Title: Strange Bedfellows

Author: De Orakle

Fandom: Once a Thief

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I guess John Woo owns OAT. If he didn't want me to write this, he shouldn't have put so much slashy stuff in his work. I'm not getting paid, and you shouldn' sue. I'm a student aka flat broke.

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

By De Orakle

The first dappled rays of sunlight had just begun to pour through the window, but the dark-haired man was already up, showered, and was currently watching his lover sleep. He almost preferred these moments, when all pretenses between the two were dropped, when there was no need for their constant verbal sparring, and he could just sit here and drink in his younger lover's unique beauty. The years had taken their toll on the two of them, scars and wrinkles on once flawless skin, but in his lover's slumbering form, the man could still see the traces of the youth he had fallen in love with.

They had of course, had their problems when they'd first been recruited for The Agency. Actually, they had hated each other. With a passion. Being partnered with a woman for whom they had both had feelings for had just made the situation worse. Still, it's hard to stay hateful to another person when you put your life in their hands every day. What started out as ruthless barbs had slowly grown into playful teasing, which they continued to this day.

The dark-haired man couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he remembered a fateful night so long ago, when their relationship had taken that final step towards intimacy. They had been on an undercover operation, trying to root out an assassin taking out local politicians with ties to The Agency. Both men were upset about having to work surveillance together, and had been even less pleased when they had found out that there was only one room available in the hotel where their target was staying. One room, with one bed. For two nights, they had squabbled incessantly over who would sleep in the bathtub, and who got the bed. Then on the third night...

After losing the assassin, and each too cowardly to face the Director, they had consumed quite a large amount of tequila, and had woken up in bed. Together. In a state of undress. Of course, both of them had been suitably horrified, apologizing profusely, and swearing each other to secrecy upon threat of death. Then of course, his partner had made that fateful quip, "...too bad I wasn't even sober enough to remember if you were any good." A metaphorical slip of the tongue, followed by a literal one, and then they both just gaped.

Whether they had actually had copulated that night, or whether they had merely stumbled into bed shedding clothes along the way, neither knew. His partner had found out just how good he was later that day. And the next night. And for the following week until the Director had barged in on them, a knowing look on her face, and dragged them back to HQ.

The following years had not been easy for either of them. Their third partner had not been happy when they started paying more attention to each other than to her. There had been assignments when they had to measure each other's worth against the good of the mission. There had been days when good-natured digs hit too close to home, and the other would receive the silent treatment. There had been nights when the cloak and dagger nature of their jobs, their relationships, their lives had been too much. There had been times when one had walked out, swearing never to return. Still, they got through it, each instance bringing them a little closer together.

The man smiled as his lover stirred in his sleep, pulling the covers to his body in a long-practised maneuver designed to rob his partner of a warm night's sleep. The younger man was so peaceful like this. Almost...innocent. It was a look that rarely ever graced his fine features during the day anymore, during the routine killing that made up their careers. Only in sleep, or in the languid afterglow of lovemaking did this soft expression let itself be shown.

He glanced at the alarm clock. He really should start making breakfast, or else his partner would be moaning about it for the rest of the day. God, but that man could be annoying. It was for that reason that most of the newer operatives at work could never understand their relationship. The constant insults and sparring that to some seemed malicious, was a remnant to the days when that was the only way the two could flirt in public. In fact, to this day, nothing got him hotter. Just last night, after a rousing debate mocking the other's taste in music (a long-standing argument) they had fallen to the bed in passion. For that night, they had been young again, each touch as new as it had been all those decades ago. For hours they had explored each other, giving up all pretenses of the detachment that came with the job, and had simply expressed the deep, if untraditional love they shared. As always, they slept cuddled together in their antiquity of a bed until the sun awoke the longer-haired man, who would follow his normal routine, then indulge in his 5 minutes of morning voyeurism.

He reached out and ran a hand over his lover's silky short hair, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He almost jumped when the phone on the nightstand shrilly bleated it's electronic tone. Almost. His lover sat up abruptly, instantly alert. He reached over and hit the speakerphone button. The young Director's icy tones came over the line.

"Murphy, Camier, I need you down here ASAP."

=30=