Mick felt the tension eat at himself as uncertainty drove nails into his stomach.
"I changed my mind, lets go back." He said quickly.
"Non." Spy proclaimed firmly. "We are already two thirds the way there. No turning back."
Mick grumbled and sat lower in his seat.
"Quit acting like a child. It's not like I forced you to dress nicely." Spy jibed, his own tension showing.
"Just be glad I didn't wear plaid." Mick joked, hoping to lighten the mood a little.
Spy snorted.
"I would've forced you to wear a suit if you dared." Spy muttered. "Spoken to Engineer yet?"
"Nah, he seemed pretty pissed last I saw. Wasn't going to bother him. Besides, I decided to make sure you keep your part of the deal first."
"Fair enough."
The ride to Teufort was otherwise silent, as both men were thrown into their own set of thoughts, similarly anxious about what would become of the evening's findings. Eventually, when they pulled into town, Spy parked right beside a dinky building, with two large men about the same size as Heavy.
"This is a brothel?" Mick asked as he unbuckled his seatbelt.
"Best in town. But don't get your hopes up, its quite a dump in comparison to what it should be." Spy responded.
"You sound like you know by experience." The sniper observed.
"I did some research. I wasn't about to take you to a place where they don't use protection against diseases." Spy said, giving him a look. He took out his disguise kit and chose one that was not anyone on the team. It was a stranger.
His disguise was that of a Masculine man with wavy blonde hair and angular jaw. He had green eyes and tan skin. He sort of reminded Mick of some of those surfers he came across every once in a while back in 'Straya.
Mick followed Spy's lead as the European strolled up to the two large men, handing them both hundred dollar bills. They opened the door for them and Spy casually entered with his head held high, Mick on his tail.
He didn't look at anything until Spy forced him towards a couch.
"Get comfortable while I get us a brandy." He said, walking in a direction. He was still using his French accent, which threw Mick off, but he didn't comment.
Mick swallowed hard as he took a seat in the smoke filled, dimly lit room covered in red cushions and golden tassels. Everywhere there were hanging beads, cheap alcohol, and lots and lots of scantily dressed women. The music was deep and sensual, an innuendo to what they expected the clients to pay for. Spy returned from the bar in his disguise and handed him a brandy.
"It's atrocious, but we'll make do." He said in disgust at the alcohol.
"You claim to have been to better brothels?" Mick asked, taking the glass. He knew it was a stupid question, but at the moment, he was sure he had made the worst decision of coming here, and just wanted to postpone the agony when it came. The last time he dove headfirst, he got kissed by the man next to him.
"Of course I have!" Spy sniffed. "The ones in Paris are far classier, and the wine is finely chosen. Here, all they have is harsh and poorly made liquor."
"Poor made stuff may taste bad, but at least it gets you smashed." Mick said, trying to keep the conversation going. If a whore saw that they were talking, then maybe she wouldn't approach.
"What on earth would make you say such a blasphemous statement!" Spy shot at him. "Do not tell me you only drink to get 'smashed' as you put it!"
"I don't." Mick assured. "I just learnt the hard way when I was younger. I got really gone when me dad started making homemade moonshine. He wasn't good at it at first, but eventually he got the hang of it. But those first few liters of the stuff, bloody hell, they tasted worse than sheep piss. But it did make you pass out quick."
"How old were you?" Spy asked, curiously.
"Fourteen or fifteen. I remember, because I had just started going hunting by myself…openly, that is." Mick added the last part with a smirk. Spy chuckled.
"Well, I propose a toast. To you and your heterosexual self." He said mockingly, tapping the glass against Mick's before drowning the contents down his throat, his Adams apple bobbing. Mick was about to say something when he nearly had a heart attack as a woman dressed in a playboy bunny costume, complete with the ears and corset with the tail, stood right in front of them. She bent over so that her well endowed chest touched her arms, pushing her breasts upwards better than any pushup bra in the world. Instead of offering herself, however, she was offering a box, opened with two sections.
"Cigars? Cigarettes?" she asked, pursing her lips out in a slight pout. Mick declined, shakily saying he didn't smoke. Spy however, graciously took a cigarette.
"Only to be polite." He said once the girl had moved to the next group of men. Mick watched as she was groped by the men, hands squeezing her thigh, tail, and ass. She giggled them off, but Mick could see it. Her eyes were dead. He turned away, feeling sick to his stomach.
Spy looked like he was about to call out for assistance, but Mick stopped him with another conversation.
"Do you ever look at them?"
"Pardon?" Spy questioned, turning back to him.
"I mean, forgetting their skinny waists, big parts, and flexible bodies…you ever actually look at them?" he asked.
A pause.
"There was once a girl I met in Vichy after the war." Spy began. "She was a prostitute, and I was there for a mission to find any hiding SS officers. You see, some would hide in plain sight, and there were enough officers missing from the files that the leaders hired spies like me to play fetch. We were paid by the number of men we took in. In any case, this girl was my contact, and information source. She willingly told me every single officer in the district, where he lived, who his friends were, and where they had gone. She said that she was tired of seeing German pigs walk the streets as if they owned the world as free men, and begged me not to take them to the Nuremburg trials, where they would be given a chance at life. She wanted them dead with a bullet between their eyes."
Mick looked down at his brandy and rubbed the rim of the glass with his thumb.
"What did you do?" he asked quietly.
"I turned in those men at Nuremburg, as ordered. Once I received my payment, I went into their cells and blew their brains out." Spy said casually, motioning to the bartender for another brandy.
"So…" Mick pressed.
"That was the only time I ever saw a prostitute as a normal person over a sex worker." Spy continued, trading his empty glass for a full one, sparing a small "merci" to the bartender. "She became a whore to support her five children. Her husband was killed in the war, fighting for the resistance. In her own way, she was building her own resistance by having relations with those Nazis."
"You ever have sex with her?"
"Non. There was no need. In any case, she was still very married to her husband, and I felt more of a friendship with her. Why deface that with sex that isn't necessary?"
"Did you ever see her again?" Mick asked curiously.
"Non." He said sternly. "She had no desire to see me after the job was done."
"Why not?"
"Because I told her I would not kill those men."
"But you did."
"Oui, but if I had told her that I would, then the employers would ask if she knew anything. She would have to lie. They find out otherwise, we both would be in trouble. And where would that lead? Her five children, on the streets, orphaned. Better to let her hate me, and all of them be safe."
Mick smiled, letting a genuine one slip past. He couldn't help it.
"It's funny…I would've never guessed that you care so much." He murmured. Spy chuckled.
"Believe me when I say this, mon amour. You'll find that I care more than you know." Spy said softly, patting his shoulder. He looked ahead and sat back on the couch.
"Now, to the matter at hand." He said, a business tone coming to his voice. "We came here to get you a girl, and that is what we shall do. Have you decided what you want?"
"I-er…I haven't really thought about it." Mick admitted.
"Alright, you are going to have to work with me." Spy sighed. "Lets start with the basics. Do you want a mouth, a hand, or a body?"
"I guess to really know…a body?"
"Bon. Now, do you prefer any specific attributes?"
"I don't…"
"Hair type, eye color, body shape?"
"They all look the same to me."
"Just pick one." Spy exasperated, moving his arm in a sweeping motion. Mick raised his hands in surrender and drank from his glass, wincing at the taste. He could see why Spy hated it. He looked all around the room and eventually settles with a woman about his age, with brown hair and a petite body shape. He was going with "less is more," but he realized that was a wrong assumption when she came up to him after they make eye contact.
"So, how would you like a fuck, Clint Eastwood*?" she asked, her "Cali-Gurl" tattoo on her thigh shoved into his face as she perched a leg in between his knees. No subtlety here, that was for sure.
"Do I pay you now or later?" Mick asked, almost in a squeak, but passed it off for choking on his drink. She was having none of it.
"Great, a shy 40-year-old virgin who can only get laid by an entertainer. Welp, you get one every once in a while." She said sarcastically. "You pay me in the room, Clint Eastwood."
Mick nodded and drowned the drink down just as Spy had done with his first, standing up.
"After you." He said, motioning for her to lead the way. She rolled her eyes.
"Even better. The 40-year-old virgin is polite." She said snarkily.
"And efficient." Spy joked, winking at Mick. Mick sighed and gave him his empty glass.
"You getting a sheila?" he asked.
"Non." Spy said casually. "I am going to sit at the bar and wait. While a woman is tempting, I am currently pining for someone. Leaves a bad impression if I go off and have a Madame in my lap, non?"
"Ok, I admit, that makes sense." Mick agreed, but then paused. "So what does that make me?"
"It makes you a straight man with no consequences. Shoo. Your woman looks impatient. Impatient prostitutes are lacking prostitutes." Spy said, pushing him towards the petite call girl. Mick nodded and felt his stomach sink further and further into an abyss as they walked further and further into the building. After a quick detour down a side hall, she pulled him into a room and closed the door and locking it.
"I assume you didn't forget your wallet." She said pointedly, holding out her hand.
"How much do you charge?" he asked getting it out.
"I charge by the hour. Two bens."
"Two what?" Mick asked in confusion.
"Ben Franklins. Hundred dollar bills?" she informed, talking to him as if he were stupid. Mick's mouth went to a tight neutral line
"Ok, lets get something straight." He said, getting irked. "I haven't done anything against you, I'm paying you, and I'm not from this country, much less hemisphere. The least you can do is be polite."
"I'm giving you my body. Often times that's all we have left to our name." She snapped. "How much more polite do you want?"
A pause.
"Look, I'm not here to tell you how to act in your career, but if you want my cash, you're going to have to be less snarky."
"Then why the fuck did you accept my offer?" she demanded, crossing her arms.
"I don't bloody well know! I thought it would be rude."
"Wasting my time is more in the category of rude." She countered grumpily. "I'll send some other girl. One who is more 'polite'. You, don't go anywhere."
She turned and marched out of the room, muttering obscenities as she went. Mick sighed and looked around the room, taking in the décor. Once more, plush red fabrics, black sheets, stained carpet from god knows what, and golden tassels with crystal. He was just about to sit when the door opened.
A girl he hadn't seen before walked in and closed the door behind her, locking it as well. She was a dirty blonde with an average build and a plainer face than the previous girl. She had considerably less makeup on, and more covering her body. But what scared him was just how young she looked. Probably Scout's age.
"You just had Adria, right?" she asked, her voice confident, but meek.
"If you mean miss attitude and nicknames, yeah." Mick responded stoically. The girl sighed.
"Adria is…a character." She said. "Very cut and dry."
"Yeah, I could tell." He said, feeling a little less intimidated. She nodded and looked him up and down for a moment.
"What's your name?" She asked.
"Just call me Mundy." Mick said, tossing his wallet from hand to hand. She nodded.
"I charge 20 for a HJ, 40 for a BJ, and 80 for a home run." She said.
"Not even going to tell me your name?" he asked, getting out 80 dollars.
"People call me Ti." She said, a small grin making its way on her face. "Like the musical note or a drink-"
"With jam and bread?" he finished, joining her with the polite grin as he gave her the money. She chuckled.
"I love the Sound of Music*. Julie Andrews* is a wonderful singer."
"Only saw parts of it. And those parts were actually pretty good."
"Not much of a musical fan?" Ti asked, counting the bills.
"Not much a fan of movies. I prefer the outdoors."
"That why Adria call you Clint Eastwood?"
"I suppose…"
Ti hummed and put the money in her own handbag and looked up at him.
"So, what's your preference?" she asked. Mick looked to the side.
"Whatever works best for you…" he said, unsure how well this was about to go down. Or rather, how not well this was going to go down…if that made any sense. Ti nodded and pushed him to sit on the bed.
She then knelt in front of him and slowly palmed him though his pants, looking up at him.
"So, Mundy…" she began. "Adria tells me you're a virgin…that true?" Ti slowly unbuckled his belt and opened his pants, taking his member out. She stroked it with her manicured hand slowly but firmly, wetting it with her saliva. Mick, who had hoped that he would feel something by now, was still getting nothing. He wasn't even remotely attracted to her.
Just as he feared.
"Stop." Mick said, pulling her face away from his crotch. "I…I am not getting anything, it's not your fault. It's me. I-I'm sorry." He said, beginning to stand. She pushed him back down.
"We've barely started." She reasoned. "What you need to do is relax and let it come, ok? You're really tense for some odd reason."
Mick breathed out of his nose and laid back on the bed.
"Lot on my mind, recently." He muttered, resting his hands behind his head. He let the girl try and get him going in any way she knew how, and no matter how much he relaxed, and no matter how much he told himself that it would come, nothing came. After a solid twenty minutes of nothing, Ti stopped and stood, looking over his disinterested manhood, perplexed by this abnormality.
"Do you need a pill or something?" she asked.
"I'm perfectly capable of getting hard…it's just…" he tried but gave up, and sat straight.
"Alright, I'm going to lay it on you." He began. Ti sat on the bed next to him. "I never felt anything towards anyone my whole life. Not really. But then I came here to the States for work and met my colleague…well, I started noticing how uninterested in women I seem to be, but as soon as he comes to mind, I'm a typical teenager. Where I'm from, I can't be gay. So this is…sort of a test for myself on my sexuality. I-I'm sorry if you feel that I used you or-"
"Save it." Ti cut him off, holding up a hand. "It's my job to be used. Besides, we have another issue." Here, she pointed to his manhood. "I say we try again. Only this time you close your eyes and pretend it's your coworker. That way, you really will know."
She knelt in front of him once more.
"That actually works?" Mick mumbled.
"I've had men come in here and ask for a tomboy getup, asking me to keep my clothes on and then demand anal. I can add two and two." she said, moving her hand on him again. "If they can pretend, then anyone can."
"There aren't any gay bars or brothels here?" Mick asked, still looking down at her. Ti chuckled and shook her head.
"Nah. Try Europe. I hear anything goes, over there."
"Really?"
"In comparison to the religious background I had back in Bee Cave, Texas? Yep." She said. "Now close your eyes and start imagining."
Mick sighed and laid back on the bed, closing his eyes and thought about the spook. He thought of the way he acted; the way he so casually went through battle as if it were a breeze. He remembered how he kissed him, and wondered if he would kiss him the same way of they were together in this situation. He thought of how sensual Spy spoke his mother tongue, and how he would talk to him in bed in the moments of erotica. It was strange to think of Spy in such a way, but his body wasn't complaining. In fact, he was already hard.
"You, uh…mind not using too much of your hands? The nails break the image…" Mick requested, his quickening breath coming through his voice. No response, which Mick was thankful for. Instead, the girl just did as he asked, and Mick bit his lip as pictures came to his head of Spy doing this to him instead. It felt so dirty, so wrong, but so good. He knew he had to accept this for what it was; he was gay. And he was attracted to the infuriating French Spook. It was laughable, actually. Here he was having his first blowjob, and he was imagining that the girl giving it to him was a certain French rogue that he worked with.
Mick couldn't hold it and gave out a loud groan as the girl's only warning before he came. Eventually, when he floated down from his high, he felt the weight next to him on the bed. He turned his head and saw that she was sitting cross legged next to him, looking down at him with a triumphant smile, no sign of her earlier actions other than a small bit of spit on her chin.
"Had a feeling that may work. So, what's the verdict?" she asked.
"Well…I guess, that means I'm pooftah." Mick sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. No point in denying it anymore. "And I'm in serious shit." And oddly I'm not too bothered by me accepting me as I am…odd.
"That I can understand." Ti agreed, nodding slowly. Mick narrowed his eyes.
"Why?"
Ti was quiet for a moment.
"My brother was homosexual." She admitted. "Our parents thought there was something wrong with him mentally. He would be a little older than you, I'd say…back during the war, it was normal for gays to be put into insane asylums for treatment. My parents still believed that to be the best thing, and found an asylum that could take him. But I got a letter in '67, four years later, that he died of Tuberculosis, right before the entire place went up in flames. Literally. We were never allowed to visit him, and any record or memory of him, was destroyed."
Mick sat up and fixed his clothes, frowning.
"I'm sorry…" he said. "Not all memory is lost of him if you can still remember him."
Ti laughed lightly, allowing herself a grin.
"He used to be able to solve a Rubik's cube in twenty seconds. Puzzles were his thing. Once Peter got a jigsaw, you couldn't pull him away. Even for meals. He was so smart…" She said, trailing off.
"Can't say I know the pain of losing a sibling, since I'm an only child. But…Me dad wouldn't get it. He threatened to kill me at twelve if I ever turned gay." Mick confided, getting up from his seat. "I think it's safe to say I'm never going home." There was a pause before he remembered something.
"You said you were from Bee Cave?" he murmured. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"
Ti shrugged. "People pass through every once in a while. Maybe you heard of it because one of your buddies went through as a pit-stop?" She said, grabbing her wallet.
"Here." She held out forty dollars. "You only owe me half, since I just gave you the BJ. Next time be sure of what you want."
Mick took the money.
"Most girls don't pay back?" he asked.
"Not going to lie, its not uncommon for one of us to cheat you. But I get your problem, and it's only fair."
Mick nodded and pocketed the cash.
"Quick question, Ti…" Mick asked, walking to the door. The call girl looked up at him.
"Is there anything…you need? I mean…do I have to do anything for you?"
Ti stared at him in bewilderment before she laughed.
"Oh sweetie…that's why Adria called you a polite virgin…you pay me to do a favor. Not the other way around. But if it makes you feel better, I enjoyed myself. You quite possibly have one of the largest cocks I've taken. Couldn't even deep throat it. You definitely don't have to worry about pleasing your man. I'm actually jealous."
Mick walked back with a burning flush of embarrassment on his cheeks, feeling sick to his stomach. What was he going to say to Spy? What was going to happen now? Should he lie? Should he-
What the bloody hell!?
In all Mick's experiences as a sniper, and dealing with people of power and class as employers, he never would've guessed that Spy would've joined their numbers of being completely shameless when drunk.
Spy was on the bar counter, jacket, vest, and dress shirt gone, lying on his back with his tie still on. He was chugging on the bottle of brandy that he scoffed at in the beginning of the evening, and he showed no sign of stopping. Everyone else in the room was paying him no mind, with the exception of the bartender, who looked lost as to what to do. Mick stepped in.
"Spook?" Mick asked, shaking him a little.
"Hrm." Spy grunted, rolling over on his side.
"Spook. Get up. We have to go."
"You are so sexy right now…" he laughed in French. Mick sighed and pulled him off the counter, dropping him on the floor.
"Where's your fucking wallet?" Mick growled as he searched the abandoned suit jacket. The bartender waved his hand.
"Just take the sobbing mess!" he snapped. Mick rolled his eyes and threw the shorter man over his shoulder, walking out with him after picking up his discarded clothing. He walked down the street and got to the car fishing the keys out of Spook's coat pocket before tossing him in the passenger seat. The Frenchman chuckled in his awkward position with his face on the center armrest of his sports car. Mick got in the driver's side and adjusted the mirrors and seat before putting the keys in the ignition and putting his car into drive.
For the first few minutes, there was silence. After they hit the highway, Spy moved a little towards Mick and placed a hand on his thigh, making the driver tense but keep his eyes on the road.
"I don't want to lose you either…" Spy murmured in French.
"Spook, I can't understand you." Mick said.
"Don't leave me, Michael…don't leave me like this…"
"Spook, please. English." Mick said, his voice wavering as the hand slid across his crotch. His grip on the wheel tightened, and he thought seriously about pulling over, so he didn't crash the car.
"I thought I could let you go…" Spy pleaded. "I cannot…lose you…you stayed back there so long…"
Mick was stunned into silence and gulped. It was obvious that he was an emotional drunk, but he never expected that he would be the source of all emotion. But the spy continued.
"I believed…I hoped that you would come my way…but every moment you stayed there…with that woman…I knew I had lost you…just as I lost him…"
The Australian quickly found a flat place where he could pull off the road and parked there. Once he had turned off the car, he pulled the spy up into a sitting position and facing him properly. The disguise fell at last and revealed the distraught Frenchman. Spy had disabled it with a lazy drunken hand. Mick's hands were holding him up so that their faces were level and their eyes were perfectly aligned.
"Spy…who else did you lose?" Mick asked seriously, hoping that he wasn't playing with him all along, and wasn't using him as a pickup after the spy had been dumped by another. Spy swallowed and touched a gloved hand onto his neck, looking like he was in physical pain.
"My son…I lost Logan…I lost my son…" Spy whispered.
Mick didn't know what to feel. Relief or sadness.
"Scout…It's my fault I lost him…" he finished, his head dropping to rest against Mick's chest.
Relief flew out the window in an instant. Dread and sympathy took its place.
"Bloody hell…" Mick exclaimed in shock.
*Clint Eastwood is an American actor who often starred in western films (such as Two Mules for Sister Sara). His style of attraction was rugged very much "earthy", and was called a "man's man".
*Sound of Music is a movie that stars *Julie Andrews, who plays Maria, a governess leaving a convent to care for the Von Trapp family children pre WWII in Austria. The sound of music remains as a classic.
