Oneshot 2

The handkerchief

"Hands off, spook! I won those regularly!" Sniper snapped forward clawing at the bills on the table, his grin shining at the Blu Spy's frown.

"You cheated, bushman!" He angrily stood up and quickly snatched the Aussie's hat from the corner of the table revealing extra cards underneath. He proudly wore it and sat back down. "Immediately wondered where that sneaky hand of yours aimed earlier."

It was L.J.'s turn to stand up and he grabbed the Spy's wrist, fiercely pulling it closer without much effort, he twisted it, grinned more and with a hand he raised the brim of the glove. "Having your sleeves rolled up doesn't make you less suspicious." He let him go, crossed his arms and heavily sat back with quite an amused smug, while Spy withdrew his arm, propped his other one on the backrest, crossed his legs and made an amused face as well, which said Touchè.

The two remained few long seconds in silence, just staring at each other under the soft light of the lamp over their heads, before bursting in a loud laughter together. Still taken by the giggles, one pushed his bills to the other, eliminating their winnings, settling their debts like good old friends.

"It's no fun playing with you, no one ever win." Sniper teased packing the cards away.

"And yet I lost the count of our games."

Sniper couldn't hide a smile at that. He stood up and placed the deck on the shelf next to his bed. His eyes ran automatically at the clock on the wall. Almost 1am. "You want a last drink? Coffee? Beer? Gin?"

The Spy was already putting his coat on. "No, merci, mon ami."

Sniper nodded and slightly struggled to get near the door, he strangely felt like something was telling him to not open it, but he did at the end as he watched Spy heading to the exit.

"Same time tomorrow?" He asked stopping right before the door.

"Whenever you want, spook, you know where to find me."

Spy snorted and nodded. "Oui, I know." And he offered his slyest smile.

That froze L.J. on the spot. Something was…bothering him inside, but not in a bad way… His eyes locked with the other man's and kept the contact which seemed a fraction of second too much before Spy snapped out of it himself and hurried out. Sniper could swear he saw that sly smile becoming… tender.

"Bonne nuit, bushman."

"Bonne nuit, espion." Sniper answered proudly showing his French accent, learnt from a past mission of his life. He leaned on the frame and snorted. "Don't get caught!"

And with that, the Blu Spy vanished in the dark.

Few more things before going to bed, the cups and the glasses needed to be washed and the bottles needed to be put into place, fridge or trash that it was. Doing chores relaxed him, but he often ended up overthinking about little things. In that moment he couldn't stop thinking about how weird he felt around Jean-Claude. In the last days he felt that feeling growing more and more, like something gnawing him and demanding attention. He didn't know what it was and he wasn't even sure if he wanted to. The more he got close to Jean, the more he felt comfortable, but even uncomfortable at the same time. Surely they had become good friends despite they had to be arch enemies, but they weren't even the first ones to share a friendship between the teams and surely won't be the last. They just needed to be safe from their administrators, they didn't have to know.

What was that, earlier? He thought, wondering about his heart suddenly sped up when the Spy said he knew where to find him. Of course he knew, there weren't many places in the dusty canyon where the Red Sniper could go if not in his beloved van or in his room at the Red base or in one of his favourite nests… Then why did he react like that? Did Jean notice? And was he really sure he saw his smile change?

He was starting to have a headache…

Yet, he had to admit his life finally played a happy note since he befriended the Blu Spy, having around someone who even just listen to him, even to those rare words he spoke, made him feel...relieved, carefree, revived… At first he actually was pretty sure the Spy was making the whole thing up, just another way to kill the enemy earing their trust or something, but, no, he soon realized the spook was sincere, was genuinely interested, searching for a contact, almost craving it. It's been enough looking in his eyes to see it. L.J. had been taught that eyes never lie, he learnt to read them, to look through them and not even those ice-blue eyes of the spook could hide a secret to him.

Surely Antoine and Eugene were the best buddies he could ever have, both the Red Spy and Engineer were truthful and honest to him, always there to help him if in need, just as much as he was for them, and yet… Jean was different, he was his age at least, Antoine and Eugene were about good 12-13 years older. Jean made him feel at home.

Once all done, Lawrence James went to move the chairs under the table, but a little white square on his friend's caught his attention. He picked it up and realized it was a handkerchief. Clean and well folded with two white initials elegantly stitched in one corner, "J.C.". Jean-Claude's, no doubt, he must have lost it while putting the coat on. It was incredibly morbid, silky at touch, but it somehow reminded him of the past. Once it had to have been black or a very dark tone of grey, now the colour had faded into a light, dull grey, and the leaf decorations following the brim had to have been a bit fuller, less flat, and bright white. He guessed it had to be as old as Jean, maybe.

While his thumb brushed over the silky surface, analysing it, tasting it, Lawrence realized his heart had started running slightly faster once again. He puffed frustrated and almost slammed the poor handkerchief on the table, but something stopped him and he was glad of it. It was Jean's, he couldn't treat it badly. He sighed and folded it back up, he had the idea to put it on the shelf next to the deck when a thought flashed in his mind: Sniff it.

What?! And where that comes from?! He quickly put the little thing down and went to search for his pyjamas.

When he got back few minutes later, the handkerchief was still there on the table. He stared at it, his arms tightly crossed, nervously leaning on one leg then the other, his nostrils opening wider at each puff. How could a thing like that upsetting him that much? Just because it was Jean's?! He gulped already knowing the answer… He felt his mouth dry and his heart ramming against his sternum, making him more frustrated each second. Though, the more he thought about not to sniff it, the more he wanted to… He started sweating. Why?! Why should I even want to do that?! But before he could find an answer, his hand was carefully grabbing the handkerchief. Just holding it had an incredible effect on him, he relaxed, his breathing calmed down, his heart slowed down a bit, but still running fast, and he felt he was doing something he actually wanted to, or actually, doing something similar he wanted to.

Maybe for once he had found the right way and slowly he brought the square delicate cloth to his nose, closing his eyes.

He had to hold on the chair to not fall. He tried to stand up straight, but his legs became suddenly jelly and he was forced to sit down. He was panting, feeling lightheaded and very, very confused. How could that smell affect him like that? One hand's fingers nervously drummed on the table, he started gritting and unconsciously his leg started jumping up and down. That wasn't Spy's perfume nor aftershave nor any other product the man used, Sniper was absolutely sure of that, it didn't even seem to be the smell of his clothes, the smell of the fabric…no, that was his natural smell, the smell of his skin. And it was incredibly intoxicating.

He leaned on the table glaring at the object in his hand. He took some time, in complete silence, before taking a very deep breath, releasing all the tension he had so suddenly accumulated. He nodded to himself as if accepting something within, something hidden in his deepest part of being, bit his lip and gently brought the handkerchief to his nostrils again.

He couldn't stop anymore, it was too inebriating, too strong, too powerful to oppose resistance, that smell literally drove him mad, making his body tremble excited as he never felt before, making him forget about the world around him, making him feel the need to hold on something solid to not fall off the chair.

Spy opened the door of his room after wishing goodnight to the Soldier, his brother, who was waiting for him in the main hall, drinking the last beer of the night, and simply let himself fall on the bed, tired, but wearing a satisfied smile. He couldn't quite guess why he felt that way, but he didn't want to stop feeling it. He sat up wanting to get free from those boring clothes, they were starting to be heavy and he couldn't wait to wear something more comfortable. With the coat in his hand, he headed to the wardrobe and put it away. Oh, silly him, he didn't unroll down his sleeves before leave Sniper's van, he guessed he had to iron his shirt in the morning. He unrolled the right one first and immediately noticed something was wrong. Where was the handkerchief he usually kept in his sleeve? His precious handkerchief. He slightly jolted when he did not find it in his other sleeve not in his chest pocket. He started to panic when, checking all his pockets, he found nothing of it. He was 100% sure he had seen it before going out that evening, he had it in its usual place, he could feel it softly brushing against his arm each time he moved. His eyes dashed to the ground, to the bed, to the coat he just put away. Nothing. Maybe it was in the corridor outside the door? He ran out and repassed his steps, checking all the corners and holes on the ground. Nothing. Maybe he lost it outside in his way home? He groaned annoyed and rushed to get his kit. There was a lot of dirty canyon ground to check, maybe starting from the Sniper's van was the best. He didn't care for his coat and immediately walked outside.

He frowned seeing the light still on in the van, he thought L.J. had gone to sleep as soon as he left. Apparently not. There was no evidence of his precious cloth on the ground he had left at his back, but there were still about 200 meters before the camper, if it was somewhere there, there was no need to bother the Red Sniper further. He didn't want to in the first place, but the more he got closer to his van, the more he guessed he actually had to knock at his door. In fact, he soon ended on the first step before the entrance. Jean heavily sighed and raised one hand to rub the angles of his eyes with his fingertips, regretting the loss of heat he had kept around his chest while crossing his arms, and took one step further.

The door had a window and the blinder was all down, partially covering the view inside. Jean-Claude wasn't the kind of guy who likes to spy the private life of a friend (ironic, isn't it?), but the scene he spotted through the slats froze him on the spot, his hand almost there to knock on the wooden surface. He immediately recognised his handkerchief and at the same time the Sniper clinging at it as if his life depended on it, his eyes closed, his face of a colour he never seen on his person and his ears of the same tone of red, digging his nose deeply in it, taking deep breaths like a wild animal in heat following a track.

Without even realizing it, the Spy was squishing himself against the door for a better view, his fingers silently clawing at the wood through the thin cloth of his gloves, risking to make his invisible disguise tilt. He could feel face burning, his hair getting up fighting against the pressure of the mask, his heart suddenly pounding within him as ready to explode and a chill running down from the back of his neck to the low of his back. He had become so warm inside he had totally forgotten the chillness of the night. If it wasn't for the soft cracking of the wood under his rediscovered claws, he would have never snapped out of it. He quickly jumped down from the steps glaring at the now-ruined gloves, he focused to regain control of himself, letting the claws withdraw and his temperature drop. He found himself shocked, disbelieving what he had just witnessed, but couldn't deny that actually pleased him, and quite a lot, too. He waited a full minute to let his heart slow down, recomposed himself and, without looking through the slats again, quickly knocked at the door, his disguised falling.

At the first knock, Lawrence James was on the ground, startled and disoriented, at the third he was messily trying to stand up begging to win against the shacking of his knees and clumsily heading to the door. He was so out of himself he didn't even check who was waiting outside before opening the door wide, and for a moment he forgot to breath seeing Jean-Claude (almost) composedly standing in front of him, his hands behind his back.

Even the Spy forgot to breath for a second, but tried with all his might to stay composed, no gulping, no lip biting, just a little cough to clear his throat before calmly talking. "I happen to have lost a dark colored handkerchief. Have you seen it, mon ami? It's… quite precious to me." He himself could not say if it was more precious after have witnessed the Sniper's behavior.

The shooter said nothing, just quickly nodded and turned, went to the table where the item had landed, folded it in a blink of an eye, stirring it as much as he could with delicate hands, and turned back to return it to its rightful owner.

Before stretching out his arm, Spy remembered about the claws incident, he quickly removed his gloves and held them in one hand behind his back while the other went to grab the handkerchief. "Ah," he smiled relieved, "merci beaucoup, L.J., I was afraid to have lost it." He carefully pocketed it being sure to not lose it again and looked up at his friend. He held himself to chuckle seeing how dreamy his friend's eyes looked, how distracted he looked… He bet he had to have quite a glow on his own face as well… He offered a sincere smile and nodded. "Bonne nuit à nouveau, mon ami."

"G'night, spook." At least he managed to whisper the words out instead of mumble them.

And with that the Spy disappeared in the night. Again.

Sniper gulped few times feeling his throat completely dry while moving his arm to close the door, but almost chocked seeing five and five deep marks in the wood. What the hell..?!

Spy groaned for the nth time while stitching up the holes in the gloves and for the nth time he yelped as the needle hit his finger. That's it! Next time I'm buying a new pair!

They both may have found something new they had in common, but surely none of them found sleep that night despite being both exhausted, too many thoughts, too many things rushing in their minds, too much struggling under their blankets as they both fought to find better positions, their dreams torturing them with secret pleasures, leaving them panting against their sweat-soaked pillows.

They both had a lot to talk about in the future days. Or maybe just naturally act.