10-minute fluffish thing I wrote for someone. Partially inspired by mention I saw somewhere of this year marking 30 years for Eroica. And sort of part of a series of studies (character, wording, etc.) I'm doing, 'cause I haven't done fanfic in ages, but I've got this incurable urge to do so for this series. And, there's so much good stuff out there already that I'm feeling nervous and inadequate. -bluuush!- (Also, ignore the title. I'm bad at naming fic.)
Their first kiss was thirty years in the making.
The circumstances surrounding it are not very extraordinary. They're in the middle a variation of what has become (for better or for worse) their 'usual' situation: mucking up each other's business and tangling with a bunch of armed hostiles along the way. This time, they're cornered in a mansion the likes of which Eroica could appreciate despite the fact that it is enemy territory, against odds just this side of the line between exhilarating and worrying.
Eroica is mourning the ruin of a perfectly good catsuit as he cuts strips from it to bind his left arm, where a bullet had grazed him. He pauses once, to press at the flash drive hanging on a chain around his neck, tucked beneath his clothes, drawing strength from the triumph it represents like a man of faith would draw strength from a rosary.
Beside him, the Major is switching his ever-present Magnum for his H&K, muttering about ammo limitations and idiot fop thieves ruining his missions and goddamned terrorists who don't know when they're beat and where the hell were his subordinates, they should be here by now. The rant is familiar, and Eroica can guess at the progression of subjects with more than a little accuracy; he might even be able to guess the wording, too, if the Major didn't mix and match his expletives so much.
Thirty years is a long time to listen to these sorts of things, after all.
"I think I may be getting too old for this," Eroica says with a theatrical groan, though cannot help following up with a grin.
The Major's gaze, when he lifts them from the magazine he is sliding back into his handgun, is sharp, as is his own answering grin. "Finally learning to stay the fuck home, are we?"
"And miss you and all the excitement, Major?" he laughs. "Heavens, no!"
A fresh barrage of gunfire sounds from the ground floor. And from outside, too, it seems, accompanied by shouts that are vaguely familiar--
The alphabets!
"Good."
Eroica is listening for any sign that his own men are also out there, and almost doesn't hear that single, uttered word. But he does hear it, and turns again to the Major, who is still grinning, his green eyes gleaming, as he leans in to press his lips to the thief's, a kiss as fierce as it is brief.
And then the Major is going to the door and shoving away the furniture they'd used to barricade it. The men outside are distracted by the change in situation and taken out with ease. Eroica, shaken from his state of shock by the gunfire, presses once more at the flash drive, sending gratitude to deities he doesn't believe in before following his beloved into the hall.
The odds are still against them; they have backup now, but the terrorists still have their numbers. Even so, Eroica knows they will get out of this-- they always do. He has the Devil's own luck, after all, and the Major is... well, the Major.
Besides, he couldn't have the Major thinking he could pull that... that, without the appropriate consequences.