gay ice

The world is saved, and Ethan Hunt is scooped up from some cattle farm in South Africa and shuttled off to DC. He would have preferred to stay on the farm for a while longer, the endless meetings and psych evals and health checks and briefings and debriefings begin feel like a far greater risk to his life.

This is why Ethan Hunt does not have an office job.

His life is snap second decisions. Action. Not the long drag of waiting rooms and meeting rooms and- everything else that the US government does that isn’t him. Yes, he did all of those things and yes, he jumped into the Bering Sea: can he please go home and sleep now.

The light at the end of the tunnel begins to emerge when he is dragged into a meeting and Benji is there too. It’s not easy but he mostly keeps a straight face and powers through as best he can. He’s not stupid enough to trust anyone in the government with his genuine reunion with Benji. He doesn’t want to share that with anyone. Benji does wear him down a little though. Knocking their knees together under the desk every so often and eventually breaking his own composure in response to Ethan’s antics.

‘Sorry what?! You took the suit off? In sub-zero waters. Water that is below the temperature that should, by all rights, be its freezing point.’

‘Benji, can we not do this now?’

‘You are fucking mental, you know that don’t you?’

‘Benji? Later, please?’ Benji looks at Ethan, properly this time, and picks up on the exhaustion written on his face even if nobody else can.

‘Yeah. Yes of course.' He glances up at the suit behind the desk. 'Sorry continue.’ But then he throws Ethan a look of sheer bewilderment, and mouths the words ‘what the fuck?’ It’s impossible for Ethan not to crack a smile at that. At least some things stay the same.

The roles are reversed once he hears Benji’s side of the story, what happened in the server room in South Africa and the fact that Benji got shot. Nobody told him. Benji could have died down there, and nobody would have told him. Just the thought of that aches like he’s got the bends all over again. His hand twitches and his chest burns like his lungs are collapsing in on themselves. But he can’t let that show now. So, no matter how much he wants to he can’t pull down the collar of Benji’s shirt and inspect either of the wounds that must hide there. The small slit in the skin where Benji apparently instructed Paris to shove a whiskey-soaked pen. Jesus Christ. Ethan’s no stranger to this life of danger but he doesn’t think he could ever get used to the idea of Benji in pain like that.

[handwavey leaving and going home]

Before either of them can say a word Ethan takes his left hand and places it around the back of Benji’s neck, supporting his head and gently pulling him forwards. Benji’s forehead touches his and Ethan shuts his eyes. Just soaks up the feeling of Benji— live and solid against his skin. Ethan’s other hand skitters over Benji’s torso. From his waist to his arm to his chest and back again. Ethan’s not sure if he’s checking for damage or just taking the opportunity to touch Benji. The difference probably doesn’t matter right now.

‘You’re safe. Thank you thank you thank you.’ Ethan says it like a prayer. As if he’s saying thank you for everything you did, for being alive, for being here now. He hopes the message is conveyed even if he can’t say it all.

Benji allows Ethan all of this. Makes no attempt to intervene or get away. So Ethan thinks enough of the message gets across for now. After another minute of this Benji begins to reciprocate, gently placing his hands on Ethan's waist and moving his thumbs up and down.