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Montagu is feeling pretty damn proud of himself. Turns out his (and Charlie’s) genius plan was good enough to withstand even their own attempts to intervene. The briefcase is with the Spanish and Operation Mincemeat is well on its way.
“Bevan’s going to be furious!” Charlie frets, unsurprisingly.
“He can be as furious as he likes, it’s happening,” Monty crows. “He’s just going to have to bend over and —"
Suddenly, the basement door opens and Bevan enters with Hester in tow. But Monty doesn’t notice; he’s on a roll.
“— take it from me,” he continues, with his legs spread apart and his hands gesturing lewdly. “And by God, I’ll tell you, I give it rough. He is in for the ride of his sorry little life. I’ll have him —”
“Ahem.” Monty’s head finally whips around to spot Bevan, silently fuming in the doorway.
“JOHNNY!” he growls in surprise. “I was just, uh, well….”
“No, please, Montagu,” Bevan calmly gestures for him to continue, while staring daggers at him. “Do go on. You’ll have me…what, exactly?”
That sucks any remaining oxygen out of the room. Charlie is bright red and visibly shaking. Hester glances around the room, carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone. Jean rolls her eyes but doesn’t quite manage to mask her trepidation.
Montagu, on the other hand, has resolved to hold his ground. He pops off the desk and strides over to Bevan to look him dead in the eyes.
“Well, I was going to say, Johnny, that I’ll have you on your knees begging for mercy within five minutes.”
“Dear lord,” Charlie mutters from somewhere behind the blackboard.
Nobody dares move an inch. Bevan’s facial expression remains unchanged, save for the flush of anger (or something else) quickly spreading from his neck to his hairline. He clenches then releases one fist and takes in a long breath.
“See me in my office, Lieutenant Commander Montagu,” he orders in an eerily even tone. He turns on his heel to leave, then swivels his head around. “Now.”
Monty silenty trails Bevan up the stairs and down a never-ending series of hallways. In the time that takes, any short-lived inkling of fear is gone and Monty’s really just fed up with his superior officer’s bland, stubborn thinking and utter lack of trust.
“Shut the door behind you,” Bevan mutters as Monty follows him into his office. Monty obeys and sighs, prepared for yet another verbal sparring match.
“Look, Johnny,” he starts. “I’m sorry, okay? I know that whole thing back there was inappropriate and unacceptable and counterproductive and a whole host of other glowing adjectives that you’re about to shout at me. But we’ve been through this all before — dozens of times in the past few months alone, actually — so I propose we just skip ahead to the part where you once again begrudgingly decide to tolerate me because I’m too valuable to this team to let go. Alright?”
“Actually, Montagu, I’m simply wondering why you seem to be under the impression that I would be the one begging you for, well, anything.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Is that your summation of our dynamic thus far? Because I have to say, I’d disagree. Emphatically.”
“I’m sorry, what is happening right now?” Monty stammers as Bevan starts to close in on him where he's frozen in place near the office door.
“If anyone is in for the ride of their, and I quote, ‘sorry little life’, it’s you, Lieutenant Commander.” Their faces are mere inches apart now as their chests heave in sync.
Monty, finally up to speed with the single most unexpected turn of events in his entire life, just smirks and says, “Prove it.”
That’s all it takes. In one motion, Bevan closes the distance between them, capturing Monty’s lips in a bruising kiss and roughly pinning him against the door. Monty gasps into Bevan’s mouth as their tongues meet.
When they finally come up for air, Bevan’s lips go to Monty’s neck while his hands frantically skim every available part of the other man’s body.
“Fuck, Johnny,” Monty breathes.
Bevan abruptly pulls back to make eye contact. “That’s sir to you.”
“Yes, sir,” Monty whimpers.