~Dialogue is in italics when they're speaking another language ~
Dean tightened the tie around his neck whilst desperately trying to ignore the way the fabric enclosing his body was turning instantly damp from sweat. His body rocked with the movement of the old car as it rattled along the even older road. He shucked a finger in between his neck and collar to allow a slight breeze to close his over heated skin. Limited relief. Quickly, he pushed his crumpled army uniform into an old canvas bag and slipped it down onto the floor. The last thing he needed when infiltrating enemy territory was for an enemy soldier to notice his US uniform lying across the back seat.
The driver, a local to the town they were heading toward, peered back at Dean through the rear view mirror every few minutes. Despite being on their side, Dean was uncertain that he'd even even seen a US soldier before. He hoped the man wouldn't blab or the whole operation would collapse. He swallowed.
"Your husband," The man murmured as they got closer to the town which was surrounded by desert, "will be wearing a white shirt with dark blue over the shoulders. Look out for the crossed guns." His thick accent made it difficult for Dean to understand but he managed to decipher the words. The man leant back, barely keeping his eyes on the road, and handed a set of keys to Dean which would allow him access to a car and his 'husband's' house. The older man also passed back a small velvet bag with a gold band inside; it slipped over his finger easily.
The soldier didn't completely understand what he meant by 'crossed guns' but knew that if he saw them it definitely meant something good. Hopefully anyway. Butterflies were circling in his stomach as for the next week every second of his life would be wrapped in paranoia and constant vigilance. Not exactly a summer vacation.
Morocco was under threat from enemy forces so it was his job, along with his 'husband', to set themselves up in the area in order to assassinate the leader of military operations for the enemy. His Arabic and Berber weren't perfect but he'd been practicing for months to get his dialect to a useable level and accent French. His partner in this operation had been building a fictional persona for him to inhabit once he turned up and part of that is that he's a French mechanic. The mechanic part is easy enough but the French accent hadn't been so easy to master especially when speaking Arabic or Berber.
"Here's your car." The driver pulled the taxi to a stop beside an old, beat up vehicle. "Leave your uniform."
Dean already knew to leave it. He had been briefed to do so beforehand. The last thing they wanted was for a local or enemy to discover the USA military uniform stashed away somewhere. It could jeopardise the whole mission.
He got out, the heat of the sun instantly beating down on him, and quickly slipped into his new car. He made a move swiftly to avoid suspicion by loitering around too long. Dean peered down at the bar name that was scribbled onto a scrap of paper. He'd been given simple enough instructions to get there so started the engine and it chuckered beneath him clumsily. Well, at least it meant he blended in with the locals.
It was easy enough to find from the outside but once he made it inside it became a challenge to identify his partner for the mission. A thick smog clung around the room from the cigarettes and occasional cigar being smoked by almost every patron. He tried not to cough and give away his distaste for smoking as it would undoubtedly identify him as an outsider. No man raised in this town would be unaccustomed with the tang of smoke. Nor would a lover of a local.
The soldier braced himself and pushed in, the smoke closing around him and lapping at his edges. It was hard to see well enough to make out the people until you were close enough to almost touch them so he'd already received some strange looks from people he went stumbling towards.
Suddenly he spotted it; a black leather jacket with two crossed hand guns sewn onto the back. It hung over a chair on a large table where everyone was staring and laughing at one man. Immediately Dean knew he'd found his man. He took a couple of steps closer and, as if the spy could sense his presence, turned around to gaze directly into his eyes.
The man's lips were curled around a cigarette, lighter held halfway ready to light. The hazel of the eyes shone as the low lighting emphasised his doll like eyelashes surrounding them. Long hair fell around and framed the face drawing attention to his cheekbones. They held gaze for a moment, silently assessing and secretly confirming the other's identity. The stranger's eyes crinkled as he smiled and leapt up from his seat. He towered higher than those around him and the body that carried him made Dean's jaw almost drop open.
The tall guy rushed over to grab the sides of the soldier's face and pull him up into a searing kiss. Dean was unprepared for it but quickly caught on. So what if he enjoyed tangling his hands in this guy's hair a little more than necessary?
"Sam." The man, Sam, whispered against his lips to remind the soldier of his name, "I missed you, Love." The accent was perfect. He spoke louder to ensure everyone at the table could hear his words before pulling Dean back down into another kiss.
"So, you're the mysterious Dean we have all heard about." A woman, dressed largely in furs, commented from the table, "Sam didn't make you up after all." As she laughed the light glinted off the diamonds that surrounded her neck. Sam knew who he needed to be 'in' with and it wasn't the common local.
"We thought he was crazy!" A man joined in, laughing.
Sam tugged on Dean's hand to drag him back over to the table where all the people were seated. They were all grinning whilst looking adoringly upon Sam. He clearly had every single one of them wrapped around his finger.
"Please! You know I'd never make him up! How would I find a good husband if I went around saying I was already married?" Sam chuckled along with his friends.
One of the older men with slightly greying hair caught Dean's attention before addressing him directly; this was going to be the first test of his accent and pronunciation. He had to mentally remind himself that the mission wouldn't have continued if his spoken word wasn't up to scratch. The old Moroccan asked how work was going. Dean was relieved that they'd all been fed the false information so his job was made significantly easier.
"Slow. There is a war on so car maintenance isn't a priority at the moment." Casual, he leant against the back of Sam's chair. The soldier smiled at the older person. "Now, I hate to be rude but I haven't seen my husband in over 4 months." Sam turned his head and Dean correctly interpreted that as a hint to kiss him, "So, could I steal him away for the rest of tonight?"
"Dean! You're too rude!" The tall man openly laughed as he spoke, angling his body towards their audience as invitation to interact.
From just watching Sam play them Dean already knew this guy was a pro. It clearly wasn't his first time weaselling his way into a complex social group and becoming the true life of the party. In short, somebody nobody would suspect. Despite putting on a good performance of loving Dean, he was meanwhile able to enthral those around him and make them truly believe they meant something to him.
"No! No! No! 4 months is too long for a husband to go without his partner! We insist. You owe him and besides, we can always catch up next week." The woman with the furs commented again peremptorily.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I couldn't thank you enough!" Dean placed a kiss on the side of Sam's neck. The man hadn't been prepared so jumped then laughed and swatted away his partner. "I thank you!" The soldier slowly pulled Sam away from the watching people, only giving him enough time to whip his jacket off the back of his chair while calling back his farewells.
They could hear the group still laughing as they left the building, not one of them factitiously.
They clambered into the car and Sam subtly gazed around them as Dean prepared the engine. Hazel eyes scanned the shadows and paths around them silently like a hawk. Dean was about to speak when Sam smushed their lips together to silence the words about to escape his mouth, in English.
The sound of footsteps then emerged from around a corner. The policeman slowly passed the car, tapping on the roof to encourage them to move off home. The man walked off again without so much as a word or any sign he'd actually seen them aside from the simple double tap.
The engine grumbled as Dean pulled away from kerb and into the centre of the road. It was only after he'd travelled a fair distance did he notice Sam practically pouting at him.
"Next time you want to say something in English wait until we are definitely alone or at home." His accent was American which surprised Dean but he couldn't figure out why. It does seemed obvious that Sam would be American since he is an American spy. Despite the chances of anyone hearing their voices over the engine being at 0, the spy still whispered. He'd learnt to be over cautious from experience.
The rest of the journey past in complete silence as Dean had no idea where he stood with his new husband. Hopefully the hostility wouldn't last too long.