forum “I Honestly Don’t Know What to Think” (O/O Closed)

Started December 15, 2019 by Deleted user

tune

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Cameron had gone out for a night after work. He landed at a quiet bar near his home, just five minutes away with little traffic light or traffic interference.

It had been three months since he bowed his stalker from his room, and since then he’s only seen glimpses of the other man. Now it was June, with melting weather and dripping rain showering down every so often. Cameron often felt glad that it wasn’t humid, like the colonies or the UK regions. But it was still hot as hell in the Russian’s mind, but it didn’t stop him from wearing overcoats to hide his bulky form.

Well, this action obviously seemed to have bamboozled someone. As he was on his way out of the bar after a drink or two, and a chat with the bartender, he was immediately striken by someone squatting down in the alley, clutching their side. They looked up as Cameron neared them slowly, his dark eyes obviously concerned as he repocketed his keys.

“Are you alright, there?” He called in his native language, getting close enough to help up the second man.

The second man straightened up with Cameron’s help, and with no warning whatsoever, aimed a hard punch to the man’s nose. Cameron stumbled back, clutching his stinging nose, which had started to bleed from the attack. He didn’t stumble for very long, and he moved to grab his small knife from his pocket.

In the past months, Deimos had been hyper vigilant. He made sure to stay cooped up in his apartment for a while after their little encounter, mostly working on papers and documents he needed to get done. But he'd been going out more recently, putting in much more effort to not be seen.

Deimos thought that so far, today was successful, as it looked like Cameron hadn't noticed him yet. Deimos were his traditional black coat and today he sported a black hat as he trailed Cameron down a street, and watched him turn into an alley. He slowly followed, cautiously looking around the corner, only to be met with an odd sight. All he knew was that his target was being attacked, and Cameron was already suspicious of him—and that if he helped him, he might gain his trust, or at At least that's what he wanted to blame his motives on as he darted in the alleyway and tried to throw himself at the stranger with a fist aimed for his gut.

Cameron didn’t have time to take out his knife, and resorted to just aiming a punch to the neck of the man. Both punches landed almost simultaneously, making the man splutter and cough as he grasped at his neck and gut.

Though, Cameron was definitely under the impression that someone was there to help the other man, so he whipped around and crossed over his body with a hard punch to the other man’s face. It landed smack dab between his eyes, considering Cameron was taller than the other, but it hit quite hard. Not hard enough to make anyone of Deimos’ stature fly back, but maybe have a small bruise between his eyes. Though when Cameron drew back and retreated from the alley, he squinted into the dark, recognizing his stalker.

“Shit, what the hell are you doing here?” Cameron barely spluttered in English, trying to scrape together the words in his adrenaline-pumped head.

Pain seemed to explode at the center of Deimos’ face and he instantly stepped back out of the fight as he clutched his face. His face throbbed, and despite how hard Deimos tried to hide his pain, his face still contorted with hurt. Deimos looking to Cameron, still holding his face was his hand but looked at him through the gaps of his fingers. “Trying to help you,” He muttered softly as he backed up away from the original attacker and exited the alley swiftly, maneuvering around his target and not paying him any heed. Here, he had tried to help the guy and all he got was a punch in the face. He didn’t even want to help him that much anyways, Cameron was his target after all.

Sure, Deimos dealt with agony much, much worse than this. But he just didn’t want to deal with it today. He was really hoping to go home to have a nice cup of tea and maybe work a little bit on what he was whittling right now, but no, fate decided it wanted his to be holding an ice pack on his face for the rest of the night.

Cameron was glued to the sidewalk as the other maneuvered around him, but when they were a few feet apart, Cameron sprung back to life and grabbed wherever he could reach, which was the back of the man’s shirt.

“I didn’t hit anywhere important, did I?” Cameron asked carefully as he held onto the other steadily. His face suddenly appeared as he padded around the other, standing in front of him. His broad face (which still had blood on it) seemed to have softened significantly in concern, the opposite of when Cameron and Deimos first came into. contact. His eyes seemed to round like a dog expecting to get in trouble, with his eyebrows raised slightly as his emotion painted a picture of concern on his handsome face.

Deimos looked up at him and slowly let his hand fall to his side. Caution painted his own features, along with distrust. This male just hit him, after all. “Just my face. I don’t think you broke anything,” He mumbled, his voice quiet like always. He was expecting Cameron to be cold or arrogant or intimidating as he was with their last encounter, Deimos suspected this to be a ruse—the concerned expression simply had to be fake. Deimos had had to maneuver a lot of emotional manipulation when he was in training as well as physical, this just had to be another one of those cases. This objectively handsome man wasn’t actually concerned for him, not after their interaction in the office.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you. American or not.” It was a faint stab at a joke that made him smile just a little past his concern. “I thought you were someone who was helping them and not me. I didn’t recognize you, either.” Cameron was one of those men who it was easy to tell whether he was lying or not. It would show in his features and make itself prominent in the way he spoke and the tone of voice he took. He obviously just seemed concerned, despite the small, limp smile that managed to make its way across his lips. It had been an honest mistake, after all, how could he have helped it? He was on edge and in an alley. Even the most arrogant person alive could’ve understood that.

Deimos watched him for a second before deciding to believe him, letting out a tiny sigh. He slowly touched face, where Cameron hit him, and withdrew his hand as if it burned. He was just tired, so, so tired the past couple weeks, and this was just the cherry on top of it all. It put him in a bad mood, and he didn’t feel like doing his job right now even though really, he needed to considering Cameron was right there if front of him. Deimos should be worried about making a quick exit, or at least talking to him to try to find out things about his job in relation to the Russian government, but right now… Deimos didn’t even feel like shrugging off Cameron’s steady hold on him, and though he was never admit it to himself, he kind of liked it after being alone for so long on this mission.

“Do you want me to walk you back home or something? Maybe back to my place for a drink? It’s only a five minute drive,” Cameron suggested softly after the man relaxed. He had sort of forgotten about his hand on the other’s shoulder, having assumed when he walked around the other he took it back. How close they were standing wasn’t really much of a bother to him, either. Now he was just slightly worried about the man who seemed very stressed and tired, judging by the lines in his face and his heavy bags. It looked as if he had spent several nights just awake, constantly, with his only fuel being a fifth of vodka and coffee. Since Cameron didn’t know that Deimos didn’t drink, the Russian was more inclined to believe that’s exactly what was happening.

Deimos opened his mouth to say no. That was really, truly what he had intended to say. After all, it was dangerous to be caught as a spy. So of course it was very obvious the correct answer would be a polite no, simple as that. Deimos knew it’d be quite foolish to let anything else come out of his mouth, but before he knew it he was mumbling. “Okay. That- that would be nice.” Why he chose to be so idiotic, he knew not. Well, maybe he did, but there was no way in hell he’d admit it to himself or anyone else for that matter. “Just… no alcohol,” Deimos added on softly, his eyes drifting aimlessly with a weight that could only be caused by exhaustion. Deimos really didn’t know why he always felt so sluggish -some days were worse than other, and today had shaped up to be a pretty bad day- as he thought he always got a good night’s rest.

“Alright. It looks like you just need some sleep.” Cameron led him carefully to his car, using his shoulder as a steering wheel, then helping him inside and plopping in next to him. His car was quite neat apart from the empty coffee cups (which had actually been used for tea), and the small stains littering the dashboard from when the man had spilt it. The car itself smelled faintly of pine tree, thanks to the little green air-scenter hanging off of his mirror. Cameron started his car and drove in silence, after hastily turning off his radio to make sure it didn’t deafen either of them.

After the short ride that Cameron had promised, he parked in his driveway and got out of the car after grabbing his bag.
“Come on, I’ll show you to my spare bedroom, and you can sleep there.”

Deimos let himself be led to the car, knowing full well that this could be a trap. He could easily be led to an interrogation room to be tortured until they decided they wanted to shut him up for good, or worse, hold him for ransom. But Deimos went with Cameron anyways despite the possibilities, maybe because he just didn’t feel like caring today. But of course, his worries were just that—worries. Not fact, as proven by how it truly was the short drive to Cameron’s house.

Deimos slowly slid out of the car, almost reluctantly. He liked the air freshener; it reminded him of a small whittled set of bears that he carve out of a pine log. “I really shouldn’t sleep here…” Deimos protested, though he really wouldn’t say no if Cameron insisted. The punch had left his face aching, and he just didn’t feel like going to get him motorcycle and drive home when all he really wanted was some herbal tea and an ice pack.

“Well, at least help yourself to some tea or something. It’s the only thing I have that has caffeine in it, and you don’t want alcohol.” One must be a madman to not expect the Russian to have their favorite water at home. Cameron rarely drank vodka with his tea, but in certain, dire experiences it would be required.

He led the other into his home, where a soft wave of A/C flew over them. Cameron set his bag and jacket down on a small table next to the door, with his shoes neatly lined up next to it. He was very neat and oriented when it came to his home, or really anything, so everywhere one would look would be out of the way and clean. Cameron didn’t have much else to do but work on his home and clean it all the time.

Deimos stepped inside, gladly welcoming the A/C. Though it was still a little on the chilly side, Deimos preferred it that way. He slipped off his shoes, following Cameron’s orderly example and setting them down beside the other man’s. His eyes flickered around, making careful notes of the general layout. He knew he should try to focus more, but he only tried to remember the vague idea of which rooms were where. A part of Deimos really didn’t want to go home and have to spend an hour sketching out Cameron’s home from memory.

Deimos slowly wandered further in, chewing on the inside of his lip before he turned to Cameron and asked, “Where can I sit?” Though there were plenty of open places he could sit, his parents had always nagged about which seats he could sit in when he was a boy, and it had been drilled into him since then to always ask first.

“I’m not really picky. Just somewhere in the kitchen. Or in the sitting room. I don’t care.” Cameron shrugged and shut his door before locking it, just a precaution he always took for no particular reason. Now he might as well let someone— anyone— in, for he just let his stalker into his home like they were good friends.
“Do hang up your hat and coat, though.” He gestured into the sitting room, which was a comfortable, plush looking place. It was dressed in a light brown with matching leather sofas. There was a comfy, plush rug and some bookshelves, with a fireplace that was currently turned off. Next to the TV propped against the wall was a cabinet of alcohol that looked very ornate, and fit very well with where it belonged. Cameron moved off into the kitchen, to make some tea on the stove, humming softly as he pulled out his phone to idly scroll through newstories.

Deimos did as told and hung his coat and hat up. He wandered to the sofa, carefully sitting down. He sat stiffly at first, his back straight and shoulders square, his feet centered on the floor. And then, like someone flicked a switch, he just sank into the leather couch—back slouched, his legs strewn about, his head tilted back, closed eyes. He even went so far to reach up and undo his hair tie and let his hair fall down to his shoulders. Deimos couldn’t help it, the furniture seemed so welcoming and this was the first time he sat down since this morning.

A deep bruise was forming on his face, and it still pounded with pain, although, thankfully, the pain had dulled in comparison to before. It was pretty weak looking, for a highly skilled spy. His father probably wouldn’t recognize him -or would pretend Deimos wasn’t his son- considering here Deimos was, vulnerable and lying on the enemy’s comfortable sofa like this.

Soon the tea was ready and at a rolling boil. Cameron grabbed out a couple mugs and prepared the tea, one with a lot of cream and honey, and one with just sugar and a drop of cream. He had no idea how his “guest” wanted his tea, so Cameron just did his best. He also grabbed a thick bag of peas, bringing it all into the sitting room without much trouble.

He plopped the cold bag onto Deimos’ head to wake him up, while also soothe the bruise with the shards of ice that had flown off.

(sorry it’s short!)

(You’re good, sorry for the late reply oof, I might be a little absent for the next couple days but hopefully I’ll be back to being more consistent by the weekend)

Deimos startled, nearly jumping out of his seat when the cold bag landed on his face, but stopping himself and making himself sit back again not a moment later. He glanced at Cameron for half a second before slowly adjusting the frozen bag of peas on top of his forming bruise. “Thank you,” Deimos mumbled softly, then shifted to lift his legs and fold them underneath himself and closed his eyes once again, while tilting his head back and slouching into the cushions.

It was a little puzzling, how he ended up in this situation. Relaxing on the couch owned by a man he planned to kill in the future. It occurred to Deimos that now might very well be a perfect opportunity to finish his job. He could wait until Cameron slept, then sneak into his room and put a bullet in his head. It would be easy, yet Deimos didn’t really like that plan because A, Cameron was helping him take care of his bruises and giving his a place to rest, and B, Deimos certainly didn’t have the strength to stay up until midnight to kill Cameron, then have to hide the body before daybreak.

(that’s alright! I understand.)

Cameron grunted softly and pushed the cup of tea he prepared into the other man’s hands. “I don’t have any coffee, so tea will have to do for you. I hate coffee.” Cameron sat back in his seat, sipping his own sweet, tasty concoction of spice, cream, and honey. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it, either.”

As Deimos rose the cup slightly just to hold it correctly, the strong scent of the tea flooded his senses. It smelled precisely of Cameron’s own soft, slightly musky smell, his smell almost a replication of it. It was really quite strange, if one was thinking about it.

Cameron shifted slightly in his seat, setting his half-empty cup of steaming tea on his thigh, glancing at the other man with a slight, analytical look. He didn’t know what to think of him, really.

“Tea is great,” Deimos replied softly, gratefully accepting the cup. The smell was delightful, Deimos took a moment just to breathe it in. Deimos sunk into it, seeming to relax even more on the sofa. He took a cautious sip, wary of the temperature, and let out a little hum. He didn’t mind the heat of the tea, its taste overruled that. “It’s good,” Deimos told Cameron softly as he glanced up, then blew gently on the hot tea in hopes of speeding up the process of it cooling down.

Deimos shifted the cold bag on his face before chewing his lip. He glanced at Cameron again before he said softly, “You can call me Dee.” It wasn’t his actual name, technically, which was how Deimos rationalized telling Cameron. Just, after being taken in to a comfortable home when he was so tired and hurt, Deimos felt like a name was the only way he could repay that without blowing up his mission.