So Freakin' Tiny

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Sniper opens the door to the camper to let Spy in. It's morning on their day off so he finds it quite reasonable to still be barely decent in his boxers with toothpaste foam in his mouth.

Spy makes his opinion known with a raised eyebrow.

"It's past ten," he says, stepping in. "Even for you, that's late."

Spy, of course, is already dressed, sans his jacket draped neatly over his arm. In his other hand is a thermos. Likely for coffee, considering Spy is already reaching for the cupboards to pull out two mugs.

Sniper waits for the autolock to finish whirring shut before he turns around to spit the toothpaste in the sink and give his mouth a quick rinse with a handful of water.

"The code in is 0-0-3-4," he tells Spy. "In case you ever wanna pop in and I'm still dozing."

The sound of the mugs awkwardly clinking on the counter is the only indication of Spy's surprise. When Sniper glances at Spy's hands, they are steadily pouring the hot coffee in each cup, steam wafting upwards. From the smell alone, Sniper can tell it's the good strong stuff, not from the scalded communal pot and more likely from Spy's intricate pour-over set up.

"Even if I'm not in, I don't mind," he adds, watching as a single drop of coffee drips over the countertop.

"Is it because you don't want to get up from your bunk to unlock the door?" Spy asks, quickly wiping the drop away with one of the dish towels.

"Nah. Just thought it'd be easier for you," Sniper says, reaching for one of the mugs. He takes a noisy sip, attempting to taste the delicate notes of whatever bean that Spy had managed to illegally import. Unfortunately for him, his only conclusion is that it's coffee—smooth and pleasantly bitter—but he doesn't really have the right words to describe the nuances other than, "This is pretty damn good."

"I'd rather break in," Spy says, ignoring the compliment, "Or hack the pinpad."

"Yeah, and I'd rather not replace the pinpad every time you sap it," Sniper replies, taking longer sip. He holds up the mug. "Where did you get the beans from?"

"Singapore. I thought you might like it. They've just elected their first prime minister. The beans are from the official luncheon menu," Spy explains. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't mind asking permission to visit then. I shouldn't have the code."

"Always 'preciate a good ol' British separation," Sniper mumbles, savoring the coffee more. He sighs, nudging Spy to take up his own mug. "And I don't see why not, seeing as you already know it. I get that you're bein' polite in pretending that you don't so I'm formally telling you now it's zero, zero, thr-"

"That's only saving sensitive information to use in emergencies, or if I have to blackmail you," Spy says, gripping his mug so hard Sniper can hear the leather gloves strain.

"You'll not accept an indefinite open invite then?" he asks, prodding Spy's mug upwards.

"I can't give you the codes and keys to my room," Spy says, steadily looking him in the eye.

"Not askin' for an exchange," Sniper says, pushing the warmed rim to Spy's lip. "Plus, don't think I got enough pockets to hold all six hundred of your room keys."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's three keys, five codes. Sometimes a breathalyzer," Spy corrects, voice going muffled as he speaks into the mug.

Sniper tips the cup for him. Finally, he hears a grudging sip and sees the bob of Spy's throat as he swallows. He sneaks a peck on Spy's cheek while he's got Spy distracted. Even through the mask, Sniper can feel on his lips that Spy is warmer than usual.

"It is pretty damn good coffee," Spy admits, taking another sip to block his face with the mug.

Not that it hides his smile much. Sniper steps away to slide into the dining bench. He props his chin into the palm of his hand.