The house was small but very open with large windows and archways which made the several rooms feel like one. An easy breeze made the thin cotton curtains flutter across the room as though they were weightless, mere clouds. Dean wanted to stop and appreciate the way the moonlight cast moving shadows on the cold red stone floor from the fabric but Sam, accustomed to this mundane beauty, gathered up the long curtains and tied them aside.

"Why did you open them?" He asked from where he stood in the middle of the largest room. Couches faced each other in the middle, segregated from the other by a dark brown coffee table. In the long room there was also the cooker and kitchen as there wasn't enough space to keep the areas separate.

"Nosy neighbors are vital in spreading rumors about our relationship. People believe gossip no matter where it comes from. So, would you prefer the old woman from across the road to say that we don't act like a normal couple or do you want to give her evidence so she can essentially vouch for our relationship?" Sam laid out the facts and Dean couldn't fault the logic. Like he'd thought: a pro.

Sam continued speaking, "and she's looking now so chuckle at something I said and wrap your arms around me." The spy put on adoring puppy eyes to gaze at his 'husband'.

Dean did what he was told by pulling Sam close into his embrace whilst ensuring they were in full view of the window. Sam tiled his head down and gently pushed their lips together and sparked the most intense kiss the soldier had ever experienced. It felt so natural. So real. Their hands explored and traced each other's bodies as they remained intertwined.

Eventually Sam reported that the weird voyeuristic neighbor had closed her doors and slipped away into the darkness of her own home. Did she not have anything better to do? Sam followed by pulling shut their doors and curtains until they had almost complete privacy.

Dean glanced around the small space. He could make out a double bed in another room which was only separated by another soft curtain. A picture of Dean sits framed beside the left side. Would it be expected of them to have sex? Not that Dean was complaining because it had been a long time since he'd been with anyone let alone someone with looks like Sam's but they barely knew each other.

He rubbed the back of his neck even though he knew it made him look nervous, "I, um, I can take the couch."

Sam's eyebrow raised slightly and he crossed his arms across his chest, "You'll be on the roof. It's a long standing tradition that men would spent time on the roof after making love to their partner. Don't ask me what they do up there because I do not know but that's where they go."

"By why do I have to go on the roof all night when I'm supposed to be French?!" Dean didn't notice when his voice began to rise.

"Be quiet! There are ears all around us just waiting for something to spread around. We can only speak English if you are quiet or they'll report us. Now get your ass on that roof so all the neighbors can see my nice little French husband has just finishing making love to me." The sternness in his face didn't allow for negotiation. Sam remained solid and wouldn't relax from his defensive position.

Dragging a rug, the soldier clambered up the red stone steps and onto the flat roof. It was quiet and the sky was pitch black. However, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he began to notice millions of stars one by one appearing above him. He rolled out the rug by the wall so it acted as a backrest to allow him to stargaze like never before. In America the sky is mostly a black canvas due to the pollution which meant he had never really appreciated its beauty.

It had only been a short while when Sam's footsteps brushed against the desert dust on the steps. A flickering light appeared first followed by the man himself. He was in his night clothes but didn't seem ashamed to been seen in them. He came and knelt down on the corner of the carpet, placing the lamp between them. The warm yellow was cast over their faces like the bad stage lighting he'd seen on Broadway before being deployed.

Sam whispered but mischief shone behind the hazel of his eyes, "For a man that just had sex you're awfully tense." He smiled, eyes only briefly meeting Dean's.

"I'm not the best actor. I find it hard to push aside my actual feelings and replace them with fake ones." Dean admitted. Finding that opening up can also be used as an alternate method for apology.

"The best way to survive in this business is to keep the emotions real. It makes the performance more realistic." Sam gave over the tip that made him sound like an awfully good manipulator, "But that doesn't mean we'll have sex because then the emotions get too complex to use." They kept their voices barely above a murmur.

Dean inspected Sam's face. His almond shaped eyes and sharp cheekbones gave him an almost model like quality. It had been a long time since Dean had laid eyes on such an attractive person and he knew that these emotions that were bubbling inside weren't like Sam's; when they burst he wouldn't have any control over them. He'd succumb to them and prove himself to be weak.

"You can come down in a couple of hours once all the neighbors are asleep. I'll lay the couch out for you."

Sam stayed their kneeling in front of the soldier looking expectant and somewhat impatient. He raised his eyebrows in hint but Dean only squinted in response. Sam sighed and rolled his eyes but forced a giggling grin onto his lips to create a faux situation. In this made up world Sam had to deal will his cheeky husband and adored his naughtiness. In reality, Sam couldn't even get the baboon to kiss him to keep up the facade.

Eventually Dean understood and leant forward to kiss his partner. He cupped Sam's jaw in his hands and kissed him passionately, ignoring the stirring within him it caused. Now satisfied, Sam left to go to bed leaving Dean with just the memory of the kiss, a lingering taste of Sam and the flickering lamp.

He sighed, this would be a long operation.


"My husband takes pride in his clothes despite us being relatively poor and his shoes are always shined. It is small facts like this that build up a realistic picture to the locals and maintain a sense of realism, no?" After speaking the native language for so long Sam would occasionally slip back into it easily and hardly realise until Dean points it out which he has decided not to do because it is cute.

Sam opens the large dark wood wardrobe and they stand in front of it looking at the suits and shirts handing side by side. One half hardly touched when the other is clearly regularly used. The gazed at the selection for a while as though trying to comprehend the gamut to which this whole life had been fabricated for them. Once the enemy's military Commander was assassinated they could run from this old dusty town and never see each other again. And yet, for over the last year they have been 'married'. Dean didn't even know if Sam was actually married or It might just be another role he's managed to materialise.

Sam broke the reverie first by saying, "Just pick something. We are heading out."

Only minutes later Dean entered the living area in a grey suit. Sam nodded approvingly, his eyes swiftly passing over the other man's lean and muscular body.

"Perfect! But remember your character. Dean Wesson, French mechanic finally home to his husband." Sam slid on his dark sun glasses as he spoke and shot him a smile with glimmering white teeth. He was wearing dark trousers and a crisp white shirt popped open at the collar to reveal his tanned skin.

"You know the persona well." Dean commented as the walked towards the door.

"Eh," Sam shrugged, "You imagine a person for so long that he eventually becomes real to you. It keeps the emotion real... You fall in love." He turns and grasps the door handle, "You ready, my lover?"

Mischief sparkled in the hazel depths and Dean knew he'd have to watch out for emotion with this one.