw the Top Gun trophy, Ice should’ve been awarded Top Bottom award! Maverick snorted at his own joke and Ice took a moment to glare at him over his shoulder. 

Mav started to laugh properly at the pouty expression but then Ice clenched around him and he saw stars. Maverick groaned as the tight grip dragged up his length deliciously and when he opened his eyes Ice’s expression was smug. 

Maverick bucked up into him again, roughly, hitting his prostate once more before stilling again. Ice lost his grip and ground down in desperation, chasing the sensation. 

“I can’t… get deep enough, Mav.. do that again.” It was breathless and desperate but it was unmistakably an order. And neither Maverick nor Ethan had the best reputation when it came to following orders.

“Is that begging I hear Iceman?” Maverick laughed, tucking his hands behind his head and lying back in what he hoped was the picture of nonchalance.

“I’m not begging.” Ice growled, turning his face away.

Mav grinned. “Then I guess you don’t need me to do this…” 

He bucked once more and Ice jolted on top of him. Then he repeated the thrust, hitting the same spot again and Ice whined. His wingman was breathless for a minute, but then Mav heard it. 

“Please.”

Ice’s request was begrudging and thick with embarrassment. His head was bowed and turned away. Maverick pressed, the competitive streak in him wanting to humble the only other man who could match him in the air. 

“Admit I’m the better pilot.”

“Fuck you Mav.”

He shrugged, “If you’d prefer..?”

“No!” Ice’s head snapped up, although he still kept his face turned away.

Maverick bucked up again, hitting that spot one more time and Ice fell apart around him. 

“Please,” he moaned, “please Maverick... You’re the best… There’s no one better than you. Please fuck me…”

Maverick grinned and pushed Ice forward. The blond man popped off him and fell to the bed with a cry but Maverick was on him in an instant. He turned Ice onto his back, hooked one of the man’s legs over his shoulder, and pressed back in before the other man could do as much as protest. Now they were face to face Maverick could see how Ice’s eyes rolled back in his head as he thrust into him with purpose. His wingman’s mouth was slightly agape and his whole expression was one of pure fucked out bliss. 

Mav ploughed into him hard, not letting up for a second. One of Ice’s hands found its way into his hair and tangled there before pulling him down into a kiss. It was sloppy and desperate but Mav allowed Ice to keep him there and didn’t pull away. 

The sounds that were emanating from his wingman were truly pornographic and it was clear that he wasn’t shy about being loud. Maverick reached around the thigh that was flush against his chest and took up Ice’s aching prick with a strong grip and began to stroke in time with his thrusts.
Ice’s fist clenched in his hair and Maverick couldn’t help but groan at the tug on his scalp, just the right side of painful, as Ice deepened the kiss. He was panting into Maverick’s mouth and Mav took the opportunity to nip and suck on Ice’s bottom lip.

He added a twist into the action of his wrist and Ice fell apart beneath him, twisting and writhing in pleasure as he moaned and wailed with each sensation. Maverick felt a swell of pride when Ice came; long and powerfully with a great shout, spilling himself all over Mav’s hand and their sweat covered torsos. Ice clenched as he did so and Maverick took this as his cue to finally allow himself to come as well. He grunted as he released himself inside his wingman; riding out the high with a few languid thrusts, before pulling out and lowering himself onto the bed beside Ice.

“Fucking hell Mav,” Ice breathed after a good few minutes of sticky, content silence, “If I’d known you could do that I would have ridden you years ago.”

“That good huh,” Mav grinned at him. 

Ice’s head flopped to the side and their eyes met. Ice looked totally ruined in the best possible way. His lips were plump and flush and his eyes half closed with the pupils blown wide. There was none of the soft innocence that had been present in The Saint’s unguarded expression, no, Ice was more smugly satisfied and as cocksure as ever.

The aviator grinned, lazily, all teeth and confidence.

“Don’t go getting too full of yourself Mitchell.”

Maverick giggled. “You finally admitted I am better at flying than you are.”

Ice snorted, “Information admitted under torture is not admissible in court.”

He pushed himself up off the bed and moved confidently towards the bathroom. Maverick felt another swell of pride when he saw that Ice’s legs were shaking with the effort and noted with a worrying amount of smugness the dribble of his own come that was leaking out of Ice’s loose backside as he walked.

“You wound me Ice,” Maverick called after him, “I’ll have you know I was on my best behaviour there! I was taught to always treat a lady right on the first date.”

Ice threw a damp flannel at him from the bathroom before the door clicked shut. Maverick grinned and wiped himself down as the muffled sound of the shower starting up sounded in his ears.

He threw the dirtied flannel back towards the bathroom door and wriggled under the covers, not bothering to put on any pyjamas. Of course, if Ice wanted to leave he’d have to get up and let him out of the house so that his wingman wouldn’t trigger any alarms, but there was no sense in being uncomfortable until that moment.

A few minutes later the sounds of the shower ceased and the door to the bathroom opened. Ice leaned on the door frame, gloriously naked apart from the towel rolled across his shoulders. Maverick flashed him a friendly smile and the Iceman returned it easily. He looked truly happy and Mav was glad for his friend. He deserved it.

Wordlessly Ice crossed the room and slipped into the bed beside Mav. They settled in the space, not touching, but both relaxed and carefree. And suddenly they were back to being friends again, just wingmen, as though hadn’t just spent the evening fucking each other’s brains out. It was comfortable and familiar and it soon became apparent that Ice wasn’t making any moves to leave.

Mav didn’t mind letting him stay. Since he’d left the military life behind he had found it much harder to fall asleep with others present, preferring always to be alone, but he could feel sleep tugging at the corners of his mind and he knew that with Ice it would be different.

Ice was his wingman. He trusted him. Completely.

Mav rolled onto his side and made himself comfortable. Ice shifted a little in response, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“Thanks man.” A whisper in the dark. Gratitude from a friend in need.

Mav’s reply was equally as honest and simple. “You’re welcome.”

Soon the sound of Ice’s breathing changed and Maverick knew that the other man had fallen asleep. He allowed himself to drift off too, carried away into the darkness warm and happy and, for once, feeling completely safe.

 

Notes:

Fun fact! This chapter was the first thing I wrote in this whole project, which is probably why it leans a bit more heavily into the Ice/Mav angle... but hopefully you found it fun to see a different side to Ethan XD

Chapter 3: Ice and Simon

Notes:

I am so excited for you guys to read this chapter... also the only chapter in the fic that doesn't contain any smut haha
Enjoy!

 

Ethan awoke to the unmistakable sound of someone moving about downstairs. His first reaction  was to panic when he realised that he wasn’t alone, but then he remembered the events of the night before and saw that it was Ice who was in the bed next to him. But, if Ice was here, then who was downstairs? His wingman was still fast asleep so Ethan slipped out of the bed noiselessly and pulled on the closest pair of trousers available - which just so happened to be his discarded jeans from the night before. He retrieved a gun from behind a hidden panel in the wardrobe and crept out of the room.

He moved silently down the stairs, checking the gun as he went to make sure that it was still loaded and ready to fire. By the time he’d reached the bottom he’d determined that the intruder, whoever they were, was in the kitchen. Ethan couldn’t help but wonder about the alarms. This house should’ve been locked down tighter than Fort Knox but somewhere, somehow, something had failed.

Ethan used the mirror in the hallway to peer through the open doorway into the kitchen, trying to get as much intel as possible before revealing himself. A figure was moving about the room, quietly and professionally searching as they went. They were clearly being methodical but careful, and were putting things back exactly as they had found them before moving on. They were shrouded in shadow, but Ethan’s eyes had adjusted enough to pick out some of the features. The figure was wearing dark, loose clothes and a jacket with a hood and they had long hair that curled messily about their neck.

Ethan waited until their back was turned before he stalked into the room, he raised the gun and cocked it audibly.

“Freeze.” He demanded, firmly but quietly, mindful that Ice was still sleeping upstairs. “Put your hands in the air and turn around.”

“Ah,” The figure turned, slowly, unsurprised by Ethan’s words. “Dimitri… or should I call you Ethan? You were not hard to find.”

The man continued turning but Ethan knew whose face he would see based on the voice alone. The German accent was as strong as it had been at the party in Berlin.

“Bruno?” Ethan lowered the gun slightly as he recognised the man he’d spent weeks obsessing over.

Bruno smirked. “Who else?”

Ethan couldn’t help but scoff. He’d been over the moment a hundred times in his head. The moment when the accent had slipped and The Saint had shone out at him, who had been kind and loving and gentle. He couldn’t help himself, he wanted to see that man again.

“What about the man behind the disguise?” He asked, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.

The Saint didn’t appear pleased. His brows knitted together in a frown and his pale mouth thinned into a hard line.

“Put the gun down.” Bruno ordered in a perfectly clipped German accent, “They’re vulgar things.”

Ethan, perhaps against his better judgement but somehow compelled to anyway, lowered his arm, clicked the safety back onto the gun and walked forward to place it on the kitchen table before stepping back again. The gun was safely out of reach of both of them, although he made sure to keep equidistant just in case.

“That’s better.” The Saint seemed relieved. “Now we can talk.”

“About what?”

“Don’t play coy with me!” Bruno snarled, “I want the disk.”

Ethan shrugged, “I don’t have it.”

“Then where is it?”

Ethan put his hands on his hips, suddenly aware that he was half naked, and blushed. Luckily it was dark. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing that The Saint wasn’t going to like his answer.

“Destroyed. It’s gone. Sorry.”

“You’re lying.”

Ethan shook his head and raised his head, trying to meet Bruno’s gaze. The eyes that gazed back at him seemed to sparkle in the darkness.

The Saint’s reply was soft. “Damn.”

Ethan couldn’t help but feel a little remorseful. He hadn’t wanted to steal the damn floppy, and he’d had no say in its eventual fate. He grimaced.

“I hope it doesn’t cause you too much trouble.”

Bruno looked up sharply. “Why would you care?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You betrayed me!” The thief spat the words through bared teeth, his whole face contorting in anger.

“Yeah, I did.” Ethan shot back defensively, “That’s the job.”

“You’re a thief.”

Ethan snorted. “So are you.”

They began circling each other cautiously, like lions sizing each other up.

“You seduced me to get what you wanted.” The Saint again spat the accusation.

Ethan countered calmly. “Nothing you haven’t done before.”

“No but I don’t-” Bruno stopped himself before he could finish the sentence.

Ethan couldn’t help but push. “Don’t what?”

Bruno growled and stopped circling. Ethan stopped too and they stood facing one another, gazes locked.

“Can I ask you something?” Ethan asked softly. When no reply was forthcoming he pressed forward, curiosity overtaking caution. “When you were a child, did you spend any time in an orphanage?”

Bruno snarled. “You think because I am a thief you have the right to accuse me-”

Ethan cut him off. “I’m not accusing you of anything!”

“Were you faking it?” Bruno shot back, the accent straining around the edges.

“What?” Ethan was confused.

“When we… were you faking it?” The accent was definitely slipping now, “Did you even want to be there?”

Ethan almost laughed. It wasn’t like a man could fake an orgasm in the same way a woman could. There were certain… signs. And the man had swallowed one of them! But he couldn’t deny that the sentiment of the question was reasonable. He hadn’t particularly wanted to be there in the beginning, but he’d changed his tune soon enough once The Saint had begun to reveal his truer self.

“Maybe not at first…” he admitted before searching for the right words, “but you were… Look, I enjoyed it okay!”

The Saint seemed to relax a little at that.

“I was very disappointed when I awoke and you were gone.” He whispered with barely any accent at all.

Ethan stepped forward and whispered his reply. “I didn’t want to leave…”

The Saint stepped forward too. “Then why did you?”

“The job comes first.”

“Not always.” They were barely a foot apart.

Ethan lifted his chin to look up at the other man. 

“What’s more important than the job?” He whispered, closing the last of the gap between them.

Sparkling grey eyes bore into him for a moment, searching his face. Ethan allowed his eyes to flutter closed, he lifted his chin and then cool lips pressed against his own. He moaned into it, he couldn’t help himself, and suddenly The Saint was bearing down on him, opening his mouth, forcing his tongue inside. Ethan devoured him equally in return, rolling his tongue into any gap that opened up, moaning and gasping as The Saint nipped at his bottom lip.

He grabbed at any part of the man he could get his hands on and, by the feel of the nails scratching up and down his bare back, The Saint was similarly affected. Ethan’s hand trailed up to the thief’s neck, before tangling in the hair hanging loosely around it.

At that the man pulled back and the sound of a slap rang loudly through the kitchen a split second before the pain of it registered in Ethan’s cheek.

Ethan stumbled back and his hand flew to the stinging mark at the same time a voice shouted from the doorway.

“Hey!”

Then several things happened in quick succession - lightning fast. Ethan turned to see Ice standing in the doorway to the kitchen brandishing a large bat. Before Ethan could worry about where he had found it he himself was sent stumbling to the ground as The Saint pushed him away before making a dive for the gun on the kitchen table. Ice leapt towards Ethan in concern before The Saint snatched the gun up and pointed it directly at the pilot. Ice froze.

“Drop it.”

Ice seemed too dumbstruck to do anything as he was staring at The Saint in slack jawed wonder. Ethan shuffled forwards, inching his way towards the two men before making to get to his feet. The Saint moved his aim to point the barrel of the gun squarely at Ethan’s chest. He stilled on his knees on the floor and raised his hands in an expression of surrender.

Ice noticed the change and looked at Ethan imploringly.
“Mav, what the fuck is happening?”

“Put the bat down Ice,” he said, not moving his eyes from the man holding the gun.

His wingman floundered, similarly dressed only in his trousers, clearly having rushed to mount a heroic rescue. Ethan couldn’t blame him for looking so taken aback, it wasn’t every day that one runs into their own doppelganger.

“Ice, please, put the bat down.” Ethan implored, “I think… I think I found your brother.”

This time it was The Saint’s turn to reel in shock. He squinted at Ice through the gloom. There was a long pause as the two of them regarded each other… then…

“Turn the light on,” 

The Saint gave the order in a broken voice that cracked with… hope? Or fear… Ethan couldn’t tell. Ice stumbled back a couple of paces to the doorway and flicked the switch and suddenly the room was illuminated as brightly as though it were the middle of the day. Ethan could’ve used the moment of blinking confusion to his advantage but he made the decision to deliberately stay put. So long as the gun was pointing at him the other two were safe… he could let them have their moment.

Ice dropped the bat and it hit the floor with a loud thud. None of them flinched.

Now that he could see the other man clearly, Ethan noted that The Saint was indeed dressed as Bruno once again, although the curled hair of the wig was styled loosely around his face rather than done up in a tight ponytail. But the subtle lip gloss was still in place, as well as the makeup that covered the birthmark on his jaw. Ethan had no doubt that The Saint had spotted the equivalent mark on the Iceman, who had never made any attempt to cover it and so it stood out clearly against his skin.

“Who are you?” The Saint demanded and Ice stepped forward slightly.

“Tom… Kazansky.” He stammered, “Tom Kazansky… I’m a Naval Aviator…” Ice stepped forward again as if drawn towards The Saint by a magnet. “I was adopted… are you…? John?”

The Saint flinched. “That’s not my name!” He snarled fiercely, sending Ice recoiling back a little with the power of it. But the gun didn’t waver, it held steady, pointing towards Ethan’s chest. He remained still.
“I rejected their name because they stole my brother from me! I was named for John Rossi the Saint who had nothing.”

Ice was surprisingly calm on the surface, but Ethan knew his wingman better than that. A slight tremble in the pilot’s usually rock steady hand gave him away. Ice was deeply affected by the situation.

“My parents swore blind I was an only child. I thought I imagined you.”

“They told me that you had died,” The Saint replied, in a small, barely audible whisper, “so that I would stop asking.”

“Shit.” Ice swore, “I’m sorry… What can I call you?”

“Simon.”

Ethan didn’t have time to analyse the reply before Ice was speaking again. His voice was gentle and coaxing, as though he were trying to appease a volatile child.

“Look, Simon, could you just maybe put the gun down?” He inched forward with his hands outstretched, “This here…” He gestured to where Ethan was still kneeling with his hands raised in surrender, “…is my buddy, Pete Mitchell. He’s a pilot, like me, he’s not a threat to you.”

“Ha!” The Saint barked a laugh and rounded on Ethan, “Pete Mitchell is it now, Dimitri?”

“You want to talk about names?” Ethan said calmly from his position on the floor. “Who are you named for this time ‘Simon’? Bit of a step up for you isn't it? An apostle?”

“Mav? What are you talking about?” Ice asked earnestly and The Saint glanced between the two of them. Slowly, with his free hand he reached up and pulled the wig from his head and dumped it unceremoniously on the table. Underneath was a mess of a hairnet and pins but Ethan understood the gesture for what it was.

“Simon is the name I chose for myself,” Simon spoke first to Ice before turning to Ethan, “Not for a Saint. Not for anyone except me.”

There wasn’t a trace of a German accent now, but rather a soft American voice that caressed the shape of the words it spoke. He advanced towards Ethan, the gun still unwaveringly accurate in its aim, but now there was a looseness to the pose which hadn’t been present before.

“Pete…Mav… Dimitri. So many names… Which is the real one I wonder.”

But Ice hadn’t picked up on the change of atmosphere and seemed to take Simon’s advancement as a threat. He leapt forward, putting himself between Ethan and the advancing gun and squared up to his brother.

“Simon. Please. Put the gun down. I won’t let you hurt Mav.”

Simon paused. Ethan scrambled up so that he was, at least, standing behind Ice and saw realisation flicker across the thief’s face.

“Oh…” he breathed, looking them both up and down, taking in their bare chests and dishevelled appearance, “You fucked him too! Should I be flattered?”

Ethan had had enough of this. He stepped around his blushing wingman and plucked the gun easily from Simon’s fingers. The thief let it go without any fuss and Ethan disarmed it quickly and shoved it out of reach.

“To answer your question,” he said bluntly, “I’m Ethan now… Ethan Hunt.”

The Saint considered this. “Not your given name..?”

“My birth name is Pete Mitchell, it’s true, but I go by Ethan now.”

Ice turned to face him, a look of confusion splashed across his face.
“Mav?”

Ethan slumped a little, not relishing that circumstance had effectively forced him to come clean.

“I don’t work for the Navy any more Ice.”

Ice’s eyes widened. “But… You’re a test pilot!”

“No, I’m not.” Ethan reiterated firmly, “I’m not even really Maverick any more. I come back once in a while. Whenever I need to learn how to fly the latest models. Keep the name alive, catch up with friends just enough to be noticed… then I disappear again.”

Ice shook his head, “I don’t understand.”

Ethan took a deep breath. “I was recruited by another agency. I guess you could say that I’m a spy.”

Simon snorted. Ethan ignored him.

“Okay, say I believe you.” Ice rounded on both of them with a determined expression, “Why is my long lost brother trying to kill you?”

“He’s not trying to kill me-” Ethan said at the same time that Simon declared,
“I’m not trying to kill him-”

“Look,” Simon continued into the shocked pause, “Ethan stole something from me. An action that has cost me millions and brought me quite a bit of trouble.”

Ethan couldn’t help but notice the little flip his heart gave in response to hearing Simon refer to him by name properly for the first time, and wondered if the same would be true for the other man.

“Simon,” he started and noticed how the man’s eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment in response. Interesting. “If you’re in any trouble I can-”

He was cut off before he could finish.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle by myself.” 

Simon stalked forward until he and Ethan were toe to toe. He looked down. Ethan couldn’t help but tilt his chin up. Their mouths were so close… 

“I do intend to collect on that debt, though, princess. You owe me millions.”

And then he was gone, stepping back, and Ethan wanted nothing more than to chase him and beg for another kiss. But The Saint was otherwise occupied.

“Thomas.” He was saying, staring at Ice as though he were some kind of miracle.

“Simon.” Ice replied, “I-”

But Simon cut him off. Tentatively, slowly, he opened his arms and pulled Ice in for a hug. Ice melted into the embrace and Ethan couldn’t help but marvel at not only their similarities, but also their trust. He had a horrible feeling that these two men might turn out to be the most important people to him in his whole life, and yet the more he thought about it, the more lucky he felt. Or had the potential to feel. He barely knew Simon, but at least now he had hope that he might see the man again. And that was more than he’d had yesterday.

Eventually the two brothers broke apart and Ethan pretended not to notice the slight shimmer of tears welling in his wingman’s eyes.
Simon stepped back, pulled the hood of his jacket over his head to cover the mess of hairnets and pins, and stuffed the discarded wig into his pocket.

“Very nice to meet you properly, Ethan.” He declared with a smirk. “I’ll be in touch to collect on that debt.”

He winked and then turned and disappeared through the doorway that led out towards the bathroom. Ice tried to follow him but Ethan held him back with a hand on his chest. He crept forward and pushed the door open gently. The window was flapping gently in the breeze. Clearly he was going to have to get his entire alarm system tested.

Back in the kitchen Ice was standing by the table examining something. Ethan came up behind him. “He’s gone.”

He peered over Ice’s shoulder. His wingman was holding a small white card with a single phone number written on it in a neat, curling script.

“He left us his number.”

Ethan’s heart twanged, but he knew he had a better read on the man than Ice did. He reached round and closed Ice’s fingers around the card gently.

“He left you his number. He’ll find me if he wants to.”

Ice turned around and stared at Ethan incredulously.
“What the fuck is going on Mav?”

Ethan sighed, pulled out a chair and sat down heavily.

“Alright Ice, you deserve an explanation. I’ll tell you everything.”

“Really?” Ice sat down heavily next to him, “Isn’t it classified?”

“Oh it’s beyond classified.” Ethan grinned at him, “But I have a feeling you’ll be safer if I tell you now.”

And so he told him. About the IMF, the mission in Berlin, Bruno… everything. Well, everything he thought Ice needed to know. And Ice listened to it all calmly without interruption, only one raised eyebrow showing any emotion to what he was hearing. And when Ethan was done, Ice had only one question.

“Do you love him?”

 

 

Chapter 4: Simon and Ethan

Notes:

This chapter is almost entirely smut... so much smut... they just wouldn't stop kissing!

 

January 1999

 

Ethan was restless. He’d been holed up in this grotty bungalow that the IMF laughably called a safehouse for two days now, having to endure the sweltering temperatures of downtown Caracas until the metaphorical heat was off. The Venezuelan gang that he’d been infiltrating had rumbled him as a mole after three weeks of painstakingly gaining their trust, and he had been forced to flee before they made good on their threats to kill him.
He’d made it out with only a few cuts and scrapes, mostly from the window he’d smashed his way through in order to escape, but they were superficial and nothing to worry about. But unfortunately, as they were mostly covering his face, it made him too recognisable to attempt to make his way out through any public border crossing for a few days yet. Not with the entire criminal underworld baying for his blood. So, for now, he was stuck here.

There were only so many hours in the day that could be spent resting, or writing up a report of the whole shitshow, so Ethan had resorted to rounds and rounds of push-ups, despite the heat, as a way to alleviate the boredom. He was sweating, and had long since removed his shirt - the only one he had with him - so that he could rinse it in the cracked sink and hang it to dry over the curtain rail.

Basic electricity and water, only minimal long-life food and or or two pieces of threadbare furniture… this place was one of the most spartan he had ever come across. Ethan had half a mind to lodge an official complaint about it. Had he been injured or in need of weapons or supplies… he would’ve been sunk. It was a travesty, really, although intellectually he knew that it was impossible to keep all safehouses well maintained for the simple reason of practicality. Still, he fantasised about the snotty emails he wished to send as he pushed through the burn in his arms.

And then his phone rang.

He stilled, dropping his weight to the floor as he wondered who could possibly be calling him on this particular phone. Only a few people had the number and with it, instructions that they were only to call in cases of dire emergency. Ethan reached for the handset and answered.

“Hunt.”

“Yes, it has been.”

Ethan couldn’t place the voice and the answer had him immediately on edge. For a moment he worried that somehow the gang had managed to trace him…

“Who is this?” He demanded, voice curling into a defensive scowl.

“I’m disappointed,” The voice changed, suddenly taking on a distinctive German lilt that he recognised instantly, “that you don’t recognise me pretty boy.”

“Simon?” Ethan blinked, “How did you get this number?”

The accent dropped and Simon himself replied, “Tom gave it to me.”

“No he didn’t.” Ethan countered. He’d left his wingman with strict instructions to keep this number private and he knew that Ice would’ve taken that seriously.

“Alright, he didn’t,” Simon admitted, ”but his house was not hard to break into…”

Damn, Ethan should’ve expected that. 

“Is he okay?” He asked cautiously, unsure of the relationship between the two brothers. It had been a shock for Ice, finding out about the existence of his brother, but he hadn’t seen Simon since and so didn’t know how he had processed the news.

But the thief’s reply put his fears at ease. “Of course he’s okay. We went for dinner.”

Ethan breathed a sigh of relief, before refocusing on the matter at hand.

“Why are you calling, Simon?”

“Ah.” Simon’s voice took on a playful tone, “You lost me millions Mr. Hunt. I’m here to collect on some of that debt. I’m outside.”

“Outside?” Ethan crossed to the window and twitched the fabric back to peer out. Simon was standing, bold as brass, on the other side of the street staring up at him. He gave a little wave. Ethan was indignant, “This is a safehouse!”

Simon gave a low chuckle. “Do you not feel safe with me Ethan?”

He crossed the road, coming towards the front door. Ethan hung up and chucked the phone onto the sofa behind him before crossing to the door. He wrenched it open, pulled Simon into the house with a tight fisted hand in the front of his shirt, and slammed the door behind them.

“How did you find this place?” He growled.

Simon wriggled himself loose from Ethan’s grasp, and ran a hand down the front of his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles of the fabric. He shrugged.

“I hacked into the IMF database. Charming, isn’t it.” He said, looking around at the dismal interior. “Rustic.”

Ethan took in the man’s appearance. He was wearing a silk black shirt and loose flowing trousers. His face was bare of makeup, Ethan realised with a jolt as he spotted the birthmark standing proudly on the man’s jaw. And he didn’t appear to be wearing a wig, either! Ethan took in the natural blond colour of his hair with interest and then allowed his eyes to travel down. The top three buttons of Simon’s shirt were undone, as a concession to the heat perhaps, but Ethan found himself getting lost in the scant glimpse of fluffy chest hair poking out from beneath the fabric. He gulped, running the man’s words through his head and this time, they registered.

“Hacked into the database? Really?”

“Yes,” Simon frowned, “and whilst we’re talking about it I found some rather interesting video footage of Dimitri and Bruno in Berlin…”

Ethan gulped. He tried his best not to think too much about the hidden cameras that often accompanied his honeypot missions, but the IMF considered it insurance, and potential blackmail material, and non-negotiable.

“Ah yes…” he stammered, “sorry, I-”

Simon’s voice was firm, but didn’t seem to be judgemental in tone. “I have deleted it.”

Ethan felt a surge of relief from tension that he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Thank you.”

Simon offered a small smile and then glanced around, “Any cameras here?”

Ethan huffed a laugh, “You’ve got to be joking.” He gestured ruefully, “There’s nothing here. Not even a change of clothes.”

Simon stepped forward into his space and ran a long, delicate finger up the length of Ethan’s bare, sweaty chest, making him shiver. A thick, chunky watch that looked as though it cost more than the house they were currently occupying clung to his wrist and caught the light as he moved. Simon cocked an eyebrow.

“Is that the reason for the rather tempting view?”

Ethan felt himself blush. “You’re one to talk.”

The smile that spread over Simon’s face was wide and showed genuine delight. His smile widened further when Ethan stretched up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Simon’s lips.

“You really are impossibly cute.”

Ethan pouted, “Cute?”

Simon laughed, “And handsome, and beautiful, and strong, and perfect.”

He ran his hands up Ethan’s arms, feeling over the swell of the warm muscles before coming up to rest lightly on his shoulders. Ethan preened at the words and soft touch, and craned his head back to look up into Simon’s face. Simon hooked a hand around the back of his neck, cradling the weight of his head and Ethan smiled.

“So about this debt I owe you…”

Simon hummed pleasantly in response and arched an eyebrow. He pulled Ethan a little closer to him and Ethan found himself with one hand pressed between their bodies. He curled his fingers into the fluffy curls poking out of Simon’s scandalously unbuttoned shirt.

“How about you take me to bed and I’ll see if I can start working it off?”

Simon chuckled. “Lead the way sweetheart.”

Ethan detached his fingers from the curls a little reluctantly, but ran the hand down the other man’s arm and slipped his hand into Simon’s. He interlaced their fingers together before stepping back, leading Simon along after him.

The bedroom, if one could call it that, consisted of an old, stained mattress covered in a single, moth-eaten sheet resting only a foot or so off the floor on a couple of wooden pallets. But to Ethan it could’ve been the largest, softest bed in the most luxurious hotel, now that Simon was here to share it with him. 
The thief didn’t seem to share that opinion, however, as his nose wrinkled a little as he took in the sight.

“And I thought my job was glamorous.” He deadpanned, before slipping the silken shirt from his shoulders.

Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. He pushed his trousers and boxers off in one fell swoop before stepping forward to help Simon disrobe further. He was already starting to harden, had been since Simon had come close enough to touch him, and he stood proudly so that Simon could see.

“I want you.” He clarified after a moment, as Simon slipped off his shoes and Ethan couldn't help but reach for the other man’s belt. 

“Really?” Simon raised an eyebrow, “I couldn’t tell.”

His words were dry but the smile gave him away. And then he giggled as Ethan pushed the trousers from his body and reached round to grab his arse. The sound was like music to Ethan’s ears and he squeezed, hoping to elicit another. But this time Simon’s breath faltered and he let out a small, low, moan.

Ethan pressed their bodies together, leaning in for a kiss, and then moaned himself as their two erections brushed together with the movement.

“This is a very good start Ethan,” Simon murmured into the kiss, “But I was rather hoping to fuck you.”

“You didn’t get to know me well enough last time?” Ethan replied playfully but Simon scowled.

“This time we will be ourselves.” He said firmly, “And I'm not going to do anything that you don’t want.”

Ethan felt a stab of guilt as he remembered the first time they’d had together, and understood Simon’s reluctance to jump in without proper communication.

“I want it, Simon,” Ethan whispered, “I want you.”

Simon grinned, wide eyed and eager. “Say it again.”

Ethan giggled, “I want you Simon.”

The thief’s eyes flickered closed and Ethan remembered the reaction the man had had to hearing his own name the last time that they had met. He pressed a kiss to Simon’s cheek and reinforced the message.

“Simon, I want you to fuck me.”

The thief groaned and his eyes opened, focussing on Ethan’s face. And then he surged forward, hooking an arm under Ethan’s legs and then Ethan found himself being hoisted into the air by a pair of strong arms.
Simon crossed quickly to the bed and lay Ethan down gently atop the grotty sheet. Ethan relaxed back, pillowing his head on his arm and reached up with the other to guide Simon down on top of him.

They fell together into a passionate embrace. Ethan didn’t know where he ended and Simon began, as their hands were roaming all over. Their tongues explored freely, mapping each other’s mouths and they were soon panting and moaning with it all. Ethan was pinned down to the mattress, with Simon bracketed above him but he didn’t feel trapped. On the contrary he relished the pressure and kept pulling Simon closer to him with hands fanned across his back until the man was lying with his weight spread across Ethan’s sweat soaked body.

“Simon,” Ethan eventually managed to say once the other man left his mouth alone to begin sucking on his neck, “Simon, please…”

Simon moaned at the words and sucked harder, and Ethan knew that come the morning he would bruise.

“Say it again,” The man whispered before moving on to suck one of Ethan’s nipples into his mouth.

Ethan whimpered more than spoke, but obliged happily, “Simon…” He ran his fingernails up the length of the thief’s back, “Simon…”

The man in question bit down lightly around Ethan’s nipple and he bucked in surprise. Simon chuckled and soothed the bite with a firm lick.

“Simon,” Ethan whined, “Please…”

The thief popped off with a grin. “Seeing as you ask so nicely.”

And then he was gone. Ethan whined with the loss, surging up in an effort to follow the warmth as it retreated. But Simon hadn’t gone far, and soon returned with a square foil packet and small bottle.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You came prepared.”

Simon smirked, “It seemed only polite, after all, I came to you.”

“I’d rather you came in me,” Ethan pouted and The Saint spluttered.

“It… can be arranged,” He replied in a voice slightly less steady than it had been.

Ethan grinned and lay back again, posing, tensing his muscles in a way that he knew showed off his best attributes. Simon fell to his knees heavily and surged down to lick a stripe all the way from Ethan’s navel up to his neck, and then they were kissing again.

The kiss was deep and all-encompassing and distracting, and Ethan found himself lost in the sensations of it almost immediately. It was as though time had stopped for him and everything around him had ceased to exist. It was just him and Simon. Their mouths pressing together… feeling… touching.

And then a slicked finger breached him and Ethan shot back into his body. He tensed, but Simon coaxed him gently, murmuring into his mouth.

“Relax, Ethan, you’re safe. You’re doing well.”

Ethan gasped and let out a long breath. Simon pressed a light kiss to his neck, under his jaw.

“That’s it sweetheart,” he whispered, “Just like that.”

Slowly Simon moved his finger, gliding it in and out as gently as he could. He teased at Ethan’s rim, stretching him gently until the slight burn of intrusion was no more than a memory.

“Are you ready for another?” Simon whispered and Ethan nodded. 

“Keep talking to me?” He implored, seeking out Simon’s sparkling, grey eyes with his own.

Simon kissed him again and pushed another finger past his rim. Ethan jerked but Simon stroked through his hair soothingly with his free hand.

“Good boy,” he crooned, “Good boy. Well done.”

Ethan groaned. Simon’s words seemed to flow through him straight to his dick. He bucked a little, subconsciously seeking friction but succeeded only in taking Simon’s fingers in a little deeper as he landed back on the mattress. Simon smiled.

“That’s it,” he grinned, “You’re doing so well sweetheart.”

Coming from anyone else Ethan would’ve assumed the words to be meant mockingly, but Simon whispered them so gently that he couldn’t help but believe every word of the stream of praise that was running from his lips.

Simon kept up the cajoling as he began to scissor his fingers to open him up and Ethan found himself whimpering. No one had ever been so gentle with him before, and his body was responding to it as though Simon were playing him like an instrument. His talented thieving fingers knew exactly where to press and caress to fill Ethan with pleasure and soon he was writhing in desperation.

“Look at you,” Simon breathed, his voice full of wonder, “You’re so perfect for me. I could watch you all day.”

“Don’t-” Ethan was having a hard time forming his sentences. Simon paused, searching his face intently with a small worried crease appearing on his forehead. Ethan focussed and finished the sentence. “-tease. More… I need more.”

Simon laughed. “Are you begging me Mr. Hunt?”

Ethan tried to growl but it came out as more of a choked sob.

“Please… give me all of you.” A tear escaped Ethan’s eye, he could feel it running down his cheek. “I need you.”

Simon smiled. “Soon, angel. Just one more first.”

Ethan squirmed around the two fingers already filling him up. A third was probing at his entrance, slick but hesitant, waiting for his permission. Simon cradled his head, running his thumb over Ethan’s cheek, catching the tear.
He turned his head and pressed a kiss into Simon’s palm.

“Good boy.”

The third finger breached him but there was no pain, no sense of discomfort to the sensation, given how adequately he’d been stretched open on the other two. Ethan bore down, taking them down to the knuckle, widening the stretch himself. Feather light kisses brushed along his collarbone as Simon sought to distract him by murmuring faint praises into his skin between kisses. Ethan spread his legs wider and tilted his hips up.

“Please fuck me.” He begged.

“Of course I will.” 

Simon removed his fingers and Ethan sobbed at the loss. He felt so empty it almost hurt, ironically. Still in his vision, Simon was rolling on a condom, settled between Ethan’s spread legs. He reached for him blindly and Simon’s hand met his, knitting their fingers together in a desperate, clasping embrace.

Simon squeezed his fingers as he pushed in, tortuously slowly - just the head at first, before pausing. The thief pressed a kiss to Ethan’s knuckles.

“You feel so good sweetheart.” His voice was taught, as though speaking were an effort. “Tell me… tell me how you feel.”

Ethan couldn’t help but swoon a little. Simon was definitely bigger than three fingers but he’d taken him before, and this time Simon was being even more cautious than he had been the first time. He couldn’t help but relish the stretch as pleasure danced up his spine to become a tingling white noise at the base of his skull.

“You’re… perfect.” He breathed, squeezing their joined hands in return, “Simon, you’re perfect.”

The Saint smiled, his handsome face taking on a glow as though he were being powered by Ethan’s words. He pushed in a little further, taking his time, until Ethan lost patience and rolled his hips, taking a few more inches under his own steam. 

That seemed to spur Simon into action and he thrust forward, eyes closed, almost as though he had forgotten himself. Ethan rolled his hips again and together they hit home. It was a glorious feeling, all tight and hot and sweaty. Ethan hooked his legs around the thief’s thighs and pulled him in closer. Simon crashed down on top of him and Ethan rolled them until he had Simon pinned against the mattress. 

The Saint’s eyes were dark with lust as he looked up at Ethan from below. His lips pulled back into a smirk that could barely conceal the delight in his eyes.

“Go on then,” he encouraged, “show me what you’ve got Princess.”

Ethan whined at the name but began to move. He pushed himself up with the strength of his thighs before sinking back down, taking Simon right to the root. He threw his head back in pleasure and repeated the action, a little faster, enjoying every dragging inch of the motion. 

Simon seemed to relax under him, content to let Ethan set the pace and so he did, chasing the pleasure further with every bounce. The string of praises didn’t stop either, as Simon encouraged him with sweet words in a way that made his whole being throb with desire. Soon Ethan was babbling; Simon’s name on his lips over and over as though everything else had been driven from his mind. 

Together they moved, truly as one, building to a crescendo of heat and joy. At some point their hands intertwined and Ethan clutched at his lover as though to let go would be to lose him forever. Simon clutched at him back, not only where their hands were joined but also with a bruising grip on his hip. Ethan latched onto the strength of it like an anchor and laid his own free hand on Simon’s chest - fingers splayed, and used the new leverage to his advantage. 

Now with every thrust Ethan was seeing stars as he rode Simon at just the right angle to hit the spot inside him over and over. Everything tightened and heightened and he heard Simon gasp as he squeezed around him. The new pace was frantic and Ethan was drenched in sweat, the heat enveloping him like a cloud. His hair was stuck to his forehead but still he moved faster, urging them both on...

He came moments before Simon did, spurting over his lover’s chest. The pearly white droplets diffused into the sheen of sweat that was coating both of them. Ethan gasped, catching his breath, hardly able to believe the force of the orgasm that had just been wrenched out of him. Simon hadn’t even touched his prick, he’d just gone off like an oversensitive firearm. 

They stayed like that, just breathing, for a few minutes before Ethan found the strength to lift himself off one last time and roll off onto the mattress. 

Simon removed the condom with efficient fingers and threw it - somewhere, away, before Ethan opened his arms and beckoned for the thief to come back to him. 

They fell into each other’s arms and spent the next twenty minutes or so just breathing, enjoying each other’s scent and warmth. There was no need for words, as pure contentment existed between them. And then, slowly, gentle touches started, turning into caresses, and then they were kissing again. 

It didn’t take long for the heat and passion to return and Ethan soon felt himself growing hard once again. His cock didn’t seem to know what to do with itself, having just come and yet still craving the stimulation that it had lacked. Ethan was resolute in his determination and pushed his aching dick from his mind in favour of lavishing attention on his bedfellow. 

He kissed along Simon’s jaw and down his neck, alternating feather light caresses with affectionate nips and bites. He sucked a bruise onto the man’s delicate, pale, collarbone, admiring the way that his throat bobbed as he swallowed in pleasure. 

Beneath him Simon was gasping and writhing, spurring him on with each delicious noise. It wasn’t long at all before the thief was hard and Ethan helped him along with several firm strokes from his hand whilst his mouth was otherwise occupied. He wanted Simon to be hard. He remembered the overwhelming feeling of the thief’s soft, plump lips wrapped around his cock during their first encounter, and had become preoccupied in the intervening months with the idea of tasting the man in return. And Simon had been so unbelievably gentle with him, it was only fair to treat him well in return.

Simon cried out when Ethan swallowed him down in one, fluid motion. The following whimper had Ethan smiling around the stretch with a chuckle rumbling low in his throat. Simon groaned and bucked a little, but Ethan could feel how much he was holding himself back; trembling with the effort of it all.

He pulled his head up, sucking as he went, drawing out the movement until he reached all the way to the top. He swirled his tongue around the head, once, before popping off with a grin.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Simon gurgled a little as he tried to regain his composure. Ethan pressed down on his hips with both hands, pinning him in place and blew lightly over Simon’s glistening tip.

“Relax sweetheart,” Ethan chuckled as the thief struggled and failed to form words, “I’ll take care of you.”

And then he swallowed him again, keeping his hold firm so that he was in complete control.

This time he moved more slowly, lavishing attention with his tongue as he sank down and then back up again, before settling into a bobbing rhythm. On the upswing Ethan glanced over to check in with his lover’s reactions and the expression on Simon’s face was so wonderfully enraptured as to cause him to falter in his rhythm. The Saint’s eyes had fluttered shut and his mouth had fallen open slightly in an expression of sheer bliss that was beautiful to behold.

Ethan redoubled his efforts with satisfied determination. He continued to lavish attention, leaving no inch uncherished and soon Simon’s blissful silence transformed into a symphony of pleasure-filled sounds.

And then Ethan pulled out his best trick. He relaxed his throat and pushed Simon down into it, cutting off his own ability to breath temporarily. He didn’t gag, as the reflex had been trained out of him years ago, but swallowed deliberately around the intrusion in a way that he knew would feel amazing for his lover. Simon shuddered and moaned, and Ethan pulled off for a moment to catch a breath before repeating the whole action on a loop.

Simon was impossibly hard in his throat and the salty taste on his tongue was enough to tell him that the thief was close. He pulled him deep into his throat again and hummed, as best he could, trying to coax the man into a climax. The Saint was whimpering and seemed wracked with whole-body shudders that justified the firm grip he held, keeping the man’s hips pinned to the mattress.
A second deep set hum caused Simon to shout, a surprised bark as he came, hot and wet down Ethan’s throat. He swallowed, massaging the thief through his climax until the man relaxed beneath him and Ethan pulled off with a satisfied smirk.

He crawled up the bed and tucked himself into Simon’s side, using his shoulder as a pillow and took in the sight next to him. Simon was spread and limp, as though he hadn’t quite regained control of all of his limbs, and was breathing a little more heavily than normal. His cheeks were highlighted with a pleasing flush and his mouth was open again, in a relaxed expression. He looked pretty blissfully fucked out, just like at the end of their first encounter as Ethan had watched him slowly drift off to sleep.

Simon’s free arm, the one that wasn’t being used as a pillow, reached over and Ethan felt a strong hand lovingly stroking through his hair. He chased the touch, lengthening his neck and sighing.

“Exquisite.”

Simon’s voice was mellow and full of emotion. Ethan looked up and met an expression that took his breath away. Simon’s grey eyes sparkled and held him in their focus as though he were the most precious thing that the thief had ever seen.

Ethan mewled as gentle fingers carded through his hair, massaging his scalp. Then The Saint drew him closer, and Ethan rolled into the hug gratefully. 

“Oh,” Simon breathed, “I’ve been very rude…”

Ethan hummed agreeably rather than forming a question, which was answered with a roll of Simon’s hips against his aching, leaking cock.

“You’ve been so attentive to me, twice, and I’ve completely neglected you. You must think me terribly selfish.” 

There was a teasing quality to his tone which Ethan found equal parts endearing and infuriating, but he was too comfortable to care much about it either way.

“-t’s fine,” He mumbled into the crook of Simon’s neck, “I came once already.”

“I remember.” Simon answered dryly, flicking at some of the pearly liquid that glistened across the sweaty sheen of his stomach. “Vividly.”

Ethan pinched him, just below one of his nipples and the thief yelped.

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled sleepily, “I don’t need-”

“Oh no,” Simon interrupted, “I won’t have anyone saying I’m not a gentleman.”

He wriggled out of the embrace and pushed his way down the bed. Ethan allowed his arms to flop around himself, as though trying to keep the heat of the cuddle close to him, to combat the loss of his lover’s embrace. 

“Simon-” he protested weakly but again the thief interrupted him, this time cutting off his words by pressing a soft kiss to the head of Ethan’s weeping erection. He gasped.

“Don’t hold back for me sweetheart,” Simon whispered as he followed the kiss up with a lick. Ethan held himself back from bucking up but allowed his hands to fly to Simon’s head and tangle in his hair.

“Is this okay?” He managed to ask, remembering how ‘Bruno’ had always kept his hands away from touching his hair. The blond strands were damp beneath his fingers as he raked through them, and he marvelled at the fact that this was real. This was Simon, not some disguise, and here in his hands was the proof.

“Please,” Simon answered, putting his hand over Ethan’s and encouraging his fist to tighten around a handful of hair, “Be my guest.”

Ethan tugged lightly and Simon’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment before he regrouped and met Ethan’s gaze with a grin. And then he launched, swallowing Ethan down with as much enthusiasm and skill as he had demonstrated in all aspects of their interactions thus far.

Ethan kept his hand tightened in the damp tangle, although at first he didn’t use it to guide or push, merely follow the pace that Simon set. His mouth was just as incredible as Ethan remembered; hot and wet and talented, wringing pleasure out of him as though he had only one purpose in life.

Ethan tried his best to be considerate, but this time Simon wasn’t holding him down and he couldn’t help but buck up into the thief’s wet heat. Simon didn’t so much as flinch, but took the change in pace with a low moan. Confident that he wasn’t overstepping, Ethan allowed his body to take over and relaxed into the sensations. He fucked into Simon’s mouth with abandon and the man simply softened around him and gave himself over to it.

It wasn’t long before Ethan was thrusting deeper, pushing in longer, in a stuttering rhythm that he knew meant he was close. Simon pulled back a little against Ethan’s hold in his hair and he let him go, bringing both hands to fist in the sweat-soaked sheet instead. Simon began working him again, sucking harder and using his tongue to stimulate in all the right places. Ethan felt the heat building within him and he wanted nothing more than to chase it but Simon held him down and brought him towards the edge with an unfaltering pull. Ethan couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by it all and came, exactly as Simon meant him to, down the other man’s throat.

The Saint kept up his ministrations until the last of the pulsing of Ethan’s orgasm had passed, until the sensations bordered on the overstimulating, before allowing Ethan to slip from between his lips.

“Fuck,” Ethan swore as the thief grinned at him, “You’re good at that.”

“Not so bad yourself.” Simon replied as he crawled back up to lie alongside where Ethan was blissfully and bonelessly sprawled.

Ethan merely hummed in response and allowed the thief to rearrange his limbs until they were once again entwined in an embrace. 

“I wasn’t too rough with you?” He enquired as Simon tucked his head under Ethan’s chin.

“Not in the least,” came the content reply.

Ethan chuckled.

“What?” Simon queried.

“Your brother likes it rough too.” The words slipped out without thinking and Ethan froze once he realised what he had said. “Wait- sorry… I shouldn’t-”

Simon pulled back a little so he could look Ethan in the eye. Ethan shrank a little in the face of his gaze, although he couldn’t register any judgement there.

“Yes, why did you sleep with my brother?” He asked, seeming genuinely curious, “I didn’t like to ask him, not on our first meeting.”

Ethan blanched, “You’re not mad?”

“For sleeping with him? No. For mentioning it after having sex with me?” Simon raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk splashed across his features, “Also no. I hardly know the man, nor you for that matter.”

“I only slept with him once.” Ethan clarified, a little defensively, and Simon motioned for him to continue. “It’s not… easy for Ice… in the Navy. People like him - us, I guess - risk losing everything if they’re found out. He was desperate, fit to burst, and he trusts me. We’re old friends. I couldn’t leave him hanging.”

“And it had nothing to do with me?”

Ethan blushed. “It didn’t hurt that he looked just like you.” Simon’s expression became smug. “You… left quite an impression.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” Simon smiled, “And besides, you led me to him. And now I have a brother.” The thief leaned up and pressed a kiss to Ethan’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Ethan returned the kiss, noting with a warm spark of joy in his heart how genuine and honest The Saint’s smile had become. They both lingered in the kiss for a few minutes, revelling in the easiness of it all, before breaking apart to rest once again. 

“You said you visited him?” Ethan began as he nuzzled his face into Simon’s neck.

“Tom?” Simon nodded, “Yes.”

“How did that go?”

Simon paused before replying. “He’s a little in shock with it, I think, although I suppose I am too, in a way.”

Ethan traced mindless patterns on his thief’s back whilst he spoke, keeping quiet in favour of letting the man tell his tale at his own pace.

“I think he feels guilty that he was the one to be adopted. Guilty that he didn’t find me sooner, that he didn’t remember. I don’t know. It’s not his fault. He was a kid.” Simon’s voice fell to a whisper. “We both were.”

“It’s not your fault either Simon.” Ethan reassured softly, continuing his soothing circles that danced over his lover’s skin.

Simon’s voice, when he spoke again, sounded despondent and flat. “They say twins are supposed to have some kind of magical link or something. But the truth is neither of us felt a damn thing. We could’ve gone our whole lives never finding each other.”

“So you are twins?” Ethan asked, “Not just brothers.”

“Identical twins, yeah.” Simon clarified, “We figure, although neither of us are particularly keen to run a DNA test to be sure - given my profession…”

Ethan laughed softly, “Very wise. So who’s older?”

Simon shrugged. “Oh, our birth records were destroyed years ago. There’s no way of knowing for certain.”

“Destroyed? By who?”

The Saint wrinkled his nose, his voice hardening in disgust. “Standard practice in those sorts of places. The church has a lot to answer for.”

Ethan wasn’t sure how to respond to that and so settled in the silence, allowing it to wash over them as he continued to draw patterns across Simon’s skin with his fingertips.

“It’s funny.” The other man said eventually, “The name Thomas means ‘twin’.”

“Oh yeah?”

“That must’ve been why they chose that name for him. All of us at the orphanage were named for Saints. He said his parents shortened the name to Tom, officially, as they wanted in some way to make him theirs.”

“And you chose your name for yourself.” Ethan whispered. Simon smiled.

“I did.”

“Simon.” Ethan rolled his tongue around the letters of it, and traced the name along Simon’s arm.

Simon shivered, “I like the way you say it.”

Ethan chuckled. “Really gets you going doesn’t it? Simon.”

“No one has called me by my name in years. Hearing you say it…” The thief trailed off, blushing a little. “There are only two other people in the whole world, besides yourself, who are aware of my true name. I guess I just like to hear it.”

“Ice, I’m guessing? And…?”

“A woman.” 

Simon’s voice had taken on a more serious note and Ethan sensed there was more he wished to say. It took Simon a few moments, but eventually he continued.

“She was the first person to ever know it. With everyone else I used aliases, disguises, codenames. She knew me... and now you know me too.”

He looked up and their eyes met, twinkling in the fading light. Ethan was almost giddy with it all. Emotions surged through him, intense and powerful. He couldn’t help but draw the other man closer, holding him tight, as though he might slip away.

“I want to be known by you too, Simon. I want to know all of you.”

“It’s the same for you, isn’t it? How many people know the real Ethan Hunt?”

“Hardly anyone at all.”

“Then I promise you this, Ethan,” Simon took Ethan’s face in his hands and stroked a thumb gently over his cheekbone, mindful of the fresh cuts and scrapes that marred his skin. His eyes were shining with a look of such extreme tenderness that it made Ethan want to look away and hide, but he didn’t. He held Simon’s gaze and allowed the intensity to spear through him. “If you allow me to know you, I promise I will give you all of myself in return.”

Ethan swallowed, and nodded. Simon pulled him in for a kiss. It was hardly the most passionate of the kisses that they had shared but it was filled with a promise and a commitment that hadn’t been present before. Ethan drank Simon in with all the desperation of a dying man and felt similarly devoured in return. Something had changed between them, and he craved it.

“I’d like that Simon.” He whispered, as they broke apart to take a breath.

Simon hummed, “Say it again.”

“Simon.”

The Saint smiled, wide and genuine. “The things you do to me Ethan.”

He could feel Simon growing hard between them, trapped against his leg, and Ethan tilted his hips to make room. He wasn’t far behind and he pushed his growing erection against the other man’s hip so that he would feel it too.

“I can feel exactly what I do to you.” He grinned, “Simon.”

The thief groaned and his eyes fluttered closed. He rumbled, low and possessive. “Ethan…”

Ethan couldn’t help but tease him, “Simon?” He pouted, tilting his head.

He could feel Simon’s dick twitching in response and he shifted his hips so that they brushed together.

“What would you like me to do, Simon?” He murmured, his lips inches away from Simon’s own, poised for a kiss. The thief whined.

“I want you Ethan,” the man breathed, “I need you…”

He reached down, between their two entangled bodies and took up Simon’s prick in a firm grip and began to stroke. The man threw his head back, elongating his neck and moaned in pleasure. Never one to allow an opportunity to pass by, Ethan attached himself to Simon’s neck, sucking and biting a string of bruises under his jaw and down his throat.

“You have me,” he whispered between mouthfuls, “Simon you have all of me.”

The thief wound a strong hand around the back of Ethan’s neck and drew him upwards into a kiss which was all teeth and passion. And then Ethan felt his other hand wrap around his dick and pump in a mirror of his own actions and he saw stars.

Gradually the pace of their lovemaking turned, changing into something more tender and leisurely once the initial spark settled into a low, glowing warmth. Ethan felt he could lose himself in this embrace forever. Simon’s lips were soft against his own, and his tongue seemed content to explore slowly, feeling around every shape and every part of his mouth as though he were trying to memorise him. Their hands kept rhythm with one another, sometimes slower, sometimes faster as they gave themselves over to one another completely. 

The passage of time seemed irrelevant and meaningless, even as the light faded and night fell around them, for they were caught in one another utterly and completely. It was like a moment suspended in forever, a moment of stillness amongst the chaos of the world. Everything else faded in comparison and focused down to the touch of their bodies and the smell of their sweat as it mingled together and filled the room with a musty, sexual aroma. 

Ethan felt as though Simon was enveloping him, fusing with him to create one entity. He felt simultaneously lighter than air and heavy with a building pressure deep in his gut that sent ripples of pleasure dancing up his spine. Everything about the thief was soft and delicious, a walking luxury of a man whose kisses dripped like honey off his tongue and whose eyes sparkled like diamonds.

But Ethan knew better than anyone that nothing stays still forever and gradually, slowly, the heat between them began to build once more to a crescendo. Simon began to pant into the kiss, and then squeak little sounds as Ethan increased his grip and tempo, twisting his wrist now that he had a goal in mind. Simon matched him, and together their kiss broke in favour of panting and rolling their hips, moving as one towards a shared goal.

Only once he sensed that the thief was close did he lean in to deal the final blow. Ethan brought his lips to Simon’s ear and whispered quietly, intimately, as though it were a secret for the two of them alone.

“Come for me Simon.”

The Saint came with a jerk and a cry, sounding as though the sound was wrenched for him, his face screwed up with the intensity of it. Ethan stroked him through his climax, noticing with wry amusement how the thief’s hand had faltered in its own movements but, all credit to the man, he hadn’t stopped. As Simon came back to himself he began stroking again, with increased focus and Ethan allowed himself to get lost in it. The wet residue of Simon’s ejaculation added a smoothness to each pull that not only felt delicious, but also added to the heady realisation of all they had shared together.

Finally, for the first time in his life, Ethan had someone who wanted to be his and it was that, as much as the sensations rippling through him that sent him over the edge. He came with a grunt into Simon’s fist, feeling as though he could just float away, so long as the two of them were together. Simon was as attentive to his afterglow as he had been for him, and Ethan came back slowly into himself through a joyful haze to find the other man gazing at him fondly.

They didn’t need to exchange any words, for the look was enough. And they didn’t bother cleaning up - there didn’t seem much point in the filthy squalor of the safehouse, but did wipe the worst of the mess from themselves with the corner of the sheet before falling back into their embrace. 

With night having fallen the air temperature had noticeably reduced a few degrees which, mercifully, took the edge off of the cloying, invasive heat. Ethan snuggled into Simon gratefully, soaking up the warmth of him as a welcome alternative to any sort of covering and allowed sleep to catch at the edges of his mind. 

He’d missed this, the first time, falling asleep next to the man known as The Saint. But this was infinitely better, because this time and for every time hereafter, he got to fall asleep next to the man that he knew as Simon.

 

 

Notes:

This was supposed to be the last chapter, but it got so long that I had to split it in half! So the next chapter picks up where this one leaves off.

Chapter 5: Matthew and John

 

Ethan woke at the crack of dawn feeling better than he had in a long time. Pale daylight had brightened the dingy room enough to see everything clearly, but the temperature had not yet started climbing enough to be uncomfortable. And best of all, Simon was tucked into his side, arms thrown around his middle, snoring softly.

Ethan smiled at the sight. Simon was totally unguarded as he slumbered and it gave Ethan an opportunity to drink all of him in. Without any kind of disguise, Simon himself shone out and it struck Ethan that the thief must really trust him to allow him to see him so naked. And then he laughed as he took in the expanse of skin entwined before him, and realised the irony that they were both entirely naked still from their activities the night before. Simon shifted at Ethan’s laugh but didn’t wake, although the movement was enough to alert Ethan to the signals of his own body.

As much as he wished he could stay in Simon’s arms forever, Ethan found that he desperately needed to pee and so he slipped out from under the slumbering man with more than a little regret. He counted it as a victory that he managed to extract himself without waking his lover, and set about conducting his ablutions as efficiently as possible, so as to minimise the amount of time before he could crawl back to him.

He only made one other stop on the way, before slipping into the embrace once again, guiding Simon’s arm back across him as he settled again on the mattress. And it was in this position that a crystalline grey eye cracked open to observe him, some good few minutes later.

“Babe, can I ask you something?” Ethan wasted no time on greetings, preferring to launch straight into things.

“Are you going through my cell phone?”

Simon’s voice had a gravelly quality from the heaviness of sleep, but he still spoke softly. His face crinkled adorably as Ethan hummed in the affirmative, only glancing up from what he was doing. He held Simon’s handset loosely in his hands, opened out to reveal the concealed computer system within. 

“I am a spy, and you’re a thief, did you expect any less?” He grinned, a little guiltily.

“I suppose not.” Simon conceded, sitting up and rubbing the sleepy away from his face, “What’s your question?”

“Why is my number listed under… what actually is this word?” Ethan held the gadget out to show the screen to its owner.

“Backpfeifengesicht?” Simon shrugged, “It’s German.”

“I can see that it’s German, genius.” 

Ethan pushed him a little, playfully, and Simon rolled away from him dramatically. He laughed, and then sat up properly, unashamed of his nakedness. He didn’t seem inclined to explain further, though, so Ethan pressed him.

“I’m not familiar with that word. What does it mean?”

“There’s no direct translation…” Simon ran his fingers through his hair, taming the loose waves back into some sort of order, “colloquially it means someone who’s face inspires a desire to slap it.”

Ethan snorted, “A slappable face?”

Simon only hummed, infuriatingly, in response.

“You think my face is ‘slappable’?” Ethan asked, somewhat incredulously and to his surprise, the thief blushed.

“Not as such.”

“Then…?”

Simon paused, chewing his lip nervously, before he spoke again.

“That woman I mentioned…”

“The one who knows your real name?” 

Ethan remembered the reference the other man had made the night before. It had intrigued him then, but he hadn’t wanted to pry. There were some things that needed saying at the right time, and not before. And as much as Simon seemed to trust him with his present, he seemed much more precious about his past.

“Emma.” Simon’s voice was barely above a whisper. “She slapped me…once. That was the moment I knew she loved me.” The thief paused, eyes flicking down as he ducked his head, “She awoke something in me that I hadn’t felt before. She taught me how to love in return.”

“What happened to her?”

“My lifestyle is not compatible with love, not in the way she needed it.” Simon grimaced before looking back up to meet Ethan’s gaze, “She is well and we keep in touch, but she and I wanted different things… in the end.”

Ethan absorbed the news with good grace. After all, he had more than one old flame hidden in his closet… it stood to reason that the same was true of Simon. 

“So, she slapped you,” he started slowly, “and that’s how you knew you were in love?”

“I knew she was in love with me.” Simon corrected. “I fell for her… later.”

“You’ve slapped me three times, at last count. Can I infer anything from that?” Ethan mused, closing up Simon’s phone computer with a click before handing it back to the thief.

Simon took it and held it tightly, “The first one was your idea.” He pouted.

“Agreed, and the second?”

“Against my better judgement I found myself… captivated by you.” Simon blushed again, “I felt something I couldn’t’ve named.”

Ethan leant forward, teasingly, as he brought his mouth just within range of easy kissing distance. 

“And the third time?” He asked in a husky, low tone.

“That’s when I knew.” Simon’s eyes had fluttered shut and he was blushing. His voice, barely more than a whisper, was breathless and honest.

Ethan pressed forward and caught the man’s lips in a gentle kiss. He pulled back after all too brief a time, but there was something important he had to say. He cupped Simon’s face with his hand and was rewarded by the sight of two beautiful grey eyes opening once again.

“I love you too.”

The resulting smile that spread across Simon’s face, lighting up his eyes, was pure and joyous and one of the most beautiful things that Ethan had ever seen. He grinned too, giddy with the fairytale unbelievability of it all.

A thief and a spy, squatting in the most disgustingly squalid little hovel without even a proper bed - hardly the most romantic setting - and yet here they were, professing their love and revelling in one another so completely… it was almost enough to convince Ethan to believe in fate, or soulmates, or some other such romantic nonsense. 
He giggled, almost in disbelief before Simon surged forward to claim his mouth in a kiss.

This kiss seemed to become an open channel of communication between them, as they allowed the control to flow back and forth like a conversation. Everything about Simon’s demeanour radiated a youthful, naive joy and Ethan couldn't help but get caught up in the man’s enthusiasm. It was like they were sharing a disbelief that this was all actually happening… love… It was a big word but Ethan couldn’t deny the way his heart soared whenever he set eyes on his thief.

And Simon seemed almost giddy with it. Ethan could feel him grinning against his mouth and he was practically vibrating against the flushed bulk of Ethan’s chest. He ran his hands over the curve of Simon’s hips and up to rest on his waist and the man melted into the touch. Everything about the way Simon was responding was radiating need and so Ethan made a swift decision and swept the other man into his arms before lowering him to lie back on the mattress - all without breaking the kiss.

Simon’s piercing grey eyes stared up at him, soft and crinkled around the edges, when Ethan eventually pulled back enough to take in the sight of the man beneath him. His blond hair had caught the light in such a way as to form a golden halo that made the man look simply angelic. Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. A veritable feast of pale skin was laid out before him, eager and willing and Ethan couldn’t help but reach out and touch.

He spread his fingers wide, covering as much surface area as possible, as he ran his hands up Simon’s chest to tangle in the soft fluff that sat in the cleft that ran down the centre. Simon relaxed beneath his touch, although he trailed his hands up Ethan’s arms, caressing the muscles, until he reached his shoulders and pulled down. Ethan lowered himself in response to the summons, resting the weight of his chest on Simon’s, and allowed himself to be pulled into another kiss. Simon’s arms came behind him to wrap him up in an all encompassing cuddle.

Ethan felt lost in the man that surrounded him. Simon was everything and everywhere; hot and overwhelming and wonderful. He wanted to lose himself. Here in his lover’s arms the rest of the world faded away and ceased to matter. There was nothing and no-one that needed his attention more than the beautiful man that had wormed his way into his heart. He wished he could stay in this moment forever.

But, slowly, the heat between them grew and the kiss turned more passionate than tender, and Ethan became aware of their shared arousal, insistently trapped between their entwined bodies. He ground his hips down, rutting his own length alongside his lover’s and was rewarded with a delightful moan that escaped from between Simon’s lips. He repeated the action, craving the friction as much as with a desire to tease and felt Simon shift beneath him.

Ethan pushed himself up and leant over to retrieve a condom from the pocket of Simon’s discarded trousers, thankful that the thief had not only come prepared, but had come extremely well prepared. 
Simon watched his every move with precision focus, tracking his movements with the skill of a professional observer. He crawled back and settled in the centre of the mattress before beckoning his lover to join him. Simon sat up and reached for him, instinctively, and Ethan indulged the invitation to resume kissing with enthusiasm. 

Simon’s mouth was something else and Ethan couldn’t help but feel that he would never tire of the feeling, as enraptured as he was by the man in his arms. They leant together, each using the embrace for balance as much as their own strength, as though by sinking into one another they could become one. Simon was clearly in no hurry to escalate the encounter this time and Ethan could sympathise. There was something so wonderfully freeing, for someone who was accustomed to performing sexually on demand, to be allowed to linger in the moment with no expectations or objectives to get in the way.

But, on the other hand, his cock was once again achingly hard between his legs and, as he could feel with their bodies pressed together, so was Simon. And so it was this, finally, that encouraged Ethan to break their kiss apart once more.

“Let me,” Ethan said softly in answer to the thief’s quizzical expression as he opened the packet that he had grabbed and began to slide the condom onto Simon’s dick. The man’s mouth fell open in a soft ‘oh’ and his breathing juddered as Ethan rolled his hand down, coaxing the latex to roll with him.

“You don’t need to do anything sweetheart, just sit right there…” He cooed before stretching over to the side of the bed to sneakily slick up his fingers. Simon settled obediently, observing with a flush in his cheeks, as Ethan reached around and pressed a couple of fingers into himself and began to work his hole open. It wasn’t particularly difficult, as he was still pretty loose from the night before, but his rim was sensitive and so he was glad of the chance to control his own pace.
It wasn’t long before Ethan felt ready to add a third finger and stretch himself just that bit further, spreading the slick everywhere that it would be needed.

Simon watched him with an expression that could only be described as awe. As well as his flushed cheeks, his lips were parted in wonder and his grey eyes were blown wide and dark with lust. Ethan wondered for a moment how he must look, speared on his own fingers, kneeling in the centre of a stained mattress in an otherwise abandoned hovel. But Simon didn’t seem to be seeing any of that. He looked as though he were the luckiest person in the world, as though he’d been given a gift that he’d been waiting his whole life to receive. He looked happy.

Ethan smiled at him and the grin he got back in return was dazzling and made his heart beat faster. And then suddenly he didn’t want to wait any more. He wanted the man inside him with such intense desperation that he wrenched his fingers out with a pained gasp.

Simon was by his side in an instant, the picture of concern but Ethan shushed him with a kiss and guided him back to sit comfortably in the centre of the bed. He rested his forearms on the man’s strong shoulders and swung his leg over so that he was kneeling, straddling Simon’s lap. The thief’s erection tapped at his inner thigh. Their eyes met, sparkling and eager. Time stopped and it seemed as though both of them stopped breathing.

Then Ethan lowered himself down onto Simon’s cock and everything started again with a jolt. Simon whined behind gritted teeth whilst Ethan gasped at the intrusion. Everything was suddenly hot and real and intense and Ethan forced himself to relax as his thighs began to tremble slightly at the strain of keeping himself from taking in too much too fast. And then Simon’s hands crept underneath his thighs to take some of the strain and Ethan let out a shuddering breath.

“That’s it…” SImon purred, “Lean on me angel… I’ve got you.” 

Ethan collapsed forwards, arms thrown around the thief’s neck, and rested his forehead on a muscular shoulder.

“Good boy,” Simon’s voice was low and filled with love, “You’re perfect…” He dropped to a whisper, “Ethan, love… you’re perfect.”

Ethan whined and allowed his weight to drop a little, taking Simon’s length further inside him. The thief’s hands guided him lower, helping to control the speed. Ethan whimpered the whole way down, his face hidden in Simon’s neck as the thick cock filled him. This angle was so much more intense, and intimate, than he was used to but he felt safe in Simon’s arms.

Eventually the man’s guiding hands moved to his back as Ethan’s thighs met with Simon’s and he came to rest, entirely full and stretched wide. He threw his head back and moaned and Simon grinned.

“Look at you… gorgeous.” 

He leaned forward and captured Ethan’s lips in a kiss. Ethan returned it hungrily and for a moment they sat like that, fused together intimately with their arms wrapped around one another, getting used to the new position. When Ethan finally regained enough equilibrium he pulled back enough to look into Simon’s face.

The Saint seemed entirely overcome. His voice cracked with emotion when he spoke.

“I love you Ethan…” He looked suddenly so young and somewhat insecure, “I love y-”

Ethan shut him up with a kiss, channelling all of his passion, his longing - his love - into the action. He cupped Simon’s head in his hands to keep him close but also ran a thumb tenderly over the crest of the other man’s jaw. He brushed against the raised bump of the birthmark, the one that, this time, Simon hadn’t bothered to hide. It was as much a symbol of love as any of the man’s other actions had been. A display of complete trust that made Ethan giddy with the power of it. In their game identity was everything, and Simon had given himself - his true self - over to Ethan completely.

So the least that Ethan could do was begin to move.

He slowly lifted his weight, feeling every inch of the drag as Simon’s cock was pulled from his arse almost the entire way, before sinking back down again in a controlled descent. Simon moaned into his mouth and curled the fingers of one hand in Ethan’s loose hair and he repeated the action, slightly faster.

He pressed his tongue against Simon’s, taking control of the kiss as he began to find his rhythm. Simon felt huge inside him, much bigger than before, but he knew that it was the change of angle which was really what was different. There was no escaping the way the thief’s erection brushed up against his prostate with every thrust, causing him to clench reflexively. Simon seemed particularly affected by this and broke the kiss to bury his face in Ethan’s shoulder instead.

Ethan could feel the man nipping at the flesh of his neck; biting and licking and sucking to stifle his moans. He clawed his fingers into Simon’s shoulders, gripping the strong muscle there and pressed down with every upstroke, utilising the leverage to push up faster, harder. The shift in his weight brought their chests flush and Ethan couldn’t help but shudder as his own cock became trapped between their torsos, and was surrounded by wonderful, all-encompassing friction. He moaned again and chased the sensation, smearing precome as he went which slicked the way a little against the firmness of Simon’s abs.

He could come like this, if he wanted to, with just the feeling of a dick in his arse. It wouldn’t’ve been the first time, not even the first time with Simon, but Ethan kept himself back from the brink. He wanted this moment to last. He wanted to feel The Saint’s love wash over him so entirely that he would never be without it again. He wanted Simon’s hands on him, coaxing him to completion with pretty words on his lips. He wanted it to last forever.

Simon, ever the perceptive one, seemed to follow Ethan’s train of thought and brought his hand in between them to stroke Ethan’s cock in time with his thrusts. The position that they were in; face to face with Ethan sitting in Simon’s lap, riding him for all he was worth, afforded them more intimacy than they had had during any of their previous encounters. Their faces were so close that they were, in effect, breathing the same air, and there was nothing between them to stop their eyes from meeting. Ethan gazed into Simon’s eyes and the thief stared back at him, enraptured, as Ethan rose and fell in a steady rhythm that was bringing them both closer to the brink. One of Simon’s hands, the one that wasn’t engaged in bringing Ethan off, fell to his waist to steady him as he moved and Ethan, again, was overwhelmed by the endlessness of Simon’s capacity for care.

Here was a man who the world had abandoned, who had been alone since he’d been a child, who’d lost everything and built himself up from nothing. And he was the kindest, most considerate, bright, innocent soul that Ethan had ever come across. There was a purity to Simon that shone through his very being. Sure, the man was a thief - and a damn good one, but there was a goodness to him that Ethan found intoxicating. 

Though the man himself seemed less preoccupied with revelling in the secrets of Ethan’s soul than in feasting on the temptations of his flesh, and had bent his head to start sucking a love bite just above Ethan’s collar bone. Ethan whined and felt Simon smirk against him.

He clenched down as he pulled himself upwards on the next rise and felt a competitive thrill of satisfaction as Simon faltered in his ministrations. The man whined and let his head fall back in pleasure, showing off the line of his neck in all its glory. Ethan saw his opportunity and dived in, latching his mouth to the place just below Simon’s jawline where he could feel his pulse racing through the skin. He began to suck a bruise into the tender flesh, like for like, and enjoyed how Simon writhed against him. The noises that The Saint was making were truly sinful, and Ethan found himself growing increasingly addicted to them. He sucked his way down Simon’s neck, pausing to nip at the tender flesh, causing a long snaking bruise to spring up in his wake. All the while Simon moaned and whined whilst Ethan rode him, although the hand that was pleasuring Ethan in return never once paused for more than a few seconds.

Together they worked as one, moving and teasing, pleasuring and competing, as the energy between them built further and further towards a crescendo. No words were exchanged - they didn’t have to be. Ethan could feel Simon’s declarations of love in his touch, hear him begging through the noises escaping his throat. He was entranced by him and that propelled him further still, closer and closer to the edge and then beyond it.

Ethan came with a shout, emptying himself into the space between them, covering Simon’s hand and both of their chests in the process. Simon stroked him through it, encouraging him to give everything that he had and more and Ethan was more than happy to oblige. He clamped down around hard length inside of him and squeezed with all his might as he rode out his orgasm and Simon clutched at him, groaning as it sent him over the edge as well.

Suddenly exhausted, Ethan allowed himself to stop, sitting in Simon’s lap as the man’s cock grew softer inside him. He didn’t want to pull off, not yet, but instead took a few moments to catch his breath. Their foreheads came to rest together, eyes closed, as both men breathed heavily and began to relax. Ethan curled a hand around the nape of Simon’s neck and played a little with the shorter strands of hair that fell there. The other man leaned into his touch with a contented sigh and drew him in closer in return.

“You really are quite something Ethan Hunt.” The Saint breathed, “The world isn’t ready for you.”

Ethan chuckled, “No Simon… the world isn’t ready for us!”

Simon huffed a laugh in response and the movement triggered something where they were still connected and Ethan was suddenly aware that he was in danger of beginning to cramp. He began to raise himself up again, his legs trembling, and Simon came to his aid immediately. Strong hands on his waist guided him up until he was lifted completely clear of the cock that had speared him open. Simon was limp now, and fell out of him without any trouble, and Ethan allowed himself to collapse bonelessly onto the mattress with little grace. Simon disposed of the condom before joining him and they wriggled into an embrace once again.

A comfortable silence existed between them for a few minutes as both of them took the time for their breathing to settle and return to normal. Ethan’s head was resting on Simon’s chest, rising and falling a little with each breath, and he idly ran his fingers over the expanse of skin laid out in his eyeline. He twirled a finger through the damp curls that sprang up from Simon’s chest and then grimaced as he encountered sticky droplets of his own ejaculate clinging to the hairs. He chuckled, wiping his fingers off along Simon’s ribs as he went, and the man huffed a laugh in response.

“We made quite a mess.”

Ethan looked them both up and down as best as his vantage point would allow. They were both sweaty and sported patches of semen, both fresh and dried, in splashes across their skin. Simon’s neck and torso were littered with bite marks and bruises and from the feel of things, Ethan himself wasn’t much better off. He laughed.

“Worth it.”

Simon grinned, “I quite agree, but I do think it’s high time we both had a shower.”

Ethan hummed, a little guiltily.

“Sponge baths only I’m afraid… there’s something wrong with the shower.”

Simon’s head shot up and he met Ethan’s gaze with incredulity before apparently realising that his lover wasn’t joking. He groaned and let his head fall back down heavily.

“How delightful.”

“Nothing wrong with slumming it once in a while.”

Ethan poked him playfully and Simon batted him away with an amused scowl.

“I have half a mind to check us into the nearest five star hotel and slather you with so much luxury that you’ll never want to leave.”

“My mission budget doesn’t usually stretch to luxury hotels.”

The thief grinned, “Lucky for you then I have quite enough money for the both of us.”

Ethan allowed himself to picture it for a moment. A clean, air conditioned room. Crisp white sheets. Simon in the bed next to him.

“Yeah… would be nice.” He conceded.

Simon sat up, suddenly energised, pulling Ethan up alongside him. When Ethan met his gaze Simon’s eyes were shining and bright with excitement.

“Why not?” He asked, taking up Ethan’s hands in his own and squeezing them in a gesture of enthusiasm. “Let’s go today, get out of the country, go somewhere ridiculously expensive.”

Ethan smiled a little sadly, “I can’t just up and leave.”

“Why not?”

“Well they’ll be watching the borders for a start!” 

Simon dismissed him with a shrug. “Let me worry about that.”

“The IMF-” Ethan tried again but found himself cut off.

“I’ll hack in again, book you some holiday leave.”

Ethan couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening. Simon seemed resolute in his argument but Ethan couldn’t just take off. He had a mission to think about; debriefings, reports… he had a duty to the IMF. He wasn’t even sure he could book time off… could he?

“Holiday?” He asked a little faintly, his mind racing.

“Yeah. Two weeks, with me, what do you say?”

Simon’s grey eyes were sparkling again and Ethan found himself being drawn in. The Saint had a reputation for being seductive but it hadn’t been until this moment that he’d truly felt the force of that power. Simon should’ve been asking the impossible and yet he made it sound so reasonable… so easy.

Ethan tried again to protest. “Two weeks is-”

“Alright, one week.” Simon’s voice was firm. “You deserve it.”

A week wasn’t a very long time… not really. Only seven days.

“A lot can happen in seven days…” Ethan muttered, still trapped in the seductive sparkling of Simon’s eyes.

“What would you be doing otherwise..?” The other man answered. His voice was firm but sweetly alluring, as though he knew that it was only a matter of time until he would get his way.  “Lying low here? With no food or clothes. Why not spend that time somewhere nice?”

Ethan closed his eyes. Simon was right of course. The IMF was in no hurry to extract him from this awful place, and the mission was in tatters. If Simon hadn’t’ve visited he’d have spent the next week at least, perhaps longer, stuck inside this poor excuse for a safehouse going steadily mad. Perhaps what the IMF didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them…

“Alright, fine,” he opened his eyes and was greeted by the widest, brightest smile, “you’ve convinced me. If you can get me out of the country in one piece.”

Simon seemed delighted and surged forward to capture Ethan’s lips in a bruising kiss. Ethan couldn’t help but smile at the sheer joy that the man was radiating. He indulged the kiss for a moment before pulling back.

“But you’re paying…” He laughed, cupping Simon’s marked jaw fondly with his hand.

The thief didn’t even hesitate. “For everything, no question. Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t mind. You choose.”

“No, I insist, what’s your dream holiday?”

Ethan considered it for a moment. He’d been planning one particular trip in his mind for a while but hadn’t quite yet found the time to fit it in.

“Well,” he began, “I’ve always had this idea that I’d like to free solo across the mountains at Dead Horse Point in Utah. The scenery is incredible and as climbing goes, it’s the ultimate challenge. No ropes. Just me and the elements; nothing but the rock and my hands to stop myself from falling… Imagine the rush!” He grinned.

Simon looked horrified. “Absolutely not!” he exclaimed, “We’ll go to Paris.”

Ethan chuckled, “Well you did ask.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “If you ever do actually do that,” he stated, voice surprisingly firm, “I don’t want to hear about it.”

The thief pushed himself up off the bed muttering something about giving someone a heart attack and padded over to the small bathroom where he eyed the obviously broken shower mournfully before turning to the sink.

Ethan turned his back to afford the man some privacy. There was an intimacy and vulnerability about washing in front of someone that he didn’t want Simon to have to confront if he wasn’t yet ready. It sort of seemed ridiculous, given that the man had actually been inside of him only half an hour before, and yet somehow hearing Simon splashing soapy water over himself from the sink seemed much more intrusive.

The air inside the safehouse was heating up again and growing more humid by the moment. Strong sunlight blazed through the windows, casting harsh shadows about the room that seemed to cut the space into pieces.

Simon finished his ablutions and emerged back into the bedroom scrubbed pink and squeaky clean. Ethan watched as he gathered his various articles of clothing from the places they had landed on the floor and wafted them, tutting about wrinkles in the fabric. His body glistened as the droplets on his skin caught the sunlight as though he were covered in dozens of tiny diamonds. Ethan’s breath hitched as he took in the lithe strength of the man. He admired the curve of his arse and the muscles of his chest and arms, and very much enjoyed the sight of the darkening bruises swelling up as evidence of their lovemaking. He licked his lips.

“Keep looking at me like that and we’ll never make it out of this room.” Simon deadpanned as he clipped his flashy watch back around his wrist.

Ethan laughed and ducked his head, a little embarrassed to have been caught staring.

“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t realise you had a more pressing engagement.”

He actually saw The Saint roll his eyes in response, but behind the exasperation there was a smile.

“I’m going out. We need supplies. And I’m going to book us a flight.”

Ethan flushed. He couldn’t help but feel flattered with all the attention that the thief was paying him. Simon didn’t have to do anything for him - had no obligation, but he’d shown up and now he seemed to be making it clear that he intended to stay.
And Ethan had an urge to care for Simon too. He knew that just by associating with him, the thief could now have become a target of the gang that was hunting him. If anyone had seen Simon enter the safehouse then he could be in for a world of trouble. Ethan couldn’t go out shopping with him, that would be inviting disaster, but he could offer him what little protection he had.

“You can take my gun with you, it’s still loaded.”

Simon didn’t even meet his gaze when he replied.

“No thank you.”

Ethan paused. His gun was still sitting on the table where he’d left it, the metal glinting in the sunlight. He frowned.

“It’s dangerous out there, you’re more likely to need it than me. Please, take it. I’ll be alright.”

This time Simon looked him dead in the eye. 

“I said no. Guns make me nervous.”

Ethan could tell that Simon was being serious and resisted the urge to insist further, although to him, Simon’s refusal made no sense. Instead he took a moment, making a gesture of surrender and saw Simon relax a little in response. But Ethan couldn’t quite leave it there.

“Do you ever carry a gun?” He asked.

“For my own work? No.” Simon answered as he began to dress, “Although I’ve found myself having to point one once or twice… it’s always a last resort. I’ve never liked the things.”

Ethan couldn’t quite imagine that. His work meant that he was entirely comfortable and well-trained with all classes of firearms. They almost felt like an extension of his own body, at times, as he was so used to using them. The idea of going on a mission deliberately without one almost made him nervous. Almost.

“Is that the reason you kept the safety on the whole time when you grabbed my gun back in Miramar?” 

“Oh you noticed that huh?” 

Simon smiled in a way that looked as though he was trying to suppress it. The expression was almost bashful and Ethan couldn't help but find it cute. He remembered their night time encounter in his kitchen, when Ice had interrupted them and Simon had playacted holding him at gunpoint. That had been cute too.

“Of course.” He smirked, “I knew we were never in any real danger. I could tell you had no intention of firing.”

A flicker of annoyance passed over The Saint’s face, or was it doubt? He finished doing up the buttons of his shirt, much higher than when he had arrived, before combing his fingers through his hair.

“Maybe I should work on that.” He mused.

“Gave Ice a right fright though.” Ethan shrugged and Simon paused.

“Poor Tom,” He said softly, “I should apologise to him… explain…”

“He got over it.” Ethan shrugged again. “At least take your phone with you. You’ve got my number. Call me if you have any trouble.”

Simon looked up and then walked over to where Ethan was still perching, naked on the edge of the mattress. Ethan lifted his chin as The Saint bent down to capture his lips in a quick kiss.

“Ethan, sweetheart, I’ll be fine.” He said with a knowing smile. “I’ll have my phone with me, I’ll even put you on speed dial if it will make you happy.”

“You know what else would make me happy.” Ethan countered with a grin. “If you changed my name in your phone from that ridiculous German word.”

“I suppose I could…” 

Simon smirked as he ran a finger teasingly along the line of Ethan’s jaw. He lifted his chin in response and pushed into the touch. Then Simon broke away and stood up as he continued.

“But I can’t use your real name, can I? Not with you being so… safety conscious…” He grinned and his eyes flashed with amusement.

Ethan pouted, he couldn’t help himself. “What will you change it to then?”

Simon pretended to consider as he backed away into the front room, heading towards the door. Ethan stood and followed, a few paces behind. Simon was smirking.

“What?” Ethan asked, “Tell me.”

The thief grinned.

“I’ll call you Princess.”

He laughed and scampered out of the front door just in time to escape the discarded sock that Ethan balled up and chucked after him. Ethan laughed too as the door clicked shut and he was left alone. His heart swelled with affection for the thief. Simon was kind and gentle, yes, but his humour had a bite to it that made Ethan tingle with glee.

And as much as he thought Simon was probably joking, Ethan found he didn’t really mind the idea of being Simon’s ‘Princess’, not really. The way Simon said it made it sound as though he thought Ethan was someone precious and worthy, instead of just a second rate spy trying to claw back his reputation after being disavowed and accused of treason. When Simon looked at him he didn’t see the man who’d gotten his team killed or the man who’d stolen the NOC list… he saw someone that he wanted to love and that, Ethan thought, was the most extraordinary thing. So if that was what being a Princess meant, then he’d happily wear that title with pride.

It was clear that Simon was going to be out for a while so Ethan took the time to exercise as best as he could before washing himself in the sink. His muscles were a little sore from their creative activities throughout the night and appreciated the gentle workout he used to keep himself stretched and limber.
After washing he let himself air dry, padding around the cramped apartment naked as the heat of the day dried him off reasonably quickly. The idea of putting on his previous clothes did not appeal, as options went, and so he sat and waited for Simon to return, enjoying the relatively novel freedom of goalless nudity.

It was a couple more hours before the thief came back to the safehouse - bags in hand promising a rich haul. He didn’t bother knocking or calling, instead preferring to let himself in quietly using his own methods. Ethan made sure to be sitting, alluringly, within sight of the door the moment he heard the tools fiddling in the lock.
The look on Simon’s face as he entered made it all worth it. He licked his lips as he placed the bags down on the floor.

“See something you like?” Ethan grinned, posing a little.

“I could certainly get used to coming home to a sight like that.” 

Simon hooked a few items out of one of the bags and crossed to where Ethan was sitting. Ethan stood to greet him with a kiss and accepted the items as Simon passed them over.

“I’ve bought you some clothes. Not much, but it’ll do until we get to Paris. French tailoring is exquisite…” He looked Ethan up and down with a hungry look in his eye. “I shall enjoy spoiling you.”

Ethan grinned in response. The idea did sound appealing. He was no stranger to nice clothes, given that he often needed them for missions, but the thought of Simon picking clothes out for him and dressing him up to his own taste made him blush.

He looked down at the clothes in his hands. They didn’t seem to be anything particularly outrageous; just a white linen shirt that he suspected, in the right light, might be partially see-through, and some nicely cut slate-grey trousers made out of a slightly flowier material than he was used to. 

It felt good to be dressed again, although he was slightly disappointed that Simon didn’t take the time to watch him as he wouldn’t’ve minded putting on a show. The thief was busily unpacking the other bags, laying an impressive array of makeup out on the table, followed by a couple of wigs and a selection of jewellery. 

The last thing to be unpacked was food. Simon pressed some prepackaged salad and sandwiches into Ethan’s hands and urged him to eat quickly. 

“We only have a couple of hours before we have to leave, and I have to get us both ready.”

Ethan did as he was told, wolfing down the fresh food with barely concealed delight before allowing himself to be steered into a chair alongside the table. 

Simon didn’t seem inclined to chat as he worked, and Ethan appreciated this view into what he assumed was The Saint’s process. The man was known to be a master of disguise, and he looked forward to seeing the results of this transformation. A voice at the back of his head, the one with all the IMF training warned him against giving over control - putting his life in this criminal’s hands but he dismissed it. He knew in his heart that Simon would never hurt him or deliberately lead him into danger, and besides - he’d always enjoyed working as part of a team. Being a lone wolf got exhausting after a while. 

The cuts and scrapes on Ethan’s face caused Simon to mutter a bit but he seemed to be able to cover them up with some sort of thick foundation which he extended down Ethan’s neck to cover some of the more obvious love bites. Ethan had sniggered a little at that but Simon had told him to keep still in that smooth, soft voice of his and Ethan had been helpless to obey. 

Simon worked diligently for what seemed like an age before he put down his many brushes and pallets and stood back to review his work. 

“Passable.” He declared before reaching for one of the two wigs on the table. 

Ethan allowed his lover to scrape his long hair back before covering it with the most ridiculous short-haired style going. 

“Frosted tips? Really?” He grinned and Simon shushed him. “I’ll look like Ice a decade ago!”

That made Simon pause. “My brother had hair like this?”

Ethan laughed. “Not quite as extreme as this,” he gestured to the wig, “but yeah. It kind of suited him though.”

“I’m disappointed.” Simon shook his head. “In both of you!”

He finished fitting the wig and stood back to look. Ethan pouted like a model in a magazine and was thrilled when Simon cracked a reluctant smile. 

“Just one finishing touch, I think.” The thief mused as he crossed to the jewellery and passed over a couple of rings and some beaded bracelets that Ethan dutifully slipped on. 

“And this,” Simon purred as he knelt before Ethan’s chair and reached up to slip a necklace around his neck. Ethan shivered as Simon’s hands brushed against his neck as he closed the fastening behind his head. They lingered there for a moment, eyes locked together, in this almost-embrace, before Simon pulled back. 

“What’s the verdict?” Ethan asked, “Do I want to look?”

Simon smiled. “Still gorgeous. You couldn’t be anything other than stunning.”

He held up a mirror. Ethan gasped. 
He was still himself but somehow also entirely different. His features had been moulded, morphed, by the delicate shading Simon had painted across his face. His nose seemed longer, his cheeks higher, his jaw more rounded. And yet it was still him. 

The gelled, dyed hair made him look like he wanted to audition for a boyband and the cowrie shell necklace resting at the base of his throat set off the look perfectly. 

“Wow.” He muttered, taking in every little detail. “You’re very good.”

“It’s a shame you don’t have your ears pierced.” Simon mused as he began bustling with the supplies again as he made preparations for his own disguise. “A single ring would’ve set the whole look off nicely.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows. 

“Do you have your ears pierced?”

“Of course.” Simon replied coolly as he began to brush powder over his nose. “You never know when it might come in useful.”

“I’ll consider it.”

Simon paused then, and looked at Ethan as though he couldn’t figure whether or not the other man was joking. 

“Really?”

“Sure.” Ethan shrugged, “As you say, it could be useful.”

Simon grinned and returned to his work. It didn’t take him as long to assemble his own disguise. Ethan figured that was probably because he had more practice, or was making less sweeping changes to his facial structure, or more likely a combination of both. Although Simon did spend a decent amount of time covering the bruising on his own neck, catching Ethan’s eye in the mirror as he did so with an accusatory expression that made Ethan feel somewhat smug. 

The wig that Simon had picked out for himself was much longer than his own, longer even than Bruno’s had been, and was dark and straight. Once it was fully situated he wove some braids into it with nimble fingers before folding the whole thing back into an effortless looking bun. 
His face was largely unaltered, proportionally, but he’d added colour that suggested the shadow of stubble across his jaw and had darkened his eyebrows to match. He looked a little less polished than Ethan had ever seen him before, and perhaps a little rugged. 

Simon kept the black silken shirt that he already had on but swapped out the lighter trousers for jeans and added a waistcoat that served to highlight the curve of his slender waist. He topped off the look with copious amounts of jewellery and, indeed, even an earring and, once he was done, Ethan felt that had he bumped into him in the street, even he wouldn’t have recognised his lover. 

“So who’s this guy?” Ethan asked as Simon slipped a silver rosary beset with emeralds around his neck. He wondered, fleetingly, if it was real. 

Simon looked at him, bowed slightly, then took up Ethan’s hand and kissed the back of it. Ethan blushed. 

“John Baptiste,” Simon answered. “I am named for a Saint of rebirth.”

“Nice to meet you John,” Ethan curseyed and Simon raised an amused eyebrow. “I’m- actually, who am I?”

“Ah!” 

Simon paused to rummage through the items laid out on the table before handing Ethan a small envelope which was slightly scuffed and bent at the corners. Ethan opened it and was astonished to find an American passport containing his photo, and a matching driver’s licence. The photo he recognised - it was a very old one, one of the first the IMF had taken, but could passably still be him, even after the expert makeup job. The name he didn’t recognise. It wasn’t one of his own aliases, which meant that this was something that Simon had created. He raised a questioning eyebrow. 

“I took the liberty.” Simon answered his silent question, “I told you I came prepared.”

“‘Matthew Barnabus’,” Ethan read, “Matthew is my middle name!” He paused before clarifying, “Ethan’s middle name.”

“I know.” Simon smiled, “Named for Matthias the Apostle, Saint of hope and perseverance… and also smallpox.”

Ethan threw his head back and laughed. Simon grinned in response and Ethan lovingly punched him lightly on the arm. 

“You old romantic!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I do.”

Hastily Simon pulled a rucksack out of the last remaining shopping bags and began packing the various bits and bobs they had accumulated into it. Ethan gave a cursory sweep around the grotty apartment, not at all sorry to be saying goodbye. He binned the sheet as there wasn’t any point in saving it, and stuck his gun into the pocket of his trousers. It wasn’t ideal, but he wanted it close at hand if he was moving through the city. 

Once they were ready to go Simon smiled at him, and offered Ethan his arm. 

“Will you accompany me to Paris, Matthew?” He asked in a flawless French accent. 

Ethan took The Saint’s arm with a smile. 

“It would be my pleasure John.”

 

 

Notes:

Thank you so much to everyone who has read along and enjoyed this story. Extra thanks to everyone who has taken the time to comment. It's been amazing to see that people are interested in this little world that I've created. And there's plenty more to come so if you liked this one then pop a subscribe on the series. I've got two oneshots coming next, followed by another two multi-chapter fics of a similar length to this one and I'm working on more after that!
This project hit 100k the other day which is by far the longest thing I've ever written. There's just something about Ethan and Simon that compells me deeply.

If you are planning to subscribe and follow the rest of the series, consider commenting to let me know! I'd love to know where you think the story is going to go next ;)

Here's some fanart of Ethan and Simon together in the safehouse: Fanart on tumblr

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of A Spy and His Thief