Disclaimer: I don't own "Star Wars" or any of the universe's characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors note: This was inspired by an ask meme on tumblr. kelleyxmarie asked for: "I'm not sure if you ship it or ship it anymore, but if you can, can you do a Kylux one with: "Well this is awkward…"
Warnings: Mr. & Mrs. Smith inspired au, hitman au, non-star wars au, reference to established relationship (sort of?), fuck buddies, feelings, guns and murder, intrigue, drama, romance, they are stupid and sort of in love.
Not a murder (just two crows)
"Are you going to kill me?" he rasped, stubble kissing the barrel of the gun as it moved down his cheek. Enjoying the tension as the man behind him pressed it deeper. Sinking the sight into his neck until all he could hear was the thud of his own pulse.
He smiled. Teeth bared in the dark.
Oh, yes. He knew who it was.
He always did, even when it started like this.
Two guns drawn in a hotel room halfway across the world. Two men lingering in the shadows of the same hotel bar. Two men eying each other in a carpeted elevator, holding their long guns in an innocuous bag of personal luggage. Two men biting kisses from each other's lips. Melting in ways they didn't know they could as they came together under the forgiving cover of night.
One powerful soul recognizing another.
It was how it'd started, after all. Years ago.
Two killers, two marks, one hotel.
If he were a different man, he might have laughed at how they seemed only a degree of separation from one of those horrid American country songs. He doubted his companion would appreciate the comparison. But he couldn't help but think it every time they found each other like this. Knowing they shared the same profession, but never asking more. Never letting on that he'd started looking for him. That he'd stopped being surprised when they ran into each other. Somewhere along the line, it had become mutual somehow.
All that aside, he would have recognized the man's cologne anywhere.
Metal and fresh-split cedar.
Ben was never as subtle as he thought he was.
"Apparently, I am," Ben answered, nose nudging close. Breath feathering across the back of his ear, making him shiver. Reminding him of other nights. Other countries. Other meet-ups after he'd finished his assignment and was looking for someone to lose himself in.
It was the words, however, that got his attention.
"Are you going to kill me?"
"Apparently, I am."
The lapse was unforgiveable, but somehow he wasn't as concerned as he should have been.
"Intel reported my mark would be here. I staked out the room – this room - two days ago," Ben continued slowly, piecing it together in real time. Wavering into him a fraction, like his body wanted something more. Close enough for him to feel the strap of a thigh holster through the man's slacks. "I didn't see you until you opened the-"
He inhaled, mind racing. The hand that was resting on his hidden Glock tightened a fraction. Muscle-memory ready for anything. Intel told him his mark would be staying in the same room – this room - and had a ridged medication schedule. He would be able to lay in wait until the mark excused himself upstairs. He'd confirmed as much after going through the man's toiletries. The heart medication had been half-full, its label scuffed just enough to show consistent use.
It had all looked legit. Nothing to indicate something was amiss.
For a double cross, it was breathtakingly effective.
"My mark was supposed to be here as well. The story was a business deal. Cartel. The cover was the party downstairs. Quick. Quiet. No witnesses," he returned, cutting Ben off as he slowly turned to face him. Barely having a moment to appreciate the black tux the man was wearing before the rest hit him like a ton of bricks.
Fuck.
"We've been made," he realized, exhaling all his hopes for a clean break from the Agency in a singular breath. He should have known better. No one really retired from his line of work. Not unless they were in a body bag. But he'd hoped. God, how he'd hoped.
"How?" Ben demanded. Angry. Suspicious. Gun still trained on him, but with enough looseness in his stance he knew he could catch him by surprise if he needed to.
He wet his lips. Surprised to find that in spite of the circumstances, he didn't want to.
He would. He could. But he'd rather not.
"Well, this is awkward," he hummed, jumping ahead to what came next as he entertained the idea of just how unusual the impulse was. He didn't hesitate. Protocol dictated that as soon as an individual became a threat, they needed to be neutralized. Taken care of. But he wasn't. He didn't. He wouldn't.
Ben raised a brow, taking a measured step back. Gun slowly lowering as the expensive stale of the hotel room kept count of their heart beats.
"They wanted us to take each other out," Ben echoed. Like he needed to say it out loud. "Why? Why now? I just put in for retirement. This was my last mission."
He blinked.
Well, shit.
"I just did the same," he admitted, running his fingers through his hair as his free hand gradually moved away from the Glock. The cut of his suit hiding all manner of equally dangerous things he could have happily been killing him with. "They must have known we had some entanglement. Our Agencies decided to clean house in case we were retiring to-"
"-be together?" Ben finished, far too quickly to be anything but potentially, hopefully, painfully honest.
This time it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.
Apparently, they had much to discuss.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.
Reference:
- A group of crows is called a "murder." There are several different explanations for the origin of this term, mostly based on old folk tales and superstitions. For instance, there is a folktale that crows will gather and decide the capital fate of another crow.