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It wasn’t unusual for the basement to see one or more of Mincemeat’s little team working late into the night, long after the rest of MI5 had gone home. At first it had been coffee-fuelled all-nighters spent going over and over the plan, combing it for holes until none of them could think straight anymore. Now, as the preparations wrapped up and the launch date grew steadily closer, focus had shifted towards everything that would need to be done once Bill arrived in Spain. Field agents were being contacted, British operatives tipped off, German spies fed carefully crafted snippets of misinformation, and all the while the soldiers readied in secrecy for the real invasion. By now, it was gone midnight by the most conservative of Charles’s estimates, and he’d been reading the same paragraph of a report from the engineers working on Bill’s transport canister over and over again for the last half an hour. His eyes were aching from tiredness and the low light level in the basement, and every now and then they would begin to droop closed only to snap open again as he forced himself to refocus. He’d already had to give up on taking notes because his hand was cramping badly from so long spent writing.
As the words on the page in front of him blurred yet again, he set the document down with a sigh and leaned back in his chair, letting his attention drift from his work to the rest of the room. Monty sat at the desk opposite him, drumming his fingers idly on the wood and gazing absent-mindedly at Charles. Clearly he was also having trouble focusing. Charles didn’t blame the man. Jean and Hester had gone home hours ago to get some sleep, but by some unspoken agreement the two of them had stayed behind, settling into a comfortable rhythm working side by side in silence. As great as Jean and Hester were to have around, there was something Charles loved about the ease with which he and Monty could pass time in each other’s company. That, he thought, was what he would miss most when the mission was finished.
Monty caught Charles looking up at him and gave a tired grin. “You at your wits’ end with all this too, eh, Charlie?” he asked, gesturing at the paperwork scattered across his desk.
“We have been at it for rather a long time,” Charles admitted, rolling his shoulders to loosen the ache in his back. “Perhaps a small break wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Perhaps indeed.” Monty seemed energised suddenly and pushed his chair back from his desk and reached into his drawer. “And perhaps as a reward for all our hard work…” He held something up for Charles to see. It was a large bottle of wine—not only that, but a rather expensive looking one.
“Monty,” Charles admonished him. He wasn’t surprised that Monty kept a secret stash of booze at his desk—he knew probably about half of MI5 did, although it wasn’t something he would ever take the risk of Bevan catching him doing. He was surprised, however, that Monty would opt for something so high quality, when most of their coworkers tended to opt for cheap spirits and foul-tasting whiskeys.
“Come on, Charlie, have one drink with me,” Monty whined, reaching into his desk again and pulling out two glasses. “There’s no one else here to get us in trouble.”
Charles sighed. “Fine, just a small one.”
“There’s a good man.” Monty grinned and set to uncorking the bottle before filling both the glasses, one about halfway and the other nearly to the top. Charles noticed as he did so that the bottle was still full. Either Monty had recently topped up his stash, or he had been saving this one for a special occasion. That thought did something strange to his insides, and he swallowed to quiet the odd feeling caught in his throat. It was a little like panic, a very familiar sensation to him, but… not so unpleasant. A sensation he recognised, though he hadn’t allowed himself to feel it in years.
Monty rounded the two desks to pass him the less full of the two glasses. Charles reached out to take it, and for a moment their fingers were touching. Monty’s skin was warm, and very soft. Distractingly so. Instinctively, Charles’s eyes flickered upwards, to find… Monty looking down at him, his lips parted slightly. Their eyes met, and there was something intense, something hungry in Monty’s gaze, and… Oh, Jesus. Charles’s breath hitched, and he snatched the glass from Monty, almost spilling it in the process.
He didn’t dare look at Monty’s reaction as the other man made his way back to his desk. He kept his head lowered, shame and fear pooling in his gut, certain that if Monty even looked at his face, he’d see all the emotions that were unspooling suddenly inside him. Feelings he’d done his best to repress since childhood. He couldn’t feel this way for Monty. It could ruin everything. Not just his life, if Monty told anyone, but the mission, the whole Sicilian invasion, and… their friendship. One of the best things to ever happen to Charles.
Without lifting his head, he risked a glance at Monty, but surprisingly he wasn’t looking at Charles anymore. Instead he had his feet up on the desk, and was gazing fondly around the room.
“You know, I actually think I’ll miss this place, when the mission is over,” he said wistfully. “I mean I won’t miss the awful lighting, or all the dust and the constant sneezing… or the damp… or almost anything about it at all, really… but we’ve had some good times here, haven’t we Charlie?”
Charles almost wanted to laugh with relief. Monty hadn’t noticed anything! He was in the clear! The man’s ability to get totally wrapped up in himself could be frustrating sometimes, sure, but damn if he wasn’t glad for it now. Charles let a wide grin spread across his face. “Yes! Yes, I, uh… I suppose we have, all in all!” He felt almost giddy, and certainly it was starting to show. He took a large drink from his glass to steady himself. It was nice wine, though Charles certainly couldn’t say any more about it than that.
“I’m glad this happened, you know,” Monty said. He still didn’t seem to be paying much attention to Charles. “The mission, I mean. Not just because we’re going to win the war and go down in history because of it, although that’s obviously great and all, but… I’m grateful for our team. We work well together. I’m glad we all found each other.”
Charles made a surprised sound. It was very unlike Monty to speak so fondly of them unprompted, or to sound quite so sincere about anything. “Christ, Monty, how much of that wine have you had?” he said, trying to lighten the conversation.
With a cocky grin, Monty stood and drained the rest of his glass, before reaching for the bottle. “We’re celebrating, Charlie. Let your hair down.”
“Celebrating what? We’re meant to be working,” Charles reminded Monty as he sidled over and perched on the edge of Charles’s desk, so close their legs were almost touching. “And don’t go getting too sentimental yet, we’ve still got a long way to go before the mission is over.”
“Pssh,” Monty said. “Well I’m celebrating. I’m celebrating the fact, Charlie, that even though it took us six years, we finally met each other.” Their eyes locked, and very deliberately Monty reached out and ran a hand through Charles’s hair. “I’m glad I met you, Charlie, is what I’m trying to say.”
Charles shivered at Monty’s touch. He should back away, the logical part of his brain kept telling him, and yet he remained frozen in place. He felt trapped by the intensity of Monty’s gaze, pinned down, like a worm on a hook. This turn of events was… unexpected. And if he was reading things right, it opened up an entirely terrifying new possibility. “I… I…” He faltered, unsure what he was about to say next. “I’m glad I met you too, Monty. You’ve changed my entire life, whether you know it or not.”
Monty smirked, and it took all of Charles’s willpower not to stare at his lips. “God, you’re so handsome, it’s actually unfair,” he breathed, his eyes roaming Charles’s body. “Do you even know that? Are you even aware of what you do to me every goddamn day?” Before Charles could react, Monty slipped off the edge of the desk and onto his lap, his hands coming to rest on Charles’s shoulders. “Do you know what I’ve imagined doing to you in return?”
Charles’s brain was very much overloading. If he thought he’d known panic before, he’d been sorely mistaken. Normal panic was like electricity, a crackling, flashing, humming thing. This was white-hot, like being on the inside of a star. He doubted his body would physically move even if he could remember how to will it to.
Monty, however, seemed to take his inaction as a sign of something else, for he drew back slightly, his expression souring. “Charlie, if I’ve read you wrong, please just say so.” His voice was raw, more vulnerable than Charles had ever heard it. “We can just forget about it, okay? You’ll never have to hear of it again.”
God, say something, Charlie, his brain screamed uselessly at him. With a conscious effort, he managed to remember how to breathe, and then to open his mouth. “Monty…” he managed. “Wait. You’re not…” Now the old panic was back, the grasping, choking fear that had kept his deepest secret so well cloaked for so many years. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself like he was awaiting the firing squad. “You’re not wrong. About me. About this. I am… I do… I am that.”
Monty, perhaps sensing Charles’s distress, shifted himself backwards until he was perched on the desk again. “Charlie, relax,” he said. “It’s okay, you know. I think it’s probably completely normal. And it’s never done me any harm.”
Charles slowly opened his eyes and untensed his body. “You mean… you’re also… like me?”
Monty scoffed. “There’s no one like you, Charles. But yes, in regards to what you’re asking about… I do share the same… proclivities.”
“I wouldn’t call it a proclivity,” Charles said with a laugh. The tension was draining from his body, his nerves relaxing and his reeling mind returning to one particular train of thought. “It’s not something I… do.”
“Well, why ever not?” Monty’s tone was flippant, as if such a question had never occurred to him before.
“Um… the law?” Charles pointed out.
“Oh, Charlie.” Monty leaned very close suddenly, his lips almost brushing Charles’s ear. “What do I keep telling you? The rules are just a trifling inconvenience, and they don’t apply to us.”
Charles felt a shiver run through his entire body as Monty whispered those last words. He didn’t know if he exactly believed what Monty was saying, but there was a growing sensation of urgency throughout his body that made it very hard to want to argue with him. Perhaps just for tonight, he could let himself be persuaded.
“Monty,” he breathed, his voice low and hungry. “Get off that table and kiss me right now.”
Monty’s mouth fell open. “Oh, Charlie, I thought you’d never ask.” Deftly, he swung one leg over and slid from the desk so he was straddling Charles’s lap. That alone was enough to almost make Charles’s mind short-circuit, but he didn’t even have time to react before Monty grabbed him by the tie and kissed him so hard he saw the heat death of the universe behind his eyes.
If panic was blinding, this was clarity. This was metamorphosis. This was growing wings and taking flight, and it was a thousand times better than Charles had ever imagined. He knew he wasn’t by any means a skilled kisser, but that hardly seemed to matter, because Monty was more than making up for it. The taste of his mouth against Charles’s and the passionate, deliberate movements of his tongue were doing things to him that should be studied, should be illegal, because they were going to be the death of him. He was going to explode like a supernova, his remains scattered across the universe. New worlds were going to be born from the astronomical way that Monty was kissing him.
Eventually, Monty pulled back for breath, and Charles couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips at the sudden lack of contact between them. Monty’s lips were swollen, his eyes wild, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, and Charles delighted in seeing such an impeccably groomed man so undone. His hair was still neatly done up though, and Charles had a brief fantasy about pulling it from its tight bun and tangling his fingers in it. He himself felt thoroughly disassembled though, and it was several minutes before either of them could speak.
“Bloody hell, Monty,” Charles panted once he’d finally got enough breath back. “That was… phenomenal. Where on Earth did you learn to kiss like that?”
Monty shrugged, giving his usual cocky smile. “Just comes with experience, I guess.”
Charles swallowed. “So you… you’ve done this often?”
“I had a… rather informative education at boarding school.” He furrowed his brow at Charlie’s expression. “You didn’t have that sort of thing at your school?”
“I wasn’t… very popular at school,” Charles said reluctantly. This was likely going to be the best night of his entire life, and the last thing he wanted was to bring memories of his time at school into it. “I mostly just kept to myself.”
“Oh, Charlie.” Monty’s voice dropped flirtatiously. “Does that mean… am I going to be your first?”
Charles nodded, his eyes not meeting Monty’s. “Is that a problem? I… I would understand if you didn’t want to be with someone so… inexperienced.”
“As long as it’s alright with you, Charlie,” Monty says. “First time’s a big deal. It should be with someone you trust.”
Charles swallowed. “I trust you, Monty. I… I want it to be you.”
Monty grinned. “Oh, Charlie, my boy,” he said. “The things I am going to teach you.”
Charlie’s heart leapt. He reached up and cupped Monty’s face in his hand, before pulling him down into another kiss. Monty made a delectable sound as their lips met, and then went back to kissing him with a fervour. Charles dug his fingers into Monty’s hair and began to slowly tug it out of its bun, massaging Monty’s scalp as he did so. Monty gasped and, in response, sank his teeth lightly into Charles’s lower lip, making Charles whine. His hand trailed Charles’s chest, dipping to curl around his hip, before he drew back with a grin.
“Come on,” he said, getting to his feet and offering Charles a hand. “Let’s get out of here. Yours or mine?”
“Oh, God, we can’t go to mine,” Charles said. “I live with two of my sisters, and the walls are very thin.”
Monty looked curiously at him. “I didn’t know you had sisters,” he said.
“Monty, is now really the time?” Charles said. He was gripped by an ever-growing urgency to get the man in front of him naked as soon as possible.
“I want to know about your life, Charlie.” For some reason Charles couldn’t comprehend, Monty almost sounded hurt.
“Fine. I promise I’ll tell you all about them some other day. Now can we please get back to what we were talking about?”
“Deal,” Monty said. “Mine it is then, in that case. Luckily I’m just a couple of tube stops from here. Let’s go.”
Charles leapt to his feet with a speed he didn’t know he had in him and followed Monty up the stairs.
—
Monty’s flat was at least the same size as Charles’s, despite him seemingly living alone, and expensively decorated with plush furniture and elegant drapery. Yet it managed a cosy feeling too, the lights dim and warm and the seating arranged in an intimate circle around a small coffee table. Charles could just imagine Monty laughing and catching up over drinks with a close group of friends, and he felt a sudden flash of longing to be included in that group. The kitchen was small, but Monty had done an impressive job of maximising the space so that it didn’t feel cramped in the slightest. The place was neat, too, everything laid out in just the right spot, making it feel somewhat like a film set—or perhaps a bird’s nest carefully constructed to lure in a mate. That was the benefit of living alone, perhaps, Charles supposed as he thought about the chaos of his own shared flat. And yet there was something about the space that was so clearly Monty that it tugged at Charles’s heartstrings.
“Well, what do you think?” Monty asked, leaning against an armchair and spreading his arms out to gesture around the room. He was clearly aiming for his usual carefree demeanour, but his voice was tight, and something in his posture betrayed his nerves. He was anxious about Charles seeing inside his home.
“It’s… it’s lovely,” Charles breathed. “It’s so… you. In a good way.”
Monty gasped. “Charlie! Are my ears not working properly or did you just call me lovely?”
“What can I say? You’ve clearly cast quite a spell on me.”
Monty smirked and sidled up to Charles, trailing a hand over his chest. “Hold on, I need to savour this moment.” He looked deep into Charles’s eyes, absent-mindedly biting his lip, and it took all of Charles’s willpower to stay still as Monty ran his fingers slowly, deliberately through his hair. The moment stretched on agonisingly until at last Monty nodded his satisfaction. “Alright, moment savoured,” he said, and then he was kissing Charles again, and Charles found he no was no longer thinking about the drapery or the arrangement of the furniture.
Somehow they managed to stumble, still entangled, into Monty’s bedroom, at which point Monty wasted no time in shoving Charles up against the wall and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, all the while pressing hot, wet kisses into the side of Charlie’s neck. When he was done tearing Charles’s shirt open, Monty’s hands dropped to the waistband of his trousers, and he paused, pulling back slightly until their eyes met.
“Are you sure about this, Charlie?” he asked, his voice so earnest Charles thought he might melt from his overwhelming endearment to the man.
“Monty.” He took the other man’s hand in his and carefully guided it down so that Monty could feel the proof of his words against the fabric of his trousers. “I’m sure about this.”
“Tell me to stop at any point, if you change your mind,” Monty said. “You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings, or… or being embarrassed, or whatever else. Your comfort is the most important thing to me.”
Charles nodded. “I know. I will. Are you going to remind me of that every five minutes?”
Monty smirked. “If that’s what it takes for me to know you’re alright, then yes I am.” And with that, he took Charlie’s hands and led him over to the heavily-cushioned double bed in the middle of the room. He paused just long enough to rid Charles of his shirt and press another greedy kiss into his mouth before pushing him down onto the bed and climbing on top of him.
—
Charles woke to sunlight beaming down on his face, turning the blackness behind his eyelids to a soft, warm glow. He kept his eyes closed, trying to cling to sleep for just a little bit longer. In that soft, semi-conscious realm between sleep and waking, just for a moment, he could simply enjoy the fact that he was waking up naked in Ewen Montagu’s bed, the memory of the night before still warm and content in his mind. Until he opened his eyes, all of this could just exist, without him having to face the reality of what it all meant.
Eventually, however, he was forced to concede that he was, in fact, awake, and he couldn’t continue to ignore reality forever. With a sigh he stretched out in the bed, teasing sleep from his aching muscles, and opened his eyes. For a moment he was blinded by the sunlight pouring in through the window, but gradually the room resolved itself before him. The covers on the other side of the bed were thrown back, and Monty was perched on the edge, halfway through putting his shirt on. At the sound of movement from Charles, he turned around, and a soft smile lit up his face.
“Good morning, my genius,” he said fondly, reaching out and stroking Charles’s loose hair back from his face. “You’re a surprisingly heavy sleeper.”
Charles startled, sitting up in alarm. “What time is it—”
“Shhh,” Monty reassured him. “I already called Bevan. I had a family member taken to hospital last night, and as the wonderful friend you are, you offered to stay with me for support. We have the morning off so long as we’re there for the progress report this afternoon.”
Charles swallowed. The thought of lying to Bevan, especially about something like that, left an unpleasant taste in his mouth—but the thought of the Colonel finding out the truth felt even worse.
“What if he checks?” he asked.
Monty scoffed. “Bevan’s got too much on his plate to be getting involved in my personal life. As long as neither of us lets anything slip and we keep making progress with the mission, he won’t think twice about it.”
Charles exhaled slowly, trying to feel reassured. Monty, apparently satisfied, went back to buttoning his shirt, and Charles watched him silently, lost in thought.
“How do you do it?” he asked, when the silence became too much. “How do you just… do things, without getting caught up worrying about the consequences?”
Monty turned back to look at him, his expression amused. “Because someone has to get things done, Charlie. A genius idea is no good if you never plan to act on it.”
“But you’re not… scared? Of it all going wrong? Of making things worse?”
“Of course I’m scared, Charlie. Every day I’m more afraid. You think it doesn’t eat me up inside, all the things we’re risking? Not just for ourselves, but for the whole country? But there’s no certainty in war, Charles. Not ever. And doing nothing is so much worse.”
Charles gave Monty a small, knowing smile. “You’re not as hard and uncaring as you let people think,” he said.
“Shhh.” Monty smirked and leant across the bed, laying his head on Charles’s chest. “You know enough of my secrets already.”
With the feeling of their bodies pressed together, almost entwined, overpowering all of his senses, Charles decided that he liked this secret side of Monty very much indeed. He let himself relax into the moment, idly twining a lock of Monty’s loose hair around his fingers. For a few blissful minutes they just stayed like that, until finally Charles could no longer suppress the one question still on his mind.
“Monty?” he said, pausing the movement of his fingers through the other man’s hair. “What… what happens now?”
Monty propped his head up on his arms to meet Charles’s gaze. “Whatever you want to happen next, Charlie, my dear. But if you’d like my suggestion, then maybe we could start with… dinner? It would have to be here, obviously, but… I could cook something for us.”
“I didn’t know you cooked,” Charles said, ignoring the way his insides twisted at the words my dear.
Monty gave a preening smile. “Oh yes, my chicken casserole is particularly well received.”
“You never cease to surprise me, Monty.” Charles shook his head fondly. “Dinner sounds lovely. And, um… Monty?”
“Hmm?”
Charles hesitated. I think I’m falling in love with you, he had been about to say, and that scares me more than anything. But it was too soon, there was still too much unknown, for him to confess to that just yet. There would be time. They had time, he knew, despite what the ever-present voice in the back of his head told him. “I could… I could bring pudding?” he said instead. “I have my mother’s apple crumble recipe at home somewhere, although with the rationing it might be a job to get apples.”
“That sounds perfect.” Monty laid his head back down on Charles’s chest and closed his eyes contentedly. Charles leaned back and began playing with Monty’s hair again, and for once, he was able to ignore the voice telling him to worry, to be distrustful that something so wonderful could happen to him. For once, there was nothing to ruin the moment.