Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bandit is odd. Montagne has been watching him on and off ever since they joined Rainbow, out of the corner of his eye and with a lazy kind of curiosity – the kind where he gladly absorbs every piece of information he comes across yet refrains from seeking it out actively, doesn’t interrogate Bandit, doesn’t approach his GSG9 teammates, doesn’t question the people with whom he hangs around. It’s just that he pays extra attention whenever anyone brings up the notorious German and shelves it away together with all that he’s heard of him so far.

His conclusion: Bandit is odd.

Montagne has been serving his country for more than twenty-five years now and met a staggering variety of people on the job, some of them courageous, virtuous and possessing a strong sense of justice, some of them cowards, bigoted and unethical, and he has yet to meet a person for whom he wouldn’t die. It’s not up to him to decide who lives and who doesn’t, it’s his sworn duty to protect and so protect he does. He fulfils his obligations with a certain sense of pride and with iron discipline – there’s a reason he’s still on active duty and it’s that he’s not only passionate about but also good at what he does. He works best in a team and strives to shield the men and women by his side from any and all harm.

Bandit… doesn’t. He’s cynical, disillusioned, him insulting someone while he’s meant to be professional isn’t a rare occurrence. He acts like his job is yet another obstacle in life he has to overcome, drags his feet and antagonises the people with whom he’s supposed to function seamlessly, and when he speaks of his work, he does so disparagingly. He’s a bit of a lone wolf, too, carries his burdens alone and usually lashes out whenever someone offers to share them. He’s sharp and if anyone spends too much time with him, they inevitably end up bleeding.

“The fuck do you mean you didn’t get me a coffee?”, Bandit snarls as he passes the cup on to one of the pale, quiet people who are sitting in the back of their van, most of them wrapped in blankets and wide eyed. They’ve been here for an hour already, out in the cold while waiting for anyone to take these poor people away so everyone can go home. Montagne deals well with frigid climates, his body is not unlike an oven in that it usually produces a ridiculous amount of excess heat which keeps him warm throughout the year (and positively toasty in summer, his least favourite season).

“I told you I can’t carry that much”, Kapkan barks a response which is just as irritated. “Maybe you’ll get a coffee after you’ve been held hostage by a few wannabe terrorists for almost a day.” Much more politely, he turns to his fellow countrymen in the vehicle and says something in his mother tongue which sparks a few tentative smiles. He’s used to this weather and doesn’t seem to be struggling with the icy cold air either – unlike Bandit who’s actually shivering.

Montagne takes pity on him, borrows some local money from Kapkan and sets out again, wades through the fluffy snow and returns to find his two colleagues laughing and joking around with the victims of today’s hostage situation, the atmosphere having lightened considerably. Bandit is apparently using Google translate on his phone to communicate, to which Kapkan chortles before explaining to him what exactly it is he just said. And while Montagne smiles to himself upon seeing the two goof around purely for the benefit of the civilians, it means that Bandit had to take off his gloves to type.

“Oh fuck, you’re a lifesaver.” He sounds uncharacteristically grateful, plucks one of the cups out of Montagne’s hands and holds it with stiff fingers, simply warming them on the cardboard for a second while looking like a drowned cat which is trying to put on a brave face. Montagne sighs and does what he’d do for any other operator in this situation: pull him close and put his arms around him. It’s more of a side-hug because he doesn’t want to interfere with Bandit’s coffee, but the German struggles a bit still, attempts to escape his grasp and complains rudely but when Montagne makes no move to let him go, he eventually relaxes and even leans into him after a while. Once he’s stopped shivering, he twists out of the embrace and goes back to distracting the Russians as if nothing happened.

This is why Bandit is odd: ultimately, he does everything Montagne does. He has no doubt Bandit would sacrifice himself for the rest of his team, that he’d do everything in his power to rescue civilians. He regularly goes the extra mile to ensure lives are being saved, he trains hard and does well at his job. He even does good. The main discrepancy between the two of them is his attitude, and the more Montagne watches him, the less he understands it. Part of him wants to shake Bandit and try to talk some sense into him, tell him to pull himself together.

Another part feels a strange, deep-seated admiration for this man who pretends to do so little yet does so much.

Bandit has bad circulation. It’s just one of many details Montagne has noticed over time, has added up the pale skin, layers upon layers of clothes and general grumpiness whenever the temperature drops below a certain point and arrived at this conclusion – Bandit’s hands are almost always icy and sometimes, he even seeks people out to leech their warmth, sits uncomfortably close to others or just happens to lean against them. Montagne eventually becomes a target as well after Bandit realises he’s a reliable source of heat and Montagne doesn’t mind. He’d do the same for everyone, has rubbed Twitch’s arms before until she could feel them again, held Rook’s hands until they weren’t as cold as a corpse anymore, so it’s no trouble to put a hand around Bandit’s shoulders or pull him closer by the waist.

When they’re alone, Bandit is even more obvious about it, just sinks into his arms or presses himself against his back for a few minutes and leaves again. They don’t talk much, never have, and what is there to say anyway? Montagne takes care of those around him and Bandit needs him. Still, he notices his gaze lingering on the slim frame for longer than necessary whenever Bandit has gotten what he came for and stalks off again. It’s a bit like getting visited by a stray cat.

Therefore, when Bandit forgets his jacket now and then, Montagne has no qualms about lending him his own. It’s almost comical to watch as Bandit nearly disappears in it but when he notices Montagne’s grin, he huffs, wraps himself in the warmed up piece of clothing and leaves, as usual. He always gets the jacket back, so he doesn’t mind when Bandit borrows it again a few days later. And again after that.

Bandit becomes really quite forgetful about his own jacket which he used to love so much.

One morning, Montagne wakes to the sound of birdsong, his body refusing to sleep any more. This happens sometimes, though it’s thankfully rare, and so he gets up without grumbling, dresses and wonders whether he should watch the sun rise. It’s early spring, the nights still cold but getting shorter. He decides to grab an early breakfast, walks the empty corridors towards the canteen while trying not to make too much noise and enjoys the quiet serenity of an extremely early morning, looking forward to spending it however he wants.

All his thoughts come to a grinding halt as soon as he steps inside the large room, however, a lone figure standing by a window and staring out into the near darkness, gripping the windowsill so hard the knuckles have turned white. When he hears Montagne, he turns around. He looks like death, face ashen, clearly hasn’t slept a minute last night, possibly not the night before either. For a moment, they just stare at each other, Montagne trying to come up with something to say or something to do yet is petrified. Bandit is the one who breaks the silence between them.

“I’m cold”, he says and his voice breaks on the second word and Montagne finally understands.

He holds the trembling body close, allows Bandit’s fists to clench in his shirt and listens to him taking deep, measured breaths. He’s unable to help with his sleep, incapable of chasing away whatever keeps him awake, probably can’t drive out the ice which has settled deep into Bandit’s bones, covered his thoughts in a frost so sharp and persistent it shows on the outside, but he can try. Maybe over time he’ll succeed.

For now, all he can do is warm Bandit’s body, rest a hand on the back of his neck and press the two of them together, hope to transfer enough of his own heat to stop the shivering.

Chapter Text

It’s dumb. It’s just an arm. Not only that, it’s a fucking cliché gesture, overdone and cheesy and would usually make him roll his eyes if he saw it on screen and produce gagging noises if he saw it in real life. One of the oldest ways to show possessiveness, always leaving an unpleasant aftertaste in his mouth whenever anyone just assumed they could put an arm around his shoulders, even more so when his superiors did it. It was rare but it happened and he felt like shaking himself like a dog afterwards, just to get rid of this I own you feeling.

And yet, here he sits, Montagne’s arm around him, and has vowed to never move again. They’re watching some film or other, something stupid and filled with action he’s not following because he’s too busy having an internal crisis over the limb draped over him, weighing him down slightly, giving off a reassuring warmth. It shouldn’t feel this elating and yet it does, funnels all his attention towards the fingers he feels curled around his upper arm even through the blanket in which he’s wrapped. The thumb is stroking up and down, a soothing motion though it does nothing to calm Bandit’s nerves. Nothing at all.

His back is killing him, he really needs to adjust his position but worries the arm will disappear if he moves despite knowing it’s not the first time they’ve sat like this. Despite knowing Montagne usually subtly invites him in. They barely talk and this, too, makes him anxious – he has absolutely no idea what’s going on in the Frenchman’s head, whether he thinks he’s doing Bandit a favour or whether he’s taking pity on him. Maybe he doesn’t even like him. It’s a realistic possibility, they don’t really have anything in common, don’t hang out unless Bandit would otherwise spend the evening alone, and when they do they don’t communicate a lot. Montagne sometimes tries, and a few times they’ve had actual conversations, but that doesn’t mean anything, does it? He just doesn’t understand why Montagne is still here, allows him to steal his warmth, when all he does is – nothing, basically, he does nothing for him, he doesn’t deserve this warmth, doesn’t deserve the peace this man brings, the inexplicable shows of affection – because you don’t just sit on a couch and cuddle with someone you don’t like, right? That’s not something people do, nothing Bandit could ever imagine doing, and yet the doubt persists and burns under his fingernails, permeates his brain at the most inopportune moments, moments in which he’s vulnerable already, open for attack by his own thoughts turning on him -

The hand lifts, comes to rest on the side of his head, right behind his ear, fingers gently stroking through his hair, over his scalp. A shiver runs down his spine from the distracted gesture; it’s so comforting that his mind comes to a grinding halt, stops right then and there to assess the situation. Now’s not the time to fret, instead he should enjoy it while it lasts, accept the lovely gesture for what it is and not second guess Montagne’s motives. He gives in and puts his head on Montagne’s shoulder. The hand follows, cards through his hair, grounds him.

“Are you comfortable?”, Montagne murmurs after a few minutes.

Bandit just nods. He knows better than to put into words just how comfortable he really is, and instead merely adjusts his position so his back isn’t killing him anymore, melts against Montagne’s side and closes his eyes when the arm is put around him: once again, a reassuring weight. Time to continue not watching this film.

When Bandit wakes up the next time, he’s encased in an embrace he didn’t anticipate. It takes him a few moments to figure out just what happened and how they’re arranged on the sofa until he realises Montagne is lying down, legs outstretched, and Bandit largely on top of him, back warmed by the Frenchman’s broad chest, torso hugged tightly and calm breaths tickling his hair. It seems the other man is still asleep, his regular breathing gently making Bandit rise and sink, and so he snuggles into the hug, rubs the top of his head on Montagne’s jaw, extracts one of his hands from the blanket in which he’s wrapped to stroke over Montagne’s upper arm. He’ll have to leave soon, he definitely doesn’t want Montagne to wake up like this, but he’s so warm.

It’s a mystery to him how Montagne unfailingly radiates heat as if it took no effort – the man really is an oven. Not only that, he seems to have no trouble in letting Bandit sleep on him though this implies a whole range of things Bandit is absolutely not ready to face yet. For now, he has to flee and hope no one saw -

A small noise makes his eyes fly open. He probably looks just as shocked as Rook who’s standing a few metres away and apparently froze mid-chew upon spotting the two people on the couch. For a while, neither of them moves a muscle.

“I saw nothing”, Rook then whispers, turns around on his heel and leaves without any further complications.

Okay. He really should – this needs to stop. It was the first night he slept in Montagne’s arms and he’ll make sure it’ll be the last one, too, he can’t keep doing this. He’s starting to rely on someone else and that is in no way acceptable, not when he already can’t rely on himself. It’s a burden he doesn’t want anyone else to shoulder, least this man who would probably bear anyone’s weight if they asked. No. He won’t add to it.

Carefully, he wiggles out of the tight hug and is about to throw his blanket over the large figure when he pauses. He’s seen Montagne sleep before, once or twice, but never at dawn, never bathed in golden sunlight and without worries, face smooth. On a whim, he picks up his phone from the table and takes a photo. Then he leaves.

When Blitz asks him about his red cheeks a minute later, Bandit tells him to shut up.

Chapter Text

Something wakes him, makes him drift into this hybrid state of both being conscious yet drowsing simultaneously and it takes him a minute to realise what it was that alerted him: the notification light is blinking forlornly in the darkness, a beacon of attempted communication. He picks up his phone, mind still muddled from sleep, and checks his messages. There’s only one from a polysyllabic name which he always shortens in his head to no more than three letters – three letters with which he associates so much. It reads: you up? Were he to scroll up, he’d see that the only other messages they exchanged are work related, quick inquiries, impersonal, sterile, practical.

This one isn’t. It’s neither of those things which is the only reason Montagne replies: pk? He doesn’t know whether he should get up and get dressed or prepare for a call, this hasn’t happened before so he doesn’t know what to expect. In return, he receives a singular question mark which mocks his sleepy brain because he wrote ‘why’ in French, not English, so no wonder Bandit doesn’t understand it. Before he can correct himself, a word appears on his screen which tells him all he needs to know: lounge.

So, getting up and getting dressed it is.

He made a mistake.

Ultimately, he doesn’t blame himself as it was impossible for him to have guessed it, to anticipate Bandit’s reaction, but that doesn’t help in the moment. He should’ve known something would happen just from having watched Bandit for this long. The German operator crackles with unspent energy, he’s like a live wire dancing on the floor, fascinating to look at yet fatal when touched – he despises nothing more than waiting and therefore regularly causes events, creates occurrences which interrupt the tension that builds up after too much nothing. And before Montagne’s misstep, the base had been quiet for too long.

For a while, it was nice. It mostly doesn’t take much longer than a quick peek into the lounge or outside or the canteen or wherever he saw Bandit last, makes sure he’s in good company, and then Montagne can sleep without worry. If he finds Bandit alone, the plan changes. He buys snacks or something interesting to drink with which he doesn’t treat himself normally, digs up or borrows a film or finds something else to do. It eats into his own sleep schedule but seeing as it happens maybe once a week, it doesn’t interfere with his general well-being.

Neither of them acknowledge it. Bandit takes his company largely for granted, never asks why he’s not in bed, usually complains about his choice of film or food but ends up falling asleep after a few hours nonetheless, sometimes with his head on one of the tables in the canteen, sometimes against Montagne’s shoulder, sometimes alone in a plushy seat. Wherever it is, Montagne makes sure to carry him to the nearest sofa, drape a blanket over him and then returns to his own room to rest as well. They don’t talk about it. During the day, they do whatever they normally do and hardly interact unless Bandit forgot his jacket. He’s been forgetting it less and less.

And then Montagne ruins it. He says: “You can just text if you need me.” He had to hunt Bandit down, finds him in the workshop and drops this sentence which turns Bandit’s expression stony, makes him physically distance himself.

“I don’t fucking need you”, he replies. And just like that, he’s gone.

Since then, nothing. Montagne respects his wish for privacy and thinks not about absent-minded touches, the way his clothes smell when a permanently cool body has either worn or rested against them, how peaceful it was to witness Bandit doze off in his presence, wholly relaxed, often wrapped in a blanket already or otherwise pressing up against him. He pushes these memories, these scenes inside his head away because admitting their absence would sting. Better to pretend they never existed in the first place.

Only now it all comes crashing back due to a few words displayed on a screen in the middle of the night. Who is he to refuse this show of trust? Navigating the hallways in the dark has become easy after the first few times of stumbling and fumbling – he wants to avoid waking anyone up lest their presence shatters whatever opportunity he might get now. He doesn’t even know what to anticipate or what to hope for, only knows that he needs to be there.

The TV is flickering with the sound on low, some rerun of a B-movie Montagne hasn’t seen but the fast-paced scenes don’t catch his attention anyway, no, the slim silhouette perched on one of the uncomfortable chairs however does. Bandit jumps up as soon as he hears him, ready for action yet uncertain on the details, sways in his direction but holds himself back. He’s hesitating and so Montagne decides for him – but when he approaches, hands on his cheeks stop him, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, cool palms on his skin. The gesture is unambiguous though Bandit doesn’t dare to bring it to conclusion, is probably riddled with self-doubt. “I was wrong”, he says quietly and even if Montagne might not get an apology for the sudden silence and avoidance, this is still an admission he didn’t expect.

His hands find their way to Bandit’s waist, hold him in place and he feels Bandit’s electricity thrumming in his fingertips. He leans in, is stopped by a short press of cold hands and now their faces are mere centimetres apart, Bandit looking scared and like a trapped animal, eyes wide and flitting over Montagne’s face. “I need you too”, Montagne replies without even thinking about it because he can’t lie to himself any longer, can’t pretend he’s merely watching out for his team – all of this goes so far beyond his normal sense of duty that the excuse doesn’t work anymore.

Bandit kisses like a desperate man, takes and takes like someone who’s used to everything nice being fleeting, like someone who might be denied any second. He pants and mewls into Montagne’s mouth, licks it open and gasps when he’s simply picked up. This part is familiar, Montagne carries him to the nearest couch, only this time Bandit ends up in his lap, restless and still kissing him as if his life depended on it.

It’s over as abruptly as Bandit started it, he buries his face in the crook of Montagne’s neck and scoots closer, as close as he can but doesn’t start relaxing before Montagne embraces him. They stay like this, his lips burning, teeth remembering the feel of Bandit’s tongue, heart racing. He cards a hand through Bandit’s hair and waits.

“I don’t want to sleep.” His voice is small and shaky. “No one knows some of the things I’ve done. But I know. I can’t not know. It’s not letting me rest.”

“You did it for a good cause, Dom.” Somehow, it feels like they’ve had this conversation before – numerous times – when it’s the first he’s hearing of this.

“No. I did it because I could. Because I could get away with it.”

Montagne doesn’t believe him. Based on everything he knows about him, he can picture Bandit performing ruthless, cold-blooded actions but they’re never without cost. They would haunt him. He pays his price. “I’m sorry. I wish I did, but I don’t know how to help you.”

“You are”, Bandit objects softly. “You already are.”

It’s good enough for the moment, he’ll take what he can get. Words burn on his tongue, concessions about how worried he is, how glad about Bandit’s trust in him, how much he missed his prickly company yet he doesn’t get to say them, Bandit’s counterpart swipes them off, steals them for himself and answers the unspoken question of whether the kiss before was merely a manifestation of loneliness or… or more. This one is more deliberate – still messy but deep and slower and Montagne has an easier time reciprocating it.

Neither of them acknowledge it: when it’s over, Bandit curls into him and stays silent in his arms. Once he’s fallen asleep, Montagne carefully stretches him out on the sofa, wraps him in a blanket and wonders whether he should try raising the point that Bandit might sleep better in Montagne’s room if his presence calms him down. For now, all he does is lie down on the opposite couch so that he’ll be there if Bandit wakes up again in the middle of the night. He falls asleep to quiet breaths and the feeling of lips on his own.

Chapter Text

Knowing your surroundings is half the battle. Bandit likes to be aware of everything happening around him, keeps his back to the wall, unfocuses his gaze so he can track movement more easily and prefers knowing exactly what he’s up against – it’s an old habit, began in school when there was a group of boys who decided they didn’t like him or his brother, so they had to be careful not to get caged in, not to be caught unaware or else the consequences would be bad. When he was undercover, the need for it increased manifold, he was required to know exactly who was in his vicinity at all times, what people thought of him, how he could win them over. He can be charming but it’s rarely sincere, more of a skill he honed out of necessity, not something he enjoys.

And yet he can’t figure Montagne out.

No matter how large the hole he stares into his broad back, no matter on how many conversations he eavesdrops, no matter how often they interact, he just doesn’t understand him. It’s a mystery why he’s this nice to Bandit, why he allows him to borrow his jacket constantly despite Bandit quite obviously forgetting it on purpose. Why he allowed Bandit to kiss him.

Why he kissed back.

There’s a rising violent urge inside him, something which wants him to bury his claws deep into Montagne’s flesh, carve him up, mark him as his (even though he isn’t, can’t be), scratch him up and make him bleed. He can only guess as to why, either he wants to drive him away before Bandit can hurt him even more (because the wounds inside are usually worse, right, a cut heals but a broken heart will likely be put together wrong), or he’s harbouring feelings which are so strong he doesn’t know what to do about them. It might be both. He just knows that he looks at the tall man and his stomach flutters and he doesn’t like it. Because he has no idea how to deal with it.

Montagne does so much for him that Bandit might have to avoid him in the future – he doesn’t like owing debts, feels inadequate in the presence of his benefactors and he’s considering telling Montagne to stop it, stop checking up on him, stop seeking his company, yet he’s too selfish; he basks in Montagne’s attention like a cat in the sun, stretches into it and purrs contentedly. He feels calm around him. He notices his thoughts slowing down, his body involuntarily relaxing, exhausted from the strain he puts on it by keeping it on alert at all times. Montagne is good for him and that exactly is the problem because Bandit definitely isn’t for him, how could he be. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve him.

And yet, here he is, a tall figure next to him wearing a gentle smile meant for no one but him. They’re alone in the workshop, Bandit keeping his hands busy and trying not to think too much when a mountain approached him and asked whether he’s hungry and as a matter of fact, he is. He doesn’t say yes though. He wants to know: “Why?”

“Because I am. The chip shop down the road is still open, I think. We can go there.”

We. Montagne probably knows he’s starving but doesn’t blame him, simply invites him to tag along as if he was doing it for his own benefit only and not Bandit’s. He finds himself nodding – it’s late enough that most people are about to sleep or begin their nightly routine of showering, exercising or whatever it is normal people with normal sleep schedules do, so chances are no one will see them. And even if they do, it’s a singular occurrence. Right?

On the way, they chat about this and that, some possible gadgets with which Twitch came up, the film they last watched together, current events. Bandit is always slightly nervous when being alone with the Frenchman, expects to say something which puts him off, to fail to find some common ground between them, an icy silence settling between them, but Montagne feels comfortable in his own skin (unlike Bandit), and so he somehow manages to keep conversation flowing. He’s nothing but reliable in pretty much all aspects, predictable in a way too but without being boring. There are no nasty surprises, no sudden jeering or mocking. Montagne is safe.

Watching him eat greasy chips with his fingers is odd. He usually has excellent table manners and fits what Bandit would jokingly call a gentleman, he enjoys well-made food and the finer things in life, so him dirtying his fingers while pushing the deep fried potato sticks between his lips isn’t a sight Bandit sees often. He can’t help but stare until Montagne asks him whether there’s anything wrong with his food and Bandit unsuccessfully tries to fight down the blood rushing to his cheeks. He’s mesmerising, in a way, his eyes soft, strong muscles mainly used for protection, not for causing harm, and whatever he does, it’s deliberate. He’s the opposite of clumsy, he’s thoughtful and conscious of his own actions while still being confident – he doesn’t fell decisions impulsively though he sometimes does allow his feelings to get the better of him. But it’s rare.

Bandit realises he’s still staring when Montagne smiles at him and feeds him a chip to break him out of his daze, the tips of his fingers touching Bandit’s lips and leaving a burning feeling behind which intensifies when the savage rage returns. He wants to bury his teeth in Montagne and for a moment, he’s dizzy with how much he has to hold himself back. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to hurt him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to eating vinegar on chips”, Montagne remarks conversationally.

It’s safe territory, he should talk about the food as well even though he’s barely nibbled at it because he was too busy marvelling at this man who somehow likes his company. “Thank you”, he says instead and barely resists smacking himself when Montagne looks up, astonished. Quickly, he adds: “Salt and vinegar crisps are even worse, they taste like fucking cleaning products.”

He made it awkward. The rest of the meal he’s itching to get away because he’s sure Montagne is tired of his presence despite him being nothing but pleasant (but he always is, isn’t he, no matter to whom he’s talking), and when they’re done and have cleaned up, Montagne reaches out to brush his knuckles over Bandit’s cheek but he ducks away, embarrassed, ashamed, and that only makes it worse. Now it looks like he doesn’t welcome his touch when he just doesn’t want it out here, in the open, with a burning face and hands shoved into his pockets, feigning nonchalance when he just wants to hide.

They part, Montagne with friendly words and Bandit with a mumbled reply and a sinking feeling in his stomach; the impression of somehow having made an ass of himself lingering uncomfortably. He makes it to his room and resigns himself to another lonely night as there’s no way he’s going to ask for anyone’s company like this, not when he’s confused and angry at himself and simultaneously longing for and fearing Montagne’s touch.

He looks at his empty bed. He listens to the silence. His fingers are itching.

The door opens quickly after the first knock which is a blessing because then Bandit can’t change his mind, has no time to obsess about what he’s going to say. Montagne moves out of the way as soon as he sees him, assumes he wants to come inside (which he very much does), and he’s an angel. He doesn’t ask questions, fills the silence with pleasant chatter as he moves around the room, getting ready for bed; he acts as if all of this were normal, as if Bandit had every reason and right to be here, as if this was a welcome surprise. He implies that he needs his sleep today because he has to get up early the next day but Bandit is invited to stay, sleep on the couch or in his bed or with Montagne in his bed and he feels like crying. Tears are prickling at the corners of his eyes and he makes sure to wipe them away only when Montagne’s back is turned to him.

He hasn’t felt at home in such a long while it takes him a bit to identify the feeling. The room is familiar enough but nothing else is, they’ve never slept in the same bed, only kissed twice that one night and yet Montagne is ready to welcome him with open arms. He will never know what it means to Bandit because he’s never going to tell him (but he’s defeated, defenceless, disarmed). This man is going to be the death of him.

“Please kiss me”, he pleads quietly, voice shaking and fingers trembling, his anxiousness skyrocketing when Montagne turns to look at him, simply look at him for a few seconds. Bandit needs this. He needs some kind of affirmation that it’s not just his imagination or wishful thinking.

And Montagne does. He does it like he does everything else, deliberately, with purpose. Warm hands gently cup Bandit’s face, tilt it up slightly, and then soft lips meet his. He’s restless at first, pushes for more but Montagne decides the points when to deepen the kiss, when their tongues slide over each other, when it all becomes intimate and deep and elating. The longer it lasts, the more Bandit feels himself calm down. It quells the urge to take and take, to rip and push and punch.

Later, when he’s safely encased in Montagne’s arms, listening to his calm breaths and steady heartbeat, when his body heat engulfs him like the sun itself, when he takes Montagne’s hand and carefully interlaces their fingers only because he knows him to be asleep, he realises it’s gone. It’s all gone – probably just for the moment. but there’s an all-encompassing peace inside him and it grows when Bandit presses closer to the large body at his back.

Chapter Text

“That’s nothing”, Bandit laughs around his cigarette and takes it out before he continues, “my record is six.”

“Six?”, Smoke repeats in disbelief and sips some more of the cheap Irish whisky he so loves. “In one night?”

“In one night. Three at the same time, which helped with efficiency since I didn’t have to chat them all up individually.” The two of them laugh. “It counts though, I fucked them all. Two women and one dude – he wasn’t sure at first but I convinced him to try it out and guess what? He was the only one of the three to contact me again.”

“Nice. What about the other three?”

Montagne turns a page of his newspaper while attempting to memorise the few interesting articles he pretended to read yet didn’t catch a word of. His hearing is excellent and so he can calmly keep on ‘reading’ today’s news at the other end of the canteen while Bandit and Smoke elaborate on their sexual escapades seemingly in private. He’s heard enough to assume they would mock him openly were he to disclose his own – or what he considers to be his own, simple spur of the moment decisions, a few risky endeavours which worry him to this day and that’s pretty much it. He doesn’t take the topic lightly, considers it a monumental display of trust, profound affection and mutual attraction which goes deeper than skin to allow someone else access to his body.

He doesn’t judge either of them for their differing views, however, accepts that his values might be old-fashioned or even outdated. They treat themselves and others differently than he would and ultimately, there’s nothing inherently wrong with it. If he’s honest, a small part of him is vaguely envious of all their adventures if only for the added experience. He suspects that when it comes to pleasuring anyone, Bandit is miles ahead of him, might think him unskilled or even incompetent. It plays a not insignificant role in why they haven’t proceeded past mere kisses despite Bandit’s increasingly insistent suggestions.

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of staring at letters which blur in front of his eyes, folds the page and gets up to return to his room seeing as it’s late, the spring sun already long set. He doesn’t expect Bandit to follow seeing as he should be settled for company until he’s tired enough to fall asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow but he hears the German starting to make excuses to Smoke before he’s even out the door. With a slight smile, he waits outside and relishes the startled expression on Bandit’s face when he almost runs into him just a few seconds later, much to Bandit’s chagrin. He doesn’t like when Montagne anticipates his actions and therefore grumbles a little on the way to Montagne’s room.

“We’re just going to sleep.” He wants to be upfront about it, doesn’t want to mislead Bandit and implicitly lets him know nothing is going to happen, as usual, even less today when his self confidence suffered from the boasting he overheard.

“Yeah”, Bandit responds nonchalantly as he steps into the room which he seems to occupy more and more frequently, “it’s fine.” No pouting, no complaints? It really seems that way, he’s moving about and getting ready without hopeful or accusing looks and Montagne is so astonished that he barely catches his next words, uttered without eye contact: “I just like being here.”

Montagne freezes. There’s a pink tint to Bandit’s cheeks now even as he avoids Montagne’s gaze so it’s not just a clever ploy, an attempt to manipulate him. A reply seems necessary, something equally sweet which will fluster Bandit, make him switch topics so fast it’s a miracle neither of them ends up with whiplash but Montagne doesn’t feel like teasing him right now. He likes having Bandit over as well, has become accustomed to the lithe body next to him in bed, snoring softly and usually pressing their backs together. Sometimes, he wakes up to Bandit clinging to him and tightening his embrace if he tries to move, sometimes Bandit is draped over him or hugging one of his arms which is how he knows he dreamt badly. If he’s still awake, Montagne pulls him closer and pets his hair – and if he’s not, Montagne does the same still.

Words seem inadequate to express the fundamental peace he experiences whenever Bandit sleeps in his arms and so he walks up to him instead, leans slightly down and brushes his lips over Bandit’s, reciprocates when he deepens the kiss and soon they’re just standing there, kissing tenderly and even now Bandit doesn’t push for more despite how intimate it is. And he – he’s attractive, Montagne was aware of that before, accredits it partly to Bandit’s confidence and partly to his indifference, but now he’s seen Bandit in different, more vulnerable contexts and they make him seem stunning.

He gathers his courage. He’s made his mind up a while ago anyway, had to do some soul searching in the meantime, but now he’s sure – he wants this man, wants to make him feel good even if he’s not entirely sure how or whether whatever he can offer will be adequate. Regardless, he wants to try and so his hands don’t stay on Bandit’s waist as usual but dip under his hoodie, come into contact with bare skin and earn a gasp in return. They keep wandering, explore Bandit’s torso and only interrupt the snogging when they touch the waistband of Bandit’s jeans. Bandit breaks the kiss and whispers an emphatic: “Yes. Yes. Please.” Still, he leaves it at that, presents himself as willing but allows Montagne to choose his actions carefully and that alone is an unexpected turn on. He’s handing himself over.

Montagne claims his lips once again and takes his time with unbuttoning and unzipping Bandit’s jeans, pushes them over his hips and glances down to find him – much to his surprise – fully hard already, his erection outlined in his underwear and giving a feeble twitch. Gingerly, Montagne touches it through the fabric while keeping their mouths occupied and is granted a small, desperate moan in return. The flesh is hot to the touch even if the rest of Bandit isn’t, and extremely sensitive, strains towards Montagne’s experimental fingers and fills him with confidence. He must be doing something right if Bandit is clinging to him like this already, face flushed and out of breath. He looks dazed when Montagne rids him of his briefs as well, sways in place unsteadily and bites his lip in anticipation.

Bandit very willingly follows him to the bed, allows Montagne to move and guide him until he’s straddling Montagne’s hips, stiff member jutting out and begging to be touched yet Bandit merely pushes Montagne’s shirt up so he can stroke over his bare chest. Montagne, lying on his back, looks up at him, and realises with worrying clarity that he’s not only attractive, he’s beautiful like this, a helpless look on his imploring face, and when he closes his fingers around the silky shaft, Bandit’s eyes threaten to fall shut. He remains passive, allows Montagne to set the pace and simply encourages him with small moans while he rolls the foreskin back, brushes over the tip and encircles his head. He tries to find all the sensitive spots that make Bandit cant his hips into the touch, memorises them religiously and exploits them by rubbing over them, massaging them gently.

A soft oh fuck lets him know he’s on the right track, Bandit’s eyes half-lidded and dark, his hands doing nothing more than holding on as he’s perched on top of Montagne, pressing his ass into his crotch and whining when the hesitant caresses turn into proper strokes. As a start, Montagne goes with what he prefers himself, a tight grip and slow movements from the base to the tip though he suspects Bandit would do it much faster – this is about exploration, though, getting to know his body, possibly teasing him a little. Besides, Bandit is giving no indication of disliking any part of it, his breathing heavy and the noises he makes appreciative, so Montagne continues, twists his wrist on the upstrokes and speeds up a little. He likes feeling Bandit’s weight on top of him but ponders whether he should make him lie down instead so he can taste his skin, kiss his body.

For now, he uses his other hand to stroke over Bandit’s chest, traces his ribs under his hoodie and watches his expression slowly morph into something reverent – and then Bandit tenses up underneath his palm, a vague panic lining his features and he comes with a loud groan, seems more surprised about it than even Montagne as his erection throbs in his grip, accompanied by contractions Montagne can feel under his fingertips. Hot, viscous liquid hits his bare chest and paints it white while he massages Bandit through it, prolongs his orgasm with practised motions and only stops when Bandit puts a hand on his wrist, breathing heavily through parted lips. It was… sudden. And unexpectedly fast.

“Oh”, says Bandit who only now seems to fully realise what just happened, followed by him blushing furiously and hastily climbing off to put his underwear back on and wipe Montagne’s chest clean. He curses under his breath while doing so, throws the soiled tissues to the ground carelessly and joins Montagne on the bed again, snuggling up to his side, hiding his face and pointedly ignoring Montagne’s wide, happy smile. “That wasn’t”, he mumbles into Montagne’s shoulder, “I normally -”

Montagne turns to him so they’re face to face and kisses him briefly. “Was that alright, did it feel good?” A small nod. It seems to be genuine, so Montagne is overjoyed – the most plausible explanation is that Bandit has been looking forward to being touched by him so much that he couldn’t control himself and this thought makes a lovely warmth rise up in him. It seems he was worrying about nothing even if Bandit seems deeply embarrassed. “You’re so handsome”, he tells him earnestly and suppresses a chuckle when the red on Bandit’s cheeks darkens. He’s still avoiding his gaze, starts to take off his hoodie and drag the blanket over his naked legs, so Montagne gets up and dresses down to his underpants as well before slipping under the covers. They entangle their limbs and though Bandit undoubtedly notices Montagne’s excited member, he doesn’t try to get his hands on it.

Still, he murmurs: “If you keep holding out on me, I’m going to come in my pants the second I’m allowed to suck you off.”

“I’m not holding out on you”, Montagne responds seriously to what he knows was meant as a joke yet represents the way Bandit seems to think: sex as a reward of some kind, performed purely for its own sake, when Montagne sees it as so much more. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page first.”

Bandit is quiet for a long while, so long that Montagne starts thinking he fell asleep until he suddenly says: “Yeah. We are. I know what you’re saying and it’s exactly why I want it so much.”

And Montagne is speechless. It’s as close to a confession as it’ll get for now, but a confession it is – Bandit shares his desire for emotional proximity after all, it’s just… Bandit was a step further than him. He must know how much Montagne cares about him whereas Montagne’s self-doubts clouded his judgement, made him believe Bandit might not be as invested as he is. This, however, is a reassurance. It’s reciprocated. All of it is and it’s more than Montagne hoped for, so he tightens his embrace in relief.

Next time, he’ll try to make Bandit feel even better.

Chapter Text

At this point, it’s moved long past worrying into the territory of genuinely concerning. There’s a lot of things about Montagne which frighten him, partly his urge to lay claim to him in whichever way possible, partly how deceptively easy his company is, partly the ever-present fear of losing him one way or another. He’s gotten attached and can’t deny it, but none of this is on Bandit’s mind right now, not now. Not when he’s got a half naked Montagne to admire.

What concerns him is the fact that a single kiss by this gorgeous God in front of him reduces him to a drooling mess already. It doesn’t matter what he does, he’s tried jerking off before they sleep in the same bed but all it achieved was to strengthen the desire for physical proximity, in turn prompting Montagne to be even more affectionate than usual and Bandit still ended up with a hard-on. He’s counted sheep, thought of the most revolting things yet Montagne easily penetrates his concentration by humming into his ear or, worse, spooning him, or, even worse, letting Bandit spoon him. He’s spent a few hours total with Montagne’s perfectly sculpted ass pressed against his crotch, quietly panting against this breathtaking back of his and holding on to his shapely hipbone while frantically trying not to hump him or wake him up or really just come in his underwear right then and there.

This morning seems adamant on testing his patience as well. The sun is just rising and allowing him an unobstructed view of the beauty that is Montagne, stretched out on the bed before him and blissfully sleeping despite the fact Bandit must’ve stolen the blanket some time during the night. This little detail is what allows him to marvel at perfection itself, take in the long limbs, dusting of hairs on his chest, strong muscles. If he looks closer, he can see his regular heartbeat. It hurts looking at him because Bandit now fully knows what he can’t have yet, what Montagne hasn’t graced him with. He’s received a few hand jobs so far and it pains him to call it that, it felt more like a revelation, Montagne attentive and thorough, learning quickly and reducing Bandit to a shuddering heap of want in minutes.

His prize is hidden in black briefs and it attracts his gaze like a magnet. He woke up with a boner and decided against taking care of it for exactly as long as he hadn’t yet turned around to examine the person with whom he’s sharing a bed. Now, he’s sitting upright, his own underwear pushed down and one hand lazily wandering up and down his hard shaft as he struggles with himself. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t and Montagne would be disappointed if he did and Bandit would probably also disappointed in himself but – it’s right there and it looks fucking big flaccid already and dear Lord he vividly remembers all the times he felt it against his body, not allowed to touch it.

It calls to him. With a muffled gasp, he picks up speed and prays that Montagne is as slow to wake today as he is usually. He has mornings on which he rises early and easily though they’re exceedingly rare, normally he inhales deeply, stretches his limbs and buries his head further in his pillow before he even opens his eyes. It should be enough of a warning to not get caught. Unless his hand is down Montagne’s underwear. He supposes there’s no way he can talk his way out of that one.

Maybe there’s a compromise in there somewhere. Hesitantly, he reaches out and touches his palm to it, moulds his hand around it to get a better feel and fuck, the flesh is hot and really as big as it looked and his breath hitches. This is bad. This is really bad. He needs to stop.

The head is thick already and merely imagining taking it robs him of the ability to form coherent thoughts. A quick glance, a complete stop in movement – no, Montagne is still sleeping, suspecting nothing, not reacting to the fact he’s being fondled. Bandit grows bolder, knowing full well he should be doing the opposite instead, and hooks his fingers into the waistband.

He’s going too far. It doesn’t matter that their job sometimes requires them to undress in front of each other, has had him cut open other people’s clothing several times and he probably has seen Montagne naked at some point. Still, it’s all irrelevant because it was an entirely different setting, there was nothing erotic about it, it wasn’t about being intimate with each other. It wasn’t breaking someone’s trust. His grip around his own dick tightens involuntarily. Then again, Montagne has seen him butt naked.

Carefully, he pulls the fabric down and forces himself to complete the task of hooking it under Montagne’s balls before he allows himself to take a good look. And Jesus fucking Christ. He clenches his teeth and has to convince his fist to slow down or else he’s going to come on the spot. It’s… large, first of all, yes, but even if not Bandit would call it pretty. His insides twist in an oddly pleasant way as he fantasises about swallowing it whole while smiling up at Montagne, and he can’t help but run his fingers through the dark curls. He has no preference when it comes to that, though he’s noticed shaving usually makes the cock look bigger – in Montagne’s case he assumes it won’t make a difference.

It’s beckoning him. It’d be so easy to just grab and work it gently until it starts filling with blood and swelling (though Montagne is probably a shower because holy hell) and maybe Montagne won’t be able to resist once he wakes up, so it’s possible Bandit will finally get to sit on this beautiful piece of flesh and oh God the thought alone makes him sweat. He bites his lip and cautiously begins peeling the foreskin back, exposing the head and rendering a few veins more visible, and when it twitches against his fingers, he comes without warning.

His climax takes him completely by surprise but the small jump was apparently too fucking hot for him and so he starts spurting semen accompanied by suppressed gasps, trying to be as quiet as possible while the contractions in his lower abs make him tremble and wash over him in waves of pleasure. It’s short-lived, however, because even in his immediate post-orgasmic haze, he notices one big fucking problem.

He came all over Montagne’s belly.

Panting softly, he eyes the mess with rising panic, unsure how to proceed. Another, now noticeably more scared as well as guilty glance reassures him that alright, at least he’s still asleep and hopefully will never know Bandit jerked off to his basically unconscious body because he can imagine that might be a deal breaker. It might actually be one.

And yet, there’s an entirely different urge present as well, insane and thus fitting well to the rest of his actions so far. Montagne looks stunning like this, ripe for the taking, the white drops exceedingly pretty on his skin and – he just has to. He has to.

He’s quick about it, immediately moves the photo to a folder inside a folder inside another folder, hoping Mute won’t hack into his phone any time soon or if he does, at least not dig this deeply, and hastily puts the phone back onto the bedside table. That still doesn’t solve his problem, however. He imagines wiping him off might actually wake him, the necessary friction of tissue on skin too much even for a heavy sleeper like him. He cleans himself, tucks both of them back in and then does the only thing he can think of to get rid of the evidence.

At first he’s careful not to touch Montagne’s warm skin with his lips and tries to soundlessly suck the viscous liquid in, but some of it ran down Montagne’s side and he has no other choice than to resort to properly licking it away. It doesn’t help that it spattered all over him.

And then Montagne does a deep inhale and Bandit panics. As quickly as possible, he licks up the drops he hasn’t gotten to yet, masking his actions as wet kisses, now at least not needing to be quiet. He finishes with a swirl through Montagne’s navel right as he stretches and gives his abdomen a cursory wipe to ensure he hasn’t missed anything, pretending he’s merely stroking over his skin in affection.

“Good morning”, Montagne slurs, still sleep-drunk, and rubs his eyes, as of now totally and completely oblivious of the disaster which unfolded mere seconds ago. “That’s a nice way to be woken up, you know.”

Bandit wants to scream. “Yeah”, he replies as casually as he can, “I couldn’t sleep anymore and you were there.” To support his alibi of simply wanting to rouse Montagne with his quick kisses and licks, he peppers his chest with a few more when a hand attempts to gently pull him towards Montagne and fucking hell if they make out now, there’s no way he won’t be able to taste the come on Bandit’s tongue. “Wait, I, uh, need to pee. I’ll be right back.” He ducks out of the soft grasp and jumps off the bed.

“Everything alright?”, Montagne wants to know and great, now he’s worried, probably thinks Bandit dreamt badly when all he did was to -

“Peachy”, he responds without looking back and, once he’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror, hides his burning cheeks in his hands for a solid ten seconds before he can even consider looking himself in the eye. Cool water on his hot face helps fight down the mortification and he even remembers to wash his mouth. “This stays between us, understood?”, he addresses his mirror image quietly before daring to step back out of the bathroom.

Sinking into Montagne’s arms helps as it always does, yet it’s also an odd comfort to know that he not only got away with it but also has visual proof for the future. He’s probably going to make use of that photo during lonely nights.

Chapter Text

Montagne is talking to Fuze.

It’s a bit like looking into a mirror and Bandit decidedly doesn’t like what he’s seeing: the Uzbek’s resting bitch face not moving an inch as the tall Frenchman cheerily chews his ear off, both of them eating lunch away from everyone else at the end of one of the tables in the canteen, away from both the GIGN and the Spetsnaz, oddly enough. Normally, all the Russians stick together like mutated glue in that it can drink, hurl insults and laugh deafeningly, so seeing only one of them is decidedly strange. A little like spotting a lone porkling in the wild, even with the authenticity of a threat attached to it: the looming danger of its mother bursting out of the nearest shrub to smash faces. Still, Tachanka’s booming voice is directed at only two of his boys today.

He sits down and watches the odd couple suspiciously while pretending to be interested in whatever lame story Blitz is trying to tell him right now, nodding and huffing at the correct moments yet his gaze unwaveringly fixed on a vaguely uncomfortable-looking Fuze opposite of a smiling Montagne. It’s probably how Bandit looked in the beginning whenever the Frenchman (his lover, he corrects himself, still stunned at this reality, and barely manages to suppress a cringe when his brain helpfully supplies: his boyfriend) initiated a conversation with him: pained, disbelieving, sometimes even annoyed. He knows now it mostly stemmed from embarrassment upon Montagne knowing about some of his weaknesses while all Bandit had heard about his tall colleague was praise upon praise, so there was a certain power imbalance with which he was far from alright. It didn’t matter that Montagne didn’t know any details, him simply choosing to keep him company because he sensed Bandit needed it was enough.

So now he’s squinting at Fuze. Because he looks exactly like Bandit used to and hey, where did he end up? In Montagne’s bed. Faint nausea rolls over him and destroys what little appetite he initially had and with it gone, nothing keeps him at the table anymore. Ignoring Blitz’ questions as he wordlessly gets up to leave, he squeezes in past Montagne, drags his chair unnecessarily close and presses his side against his lover’s while fixing Fuze with a cool gaze which is returned just as coldly. “Hey”, he says and does his best not to sound bitchy right away because he’s not, definitely isn’t, merely curious, “what are you two talking about?”

Montagne remains blissfully oblivious to the glare the other two are exchanging and answers readily with a self-deprecating chuckle: “I was just telling him of my days as a piano player and before you ask, no, I never really got any good at it.”

Oh. Bandit didn’t even know he used to play the piano. But now Fuze knows and he even knew before him and his eyes narrow further. “Interesting”, he says neutrally, “I wanna get a soda, want to come with me?”

Under different circumstances, Montagne would jump up immediately at the mere mention of soda – it’s his guilty pleasure (well, one of them, since Bandit supposes he counts as one) and he’s enthusiastic about doing anything as long as it can be done in Bandit’s presence… only right now, he hesitates. Throws a questioning glance to Fuze who looks like he literally couldn’t care any less about them leaving. “I’m not done eating though, can’t you -”

“No. Let’s go.” And as Bandit rises, basically dragging Montagne with him, he thinks he sees Fuze’s lips twitch.

“Why are you talking to Fuze?”, Bandit demands to know once they’ve arrived at the vending machine stocked with a wide variety of unhealthy, fizzy drinks which make Bandit’s stomach hurt and his belches smell terrible.

“Didn’t you hear? He had a fight with Alexsandr yesterday and it was so bad they’re not on speaking terms right now. And since the other two basically worship the ground Alex walks on -”

“That still doesn’t answer my question”, he insists, much to Montagne’s surprise. Bandit rarely pries and hardly ever shows any interest in other people’s personal affairs.

“I didn’t want to leave him sitting all alone. Alex is not going to get mad at me for it and everyone deserves some company, don’t you think?”

This is when it hits him. Montagne is a fucking bleeding heart. He sees stray dogs and adopts them, just like he adopts stray operators apparently – this explains why there was a phase in which Montagne hung around with Mute, right in the beginning when the young Englishman made next to no attempts to befriend anyone.

Another revelation dawns on him. Does this mean -

“Am I a fucking charity case?”, he wants to know disgustedly. “Is that what this is?”

Montagne seems thoroughly confused now which is understandable as Bandit might potentially be jumping to conclusions faster than Montagne can watch. “Dom, please, what are you talking about?” Trying to put it into words would make him seem not only insane but also bitter, so he decides not to elaborate despite the nagging feeling gnawing at him. He mutely turns to the machine, punches a number in without looking and shoves a few coins into the slot, only to be graced with a can dropping filled with stuff he can’t stand. Worst of all, Montagne knows this. For a few seconds, Bandit tries to make the soda spontaneously combust with the force of a dark look alone while Montagne probably regards him with this stupid fucking expression he often gets when he thinks Bandit is being unreasonable and he is not, thank you very much, far from it because what if it’s all over once Montagne deems him integrated enough, just like he did with Mute once he befriended the disaster that is the rest of his team, and Bandit’s hands are getting cold now from holding the can and all he wants to do is punch Fuze’s ugly face in.

“Talk to me”, Montagne asks softly in that tone of voice which conveys he’s not going to judge and Bandit hates it because he never does. He doesn’t judge. He never discards Bandit’s mood swings as unreasonable or immature.

“Why do you like me?”

The words leave his mouth faster than he can scold himself for even thinking them yet they hit their mark, smooth Montagne’s expression because now he knows what he’s dealing with and can react accordingly. Regardless, his answer is not very reassuring: “I don’t know.”

“Wow”, Bandit replies sarcastically. Way to fill him with confidence.

“I wasn’t finished.” Smiling, Montagne mercilessly exploits his weakspot by reaching up to lightly scratch his beard, card his fingers through the coarse hairs and reduces Bandit to an almost-drooling mess in seconds. “I don’t have a simple answer for you, I’m afraid, but I just know that I do. Every room feels different to me when you’re in it. Watching you fall asleep next to me, on me, in my arms, has become the highlight of my day. And I’m happy about every second I get to spend with you. I can’t put into words why, though.”

Bandit blinks at him, pleasant sensations washing over him and making both his anger and his worry disappear effortlessly. He tries finding an answer for himself, why exactly he adores this man in front of him so much, yet only comes up with an earth-shattering feeling of deep-seated affection with which he’s afflicted in moments like these. Because you’re you, he thinks and leans into the gentle strokes over his cheek. “This is unfair”, he mumbles, making Montagne snicker and pull him into a quick hug he allows only because they’re half-hidden behind the vending machine. “You can have my fucking soda if you want it.”

“Gladly”, Montagne replies, amused, takes it and holds Bandit’s hand until it’s warmed up.

Montagne is talking to Fuze. Again.

They’ve just finished their physical training for the day, jumped, climbed and crawled their way through an obstacle course, ran until their muscles were on fire and even had to swim. Bandit doesn’t mind the exertion as it more often than not allows him to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep later yet he can’t deny he’s starting to feel his age – especially when he watches Rook ace the course with ease. He used to be very agile and extremely good at running but lost his touch a little (and if that isn’t ironic because running is most of what he seems to do these days), often lying to himself about picking up jogging again despite never following through. Right now, he’s comfortably exhausted and looking forward to maybe trading massages with Montagne, possibly dozing off to his broad hands kneading his shoulders and the thought alone makes a fluttery feeling rise in him.

Then he spots them, off to the side, Fuze actually having taken off his shirt and wiping his sweat off with a towel while Montagne talks at him with an oblivious friendliness – seemingly unaware of the way the Uzbek displays the muscles on his strong frame. But Bandit notices. Oh does he notice. He storms over with a scowl and just barely resists colliding with Montagne, keeping the momentum going and simply dragging him off.

“- more flexible, I’d suggest stretching regularly as it does indeed help”, the Frenchman finishes his sentence just as Bandit arrives and what. What kind of topic -

“Are you talking about how Fuze can’t even scratch his own back without dislocating half of his limbs?”, he butts in, shooting Fuze a dark look and earning a vaguely pained one from Montagne in return.

“Not everyone can be a lanky piece of shit like you”, Fuze replies politely.

“Being thin doesn’t have anything to do with being flexible”, Montagne interjects but stops talking as soon as Bandit starts bending his body to prove a point, reaching over his shoulder with one arm and around his back with the other, effortlessly hooking his fingers together. He does not miss Montagne’s intrigued expression and preens under his gaze, shows off a few more things and ignores Fuze’s growing amusement.

“Seems like those yoga lessons really paid off. Though you don’t seem all that enlightened to me.”

“You shut your whore mouth”, Bandit hisses and doesn’t manage to get the reactions he’s hoped for as Fuze is starting to grin now and Montagne looks almost shocked.

“Dom, if you’re tired, maybe you should call it a day”, he suggests hesitantly and it’s very clear he’s trying to keep the conversation civil.

A thought occurs to him and instead of protesting vehemently, he nods. “You’re right, I’m absolutely knackered, I can barely stand. Oh God am I tired. How am I even still awake?” He leans against his lover with enough force to make him take a step back, then swoons dramatically to which Montagne, as expected, puts his arms around him. “I don’t think I can actually make it back to my room. How about you carry me instead? Would you do me the favour? Otherwise I’ll probably faint on the way.”

Concern bleeds into Montagne’s confusion and he agrees, probably wondering why Bandit won’t allow him to hold his hand in public but carrying him is somehow okay, and so Bandit climbs on him, hugs him tightly and wraps his legs around his waist possessively. After a friendly goodbye, Montagne makes his way towards their quarters and Bandit can’t help but glare at Fuze over his boyfriend’s shoulder and give him the finger.

Fuze just snorts and rolls his eyes as if Bandit was a rebelling teenager.

“Why are you still talking to Fuze?”, he wants to know later in bed and no, he’s not pouting, he’s above that.

Montagne rolls onto his side, props himself up on one elbow and smiles down at him like the benevolent being he is, even reaches out with his other hand and lets it wander over Bandit’s chest, his warm palm travelling over his ribs, his abdomen and his sides, unknowingly making something further down twitch hopefully. Despite Bandit trying to push his hand lower through mere thought, it never dips into his underwear. “I enjoy his company. He’s gruff on the outside and may favour questionable methods, but he’s a good man.”

“He’s a fucking asshole”, Bandit objects and realises too late. Once again, he’s being mirrored and he doesn’t like it in the least. “Look, I have nothing against you talking to him -”

“It appears that you do.” Montagne is still smiling, still stroking over his skin. “You don’t need to be friends with him, I don’t expect you to.”

Is that what Montagne thinks is going on? He frowns and scoots a bit closer, stretches towards the tall man with the soft eyes and lets his own fall shut when they lock lips. It helps but ultimately does little to soothe the worry eating at him, even when Montagne leans over him, a comforting weight against his body and their kiss slow and intimate. He resolves to kill Fuze should he ever ask to borrow Montagne’s jacket.

He purrs into his lover’s mouth when he’s pulled closer, his dick (which has been hard ever since they went to bed, always is, always hopes for Montagne’s touch, for more) jumping enthusiastically at the gesture but when he pushes his hands under Montagne’s shirt, he’s stopped with a touch to his wrists. “I don’t want to tire you out”, Montagne murmurs and kisses his cheek, “if you can’t even walk back to your room, you should sleep as soon as possible.”

Now Bandit is pouting, the scowl on his face fierce even when they’ve found a comfortable position to sleep in because in his head, he’s cursing Fuze colourfully. Even when he knows he basically played himself.

~*~

Fuze has begun talking to Montagne.

It’s a development Bandit watches out of the corner of his eye with growing frustration as well as disgust. For a variety of reasons, he’s not ready to disclose any intimate details about Montagne and himself yet, not when everything still feels precarious, like a house of cards which needs no more than a light breeze to be destroyed. It’s been a long while since Bandit tried his hand at anything resembling a serious relationship, indicated by the fact that he wants to self destruct simply due to thinking of Montagne as his partner – everything developed so organically it’s hard to even pinpoint the moment when it evolved into more than a circumstantial friendship.

So no, letting Fuze know unambiguously that he shouldn’t even try, that his efforts will be in vain, that Montagne is taken and owned and protected from judgemental, callous idiots by no other than Bandit himself is out of the question. Even so, Fuze can brag about his latest ideas in the workshop as much as he wants, can keep inviting Montagne out for drinks, can seek his company and allow him to disclose personal facts even Bandit didn’t know (and what is up with that – it’s not like Bandit wouldn’t be interested in hearing about fucking music theory, no matter whether he’d understand a single word or not, he likes listening to Montagne and even if he falls asleep during it, Montagne would probably end up happy with the result). Yes, Fuze can do whatever he wants but it’ll be ultimately futile.

Or so Bandit hopes.

The worst thing is that Fuze seems to be completely aware of what he’s doing. For a few days, Bandit doubted his own senses but then he realised that the Uzbek catches him literally every time Bandit spies on him when he interacts with Montagne, so he must be on the lookout for him. Right? Whenever Bandit rushes over to either try and dominate the conversation or abduct Montagne to rescue him from death by boredom, there’s a minuscule smirk on Fuze’s face which only grows over time. Not only that, eventually Bandit has to come up with more and more creative solutions to stop the two from conversing because Montagne is beginning to react to his presence with a vague weariness which makes Bandit’s insides ache. He’s on the best way to making Montagne sick of him, he knows this, is genuinely starting to annoy him and yet he cannot stop. Not when the alternative is losing him to Fuze.

And so he deliberately runs into a door. It fucking hurts and the bruise is impressively colourful but at least he has Montagne’s attention all to himself for a bit, brows furrowed in worry, voice gentle, hands warm and pacifying. Once, he starts a fight with Blitz which isn’t all that difficult to do – both of them are pretty much always ready to beat each other up, partly because they’re mostly shitheads to each other, knowing how to push each other’s buttons, and partly because they know it helps them both as they usually end up feeling better and neither of them holds a grudge afterwards. It’s a foolproof system to let off steam and in this case, Bandit abuses it to get Montagne to intervene. What he didn’t factor in would be the slightly disappointed look on the Frenchman’s face, the underlying worry, the quiet questions once they’re alone. Is he okay? Is there something he’d like to talk about?

No. The fucking answer is no. To both.

He soaks up every little bit of affection like a sponge but it’s never enough, no amount of kisses or cuddling is enough to satisfy him. They still haven’t moved past jerking each other off despite Bandit’s insistent pushing for more – he knows how seriously Montagne treats sex, knows what it means to him and hopes that by coercing him into taking the next step, he can somehow… bind his lover to himself. So he can later say: but we slept together. It has to mean something. I have to mean something to you.

It’s pathetic and he’s well aware and still, whenever Montagne touches him, he melts. One time, they’re on their side, his back pressed against Montagne’s chest, ass grinding against his erection while they kiss a little awkwardly over Bandit’s shoulder. His moans are unselfconscious, his movements instinctual and unrestrained, and he pictures Montagne pushing into him instead of against him and comes entirely too fast, his lust far from sated even after spilling all over Montagne’s fist. He moves to undress the tall man and wants nothing more than to have his hard shaft somewhere inside him, doesn’t matter whether it’s his mouth or further down and all that Montagne probably sees is someone unthinking, someone horny who just wants to feel good while, to Bandit himself, his actions are screaming a variety of things he’d never say out loud. I don’t want to lose you. I want you to look at me. I want you to know how much I -

As always, Montagne says no. And so Bandit has no other choice but to try and convey his thoughts otherwise, lap at Montagne’s nipples like a cat, leave wet kisses all over his chest and neck, relish each and every noise and tremble until he’s told to stop the teasing. And it’s not enough. It never is.

It’s pub night. Normally, this means Bandit accompanies one group, then floats back and forth between others depending on where the action is, whether there are bets or challenges being made, whether anyone’s getting too drunk and disclosing entirely too many personal details and more often than not, he ends up among total strangers who are suddenly his best friends. While he doesn’t mind the presence of most of his co-workers, the large majority are nothing more than that: colleagues with whom he shares a bond closer than other people at their jobs and yet it doesn’t mean he has to share most of his free time with them too. If he did, they might notice him lingering a little too long now and then or watching displays of camaraderie with an unreadable expression.

Tonight, he hopes to get drunk enough to drag Montagne into a corner, a restroom or a dark alley, extricate him from his warm circle of friends to possibly explain himself or do something stupid but nice so that his lover, in his infinite wisdom, understands his problem without him having to spell it out and fixes it somehow. He’s unknowingly great at fixing things, especially where they concern Bandit, has so far managed to wish most of his dreams away, largely solved the issue of Bandit basically not sleeping and is generally on the right track to just… fix Bandit as a whole.

So he’s looking forward to it yet tries not to get his hopes up simultaneously which results in an odd mixture of excitement and indifference when he asks Montagne when they’re going to leave. (He’s only seen Montagne tipsy once and it was all reddened cheeks and loose limbs; he smiled more and talked less though he seemed at peace with himself and Bandit wanted to curl up against him and ignore the pulsing need for activity and distraction for a minute.)

The hesitation he gets in return doesn’t bode well and his immediate suspicions are confirmed when he receives the apologetic answer: “I won’t be joining you today, Dom. There’s a film I was planning on watching again and since Fuze isn’t going out either, we wanted -”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”, he interrupts Montagne harsher than intended.

“It’s a French film.” And oh, alright, that’s a fair point actually, Bandit remembers the last two they watched which both were decidedly too artsy for him, resulting in nothing but incomprehension and derision on his part. He later made the mistake of mentioning his dismay to Rook who sided with Montagne straightaway because apparently Rook’s parents watch the same kind of stupid films and only a day later, Doc called him a philistine to his face. He’s been properly put off French cinema ever since but there’s something more important going on right now because hold on, did Montagne just say he was going to watch a film together with that ass-kissing Uzbek who’s been stalking him?

“I love French films”, Bandit lies through his teeth with no hesitation and realises his mistake a little too late as Montagne was the first person in his life whom he informed on the very opposite of his previous statement. A sceptical brow lifts. “I mean – I’ll give them another chance. I’ll watch it with you, right now, let’s go.”

As far as spontaneous plans go, it’s not the worst – he’ll have to survive probably two hours of self-enlightened bullshit but he’ll do it by Montagne’s side which pretty much makes up for everything. Since almost no one will be around, Bandit might even go so far as to put his head on the Frenchman’s shoulder or take his hand and trace the lines in his palm and fucking Christ, if that’s something he’s looking forward to, he’s definitely too far gone. Besides, isn’t a film the perfect time to make a move? What if Fuze really was -

“Alright, you go on ahead, I’ll find him.”

Bandit doesn’t understand right away. “Find whom?” And then it clicks and oh Lord, does this mean he’ll not only have to watch a French film without being allowed to touch Montagne in any way but also in Fuze’s presence because no. That wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t his intention at all, in fact it’s almost the exact opposite and how come Montagne is this averse to being rude to people and letting them know they’re butting in and kinda third-wheeling and maybe he’ll have to break Fuze’s nose after all.

In Bandit’s mind, there was a blissful universe where Montagne and he resolved to allow an extremely questionable film to wash over them as they progressively become more affectionate with each other until Bandit maybe ends up leaning against his chest and falls asleep to the dreamy atmosphere and minimalistic soundtrack of some narcissistic director’s creative ejaculate. This reality existed for about twenty seconds (until he heard Fuze was going to join them) and has since been shattered, trampled and pissed on as well as completely reversed.

Because the film is actually decent. Even better, Bandit finds the comedy extremely entertaining – despite or possibly because of the fact that he’s German. It’s set in one apartment only with an extremely small cast and starts out as a lovely dinner party among old friends and family but the whole thing devolves into one hilariously absurd argument after the other when one of the men (whose wife is expecting) reveals his plans to call their son Adolphe. The witty banter especially resonates with Bandit who always appreciates when people are able to insult others without them noticing immediately and so instead of falling asleep, he’s suppressing the odd snicker.

Suppressing because the other half of his momentary fantasy is crushed as well.

Fuze might as well be a mountain range separating the two lovers both with how unmoving he is and also how fucking in the way. He sat down next to Montagne on the couch without asking and – when Bandit glared at him, took the remaining seat on his other side and unsubtly nudged and jabbed him in the side – did nothing but grin slightly. It was crystal clear he wasn’t going to move and Montagne, ever polite, wasn’t either, and so they end up occupying one of the three sofas, all of them sitting uncomfortably upright and Bandit wishing for Fuze to spontaneously develop a few kidney stones.

Worst of all, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself. This is the part which infuriates Bandit to no end – for someone who goes out of his way to unsuccessfully (if Bandit has any say in it, and he makes sure he does) strike up conversations with Montagne, the Uzbek doesn’t give off the impression of actually liking it. Bandit isn’t petty or self-centred enough to assume Fuze is fucking with him but it sure looks like it sometimes. Right now is the perfect example: Montagne and Bandit usually chuckle over the same lines whereas Fuze looks like someone who’d be shot if he moved a single muscle in his face.

Just when Bandit decides to fake a fever maybe or to put one of his arms over the backrest in the hopes Montagne gets the hint and does the same so they can at least hold hands behind Fuze’s back or something (and even his inner voice laughs at him for this), Montagne pauses the film and declares he’s thirsty, would like to go get something to drink and it’s the perfect opportunity to get him to elope with Bandit by bribing him with… well, nothing. He’s incorruptible, Bandit can’t lure him in with the promise of sex or food or alcohol, can’t suggest anything he wouldn’t normally do for Montagne because either Bandit does everything for Montagne already or Montagne knows he wouldn’t enjoy it and therefore refuses to accept. Which explains why Bandit had to resort to admittedly pitiful methods to gain his attention.

“You know what, I don’t actually like the film that much”, Fuze replies calmly, “I’m gonna go join the others. See you later.” And Bandit could kiss him. At least up to the point where Fuze throws him a meaningful and mocking glance and adds: “Have fun, you two.”

Does he – he can’t know. There is no way the Uzbek would assume they… after all, Montagne is an upstanding citizen and Bandit is, well, Bandit, but for good measure he glares after Fuze all the way to the door and only relaxes once it clicks shut behind him.

“Ah, what a shame”, Montagne sighs, oblivious as usual, and he sounds so disappointed and embarrassed for enjoying something which others quite clearly don’t that Bandit starts climbing on him before he’s even finished his sentence, “I really like this film, I thought -”

He’s silenced by an insistent mouth and an even more insistent tongue for which he wasn’t prepared yet receives willingly, even allows Bandit to push him into a horizontal position and straddle him while their tongues are dancing with each other, all of Bandit’s pent up frustration breaking free. Montagne tries to slow him down, pets his hair, holds him tight but it only works in small increments. Bandit needs this, feels every reassuring stroke over his back soothe the fear inside him and so he prolongs the kiss as much as possible.

“Why were you gonna watch this with him alone?”, he hears himself murmur against Montagne’s throat and curses himself all through the following short silence.

“Dom.” A hand gently lifts his chin so he has no choice but to gaze into blue eyes filled with a mixture of mirth, adoration and astonishment. “Are you jealous?”

How dare he. Outrage creeps into Bandit’s expression, just like a suspicious warmth indicating blood flowing to his cheeks but he ignores it in favour of pure indignation. “What? Me?! Are you nuts? There’s no fucking -”

“Oh no.” Montagne is disregarding his vehement protest completely, his face softening. “I’m so sorry I didn’t notice sooner. Oh, Dom. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he even likes me as a person.”

“I wasn’t -” A suffocating embrace cuts him off and allows him to hide his burning face once more. “Look, I -”

“This explains a lot, actually”, Montagne continues with a low chuckle, “I was wondering why you were behaving so weirdly.” Bandit keeps trying to stammer a reply yet fails to come up with any sort of excuse – probably because he can’t really provide one. “Dom, it’s alright. You should’ve told me earlier, we could’ve talked about it.”

“No”, he grumbles weakly, “definitely not.”

“There is no one but you. There is not going to be anyone but you. Especially not when you’re this adorable.”

Great. Bandit feels like a complete and utter idiot by now and Montagne isn’t helping. “Don’t call me that”, he objects, pouting and fighting down the overwhelming relief threatening to show on his face because he’s not going to let Montagne know how worried he really was, not now when it all seems laughable in retrospect. Of course Montagne likes him, of course he likes him the most, he’s told Bandit other, much more intimate things which he hasn’t shared with anyone else on the base, he knows this, they spend almost every night snuggled up against each other. There never was anything to worry about.

And then the door to the lounge opens again, making Bandit freeze. He contemplates throwing himself off the sofa so they won’t be found in such a compromising position but somehow doubts it’d look any less suspicious. Since the back of the couch is facing the door, he’s got good chances that as long as he can get the person not to walk into the room fully, they won’t see anything, therefore he simply sits up abruptly and realises too late that he’s still blushing like mad.

Regardless, he almost rolls his eyes when he sees who it is. “Forgot my phone”, Fuze says laconically and refuses to move from where he’s standing.

“Then come and get it”, Bandit responds, braver than he feels. Montagne’s reassurances have imbued him with courage and a certain recklessness – who cares if Fuze sees, maybe he’ll stop antagonising Bandit once he witnesses how stupidly happy they are with each other.

Fuze’s lips stretch into a lazy grin and he simply shakes his head. “I’d rather not see either of your dicks, if I’m honest. Just toss it over.”

Oh. Bandit blinks. Oh, he knows. The past days (even weeks) flash before Bandit’s eyes, the way he puffed himself up in front of Montagne whenever Fuze was around, his slapstick performances, all the flimsy excuses and ridiculous attention-seeking behaviour. Even if Fuze hadn’t known at first, he must’ve noticed a pattern and Bandit was probably far from subtle about it and okay, yeah, maybe he might as well have written it on his own forehead because Jesus. He even sympathises with Fuze getting a kick out of riling him up – he would’ve done the same in his situation, if he’s honest. But despite knowing, he can’t have told anyone, Bandit would’ve noticed the odd glances, there’s no doubt about it. So for some reason, Fuze respected their decision and kept quiet.

Maybe he’s not so bad after all.

Bandit plucks the device in question from the coffee table and carefully throws it so Fuze can easily catch it out of the air. “Get a room”, Fuze says and Bandit shoots back: “Get a life.”

Both of them nod slightly in an odd, non-verbal agreement and Bandit is sure that Fuze won’t bother either of them in the future, just like Fuze now knows Bandit will have his back should he need it.

“Seriously though, don’t fuck on the couch”, the Uzbek adds gruffly before turning and leaving, this time for good.

With a sigh and the last of Bandit’s tension seeping out of him, he turns back to Montagne who’s watching him attentively. “So”, he starts cautiously, “Fuze knows about us now, hm?”

Bandit nods mutely and lies back down, hums when broad hands welcome his body readily and he realises once again with shocking clarity just how much he’s come to depend on Montagne – a thought which would normally send him running. He thought he preferred being on his own but it seems he’s tired of it all, tired of watching his own back, tired of fighting with no one by his side. In Montagne’s presence, he can rest. The sentiment is comparatively new and will take some time getting used to, but all he knows is that he cannot put into words how glad he is to experience what it’s like to be cared for by someone this reliable, understanding and patient. He’s not ready for the whole world to know this, afraid it’ll leave him (or worse, Montagne) vulnerable, but he might get there eventually.

“Are you okay with this?”

Worry is still colouring his lover’s voice who probably remembers all the instances with Bandit scrambling to hide their affection and Bandit is content to make it evaporate into nothing by simply nodding and saying: “Yeah. I am.”

Despite it being vaguely uncomfortable, they keep still for a few minutes, bask in the cosy silence between them. However, Bandit is sure Montagne is soon going to bring up all the things he did to draw and, most importantly, keep his attention, so to pre-emptively stop him, he suggests: “We can watch the rest of the film now. I actually don’t mind it.”

And Montagne just smiles widely in return.

Chapter Text

Montagne supposes it would hurt Bandit’s reputation.

Then again, hurt implies affect negatively and while the German indubitably would see it that way, Montagne is pretty sure it’d be an improvement – almost anything would be, at this point. Bandit is known for quite a few things ranging from rumours about his time undercover to his penchant for eating live insects for the right kind of money. He’s part black sheep, part jokester, part ‘badass’, and from what Montagne has seen during their time in Rainbow, Bandit would like to preserve this impression – though to what end is a mystery to him, especially since he does seem to open up to others eventually, if Montagne himself is anything to go by. Though he probably isn’t. Among all the people with whom Bandit regularly spends his time, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

Which is exactly the reason why they’re not telling anyone, he supposes. Frankly, he can’t imagine his own friends and teammates to be thrilled to hear the news, quite the opposite, because especially with most of the younger operators, any mention of Bandit alone causes alarm as if he could be summoned by saying his name three times in front of a mirror. It’s possible people would publicly disapprove or just throw them judging side glances and while Montagne isn’t keen on potentially having to defend his – as he feels – entirely reasonable choice, he’d gladly do it, happily suffer the whispering behind his back, be content even as he garners disbelief and dismay. Because it’d mean he could finally take Bandit’s hand and hold it, shield it from the cold outside and, more importantly, the cold inside, interlace their fingers and display his support of this humble and courageous man who fights every day, even if it’s against invisible enemies.

But he can’t. He’s not allowed to. Because Bandit’s or his own reputation might suffer or because Bandit is embarrassed or because of some other reason he’s not disclosing. And it’s alright. Montagne will give him a few days to mull it over, then raise the topic once again. They’re past hiding, he feels, the fragile thing between them strengthened to the point where it’s going to withstand anything hurled against it by the people around them. Especially because Montagne is firmly convinced they won’t attack it at all.

It’s not alright, as it turns out. In fact, it’s a rift threatening to break asunder even further and as long as neither of them joins the other at the last second, they’ll end up on different sides. And Montagne is usually ready to compromise, far from obstinate and always trying to mediate in conflicts, but Bandit is stubborn and pigheaded and an idiot and categorically refuses to take a single step in Montagne’s direction. He seems scared somehow, as if revealing this part of his life would leave him vulnerable and Montagne can actually partly understand it. In the circles Bandit normally moves in, it’s a dog-eat-dog atmosphere, every private detail is a tasty morsel to be picked apart and cause for hurtful mockery – yet their colleagues in Rainbow are better than that. Sadly, Bandit doesn’t seem to agree.

He gets pissed whenever Montagne mentions it or anything related, has stormed out before which is the worst thing he can do because then Montagne won’t know how or where to find him nor in what state. So he’s dropped it for the moment in favour of soothing Bandit’s fears as best as he can while pushing his own dissatisfaction aside. It’s not as important as Bandit’s well-being yet it eats at him every time they’re in the presence of others. Bandit has started to refuse his jacket, refuse any of his help. It stings and sows seeds of doubt which, once fully grown, will be reaped to form a conclusion too worrying to pay it any attention for now. Montagne wants to stay by his side. He really wants to. But he might start wondering whether Bandit wants him to as well.

And then he goes down.

All of their missions are high risk, so it’s no wonder people get injured though it hasn’t happened to Montagne in a while, not this seriously, not to the point where he looks down at his own body and thinks all this blood belongs on the inside, not here. The pain is unbearable but the icy feeling is worse, indicates serious blood loss together with the dizziness and his numbed mind. Around him, the others are shouting, coordinating, adapting to this new, unexpected situation but they’re used to changing plans on the fly so he’s not worried about them. No more than usual anyway.

Except for one person. Amidst all the hullabaloo, Bandit is an island of calm, blinks down at him with an unreadable expression while reloading his gun without looking. He doesn’t get swept up in the frenzy surrounding Montagne, his gaze doesn’t waver when Ash calls for Doc in a panic, calls an ambulance maybe, calls someone with the clipped voice she only uses when something went wrong; he doesn’t look up when Thatcher barks out a few orders meant to reorganise their assault and herds the others together. No, Bandit stays where he is, gun dangling loosely between his fingers, pointed downwards, and blinks at Montagne.

He says nothing. All he does is turn around and leave the room, ignores the voices yelling after him, probably outruns Ash hurrying to catch him before he does something dumb, on his way to probably do something dumb. Montagne doesn’t have the energy to speak, is pressing down on one of the gunshot wounds to at least slow down the bleeding, and that’s when the gunfire starts. The noises are manifold, there’s a small explosion shaking the ground on which Montagne is lying, people are screaming and he’s not sure who it is, and he momentarily loses consciousness.

When he drifts back into reality, he’s on a stretcher and being carried out of the dilapidated building. His head lolls to the side and he catches sight of a few silhouettes, their actions incomprehensible to him until he makes out two slim figures in the middle of a once grey, now red-walled room, one of them viciously stomping down on a lifeless lump on the floor while the other tries to put an end to the display.

“He’s dead, stop!”, one of them yells, it’s Ash and she sounds genuinely disturbed. “For fuck’s sake, stop, he’s dead, he’s already -”

Just as the second figure turns its head in Montagne’s direction, they’ve passed the doorway and he’s greeted with blinding sunlight. He himself isn’t dead yet, that much he knows, the people around him seem to have come to the same conclusion as they’re reassuring him of this fact and just as the doors to the ambulance are about to be pulled shut, an apparition jumps in.

The original colour of his clothes is indiscernible because right now, it’s nothing but crimson and dripping onto the pristine floor. He looks almost angelic, his face deathly pale and in stark contrast to the rest of him – but if he’s an angel, he’s one of revenge, selectively raining death upon his foes but sparing the few deemed worthy of his protection. Despite the fact Montagne’s hands are just as bloodied as his gloves, Bandit pulls off the layer that would’ve separated their direct skin contact, reveals clean, untainted skin and immediately grabs Montagne’s hand, ignoring the red smears it causes.

He’s warm. For once, his skin is a source of heat Montagne desperately needs, it spreads through him like a wildfire and manages to pull the corners of his mouth upwards. With the last of his strength, he grips the warm fingers, squeezes them and only just catches Bandit’s words before falling unconscious again.

“Don’t you fucking die on me.”

When Montagne wakes, he’s greeted by Bandit’s face first and the rest of his team (plus a few others) second. Literally everyone excluding the German is wearing an expression made up of a wild mixture containing disbelief, vague fear, overwhelming relief, confusion and concern; all of them glance at Bandit now and then or exchange worried looks. It’s a sight usually found whenever a drunk person acts up in public and everyone is too intimidated to step in and it almost makes Montagne laugh.

Because all Bandit is doing is beaming at him.

“Hey, you’re awake”, he states the obvious in a ridiculously cheery tone of voice Montagne has heard only a few times prior to this and always in the confines of one of their rooms, “you probably feel like something ate you and then shat you out, eh? I brought you that dark chocolate you like so much and if you want, I can get you fresh coffee as well. You’re not supposed to have any but fuck the doctors.” While talking, he strokes Montagne’s hair and cheek as gently as he always does and even in his muddled, drug induced dizzy state, he understands. It’s an apology. The most effective apology because there’s no talking they’ll have to do anymore, Bandit’s affectionate gestures speak volumes and express more than simple words ever could. Montagne leans into his touch and they smile at each other, lost in their own world for a second until he remembers everyone else who are now staring at them as if Bandit had started stripping on Montagne’s hospital bed.

“I’ll take the coffee”, he rasps, his throat dry, and Bandit nods. His expression is fond and completely unbothered by the presence of their colleagues which is an indication of how much he must’ve agonised over Montagne’s state in the time that’s passed. Regardless, he seems to feel nothing but relief and contentment upon seeing him awake, and so he hums to himself as he leaves the room. His shoes have been cleaned but even now, there’s specks of red on them.

Before anyone else can say anything, Montagne turns to them with a small sigh. “Isn’t he endearing?”

And this leaves everyone speechless.

Chapter Text

Montagne says it first.

He doesn’t mind not receiving the reply he hoped for because he trusts he will in time, and besides, it’s absolutely worth the look on Bandit’s face anyway. He’s been waiting for the perfect moment for a while, considered uttering the three little words in moments of peace: when Bandit rests his head on his uninjured shoulder while they’re watching TV still in the hospital, whenever they’re curled up together after he’s been discharged, after waking Bandit up by petting his hair, in the safety of darkness when trying to sleep, between gentle kisses or right after they’ve stroked each other to completion.

(Allowing Bandit to see him fully naked for the first time is a step he takes not without trepidation, as silly as it might sound – he’s explored his lover’s body extensively and familiarised himself with all the scars on it, the fine hairs and birthmarks, the soft skin, the black ink on it and the muscles working beneath it. Bandit is beautiful in his entirety, past fights just like certain mistakes immortalised as silvery slashes or dots, some memories voluntarily painted on as violent motifs wrapping around his upper arms, torso and thighs. Montagne never gets tired of looking, and yet this rich canvas intimidates him because he knows he can’t compare. He’s not in bad shape but his age shows, he never quite overcame his embarrassment about the stretch marks on his shoulders from growing too fast and, unlike Bandit, he hasn’t marked his body with tattoos.

Even so, Bandit is speechless. He touches every part of Montagne which isn’t covered with bandages almost reverently, and eventually only says: “Are you kidding me? I thought you were a shower, not a grower. My God.” And just like that, most of Montagne’s worries dissipate.)

When he eventually says it, it’s while they’re at a nearby open air event – a mixture of live music and the slightly more exotic kind of street food, a few stands offering South American delicacies, one food stall specialising in samosas, yet another advertises vegan burgers in intriguing variations. It’s not too special, a bit pricey and the music’s nothing more than covers of family friendly pop songs but the atmosphere is comfortable and the low-hanging sun warms their backs. Bandit gets himself some empanadas while mocking Montagne’s vegan choice but it turns out they have to swap because the filling is too spicy for Bandit’s sensitive taste buds. He refuses to admit it but Montagne is pretty sure he likes the burger. They share a few samosas with different fillings as well while Montagne drinks cider (it reminds him of French cidre which he loved as an adolescent) and Bandit beer, though they share two cocktails later, both what Bandit would (and does) call girly yet he drinks most of them.

They went early to have some time to themselves as a few of their friends are joining them later so they don’t keep drinking for now, simply sit at one of the tables, talking about food and people and memories and suddenly Montagne realises this is real. They’re spending time together in public, Bandit wasn’t ashamed to mention to his teammates that he wants to enjoy part of it with Montagne alone and despite blushing and averting his gaze, Bandit didn’t pull his hand away when Montagne took it earlier. They’re actually doing this and the realisation dazzles him for a moment, has Bandit frown and ask whether everything is alright and that’s when Montagne says it.

He doesn’t mind not receiving the usual reply to it, a reply he hoped for, because when their friends join them, Bandit almost acts drunk, greets them excitedly, informs them about the fact that all the food is delicious, recommends one of the cocktails and even threatens to buy Blitz a burger when he expresses some doubts. He’s energetic, cheerful and beaming despite looking almost shocked at Montagne’s words fifteen minutes ago and it’s clear they are what caused the sudden joy which is met with a wide range of emotions from his teammates, anything between suspicion and earnest concern. And when Montagne kisses him at the end of the evening, puts an arm around his waist and initiates a scorching kiss, makes Blitz trail off mid-sentence and prompts stunned silence from those around him, Bandit kisses back just as enthusiastically.

The reply comes when he doesn’t expect it.

It has a bit of a lead up, begins with Bandit nibbling at the side of his neck in passing while Montagne is talking to someone else, continues with both of them side-eyeing each other across the room and morphs into the real thing when Bandit starts kissing him as soon as he closes the door behind them. They’ve had sex a few times now and it’s been wonderful every time, Bandit slowly coming apart under Montagne’s ministrations, beginning to really let loose and enjoy the journey instead of racing to their destination, allowing Montagne to set the pace as well as the mood. The latter is extremely important to him, he wants to be able to observe Bandit’s reactions, ensure both of them are getting the best possible experience, wants to kiss him endlessly and hold him close as they near their climax before ideally reaching it simultaneously.

After their first time, he expected Bandit to vaguely complain yet all he seemed to do was flop onto the bed and reevaluate his life choices, so it seems he did a good job.

By now, Bandit is a ball of impatience and excess energy as usual, ripping Montagne’s clothes off, dragging the both of them to the bed and shoving his tongue down Montagne’s throat, straddles him to push their erections together and sucks on him eagerly but once Montagne pushes a third finger inside him a while later, Bandit becomes as tame as a kitten. He mewls, helplessly paws at Montagne and purrs when he receives kisses or pets – by the time Montagne has lubed up his own erection, Bandit would roll over at his every command.

This night, once Montagne has completely buried himself in the tight heat and begun with a few tentative thrusts, Bandit inhales deeply, ribcage expanding and eyes widening. At first, he thinks something is wrong but Bandit urges him to continue, proves with a series of throaty moans that he is in fact enjoying himself immensely. He spreads out under Montagne, grabs the sheets with outstretched arms, lets his legs fall to the side of Montagne’s hips and just lounges on his back, content to let his lover do all the work as his eyes roll back into his skull. He seems to be in complete and utter ecstasy and the sight is so viciously erotic that Montagne can’t tear his gaze away, simply complies to the whispered pleas and sticks with the rhythm which is somewhere between fast and leisurely, keeps the angle and pushes deep inside – brushing over Bandit’s sweet spot if his involuntary noises are any indication.

Montagne finds most of his fulfilment in bed in the enjoyment of his partner, so seeing Bandit this open, vulnerable, receptive, is addicting to the point where he promises himself to keep going until Bandit tells him to stop, ignoring potential muscle cramps because this, this is absolutely breathtaking. It even makes him curious about what it is that Bandit feels, whether it’s possible for Montagne to feel the same as it looks elating. But for the moment he focuses on his own movements, on Bandit’s hips beneath his palms, on the glassy-eyed look of pure pleasure on the familiar face – he hasn’t seen this expression before and he’s certain Bandit would be drooling were he lying on his front; he’s almost completely slack and merely whines quietly with each thrust, with each time Montagne fills his insides up completely.

A full-body trembling is all the warning Montagne gets, suddenly Bandit clenches around him and tenses up with a load groan and then he comes unexpectedly, without either of them having touched his erection which leaked profusely the entire time, without any further stimulation than Montagne’s thick shaft inside him. His legs trap Montagne in a vice-like grip as a few waves of shudders wrack his body, cause his dick to jump repeatedly and shoot sperm all over himself with each of them. He looks both blissful and completely in disbelief as he shakes, still impaled, and doesn’t calm down for an impressively long while, even throws his head back, bares his throat and lets out a few strangled moans while his fingers and legs twitch. It’s intense, so intense Montagne holds his breath through most of it, merely watches and memorises every little detail: the greedy gulps of air, the fluttering muscles, the copious amount of semen already running down Bandit’s sides.

They relax together, Montagne ignoring the insistent pull to keep going in favour of stroking over Bandit’s thighs, leaning over him and licking over his lips until he has the presence of mind to allow entry, kiss back lazily and hum into it. Even when they part again a while later, Bandit blinks up at him as if he’s still incapable of coherent speech, so Montagne gingerly withdraws and gently wipes Bandit clean as he simply continues lying on the bed bonelessly. Unsurprisingly, the first words escaping his mouth are: “Holy fucking shit.”

“That looked wonderful”, Montagne replies and joins him, drags him close and drapes the blanket over both of them to prevent Bandit from radiating all his body heat into the void.

“I have no idea what -”, Bandit interrupts himself, shakes his head slightly, “I mean, I know what just happened. I just thought I – you know, it’s never happened before.”

Montagne is immediately intrigued. “Has it not?”

“No. Never. I thought people who claimed to be able to come hands free were bullshitting me.”

“Is that what it’s called?”

This time, Bandit catches on, probably notices something in the tone of his voice. “Don’t – we’re not gonna make a habit out of this. Look at me, I’m fucking useless. This isn’t the point of sex.” Montagne respectfully disagrees but keeps his opinion to himself. “I refuse to let you go to sleep horny, not again. Just give me a few minutes, alright?”

It takes exactly one for Bandit to fall asleep in Montagne’s arms.

The next day, Bandit is practically glued to his side. He is woken up by a killer blowjob which ends with him coming down Bandit’s throat (a feat in itself, Montagne’s previous partners have struggled) and it continues in that vein for the rest of the day. Montagne reads through a report while Bandit is draped over his back; when they eat lunch, Bandit’s feet are in his lap; when Montagne talks to someone in the lounge, Bandit stretches out on him; when they have to finally separate, Bandit rubs his cheek on his shoulder as an odd goodbye. He’s loving, peaceful, unable to get rid of the persistent smile on his lips and quite obviously freaking everyone out.

Normally, a happy Bandit equals a deranged Bandit but in this case, Montagne knows better. He bathes in all the attention he’s getting and gladly reciprocates it, so when Bandit calls him over to taste some soda he bought, Montagne doesn’t think twice about it.

“It’s actually really good”, Bandit reassures him and simply puts the can up to Montagne’s lips, tips it and allows him a taste before going back to drinking it himself. They manage not to spill a drop, have practised numerous times before when Bandit wanted to show him in excruciating detail how awful pretty much all British brands of beer are – the first few times, Montagne’s hands always happened to be full so Bandit usually caused a spillage, but after that, they got more adept at it and somehow made a habit out of it whenever Bandit has a can in his hands.

The stares, however, have worsened. Montagne supposes it’s a mix of their familiarity, the way Bandit’s voice softens as soon as he addresses Montagne and the fact that Bandit shared something, anything with him. He doesn’t mind and his lover doesn’t either, merely awaits his judgement with raised brows and an expectant expression.

“It is good”, Montagne agrees, it’s surprisingly refreshing and cool, some sort of lemonade and though he’d rather explore the taste of it on Bandit’s tongue, he’s content with this alternative as well. They share a quick nod and then Bandit returns to his conversation as if nothing happened and as if the people to whom he’s talking aren’t gaping at him like fish out of water.

Montagne turns to leave but is stopped by a hand on his wrist just as he’s about to step through the door. Bandit melts against him momentarily, buries his face in the crook of Montagne’s neck and murmurs it, almost too quiet to hear but it’s the reply Montagne has been waiting for and so he laughs in relief, kisses Bandit’s temple and ignores the attention they’re attracting.

Because no matter what anyone says, he knows how adorable Bandit is, has witnessed it himself and therefore no one could ever change his mind.

Chapter Text

Bandit likes Montagne’s room.

It’s the on the comfortable side of tidy, not compulsively neat like Doc’s nor as barren as Pulse’s, more lived-in and welcoming without too many things strewn about. It’s not busy to look at, few decorations but all of them personal or specifically chosen, some photos of family, some of colleagues in GIGN, a few newspaper articles. Montagne collects small trinkets which ultimately don’t serve a practical purpose but are either beautifully crafted or possess an intricate mechanism: a puzzle box, a construction made of nothing but cogs, all movable simultaneously, an ancient kaleidoscope. He’s a fan of codes as well, even has a secret compartment built into one of the drawers in his desk but nothing interesting or blackmail-worthy in it – Bandit checked it as soon as he was left alone in his room for the first time.

The atmosphere is quiet. Thinking about it, it’s probably the calming effect the room in its entirety has on Bandit, the furniture and all the personal items exuding a strange tranquillity so unlike anywhere else in the base. Probably anywhere else full stop. He likes just existing here, an oasis of peace amid his otherwise eventful life where he can do whatever he wants, where lazing is allowed and nothing expected of him. It’s a little like being on holiday – his only obligation is to enjoy his time, everything else is voluntary and every activity viable. Even if it’s ultimately useless, like encoding short messages with the help of one of the many books Montagne has collected on the topic and then depositing them in the secret compartment before burning the original. He doesn’t think Montagne uses it, ever, so a morbid part of him imagines himself dying on the job and leaving the sheets of paper behind as a gift.

Here’s something else Montagne doesn’t know: it’s remarkably easy to break into his room. Bandit usually manages in less than ten seconds, sometimes just to check whether it really is that easy, sometimes to drink his coffee alone while doing some paperwork, sometimes to just curl up on the couch and think of nothing for a bit. His own room is the exact opposite of a safe haven, it’s a temple of doubt and its gods are fear and anger. He probably conditioned himself to feel uncomfortable in it, associates it with loneliness and the aftermath of arguments he laughed off though parts of it cut deep. This one… these four walls he associates with nothing but comfort.

A small click makes him jerk awake out of a light doze – he’s been playing around on his phone while outstretched on the sofa and decided to snooze a little but didn’t expect Montagne to return, just like his lover quite clearly didn’t expect him to be here, judging by his astonished expression. He sits up and pretends to be wide awake even though he feels like he slept for hours, mouth wet on one side where he drooled on a pillow and him squinting into the bright light which Montagne, ever considerate, turns off in favour of his desk and bedside lamps. “Hey”, he mumbles and sounds almost drunk, “why you here already?”

Montagne graces him with a fond smile which grows when Bandit wipes his mouth. “How did you get in?”

“Squeezed through the window.” Both of them dubiously look over to the window right above the desk, the windowsill adorned with a small handful of ornate figurines bent from various metals and untouched. “Anyway, why are you back this early? Short dinner?”

“It’s half ten”, his lover tells him gently and oh shit, that means Bandit did sleep for hours. Great, so later he won’t be able to, might even wake Montagne up in the middle of the night and he doesn’t want to do that, doesn’t want to be a burden. He frowns but Montagne walks over after having taken off his shoes, emptied his pockets of wallet, phone and keys, ready for cuddling but for now, all he does is tower over him and stroke his cheek until Bandit’s scowl fades. “Did someone let you in?”

“I’m not a fucking pet”, Bandit grumbles and rubs his cheek against Montagne’s palm appreciatively.

“So no one did? You broke in?” He sits down and allows Bandit to climb on top of him, rumpling his clothes in the process. They’re unusually fancy, courtesy of the special dinner he attended this evening – old friends were in the vicinity and so he and Doc invited them out. He smells good, fresh and manly and though Bandit likes the scent, he wants him to wash it off as soon as possible, mark him with his own smell somehow in case anyone gets funny ideas. His clothes make him look even more respectable and build a stark contrast to Bandit’s sweatpants and ill-fitting t-shirt but Montagne doesn’t seem to mind, embraces him regardless and even lets Bandit unbutton his subtly patterned dress shirt.

“Basically, yeah”, he admits while revealing more and more of Montagne’s sculpted chest, the dark hairs, the hard muscles underneath the pale skin.

“Did you miss me that much?”

His hands still. It’s meant as a joke, he knows this, and yet the words hit home. Because the only thing better at calming the storm raging inside him than Montagne’s room is Montagne himself. It’s not bad enough that he’s unable to complete daily tasks without him but he does indeed notice a prolonged absence, feels it keenly when they’re not sleeping next to each other. He’s gotten used to him. And he doesn’t even mind. “Yeah”, he replies quietly, “I guess I did.”

A silence follows. When he’s scraped together enough courage to lift his gaze, Montagne is looking at him with such helpless adoration that he immediately has to fight rising embarrassment about having laid himself open like this. Before he can backpedal, however, Montagne pulls him closer and effortlessly gets up, simply carries him to the bed and lies down on his back, Bandit still straddling him. “You’re so sweet. I miss you too, Dom, and I always look forward to seeing you.”

Okay, they’re delving dangerously far into uncomfortable territory now, Bandit trying not to let the words get to him (but they always do, like a plant he stretches towards the warmth they bring) and finishes his job in silence, pretending not to notice the way Montagne beams up at him as he pushes his shirt open and digs his fingertips into scorching skin, drags them down Montagne’s broad chest. A hand comes to rest on his cheek again for a moment, travels a bit and curls around the back of his head to nudge him towards his lover, making him bend down and lock lips with him. The pleasant smell together with the large body between his legs is making him light-headed, the soft lips moving against his own doing their part as well and so he doesn’t notice the hands on his thighs at first. When he finally does, they’re kneading his flesh, thumbs dangerously close to his crotch.

The message is clear and the blood rushing to the lower half of his body leaves him even dizzier – when Montagne isn’t in the mood, he carefully avoids sending the wrong signals so there’s no ambiguity. Normally, he prefers going to sleep directly after having been out late which is why Bandit didn’t expect anything yet he easily adapts to this change of pace by turning their kiss sloppy, licks over Montagne’s lower lip and sucks on it, purrs when the hands glide further back and massage his ass. Pleased about this new development, he deepens the kiss and begins grinding down against Montagne, reciprocating the smile he feels pulling at Montagne’s mouth. They’re on the same page and it’s tangible how much they both enjoy the lazy swirling of tongues, the friction of their lower halves, the simplicity of each other’s company.

After a while, long after Bandit can feel Montagne’s own erection alongside his, after their hands have roamed over skin, Bandit breaks the kiss and sits up, breathing hard. He’s adapting to Montagne’s slow pace over time, learning to cherish the small things like making Montagne’s shaft jump against his by brushing over one of his nipples, repeating the motion, rubbing over it, becoming more and more insistent over the course of minutes and relishing the moans when he finally pinches it properly. Still, there’s a limit and he’s about to reach it.

“Do you do this often?”, Montagne asks, voice thick with lust already, while Bandit unbuckles his belt impatiently, eager to do whatever it is he’s allowed today. He hopes he can blow him, it’s his absolute favourite way of getting Montagne off because for once, he doesn’t need to go slow simply because his lover takes forever like that anyway – he usually ends up with an aching jaw and a sore throat for which Montagne apologises endlessly since he doesn’t believe Bandit when he reassures him it’s worth it. “Come here, I mean. I somehow don’t believe that today was the first time you did.”

If it’d been the first time, he would’ve been more careful, Montagne is right. He delays answering for a bit by struggling with the trousers until Montagne takes pity on him and lifts his hips (and it’s such a turn on that he can do this even with Bandit’s weight on him) so Bandit can push the offending piece of clothing over them and down to his knees, where Montagne begins peeling them off himself. “Yeah. I do it sometimes. No one looks for me here and it’s quiet.” It’s only half the truth and he feels guilty about the adoration it earns because he knows Montagne is already content with this but would be overflowing with happiness if he knew the full reason. Bandit likes seeing him happy. After a small pause, he reluctantly adds: “It makes me think of you. And it calms me down.”

He’s not looking at him but can picture Montagne’s reverent expression anyway, has seen it numerous times before and is always filled with a certain sense of pride when he causes it – that, and a tingling, warm feeling. The mountain underneath him comes alive, sits up and captures him in a tight hold, lips finding their way to the sensitive place right below Bandit’s ear and he hears himself gasp in return. “Dom”, they whisper against his skin and send a shiver down his spine, “I want you. All of you.”

Oh God. It’s finally happening.

Shakily, he responds with a strangled yes, tries not to freak out too much and does so regardless. He’s been looking forward to this for weeks, months even, ever since they kissed the second time, even more after Montagne first touched him. Part of it is the base desire, the simple attraction drawing him towards this man, but another part is the wish to be as close to him as possible, be allowed to share this experience with him and if that doesn’t sound like the romanticised view of a blushing virgin, then what else does? Immediately, an overwhelming desire thrums through him and he barely manages to murmur: “Whatever you do, don’t touch my dick or I’ll come straightaway.”

An amused huff against his neck later, Montagne takes the lead.

Bandit has daydreamed about this moment extensively and narrowed it down to a few likely and a few preferred scenarios – he’s prepared to guide Montagne along, help him with crass words and instructions which both shock and arouse him, just like he’s ready to take control himself. More than ready. In most of his fantasies, he overpowers the taller man, makes him writhe in ecstasy as Bandit bounces on him, impales himself on his large cock over and over, though in others Montagne finally snaps, loses his patience and fucks him into next week because he just can’t help himself anymore. He pictured a spur-of-the-moment quickie, a drawn out session in which Montagne sadistically balances him on the edge for most of it, and none of it comes even close. Despite spending entirely too much time imagining this moment, he doesn’t expect what actually happens at all.

Because Montagne seduces him.

There’s no other way of putting it, he slowly takes him apart with loving words and affectionate gestures and Bandit has never felt this powerless in his life before. Montagne knows all his weakspots and makes ample use of this knowledge – he has Bandit squirming in his lap before he’s even taken his shirt off. All of his movements are fluid, a perfect string of kisses and strokes, lulling Bandit in the longer it goes on. His words are equally as smooth, pure honey running down Bandit’s skin and pooling low in his belly, an endless stream of compliments which are far from meaningless because Bandit knows he means them, believes them from the bottom of his heart and so instead of empty, they’re so filled to the brim with devotion and admiration that he has no idea how to react.

Hands glide over his ribs while Montagne tells him how happy he is, how much he’s enjoying it all, and Bandit’s thoughts are trapped in molasses, slowed down by the sweetness poured over him that he decides to just not think at all. Never once does he try to wrestle control from Montagne since he’s never seemed more confident in bed, never more alluring. He’s putty in his astonishingly capable hands and not at all surprised when he suddenly finds himself on his back, his upper body naked and being showered in butterfly kisses. He moves under the affectionate ministrations, almost writhes when a tongue dips into his navel, he arches his back and cards a hand through dark hair – he doesn’t even have the presence of mind for anything more than that.

Soft moans fall from his lips, interrupted only by short but deep kisses; he’s never been this aroused in his life and yet he’s lacking the usual sense of urgency which accompanies his lust, probably because he’s too busy basking in all the wonderful things Montagne’s mouth and hands are doing to him. It’s an incredible turn-on to realise just how well acquainted Montagne is with his body, to feel first hand how attentive he can be especially since the idea of just leaning back and letting someone else do what they want with him is foreign. He supposes Montagne possesses vastly more experience in this regard, knows how to treat someone in a relationship and how to satisfy them in a very different way than Bandit does.

After a perceived eternity, his sweatpants are discarded as well, followed by his underwear and it’s an odd sensation to feel this vulnerable in front of someone. Montagne kisses and even sucks on the insides of his thighs, leaves light red marks next to the black ink weaving its way around his leg and by now, the lust is almost unbearable. Montagne complied with his request, hasn’t touched his crotch anywhere, is ignoring the painfully hard shaft very enthusiastically reacting to literally everything he does, jumping and oozing precum onto Bandit’s belly. His hands are shaking and his knees are weak with how much he wants this, so when Montagne undresses fully and conjures up a bottle of lube, Bandit is almost ready to beg.

The foreplay so far left him out of breath and worryingly dizzy but it seems Montagne isn’t nearly done. He leans over the small puddle into which Bandit has transformed over time and licks into his mouth while touching a slick finger to his hole, making it quiver in anticipation. Bandit, unchanged, is unable to take the initiative and instead suffers quietly, mewls against Montagne’s tongue and feels sparks of pleasure whenever the digit moves, presses slightly, threatens to invade him. It’s effective though, he relaxes after a while and inhales sharply when he’s being breached. There’s a pause and he opens his eyes, doesn’t remember when he closed them, only to find Montagne smiling down at him. He’s beautiful and so perfect it fucking hurts to look at him, he’s sharp and intense and sees all the way inside Bandit, unravels him effortlessly.

He can’t take it. He averts his gaze, even turns around with some difficulty which makes it better because now he can hide his face in the same pillow which muffles his moans when Montagne crooks his finger tentatively and rubs over his prostate. Bandit is so mindlessly horny that the simple touch lets him see stars and so he eagerly pushes against the digit to repeat the sensation. Montagne is still leaning over him, heavy erection resting on one of Bandit’s asscheeks, and still he’s leaving kisses all over his shoulders, nibbles at his ear or sucks on the side of his neck. He’s a reassuring weight against Bandit’s back, hot and solid and he wishes they could do it like this, have Montagne drive into him with abandon while the sheets swallow all the embarrassing noises he’ll undoubtedly make but he already knows it’s not going to happen.

For the moment, he enjoys the brief respite from Montagne’s intensity, makes use of the opportunity to let loose a bit and tightens around the finger, lifts his hips and sighs in relief when Montagne gets the hint and adds a second one. The stretch is tangible but far from uncomfortable, thus Bandit begins grinding against the two, feels the thick shaft rub over his skin in the process and he’s going to go insane. This will be the end of him. A dramatic arch of his back is the perfect position for him to fuck himself on Montagne’s fingers and have his dick glide over Bandit’s ass, therefore he very carefully repeats his motions at the exact same angle and height. The friction is amazing, the feel of the digits moving deep inside addictive and Montagne is still peppering him with kisses which by now have turned hungry, wet lips trailing up to his earlobe and teeth cautiously biting at it.

“I want you so much”, the solid weight on top of him whispers and Bandit almost sobs in pleasure, in desire, in desperation, “you’re wonderful. I can’t get enough of you.” He shifts the one hand which keeps him upright and takes one of Bandit’s, squeezes when he interlaces their fingers and no, how did Bandit think simply turning away would allow him to escape this intimacy, it’s still Montagne after all, everything he does resonates in Bandit’s heart, steals the words off his tongue and drives blood into his cheeks. What they’re doing should be sinful, Montagne pushes a third finger in and wrenches a loud groan from Bandit who only speeds up his motions, moans each time fingertips drag over his special spot – and yet it’s not, it doesn’t feel wrong or dirty. It feels divine.

Eventually, Montagne stops him, sits up and makes Bandit feel the loss of him keenly, miss the hand on his, the stretch, the hot flesh against his ass, the teeth on his shoulder. And then, there it is, a soft plea embodying all that he’s afraid of: “Turn around.” Bandit does. As much as he doesn’t want to, there’s no choice.

They look at each other and Montagne is a mirror to Bandit’s expression – flushed, wholly lost in the moment, wanton, yet oddly peaceful. Bandit thought he’d never fully understand why Montagne thinks about sex the way he does.

He was wrong.

“You’re all I ever wanted”, Montagne tells him and it’s clear he’s not joking. Bandit’s lower lip starts trembling. He looks away again, scrambles to regain his composure, put it back together from the fragments into which it just shattered and largely fails. “Are you ready?”

He nods straightaway, replies with a yes on which his voice breaks and gasps when Montagne simply presses their lips together for the moment. The kiss helps, grounds him and calms the staccato of his heart so when his lover withdraws again, they both manage a tentative smile. He plucks the bottle out of Montagne’s hand and squeezes some of the viscous liquid into his palm – normally he’d crack a joke now or say something exceedingly filthy but he doesn’t feel the urge to say anything right now, it doesn’t seem appropriate. He simply admires Montagne’s body for a moment, drinks in the long limbs and toned muscles, the strong upper body and dark fuzz covering it. When he wraps his hand around his cock, Montagne groans and strokes over Bandit’s arms, loath to interrupt his displays of affection for even just a second. His erection is silky to the touch, as hot as the rest of him and rock hard. Montagne is probably as desperate to start as he is.

Bandit lets his hand slide up and down a few times more than necessary, loves the weight of the shaft in his palm but realises the next step is worth stopping for. Expectantly, he lies back down and lovingly gazes up at Montagne who looks down at him with a similar expression before scooting closer, and then suddenly his tip is nestled against Bandit and he can’t breathe. The skin on skin contact is electrifying already, so viciously anticipated that he finds it impossible to relax into it, his body taut and pulsing with lust but this is counter-productive, he needs to relax. As if he can sense it, Montagne takes his time, puts Bandit’s legs around his waist, pets his chest and kisses him once more, all the while his head keeps pressing slightly against Bandit’s ring of muscle, gingerly asking for entry which eventually is granted and enforced by Bandit drawing him in, tensing his legs and dragging the body between them closer.

Montagne slips inside and he’s big, there’s a faint burn which only heightens Bandit’s pleasure, but more importantly than that: they’ve become one. Both of them look down to the place where they’re connected, Bandit chewing on his lip while trying to breathe normally, not clamp down and hinder any movement. Very slowly, Montagne pushes deeper, making a space for himself inside Bandit and the slide feels neverending – he’s thick and long, a challenge but extremely satisfying nonetheless. Bandit helps as much as he can but is mostly overwhelmed by the incredible sensation, Montagne is piping hot and the fact that there’s no layer separating them only increases the heady feeling. When he’s fully buried inside, his lover draws a deep breath and admits quietly: “I was worried it wouldn’t fit.”

They laugh softly, the tension dissipated for the moment, and grin at each other again, somehow closer than before. Bandit revels in the feeling of being filled completely, puts his hands on Montagne’s dimpling cheeks and drags him down for another kiss. “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

Montagne nods. “Me too.”

When he starts moving, it’s back to the barrage of indescribable sensations Bandit experienced earlier, the kind which leaves him speech- and breathless, messes with his head and refuses to let him move for fear of it all disappearing. He feels Montagne push back inside and moans in disbelief – it feels so fucking good he might be able to come just from this, without his dripping erection ever having been touched. Even this part, which is meant to be carnal and unrestrained, somehow ends up sweet and intense at Montagne’s hands, as if he could turn everything he touches into pure elation.

He just lies there and takes it, gladly accepts his fate and moans throatily each time the head brushes over his prostate, which happens a lot. The thrusts are neither particularly hard nor fast but they push him into the mattress regardless, force more and more noises out of his mouth and steadily work towards reducing him to a shuddering mess. Montagne keeps his pace mercilessly, never once speeds up, no matter how hard Bandit pulls or pushes, causing him to start meeting the thrusts to get the most enjoyment out of them. He reaches so deep inside that Bandit is almost scared to allow him deeper but does so anyway, trusts him fully. Now that he’s got Montagne here, between his legs, inside, he’s a little lost on what to do because he knows begging won’t change anything, neither will dirty talk and he has no urge to gain the upper hand either. Instead, he decides to just be content with the ebb and flow of shocking pleasure and soft lips on his own.

This time, the kiss is almost lazy yet still more than just an afterthought, Montagne wants to be even closer to him than they already are and Bandit can’t take it. He feels so good, loves every part of it so much that he’s close to panicking, unsure of what to do with all these emotions suddenly welling up in him – the connection they share is profound, full of meaning and mutual understanding and it’s in that moment that Montagne says: “Look at me.”

And Bandit does. He looks up, defenceless, and returns Montagne’s gaze, feels every inch of him withdraw and slide back in, feels his hips move between his legs, feels his hand on his chin and fingers caressing his jaw, feels his own heart grow at all of these wonderful ministrations. “Keep looking at me”, Montagne demands quietly, asks for the impossible, “we’re going to come at the same time, alright?”

He just nods – any other answer is not an option – and realises with sudden clarity just how aroused he is. Being face to face with the object of his desire is only making things worse, leaves him squirming and panting, even more so when he realises that Montagne normally takes so much longer to come but right now seems to be heavily affected himself. It’s fantastic for the both of them, a thoroughly mind-blowing experience and they’ve only been at it for a few minutes.

No, Bandit corrects himself, it’s not just the penetration itself, it’s everything which made him this desperate, he usually doesn’t spend this much time on everything else, but Montagne worshipped his body, showered him in affection and Bandit even accepted it, didn’t feel odd or undeserving, just… happy. Blissful about the fact that Montagne likes him so much he does all this without even being asked to, that he likes him so much he’s making love to him right now because that’s exactly what he’s doing – again, there’s no other word for it. He overpowered Bandit with all his love and now strips him bare, leaving only the essence of his being and he still loves him for it, Bandit can see it in his dark eyes.

They’re both moaning quietly in between kisses, relishing the friction between their legs, the monumental pleasure building and building towards yet another moment they’ll share. Bandit is clinging to the taller man by now, keeping up their eye contact and noticing every change in Montagne’s expression, the way he gasps when Bandit tenses around him, how he smiles when Bandit hums into a kiss, him growing more and more disbelieving with each thrust. He’s visibly enjoying himself, tells Bandit now and then how good he feels, how stunning he looks, how happy he makes him and it’s nothing like anything Bandit normally does but it feels like filling a hole which made him trip over and over throughout the years, a hole he tried to fill with a variety of things none of which were good enough, they all came loose, tripped him even more, and now – now it’ll fade. Slowly. But it will.

He notices the signs that Montagne is getting close, the increase in volume, his motions becoming irregular, and so Bandit finally does what he’s been wanting to this entire time: snakes one of his hands between their bodies and grips his own glistening erection tightly, gasps at the contact and begins dragging himself onto Montagne’s shaft with his legs. As soon as his lover notices, he ceases all movement, allows Bandit to take over and they’re still looking at each other, continue to do so as Bandit digs his heels into the mattress and drives himself onto the hard dick, despair colouring his actions as he frantically chases his release yet is too focused on his hips to build up a steady rhythm with his hand, ends up half-assing both, moans in frustration and Montagne looks at him like he hung the stars.

“I’m so close”, he says and how can he be when Bandit is doing such a terrible job at satisfying them both, he’s throwing his head back and slams his hips against Montagne’s, curses and falters when his free hand is grabbed again and held tightly by Montagne and now they’re kissing, even more he has to concentrate on, though if he’s honest most of his focus is on the marvellous cock inside him and then his fist tightens around his sopping wet dick and Montagne starts moving again, bottoms out with every long, slow, deep stroke and Bandit’s gone.

A high-pitched moan is what kicks it off, a reaction to the realisation that he’s just been pushed over the edge and though it hasn’t started fully yet, he knows there’s no going back now. His hand flies over his shaft and he tenses up his entire body, stays still as Montagne mercilessly keeps thrusting, keeps hitting his prostate with worrying accuracy, and allows him to push his orgasm out of him. When the contractions begin, the wonderful, magnificent trembling which spreads through his entirety, his eyes roll back into his head and he feels his erection pulse between his fingers, become a veritable fountain of come which it spews generously all over Bandit’s torso – but it’s even better because Montagne is also climaxing, cock throbbing and mouth letting out the most delicious of noises. They seek each other out, find comfort in the intensity of each other, ride their orgasm out at the same time while Montagne spills deep inside Bandit, their foreheads leaning against each other, their breath mingling.

They’re both shuddering now, twitching with how extreme it is, they’re out of breath and elated and basking in their shared pleasure, Bandit drawing out his orgasm with practised movements and Montagne canting his hips, fully sheathed still. Coming down is hesitant, Montagne initiates it by brushing his nose over Bandit’s, prompting an exhausted smile which he reciprocates and suddenly they’re grinning at each other like idiots while still feeling the aftershocks. Bandit’s blood is still rushing loudly in his ears and his heartbeat far from calm but none of it can disturb the peace spreading somewhere inside him, the feeling of being appreciated, of being cherished. He relaxes more and more over time, stretches out on the bed and winces slightly when Montagne withdraws – he really is quite large but feels amazing so Bandit would never consider complaining.

Usually, this is the part where either Bandit or his partner gets up, cleans up, has a smoke or goes for a shower. He, however, is so boneless that he’s not going anywhere right now and judging by the fact that Montagne simply lies down next to him and caresses his side, his thighs and his face, he isn’t either. It’s similar to the way he insisted on eye contact, makes it all that little bit more personal, more special. More intimate. Even so, Bandit is wholly overwhelmed for the moment, trying to get his breathing under control and not throw himself on top of Montagne immediately because he’s full of semen and has the sneaking suspicion his lover wouldn’t appreciate sperm all over his chest hair. Instead, he stares at the ceiling, slightly stupefied by how much he adored literally every aspect of what just happened and wondering whether he’s been doing it wrong his entire life.

“I liked that”, Montagne tells him as if it wasn’t absolutely obvious, “thank you.” Before Bandit can even think of making a sarcastic reply, a thumb wanders to his mouth, traces his lips and stills when he kisses it, sucks on the tip of it and bites lightly, all without taking his eyes off Montagne whose gaze grows considerably warmer. “You’re so incredibly erotic, Dom, do you even know that?”

He smirks and reaches out to push some of Montagne’s sweaty locks back. “I might have an idea. You came much faster than usual”, he teases.

“It’s because I didn’t expect you to feel this good. You’re amazing.”

And oh. Oh look. Bandit’s plan to embarrass his lover for once backfired horribly since now it’s him blushing yet again and trying to hide his face but as usual, Montagne just locks lips with him and kisses the urge to become defensive away.

The rest of the evening is calm, they shower together and Bandit almost dozes off while Montagne gently massages his scalp with shampoo, but his favourite part is when he’s being wrapped in one of the oversized towels of which Montagne is so fond and basically hugged dry, twists and turns in Montagne’s embrace while they both giggle and in the end he’s being slung over the tall man’s shoulder and carried to bed without being able to struggle from inside his towel burrito. Once they’re snuggling under the blanket, he asks about Montagne’s evening and his friends, about Doc, about parts of his past and it’s not even disheartening to hear about the life Montagne led before they knew each other, not when he’s safely encased in his strong arms and with his breath in Bandit’s hair.

He’s not tired yet so he’ll probably wait until Montagne is asleep to get back up and read something on his sofa, but there’s one last sentence with which all his illusions about not being in over his head are shattered: “I’ll give you a key tomorrow morning.”

It’s simple enough but the profound joy spreading at the words makes him realise.

Fuck, he thinks. I’m so fucking doomed.

Chapter Text

Montagne yawns for the third time in a row and it’s a vicious one, a yawn which makes him tear up and shudder and shake his head afterwards to try and clear it of the residual fatigue yet fails spectacularly. His vision blurs if he sits still long enough and his concentration is waning the further the day progresses. It’s only lunch hour and he’s more than ready for a nap, even contemplates just resting his head on the wooden surface of the table at which he’s sitting for a few minutes but figures he’d probably slam his forehead into his sandwich instead if he actually decided to go for it.

“Didn’t get enough sleep last night?”, asks Rook cheekily and nudges his side with an elbow. The young operator is wearing a wide grin and Montagne knows why – he’s one of the few who openly show nothing but support for them. It’s a relief to have someone with whom he can share details of just how much Bandit’s and his own life are interwoven at this point; his heart is bursting with all the joy he’d like to spread, even with the most recent outlet of being allowed to kiss Bandit in public. He frequently makes use of it, stops Bandit, lifts his chin gently and presses their lips together; leans around him and catches the corner of his mouth with his or pulls him onto his lap for a series of deep, intimate kisses. Mentioning to Rook how calming it is to wake up and find Bandit drooling on his pillow next to him sates a different kind of need, however, soothes an odd striving for validation.

Neither of them should feel ashamed of each other or their own feelings and Rook is doing his part in chasing away this notion. Bandit especially seems to need it and he’s begun hanging around the young Frenchman more than before, embarrassedly waving away any comments on their relationship or switching topics as soon as Rook brings it up, and yet Bandit continues to seek him out a lot of the time.

“No, not really”, Montagne answers readily and suppresses a sigh. He’s not complaining, far from it, he had all reason not to sleep.

“Did you keep him up, Dom?” Rook isn’t done with his inquiries and directs this one at a similarly groggy-looking Bandit who’s just finishing up his meal and halfway out the room already. The implication couldn’t have been more obvious and so, when Bandit responds with a simple yeah, Rook dissolves into scandalised giggles. It’s just as easy to tell what he’s thinking as it is to guess everyone else’s thoughts. Most of them seem to assume Rook is correct, only with the addition that Bandit is a crazed sex fiend who is wilfully costing Montagne his well-deserved respite, some believe Bandit is merely looking for attention and keeping Montagne up as a test of how much he cares and fewer people still – mostly the GSG9 – are convinced it’s Bandit’s nightmares making it impossible for them to enjoy peaceful sleep.

They’re all wrong, albeit to varying degrees.

Sometimes, Montagne wakes up to an empty bed in the middle of the night. He knows he’s being given a choice: either he gets up and joins Bandit in his insomnia or he turns around and keeps sleeping – it’d definitely be possible for him to drift away back into unconsciousness and Bandit wouldn’t blame him, quite the opposite. And yet Montagne always leaves the cosy, warm bed behind. It’s still a choice, even if the decision he makes is unfailingly the same.

Last night, he found Bandit browsing his phone while seeking shelter in a spare blanket, an inadequate substitution for Montagne’s body heat and yet Bandit’s preferred option over risking disturbing Montagne’s sleep by moving too much. The first thing he does is ensure Bandit is safe, pulls him into his arms, onto his lap, listens for his heartbeat and his breathing. Since both are regular and calm, he focuses on different things, brushes over the back of Bandit’s neck with his nose, rubs his limbs until he can be sure they’re not numb and murmurs a few easy-to-answer questions about the things Bandit’s been reading on the small, much too bright screen. Once he’s thawed, Montagne sucks a light lovebite onto his shoulder, making him squirm and swat at him in protest but both of them end up chuckling over each other.

This is when Montagne knows he’s won. This is the point where Bandit stops all pretence of telling him to go back to bed, of not wanting him to stay up. Instead, he accepts Montagne’s presence, quietly grateful, and treats him like he would during the day, complaining about this thing or that, asking about a few things which preoccupied Montagne before, and suggesting some activities. They’ve found a good balance between hobbies they prefer doing alone or with others and ones they actually do together, regardless of whether they’d be interested in them by themselves or not. Bandit has started spending more time in the shooting range just because Montagne visits it often and Montagne goes out drinking more frequently now even though he doesn’t drink much – but neither does Bandit. He hasn’t gone overboard once since Montagne joined him and it seems he prefers it this way, too. He off-handedly mentioned sometimes being unable to stop, a problem which apparently vanishes in Montagne’s company.

While Montagne recounts how Rook was able to make Blitz blush furiously earlier, Bandit’s stomach growls comically loud – this is yet another one of the grievances Montagne has with the way Bandit treats himself: he forgets to eat. If he didn’t know better, if he didn’t know it really was just absent-mindedness and a general lack of self-care, he’d think Bandit was deliberately starving himself as some strange kind of punishment. It’s improved significantly already but if Montagne doesn’t check up on him regularly, he still can’t be sure of Bandit’s eating habits.

They end up in the kitchen at Montagne’s gentle insistence, illuminated only by the warm light of the kitchen hood and dancing around each other as Montagne prepares some French toast and Bandit is absolutely useless and nothing but in the way and giggles every time Montagne has to move him. He does this often and never once has Montagne minded because whenever he brushes past Bandit, a hand reaches out to touch various parts of his body or a kiss is pressed against his skin or a cheek rubbed on his upper arm. Bandit knows they both like it and enjoys the fact Montagne doesn’t get annoyed or impatient with him, merely fondly exasperated. While Montagne uses the stove, Bandit squeezes in between, leeches the heat from both and starts distractedly humming an unfamiliar melody as he slowly melts against Montagne’s front.

Eventually, he starts actually singing and Montagne is surprised to hear it’s neither out of tune nor lacking presence, it’s a bit self-conscious but done well regardless of the lyrics: “And maybe we’ll do / in a squirrel or two / while we’re poisoning pigeons in the park.” Montagne’s snickering boosts his confidence and so he continues, louder: “We’ll murder them all amid laughter and merriment / except for the few we take home to experiment.”

It’s morbid and right up Bandit’s alley, so Montagne prompts him to keep going. A few verses he enjoys silently but he relishes the hitch in Bandit’s voice when he reaches around and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants even more. Normally, Montagne would never initiate anything in a place where they could get caught but it’s the middle of the night and the way Bandit keeps accidentally brushing up against his crotch left Montagne fidgety anyway. The song dies on Bandit’s lips as soon as fingers encircle his awakening member and makes way for soft moans which turn more frantic after Montagne has turned him around and sunk to his knees. He hasn’t done this before yet is eager to try all of a sudden, engulfs the head and licks and sucks, tries to remember all the divine things Bandit usually does to him and doesn’t seem to be doing a terrible job if Bandit’s disbelieving groans mean anything.

He’s so focused on memorising all of Bandit’s sensitive spots that he doesn’t notice the smell until Bandit, dishevelled, blissful and clearly annoyed at the interruption, announces: “The fucking toast!”

The next five minutes are filled with heartfelt curses from Bandit’s side as Montagne throws away the charred pieces, long forgotten in the pan, and fries up new toast slices – properly this time. He insists on Bandit eating it all immediately despite the boner tenting his trousers and once his lover is done complaining and eating, they rid the kitchen of any evidence and return to their room. Montagne unsuccessfully tries to make Bandit come hands free for more than half an hour at which point Bandit is desperately begging, almost shying away from his thrusts and moaning at a worrying volume while digging his fingernails into Montagne’s thighs, so he finishes inside and continues practising with his mouth until he’s worried about Bandit starting to hyperventilate any second now. He strokes him in a slow but steady pace all the way through his climax, kissing him simultaneously and swallowing his noises as Bandit trembles under him.

Unlike most other nights, they stayed up, showered together first and went for a quick run in the rising summer sun, lazily smiling at each other now and then but exercising in comfortable silence. Montagne believes he knows why Bandit didn’t want to try sleeping, not even when they had two whole hours still: it’s the fact that this time in the dead of night is wholly theirs, with no one interfering or even the possibility of being interrupted. Montagne has begun toying with the idea of suggesting they move in together.

So when he’s trying his best not to fall asleep in the middle of the day while waiting for a briefing, he isn’t fully aware of his actions until Rook jabs him in the side again and wants to know: “What are you humming?”

Montagne recalls the melody and can’t help but laugh. “A song about poisoning pigeons”, he replies, much to Rook’s confusion, and catches Bandit’s eye on the other side of the room. When his lover flashes him a grin, Montagne decides to ask him later. He suspects Bandit’s initial reaction will be as negative as his ultimate answer positive, so he better raise the topic sooner rather than later.

Chapter Text

Bandit hates it.

Food tastes bland and has become a chore, more often than not he forces himself to wolf down a quick breakfast, falls back into unhealthy eating habits just to make sure he eats at all. Sleep doesn’t come easily, it’s an elusive and flighty thing and trying to brute force it is like attempting to catch wind or stop a river with his hands. People irritate him to no end, though he fortunately only needs to snap at a few for them to get the message. Blitz doesn’t, but he actually does him a favour with his gentle teasing because then they can fight and Bandit can expend some of that leftover energy which goes nowhere, all the things he wants to tell someone stuck in his throat and making it difficult to breathe, all the things he wants to do to a certain person accumulating and turning him sluggish, clogging his thoughts.

And he hates it all so much.

In his life there have been a number of dependencies and he refuses to think about them too closely, yet especially in the past few days they’ve been sneaking up on him relentlessly. Of course there are the usual vices, alcohol, cigarettes, easy sex, pills, all those barely deserve to be mentioned but there have been others as well. Cedrick was one. It is one thing to believe that a friend has his back, it’s an entirely different one to know with unshakable certainty that his twin does. They were each other’s safety net, even if their counterpart wasn’t present, they always knew there was someone out there who could save them if necessary.

It was an accident. The thought of it still makes his stomach cramp and his heartbeat quicken regardless, and after his twin retired early, it was almost as if he’d died instead. He couldn’t back Bandit up in a fight anymore, wouldn’t share a laugh over the insane stories they told each other about work that day. He had to learn how to become self-sufficient, self-reliant, self-assured. And it took a good chunk out of who he was.

For a while, he was addicted to pain. Not necessarily in the dangerous way, not like he’d carve himself up or anything, but his fingers would stray to live wires now and then. He provoked fights. Picked scabs religiously and pretended not to notice the jagged scars they left behind. Had a few tattoos made and insisted he was good to go for the rest of it, sure, finish it while I’m here, I can take it. It was usually bright and hot and appealed to a part in him he’s since closed off carefully. In his line of work, it doesn’t pay to almost hope for getting shot.

And now there’s a whole other obsession which ruins his days. At first, he refused to give in until he found himself buried deep under a blanket not belonging to him in a room which isn’t his, wearing a t-shirt at least one size too big and hugging a pillow smelling of him. He slept better, which is to say at all and he hated every minute of it.

Whenever his phone buzzes to alert him of a newly received text, he can feel his whole face lighting up. He’s abandoned conversations, interrupted meetings and forgot whatever it is he was doing previously to check the message and it’s silly. Because all he does is describe his day a little, make an interesting or entertaining remark or simply ask how Bandit is doing. Sometimes it’s a personal question, sometimes a photo or a reminder and literally every fucking little thing brightens Bandit’s mood. It’s pathetic. All he’s waiting for is the message letting him know he’s coming home.

He sleeps in Montagne’s bed and wears his clothes where no one can see him and there’s an oddly guilty feel to it – emotions are something he usually denies himself yet can’t seem to help acting on them regardless. It’s a small solace but aids him in staying mostly sane during the day when he can look forward to wrapping himself in Montagne’s scent later and pretend he’s being enveloped by his arms as well and just thinking this while he’s practising his aim or cleaning his guns makes him want to cringe.

It’s not all there is to it, however. Yes, he misses the lazing around and long conversations which either turn silly or profound eventually (the best ones both at the same time), he misses sharing meals and going out together, he misses all of it, but he also really, really misses the physical part of it. Sitting in his lap, sleeping next to him, the occasional kisses and warm hugs. Bandit read somewhere that it’s possible to become addicted to the hormone released when cuddling and suspects he’s on heavy withdrawal right about now. Just what he needed.

What’s surprising to him is that it’s not even about the sex – or rather, not only. If it was for him, Montagne would begin and end each day with his cock up Bandit’s ass, sure, but he’d happily trade a half hour mind-blowing fucking for a few hours of snuggling in bed and this, too, makes him roll his eyes at himself. Even so, he does have needs and the sheer feel of Montagne’s sheets left him breathless and frantic the first time he swallowed his pride and used the key he’s been given a while ago, and yet he refuses to make a habit out of it.

A handful of times isn’t a habit yet, right? He’s tried to resist it, he did try, alright, stretched out on the familiar mattress, typed out a sleepy message and wanted to doze off immediately, drifted off, his mind wandering and then there was a large body towering over him, hot breath against his cheek and strong thighs parting his own, soft moans and an affectionate hand setting his skin on fire wherever it touched, setting him ablaze as unimaginable pleasure spread from the centre of his body and before he even knew what he was doing, he’d already come all over his abdomen.

It’s not that different right now, he’s buried under the duvet, thinking of dark hair with grey streaks and an adoring smile as he hastily brings himself off, almost feeling guilty. He’s curled up on the side, one hand in his underwear, the other clenched around sheets and he’s mostly silent as if he could get caught every second, as if he was doing something forbidden – and isn’t he? Bandit isn’t meant to depend on someone like this and every display of need seems to erode his sanity further though he can’t stop, thinks of Montagne constantly, wants to touch him, feel him, bite him, have him hold Bandit down and do with him what he wants, scratch him … and this is where with great effort, he forces himself to still.

Speed dial is a godsend. His hand is slowly moving up and down his dick while he waits through the dial tone and his breath hitches when Montagne picks up. “Hey”, comes his smooth voice through the speaker, calming him almost instantly. It’s worrying how well it works. “Everything alright? I was just thinking of you.”

He thought of him. Bandit’s lips curve into a content smile and his grip tightens. For a second, he wonders whether it’s bad that just knowing Montagne is thinking of him turns him on so unbearably in that moment. “Yeah, I’m fine”, he murmurs distractedly. “How has your day been? Tell me a bit.”

And Montagne does. They’ve done this before, once, when Bandit couldn’t find rest no matter what – Montagne kept talking, regardless of how inane the topic, his voice washing over Bandit and lulling him into a dreamless sleep. The gesture was so selfless Bandit still chokes up a little when he thinks about it, and right now it seems Montagne is prepared for a repeat performance, talk until he’s hoarse simply so his lover can recharge his energy. Only that’s not what he’s doing. That’s not it at all.

While he elaborates on his mission, Bandit speeds up again and tries his best to stay quiet, not give himself away. The rumbling baritone resonates low in his belly and imagining him saying entire different words, telling Bandit what to do, when to speed up and how to stroke himself for Montagne’s viewing pleasure is doing wonders, causing him to stretch out more and his shaft to bounce between his fingers. Montagne is gorgeous, a handsome face, a killer body and a drool-worthy cock, so picturing him with his hand on Bandit’s member instead of his own makes his blood rush.

“- mostly boring. But even if it wasn’t, I’d be looking forward to being back. I miss you and I can’t wait to touch you all over, you’re just -” And this sounds straight out of one of Bandit’s fantasies, entirely unexpected and so he lets a moan escape his lips. Montagne immediately stops talking.

“Fuck”, says Bandit, a little out of breath.

“.. Dom?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you jerking off in my bed?”

He sounds delighted, not judging, and yet Bandit can’t bring himself to admitting it outright. “No?” Amused silence and holy shit, Montagne even guessed correctly. Is he that predictable? His dick throbs with the new realisation that Montagne might not mind him doing this, might actually approve and the thought -

“Go slow if you aren’t already.”

“Oh my God”, he moans and grips the head tightly, thighs trembling with the sudden explosion of desire in his system upon the gentle command. He’s dreamed of this, has been wanting Montagne to take the lead and tell him what to do for a while. “Yes. Yes. I’m going slow. Fuck.”

“Are you using lube?” He produces a vague nuh uh and concentrates on not quickly finishing himself off, despite how much his body is screaming at him to do exactly that. “Do. And then twist your hand each time, you know how I usually do it.”

“Jesus Christ.” He kicks the blanket aside, discards his underwear and blindly paws at the bedside table while getting comfortable in his new, exposed position. “Are you – are you also going to touch yourself?”

“Do you want me to?” Montagne still sounds amused but there’s an underlying something in his tone, a little reckless, a little enthralled. Bandit’s hand is shaking when he squeezes out some of the lube and he feeds a few heartfelt moans into his phone when he starts stroking himself again, his wrist doing what his lover demanded, the result dizzying.

“Yes, do it”, he breathes and pictures it, amazed at how quickly Montagne went with the program – he must be frustrated, too, recently he not only became more assertive but also more experimental, allowed Bandit to ride him to his heart’s content while his broad hands guided his hips for example, got him off with a blowjob properly for the first time, even agreed to handcuffing Bandit though they’ve yet to act on it. The thought alone makes his head swim. He explained edging to him in detail once, not even talking about either of them and Montagne’s eyes gleamed with endless possibilities. Bandit has no doubt he’ll end up begging for it once restrained, going wild with lust and moaning like a whore – kinda like he is now.

“Take your time, my love. I’ve only just started.” His voice also is an aphrodisiac, seems to be wired directly to Bandit’s nervous system because it makes him shudder and his toes curl. Slick fingers encircle the head and massage a bit, rub over the sensitive spot at the back, something Montagne loves doing, and he imagines it’s his tongue instead when he realises what the words mean. Montagne is mirroring him. Montagne also has a hand closed around his thick cock and is getting off to the sounds of Bandit getting off and holy fuck.

“I want you so bad”, he groans and when did he become this desperate? His hips are twitching, straining upwards towards his fist but Montagne’s reminder echoes in his head and so he holds back with effort. “Oh fuck. Please.” He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, for Montagne to keep talking or giving him more orders but he’s aware of the thrumming need for something.

“If I was there, you’d be squirming on my fingers, my love.”

He chokes on a moan. It’s not just the words robbing him of coherent thought but also the low growl in which they were delivered, full of promise and filth and not at all what he’s used to. More curses fall from his lips followed by disbelieving gasps when he hears an answering hitch of breath on the other side. Involuntarily, his hand speeds up, the friction lessened by the gel but the bright hot pleasure not affected – one single thought, however, rips him back into reality and has him stop despite the insistent pulsing between his legs. He wants to hear Montagne reach his climax. He needs to. God, now that the thought has entered his mind, it’s all which occupies his consciousness, there’s no room left for anything else and so he throws caution to the wind and decency and all shame he had left and -

“Fuck, I’d love to be squirming on something different”, he whispers, voice shaky but he’s speaking nothing but truth, the vague idea of Montagne entering him makes his entrance quiver in misguided anticipation and only serves to amplify the ecstatic feeling of his fingertips caressing his own dick, teasing, waiting, “in one go, I’d take you all in, oh fuck, I’d take you so well, fucking paint my insides white, I can’t wait.”

“Dom”, comes a quiet plea and he may be going too far, so he switches tactics and feels a shiver run down his spine every time Montagne utters a strangled moan.

“You make me feel so good, I want no one but you, please, you’re perfect, I want to hear you.” And he keeps babbling while he encircles his shaft once more, tugging agonisingly slowly and listening closely to the groans coming from his object of desire. Montagne sounds so fucking hot that Bandit curses everyone who had a hand in him being almost on the other side of the globe because there’s nothing he’d like more right now than to shove this man’s dick into himself. He’s throwing his head back, tensing up almost painfully in trying to force himself away from the edge on which he’s teetering. He could plummet every second now. “I want you so much. I love you so much. Please, just -”

“I’m close”, comes the muffled reply which very nearly sends him flying due to how wrecked he sounds, exactly like Bandit feels and he just needs that tiny bit more, just a little - “Let’s come at the same time, alright?”

And fuck if that doesn’t bring back memories, sharp and crystal clear even through the haze in his head and he sees Montagne’s face above his own the very first time they made love, feels his gaze hypnotise him, the almost uncomfortable intimacy of it all – too much, too close, too personal. He whines, the phone almost slipping out of his hand, and that’s when he hears the first relieved groan on the other end. Just like that, he’s gone too. He comes almost silently, his orgasm ripping through him with blinding force while he listens for every sharp breath, every soft moan. He feels them in his fingertips as his muscles contract over and over again, making him unload come all over himself while his feet dig into the mattress.

It’s overwhelming and much more intense than he expected, elation spreading through him and softening the blow of sobering up, his hand moving incessantly and still lazily milking himself after he’s begun to relax again, to try and catch his breath. He can hear Montagne doing the same and pictures him looking down at himself a little lost, a little exasperated but extremely satisfied. The Frenchman is always content whenever he can tell Bandit enjoyed himself, nearly smug even and usually makes him say it outright.

Not today, though. “Better?”, he asks gently and Bandit is floored. He’s speechless for a long time, so long in fact that Montagne adds a slightly concerned: “Dom?”

“Yeah”, he replies belatedly, “yeah. Fuck. I guess I needed that.” And even he wasn’t aware of this being more than a booty call in a way, thought it’d help bring him off so he can sleep but that ultimately wasn’t it. He hates that he needs affirmation, hates that he loves it so much he actively seeks it out, but what he hates even more is his reliance on Montagne to break him out of harmful thoughts. His lover has been gone for a week and already he’s had nightmares twice. And if he hadn’t called Montagne, he might’ve spiralled back into the mindset prominent when they weren’t together yet. It’s as if he’s only half of something, like he’s not enough on his own somehow, like he’s unable to deal with problems which -

“Oh yes. Me too, actually.”

He stops moving, wasn’t even aware of listlessly dragging his limbs over the sheets for stimulation which helps in distracting himself from his thoughts. “Really?”

“Yes. I want to hold you. And you’re on my mind a worrying amount, Dom, I miss you too. This might sound silly, but I feel oddly incomplete.” A soft self-deprecating laugh and Bandit is clenching his teeth to try and hold back all the things suddenly crowding his tongue. He’s not alone in this. He knows Montagne as one of the most independent people he met – and yet he needs him? “I love you too, Dom. Do you want me to keep talking so you can sleep?”

Bandit is rubbing at his eyes and his voice betrays him, wavers when he responds: “Yeah. Alright. Let me just clean up.” He does so and Montagne has already picked up where he left off again, telling a story from when he just joined the police.

And a minute later, Bandit is wearing a shirt that’s too big, buried under a blanket in a room which isn’t his and hugging a pillow which smells just like the person on the other side of the phone call sounds: comforting and safe. He wants to put the sentiment into words but Montagne is at the good part of the story and so he doesn’t interrupt him.

By the time he’s done, Bandit is already fast asleep.

Chapter Text

“We can start light”, Bandit suggests, out of breath, in between toe-curling kisses. They’re more intense than usual because it’s the first time they’re alone since Montagne came back and so he treasures every little touch, commits each detail to memory. After welcoming him with entirely too few kisses and hugs at the airport and refusing to let go of his hand while he was greeted warmly by teammates and colleagues alike, both of them sighed happily once they finally arrived back in Montagne’s room, alone and undisturbed. A short glance later, Bandit jumped into his arms, Montagne stumbled to the bed with him, fell on top of it – and making out is pretty much all they’ve done since then, Montagne covering Bandit with his large body and pressing him into the mattress but neither of them is complaining.

“What does that mean?”, Montagne murmurs against his lips. They’re like teenagers who finally confessed to each other, frantically snogging and yet hesitating to go a step further. No clothes have been discarded so far, they’re dry humping and pawing at each other but apart from that it’s surprisingly chaste. Hands card through hair, lips find their counterpart again and again and tongues wrestle now and then, leaving behind an almost electrical feeling in Bandit’s limbs.

“I can just start out by -” He trails off when teeth pull on his earlobe. It’s getting harder and harder to think, especially because he’s been waiting so long to finally hold this man in his arms that all the things he wanted to do to him are wiped off his brain. A moan escapes him upon Montagne sucking a bruise onto his skin right above his collarbone and he loses his train of thought completely, wonders why he’d ever suggest anything other than just letting this happen, having Montagne wash over him and carry him away to mind-numbing pleasure, writhe on his cock and groan into his mouth.

“Yes?”

The request for him to keep talking is decidedly mischievous and he can feel the smirk against his own mouth. Montagne is getting cheeky and with how much power he holds over Bandit he’ll probably end up allowing him anything. Still, he scrapes together the last of his countenance and picks up again: “I can just tie part of your arms.” He’s interrupted by another scorching kiss and chases soft lips when they withdraw to allow him to keep talking. “And if you like it, we can keep going. If not, we’ll stop. Start easy. No commitment.”

His lover considers it a while, pushing one of his hands into Bandit’s clothes, strokes over his chest and hipbones and finally nods. “Alright. We can try.” And though he seems hesitant, he adds a sincere: “I trust you.”

Bandit is smitten. When they discussed the topic, Montagne mentioned not being comfortable handing over that much control so Bandit had largely given up hope, and yet he now apparently feels safe enough with him of all people to give it a shot nonetheless. For a few seconds, he just blinks and stares up at the source of all these emotions inside him, devotedly and like an idiot, until the quiet resolve in Montagne’s face gives way to amusement.

“I don’t have any rope here”, he states and no, of course he doesn’t. But the hand splayed over his ribs is weighing Bandit down, leaving his only option to not move a muscle and continue gazing lovingly into blue eyes. Montagne chuckles and rearranges their bodies, seemingly satisfied with how pliant Bandit is, before he rises, lifting the other man with him. Bandit ends up pressed against the door by a large body around which his limbs are wrapped, snogged breathless and thinking we should try this position sometime. “How about you go and get some?”

As usual, his mouth is faster than his brain: “I’ve been trying to get some this entire time.” To his relief, Montagne just laughs good-naturedly and puts him down, which is a solid move as Bandit probably would’ve clung to him forever if allowed. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” Despite his words, he lingers, eyes locked with Montagne’s, and a few seconds later his tongue is down his lover’s throat once more and hands are kneading his ass while his own stray to the front of Montagne’s trousers. He’s so primed he fears he could come literally just from blowing him and thinking about it certainly doesn’t help, holy hell, his desire is like static in his head, all-encompassing and drowning out everything else.

Without even noticing, he’s undressed Montagne to the point where he can easily pull his erection out – so of course he does. His eyes are closed in bliss, preventing him from marvelling at the sight, but the heavy weight of it in his palm is enough to make his head spin already. “If you’re too impatient, we can postpone it”, Montagne suggests softly and looks like he wants to add something but his breath hitches when fingers encircle his shaft. He’s unusually receptive to Bandit’s touches as well, courtesy of the prolonged absence, and therefore reacts with small thrusts into the tight fist, each robbing Bandit further of his sanity. His only option is to break the kiss yet even this doesn’t save him as Montagne latches onto his neck immediately and reciprocates the touch, rubs over the bulge in Bandit’s jeans. Now they’re both straining towards the delicious friction, desperate moans clawing their way out of Bandit’s throat as he basically humps Montagne’s hand and dear God he won’t be table to take this much longer.

“Stop, stop”, he whispers, panicked, “no, stop, I’m gonna come, I’m -” A whimper escapes him when the stimulation ceases and he loosens his grip around the hot flesh before he actually ends up hurting Montagne. He’s panting and shuddering, his abdomen tensing up with the spikes of pleasure threatening to push him over the edge entirely too quickly. His lover gives a last nip to his jaw and straightens up with a curious, inquisitive expression. “Remember the time we – you know, on the phone?” He feels the need to explain himself because even the embarrassing first time Montagne got him off, he didn’t have a hair-trigger quite like this. A nod. “I didn’t – I haven’t jerked off since then.”

Montagne’s eyebrows rise, visibly intrigued. Experimentally, he pushes the heel of his hand against the head of Bandit’s extremely sensitive erection, making him mewl, hold his wrist in place and grind against him before any of his actions have even registered in his mind. “Are you sure I can’t just… take my time a little?”

“No. I’ll literally die”, Bandit protests breathlessly and sways unsteadily as soon as the hand disappears again. “Fuck. I’ll go get the rope. You can undress already if you want.”

“Why don’t you help me with it instead?”

Fucking cheeky. Bandit throws him a dark look and escapes out into the hallway, where it’s safe and where there are no ridiculously attractive Frenchmen who make him question his entire existence. He probably looks as dishevelled as he feels, his hair sticking up in all directions, clothes rumpled and askew, not to mention the tent in his jeans.

Which is probably why Blitz is studying him with a shit eating grin on his face. Why does he have to be creeping around here right now? “Forgot something?”, he asks innocently.

Under normal circumstances, Bandit would reply with something along the lines of yeah, the reason why I shouldn’t beat you up, but all his muddled brain can muster up is: “Fuck off.”

Blitz just laughs and keeps walking without further comment which probably also stems from his wish to not hear anything more about Bandit’s love life. He should use this in the future, maybe disclose a few details and watch him squirm in discomfort. Still – right now, he’d rather watch someone else squirm, and so he quickly dashes to his room, thankfully not meeting anyone else on the way, and hurries back as soon as he got what he came for. Hastily, he slips back into Montagne’s room, shuts out the rest of the world once more and stops in his tracks as soon as he throws a glance at the bed.

Because the sight is delectable. Montagne did, in fact, rid himself of all his clothes, and is now stretched out on the mattress, perfectly on display: the one hand behind his head shows off his muscles, the other is lazily toying with his dick, and the knowing smile on his face is merely the cherry on top. He looks magnificent. Bandit swoons and wonders when this happened, when Montagne became this confident in his own appearance around him where he was almost skittish in the beginning, clearly worrying about the physical aspect of their relationship – whereas Bandit admired him straightaway, worshipped his body whenever possible, dipped his hand into every valley, splayed it over each ridge and wondered how he’d come to deserve touching this man at all.

“That’s a lot of rope”, Montagne states and yes, it is, in his enthusiasm Bandit basically just grabbed his entire stash, in his head preparing a long list of excuses should he have run into another colleague on the way. I’ll have to go discipline a bunny was the first thing coming to mind and he’s extremely glad he didn’t meet anyone else.

“Well yeah. You’re -”, his eyes glide further down, attracted by the slow movement centred on Montagne’s lower half, “… big.”

“Come here, Dom.” As asked, he walks over, drops the various restraints next to the enticing naked body and straddles his lover, humming into another deep kiss as he’s greeted by Montagne sitting up and embracing him. His arousal which had calmed a little returns full force – Montagne’s warm skin is just as addicting as his clever tongue and by the time they finally take a break to pull his t-shirt off, his heart is desperately trying to beat its way out of his ribcage. Montagne is just so fucking captivating. “So how does this work?”, the Frenchman wants to know and quite unfairly doesn’t look like the act of not drooling all over his partner required any effort from him. As opposed to Bandit.

“Huh?” He’s too busy covering the side of Montagne’s neck with impressively dark lovebites to even pay any attention to the repeated clarification but once his brain catches up, he remembers he’s meant to be doing something else entirely. “Oh. Oh. Yes. I’ll explain, but you need to stop – stop it. Don’t touch me. No -” And the next thing coming from his lips is a whine as the tip of a tongue swirls around one of his nipples, wiping his brain once again. For a time span which is decidedly too long, Montagne just sucks and laps at it, guiding the aimless movements of Bandit’s hips with his hands so he finds no friction and smiles at the frustrated noises Bandit produces endlessly.

Eventually, Bandit is fed up with the teasing and pries Montagne off of him with herculean effort while his weeping erection mourns the lost contact. “Okay. If you -” He takes a deep breath and swats his lover’s hands away decisively. “No. If you feel uneasy or start hurting, let me know and I’ll untie you immediately. If you want to stop, tell me. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Montagne’s smile is unwavering and shines at him with the light of a thousand suns. “I never am around you”, he says and if Bandit wasn’t so amazingly horny, his heart would melt. It still does, but his cock twitches as well and since when are compliments a turn-on for him?

Wait. Are they?

“Really?”, he prompts just to test his theory – he doesn’t like fishing for compliments normally but in this case, it’s necessary.

“Yes. You’re either very attentive or extremely responsive when we have sex. It’s lovely. I’m not used to it to this extent.”

A convincingly large part of Bandit simply wants him to curl up on Montagne’s chest, purr and let him shower him with praise whereas another part – just as big – demands for him to roll over, have Montagne dick him down and keep whispering compliments into his ear as he moans and holds on for dear life. It’s just… neither of those options are part of the plan, a plan which apparently includes him discovering he has a praise kink. “I’m – I’m just going to tie your wrists now”, he mumbles and reaches for a short, soft cotton rope without much give. He stretches Montagne’s arms out above his head and has to lean over him to reach his wrists, meaning Montagne gets the chance to leave butterfly kisses all over his neck and shoulder. Absence certainly made both their hearts grow fonder seeing as how desperate both of them are for any kind of caress. They’re aware of it, too, smiling into the exaggerated gestures of affection but neither of them is complaining.

Once he’s done, Bandit sits back up and lets his fingertips trail over his lover’s chest distractedly while asking: “How is it?”

Montagne tests the restraints curiously before a strange look flits over his face. He fights the rope once more, wiggles the rest of his body a bit and then fixes Bandit with a determined gaze. “Do more.”

He feels his eyebrows rise in disbelief. “D-do – are you sure?” Montagne just nods but he seems serious, so Bandit doesn’t question him. “Alright. Just your ankles?” He senses hesitation and forces his voice to stay even: “Or do you want me to go all the way?”

They look at each other, Montagne thoughtful and Bandit holding his breath in anticipation. He’s always been partial to rope, likes the feel of it gliding through his fingers, learned as many different types of knots as he could and amassed a collection not currently with him but well cared for regardless – whether it’s him or someone else getting tied up normally doesn’t matter to him too much though he did develop a strong preference to being in control over the past few years. With Montagne, however, he’d gladly let him string him up, suspend him, anything.

Still, getting the chance to do all this to the large man below him instead is more than enticing. So when he eventually nods, Bandit feels a rush of desire sweep him up and carry him away. Wordlessly, he chooses a relatively elastic cord, slides off of Montagne’s lap and motions for him to sit up. Once he’s done so, shaking hands begin to deftly wrap the pristine white material around his broad chest, forming a pattern and looping through the wrist restraints, forcing Montagne to bend his arms backwards and keep his immobile hands behind the back of his neck. No more rope is added to his arms but plenty makes its way down his ribs and even below his navel, which is when Bandit gently pushes him back into a flat position.

He works quickly and practised, his nervousness vanishing after a while due to the familiarity and because Montagne is quietly accepting all he’s doing. He’s watching raptly, eyes focused on Bandit’s fingers and threatening to undo his confidence despite him being in the zone now, solely concentrating on keeping the rope tight enough so it doesn’t slip but loose enough as to not restrict breathing or cut into skin.

But now he’s stopped. And instead of continuing, he’s staring at Montagne’s cock, thick and hard, leaking impressively and jumping under his gaze. It’s unbelievably inviting and Bandit can feel his mouth watering, fingers twitching towards it and the urge to do something, anything to it is overwhelming for a second. What he told Montagne was the truth, he didn’t wank himself to completion for a week but that doesn’t mean he didn’t touch himself at all – and right now he’s regretting all of it fiercely since it comes crashing down at once, all the times he stopped just before, all the times he used his fingers without laying a single one on his dick, all of it makes him want viciously.

Normally – especially if it’s the first time tying someone up – he goes slow, maybe just brings his partner off after teasing them a little; normally, he’d take his time with Montagne, test whether he’s ticklish anywhere, let him get used to the feeling of being completely at his mercy and reassure him a bit. But right now, all he wants is this magnificent huge cock to be inside him.

Impatiently, he finishes his task, ties Montagne’s ankles to the respective thigh so his legs are bent as much as possible and then parts his knees, pushes them out of the way until his lover is spread-eagled before him. It’s a view for the Gods, oddly tasteful and yet so enthralling and sinful that Bandit’s head is starting to feel encased in honey again. Almost elegant. Definitely more than fucking hot though. For a brief moment, the vision of taking his lover in this position, making him writhe crosses his mind and punches all the air out of his lungs.

He catches Montagne staring at him with wide, excited eyes and registers something he’s noticed yet not fully understood before: he’s enjoying this. Immensely so, if his rock hard erection and blissful expression are anything to go by and the realisation of what it means hits him out of nowhere. They’ll probably do this again.

“I have to blindfold you”, his mouth informs Montagne before his brain is even aware of this necessity but it’s as if all his inner workings are being openly displayed on his face and he’s not used to feeling this vulnerable when he’s the one who can still move freely.

“But I like looking at you.” He’s pouting a little, utilising the only weapon he has left, and Bandit can’t bring himself to explain that it’s exactly why he has to make eye contact impossible. He’s so weak for this man and thus it pains him to dig up one of his ties and wrap it around his head, hide his piercing gaze. Now he’s free to ogle him, in all his glory, powerless, at Bandit’s mercy. It’s titillating.

“Fuck”, he breathes and grabs yet another rope, unceremoniously wrapping it around the base of Montagne’s cock as well as his scrotum, careful not to trap any of the loose skin, before tying a simple knot. “Is this okay? Can you breathe? Does anything hurt?” Despite his words being directed at Montagne himself, he’s transfixed by the hard erection jutting towards the sky, jumping at every tiny touch, the head wet and even thicker than usual.

“No, it’s all good”, Montagne replies huskily and groans when Bandit experimentally runs his fingers along his shaft. “It’s – it feels strange. But not bad. I’d still prefer being able to see you.”

Bandit ignores the last comment and fetches the lube, all his patience worn thin by now. He wants him and he wants him now, and if he won’t be able to sit the next few days, then so be it. Without any further ado, he pours a large amount directly onto Montagne’s dick, making him wince from the cold, and slicks it up with a few strokes. With the blood trapped inside, it’s definitely bigger than normal. He’ll have to go slow.

However, as soon as he starts climbing on top of the other man, he’s met with protest: “Wait, Dom, what are you doing? You’re not -”

“I’m so fucking ready”, Bandit growls in response and gets comfortable straddling him before sinking down so the tip of Montagne’s cock lines up with his hole. With one hand, he steadies the shaft and uses the other to pre-emptively silence his lover by putting it over his mouth, stopping him from objecting further. Yes, he’s done this before, thank you, and he knows exactly just how much he can take. When the head touches his ring of muscle, he pauses, consciously relaxes and tentatively grinds against it, spreading the lube and turning possible friction into a smooth, promising slide.

He’s been waiting for this forever – or that’s what it feels like because two weeks might as well have been forever – so he’s impatient, rocks into the dick and feels his mouth fall open the moment it enters him. Montagne’s legs twitch and he struggles against the hand over his lips but Bandit is adamant about this, he’s going to take him without preparation and without being told off for it. Sinking lower agonisingly slowly, he notices a faint burn which only serves to heighten his pleasure, sharpens the sensations to an edge cutting into his mind. He really is here right now and so is Montagne who allowed him to string him up and is moaning into his palm with every centimetre Bandit lowers himself further.

It’s not like he hasn’t done this before though admittedly, most of his previous partners weren’t quite as large as Montagne, and so he takes his time, pauses now and then to make a feeble attempt at catching his breath but mostly focuses on the hot flesh inside him on which he’s impaling himself. The ropes dig into his own skin, especially the ones wrapped around Montagne’s thighs, very close to his crotch, and the feel of them is merely a welcome addition to all the desire pooling low in Bandit’s belly. The slide goes on endlessly, there’s still more cock to take in even though he feels so full already, so he stops for the moment, panting and suppressing the urge to just start bouncing because as enticing as the idea is, it’s also very bad. Like this, he gets to appreciate Montagne fully though, and the sensation is brilliant and elating, the flesh inside him burning hot and what he can see of Montagne’s face is twisted in pleasure.

He takes away his hand to steady himself on Montagne’s chest and smiles a bit at the big gulps of air he immediately takes. The Frenchman looks oddly lost like this, unable to see but acutely aware of what’s happening regardless, unable to move but instead able to feel keenly. “Am I hurting you?”, he gasps.

“No”, Bandit lies – he doesn’t think he could explain that the vague pain is a more than welcome addition to the pulsing pleasure inside him. “You feel great.” His own member is protesting, demanding attention but he ignores it for now, reaches back and strokes over Montagne’s balls, massages them gently and moans when the large dick inside him throbs in return. In making it twitch, he ensures it hits all the right spots which further transform the residual discomfort into white hot desire, so he brushes the fingers of his other hand over a nipple peeking out from between white strings and feels his abs flutter when the pure need in him intensifies once more.

“Does that feel good?”, Montagne wants to know and receives his answer in the form of a throaty moan after a particularly vicious twitch which undoubtedly incentivises him to do it on purpose. Because that’s what he starts doing. Bandit is seeing stars by now, eager to outlast him by pinching the nipple between his digits and beginning with tentative movements spanning no more than a few centimetres but which feel monumental nonetheless. He fails spectacularly, ending up sprawled on top of Montagne, mewing helplessly into his ear and grinding into him. The head keeps rubbing right over his prostate and pushes against it with each throb and Bandit is fucking gone, hasn’t been this braindead and utterly controlled by physical sensations in a long while and feels like he could come any second now.

Oh. Wait. He can, actually. He’s done it before, suffered profusely at Montagne’s mercy several times in which he tried to cause a hands free climax and was successful in some of them. And not only does it feel bloody amazing, Montagne gets this smug little grin afterwards which Bandit so loves.

With effort, he forces himself to sit back up and move his hips which is easier said than done, especially when he feels as high as he does now, but he manages a steady rhythm after a few initial problems of having to adjust their position, not hitting the right angle and simply being too paralysed by roaring desire. Sliding up and down Montagne’s cock is addicting by itself already, but when he switches to lifting his entire body and not just rolling his hips against him, a high-pitched whine escapes him. Oh, this is it. This is perfect.

His fingers claw at the ropes criss-crossing over Montagne’s upper body and eventually hold on to them, using them as support while he fucks himself on the thick shaft, and the way his lover’s breath hitches and his ribcage rises and falls under his palms reminds him of the latent power sleeping in the warm body below him; a power currently contained yet tangible nonetheless. He’s beautiful, sweat on his brow, upper arms tensing now and then, legs trembling the faster Bandit moves – his position probably stopped being comfortable a while ago and still he carries Bandit without complaint, remains tied up for his pleasure and allows quiet groans to leave his parted lips.

The pleasure inside is building steadily and Bandit is now slamming his hips down against Montagne’s, desperate to reach a much needed orgasm but loath to touch himself. A litany of half-curses and helpless whimpering accompanies the slap of skin on skin, of skin on rope, and he can feel it coming, approaching at a snail’s pace but approaching nonetheless, he just needs to keep going, keep up this mind-numbing rhythm as he pulls on Montagne’s restraints – and that’s when he notices the other man tensing up. And thinks oh no you won’t.

“Don’t come”, he hisses, “oh my God, don’t you dare, don’t fucking come!” The noise erupting from Montagne speaks of desperation and powerlessness and pushes Bandit even further towards the edge because he can tell his lover is also close, so incredibly close but holding back now for his sake. He grits his teeth and switches to a slower speed and deeper thrusts, allows Montagne’s cock to bottom out fully and rises until he feels the ridge of the head stretching him. Bandit is thorough, relishes the long slide and gasps whenever the tip brushes his sweet spot. At this point, he’s been at it for entirely too long, his muscles are protesting, he knows his hands are going to be numb afterwards and he might regret this the next day but he’s right there, and that’s all that counts.

Montagne is biting his lip and baring his throat, muscles flexing prettily as he forces himself away from the edge with visible exertion, he looks so fucking good and it’s all just for him. All of this is just for Bandit.

He comes with a helpless cry, the air in his lungs knocked out by the force of it. His orgasm is violent, starts as an extreme spike of pleasure in his midsection and explodes into a full body experience, curling his toes and his fingers, making him bury Montagne deep inside him just to feel him in his entirety. Bandit shudders with every small movement, riding it out gingerly because everything else would probably make him pass out and each tiny motion of his hips has him gush out semen onto Montagne’s chest, even reaching up to his collar bone. His neglected cock jumps with every spurt and is accompanied by a disbelieving moan. Warmth spreads through his body, sating the deafening need and turning it into calming relief, appeasing the desire demanding for so much.

When he’s done ejaculating, his abdomen is still contracting, still sending pleasure signals to his brain and so he sinks down onto his lover, mouths at his ear and purrs contentedly every time either of their cocks twitch. He’d love to ride Montagne to completion as well but he’s wholly and utterly spent, not to mention boneless. Besides, he should really take the ropes off now. Catching his breath is a difficult task and it takes several attempts until he finally manages – by then, Montagne is moving restlessly below him, obviously wanting to either finish or be relieved of Bandit’s weight, so he lifts his hips until Montagne’s unwaveringly hard dick slips out and climbs off with a series of decidedly unsexy groans.

“This fucking kills me”, he slurs, tongue heavy and, like the rest of his body, not really obeying him anymore. “Fuck. That was perfect. You look stunning, holy shit. Let me die.” He stretches out next to Montagne, grimacing at the way his legs feel more like pudding, and reaches out to undo the knot by his lover’s wrists. As soon as the rope is loose enough, the Frenchman pushes it off, discards the blindfold and moves to rid himself of the rest of the restraints while Bandit simply watches him, entranced by smooth movements and graceful limbs. “I love you”, he mumbles, exhausted, and returns the adoring smile directed at him.

“I love you too”, Montagne replies and presses the long line of his body against Bandit’s, kissing him sweetly. “And I suppose we can do this again. It was… interesting.”

Bandit grins and barely manages to raise his arm to wipe some of his come off Montagne’s pecs, only to lick and suck it off his fingers. The scandalised yet intrigued expression makes it more than worth it. “We’re not done, stud.”

The pet name makes Montagne’s lips curl both in embarrassment and amusement. “You can’t even move anymore.”

“But you can.” He rolls over onto his stomach and wiggles his backside invitingly. “Hop on.” His lover remains unconvinced though his gaze lingers on his ass for longer than he’d probably admit. “It won’t hurt and I want you to come like this. Come on.”

As he hoped, Montagne does give in but not without hesitation and not without adding more lube either. He kneels over Bandit, breathing heavily, and guides his cock to where it’s been mere minutes ago, inserting it cautiously and this is when Bandit realises he might’ve made a mistake. Because his hole not only took a beating already, it’s also overly sensitive and this new stimulation makes his toes twitch and eyelashes flutter; it’s intense and probably more than he bargained for. His orgasm left him loose and relaxed yet when Montagne is all the way in once more, he can feel himself tensing up again, a certain fire inside being rekindled.

It has, without a doubt, also something to do with the fact that Montagne is now spread out over him, grunting at every of Bandit’s involuntary movements and contractions around him and nibbling at his neck, biting at his shoulder. One of his arms is keeping him steady and pressing into the mattress next to Bandit’s shoulder and so he takes hold of the wrist, feels the quickening pulse in his palm and prepares for the worst. “It’s okay”, he whispers and raises his ass a little for better access, “go ahead.”

And Montagne does. He starts slow but speeds up, drives into Bandit relentlessly and shows no pity. He nails his prostate with each thrust, moans into the nape of his neck and pets him almost compulsively, creates a crass counterpoint to the hard thrusts with his gentle strokes over Bandit’s back and Bandit is so overstimulated he feels tears forming in the corners of his eyes. It’s too much and not enough simultaneously, he can’t see straight and sobs in pleasure, must sound pathetic because Montagne keeps checking in on him, asking whether he should stop, whether it’s alright, whether Bandit is hurting, and the answer to all of these questions is no.

It’s staggering. He can’t get enough of it.

There’s no doubt about it, he will regret this tomorrow but right now he’s in fucking heaven, moaning and shuddering uncontrollably while a tongue endeavours to take him apart at the seams, running over his outer ear and forcing inhuman noises out of his throat. He bites into his own arm to stop himself from screaming when Montagne reaches his climax with a sharp gasp and the sudden pain distracts him from both the frustration as well as the tremendous pleasure of feeling this thick cock unload inside him. Every single throb is distinct and he moves his hips against it, prolongs his lover’s orgasm as much as possible while he basks in the feeling of being desired to this extent, of being claimed and marked and filled.

But he’s not done. Even after Montagne has peppered his spine with kisses and withdrawn, he’s not done, turns back around and tugs on the other man’s arm, moves it to his crotch while pleading, asking for something he doesn’t know what and feels a deep seated want calming as soon as fingers enter him, push the sperm back inside and massage this special spot which makes his mind turn blank. His tender ring of muscle is sore already but he doesn’t care, he wants this, he needs this, and so he sinks into the odd mixture of aching pleasure like into a bath which is too hot. He rolls his hips against Montagne’s hand, head swimming and heart pounding, and tries to concentrate on the feeling despite the overwhelming dizziness.

When he climaxes again, a fist is encasing his dick, having taken pity on him, while the other hand is mercilessly stroking over his prostate, and his orgasm is almost dry and hurts but it hurts so good he’s moaning regardless. He’s lost in his desire, displays it openly and unashamedly, thrusts up into the slick grip and only comes down extremely slowly.

Several minutes pass during which he’s vaguely aware of being moved and cleaned, feels a warm washcloth on his skin as well as soothing touches and when he comes to himself fully, he’s wrapped in a thick blanket and sitting sideways on Montagne’s lap, him having moved them both to the sofa. He’s petting Bandit’s hair while holding him close and the motion is so reassuring he decides not to move for a bit and maybe pretend like he’s sleeping.

“Have some water”, a voice rumbles against him and well, so much for that. He untangles one of his arms from the blanket and accepts the proffered glass, empties it and notices a change for the better instantly. “We overdid it a little, hm?”

Bandit is about to protest but notices the stripes on Montagne’s chest where the rope cut into him – the rope on which Bandit pulled without fully realising. “Did I hurt you? Are you alright?”, he murmurs concernedly and looks up, only to be met with amusement dancing in deep blue eyes.

“You didn’t and yes, I am. Don’t worry.”

“In that case it was the hottest fucking thing that’s ever happened to me and we should do it again as soon as possible.”

Montagne laughs and squeezes him in appreciation, stealing a kiss and putting their foreheads together. “I really did miss you. And that reminds me, do you think we…” His tone of voice is serious and so Bandit waits patiently, gives him the time to sort his thoughts or build up courage. He can’t fault him for wanting to do so, in the past he’s had to struggle to convince Bandit of some things which ultimately benefited them both. “Ah, let’s talk about it tomorrow. You look very tired.”

Part of him wants to question him further, extract whatever is on Montagne’s mind, but a significantly larger part is entirely too exhausted to even shake his head. “Yeah. Alright.” He stuffs his arm back into the safety of the blanket before it gets cold and snuggles closer to his lover. “Do you think you can carry me back to the bed and talk some more about your mission while we cuddle?”

“Of course”, Montagne responds and kisses his temple, “I would love to.”

Chapter Text

It’s strange. As one of the most commonly used words, Montagne would think he’d be used to hearing it by now. As the answer he expected, Montagne would think he wouldn’t be surprised upon it actually being uttered. As the response for which he prepared himself, Montagne would think he’d know how to react.

And yet the simple no throws him off completely.

Bandit’s eyes have hardened which is probably why he doesn’t aim his gaze at Montagne directly – he doesn’t want him to feel the full effect of his stony expression. He makes no move to explain himself or add anything, so the single word hangs in the air heavily between them for a few seconds during which Montagne struggles to compose himself. The bluntness of it hurts, he can’t deny it, but he’s willing to give Bandit the benefit of the doubt regardless. Around them, conversations trickle on, now and then someone laughs loudly though overall the canteen is typically quiet for this early in the morning. He chose to raise the topic now because he anticipated Bandit closing off or wanting to withdraw to ponder his suggestion, which is why he refrained from mentioning it the night before.

That, and Bandit’s urgency actually worried him a little. It was obvious his absence was detrimental to Bandit’s overall well-being, which constitutes another issue he planned to address later.

“Why?”, he asks and regrets the question the moment his lover glares at him. This isn’t how he pictured the conversation to go, not at all, he expected a fight maybe or hesitant refusal which wouldn’t waver in the moment but over time, yet this, this is looking like genuine anger and rejection.

“I don’t want to”, comes the curt answer. “I just don’t. Stop asking.”

He can’t. Not when he’s met with a wall out of the blue and is now determined to figure out how to bypass or climb it. “Dom, I respect your decision and I will stop asking if you want me to. But I would still like to know why. You don’t need to tell me now, it’s fine if you need to -”

“You’re not good for me.”

It feels like a punch to the gut. Montagne sits silently, trying to recover from the blow whereas Bandit listlessly stabs his scrambled eggs without eating any of it. He’s lost weight over the two weeks Montagne was gone, hasn’t slept well, others have reported his mood as being rotten – is this what he’s referring to? Montagne hopes to God it is. Regret is creeping into Bandit’s expression now, a kind of self-hate Montagne has encountered before, often born from misguided pride. A result of pushing those away who’d otherwise refuse to leave his side. “What do you mean?” His throat is dry and he, too, has lost all appetite. If he’d known it’d turn sour this quickly he would’ve waited after they’re finished eating.

“You don’t want to be around me all the time.” He’s trying to divert attention from what he previously said but Montagne can’t un-hear the words, can’t pretend they’re not weighing him down. “Right now it’s fine because you can throw me out of your room if you want and we don’t have to be together all day. But if we lived together, that’s not – you wouldn’t want that.”

“I know what I want”, he responds firmly yet gently, “and that is exactly it. I do want to be around you all the time. It’s what we’re doing already, Dom. We sleep in the same bed every night.”

“We didn’t for the last two weeks”, he states bitingly and it sounds as if he’s blaming Montagne for this.

“And I missed you every night. It wasn’t my decision to leave and I didn’t enjoy being away from you. It made me realise how much I love your company and I do believe we would be happier if we lived together. Right now, you don’t seem to feel at home in your room but see yourself as a guest in mine. We could have a place which belongs to both of -”

“No.” The insistence behind the word silences Montagne. He doesn’t, probably can’t understand why Bandit is so against this, not with the information he’s been privy to so far. It can’t only be insecurity. Both of them remain mute for a long while during which Montagne tests out a million different approaches in his head – Bandit is feeling cornered for whatever reason, so it’d be best to back off, agree with him for now, drop the topic. He knows this. And yet he can’t get those words out of his head. “I don’t want to need you”, Bandit eventually raises his voice again.

Montagne is instantly reminded of the very beginning of their budding relationship. I don’t fucking need you, Bandit had said and been very wrong about it. It might be that he feels he’s the only one, Montagne may have not been vocal enough about his own reliance on his lover. “I need you too”, he offers weakly and earns a sneer.

“That makes it worse.” He shakes his head because he doesn’t think it does yet Bandit is adamant. “Can we just – take a step back? I’m not… I don’t like this.”

They’ve lost each other at this point and Bandit seems to be saying only half of what he means. It’s a mess and Montagne should interrupt them both before it devolves even further or before either of them come to a conclusion they’ll end up regretting and yet something in him demands to prod further, push Bandit to a point where he can’t turn back. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s ugly spite, an inappropriate want for revenge for directing such painful words at Montagne, words he’s fairly sure he didn’t deserve – he only knows that he needs to stop talking and that he won’t. “What do you mean, a step back?”

Bandit’s mouth is doing something odd, looking like he’s either going to cry or yell in anger, seems to be biting back a torrent of words possibly even worse than the ones already inhabiting Montagne’s thoughts. He’s forced to say it now, Montagne made him. “I don’t know. Go back to being fucking casual. This is too much.”

We were never casual. The sentence itches on the tip of his tongue, as true as it is unhelpful. Bandit doesn’t mean it, can’t mean it. Regardless, it’s Montagne’s turn now: “No.” Eyes lock with his as they’ve done so many times before in so many different contexts, though never quite like this, never with that much dismay in them. “I can’t do that. You mean too much to me, I can’t pretend you don’t.”

Further into the corner Bandit goes, visibly uncomfortable with the open declaration. It feels like Montagne is doing everything wrong. “So you’d rather, what? End it? It’s either nothing or me suffocating?”

This hurts. Does it really feel that way to Bandit? It can’t be, Montagne knows it not to be true and yet his conviction wavers in the face of this broken expression in front of him. “Those aren’t the only two options”, he offers but it’s futile, at this point Bandit won’t listen to anything he has to say.

“Yeah, they are.” And with this, Bandit gets up, abandoning his breakfast, abandoning his lover, stalks away with a scowl and evades anyone who tries to talk to him on the way out.

Montagne is left to blankly stare at the table, wondering what in the world just happened. An hour ago, he felt confident enough in their relationship to suggest living together and now – what? Where do they stand? It’s impossible to believe that all this build-up, the moments they shared, problems they addressed and largely overcame, their mutual trust and affection could be invalidated this easily but it might just be what happened. He’s aware of Bandit’s commitment issues, knows about his hesitancy concerning anything intimate (though he, for some reason, didn’t seem to consider sex intimate at first), but never fathomed they’d surface like this.

He needs to talk to him, that much is obvious, once he’s cooled off, once he’s had the time to think it over. It might take more than a day.

Montagne has to find Blitz.

.

On the way, he made a mental list of all things necessary to address, planning to keep the conversation professional and short – he doesn’t like bothering others with personal problems, prefers helping to seeking help and therefore has to fight down initial embarrassment upon needing to talk to Blitz at all. But it all crumbles when the German, previously engaged in conversation with a beaming Rook (and this is something Montagne has kept his eye on for a while already), takes one look at him and asks sharply: “What did he do?”

His chest constricts as he tries to answer, attempts to come up with an explanation despite not even having one in the first place. Yes, Bandit did something, potentially ripped apart the seemingly solid structure they built together, but he can’t be sure, only knows he’s not good for him and suffocating him and how can he tell Blitz any of this?

Before he can even consider telling the two that he doesn’t know, Rook is already hugging him and this is when he realises he’s crying. He can’t even remember the last time he cried, probably in the context of his divorce, dating it back almost a decade, and so he doesn’t know what to do, how to make it stop. His hands are trembling and so he grips Rook’s pullover tightly instead, forcing down a sob and desperately scrambling to compose himself again – they’re in the middle of the hallway, everyone could see them and it’s the last thing he wants. After he’s taken a few shuddering breaths, Rook’s hand soothingly stroking over his back during all this, he withdraws again, wiping his eyes and ready to apologise yet halts when he notices Blitz’ expression.

Where Rook is regarding him with a worried and concerned one, Blitz’s a mix of shock and pure unadulterated fury. “I’m going to fuck his shit up”, he murmurs and prompts a half amused, half sad laugh from Montagne. They wordlessly pull him into Rook’s room and lavish him with care for a bit, providing him with a glass of water, cracking jokes to momentarily distract him and actually manage to feel him better in the end, not so alone and less guilty about seeking someone else’s advice. When his voice doesn’t shake anymore and he’s regained the ability to think about Bandit without feeling like an all-encompassing void is going to swallow him the next second, he recounts their conversation and watches Blitz’ face darken and Rook’s turn confused.

“He’s such a dumb idiot”, Blitz eventually states, earning himself a frown from the young Frenchman. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean it, none of it.”

Montagne’s brows lift. “How sure?” At this, Rook inexplicably whips out his phone and begins furiously tapping on the screen, seemingly not interested in the conversation anymore.

“I’ve known him for a while now, and to be honest, I’ve never seen him this happy before. Stop doubting yourself, he’ll have to realise -”

Rook interrupts the two by shoving his phone under Montagne’s nose, displaying a picture of a decidedly grumpy Bandit crossing his arms and glaring off to the side. Before Montagne can ask him what he wants to achieve by this, Rook tells him: “Swipe to the next one.” He does and though the following photo seems to be taken only a few minutes later, the person in it seems completely different, his aura changed wholly: his body language is more open, his face has lit up considerably and he’s smiling down at his phone in genuine joy. He looks endearing and seeing him like this feels both like a stab to the heart and a salve for his soul simultaneously.

“What is this?”, he asks weakly, fighting down the urge to get up, find Bandit and just hug him.

“From last week”, his teammate explains quietly. “He looked like this every time you messaged him.” Did he really? Breathing becomes difficult all of a sudden. The replies he received were often curt but now that he thinks about it, usually came back immediately. He knows Bandit doesn’t like to text much and yet he did so unfailingly for two weeks. “There’s one more.”

This one increases the longing unbearably. It’s a photo of his own room, more specifically of his bed, Bandit lying on Montagne’s side, tightly hugging his lover’s pillow and his phone half buried under the side of his face. It must’ve been taken after one of the evenings on which he talked Bandit to sleep and he belatedly realises he’s wearing one of Montagne’s t-shirts. It’s so heartwarming he can’t take it.

“He was actually late because he overslept and we were worried because he didn’t find him in his room, so…” Rook gestures at his phone and puts it back into his pocket after Montagne nods in understanding. He knows what his teammate is trying to tell him and it does help immensely, calms the self-doubts raging inside him. It wasn’t a delusion when he thought of Bandit being happy with him.

“I need to talk to him”, he says determinedly but hesitates when Blitz shakes his head.

“Give him some space. He apparently doesn’t deal with this well, so it’s best to let him come to his senses first.”

He heaves a sigh but eventually agrees. “Can you do me a favour though? Keep him company if we’re still not talking tonight. He hasn’t seen No Country For Old Men but he’d like it, so suggest watching it some time after midnight. He’ll probably fall asleep halfway through, you can turn everything off and go to bed then, but give him the blue blanket, it’s the thickest. Thank you in advance.”

The other two exchange a meaningful glance and offer him a slight smile. “I think you’re going to be okay”, Rook tells him, reaches out and squeezes his hand.

.

Montagne is imbalanced for the rest of the day. Uncertainty gnaws at him, an odd mood has taken up residence in his mind and refuses to leave, dulling all positive interactions to a mere neutral and making all inconveniences seem like insurmountable obstacles. He drags his feet and feels his gaze drawn to anything and everything not only of Bandit himself but also reminding him of his lover, which, as it turns out, is a whole lot, yet nothing comes close to going to sleep in an empty bed. He tosses and turns, endlessly recounts the one conversation which hopefully didn’t destroy what he held most dearly and wonders how he could’ve lead it better, how he could’ve averted all this.

For most of the day, Bandit managed to ensure they didn’t end up in the same room which hurt just as much, if not more, than being ignored in his presence, though he admittedly didn’t seem very chipper either. It’s obvious he’s dissatisfied with the situation yet makes no move to change it, which fits to what Blitz said about him needing space. Montagne gladly would’ve granted him some had he only asked – he’s not clingy; even if he prefers to be near his lover he can survive just fine without breathing the same air as him constantly. But he’s gotten used to his cool body next to his own when he’s dozing off and without him, his bed seems depressingly empty. The last two weeks were a necessity. This isn’t.

Unsurprisingly, he ends up not being able to sleep. He browses his phone, makes the mistake of re-reading older messages which he now sees in a very different light, picturing Bandit’s pure and delighted smile again, thinks back to the evening Bandit masturbated in his bed. He was wearing his clothes. Not only that, he probably slept in his bed the whole time.

Eventually, he gives up and paces his room restlessly, wondering whether Blitz followed his suggestion and made sure Bandit doesn’t eat himself alive from boredom or worry or guilt. It’s one in the morning already, and though he vowed not to force it, not to corner Bandit once more, he can’t help himself. He sends him a text: are you still up? It doesn’t matter to him whether he’s busy or not or whatever it is he’s doing, he wants to see him. Even if they don’t talk. Even if they don’t even touch. His presence is enough.

A minute later, he gets an answer: no. While he frowns down at his screen, unsure how to react to this, two more things pop up: dsl and jtm.

It’s all he needed. Despite only being in pyjama shorts, he throws his phone onto his mattress and storms out of his room, wondering on the way when Bandit started understanding and even using French text speak, the first abbreviation being désolé, sorry, and the second je t’aime. I love you.

Even though he was so ready to forgive Bandit immediately, seeing the back of his head peeking over the couch in the lounge triggers an anger born from relief – now he knows it’ll be fine, but he’s been put through this misery regardless. The film is still playing, seems to be about halfway and yet Bandit isn’t sleeping but instead wrapped in the blue blanket and eating ice cream directly out of the tub with a tablespoon. He doesn’t look up when Montagne approaches, doesn’t move when he sits down next to him, eyes glued to the screen.

“Are you angry?”, Bandit wants to know very quietly.

“Yes.” Brown eyes slide over to his, apparently not expecting this answer. “I had an absolutely horrible day.”

“Me too.” He stuffs a large spoonful of basically all sugar into his mouth. “I don’t like being addicted. I know what it’s like. It’s the worst.”

“Dom, you’re not addicted to me. Relying on somebody is completely different.”

He scowls as if to disagree, yet doesn’t object out loud. “Dependent on you then. I eat and sleep when I’m with you and when I’m not, I don’t. That fucking sucks. You’re not my goddamn nanny.”

The mission must’ve made him aware of this, prompted him to critically evaluate their relationship in this regard and come to the wrong conclusion. Montagne sighs, scratches his head. “I know I can’t fix you, but I can help. How can you focus on yourself when you’re not sleeping because of nightmares? How can you concentrate on getting better if you’re physically too weak? Please. Let me just… be there. I want to.”

Bandit stays silent for a while, following the action on the TV for a bit before reaching out for the remote and pausing the film, which is when Montagne notices they’re not actually alone: Blitz and Rook are sleeping on the sofa next to them, Blitz stretched out and Rook draped over his chest, resting between his legs. “What if you leave?”, Bandit asks. “And don’t give me that bullshit about never leaving. You could die on any mission.”

“Then I suppose you have to decide what you’re going to do – whether you’ll take that risk or not.” Montagne offers a tentative smile which is met by a softening of Bandit’s features. “But I think you’ve made that decision already. You’re just doubting it right now.” If Bandit hadn’t wanted to become attached, if he hadn’t wanted to love, he wouldn’t have remained by Montagne’s side voluntarily.

“I’m fucking terrified.” Bandit’s voice is small. “I’ve only moved in together with one partner ages ago and it turned out to be a disaster. I don’t want to be annoying. I don’t want to put you off. And I definitely don’t want you feeling responsible for me.”

Hearing him voice his concerns is like a breath of fresh air, clears Montagne’s lungs and his thoughts alike. Bandit is ready to listen now and it’s an immense relief. “Barely anything is going to change between us. But you’ll hopefully have a place to call home. You can hide from the world if you want to or invite it in. That’s all. We already eat breakfast and dinner together, sleep in one bed, read in one room.”

He mulls it over while emptying the tub, staring at nothing, the cogs in his head turning furiously. “It’s more than that, though. If we break up, it’s awkward. And what if the walls are thin and we have to listen to some old couple doing it? Do you want to get leather sofas?”

Montagne wordlessly scoops him up and pulls him onto his lap, smiling into his hair and holding him tight when Bandit discards the empty ice cream, wraps all his limbs around him immediately, buries his face in the nape of Montagne’s neck. Both of them are radiating relief now though Bandit clings to him a little too desperately for his taste. “We don’t have to do it any time soon”, he whispers and kisses the top of his lover’s head, “I mostly just wanted you to know that I’d like it if we lived together. If you change your mind or just decide you don’t want to, it’s fine. But please, never do anything like that again. Alright?”

“I know”, comes the mumbled reply and his guilty conscience is audible, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, my love.” He draws soothing patterns on Bandit’s back and basks in the physical contact, enjoying the warmth of Bandit’s blanket covering them both. Despite the most obvious issue being resolved, a troubling one remains. “I need to know which parts you actually meant though. Am I suffocating you? Do you need more space, more time to yourself?”

His answer is a decisive shake of the head. “No. No, you’re not, I was just – I don’t know. I wasn’t in a good place this morning.” It seems he wants to leave it at that but remembers Montagne’s request to at least tell him why, so he struggles to come up with a better answer: “I dreamt of you once or twice and it wasn’t… good. I missed you. And last night, I think I realised how much I really need you and it scared me. Fuck, saying this out loud is the worst, I feel so fucking stupid.”

Montagne feels a smile pull on the corners of his mouth and gently massages Bandit’s scalp until he relaxes into his embrace. “It was a little stupid”, he agrees and feels Bandit’s hug tighten, “I would just like to know that I can count on you telling me if there’s something wrong. Before it escalates.”

“Yes. I’ll try. I’m not – I’m not good at it. At talking. But I’ll try. I’m sorry.”

The words soothe his soul and he nods contently. One thing is for sure, he needs to become better at reading Bandit, understanding his moods and navigating difficult conversations with him – talking about what bothers his lover is a good start, allows him to get a better feel for what goes on inside his head. Sometimes, when he watches Blitz interact with his lover, he realises with a pang how adept Blitz is at predicting Bandit’s behaviour which probably is to be expected since they’ve been close friends for much longer than Montagne even knows him.

And yet there’s a variety of things Blitz has stated he’s never witnessed Bandit do – among them quite a few actions Montagne has seen him take, the most recent being talking about his feelings as well as apologising. There are a few others, like cuddling as a source of comfort, kissing without sexual intent or turning down sex in general, all of which Bandit did at some point. It’s not without pride that Montagne notices he seems to bring out Bandit’s softer side, a side even Blitz isn’t familiar with.

The thought makes him glance over to the other two operators and he notices with a mix of alarm and joy that Blitz is returning his gaze, visibly distraught, probably because he’s witnessing Bandit doing so many things for the very first time. It’s an odd relief to be shown this unambiguously that the relationship he has with Bandit is so unique in many ways that his best friend even is astonished at the bond they share. Just to show off a little, he lifts Bandit’s chin and initiates a deep kiss into which he sinks gladly, relieved at apparently being forgiven and as of yet unaware of Blitz’ attention. Montagne keeps it going for a while, strokes over Bandit’s tongue with his own and hums into it which is met with a soft purring. When they finally break apart again, breathing heavier, he asks: “Want to go back to my room?”

His intention is clear and yet, as he expected, Bandit simply declines, not in the mood for more, still yearning for affection and affirmation. “Not yet. Can we just… stay like this for a bit?”

And at this, he can’t help himself, he has to look over to where Blitz is gaping at them in open disbelief, staring at Bandit like he sprouted another head and yet trying not to move so he doesn’t wake up Rook. Frowning, Bandit follows his lover’s gaze and returns Blitz’ for a split second before basically panicking. His entire body stiffens and he jumps up, declares with reddening cheeks: “Okay, we’re leaving. Not a single word, Elias, or you’re fucking dead.”

Blitz’ shock is slowly dissipating and making way for a wide, gleeful grin indicating he’s not taking the threat seriously whatsoever and merely itching to let everyone know of how Bandit turns into a kitten in Montagne’s arms. This, in turn, prompts Bandit to throw a look at the peacefully snoozing Rook on top of him. “You don’t say anything about what you think you heard and I won’t tell everyone about the brat and you. Deal?”

His teammate pretends to ponder the option, looks down at the brown shock of hair fondly and finally nods, following them with his eyes as Bandit takes Montagne’s hand and drags him out of the room, ignoring his wide smile and the blush on his own face. They navigate the dark corridors easily, having done so numerous times before, and end up in Montagne’s room, Bandit still holding on to him even after closing the door behind them. “Did you know he was awake?”, he accuses the Frenchman by his side and narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“What is with the two, anyway? They’ve been hanging out a lot”, Montagne steers the topic away quite conspicuously and yet Bandit jumps on it readily with a sarcastic reply.

“Yeah, what do you think? The same as us two.”

“Oh, so they’re madly in love? So bad they don’t know how to deal with it?”, Montagne prompts and earns an eye roll.

“And one of them behaves like a fucking idiot and almost ruins it? I hope not. Because that would suck for the both of them.” With this, Bandit melts against him once more and curses quietly. “I’m really sorry. If you’d said to me half of what I threw at you, I wouldn’t forgive you so easily.”

“That is how it works though. I’m not going to give you up because of a few words spoken in anger or defence.”

“You wouldn’t back off even if I told you I didn’t want to be together with you anymore?”

Montagne tries to picture it, tries to emulate what happened last morning. “No. Not as long as there’s a chance you didn’t mean it.”

“I don’t deserve you.” And before he can object, can tell Bandit that he deserves even better, deserves peace and all the love in the world, deserves to be happy most of all, they’re kissing again, short kisses this time and only interrupted by small smiles and gentle caresses. Bandit undresses in the meantime and slips under the covers with him, pressing close but more than satisfied with his presence.

“I’m going to ask Six whether it’s possible for us to only go on missions together from now on”, Montagne tells him, speaks against his temple and touches it with his lips as he rubs circles into Bandit’s side. “She should agree, seeing as she usually picks teams based on compatibility anyway.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

They’re both tired and so it’s the end of their conversation, both of them drifting off to sleep while holding on to each other. The last thought Montagne has before dozing off is: I should ask Rook for those photos. He’s sure they’d make perfect wallpapers for his phone.

Chapter Text

There’s something up with Bandit.

Not like there normally isn’t: he’s either busy preparing a large scale prank (and Montagne’s shoes will never be the same after the last mud fight), has a ridiculous challenge going on with someone (usually Jäger, these two are an absolute disaster duo) or he’s managed to get himself hurt in some way – it’s usually one of those three, meaning Montagne has to first figure out the specifics and then whether he needs to step in. It’s reassuring to know that Bandit always backs off should he ask him to do so, not without grumbling or an argument sometimes but he relents in the end, sees reason. He used to push back more than he does these days but he’s learned that if he lets off, he’s rewarded with copious amounts of affection he soaks up like a sponge, basks in gentle touches and becomes as docile as a kitten.

But this isn’t his normal shenanigans. If they were, Montagne wouldn’t feel worry creeping up on him; worry he usually pushes away for he knows his overprotective nature causes him to see dangers everywhere. His young teammates keep repeating the same thing at him: don’t worry. He can’t help it. When he comes across Ash with remarkable circles under her eyes, he grabs a coffee for her, when he sees Ying struggling to reach the box with the green tea, he gets a chair for her and chastises Echo for messing with her, when Tachanka ‘smuggles’ another bottle of vodka into his room, he checks up on him the next morning. And when he notices Bandit’s grimace upon having to eat worsen, he needs to know what’s up.

His lover has been more closed off than usual, his sleep and eating habits having declined even further, and yet he hasn’t approached Montagne on his own to disclose any reasons to him. He suspects its roots to be psychological rather than physical as he hasn’t been ill for a while or injured, for that matter, hasn’t overdone it in training and has otherwise not been doing anything alarming. They’ve not talked about his past much so far but they don’t have to – Montagne can piece large parts of it together and what little he knows might actually already be the most important bits. Still, it’s possible there’s something wrong with his family maybe or an old friend, causing Bandit a considerable amount of distress. He does seem troubled.

“Is something wrong?”, Montagne asks tentatively during lunch. He prides himself on being empathetic and yet Bandit is someone who often eludes him, who doesn’t react the way he expects him to.

The question earns him a confused frown. “No? Why do you ask? Why should there be?”

Defensive. “You seem a little distracted. I’m just making sure.”

“No. Everything’s fine.” His gaze is cast downwards and he’s eaten not even half of what he ordered.

He doesn’t like doing this. It feels too much like an I-told-you-so setup, too much like he eventually wants to guilt trip Bandit, point back at exactly this moment in time in misplaced triumph, but it’s also a kind of reassurance. And so he says: “If there was something, you’d tell me, right?”

Bandit’s gaze flickers up to meet his. “Yeah”, he replies simply. “You know I would.”

Montagne doesn’t think so. He wishes he could place unshakable trust in the man before him, rely on his words blindly and he curses himself for being unable to do so. Past experiences have shown that Bandit is someone who lets things fester instead of tackling them head-on, waits until he can’t keep it under wraps anymore. Montagne should trust him. But he can’t.

.

During the next few days, it doesn’t get better. Bandit is without motivation a lot of the time, skips physical training one day and brings forth a lame excuse with a half-laugh but doesn’t get into trouble over it which cements Montagne’s suspicions that there’s something up – something about which their higher-ups know but he doesn’t. He can’t deny it hurts to realise he’s been kept out of the loop and he’s starting to think it is physical seeing as there must’ve been a good enough reason for him to not participate in normal activities. Not only that, Bandit is quick to discuss any topic even if it’s something he’d otherwise just shrug at, readily allows others to take up his time and seems to be trying to avoid being alone with Montagne.

It’s not that he’s avoiding him. They do watch a film together with others and Bandit spends the entire time on him in some way, stretched out over him, sitting on his lap, at some point even falling asleep against his shoulder. He’s oddly needy, climbs around on him whenever he gets the chance, steals kisses left and right and wraps himself around his lover more often than not, but when asked, he merely reacts with compliments or statements like I’m just really glad to have you which are nice and warm Montagne’s heart, that’s not it, he’s not complaining about all the things Bandit whispers in between kisses or into his hair or against his neck, no.

It’s all the things he doesn’t say.

A few times, he prods. Carefully, without reproach or judgement, bases it on observations he’s made or formulates simple questions all of which designed to open up discussion, allow Bandit to safely approach the topic – whatever it is – yet he meets a wall. Bandit blames bad sleep, bad memories, someone else riling him up, parades one excuse after the next or deflects completely. Montagne knows by now what would happen if he pushed and therefore he doesn’t. Not wanting Bandit to feel cornered, his only option is to wait.

He despises doing so. He’s trapped in limbo, not a single clue as to what concerns Bandit to a point where he repeatedly chooses cuddling over sex. The one time they actually do it, he’s doing all the things he knows Montagne likes, stays mostly passive and merely enjoys, beams up at him lovingly as if he hung the moon, keeps repeating the words he originally was so reluctant to say over and over, sucks dark purple marks onto Montagne’s shoulders and makes sure they come at the same time.

If he’s honest, it worries him even more. Bandit being clingy and generous to this extent is not a good sign.

It’s almost as if he’s trying to make the most out of – out of what?

.

He’s extremely uncomfortable. It’s unprofessional and possibly taking advantage of a long friendship which could be permanently soured by what he’s about to do but he sees no other way. “I’m sorry”, he says before even sitting down opposite of his teammate, prompting a raised eyebrow.

“What for?”, Doc wants to know cautiously and Montagne doesn’t blame him for the reservedness he displays.

“I know there’s something wrong with Dom. But I don’t know what.”

Doc remains silent for a while, clearly waiting for Montagne to elaborate yet he’s already struggling for words. “Have you tried talking to him?”

“Yes. Of course. He refuses to admit there is anything in the first place. If I tried to force it, he’d get angry and close off even more. I don’t know what else to do.”

Realisation dawns on his old friend and he leans back in his chair with a deep breath. “You want me to tell you.” A statement, not a question. Montagne remains silent but feels like he exudes guilt. He doesn’t miss the implication that there really is something. “You know I can’t do that.”

The accusing tone is entirely warranted. “I know. I know that. I just -” There is so much he could say: I feel so helpless. Looking at him is like drowning. If something were to happen to him and I could’ve helped I will never forgive myself. But none of it is in any way constructive and therefore he stays mute, forces down the dull ache and terrifying visions of the future, forces everything down before it spirals out of control.

“If you know this, then why are you here?”

He’s wringing his hands at this point, desperate for any kind of reassurance. “Can you at least tell me how serious it is? I have nothing to go by. I don’t know whether I need to insist and risk driving him off. I know nothing.”

“How do you even know there’s something up if he hasn’t mentioned anything?”

“There’s no need to. He’s reduced smoking, is more picky about his food – he hasn’t eaten any fast food in a week. He’s more exhausted than usual. And I don’t think he’s had a drop of alcohol either.” Doc is studying him with a pensive expression, so he feels the need to add: “I know him. This isn’t normal. I’m scared, Gustave, I’m -”

“He’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Relief punches all the air out of his lungs, leaving him scrambling to regain his composure and still he feels himself tearing up. Doc waits patiently, lets him take all the time he needs. Eventually, he nods. “Thank you.”

“I don’t think anyone else noticed. You two are…” He frowns, seeks the right words, the correct moulds for the idea he’s trying to convey. “I was very sceptical at first, I don’t think I ever told you. I know him as unstable and high maintenance and didn’t think you’d be willing or able to deal with him in the long run. You proved me wrong. You’re good for each other and in general, his health has improved. Especially his mental health.”

Hearing this only soothes his worries further though it doesn’t help with the moisture forming in the corners of his eyes. They exchange a fond smile. “I’m so glad to hear it. Others shared your concerns, I know, but we’re really not that different – I used to think so too, but I’ve come to realise I simply was more fortunate in life. Ultimately, we do the same. And he tries, Gustave. He tries so hard.”

Doc nods. “I know. And if anyone can make him see this as well, it’s you.”

.

It doesn’t take long for his all-encompassing relief to tilt over into anger. Now that his fears have been placated, he’s left with a quiet fury which, if not addressed, might morph into resentment over time which he wants to avoid at all costs. He needs full disclosure and sooner rather than later, so he texts Bandit, inquiring about his whereabouts, receives no answer and thus concludes he’s in Montagne’s room. Seeing as he doesn’t want to be alone with him, he’d reply if he was anywhere more public, but like this he’ll pretend he didn’t see the message. It’d be a really bad lie because Montagne knows the only time Bandit doesn’t immediately check his phone upon it buzzing is when he’s around Montagne anyway and knows the message isn’t from him.

As expected, he finds him sprawled out on the sofa, playing on his phone and looking like just got caught red-handed. “Oh”, he says neutrally, “hey.”

Montagne takes a seat on the bed, a safe distance away as to not threaten him physically on top of verbally. “I would like to talk.”

The words seem to strike fear into Bandit’s heart as he pales slightly. “I don’t”, he responds and Montagne almost rolls his eyes.

“Stop being childish.” He means it and he can tell his lover knows. This isn’t the time for bickering or for Bandit’s stubbornness. “We both know what I’d like to talk about and please stop with the excuses.” Nothing. Bandit turns off the screen and puts the smartphone away yet remains mute. “I talked to Doc.”

“You went behind my back?” His righteous indignation is just another stalling and distraction tactic. Montagne is tired of it.

“I was worried. Do you realise this? Do you know how this makes me feel?”

“Look, it’s my own fucking body, it doesn’t concern you, you have no right to go snooping around without my consent -”

“No. I didn’t snoop”, Montagne interrupts him sharply, “I easily could have, but I chose not to. It would’ve been no trouble for me to go through your pockets, go through your phone, check your mail, scour the bins in both our rooms, look for medication. Nothing could’ve stopped me from doing it and you probably wouldn’t even have noticed. But do you know why I didn’t? Because it would’ve been a breach of trust I couldn’t have justified to anyone, let alone myself, and because I trusted you to approach me by yourself. Which you didn’t. I went to Doc to make sure you weren’t dying, Dom. Because I didn’t know even that.”

“I’m not dying”, Bandit protests but it sounds much weaker than his previous statements.

“And I’m endlessly relieved about it, even though you didn’t possess the courtesy to inform me of this.” Bandit is chewing on his lip now, embarrassed, uncomfortable. Visibly guilty. “You’re correct in saying it is your body, but you’re wrong if you genuinely believe none of this concerns me. You’re part of my life and I’m part of yours, whether you want to admit it or not. I plan to spend the rest of my life with you, so everything about your health, be it mental or physical, automatically concerns me.”

These words get Bandit’s undivided attention. Brown eyes widen in misplaced surprise, indicate doubts where there shouldn’t have been any. “You -” He doesn’t get any further than this, disbelief creeping into his expression at which Montagne feels his own soften. The urge to get up and hug him, reassure him is strong but there are more things he has to say. He can’t give in just yet.

“This isn’t temporary. We are not temporary”, he adds for emphasis and holds eye contact as Bandit slowly sits up, speechless, tugging at the seam of his jeans to keep his hands occupied.

He’s silent for a perceived eternity, has trouble processing the words, struggles to come up with a reply, the cogs turning in his head. Eventually, he murmurs, more to himself: “I’d like to know if something was bothering you.”

It seems he’s starting to understand it goes both ways. That they’re on one level in their relationship, that there’s no power imbalance. “And I would tell you”, Montagne states gently.

Bandit nods slowly, averts his gaze, but he’s relenting. “I have”, he gestures to his midsection, “I’ve got a stomach ulcer. It’s fucking stupid.”

Alright. Montagne knows a bit about it, knows they’re usually easily treatable, so that’s good. “How bad?”

A one-sided shrug. “Not that bad. I gotta take some pills for a while. That part I’m familiar with.”

Answering questions seems to work, so Montagne poses a few more, finds out that he’s trying to quit smoking but failing so far, looked up dietary recommendations and concluded he’s not allowed to eat anything ‘fun’ anymore and that Doc told him to try and stop drinking too. Once he’s overcome the initial obstacle of starting to talk about it, he treats the subject with the same mix of seriousness and sarcasm he usually displays, often misconstrued by others as carelessness – but Montagne knows there’s so much more to it.

Both of them quite obviously feel better once everything has been said, a lot of the tension has seeped out of Bandit and most of the guilt seems to have disappeared too. And Montagne finally knows what there is to know. It really is nothing serious, as Doc said: he’ll be fine. Bandit’s body language is unmistakable, he’s just waiting to be allowed into Montagne’s arms and it’s extremely hard to resist giving him that signal.

Still. There is one more question. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m stupid”, comes the flippant response which makes him frown.

“No. I want to know why.”

Again, Bandit is hesitant. “I know you’re not going to agree and you’ll probably think I’m dumb or – no, let me finish. I know it’s stupid. I know that, but that doesn’t change the way I think.” He scowls, works on sorting his thoughts. “I don’t want to be more trouble than I’m worth. I’m already an asshole a lot of the time and I’m gonna be insufferable on nicotine withdrawal and I’ll bitch about not being able to drink. That already fucking sucks. I didn’t want to make you worry on top of that, you worry too much already. You worry too much about me. I don’t – I don’t want you to decide it’s too much to deal with. That I’m too much.”

“You realise that by not being honest with me, you made me worry much more than if I’d known what was going on?”

“Well.” Bandit scratches his head. “I realise that now.”

Montagne heaves a deep sigh and shakes his head. “I meant what I said. As long as you let me, I’ll stay by your side. I’ll help you stay away from cigarettes and we can both order non-alcoholic drinks when we go out with the others. I’ll try to find things which are good for you and which you actually like.” He waits until Bandit nods in agreement before he adds: “Dom, you’ll always be worth it. I love you and you’ll always be worth everything.”

When they finally embrace, it’s like testing a newly built bridge, pristine and shining and much sturdier than the previous one, erected from both side and having met in the middle. It’ll withstand a lot. His hand on the back of Bandit’s neck massages away his doubts and the way Bandit’s nose brushes along his jaw before he follows it up with soft kisses makes up for the wait.

“Did it hurt?”, Montagne asks quietly. “Does it hurt now?”

“Yeah”, Bandit mumbles against his skin and sniffs once. “It was pretty bad at first, now it’s mostly alright. I threw up blood as well, that’s how I noticed.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, his ribcage straining against Montagne’s in their tight hold. “I’m shit at this. I’m not good at talking about this kinda stuff – I want to, and with you I often try, but I’m still bad. I don’t know how or when to do it either.”

“It’s definitely something you need to work on”, Montagne agrees. “You don’t even tell me what you dream of.”

A pause. “These days it’s a lot of you dying.”

“… oh.”

“Yeah. I don’t like to talk about it because I don’t want to remember.”

“I won’t ask again. I’m sorry.” He takes Bandit’s face in both hands and kisses him until the crease between his brows has disappeared again. “But you’re already getting better. And I’m proud of you.”

Bandit doesn’t reply, just nods, but the corners of his mouth lift a little.

.

The soft click of the door wakes Montagne the next morning. He blinks blearily into the room and spots an apologetic-looking Bandit with an inexplicable stack of papers in one hand and his phone in the other. He’s fully dressed despite it only being six o’clock and seems disgustingly awake. “Oh, did I wake you? Sorry”, he says softly and complies when Montagne wordlessly lifts one corner of the blanket – he puts everything down on the table and joins him in bed, smiles and nuzzles his wild hair after Montagne has put his head on Bandit’s chest and pulled him close.

“What are you doing?”, he slurs, sleep drunk and humming happily when Bandit’s fingernails start travelling over his back.

“We should start to cook. Doc said simply hearing what I normally eat made him nauseous already and it’s just better overall. I printed out some stuff for it.” Despite relaxing against Montagne, he’s bursting with energy, more motivated than he’s been for the better part of two weeks, maybe even the entire month.

“I can cook a little”, Montagne points out with a yawn.

“Perfect, then you can teach me how not to burn water. For that, we need a kitchen though and so I’ve started looking for apartments, I got some saved on my phone, I can show them to you in a bit – there are a few promising ones but I don’t know what you deem as important, so we should look them over together. How does that sound?”

By now, Montagne’s smile is so wide his cheeks are starting to hurt. “Wonderful”, he mumbles into Bandit’s hoodie.

“And since we’ve not been on a proper date in a while, I thought we could do something today. Go shopping maybe, you said you needed new shirts, but I’ll ask you again when you’re more awake. Alright?”

Montagne knows what he’s doing. It’s neither a bribe nor an attempt to manipulate him, no, Bandit would be much more inconspicuous if that’s what he wanted to go for. It’s an apology. He’s trying to make it up to him but probably figures words alone aren’t enough, so he’s decided to take matters into his own hand, show initiative. Prove to Montagne that the voluntary bond they share means this much to him. It’s true he rarely was the one developing their relationship further, taking it to the next level, and Montagne is fully aware why – Bandit’s feelings of inadequacy stand in the way of him accepting all Montagne is willing to give. They played a role in him hiding his illness too.

And so his actions unambiguously show his effort towards accepting Montagne’s devotion, towards believing him when he says he’s not going to leave. It doesn’t work this quickly, it must’ve cost Bandit a lot of self-convincing to take these steps and even now he’s probably doubting himself. But he did it anyway.

“Yes”, he says and looks up at Bandit just in time to see some of the uncertainty on his face vanish. “That sounds lovely.” And the smile with which he’s rewarded, the smile mirroring his own, is blinding.

Chapter Text

It’s a Caesar cipher.

As for encryption types, it’s one of the oldest and most well known seeing as it’s no more than a simple shift of the alphabet, all letters corresponding to another a fixed distance down the alphabet, for example A becoming E, B is F, C is G. It’s far from secure, especially in longer texts as there are two (relatively) easy methods to decrypt it. One is to simply count how many times each letter pops up and then compare their frequency to the frequency of letters in the English language – the accuracy depends on the length of the original text, of course. The other approach is brute force: seeing as there are only 26 possible variations, trying each of them out is feasible, though obviously slow.

Montagne is about halfway through them at this point and more determined than ever to find out what the encrypted message says. It’s the first he’s attempting to decode yet definitely not the last, not after he realised how old the paper at the very bottom must be. There are quite a few others, some of them with the encryption type pencilled in somewhere to give him a fighting chance; one of them has substituted all letters with random numbers though he already knows 5 of them seeing as the short message begins with his name (or at least he assumes so, it’s 6 numbers and the two in the middle are the same) – he’ll tackle that one next. To be honest, he’s absolutely delighted to finally put all his research about this hobby of his into good use.

They’re in the middle of moving, or rather in the middle of their preparations, looking for furniture, dealing with their new internet provider, ordering a kitchen, all these profane, domestic necessities which seem exciting at first but become a chore after a short while already. When they’re not planning ahead or driving around to find stores which are neither too cheap nor too expensive, Montagne is rifling through his possessions and packing them already. Which is when he discovered the sheets of paper neatly stacked in the secret compartment of his desk.

When his room was assigned to him, he already noticed one of the drawers was suspiciously shallow and further inspection revealed a false bottom. He didn’t know what to use it for, so he left it empty but out of curiosity he decided to check it nonetheless, just to make sure he’s not leaving anything behind. He was surprised to find an assortment of short messages, all of them encrypted and scratched onto the paper in messy handwriting he immediately identified as Bandit’s, the oldest one probably dating back almost a year, the ink faded. He vowed to translate them all, for now jotting down just one in the small notebook he carries around with him at all times.

Now he’s sitting in the lounge, waiting for Bandit to join him so they can go and argue over carpets and curtains (which they’ve done once before, amusing the saleswoman to no end with their bickering and ultimately threatening her with the promise of returning soon), making use of the time by decrypting the Caesar cipher. The variation he’s currently on yields odd results, almost looking like actual syllables with the way vowels and consonants are distributed, yet they make no sense to Montagne. It takes him a moment to realise it’s German.

For a while, he works happily to decode the rest until he realises it’s over half an hour later than they were supposed to meet. Quickly, he finishes and then texts Blitz to ask him what Nirgendwo schlafe ich besser als neben dir means before getting up and resolving to search for Bandit himself.

Just as he’s about to head out, his lover comes bursting in, looking vaguely stressed but also pleased to see him. His health has improved again, the ulcer gone and no lasting damage done, except for the fact Bandit is now whining about not being allowed to smoke to anyone in his vicinity. Montagne is adamant and has caught him twice already though he fears there are more instances he didn’t happen to catch. “Hey, babe”, Bandit greets him sweetly and gives him a peck on his lips which isn’t nearly long enough, “sorry about being late, James had to show me Manu’s newest drone – which I think you’ve already seen? Yeah, she mentioned something like that. Let’s go!”

These days he’s wholly engrossed with their task of making a home for themselves, usually the one to suggest they go out and work on it, was even the one to fell the final decision on their flat with earnest determination. It’s heartwarming to watch him change from someone so used to drifting wherever the breeze takes him to someone who wants to take his life into his own hands. He invites friends out to places which aren’t a pub, talks about buying a motorcycle and maybe going on a short vacation together with Montagne, even prefers sitting with others during their meals now. The change is obvious enough that everyone takes note though they leave it uncommented, welcome him with open arms and readily grant him access to their conversations. It’s lovely. Montagne has never been prouder of him.

Still – there’s a downside to this. They’re used to spending most of their time with each other, hiding away together and having all the time in the world, so this development means they’re often busy almost until they go to sleep and rarely alone during the day. And while nothing has changed about them sleeping in each other’s arms, Montagne misses the quiet moments between them, the endless-feeling afternoons, the lazy cuddling. It doesn’t help that they barely find the time for slow sex either – Bandit hasn’t tied him up in a while, only enthusiastically sucked him off a few times which felt amazing, sure, but Montagne would prefer having both instead of just hurried encounters. He wants it to feel deliberate, not necessary.

On the way to the car, Bandit excitedly chatters about Twitch’s invention and how he suggested to improve it, only to get shot down without mercy, but he holds Montagne’s hand the entire time, walks close to him, and this is when Montagne can’t take it anymore, hasn’t seen him all day since breakfast and now it’s six in the evening, and Bandit beams at him with this glint in his eye he gets whenever he talks about something he really likes. He’s endearing and adorable and Montagne loves him so much that he just – just pushes him against the side of the car and kisses him, deeply, intimately, unconcerned about who might be watching. Bandit utters a surprised noise which gets swallowed by Montagne, but he does the opposite of struggling, wraps his arm around him, pulls him in and kisses back just as passionately. He ends up awkwardly bent over the roof of the car, one hand on Montagne’s ass, moaning quietly and shuddering when Montagne’s fingers dip under his hoodie.

“Oh”, Bandit says in a small voice, a little overwhelmed, when their tongues are done wrestling and Montagne feels a little sheepish about so obviously staking a claim on him. It doesn’t look like he minded, however.

“You look good”, Montagne informs him with a smile which sparks a counterpart on Bandit’s face. He does. He’s not dressed any differently but he’s still different, though it’s subtle. He walks upright. His hair is neater. And he still hasn’t let go of Montagne’s hand.

“You do too. You always do.” His hand starts groping a little more obviously. “Remember how I said I was gonna go out with the Brits today?” Montagne nods. “It’s cancelled, Mute’s got food poisoning and James and Seamus want to keep him company. So I have the whole evening off.”

Both their eyebrows shoot up, Bandit’s sleazily, Montagne’s meaningful. “I like the sound of that.”

But before either of them can elaborate on any possible plans, Thermite yells at them from a distance: “Don’t fucking jizz on my car or you’re dead!”

Montagne frowns, takes a closer look and then states in vague astonishment: “This isn’t my car.”

And Bandit is still giggling by the time they finally start driving.

.

There’s a certain rugged charm about Bandit, something unrefined and raw which probably puts the majority of people off but attracts those willing to find out what kind of soul lives in this scraggly exterior. Montagne remembers not paying much heed to his looks apart from noting how thin he was, how tired and haunted he seemed – now, under a much closer, scrutinising look, Bandit holds up better than he thought. His untamed hair adds a certain je ne sais quoi, he’s been trimming his beard so it looks less homeless and more sophisticated (though he’d never tell Bandit this outright or else he’d probably burn it off), and even though his clothes could use some work, it makes him seem approachable, like someone who’d gladly help carrying a fridge to someone’s car. It doesn’t matter that Bandit would flat out refuse were someone to ask him.

Montagne was never really interested in men, noted good looks and filed them away, but what drew him to this man in particular was a mixture of compassion, intrigue, an odd sort of admiration and an appreciation for the vulnerability he showed. Over time, he’s come to adore pretty much every aspect about him, including his body with the long limbs and the hard muscles underneath the soft-edged tattoos and numerous scars, but he assumes it’s not out of this world to imagine that someone would be drawn to Bandit purely because of his appearance.

This is what Montagne ponders as he listens to Bandit and the carpet salesman flirt unashamedly. Admittedly, Bandit can be charming when he wants to which is usually when he’s trying to achieve something or get things for free, so it shouldn’t be such a surprise to Montagne, yet normally when they go out, he’s the one who gets approached. While he’s quick to turn anyone away, Bandit seems to be relishing this chance to crank up his pleasantness for the sake of a discount, and though part of Montagne is amused at the shameless display for no reason other than to unnecessarily save some money, another part is considering throwing Bandit over his shoulder and carrying him away to their bed to do unspeakable things to him. He’s never been a jealous man and rarely feels the urge to be possessive, but right now he’d like an opportunity to remind both of them that Bandit belongs to him just as much as he belongs to Bandit.

None of this is really useful in any way, they’ve long decided on a subtly patterned carpet which goes well with the pitch black curtains (on which Bandit insisted), so it’s really just a question of Bandit getting his gay discount or not while Montagne stands off to the side and pretends to be fascinated by a hideous magenta rug.

A soft buzzing in his pocket gives him another excuse and he takes out his phone not without relief. It’s Blitz, answering late and with a line of extremely amused emoji. Did Dom tell you that?, he wants to know.

In a way, why? And don’t let him know I asked you. He hasn’t mentioned anything about the encrypted messages to Bandit yet.

It’s so cheesy. It means ‘nowhere do I sleep better than next to you’.

Montagne stares down at the words, unmoving. This was one of the first, almost at the very bottom of the pile. He remembers how skittish Bandit was back then, almost flinching at every touch like a frightened cat which has lived through enough bad experiences to expect only the worst. Remembers how blissful it felt to watch this nervous creature, ready to lash out at any point, come to rest next to him, sometimes even on his lap. They’ve come so far.

He thinks of all the other words unavailable to him yet but left for him to find eventually. He thinks of the message most likely starting with his name. He thinks of the most recent one, three letters, thinks of the time Bandit used French text speak to tell him what he’s begun to say more and more. Jtm. Three letters.

For a while, he simply stands there, overwhelmed and overpowered by emotions welling up in him, and he lets them. He can’t recall when he last realised he loved someone this fiercely and unconditionally – it’s not just blind loyalty at this point, a quality which led to him getting taken advantage of before, no, it’s the wholehearted desire to keep this person in his life forever. Intending to tell Bandit exactly this, he turns around and catches Bandit winking at the guy as well as the tail end of some kind of innuendo involving motorcycles and for some reason he looks so alarmingly sexy while doing so that Montagne momentarily forgets to breathe. It might have something to do with the easy confidence in Bandit’s posture, the cocky grin, the new jeans in which his ass looks phenomenal or just plainly the fact that Montagne knows just how easily he could make that meaningful expression melt into elated disbelief.

Or maybe it’s because he’s unusually horny.

“I think we’ve decided”, he says brightly while stepping next to Bandit and putting an arm around his waist, just above his marvellous backside. He realises too late how the gesture must look to the other guy when all he intended to do was to put this happy smile onto Bandit’s face that always pops up when he holds him close in public. Regardless, the salesman completes the transaction professionally, laughing nervously at Bandit’s jokes while glancing at Montagne repeatedly (not like he can blame him, Montagne towers over him and with his sturdy build he’s probably intimidating), and then sends them off with a hefty discount and a pale face.

“That dude was so fucking thirsty”, Bandit snickers on the way out, letting Montagne carry the rug intended to tie their new living room together.

“You laid it on thick though, be honest.”

His lover looks at him funny. “Did you not – he was lusting after you, honey. At some point, he implicitly asked me for your dick size. Didn’t you notice the way he stared at you?”

Oh, alright. Montagne shrugs, unconcerned. “No. I was too busy looking at you.”

This earns him a frankly adorable dumbstruck expression. “Chéri, no, wait – that’s not fair.” Bandit stops him, visibly disarmed and blushing a little, gunning for another searing kiss but is only rewarded with a quick one. “You can’t just say that -”

He’s too cute. Montagne flashes him a smile but hurries him along, eager to get somewhere private. “Come on, we still have lots to do.”

“Do we? We drop off the rug at the new place and get something to eat, but after that there’s nothing we -” His eyes widen. “Oh! You mean…” The red on his cheeks deepens when Montagne nods wordlessly and suddenly, Bandit is also in a hurry. Once they’ve shoved the carpet into the car and put their seat belts on, Bandit adjusts his trousers not very surreptitiously and asks: “Are we still going to the new place? The bed’s not there yet.”

He has a point, they could go back to base first, get this thrumming need out of his system and then deliver the rug, but it’d be horribly inefficient. Besides… With a side glance, he states: “The kitchen table is.”

“Jesus fucking Christ”, Bandit murmurs and reaches out, cups Montagne’s crotch with his palm and adds a quiet fuck when he finds exactly what he’s been looking for. “What did I even do?”

By now, he’s caught on to the trend of Montagne now and then being overcome by lust whenever Bandit does something especially moving, but has yet to cause it deliberately. Instead of answering – he wants to keep his knowledge of Bandit’s secret messages to himself a little longer –, he leans over, catches Bandit’s wrist before he can withdraw it and kisses him sloppily. The gesture is clear and so Bandit grinds the heel of his palm against the erection, moans softly when it twitches hard in response.

When they separate again several minutes later, Bandit has quite visibly caught up to Montagne in terms of anticipation and looks a little dishevelled already. “What are you waiting for? Drive!” Montagne complies with a chuckle that bubbles up again when Bandit takes a deep breath and cards a hand through his hair in exasperation before looking down at his own bulge. “Holy shit, couldn’t you have waited until we’re there before you make me this hot and bothered?”

“Now we’re even”, he replies amusedly and feels his gaze drawn to the movement of Bandit stroking himself through his jeans while waiting at a red light. “And don’t touch yourself. Behave, we’re still in public.”

“This is why I have tinted windows.” Grumpily, Bandit glares at the car next to them. “If you had them, I’d already have my mouth on your cock.”

“I don’t think I’d allow that. If we weren’t moving, then maybe.”

“Even at this hour? Oh man, whatever I did, it must’ve been – did you find the photos? Is that it?” One glance from Montagne has him backtracking so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t get whiplash. “I mean – what photos? Right? No photos. Nope.” Before he can ask what in the world he’s on about, Bandit has another idea: “Wait, I know what I can do in the meantime if you’re so fucking impatient.” And under Montagne’s incredulous gaze, he opens the glove compartment and conjures up a small bottle of lube which definitely wasn’t there before.

“How is that – did you put it in there?!”

Bandit, busy opening his trousers (what on earth is he doing), responds distractedly: “Yeah. You know me, I’m always prepared. There’s some in the new place already too, but I don’t wanna wait till then. Did you never wonder how I knew you had some in your coat a few months ago?”

He’s coating his fingers now but unless he plans to either eat the lube or jerk off right then and there, it’s a mystery to Montagne what he’s going to – oh God he’s reaching down his underwear now, spreading his legs awkwardly and definitely not going for his dick but decidedly lower and as soon as he lets out a shaky breath, Montagne almost crashes into a parked car. “Dom, what the hell!”, he hisses and forces himself to keep his eyes on the road even as Bandit arches his back and groans.

“Don’t complain, I’m getting myself ready”, comes the mumbled reply accompanied by yet another sound eroding Montagne’s focus.

At this point, he can feel his cheeks burning and he’s probably crimson while Bandit next to him doesn’t seem to care one bit that he can theoretically be seen from a variety of angles, instead he keeps fingering himself right next to Montagne, and while he knows he should be mortified, he can’t deny it’s a turn on as well. “Please stop, Dom, this is – people can look inside.”

“Let them watch.” Montagne throws him a scandalised look which makes him laugh quietly. “We’re only driving on streets with one lane from here, relax.” Another groan, this one almost gravelly. “Fuck, I want you so bad.”

“I’ll have you know”, Montagne informs him politely while gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are turning white, “that while I heavily disapprove of what you’re doing right now, I’ve never before in my life wanted to speed this badly.”

Bandit snorts and dissolves into giggles, has to compose himself before he shoots back: “Oh yeah, babe, keep talking dirty to me.”

Montagne just rolls his eyes but can’t help the grin stealing onto his lips. Part of him is still shocked over the shamelessness of it all; that being his most conservative part which still sometimes squints at the fact he’s madly in love with a man now despite only having loved women before and reminds him he’ll have to reveal this important little detail to his family eventually – but a significantly larger part relishes the openness between them, the reciprocated desire and comfortable playfulness. Ultimately, it’s also a display of trust and familiarity.

Which is why he doesn’t feel bad about basically dragging Bandit out of the car and up the stairs after they’re parked. His lover ends up flattened against their apartment door, kissed senseless, mewling desperately and trying to grind against Montagne’s larger body while he blindly struggles with the keys. Bandit is so willing it only fuels Montagne’s impatience and once they finally fall into the flat (Bandit almost literally if he hadn’t held on to the Frenchman like a drowning man) and slam the door shut behind them, all Bandit manages to get out are variations of oh God and oh fuck while Montagne pulls his jeans and briefs down his thighs. They barely make it to what’s going to be their kitchen before the pieces of clothing drop further, making walking almost impossible.

Fortunately, Bandit seems to read his mind and bends over the single piece of furniture (a really quite sturdy table), propping himself up on the wood, and breathes a pleading fuck me which oh, what a coincidence, that’s exactly what Montagne was planning on doing. He brought the lube from the car, pours a generous amount directly onto his erection as soon as he’s freed it (but he’s not going to undress any further, he wants Bandit and he wants him now), gives it a few tugs to spread the viscous liquid which already feel heavenly and holds on to Bandit’s hoodie with one hand as he very slowly sinks into the welcoming heat.

He’s met with slight resistance and reacts by slowing down even more despite the desire pulling at him, trying to lure him to just snap his hips forward. “Sloppy preparation”, he grits out and his only answer is a long, slightly guilty moan. “Am I hurting you?” Bandit shakes his head no with so much enthusiasm that Montagne now knows he actually is, but only negligibly so and Bandit’s enjoying himself regardless or possibly because but terrified of saying yes in case Montagne stops. He knows the signs.

After switching from one long stroke to very small thrusts which seem to work better, he finally bottoms out, holds Bandit in place when he starts moving against him eagerly to let him get used to the feel first. He’s wonderfully tight and hot, clamping down on him on purpose and presenting a pretty sight before him. So pretty that Montagne hauls him upright for a series of intimate kisses, holds him up with a hand on his jaw and an arm around his chest and begins pumping into him slowly, licking his noises off his tongue. He feels like velvet, only so much better, and Montagne has to have more, much more than this.

He breaks the kiss and shoves Bandit back down until his upper body is lying flush with the tabletop, then he starts with proper thrusts, hard and increasingly faster and manages only one thought before his monkey brain takes over fully: Dom is going to be hoarse tomorrow.

The sounds being wrenched from Bandit’s throat echo in the otherwise empty room and mix with the loud slapping of skin as well as the frantic scratching of fingernails on oak stemming from his attempts to find purchase and failing. He’s rarely this non-verbal but it seems he can’t even get curses out between the merciless movements and so he’s doomed to pant against the wood and reach back to claw into Montagne’s thigh in approval. When Bandit changes the angle, lifts his ass higher and allows for even deeper penetration, both of them groan in bliss.

Only halfway through it registers that Montagne has never really just… fucked like this before, like an animal in heat, selfish and without holding back, has wasted no thought on taking it slow – this is undoubtedly Bandit’s influence and he feels bad for exactly one second before he takes note of how bloody freeing and sensational it feels and how Bandit is writhing in pleasure while being pummelled, taking it without protest and expressing his own satisfaction loudly. Regardless, Montagne takes a breather, watches his large cock disappear into Bandit leisurely, each motion forcing a drawn out noise out of his lover. Yeah. He likes this. Maybe I should let go more often, he thinks before picking his almost brutal tempo back up.

Bandit is a wreck by now, sweating in his several layers of clothes and struggling to keep his legs straight, whimpering and shivering more with each time Montagne snaps his hips forward, drags him back a little by the hip and by the shoulder to meet his cock. He’s drooling onto the wood, similarly to how his dick is leaking copious amounts of precum onto the floor and Montagne is looking forward to hugging him and making him feel loved and appreciated and safe afterwards – but right now, all he wants to do is fill him up.

He shifts his hands, digs both of them into Bandit’s hips and speeds up even more, buries himself in his lover over and over again, the feeling of it pure elation and sating the deep-seated hunger inside him. It’s carnal and unlike anything he’s ever felt, comparable only to the time Bandit rode him mercilessly while he was tied up but this, this, is still different because he has full control now, actively chooses to drive into him this viciously. He’s contributing to the echo now, groaning in pleasure as he nears his climax and feeling Bandit tighten impossibly around him in anticipation. The friction is divine and his thrusts precise enough that he can pull out almost all the way before slamming back in.

“Do you want me to come inside?”, he puffs out between pants, not because he’d ever expect the answer to be no but rather because it’s fucking hot listening to Bandit trying to talk when he’s this far gone.

“Yes, pl- please.” He’s interrupted by involuntary moans, tries his hardest to get the words out but his brain isn’t cooperating, making him sound almost drunk. “Do it, oh fuck, give it to – to me. And let me come. Please. I want to come, I want to come so bad, it feels so good -”

And Montagne almost loses it on the spot, the throaty begging always does it for him but he holds himself back, lets his hands wander over Bandit’s back and feels the vibrations of his moans under his palms. “Say it”, he demands and earns a keen.

“I love you”, Bandit gasps breathlessly, follows the prompt without question, already knowing what it is Montagne wants to hear, pushing the words out in between thrusts, “I love you, oh, I love you -”

“I love you too”, Montagne replies, teetering on the edge, “I love you so much.” And then, he tumbles.

He comes with a strangled moan and almost folds in half with how powerful the contractions in his abdomen are, sending pleasurable shocks through his body and making his cock pulse fiercely with every spurt of sperm pushed out; he comes deep and barely registers how Bandit continues with miniscule thrusts to milk him, how he tightens even more around him. His climax is sharp and lasts surprisingly long, has him hold on to Bandit’s thighs to stop him from moving and leaning down to rest his forehead on his back while he tries to catch his breath. His dick keeps throbbing, sparking more pleasure together with the twitching of his abs and he only remembers Bandit hasn’t come yet when he hears a noise of protest from under him after a while.

“Can you still stand?”, he asks concernedly as he picks up movement again, this time no more than languid strokes with his erection that is still more than hard enough to make Bandit squirm.

“I can try.” He sighs contentedly when Montagne wraps a hand around his rock hard shaft and reverts quickly to the moaning puddle he was before Montagne went over the edge, the process facilitated by gentle, teasing tugs. His dick twitches at almost every touch, the head overly sensitive and his hole too, closing hungrily around Montagne. He takes his time, eventually pushes inside Bandit and stays there while his hand continues to stroke him lightly and make him shudder almost violently.

“Didn’t you want to try edging at some point?”

His innocent-sounding question sends Bandit into a full blown panic, makes him lift himself up and regard Montagne with wide eyes. “No no no no no”, he rasps hastily and sucks air in through his teeth when Montagne picks up speed, jerks him off properly now, “not this time, not now, please, I ca- ah!” He comes mid-sentence, staring at Montagne with a mixture of bliss, betrayal and residual panic, much more alert due to the shock, and his orgasm quite clearly unexpected. His cock spasms, ejaculates all over the floor while he trembles, all the pent up frustration gone in mere seconds, replaced by all-encompassing relief.

Montagne always loves watching him climax, all the disbelieving, delirious, delighted expressions he makes, the way his eyes turn glassy for a few seconds, only to be filled with so much contentment afterwards. Right now, it’s exhaustion too and Montagne quickly wipes his fingers on Bandit’s naked thigh before trapping him in a tight embrace to help him stay upright. They come down while pressed against each other, Montagne kissing the side of his neck lovingly and stroking over his chest, Bandit leaning into him and slowly catching his breath.

When they break apart again, both of them are wearing a wide smile and exchange a short but deep kiss before cleaning up. Bandit grumbles about them not being able to shower yet so they make do for now seeing as they can wash themselves properly when they return to the base. Once done, Montagne picks his lover up and sets him down on the table so he can wrap both arms and legs around him while they snuggle – it’s the next best thing seeing as they have no bed or even chairs for now.

“Was that alright? How do you feel?”, Montagne murmurs into his hair as he draws meaningless patterns on Bandit’s back, trying not to let self-doubts creep up on him about having been too rough. Bandit has on various occasions told him to do exactly this, hold him down, go as hard as he wants, pleasure himself first, but that doesn’t mean Montagne is necessarily comfortable with doing so, though he has to admit he enjoyed himself immensely.

“Fucking great”, Bandit slurs, still a little out of it which Montagne interprets as a compliment. “That was more than alright, are you kidding? That was – wow. I don’t think I’ll have a voice tomorrow.” He groans and stretches into the touch when Montagne digs his fingertips into his back, massaging it lightly.

“We haven’t had a lot of time alone recently.”

“Is that why you’re this clingy, for your standards?” Bandit leans back with a bright smile which only widens when Montagne nods sheepishly. “Is it really? Oh, that’s…” He catches himself, likely before he starts fawning over Montagne for real, but it did seem like his next word was going to be adorable. “We’re going to have plenty of time once we’ve moved in, chéri. I’m looking forward to it too.”

“That wasn’t it, though. Or rather: not all of it.” This piques Bandit’s interest and makes Montagne’s lips curl into a grin because he’s pretty sure he can predict his next facial expressions with 99% accuracy. “I found your encrypted messages in my desk.”

And there it is, the full spectrum: confusion, understanding, shock, horror. “Oh fuck”, Bandit says and hits Montagne lightly in the chest when he begins laughing, “don’t fucking – how many have you decoded?! You weren’t meant to -”

“Just one or two, my love, and I will cherish them all. They’re absolutely lovely. Thank you so much, there’s no need to be ashamed.”

Bandit’s bright red face speaks a different language. “I forgot! I meant to take them out before you pack your stuff – dammit.”

“Do you really not want me to read them?” Montagne decides to take pity on him. “I can give them back if you want.”

Averting his gaze, his lover shakes his head, pouting. “You probably wrote them down somewhere anyway. Nah, just keep them.” And then, quieter: “I don’t think there’s anything on there I haven’t eventually told you anyway.”

Montagne’s heart melts.

He can picture it, Bandit obsessing about something, feeling grateful or appreciative but unable to express it verbally, trying to show it through actions and gestures but not sure whether it comes across – so instead, he writes it down. Takes the time to read Montagne’s books and apply that knowledge to something he’s afraid of saying out loud, internalises the message itself in the process, and then leaves it for Montagne to find. He’s not sure he believes the line about ‘forgetting’ to steal them back or whether Bandit genuinely thinks he wouldn’t also hand any copies over if only he asked. No, these were indeed meant for him, originally at a different point in time but they made it to him now, aren’t worth any less due to the delay.

“That’s one of the most thoughtful and romantic things you’ve ever done for me”, he tells Bandit honestly and smiles fondly when he hides his face in response, presses it into Montagne’s chest en lieu of a proper answer. “I’ll never forget this. Thank you.”

It’s a while until they move again, during that time merely enjoying the feel and smell of each other, holding on to one of the most precious things in their lives, their surroundings barren for now but indicative of something they will build, create together. Montagne doesn’t really want to let go but Bandit’s stomach growls and he, too, is quite hungry by now.

Bandit is still embarrassed, which shows by him trying to downplay it all with a joke: “I’ll do it again though, if it means you’ll fuck me like that again.”

“Dom, from now on, you only have to ask for me to fuck you like that”, Montagne replies easily and can’t help the smug smirk on his face upon hearing Bandit choke on nothing.

Chapter Text

Montagne faintly recalls Bandit complaining about his hair colour, calling it boring and befitting a stray mutt, though he offered no preference as to which colour he’d rather have instead. He’s sure that Bandit perceives it differently to him because he likes his hair – it’s thick and full, soft to the touch and easily escapes the wrath of any brush, instead curls wildly in places or sticks up, just as untameable as Bandit. Then again, said man is currently lying on top of him and dozing while they watch TV, as lazy as a large cat sleeping on a branch, letting its limbs dangle and no care in the world because either its mother is keeping watch or it’s at the top of the food chain and therefore has nothing to fear. Montagne is gently combing through his hair, fully aware of how much Bandit loves it when he does, and as a bonus he gets to marvel at the sun-kissed tips, the odd grey hair here and there.

It was a long day, physically taxing, and they made a veritable mess out of the kitchen afterwards, burning instead of roasting the walnuts and cursing themselves for choosing a more complicated recipe on this day of all. Clean-up almost took longer than the cooking itself and Montagne was on his best way to tilt into irritated exhaustion when Bandit half-jokingly prompted him to re-enact the famous scene from Lady and the Tramp by dramatically turning to him with a lone spaghetti dangling from his lips. Montagne complied, but only after he was done laughing.

Bandit has been remarkably cute anyway, fawned over him all day, demanded kisses upon kisses and suggested Montagne’s favourite way to unwind, which is what they’re doing right now. He has a suspicion as to why instead of complaining about the quality of commercials these days or the horrible programmes Montagne only half watches, Bandit is an adorable kitten. It’s not even because he wants to introduce something more daunting in the bedroom, they only recently have, leaving Montagne utterly stunned and having to re-think a few of his life priorities, no. It’s something else.

“Have I ever told you”, Bandit mumbles into his shirt on which he’s probably drooling right now, “how gorgeous you look today?”

The corners of his mouth lift all by themselves. He’s helpless against any kind of compliment from Bandit, even if he knows there’s an agenda behind it. “I don’t think you’ve told me prior to today that I would look handsome on this particular day, no”, he teases and lets his hand slide lower, massage Bandit’s neck.

“Well”, comes the hesitant reply, choosing to ignore his remark, “you are. And the food was really good. And I haven’t even lied about cigarettes recently.”

“Recently”, Montagne muses. Bandit grunts, dissatisfied and clearly looking for more things to list to earn the head patting he’s currently receiving. “Dom… are you still jealous?”

Bandit stills. It’s not like he was moving much before, but now he’s holding his breath too and not reacting when Montagne’s kneading hand moves to his shoulder. “No”, he eventually answers, very carefully.

“Mhm”, makes Montagne. There’s no need to add anything, his dubious, expectant tone should be doing more than enough – it’s clear Bandit feels guilty or else he wouldn’t be grovelling this much without having done anything, and his overdone public displays serve two purposes in both cheering up Montagne and staking a claim. Montagne wouldn’t be complaining if he knew the issue wasn’t eating at Bandit but he’d rather know his mind to be peaceful than receive all the affection in the world. He returns to petting Bandit’s hair, stroking it one way and watching it snap back to its original state immediately.

“Yes”, Bandit admits quietly.

This is when Montagne sighs, raising the lazy body on top of him with the inhale, and wraps both arms around it. “He doesn’t have it easy right now, mon amour, you know that. We’ve been over this.” A grumble tells him that Bandit knows he’s being unreasonable yet either can’t or chooses not to change anything about it. “You said it’s fine if I keep talking to him on base because we two have breakfast and dinner together, so it’s fine if we take lunch separately, and you also said you don’t mind if I meet up with him now and then.”

“I didn’t mean every other day.”

“It’s twice a week at most. And even if it were more, this is a friend we’re talking about. I like him, we’ve established that.” He strokes over Bandit’s back, tries to soothe his worry both with gentle voice and loving touches. “You know, this would be a lot easier if you made an effort to talk to him. Maybe you’d come to like him too.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not.” Bandit snuggles up to him even more, returning the embrace but refusing to look at him or concede his point. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, he doesn’t deserve you. Not in the slightest. He’s arrogant and stuck-up and a general nightmare. Do you even notice Doc is beginning to avoid you? You two are friends and have been for much longer -”

“Exactly.” He doesn’t like interrupting his lover but deems it necessary or else he’d spiral even further into a rant of which he’s heard a few before. “Gustave will understand, in time, he knows me and he’s better than making me choose sides. I can tell he’s unhappy with the situation which is why he’s keeping away, but ultimately what he’s doing is giving me space.” He also doesn’t like implying that Doc is more familiar with his habits than Bandit because it implies a certain distance between them where there’s closeness to Doc, but it’s imperative to get him to understand.

“He’s ungrateful. And besides, nobody likes him.”

“Don’t you think that’s even more reason to show him a little kindness?” Montagne squeezes him. “It can go a long way, you know.”

Both of them know precisely what he means and Bandit isn’t having any of it. He pushes himself up and escapes the hug, presses all the air out of Montagne’s lungs in the process and settles in an angry heap between his legs, brows drawn together and scowling. “No. Don’t you fucking dare compare me to him. I’m an asshole, yes, but I kept to myself and didn’t bring my issues to work. I was still professional and most of all, I didn’t provoke anyone until they socked me. Especially not Mike.”

Montagne feels this is largely untrue but isn’t in the mood to argue. His front is cold now that the formerly relaxed body has left and his arms feel empty. “My love. He works hard and does his job well. He’s trying to better himself. Besides, I enjoy his company, the stories he tells are fascinating and gruelling at the same time. He’s been through a lot.”

“I don’t wanna talk about him anymore.”

“So we’re inevitably going to have the same conversation in a few days again?” He sits up as well now, the distance between them growing when he withdraws his legs to seat himself more comfortably. Physical contact usually calms Bandit down, so he makes a point of scooting closer, putting an arm around him and leaning in to kiss his temple. “He’s a friend, Dom, I care about him. That is all. You can’t be jealous of every new friend I make, you’ll make yourself miserable.”

“I’m miserable right now”, Bandit growls but can’t keep a straight face when Montagne huffs in amusement. Reluctantly, he leans against him. A good sign. “And I know. I know that, it’s dumb and I hate it, but…” He shrugs half-heartedly. The implication is that he’s trying to work on it already, fully aware of his flaw and yet self-conscious about it, too.

“Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want to go on more dates? Should I steal more kisses in between training?”

“Can’t steal what’s yours”, comes the quiet reply and Montagne laughs, swoops him up, turns off the TV and carries him to the bedroom despite Bandit’s vigorous flailing and almost believable protests. They end up on their sides, kissing deeply with Montagne holding his lover’s face in his hands and Bandit kneading his thigh. Regardless, there’s something which needs to be said.

“Je t’aime, mon amour. And I won’t leave you. Alright? I’m yours.”

And Bandit seems to like this sentiment so much, meets it with a bright smile, that he asks Montagne to repeat it over and over again.

.

This is what Montagne remembers, clear as day, vividly, sharply, when he dies.

It lasts for no longer than a fraction of a second, flashes up in front of him, replaces the harsh reality he’s facing at that moment with serenity, a memory lasting seemingly forever: he feels the weight of Bandit on his chest, once again cards his fingers through the dirty blonde hair, marvelling at how such a simple thing could bring him such joy. His arms close around this unfathomable being he probably will never decode fully, unable to grasp how they got to that point, how much fortune must’ve smiled at them. He feels their sheets on his skin, sheets they bought together on a bed they chose together in a bedroom they decorated together. In their apartment. He feels Bandit’s breath mixing with his, his beard ticklish on his neck, the leg safely tucked between Montagne’s unusually warm, his heartbeat slowing down as they drift off.

And he remembers most of what they said, and thinks: I lied to him. Because he did. He is going to leave him after all.

The gesture is instinctual, almost a reflex at this point. His first girlfriend suffered from seizures and he learnt to catch her in less than a second before she hit the ground; in exercises he was always the one to grab people’s hands just before they fell or slid away or lost their grip; in missions he’s saved countless lives by moving into the line of fire with his shield. It’s what he does – it’s what he’s always done. His mother would proudly say it’s in his blood, his father would mockingly call him a bleeding heart, but whatever it is, it kicks in almost by itself. Almost. Because there’s still a voice in the back of his head which goes: If you do this, you will die.

Yes. He will.

But Lion won’t. If he’s in the way, his friend won’t die to the explosion, probably suffer injuries nonetheless yet they don’t, can’t compare to ceasing to exist; therefore it’s an easy choice to make. No real choice at all. And so he moves.

And so he dies.

Bandit is an afterthought. He has no space in the making of this decision, was forcibly silenced, forbidden to attend until the verdict was uttered because he would’ve skewed the result purely with his presence. Montagne can’t afford to take him into consideration, not now, or else all he’ll see is Bandit’s future without him, and the thought frightens him. Terrifies him, in fact. And so, right before everything goes dark, all he can think is: Oh. Oh no, Dom.

.

.

Black.

Soundless.

No feeling.

And yet it’s a blackness with a certain quality attached to it. As if it was somehow more meaningful than the void which has been his home for who knows how long – it’s the blackness of his closed eyelids, of a quiet night, and not of nothing. It’s different with sound, he’s aware of the absence of it up until he realises there’s a plethora of noises around him instead, none of which he can place yet they’re soothing in their own way, like old friends, familiar companions, a beeping, rustling, whirring. His mind fails to register what they mean but his subconscious knows them intimately, so well they’re hardly worth noting.

He’s nothing more than a brain at this point, possibly a head, the rest of his body no more than a faint rumour of old, tales speaking of times where he had hands, when he could walk. There’s no feeling in any limb he assumes is still there, but they might as well all be gone at this point, it’s not like he’d know. He hopes he’s still whole. He’s scared to check.

But one truth sinks in, finally, seemingly obvious once he’s understood what it means but nigh impossible to comprehend before that: he’s alive. He’s alive – he doesn’t want to go so far as to add the and breathing because he’s not sure it’s his own body doing it, but for the moment it’s more than enough to know he’s not gone. Memories are hazy and his thoughts uncooperative, brain sluggish, but the more comes back to him, the more agitated he gets. They were in the middle of a mission. He hopes the others are alright.

Focusing is hard, blood is rushing in his ears and he hears his heartbeat more than that he feels it, it’s worryingly fast and speeding up and this is when he realises that the underlying buzzing in his mind, the distraction keeping him from remembering more, from forming coherent thoughts, is overwhelming pain. Dizzying, suffocating, nauseating pain.

.

It stays with him for the majority of his conscious hours which don’t feel like many. One after the other, he understands: he’s in a hospital, the ICU, to be exact, and there’s a lot wrong with him. The doctors and nurses all speak decent enough English, one or two even a bit of French, but their German accents are unmistakeable – their mission took place in Berlin, he remembers that detail, remembers seeing the Brandenburg Gate, the Reichstag with the large main station next to it. And it seems like he never left Berlin.

He misses Bandit. He’s a wreck. He doesn’t know whether Lion made it.

Only his family visits him, probably the only ones allowed, his sister often by his side, his parents having travelled to Berlin for a weekend. She tells him of a friend who had to be thrown out of the hospital because of a fight. She seems confused, looking for answers, and then distraught when all he can do is break out into tears. After that, she stops mentioning said friend, changes topics for fear of upsetting him once more.

The burns hurt the most and often keep him from sleeping. From what he can tell, he’s got a few broken bones as well as a wild assortment of other issues, was put in an artificial coma for a while. This part is the most worrying, the lost time, days of his life he will never be able to remember.

At some point, Six drops by. She somehow got clearance which he supposes can’t have been easy – or maybe it wasn’t hard for her at all – and she informs him of the most important details, everyone else made it out alive, Lion is doing fine, he can focus on regaining his health for as long as it takes, she’s got him covered. She was the one to inform his relatives and she keeps his parents up to date as well. It’s a relief to hear all of these things from her mouth.

Still, he’s agonisingly lonely most of the time. Lonely and bored, worrying endlessly and trying not to.

.

When he’s finally transferred to another room, Bandit is there. He follows the personnel and earns himself a few glances, quite obviously a regular visitor despite never getting to see Montagne in person. He looks as terrible as Montagne feels, pale and gaunt, a hair’s breadth away from collapsing, bags under his eyes, clothes rumpled as if he slept in them. It’s hard to process any of it, the painkillers muddle his thoughts still but he feels his lips stretch regardless, can’t do anything against the helpless smile upon seeing the one he loves.

Bandit sits by his side for a long while, lacing their fingers together with one hand and angrily wiping his cheeks with the other. It seems that after all of it, he still has an endless supply of tears. “How do you feel?”, he eventually asks when he apparently trusts his voice again.

“So much better”, Montagne responds and means it. Something settles inside him, weighs him down in a good way, keeps his insides from twisting. He’s made it. He’ll be alright, and so will Bandit. So will Lion. They all made it. “It’s so good to see you.”

A brief nod and more wiping. He’s never seen Bandit like this and he’d rather never again. Still caught up in his entirety, still unable to process that he’s here, really here right now, the next words don’t register at first, seem like gibberish to him: “We’re getting married.”

At first, he thinks Bandit means himself and someone else but that doesn’t make any sense, does it? Then again, the alternative doesn’t either. He blinks a few times, can’t comprehend. “What?”

“Yeah”, is Bandit’s only reply. It sounds matter-of-fact, a universal truth.

Montagne has trouble following him. He had a lot of time to try and remember the events leading up to him ending up here, in this German hospital, and he’s absolutely sure this wasn’t decided beforehand. He wouldn’t have agreed, anyway. “No, we’re not.”

Bandit just nods again, lowers his gaze. “Yeah, we are”, he murmurs, “In four months. The seventeenth. Here, in Berlin.”

Chapter Text

Anger is good. It burns white hot, fills him with purpose and righteous fury, blots out everything else – it’s a fire which devours all other emotions unconditionally, without prejudice, engulfs it all completely and mercilessly. There’s no time for anything else as long as it rages inside him and so he feeds it, nourishes it very carefully, tends to it as if it was a beloved pet. It’s his salvation, nothing else can save him but the all-encompassing ire guiding his actions and if there are sacrifices to be made, then so be it. It’s a small price to pay for peace, because that’s what it feels like. Respite. His anger is reliable, safe, familiar. The alternative is horrifying.

Right now, the sacrifices are the tight-lipped, disapproving expression of the receptionist in front of him, judging glares from other people around him as well as Blitz’ tight grip trying to drag him away. They’re all insignificant in the grand scheme of things, so Bandit doesn’t think twice about making these sacrifices.

“The fuck you mean, only close relatives?!”, he repeats himself, louder now and he knows he’s causing a scene and risking getting thrown out but they can’t do this. There is no way, surely they’ll see reason but just in case they don’t, he’ll raise hell anyway. “Do I look like I fucking care about any of your stupid motherfucking regulations?”

“Dom, shut up, let’s leave.” Blitz’ voice is no more than background noise, barely reaches his ears, just like his hands insistently tugging at him are swiftly shaken off.

“You are not going to fucking keep me from him, I swear on your hideous fucking five pounds of make-up, you incompetent bitch.”

“I’m so sorry”, Blitz addresses the furious middle-aged woman now, sounding like it too, entirely too apologetic towards someone who’s committing a cardinal sin in not letting Bandit have what he wants. He feels like punching through the stupid desk she’s sitting at, meticulously demolishing everything in sight until they let him see him and it feels good, it’s so good to let the rage out, to let himself go. All his inhibitions have disappeared because this is an exceptional situation, he’s bloody allowed. He’s fucking entitled to this anger because what kind of monsters would do this, willingly and maliciously keep him from -

“Stop fucking touching me, fuck off, you degenerate, this isn’t any of your business!”, he barks at Blitz, this close to starting a fight with him too if he doesn’t let him go this instant, if he keeps trying to remove him from where he has a fucking right to be. If he has to beat everyone in the room unconscious, he will, no questions asked.

“Dom. Dom. It’s not going to change anything. You hear me? There is nothing you can do.” Blitz is gently shaking him now, repeating his words emphatically. “No matter what you do, you can’t change anything. So pull yourself together.”

And oh.

There suddenly is no air in his lungs anymore, replaced with the meaning of Blitz’ statements and the fundamental knowledge of yeah. He’s right. And with the air, his fury leaves him, vanishes in seconds, evaporates into nothing and is replaced by overwhelming grief. On his next shuddery inhale, he’s someone else, a different person to the one who kicked over a bin the first time he was told he couldn’t visit Montagne, didn’t even watch the rubbish fly, so focused was he to unleash his rage. Now, he’s broken.

“I need to see him”, he says quietly, directed at Blitz but also at everyone else who’s staring, to himself, to whoever higher being might be listening. He needs to. He’s not sure he’ll survive if he doesn’t.

“He’s in a coma”, Blitz replies softly. “It won’t make a difference.”

“Then – then I need to talk to him. Touch him. That helps, right? He could – he could maybe hear me. Maybe it does something.” Blitz just shakes his head sadly but why is he sad, it’s not like what he feels comes even close to the sorrow weighing Bandit down, making his head spin; it doesn’t compare, it’s like comparing a drop to an ocean, unbelievably vast and making up his entire reality, no shore in sight anywhere. “I need to see him”, he repeats dumbly, voice breaking, and the world blurs suddenly, his jaw clenches, his lip trembles and good fucking God, is he really going to -

“You can’t. I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait.”

He storms out, biting his lip in an attempt to distract himself from how his eyes are burning, burying his fingernails in the palm of his hand but it’s ultimately futile. He’s suffocating and only stops walking once he’s outside, the afternoon sun mocking him with its soft rays, pretending like it’s any other day and not the day on which Bandit loses the will to live. His legs threaten to give in and he’s nauseous. What were the last words he said to Montagne? Probably something to do with the mission, something inconsequential, fucking stupid and instead he should’ve told him how much he loved him, how grateful he is to have him in his life, should’ve told him every day, every hour, and why didn’t he? Instead they sometimes argued over dumb topics and he wants to take it all back, all of it, replace it with words of love and appreciation, cherish every second with him.

When Blitz catches up and hugs him, he starts sobbing viciously. Doesn’t get a hold of himself for what feels like forever, feels humiliated and somehow can’t muster up the energy to care. Instead, he claws at his friend, probably hurts him with how tightly he’s clinging to him, and cries loudly, unable to help himself, having lost all control.

He doesn’t want to think it, but he won’t want to go on if Montagne doesn’t make it.

.

It’s the beginning of his third day without food. Or maybe his fourth? He’s not even aware of not eating, but he bypasses all the disgusting stuff Blitz brings him by throwing it away when he’s not looking. If he’s honest, it’s all disgusting, no matter what it is, and it all lands in the bin or ends up being passed on to naive people who don’t think twice about accepting snacks or a sandwich from a stranger. There aren’t many of them. Bandit supposes it also has to do with how manic he must look.

Blitz is one of two people who stayed and the other one hasn’t dared to show his ugly face yet. Probably knows Bandit would curb stomp him if they ever ended up in a room together, feed him his own intestines, find out exactly how much blood the human body can hold and then bathe in it. Even if his rage has subsided, the thought of him makes it flare up regardless. It simmers happily in the back of his mind, always ready to roar. Blitz, on the other hand, mellows him out and inspires a different sort of anger instead, treating him with kid gloves and pissing Bandit off with it – just because he showed weakness doesn’t mean he’s suddenly turned into a toddler who needs coddling and someone who feeds him and enforces bedtime.

Whenever he can, he’s at the hospital despite all the stink eyes he gets – undeservedly, he feels. It’s a fucking shit regulation and if he could, he’d strangle the person who thought of it, but he’s ultimately powerless. He’s mapped out all the security cameras, has found the security office as well, considered scaling the wall outside, stealing someone’s key card and/or ID, disguising himself but it’s not worth it. The ICU is locked up tight and he doesn’t want to risk getting arrested. Not because he doesn’t think it’s worth it but rather because Six might order him back to Hereford if he does. The urge to just lay eyes on him itches under his fingernails, keeps him tense, hurts his joints.

He’s tried sleeping twice, woke up in a cold sweat twice, head filled with dark imagery which refused to give up its hold on him until he knocked Blitz awake, sought shelter in his hotel room and talked about ultimately nothing. But it helped take his mind off it all anyway. A little.

“Gilles Touré?”

The name, simultaneously stabbing him in the heart and invoking fierce affection, startles him upright where he’s been slouching in one of the chairs, at this point part of the décor. He peeks at whoever is standing at the receptionist’s desk right now, asking for his lover in perfect French. It turns out to be a woman, only a few years younger than Bandit himself, dressed professionally and looking troubled, even more so when the man working at the desk today asks her something first in German, then in English, before pointing at his ring finger when he realises she doesn’t understand.

She shakes her head and replies, gesturing and repeating herself: “Non, je suis sa sœur. Uh – sœur?”

Eventually, they work it out and she’s let in – just like that. Bandit doesn’t know when Montagne has last seen his sister, has mentioned her to travel a lot in France so he rarely knows where she is at any given point, but no matter whether they’ve last seen each other a week or three decades ago, she gets to visit him without any fuss. It hurts. It hurts a lot.

The receptionist catches his eye, shakes his head decisively and glares, the message clear: don’t harass her. It seems he’s built a reputation by now.

When she returns, he approaches her nonetheless, addresses her with a tentative excusez-moi in his best French and makes her turn around to face him. She’s pallid, almost haunted, which doesn’t bode well. “Je suis un ami”, he tells her and it pains him to reduce what they have to a word as simple as this – they’re so much more than just friends but he lacks the necessary vocabulary to make her understand. “Comment ça va?” And he knows that’s asking her how she is, so he points in the direction she just came from, hoping she gets the message.

It seems like she does. With a small nod, she responds in simple words: “Il est ok. Il va survivre.”

That’s all he needed to know. The language barrier keeps him from engaging further, but the worst question has been answered. He’ll be alright. Probably not the same as before, but he’ll live and that alone loosens the knot in his stomach a little. “Merci”, he says, heartfelt, and gets a small smile in response, hesitation, and then she reaches out and squeezes his hand before she leaves. When he moves back to his regular spot, he feels the receptionist’s eyes on him.

.

The relief of knowing at least this much, however, means that part of the void inside him makes space for his ire to return. He’s not aware of it until he rounds the corner one morning, Blitz by his side carrying two coffees one of which will end up in the receptionist’s hands as soon as Blitz heads down to the cafeteria to buy two pastries one of which will also find its way to the receptionist. The staff has begun taking pity on him now seeing as he hasn’t caused a scene since, has become a staple in their everyday lives and didn’t even badger Montagne’s sister. All the coffee and food he donates are a bonus and while they’re technically not allowed to, they accept it anyway.

This morning, however, a very familiar person is standing at the desk and quietly talking at the unimpressed-looking woman working that day and Bandit feels something snap. He’s at a full sprint before Blitz can even open his mouth and since his teammate was carrying the coffees, he’s at an advantage anyway. He’ll get in a few punches for sure.

Lion notices him quickly but not quick enough, goes down hard when Bandit jumps at and collides with him and barely manages to block his fists which aim to do as much damage as possible. “This is all – your fucking – fault!”, Bandit screeches in between insults and more punches, is ready to spew pure venom at him, take him apart both with words and actions, rip his flesh from his bones with his teeth, gouge out his eyes, snap his ribs under his foot. He doesn’t take into account how weak he is, how blind his rage makes him, and so he gets thrown off without much effort, Lion easily pinning him to the floor.

“Pull yourself together, you pathetic piece of shit”, he hisses and tightens the painful hold when Bandit snarls you almost killed him over and over again. He wants blood, and so when Blitz convinces the Frenchman to let go, he lunges once again and inevitably gets smashed into the nearest wall by his so-called friend who, if he really was a friend, would hold Lion down for him. Regardless, he left a few gashes on Lion’s face, bleeding and looking painful and that in itself makes it all worth it.

At least until he gets picked up by security, tossed out the main door and told not to come back.

.

He’s sitting outside in the shade when he spots Montagne’s sister again from afar. There’s a spring in her step today and she smiles when she notices him, waves excitedly and greets him in French, beams even more when he returns the greeting in her mother tongue. She tells him something he doesn’t understand, and so she points at the hospital into which he’s not allowed anymore, and exaggeratedly points to opening her eyes. In that moment, her enthusiasm becomes contagious. They hug tightly and she tries to pull him with her, seems confused when he shakes his head.

Communication is difficult, but he mimics a fighting stance, points out the scrapes he got from the short and ultimately unsatisfying altercation and tries to make her understand why he fought, which is nigh impossible and so they finally give up. She lets him know she’ll be back and keeps her promise, returns after half an hour with her good mood dampened but not disappeared completely and sits down next to him. The news she delivers aren’t great, Montagne – despite being awake – is apparently barely receptive and struggling to stay conscious, so she’ll try again the next day. She then belatedly introduces herself as Madeleine, asks about his name and that’s when it happens.

He replies, noticing immediately how her brows lift. She’s silent for a second, then asks: “Dom?” He nods, frowning, and she explains to him how Montagne kept asking for him, repeated his name, possibly even mistook her for him.

And all his resolutions about never crying again in public, not crying over Montagne until he can finally see him again, they all fly out the window.

.

~*~

.

“You’re going to collapse if you keep going like this.”

“How convenient, the hospital is right there.”

Blitz doesn’t seem to appreciate his sarcasm and glares at him from the side. “Look, starving yourself isn’t going to achieve anything, except worry him to bits the next time he sees you.”

“Which will be when?”

A sigh. “I don’t know. He took the brunt of that explosion. It’ll be a while, I assume, Six is already asking me whether it’s possible for me to come back.”

“Fucking go, then. I don’t need a bloody babysitter, especially not one who’s doing such a terrible job.” Regardless, he nibbles at the nougat-filled croissant Blitz forced onto him. He’s switched to demanding Bandit eat in his presence and, unfortunately, the outside of the hospital offers barely any distractions he could use to his advantage, therefore Bandit doesn’t really have a choice. It’s a miracle he’s not getting thrown off the property as a whole but figures security would rather have him where they can see him. “Your boytoy is probably missing you horribly, too. Let me wither away in peace and go back before Six gets her knickers in a twist. But if she wants me to come back as well, tell her she can shove it right -”

“She wouldn’t.” Blitz absent-mindedly begins taking his own croissant apart without eating any of it, gaze locked on his fingers. Talk about hypocritical. “She knows, Dom. They all know. I get daily inquiries about how he is, but more often about how you’re doing. They know you don’t read their messages and they probably know you’d break down due to the reality of it all if you did, so they ask me instead. We all know how much you love him. How much you love each other.”

“Shut up.” The croissant tastes like cardboard and the nougat reminds him of dark chocolate, so he looks around the ugly courtyard, turns his head away to blink away the tears. It’s becoming a trend and he hates it. “You’re bored out of your mind anyway, I can tell, and you’re fucking sick of me. Go back.”

“You’re going to do dumb shit if I do.”

“This isn’t fucking Romeo and Juliet, I’m not gonna drink bleach a day before he gets released out of the ICU. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Blitz side eyes him and they both know they’ve been friends for long enough that he’s worryingly aware of the kinds of thoughts buzzing around Bandit’s head right after Montagne was injured, when it was still unclear whether he’d make it. “There’s other dumb shit. I don’t know what you’re going to do, I just know you will. Trying to beat up Olivier falls under that, just so you know. It wasn’t his fault, even if both of you seem to think so.”

“Are you even listening to yourself? If I do stupid shit regardless of whether you’re here or not, it obviously doesn’t matter.”

And Blitz just sighs. They know he’s going to leave regardless, though he’ll inevitably keep checking in.

.

The pattering of small drops on his umbrella is meant to be soothing but if anything, it erodes his patience. He’s sick and tired of spending his days doing nothing, letting his mind run wild, but he’s afraid of the alternative. It’s imperative he spends as little time as possible in the hotel room he used to share, just like he needs to be in the vicinity when it’s visitor hours. He can’t afford to miss Madeleine in case she stops by that day, needs to be here if – if anything happens, but even if it did they probably wouldn’t tell him. It’s illogical to sit here regardless, on his usual bench, slowly feeling his shoes and socks soaking up the rain and cursing himself for not bringing another jacket. He’s freezing and his exhaustion exacerbates the icy feeling in his bones.

But how could he be anywhere else when Montagne is right here?

His days feel empty not only because of how little he actually does for how much time passes but also because there’s no joy in them. Every memory is sullied by worry – even if Montagne recovers fully mentally, what if he can never walk again? The possible long-term consequences are incredibly intimidating, so daunting that he’d rather not consider them at all. Still, when he thinks back to any wonderful moment between them (and they are endless), they loom threateningly in the background, casting a shadow over it all.

Someone comes to a stop in front of him and the boots are too heavy to belong to Madeleine. When he looks up, lifts the umbrella to reveal a dark expression, he scowls in return. “Get the fuck out of my face”, he hisses and decides to maybe leave it at a warning this time. The scratches on Lion’s cheek have healed by now.

“Come on”, the Frenchman growls, rips the umbrella out of his hand and begins walking towards the front entrance of the hospital. Despite how much Bandit wants to stay just to spite him, he might actually end up with hypothermia if he does, and so he eventually gets up and jogs after the thief. Lion shakes off as much water as he can before he returns the umbrella unprompted. “You’re allowed back in, I vouched for you. If you cause trouble again, we’re both banned, so don’t start shit. Got it?”

Bandit heaves a deep breath of relief but can’t bring himself to thank him, not after all he’s done. He nods and they venture forth together, take the stairs, greet the receptionist who squints at Bandit and sit down next to each other. He doesn’t know what Lion wants or why he did it, but the last thing he needs right now is a fucking talk. Fortunately, Lion seems to agree, merely crosses his arms and remains silent.

They sit like this for at least an hour, Bandit tense, Lion unmoving. He doesn’t know whether it really is a test of patience or whether Lion isn’t aware of the anguish his presence alone causes, but it’s beginning to piss him off. “You don’t deserve to be here”, he murmurs eventually, propping up his head on his knees, leaned forwards while Lion is leaning back.

“And if I wasn’t, you’d bitch about that too.”

He’s not wrong. Bandit remembers Blitz’ words: It wasn’t his fault, even if both of you seem to think so. Bullshit. He peers at the other man from the corner of his eye and notes how he, too, seems to have suffered. He looks exhausted, both mentally and physically. “Fucking bastard”, he mumbles.

“Cunt”, says Lion, unperturbed.

“You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?”

The Frenchman’s brows draw together. “I’ve thought about it a lot. The whole mission. And I’ve come to the conclusion that we didn’t make a mistake, instead we were missing intel we had no way of acquiring prior to going in, intel we weren’t aware of missing. With all the information we had when we planned it, I think I’d agree on doing it all the same way again. I’ve retraced all our steps and it was the best possible approach. Just because the outcome turned out bad doesn’t mean there was a mistake in the decision making.”

Bandit mulls it over. He’s done the same thing but exceedingly more biased, frantically looked for people at whom he could point fingers. Ultimately, he came up empty and this revelation was a whole other punch to the gut: sometimes, life is simply unfair and accepting this isn’t easy. “Yeah”, he offers eventually. “Doesn’t answer my fucking question though.”

“Yes. I am.” Lion uncrosses his arms. “Of course I am.”

And this is unexpected, a show of weakness possibly meant as an armistice. “Me too”, Bandit says and feels a curious gaze on him. “He wouldn’t have been on this fucking mission if not for me. We requested to be deployed together, so we did. This wasn’t really his normal gig, too messy.”

“You can’t know whether he wouldn’t have been sent anyway.”

“No. I can’t. But that doesn’t change anything for me.”

“I have absolutely no fucking idea what he sees in you.”

Bandit catches himself before he agrees, swallows the words with a wistful smile and then shoots back: “And I can’t understand in the slightest why he’s friends with you.” They look at each other and shrug. “He’s just like that, I suppose. He sees something pitiful and he has to nourish it.”

Lion huffs in amusement. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

“Have you met his sister? Madeleine?” A shake of the head. “She’s the only one visiting him at the moment.”

“Oh? What is she saying about his condition?”

“I don’t fucking know, I don’t speak French.” Lion snorts derisively. “Don’t give me that, I’ve seen how bloody lost you are with the people who only speak German here. Maybe you can translate for me the next time she’s here. She might come in later.”

“Sure.”

Bandit ponders this for a while. What is he going to tell her? He can’t really divulge any details as to what happened and as for - “Don’t mention anything about Gilles and me though. Our families don’t know yet.”

.

Instead of only Madeleine, Bandit meets Montagne’s parents that day and it’s the most awkward fifteen minutes of his life. There he is, hopelessly in love with the son of this overly friendly elderly French couple and terrified of them finding out on top of having to pretend everything is fine between him and his translator who seems to hit it off extremely well with them, when instead all he wants to do is kick Lion in the shins for prolonging the small talk to unbearable lengths. Not to mention he can’t go into detail of how exactly Montagne and he know each other, given that he doesn’t want to reveal their relationship and isn’t sure how much they know (or are even allowed to know) about Rainbow. The members of staff (who can clearly put two and two together and have effortlessly figured out Bandit is longing for his loved one as well as meeting his parents for the very first time) try and fail to suppress smirks the entire time.

It helps that he has a lovely conversation with Madeleine afterwards, learns that she’s a journalist and they exchange anecdotes of Montagne which leave all three of them smiling. Having Lion translate back and forth is annoying but required and despite all, Bandit is grateful for his help. Madeleine closes the conversation by saying how glad she is her brother has such devoted friends and she’ll be sure to stay in contact, laments the regulation of them not being able to visit Montagne regardless, hugs them both and remains blissfully unaware of the seed she’s planted in Bandit’s head.

Blitz left the day before and so his nights are lonely and unproductive, only this one is an exception. Madeleine told a story about the hospital Montagne was born in and it gave Bandit an idea – an idea which requires a bit of researching and a lot of unlawful thinking.

The next day, Bandit is busy. He spends a large part of it perfecting Montagne’s signature until he can forge it with his eyes closed and the rest on scouring the internet for certain French phrases and letter templates. He double and triple checks each one he composes, every single one of them absolutely essential to his plan, therefore they all need to be perfect. What little he remembers of taking French in school helps and eventually, he’s decently satisfied with the result.

Further researching reveals a small obstacle which is solved easily by contacting one of his old buddies who knows someone who in turn knows someone who can put Bandit through to someone who does small favours for small currency, and additionally to making that phone call to the French hospital Bandit needs, he even proofreads Bandit’s mangled letters, laughs at him for half an hour and then corrects them.

Finally, after printing and signing them, he drops them in the mail. Now he just has to wait.

.

A few days later, Bandit enters the registrar’s office of his home town Berlin, the city in which he’s still listed as a resident. It’s an extremely fortunate coincidence but he would’ve travelled half the country too if it’d been necessary.

“Good morning”, he greets the clerk politely and hands over the papers in his hand which are comprised of all the necessary documents: his and Montagne’s ID (which he left at the hotel when they went on the mission), both birth certificates (and France should really re-think how easy it is to get one of these) and a document certifying that Montagne is indeed single after having been married before. Additionally, he carries a writ of consent stating that Montagne agrees to all of it, signed by no other than Bandit himself. He’s proud of this particular signature and is sure it’d even hold up in court.

It’s all highly official and obtained extremely illegally. And with a smile, he announces: “I would like to get married.”

Chapter Text

It’s a mockery and yet he can’t bring himself to tear down the curtain, expose the farce for what it is, leave this pitiful excuse of a play. He can’t. Not when it involves gentle hands cupping his face, stroking his body, carding through his hair. Even in his dream he’s aware of it being no more than an illusion and yet he soaks in the affectionate gestures, echoes of words spoken once upon a time surrounding him together with the non-corporeal feeling of bliss. He loves and he’s loved, two things impossible to dream of in his younger days, then something he took for granted and now something he misses fiercely.

When he wakes up, there are tears in his eyes. It takes a few deep, shuddery inhales to return to the reality of a deserted hotel room, to become aware of his icy feet, the large mattress which is entirely too big for one person alone, his belongings carelessly strewn about on every horizontal surface. If it was a smoking room, he’d have gone through a pack a day probably but everyone noticed his attempts at quitting and so he’s not even granted this small comfort. He feels as if he’s underwater, days have bled together, sleepless nights blurred his perception and left him lost; sounds are muted and breathing seems impossible.

At least he didn’t dream of death again. Not his own, that would’ve been a consolation. No. Not his own.

The fact that he slept at all is a small miracle in itself and can be ascribed to the t-shirt he’s wearing, a piece of fabric he stuffed into his bag without thinking, stole without thinking twice about it and put on the previous evening. It smells heavenly, even now its scent is noticeable whenever he moves and so he pulls the collar over his nose and breathes in, curls up into a ball and wraps his cold hands around his even colder ankles while he thinks of the past. It’s the one thing keeping him sane these days whereas a month (or two?) ago, his future promised hope and stability. He doesn’t like thinking about the future now. Not at all.

He tries, but he can’t get hard. Not even with the familiar smell in his nose, definitely not with the window he left open during the night, still letting in freezing air, not with the help of pictures and videos on his phone. Not even those of him. Especially not those.

Eventually, he gets up because he’s shivering too much, accepting that he’s not even granted this bit of solace though he knows he’d feel worse afterwards, looking for a warm body to hold on to, missing the hands which caressed him in his dreams but are nowhere to be found now. He dresses carelessly, skips the shower and breakfast and gets on the tram taking him to where his love lies bleeding out.

.

There’s too much wrong with him and so Bandit doesn’t like looking in his direction. Instead, he inspects the blanket, the bed frame, the entirety of the room except for its occupant even though he could probably draw it in his sleep by now but at least none of it needs as many crutches to exist as the man before him. He’s fidgeting and probably radiating awkwardness, the underlying wish to be elsewhere though everything he’s ever cared for is right there, close enough to touch, to kiss, to hold on to. He does neither of these things. He feels guilty.

“Did you cancel the appointment?”, Montagne asks quietly after a prolonged silence which was thick enough to be tangible.

“Yes”, Bandit says and inspects the way the sheets are rumpled in great detail.

Another short pause. “You didn’t cancel it.”

“No”, Bandit says and follows the folds with his eyes, carefully thinking about nothing.

“Are you going to? Because if not, I’ll call them. They should give the date to someone who’s actually going to turn up.”

“So you really would stand me up at our wedding?” As soon as he’s spoken the words, he presses his lips together and buries his fingernails in his palm until the physical pain distracts him from the other, dull, omnipresent one. When Montagne sighs and reaches up to touch him, he ducks away and feels pathetic; his own pride won’t allow him to be this weak and vulnerable and so he leaves without another word, striding past everything and everyone until he’s in front of the main doors, wondering what else he’s supposed to do the whole day if not this. It’s all he does. It’s all he can do.

Strings hold him back, almost stretched taut, and so he remains where he is to breathe a bit of fresh air and hopefully reset his emotions. He’s quick to irritate these days, though his rage often tilts over into pure desperation and it’s not something he cares for. Ultimately, he tries to remain as neutral as possible, not to swing into any extreme as his emotional dial seems to need some calibrating. He bums a cigarette off of someone who also doesn’t look like she should be smoking and allows the quiet feelings of resentment, largely towards himself, but also… just a tiny bit…

When he returns, sinks into the chair which constitutes the middle of his universe, Montagne’s expression has softened and yet he can’t bring himself to do more than glance at it. “Give me your hand, Dom”, he demands and uncurls his own fingers.

Bandit studies the windowsill. He’s lucky he didn’t wear the t-shirt or else the smell of smoke would’ve ruin its calming effect. He wonders how Blitz is doing. He should probably call Six and give her an update. He doesn’t move.

“Mon amour. Please.”

Reluctantly, he lifts his arm and places his hand in Montagne’s, almost expecting it to be cool to the touch, as if he really was… gone and the silhouette before him no more than an afterimage burnt into his retina. But it’s warm. His loose grip tightens and a thumb strokes over the back of his hand. Some of the tension in his limbs eases up. Only some, but it’s a start.

“I don’t want you to spend your whole day in here. It’s Berlin, don’t you have people to visit? Places to see? You can watch films in the cinema and tell me about them later. I don’t want you to stay here all the time.”

“Do you not want to see me?” It’s unfair and both of them know it is, so Montagne drops the topic as he did so many already, discards them as unfruitful, as leading to unwarranted accusations. The list keeps growing. Bandit is unbearable and unable to change it.

“There’s something else”, Montagne valiantly tries again and he deserves a medal for putting up with any of this, if Bandit is honest. He’s in pain, not able to walk or even stand on his own and yet he hasn’t sent Bandit away once. It’ll only be a matter of time until he does. “I’ve spoken to Olivier.”

“Have you now?” His gaze drops to the sterile floor with the irregular pattern.

“I’d like you to apologise to him.”

When he withdraws his hand, Montagne tries to hold on it but Bandit shakes him off. “No.”

“You hurt him and who knows what you would’ve done had Elias not been there. And you blamed him for something which was entirely my own, personal choice.”

“And what a fucking braindead choice it was”, Bandit spits out before he can stop himself, his sharp tone of voice biting against Montagne’s calm one.

“So you’d rather he was dead?”

“Yes. If it meant I wouldn’t have to see you like this, yes. If it meant I wouldn’t have had to go through that entire fucking ordeal, yes.”

There’s emotion in his words, so much Montagne senses he’s not just saying it in anger, no, he actually means it – or at least part of it, or thinks he means it. Montagne, too, withdraws his arm now. “You’re better than that, Dom”, he tells him.

“I’m really not.” And this finally gives him the courage to leave, to change the scenery if only for one day.

.

The centre of Berlin never seems to exude the same magic for him as it does for the endless waves of tourists. He rarely comes here though of course he’s intimately familiar with all the relevant buildings, has fed sparrows on the broad street Unter den Linden, walked past the Holocaust Memorial and the Museum Island countless times, seen the Reichstag so much he’s sick of it. It’s mostly just crowded and loud and holds no appeal yet he finds himself on one of the many bridges over the Spree regardless, eating sunflower seeds and spitting the shells over the railing he’s leaning on. He’s in the vicinity of the GDR museum, a horribly nostalgic exhibition which largely glosses over the unsavoury details.

Bandit thinks it’s an ugly city but it’s his, he knows all the shortcuts and small streets none of the tourists ever take, has discovered a wide range of excellent restaurants in the formerly infamous part of the city called Kreuzberg, manages to overlook the sights in favour of the down-to-earth people who don’t mince their words. Being surrounded chiefly by German speakers has become an oddity, something he missed without even realising, and standing still in one spot allows him to eavesdrop on various conversations, couples planning on where to go next, people describing horrendous or amazing experiences on their phones, others talking about mundane things.

He’s lost all perspective. At this point, he doesn’t know what constitutes normal, whether he’s dressed strangely or only feels that way, whether he sticks out like a sore thumb or not. He’s unsure how someone in his situation should behave but also unwilling to ask, he’d rather not admit to Blitz that he decided over Montagne’s head, that he’s unable to find the words to say to Montagne in order to make everything better. To make everything go back to the way it used to be. He feels alien, like an impostor, definitely like he doesn’t deserve any of what he ever received from Montagne. If he could go back in time, he’d refuse his jacket. He wouldn’t sink into his hugs until his pulse stopped racing. He’d stay away and ensure Montagne would be happier that way.

If he doesn’t hear a familiar voice any time soon, he’s going to go insane.

“Hey. Are you alright? Did something happen?”

“Do I really call so rarely that you immediately assume it’s an emergency?”, he asks, vaguely offended and yet simply hearing Blitz on the other end does wonders for his urge to throw himself off the bridge (which is extremely low, he’d only end up soaked) or start a fight with other pedestrians.

“This is literally the first time you called me in months, Dom.”

“Fair enough. How are things at the base?”

“No, no, I asked first. How are you doing?”

He clenches his teeth. “I bet you all miss me horribly.”

Blitz pauses, but one of the reasons why Bandit values him so much is the fact that he doesn’t pry, instead begins replying to his question as if it was completely normal. He even manages to sound natural as he recounts some of the more entertaining episodes Bandit missed and it only takes them a few minutes until they actually conduct something which could be confused with a proper conversation. It turns out a few people do miss Bandit, Rook especially who’s apparently worried sick but has been told to give Bandit some space instead of bombarding him with endless messages. He even snatches Blitz’ phone from him for a moment but quite obviously has been instructed to keep it light as he merely gushes over the fact that he made the world’s best milkshake the other day. Despite knowing they’re both deeply concerned, the display they put on purely for his sake is heartwarming. He even catches himself smiling.

Eventually, the stream of stories dies down and Blitz seems to struggle for a moment before he suggests: “Listen, if you’ve got some time on your hands, why not go visit our boys? Last I heard they still go drinking every Friday at the usual place.”

Bandit’s smile dies down slowly as he ponders the prospect. “They’re not really my scene”, he responds but both of them know he’s saying something different, means to say: When you’re not there. Blitz effortlessly slides into most social groups whereas Bandit is a wilful square peg, his sarcasm and cynicism balanced out by Blitz’ mocking – they’re a good team, but on his own he often feels… incompatible.

“Bullshit. You hung out with Tom in your spare time even.”

Yeah, because we fucked, Bandit is tempted to shoot back but bites his tongue at the last second. Blitz already knows more about his love life than he needs to. “Yeah, you’re right. I should go visit them or else I won’t hear the end of it next time.”

“I think it’s a good idea. Say hi to them from me!”

“I’ll tell them you called them a bunch of incompetent bastards and refused to even show your face”, Bandit replies and hangs up, though he doesn’t miss the laugh on Blitz’ end.

.

Regardless of his confident words, worry eats at him the whole train ride. When he returned from undercover, he was treated differently than before – somehow seemed to hold a higher rank with all the downsides accompanying it. People mouthed off less which in his book means they didn’t see him as an equal anymore, they respectfully stepped around instead of playfully tackled him and showed less of an inclination to fight back, be it about insults or pranks.

Maybe he simply perceived the situation wrong, however. Maybe he just came back as a snarling, rabid wolf who intimidated people by taking jokes a tad too far, purposefully tried to make everyone in his vicinity uncomfortable and showcased humour so dark even the professionals shied away from it. Not Blitz though. He pushed back, ridiculed where it was necessary and warranted, knocked him down a peg whenever he deserved it. Their friendship could’ve gone two ways: horribly awry or developing into mutual respect and he’s glad it turned out to be the latter. By his side, he became accepted again.

Now he fears something similar might happen. They don’t know many details about Rainbow apart from its existence and might display vague hero worship or, worse, try to suck up to him. It’s the one thing he doesn’t need right now, all he wants is a relaxed evening to take his mind off the whole fucking car crash he caused somehow. Just one evening. A brief respite.

The streets he traverses are so familiar and strange at the same time, some houses freshly painted, others vacated, stores changed and asphalt renewed. He stops once he spots the pub, the name forever ingrained in his mind as the one place where it was always safe to get drunk, speak his mind and mess with the other patrons. They never let on they were GSG9 for safety reasons but there was no doubt most regulars guessed something along those lines as they either provoked them in misguided arrogance, flirted with danger or gave them a break. They’re welcome here.

He has to force himself to keep walking but his autopilot takes over at some point, carries him to the door, makes him enter and head for the usual table. As soon as he spots an entire row of familiar faces, he feels his anxiousness spike but it all subsides when Stefan, seated closest to the edge of the table, looks up at him and says: “Well fuck me sideways.”

Bandit just grins while most chatter suddenly dies down and he’s confronted with surprised as well as cheerful expressions. “Long time, no see”, he greets them and laughs when Stefan jumps up to slap his back.

.

It turns out all his worries were unfounded. He’s gladly accepted back, introduced to a few newcomers whose eyes widen when they catch his name (and isn’t that a satisfying feeling), and informed about the whereabouts of others not currently present. It’s almost like sliding into a hot bathtub, soothing for his nerves and allowing him to switch off for the moment, cease to censor himself and garner both scandalised as well as genuine laughs with his dry comments. He makes up a few stories about Rainbow and mixes them with truth, then watches in amusement as his (former) colleagues try to figure out which is which and lets them persuade him to drink a few beers with them. He’s been almost entirely abstinent so he figures a few won’t hurt – besides, he missed the taste of German beer horribly.

He’s brought up to speed on questionable regulations, personal matters, issues in Germany he missed, gets elbowed in the side, agrees to a few bets and wins them all, steals someone’s glass while they’re not looking and confirms a few stories the newcomers have heard about him yet refuse to believe they’re true. As for the topic of his presence, he stays vague and earns understanding nods as well as a few ludicrous speculations he neither confirms nor denies. He should’ve really done this sooner, he realises, he’s slowly returning to his normal self and it’s terrifying how far away from okay he was just this morning.

When some of them take a smoke break, he joins them but doesn’t partake, merely enjoys their company as they’re the ones with whom he hung out often. Tom lingers when they head back inside and so Bandit stays as well until they’re the only two left. “How long are you in Berlin for?”, Tom asks while lighting his second cigarette. He’s slim but strong, an incredibly fast runner and adept at anything stealthy which to Bandit was such a turn on that he jumped at the first opportunity to fuck him – about a week after they met. Neither of them likes to dawdle.

“Probably a bit longer”, he answers and is fully aware of why Tom wants to know.

“I’m off tomorrow. Next week Wednesday, too.” They look at each other in the cold light of the street lamp next to them. “If you want, you can come to my place later.”

Bandit pictures it. Tom is loud and insatiable, would probably rip off his clothes before they’ve even made it through the door and ride him breathless – he can see it clearly in his mind, no obstruction or blurriness. They’d both enjoy it and Tom would let him leave if he wanted to, not follow up if Bandit gave no indication of wanting it. There are no strings attached, it’d be easy and clean, he’d be able to get off which he hasn’t managed in a while. Tom is good in bed and, above all, familiar. Reassuring. A warm body to keep him company.

Never before has an idea seemed less appealing to Bandit. Not for a single second does he genuinely consider the offer and if he’s honest, the thought of letting any other man touch him in that way is distasteful. Even just picturing it makes him cringe vaguely, wish for Montagne, wish for his solid body at Bandit’s back, wish for his strong arms around him. “No”, he answers and plucks the cigarette out of Tom’s mouth to take a drag, “I have someone.”

“Me too”, comes the amused reply, startling a chuckle out of him.

“You piece of shit.”

They exchange a grin. “Nah, she doesn’t mind. I hit the jackpot with her because we both find it hot when the other one sleeps around.”

“Mine isn’t like that. At all.” He returns the cancer stick and smiles when Tom’s lips happen to touch his fingers. At some point, this would’ve been enough for him to drag him away. Now it’s just a little ticklish. “I’ve asked him to marry me, actually.”

A chortle. “Are you serious? Did he say yes?”

“Not yet. But he will.”

“I really can’t picture you as a married man, Dom, not in the slightest. What, are you telling me you’ve gone soft? Enjoy missionary? Cuddle the whole day? Buy him flowers?”

Bandit’s mouth curls into a smile. He has no trouble imagining his life while married to Montagne, no trouble at all. “That’s a good idea actually. I should get him some.”

Tom barks out a disbelieving laugh which Bandit doesn’t even take personally. “Never thought you’d end up this fucking whipped one day, dude.”

And as he searches for a proper comeback, he realises one thing which he somehow… lost track of these days, a fact so immovable and ubiquitous he looked right through it. Lacking it, at times even forgetting it with all its consequences was what made him insufferable – but talking about Montagne to someone unrelated put it back in perspective, drags him back to the ground, reassures him more than friendly words ever could. “I’m not whipped”, he corrects politely and without any offence taken, “just hopelessly in love.”

.

When he returns to the hotel later, he stumbles into Lion on the way to his room, the other man visibly calmer than the previous times they met, though his expression turns to stone nonetheless as soon as he spots Bandit approaching him. “Gilles said I should apologise to you”, he announces a little too loudly.

Lion suddenly looks pained. “Oh please no.”

“I don’t know what should surprise me more – the fact that you’re passing up a chance to see me grovel before you, or that you said please.”

“He’s obsessed with the idea that just because we both like him, we should be best friends. I’ll tell him you were full of remorse and you do the same and we’ll never talk about it, alright?”

This is pretty much the best case scenario, so Bandit just nods. “Sure. Whatever you say. You know, we should actually talk to each other and be nice in front of him so he stops nagging. And maybe even make plans together but then go to two different places because – no offence – I’d rather saw my arm off than spend an evening with you.”

“Likewise.” Lion pauses and squints at him more closely. “Are you drunk?”

“A tiny bit”, Bandit slurs which seems to be all the info Lion needed. “And so fucking in love like you wouldn’t believe. Have you ever been in love? It’s like that. Only ten times better. A hundred. I love him so much.” Maybe he’s a tad drunker than he thought, going by Lion’s vaguely pitying expression.

“Great for you but I really don’t need to hear this.”

“I’m going to marry him, you know. In four months.” He holds up three fingers and then remembers to whom he’s talking. “Oh shit. Don’t tell anyone. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

“As far as I know, he declined”, Lion instantly rains on his parade. Ice cold.

“Listen”, Bandit whispers, “he’s gonna change his mind, alright? I know he will.”

The Frenchman shakes his head. “I don’t think so. It’s to do with his ex-wife. But you should talk to him, not me. Especially not while drunk.”

“Yes. Okay. Whatever you say.” He stumbles off, realises he’s heading in the wrong direction and turns on his heel to wobble past Lion once more. “Why are you even up at this hour?”, he wants to know but doesn’t stop walking to hear his reply because it doesn’t really interest him.

He half misses the response, only hears keep an eye on and forgets about it immediately.

.

When he bursts into Montagne’s hospital room the next morning, he and his flowers are met with a curious glance. “I brought you hyacinths!”, he announces proudly and shoves the bouquet under Montagne’s nose.

“Those are hydrangeas”, his lover corrects him gently but accepts his offering awkwardly, looking around for a vase or something similar before simply standing the flowers up in his glass of water. “They’re lovely. Thank you.”

“You’re lovely”, Bandit shoots back and drags the chair closer to Montagne before sitting down. “How do you feel today?”

“Definitely not as good as you look.” He reaches out and this time, Bandit allows him to put his hand on his cheek, even leans into the touch with a sigh. They exchange a smile when Bandit takes his hand and holds it in his, massages Montagne’s palm and revels in the warmth of the soft skin. Montagne still looks brittle, pale and noticeably thinner, constantly exhausted and fragile but it doesn’t matter. He’ll get better in time. “What happened?”, he inquires quietly, visibly confused yet pleased at the crass change in Bandit’s behaviour.

“First of all, I’m sorry. I – I didn’t expect you to say no, I’ll be honest, but you’re not really in any condition to make this type of decision right now, so we’ll just… we can talk about it when you’ve recovered. Alright? You don’t need this kind of pressure right now.” It’s surprising how easily the words leave his lips but seeing Montagne smile for the second time ever since they were reunited helps ground him immensely.

“Sounds surprisingly reasonable”, Montagne agrees with a certain glint in his eye at which Bandit’s narrow.

“I thought of it myself”, he clarifies quickly and earns a soft laugh.

“That’s good.”

“And I’m sorry for pushing the issue. And for holding a grudge over it.” Montagne’s features are still expectant. “And for going over your head. And all the other… illegal stuff.”

“Well, it’s good to know that you’d be able to help should I ever need a different identity, but I’m frankly still frightened by how easily you obtained everything you had to. You probably could’ve stolen my ID out of my wallet without me noticing.”

Despite his casual tone of voice, Bandit understands where he’s going with this. “I’m not gonna do anything like this ever again. I promise. It was invasive. And wrong.”

Montagne nods and it’s at this point that Bandit realises he’s still angry. Furious, even. “I’m glad you realise this. I don’t want to need to worry about the security of my identity if I can help it.” Regardless, he’s tightly holding on to Bandit’s hand now and lowering his voice: “I thought I was losing you, Dom. You wouldn’t look at me. You wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t even let me touch you. I was scared. Even now, I’m scared for you.”

He can’t even pretend it’s unwarranted as he did indeed feel like he used to on particularly bad days, he realises now in hindsight. Nightmares, a general lack of concern for his own well-being, the omnipresent frost in his bones. It’s a testament to how much his life has improved by Montagne’s side that instead of reverting to seriously self-destructive behaviours, he contacted Blitz, followed advice, took a step back and reconsidered. Not what he would’ve done a few years ago. “I’m not the one in hospital”, he still protests weakly.

“No, but I eat and sleep regularly.”

Fair point. He draws a deep breath and looks up again, didn’t even notice he averted his gaze and now finds a mixture of compassion and sorrow in Montagne’s. “It was hell”, he admits and earns a nod. “It still is, a bit.”

“Yes. It is. And I don’t think you’ve even begun processing that I’m not dead, you still look like you lost me. It’s alright. I’m alive.”

Maybe that’s it. His brain melted together the grief of the early days when he knew nothing, the impotent rage, his powerlessness and now the fear of rejection into a terrifying vortex out of which he still hasn’t escaped. He looks at his lover and tries to convince himself that it’ll all be fine but largely fails. Doubts and anxiety eat at him, unchanged, so when Montagne pulls at him, he gives in.

It’s an awkward shuffling and pushing but eventually, Bandit manages to fit onto the bed next to his lover, rest his head on his shoulder and tentatively put an arm around his waist while trying not to touch any of the bandages. The effect is almost instant, Montagne’s proximity cures his fractured soul and when a hand begins stroking over his side, he relaxes fully against the once invulnerable-seeming body with a final sigh. Montagne is radiating heat as well as tranquillity, his regular breaths raising and lowering Bandit’s arm, his hand stroking away some of his fears.

“I’m so shit at this”, Bandit murmurs against fabric which will be his next target to steal and wear until its scent has been lost, “you’re feeling fucking awful and yet I’m the one who needs reassurance.”

“I’d rather expend the energy to reassure you than have you forge my signature again”, Montagne replies into his hair followed by an amused huff. “It’s excusable though. I’m busy not dying whereas you have nothing to do other than let your thoughts spiral.”

Bandit hums in vague agreement and allows his eyes to fall shut. He wasn’t even aware of how viciously he missed touching his lover, being touched in return, rest by his side. And cuddling, he supposes.

“Have you spoken with Olivier?”

He nods with a clear conscience because it’s true, he did talk to him. If what he says next is untrue, well, it cancels each other out. Right? “I gave him a speech and he hated every second of it.”

“That’s odd. He told me you kept it brief.” Oh shit. Montagne quite tangibly enjoys Bandit’s sputtering for a few seconds and then kisses his forehead. “You two are more alike than you think. But I get the message, I won’t forcibly try to make you interact again.”

It’s a relief to hear, even if Bandit has to admit that dealing with the Frenchman has become less annoying over time. They’re on the same page, stuck in an unfortunate situation and probably should try to make the best out of it. Bandit nuzzles Montagne’s jaw and says: “I take it back, by the way. What I said. I wouldn’t sacrifice a life for this. Not even his.”

“Good.” Another kiss. “I’m proud of you.”

“Do you still -” He hesitates, unsure of how to ask for what he wants to know. Needs to know. “I mean… am I – are you still…”

When Montagne fortunately catches on before he has to outright say it, his arm around Bandit tightens involuntarily. “Of course, Dom, how could you even ask? Of course I love you. I’m so glad you’re here by my side, it helps me immensely. Thank you for staying.” He’s getting choked up again though for entirely different reasons than the last time he was here, so he just snuggles closer and melts against Montagne’s side with a contented sigh. Like this, he can almost forget about the sterile room and the faint antiseptic smell; it’s easy to imagine they’re back in their flat, enjoying a lazy morning before eating breakfast together – and Bandit notices he’s actually quite hungry.

“How did you even decide to bring me flowers?”, Montagne mumbles, audibly sleepy as well now and resting his head on Bandit’s.

A smile pulls at his lips. “I’ll tell you later. For now, let’s just stay like this a bit.”

Chapter Text

“I’m leaving tomorrow”, says Madeleine, voice soft and always a reprieve from the harsh reality of the hospital room around them. “I don’t think coming back will be necessary this time.”

Montagne squeezes her hand, making her smile.

She’s been juggling family and career for her entire life and right now is no different: on slower or off days, she hops on the train to visit, taking the opportunity to report on some local stories on the way, utilising her travel time to write up or edit her pieces. A busy bee, always worried about being overshadowed by her older brother. They haven’t seen each other this much for years and though the occasion could be merrier, Montagne is fiercely grateful for her presence. He’s unloaded some of his worries onto her and she onto him, and somehow they ended up lighter than before. Tourés tend to stick together, given the opportunity.

“Why do you say that?”

“You might not realise, but you’re looking much better, Gilles. You’ll be let loose on the world again soon.”

They exchange a quick grin over her choice of words. She’s certainly more of a menace to society than he is, and they both know it.

Next to her, Lion is sitting in a second chair, rigid. He’s confessed to Montagne in private that Madeleine reminds him of his mother – whatever that might entail – and so he’s unfailingly awkward around her, probably ruing the fact that they happened to drop by at the same time today. Dealing with strangers isn’t usually a problem for him; dealing with family of friends, however, is.

Apparently, Bandit won Madeleine over immediately, surprisingly enough. She says it’s his horrific German accent whenever he attempts to speak French and his deadpan humour, but Montagne is relatively sure she senses a bit of how much Bandit cares for him. Tourés are also protective of each other, siblings even more so. She wouldn’t have told him a thing about Montagne’s current condition if she hadn’t thought his worry genuine.

And then, out of the blue: “Cathérine called me.” She still sounds conversational, but her gaze becomes a tad more attentive.

Montagne stills.

Lion’s gaze is jumping back and forth between them, the man even more uncomfortable now.

It’s the last person he expected Madeleine to mention, so he needs a second to compose himself. “What about?” He tries to search for emotions, for any kind of reaction to encountering his wife’s – ex-wife’s name, but comes up empty. It’s like hearing about an old, lost friend of his: someone who once used to be important enough to be mentioned in his will, now someone who barely counts as a remnant in his thoughts.

“You, of course. Maman tattled and, eventually, it reached her. She wanted to know how you are and whether contacting you directly is a good idea.”

“And your reply?”

“I said I’d ask you.”

He nods, thankful. During their divorce, too many people presumed what would be best for either side instead of addressing them directly. It didn’t feel like their own private business anymore, somehow it affected everyone and so everyone was entitled to an opinion and a listening ear. He appreciates Madeleine allowing him this kind of control. “I don’t think she has my current number. Please give it to her and let her know I’d be happy to talk.”

And that’s that. They kiss cheeks and do a half-hug, exchange verbal pleasantries which are nonetheless heartfelt, and then she and her mild perfume are gone, leaving behind a slightly relieved-looking Lion.

“You do look a lot better, you know”, he confirms Madeleine’s earlier assessment, and though he seems intent on changing the topic – for him, family is still a sore topic most days –, Montagne’s mind lingers. Vague memories form a blurry whole, the image so distant it may well originate in a film he once saw or a book he once read.

Catou used to be his entire world and there were days he was convinced he couldn’t go on if she were to leave him. Yet time, the wound-healer, sometimes corrodes instead – and in their case, it must’ve mistaken their passion and devotion for sickness, for it cured them. They noticed before comfort turned into indifference, but only barely. By the time they decided on breaking up, another man was involved as well, though Montagne assigns him no blame whatsoever. Until their divorce was finalised, Catou kept her friend at arm’s length and he never even attempted to get any closer; but while she didn’t allow herself to fall in love again until Montagne openly gave his blessing, he could see the seeds growing already.

Neither of them cheated, he knows this for a fact. They’d never. He noticed how she became aware of the possibility of being with another man after a few of their long talks which denoted the beginning of the end, and while it hurt, he vowed not to stand in her way. If he couldn’t support her, he at least didn’t want to hinder her.

What hurt the most wasn’t any misguided feeling of betrayal or even jealousy, no. It was the realisation that he simply didn’t suffice. He gave her his everything and it turned out it wasn’t enough.

Maybe this is why he won’t accept Bandit’s proposal: the creeping fear of committing fully and finding it to have been in vain.

“You never spoke about her.” His friend has indubitably noticed his mood by now, or maybe the lack of response gave it away.

He supposes he hasn’t. Neither to Bandit nor to Lion, actually, not even when the topic had strayed to Claire and Alexis. “There isn’t much to say”, he summarises well over a decade of companionship, eroded and erased slowly by the very thing which tainted it in the first place: time apart. “We fell in and then out of love. She was a remarkable woman. She deserves someone who can keep up with her.”

Lion fidgets a little, avoids eye contact. Montagne’s words might’ve struck a chord but he’s too exhausted, too restless to talk it out. Madeleine’s statement has given him hope that he can leave soon, leave Bandit’s birthplace behind, hopefully to return and make happier memories in the future.

His friend’s next question catches him off guard. “Why did you marry her?”

It’s so much out of character for him to ask that Montagne needs a few seconds to come up with a reply. “I loved her, with all my heart. I expected to spend the rest of my life with her. Why do you -”

“Then why are you saying no to him?”

Montagne stares, shocked. The slight petulant undertone, the hint of defiance, the blunt accusation – Bandit himself could’ve posed the question, and it’s not for the first time Montagne realises how alike the two of them really are. But what leaves him utterly dumbstruck isn’t the implication of Lion approving of a marriage between them, no, it’s the fact that he can’t come up with a reasonable answer.

At least not one which doesn’t sound like an excuse.

He must’ve realised the impact his words have left behind, so Lion swiftly changes topics yet again, allowing for Montagne to recover and respond to a few simple inquiries, but nothing really manages to soften the blow.

~*~

There’s a reason he chose le Roc over more modern, flashier, possibly more efficient alternatives.

When he was younger, he used to hide his height by slouching, felt embarrassed by the fact that he’d stick out due to something he neither chose nor controlled – as a tall, muscular man, he’s perceived as intimidating or, worse, a challenge. He reacted to mentions of his physique with sheepish smiles and laughed it off when people referred to his ability to beat up whomever he liked, portraying it as enviable.

It took him a while until he began seeing his build as an advantage. It took friends confessing they felt safe with him around. Acquaintances appreciating his company during the dark. His soon-to-be wife admiring his drive to put his stature to good use. Ultimately, it influenced first impressions only, a quick glance upwards, but as soon as people heard him speak gently, noticed his aversion to unnecessary violence, be it verbal or otherwise, they forgot about his impressive physique immediately.

Like le Roc, it’s a shield. He utilises his own body to protect others and has subconsciously done so his entire life, be it to separate his little sister from her bullies, friends from aggressors, or even two agitated strangers: he absorbs the blows which to him are no more than light punches whereas they could cause more harm on their intended victims. He’s been likened to a mastiff and their instinctual drive to break up fights by simply standing in the way.

Like le Roc, it’s an asset. And like le Roc, it can get damaged.

What he hadn’t realised is just how much he relies on his body to function exactly the way he needs it to.

His life is his job, they’re irredeemably intertwined, and imagining one without the other is … nigh impossible. His mind struggles to come up with alternatives – helping others is in his essence, but picturing himself working in a nursing home maybe or a school, a community centre, is madness to him. Catou had been very involved in these kinds of projects, volunteered wherever there was a need, and while he saw the good she did, the joy she spread, she had a certain soft touch he simply lacks.

He’s a mountain. He can kill and besiege and protect and recover and rescue, but the thought of being responsible for children not his own, or the well-being of elderly people, terrifies him. A small mistake, a brief distraction could prove fatal. He’s trained for combat.

He needs to recover.

Sometimes, he wakes up and can’t feel his limbs. He hasn’t stood on his own two legs for who knows how long. Movement hurts, lying down hurts, existence hurts. But what hurts most is the prospect of never returning to the work he’s destined for.

No one is allowed to catch a glimpse of his frustration as he feels it’s ungrateful, possibly even malicious. Not only should he be elated over having survived at all, it would also imply he regrets having taken the actions he did, and nothing could be further from the truth. Saving Lion was inevitable; he just wishes he could’ve gotten away with less serious injuries. He wishes so fiercely. Bottling up his anger is destructive and being fully aware of how irrational his behaviour is merely continues the spiral of negativity, yet he’s powerless to change it. The people closest to him are still processing the shock of almost losing him and don’t need the added burden of his dread for his own future.

He wonders whether Bandit is repulsed by him. Aside from his atrophied muscles, he’s lost weight, there are the burns which will likely mark his body for the rest of his life, another ugly scar on one thigh where he’s been stitched up. His skin is discoloured in multiple places and he vividly remembers the way Madeleine winced when she visited him the first time. He already doesn’t consider himself overly attractive, so he must seem frightening. It doesn’t help that Bandit distanced himself the way he did at first – though it was likely the shock affecting him still.

Recently though, his lover has been doing much better. He’s been doing amazing, actually: when Bandit isn’t visiting him, he’s out and about, meeting with friends from the GSG9, eating at exotic restaurants, working out, keeping himself entertained. He keeps messaging Montagne, sending photos of dogs he meets or particularly tasty dishes they need to cook together (or rather attempt to), and every line of text lightens his heart. Bandit even keeps Six and Blitz up to date, informing Doc of Montagne’s condition unprompted, and converses with Madeleine as best he can. Of course, there are bad days sprinkled in now and then, days on which his gaze is endless and unfocused, days on which Bandit is either taciturn or won’t stop talking about unrelated things so Montagne can’t ask him how he’s doing. Recovery isn’t fast or linear, Montagne knows this.

He’s so goddamn proud nonetheless.

And even though seeing Bandit flourish, having watched him pick himself back up and carry on where he left off, witnessing the man he loves with all his heart succeed over this void in his chest once again causes Montagne’s chest to swell in pride and adoration, there’s a bitter note to it. An out-of-tune note, a scratchy, unpleasant one. Because Montagne believes he knows the reason for Bandit’s sudden motivation to improve his existence. And it’s not for its own sake, not for Bandit’s own benefit alone.

Montagne remembers stewing in his own thoughts, fighting the urge to call himself useless, agonising over what might become of him, and there’s no way Bandit didn’t catch him wiping his face when he burst into the room that one day a while back. He must’ve noticed how red Montagne’s eyes were, unusually red. He must’ve realised how fucking weak Montagne is. And probably decided it was his turn to take care of his love.

The next day, Bandit announced having joined a local gym for the time being, as well as his intention to watch a film by himself later. It can’t be a coincidence.

There’s nothing worse for Montagne than being a burden.

~*~

Bandit’s energy is enviable. It seems he’s attempted to prepare for every scenario imaginable: he’s washed all of Montagne’s clothes, bought a variety of snacks and pastries, piled magazines on the bedside table, purchased all kinds of toiletries and remedies including a remarkably well-stocked first aid kit, arranged lush-looking fruits on the small desk of their hotel room, and even produces ear plugs and a sleeping mask the moment Montagne mentions feeling vaguely tired.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the atmosphere his lover creates, especially when his own chest seems unusually light compared to the weeks prior – he’s elated to be discharged from the hospital, even if all kinds of other worries creep up on him during moments of quiet. Being able to return home is a wish he harboured without realising: he thought all he needed was distance from the very place that so consciously reminds him of his own frailty, but it turns out privacy and a new environment don’t suffice, not even close. Sharing a space with Bandit and Bandit only is an immense improvement, yet he longs to sleep in his own bed, feel like he belongs instead of being a perpetual guest. Still, he’s grateful for the spacious hotel room, some peace and quiet, and the assurance that no one is going to randomly check up on him anymore.

Except for Bandit, of course.

Maybe it was Madeleine’s comment which inspired him, or maybe he hadn’t realised how much he’d recuperated already, but once his sister had bidden farewell, his condition improved fast. It culminated two days ago, when Bandit entered his room to find him awkwardly holding on to the bed frame but standing, fully upright with no outside help, due to his own strength. He half expected to be scolded, though his weakness must’ve taken its toll on Bandit as well because all he did was burst into tears from happiness.

Montagne very nearly joined in.

Six arranged a flight directly once she received the message, paid for a wheelchair without batting an eye and ordered him to take it easy nonetheless. His leg will take a while to heal and the broken ribs forbid the use of crutches, so Montagne dutifully agreed and thought he could hear her smiling over the phone. He missed her curt, professional yet caring attitude, and it seemed she’d be glad to see him again as well.

All of which is why he’s allowed to spend his last night in Germany’s capital in the very same hotel room he occupied before it all fell apart. The life before tastes like honey, sweet and much too rich, thick in his throat and welding his mouth shut: how much he took his health for granted baffles him. How careless he was. How ungrateful. He longs to get back to lazy evenings with an oversized cat purring on his chest, to the chaos of messing up yet another recipe, their light-hearted bickering, not a care in the world. He’s desperate to return to it, without that creeping feeling of guilt over turning Bandit down for a mixture of sentimental, inadequate reasons he can’t even explain to himself. He lacks the words to express why the image of swapping rings or – heaven forbid – inviting his entire family to a big ceremony fills him with nothing but dread when instead he should be exuberant. Flattered, maybe.

“Do you want to shower?”

Bandit reminds him of a puppy, easily distractible and well-meaning, radiating pent-up energy. Montagne regrets having to refuse him anything. “No, I’d rather just read a bit and sleep. I can shower at home tomorrow.”

His lover very nearly pouts. “Are you saying I have to find another excuse to touch you all over?”

Montagne’s chuckle almost gets stuck in his throat. He’s not ready yet and has been racking his brain for reasons why they can’t sleep in the same bed, or why he won’t be able to undress at any point. He’ll have to deal with this eventually, but his foolish mind has convinced him he’ll be able to postpone it indefinitely if only he manages to use his injuries as a pretext.

If he wasn’t so fucking terrified, he’d call himself childish.

There’s no doubt Bandit has made an effort to tidy up the room, yet there are unmistakeable traces of his prolonged stay everywhere – the overflowing suitcase, tissues poking out from under furniture, too many cables for too many electronic devices carelessly strewn about. Housekeeping probably gave up after two weeks and resigned to only vacuum wherever possible and change the bedsheets, and the thought of exasperated staff dealing with the stubborn git he missed like hell makes him smile. He’s heard stories from various nurses and highly enjoyed Bandit’s redemption arc of starting out as a nightmare and turning into the highlight of their days. If he saw correctly, Bandit even bought them flowers. He must be very proud of his newly discovered move to weaken grudges.

“Wanna get on the bed?”, Bandit interrupts his thoughts a little too casually, so Montagne eyes him with suspicion.

“Do you want me to get on the bed?”

His better half purses his lips, probably considering whether it’s worth pretending like he has no idea what Montagne means (and oh, he hasn’t even considered this prospect, they’ll be finally alone and undisturbed, and despite his aversion to show any part of his skin, his body expresses some interest in the scenario) – but Bandit still manages to surprise him by muttering, almost embarrassed: “I just really want to cuddle right now.”

It’s disarmingly adorable, and Montagne’s heart melts. “Let’s do it, then”, he agrees. There’s some awkwardness in manoeuvring him out of the wheelchair and onto the much-too-soft mattress, but Bandit is stronger than he looks and able to provide enough support. As soon as Montagne sinks into the plushy pillows and Bandit presses himself against his side, all tension suddenly vanishes: his muscles relax, his thoughts calm down, his skin stops prickling. He hadn’t been aware how much he missed simple contact like this, the heat of another body against his own, the blissful feeling of being safe, being home, being loved.

This tiny bubble of everyday life suffices to soothe his cracked soul. He wishes he could wrap around Bandit fully, envelop him whole, drag him onto his chest, pull him into his arms – even offering his shoulder for Bandit’s head to rest on would help with his burning desire to be as close to him as possible, but for the moment he can’t. Not without considerable pain. Still, Bandit’s hand has slid into his, their fingers interlaced, and a gentle, regular breath caresses his cheek. Now and then, Bandit nuzzles him, presses a kiss to his cheek, sighs in contentment. They could stay like this for eternity.

And yet, Montagne’s guilt prohibits him from letting go completely. He has rejected this man. Refused to accept him into his life fully.

“If you wanna watch something, I pirated eleven films we haven’t seen”, Bandit murmurs against his jaw and makes him chuckle.

“I remember the hotel’s internet being unreliable. Don’t tell me you used public Wi-Fi? Mark would be horrified.”

“Yeah sure, I just sat down in the nearest McDonald’s and downloaded a hundred gigs of illegal stuff.” Bandit’s grin is boyish and attractive and so cute Montagne just wants to burn the image into his brain. “Better, actually – I asked one of the boys to do it. So we conspired together.”

“Are you going to miss them?”

Bandit thinks about it and eventually shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. It was nice seeing them again. But I think I miss everyone at Rainbow more. I haven’t been apart from everyone this long… ever, I think. Since I joined.” There’s more on his mind, Montagne can tell, so he waits and peeks down at the dirty blonde hair, the wild beard. Apparently Bandit decided shaving was too much of a hassle, so he gave up on it completely for the time being – and Montagne wholeheartedly understands. If he could grow one, he definitely wouldn’t be running around with naked cheeks.

After a while, Bandit adds, quietly: “I did visit Cedrick.”

Montagne wants to smack himself. How could he forget that Bandit’s twin still lives in Berlin? And while he’s proud of Bandit for taking the initiative and seeing him of his own accord, Montagne feels that he himself could’ve raised the possibility sooner. He knows they’re close, as close as any family member could ever hope to be with someone as fickle as Bandit, and he probably would’ve done wonders for Bandit’s psyche. “How is he? How is his family?”

“Good. They’re good. Gave me too much food, as usual. His wife got a promotion recently and the boys are doing great in school. They want to go to university later, imagine that. The first Brunsmeiers to go to uni.” Bandit glances up at him. “I also told them about you.”

There it is. He must’ve been dying to tell Montagne, judging by his pink cheeks and nervous fidgeting, and his demeanour as much as his words conjure up a bright smile on Montagne’s face. They had an unspoken agreement, an implied promise that they wouldn’t tell their families until they’re ready, which meant until Bandit was ready – coming out to friends was a big step, coming out to Rainbow a massive hurdle, and coming out to his family must’ve been a mountain to climb. His comfort zone has been steadily expanding, yet actions like these still turn Bandit into a skittish cat sometimes.

For someone with commitment issues like this, it’s incredible that Bandit decided for them to get married.

“Dom, mon amour, I am so proud of you.” He kisses Bandit’s temple and smiles even wider at his desperately dismissive mumbled reply of ‘’s nothing’. “That is wonderful news. How did they react?”

“Well, they wanted to meet you immediately.”

Yet they didn’t. Montagne’s smile fades a little. Did Bandit not want anyone to see him like this? Best case scenario, he figured that Montagne’s current state simply wouldn’t do him justice, and worst case… Would he be ashamed of him?

“But obviously, that didn’t work out, so I told them -”

“Why didn’t it?”

He must’ve noticed something, maybe an odd expression, because he reassures him instantly: “My love, I saw them yesterday evening. You’ll meet them soon enough, trust me. They were very supportive, in any case. I think Ced is just glad to know there’s at least one person out there who can tame me.” Bandit’s hand brushes over Montagne’s belly, toying with the hem of his shirt, and he puts his own over it.

Maybe he’s being dramatic. Thinking about it, his recent thought spirals followed a similar pattern to the dangerous ones Bandit entertains much too often, the ones Montagne has been trying to interrupt whenever he notices them. Except that Bandit can’t read minds as of yet and probably has no idea what’s going on with him, and how should he. Montagne hasn’t said a word. They haven’t mentioned their brief engagement, or whatever the fuck was going on for a bit, at all.

Maybe when Montagne said that he was worried about losing Bandit, he didn’t just mean Bandit’s own withdrawal from their relationship.

“I don’t like that you see me like this.”

Bandit reacts not, doesn’t glance upwards, but there’s a tightening of his half-embrace. He’s listening.

“I can’t stand it, in fact. I feel useless and powerless and I can tell it weighs you down as well.” Once he’s started speaking, the words nearly tumble out of his mouth by themselves, one by one does the truth finally spill over. “I’m sorry. You’re trying so hard, mon cœur, I know you’re trying so hard to be strong for me, and I love you for it, but… I don’t want this. I don’t want to be like this. I should be the one there for you.” His heart is heavy, his mind darkened and his eyes burning, threatening tears as evidence of his own fragility. Rarely do his emotions get the better of him yet his self-control is raw and worn out from too much use without a chance to replenish. “I know I should be grateful I survived, but I feel like an annoyance. I don’t even know if I can go back to Rainbow, I don’t know whether I’ll fully heal and I hate it.”

Before he can feel guilty for loading even more onto Bandit’s shoulders, his love cradles his head in surprisingly warm hands, whispers his name and puts their foreheads together. “It’s okay”, Bandit mutters, even though both of them know it isn’t, “Gilles, stop. It’s okay. Listen to me.”

Montagne expects platitudes and white lies, misplaced optimism, a few phrases people throw out and pat themselves on the back for consoling someone, but instead, Bandit says: “Look. All of this fucking sucks.”

Well. It sure does. Montagne frowns.

“I’ve been in the hospital before, I was injured pretty badly and felt less worthy than a sack of potatoes, believe me. I was hardly myself, I couldn’t sleep, the constant pain was horrendous and on top of that, all the pretty nurses were talking smack -”

This startles a small huff of amusement out of him and effectively interrupts his intrusive thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?”

“- I’m getting to that part. But you probably know how degrading it is when you can’t even piss by yourself, right? That’s the fucking worst. You’re like a baby, and you definitely feel just as stupid. It was one of the worst months of my entire life. But you know what? I got better.”

Ah. There we go. Montagne’s mouth goes thin.

“No, I know what you’re thinking: empty promises. You don’t understand how true it is, though. I’ve been rock bottom a few times, but it gets better. You’ve been there for it, so you know what I mean. And don’t even think for a second that each rock bottom was the same level, no, there were times when everything seemed hopeless, but honestly? Each time, it got a little easier to get back out. To get out and get to a better level than before. My parents…” He catches himself and shakes his head a little. “I don’t wanna keep talking about me right now.”

Montagne nudges him. “Please do. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A deep breath later, Bandit continues: “My parents valued independence highly, so Ced and I were encouraged to help ourselves, which I suppose is a good thing. But it also taught us to not rely on anybody else. To not expect any safety nets: you fall, that’s it. Convincing yourself it’s worthwhile to go on after you’ve fallen was hard. I felt like I failed at life, and for a bit, giving up was the better alternative. But I did have a safety net after all: Ced did his part, a few friends did, my boss, too. So it worked out.”

“But you got worse again”, Montagne mutters.

“Yes. I got worse. Still, by then I knew not only that it was possible to get back out, but also that others would help. Miles away from asking for help, mind you, but with more hope. I kept learning. And…” Despite his reluctance to go on, Montagne remains quiet and waits. Some part of him realises it’s something Bandit has to say. “And… as horrible as that sounds, as much as I don’t even want to imagine it… I think I’m at the point where I could go on without you. If you didn’t – didn’t make it, for example, I could… I think I could. The beginning would be the absolute fucking worst, no doubt, but I’d find something to – to make it worth it. To continue.”

Wordlessly, Montagne drags him into a bear hug. Presses their bodies even tighter together, ignoring the stabs of pain in his side, ignoring all his muscles protesting, ignoring the uncomfortable weight against his injured ribcage. He just needs this man like air all of a sudden, and it seems impossible to him how he could’ve ever rejected him in anything.

He knows exactly what Bandit means. It might be put in a morbid way, but he’s trying to express just how much Montagne has helped him. Comparing this version of him with the fragile creature he once warmed in his arms is unthinkable; this Bandit isn’t vulnerable anymore. And though he was hit hard by Montagne’s near-death, he ended up recovering, largely due to his own strength. A few years ago, he would’ve reacted very differently to nearly losing a loved one, that much is certain.

Bandit is clinging to him as well, taking measured breaths against his jaw and hiding his face. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know”, he whispers, voice cracking. “And even if you lost all your limbs or your eyesight or what the fuck ever, you’d still be you. You’d still be as great as you were before. That’s a fact, you dumbass. And if you can’t do Rainbow anymore, you’ll open a stupid dog café in Marseilles or sell Fairtrade products in a corner shop, I don’t bloody know. All I know is that you shouldn’t listen to that irritating voice in your head because it has absolutely no fucking idea what it’s talking about.”

By now, Montagne is chuckling and crying at the same time, overcome by too many emotions to be able to process any of them. It feels like he was allowed a deeper look in Bandit’s workings, like he’s able to understand him a little better. More importantly, he does feel significantly less stupid now that he knows Bandit is familiar with thoughts like these and already opened himself up about them.

“I’m also worried you’d be put off by all my injuries”, he admits after a while of comforting physical contact, feeling much more confident in himself and assured they can actually talk things out.

His better half lifts his head to squint at him in confusion. “Put off…? Like, grossed out? This is nothing, I once had someone in my arms whose guts were – wait, you don’t mean that I’d find you unattractive, do you?”

Montagne eyes his love for a moment, the man whose knees get weak whenever Montagne whispers a single filthy word in his ear, the man who has admitted to having more wet dreams about him than he’d like, the very man who so valiantly held himself back until Montagne allowed him to let loose, and who has never held back since. The man Montagne missed every lonely second he spent without him over the past weeks. “Well, I’d hope not”, he mutters.

Bandit looks at him like he grew two heads. “Are you serious?”

“The bruises still look quite bad, and all the -”

“Okay, listen. You stop talking. I’m going to kiss every one of your bruises until you’re not sure whether it hurts anymore, and then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll pass out. To hell with waiting, I won’t take this for another second.”

He’s not sure whether he should take it as a threat or a promise, but when Bandit starts pulling Montagne’s clothes off his body, he finds that he has no intention to argue whatsoever. And it’s good to know this part of him still works. “Be careful, mon cœur.”

Dark eyes flick up and are accompanied by a growl: “Can’t promise that.”

And though this one was definitely a threat, all Montagne does is smile. He didn’t even realise how much he missed this.

~*~

Bandit continues to do all the work for them the next morning: he orders room service and serves Montagne breakfast in bed while also shoving everything he finds into their suitcases. No need to separate their clothes or belongings; they’re going to the same destination anyway. They should travel more, take some time off and explore the world together – a notion Montagne hadn’t entertained until now as he was never really tempted to leave France or just Europe in general without good reason, and their missions abroad together with the other operators’ supplemental information used to be sufficient for him. But now, the thought of spending a week in a hotel with no one familiar around him but Bandit, the image of them going on walks while holding hands, pointing out quaint aspects of the place around them… it’s enticing. He vows to bring it up sometime.

Muscles still sore from the previous night, his mind is the opposite: he feels refreshed, optimistic, motivated. Part of the reason is undoubtedly the sex, he can’t deny it – falling asleep with Bandit in his arms, the faint feeling of satisfaction still coursing through his body, it’s as invigorating as the act itself, the knowing, challenging stare as Bandit swallowed -

Well. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They don’t have a lot of time planned between leaving the hotel and the departure of their flight.

But anyway, it’s not just that, it’s also the conversations before and after. The way Bandit made him realise what exactly is important, that he can rely on his lover without a guilty conscience. He kept repeating how beautiful Montagne was, even during, and though it caused him to blush in considerable embarrassment, he certainly feels less self-conscious now. There wasn’t a single second in which Bandit’s assurance wavered, no moment where he showed doubt. He meant what he said.

And, thinking about it, it would be the same for Montagne. He wouldn’t care about Bandit’s physical state. He’d still love him unconditionally.

Then why are you saying no to him?

It’s different, Montagne wants to argue in his head. But is it? He’s known Bandit for longer than he did Catou when he proposed to her. They were at a different point in life then, not entirely sure about their careers (well, she wasn’t), uncertain about their future (and children is still a sore spot he refuses to entertain), really too young to make such a momentous decision. He’s been living together with Bandit for long enough to assess how well they work together. How well they fit.

No. It’s not any different in his heart. Where it’s different is his head: he’s twice shy, irrationally worried about getting hurt. And consequently hurts Bandit instead. Bandit has openly declared his wish to make their undying love and loyalty official, whereas Montagne punishes him for a crime he didn’t commit. A crime which was nobody’s fault, in the end.

Watching Bandit tear through the room and toss most of what they own into the nearest suitcase, Montagne notices how there’s one object Bandit hasn’t touched. Montagne’s passport. And he probably never will again, without explicit approval. He made a mistake, apologised and learnt from it.

Now it’s Montagne’s time to do so.

“Dominic”, he says, and instantly all activity halts. Bandit is comically frozen mid-throw, like a deer in headlights. Montagne never calls him by his full first name. “Mon amour.”

“… yes?” He seems unaware of the severity of the situation as of now.

“I would like to change my mind. If it’s still possible.” Montagne extends his hand and, instinctively, Bandit glides over to take it and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I do want to marry you.”

Bandit blinks at him. “Oh”, he says. And then: “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it, and I realise I’ve been unfair. We don’t have to rehash how… questionable your proposal was, but it made me overlook the most obvious truth: that I do love you above all and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I do want to make it official that way.”

Bandit still looks dumbstruck, probably overwhelmed from the suddenness of the announcement. “Uh -”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like us to have rings, too, so I can carry something on me at all times that marks me as yours and the other way round. So yes, mon cœur. My love. I hope your proposal still stands, because I would like to accept it.”

By now, his lover has turned crimson. He’s fidgeting with Montagne’s hand, bending his fingers and generally not knowing what to do with his own, and his embarrassment is terribly endearing – up to the point where he mumbles something Montagne would swear he misheard. “… for the benefits”, Bandit ends, apparently addressing his own feet.

Now it’s Montagne’s turn to blink, uncomprehending. “What was that?”

“I wanted to marry for the benefits”, Bandit repeats, louder, and Montagne’s mind screeches to a halt.

He stares at Bandit, Bandit stares at the ground. “You… what now?”

“Not just – well I mean, also, but definitely not only… you know, financial, because I think there is…” Bandit’s tongue seems to be disobeying him. “But, mostly because…”

“What on earth are you saying, Dom?”

“I wasn’t allowed to visit you.”

The shoe drops.

Boy, does the shoe drop. This explains so much. Montagne blanks for a second before his brain retroactively feeds him bits and pieces of information which now neatly fall into place, now that he’s been handed the solution on a silver platter. In his delirium, he never questioned why Madeleine was the only one coming to visit him – hell, even his parents did – instead of Bandit as well; he did hear about a fight between Bandit and Lion and probably, in his feverish mind, figured that Bandit was banned because of this and couldn’t visit him as a result. But never, not for a moment, did he consider the option that they simply turned Bandit away because he was no more than a stranger to them, no official connection between them.

No wonder Bandit went stir-crazy, no wonder his mind snapped and convinced him faking official documents was a reasonable long-term solution, no wonder he announced their wedding so casually without ever officially proposing. It was never meant to be a step forward for them as a couple, was never meant as any kind of declaration – it was meant as a preventative method in case they ever find themselves in a similar situation.

No wonder Bandit is thoroughly embarrassed by Montagne’s acceptance speech.

If there even was any left, all of his residual anger vanishes upon this revelation. He’s not even dismayed about Bandit’s motives: had he, at any point really, explained himself, Montagne might’ve actually agreed with him – because while a marriage means something much more sentimental and symbolic to Montagne, he understands Bandit’s viewpoint as well, especially under the circumstances.

Bandit is still avoiding his gaze, so he lifts his lover’s hand and kisses its palm until he has his full attention. “We’ve become victims of a grave misunderstanding”, Montagne states, a smile playing on his lips. “I understand now. Still, my point stands: I would like to be married to you, for the reasons I stated, and also for the reasons you had in mind. But I’d like you to think about it, because we obviously have different approaches and I want to be sure our expectations match.”

And this is the moment burning eyes meet his, framed in an expression so open and vulnerable that Montagne has no doubt about the authenticity of Bandit’s next words: “I don’t need to think about it.”

Montagne’s heart doubles in size. His composure, his tension, all of it melts instantly, replaced by a heady rush of pure serotonin as he realises just how right this decision feels. Inevitable, almost, like this has been their destination all along without either of them being aware, but now they’re here; exactly where they belong. All their time together has led up to this, the difficult conversations they had, the obstacles they overcame, all the beautiful little moments which were wholly theirs. It’s incredible to him how far they’ve progressed, from near-strangers who barely exchanged a word to lovers so intimate they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

It’s not about the proposal itself, not about the wedding or even the marriage after – Montagne himself knows best that a marriage is no guarantee for happiness; instead, it’s something deeper, significant only to them. A promise to each other, a promise to take care of each other, to stay loyal and supportive, to listen and talk to each other. Ultimately, it’s extremely private, yet they might decide to share it with the world regardless.

“Come here”, he pleads and kisses Bandit, half drags him onto himself and pushes his hands under Bandit’s shirt – no, his own shirt, he notices, the one Bandit slept in. A shirt he brought Montagne to wear in hospital and a shirt he took back to wash it, but it seems he didn’t get around to doing so. Instead he just wore it. “I love you so much”, Montagne whispers against scratchy beard hair, and of course that moment someone knocks on their door.

They look at each other and simultaneously roll their eyes. Lion has terrible timing.

“We don’t have much time left!”, the other Frenchman announces from the other side of the door. “So whatever it is you’re doing, you better -” He stops once Bandit yanks open the door with an annoyed scowl.

“We were actually getting ready”, Montagne lies smoothly and can’t help his beaming expression. The same glowing, fluttery feeling which has settled in his stomach is tugging on the corners of his lips, forcing him to grin.

Lion raises a sceptical brow. “Seems like you kissed and made up then.”

“And out”, Bandit provides helpfully. “Don’t stand around, get this luggage downstairs, I’ll take care of Gilles.”

“That better not be a euphemism”, Lion scoffs, but Montagne catches him fighting a smile himself.

Maybe the two of them are contagious. It would certainly make for a more pleasant flight.

~*~

By the time they’re back in England, Lion is thoroughly done with their shit.

The entire jouney, Bandit fawned over Montagne and tended to his every wish – uttered or not –, all of this done on top of all the accommodations he’d booked in advance. They spent a relaxed hour in the airport lounge, sipping on overpriced drinks and listening to the bustling around them, and even flew first class despite the shortness of the flight. Not even the screaming baby that performed the entire duration as if it was having its debut on the big stage was able to put a damper on Montagne’s or Bandit’s mood, and part of him understands Lion’s irritated response to their admittedly disgusting lovey-dovey aura.

His friend started out being cordial and visibly swallowing various remarks, progressed to thin-lipped, high-browed and disapproving, and ended with eye rolls and audible sighs. Every affectionate nickname worsened his mood, every public display like kisses or interlacing their fingers prompted a judging glance, and every soft-spoken sentence had him check his phone for the time.

Montagne has no space in his fully-occupied heart to feel any sort of guilt, especially because he suspects Lion is largely doing it for Bandit’s benefit as the German seems to relish the reactions he provokes. He is very smug.

His suspicions are apparently confirmed when he’s alone with Lion for a minute while Bandit bodychecks his way through an unmoving and uncaring crowd blocking the baggage claim. “Seems like you came to an agreement after all”, Lion states neutrally.

“We did. And if I’m honest, something you said helped with my decision.” Lion only nods, like he expected it. Curious. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to like him? If so, I won’t need a wedding present from you because that’s all I could wish for.”

“Let’s not go that far”, comes the hasty response and Montagne chuckles.

“Then why?”

A one-sided shrug. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

They share no more than a significant look before Bandit returns, masking his annoyance with overdone cheeriness, and so his statement remains unexplained. Whether he finally noticed the mirrored qualities he and Bandit share, whether he’s referring to Montagne’s first marriage, or whether he’s implying that he might meet Bandit with a different attitude in the future, Montagne doesn’t know. Still, the assertion resonates with him.

Seeing the oh so familiar landscape rush past the window on the last leg back to Hereford evokes an odd kind of nostalgia in Montagne. The view is one he’s always enjoyed, it marked the end of a difficult mission, the return to normalcy in a way – because his life at Rainbow has become the new normal for him, his everyday life, the foundation for his daily routine. The company of his colleagues is dear to him, as is the work itself, and as gruelling their training schedule is, he sleeps better when his muscles are sore and his head heavy.

Knowing he won’t be able to go back to this life for the foreseeable future causes a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. He will still participate, no doubt, will be included in briefings and kept up to date, will confer with teammates, offer advice. So it’s not like he’ll be isolated or exiled. But the knowledge of being incapable of doing what he’s used to stings a little.

Even so, his mind is focused on another matter. There are many more obstacles to overcome in the future concerning their engagement, starting with their respective families (though he’s under the suspicion Madeleine has realised something is up, even if she might not be aware of the severity of the situation) and ending with important decisions on how to hold their wedding party – but the most valuable aspect is that they’ll be doing it together.

Although he’s not so sure whether Bandit is ready for some of it.

“Take it to your grave or I’ll haunt your son when I’m dead.”

Lion seems largely amused by the threat, patiently waiting in front of the main entrance to Rainbow’s headquarters for Bandit to open the door. “One of his friends is a flat-earther, so he’s faced worse.”

Montagne snorts and Bandit nearly slams into the doors from scowling back at the other Frenchman. “Seriously though. This is just between us for now, alright? Even I haven’t told anyone, and neither has Gilles. Right, my love?”

“I’d like to point out that you were the one who told Olivier about your ‘proposal’ in the first place, mon cœur. Drunkenly, if I remember correctly.”

“Does that mean I can’t even tell Gustave?” Lion seems intent on making Bandit faceplant after all – he’s got the easy job of pushing Montagne around whereas Bandit is tasked with the much more difficult assignment of holding doors open for them on the way to their canteen. “I would love to see his face.”

“No. Nobody. Especially not in Rainbow.”

“What about Père Bertrand?”

“Absolutely not. Who knows whether he’s a snitch.”

“Who would he snitch to? God?”

“Look. I don’t know why this is so hard for you.” Bandit’s voice is rising in agitation as he shoulders open the last door, back turned to the room behind him, eyes fixed on Lion. “Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Okay? No one needs to know. No one! This is just between us.”

Montagne’s composure is crumbling. Wordlessly, he indicates the entirety of the canteen with a vague gesture, trying his best to hold back a hearty laugh.

In response, Bandit whirls around with a wild expression, only to be faced with an entire room decked out with the gaudiest decorations in pink and white, plus literally all of the other operators arranged along the wall, holding confetti cannons or glasses of champagne, wearing party hats and utterly aghast expressions, and above them, floating below the ceiling, are gold balloons spelling out  E N G A G E D.

The awkward silence is palpable.

The champagne bottle in Blitz’ hand pops with a startlingly loud noise, making everyone jump and almost taking out Twitch’s eye in the process, and Lion just starts roaring with laughter, holding on to the wheelchair as to not lose his balance.

“Welcome back, Gilles”, Doc offers and lifts his glass for a toast, and that finally breaks the spell. Everyone rushes at them, congratulating them and greeting Montagne after his long absence, Rook with tears in his eyes and Jackal with an encouraging smile, there are too many faces and too many well-wishes to identify them all. Their gesture is heartwarming, and though Bandit stands in the middle of the crowd, hiding his bright red face with one hand (and repeating that no, he is not taking questions right now), he’s far from fighting the many hugs he receives. When Sledge takes him into his arms, there’s audible bone cracking and joint popping, and Montagne is suddenly glad to be confined to the wheelchair.

Maybe their reveal didn’t go quite as planned, but the support they’re receiving is invigorating. Montagne might’ve preferred a small wedding prior to this, yet being confronted with hard evidence of how much all these people care for them is beginning to change his mind.

He will talk about it with Bandit, later. For now he has a party to attend.