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He’s never seen Ethan look nervous before. As far as Simon is aware, there’s never been a man more able to roll with the punches than Ethan Hunt. So the way he’s currently fidgeting on Simon’s living room sofa– their living room sofa, now– with his back ramrod straight, is extraordinarily disconcerting.
That aside, it’s also quite fascinating. The opportunities to learn Ethan’s tells, to see the little ticks, to make note of the nearly imperceptible little fissures and cracks in his composure are few and far between, and more than worth their weight in gold. Studying people has always been his favorite hobby and for the last few years (and hopefully the next few dozen, too) Ethan has been his favorite subject. His most interesting one by far. Every new little facet he uncovers, every new truth he learns, all of them precious and exquisite, he tucks away in his mind for safekeeping, adding new pieces everyday to the puzzle that is Ethan Hunt.
Unwrapping the scarf from his neck and sliding his jacket off, Simon drinks Ethan in, his judgement blatant in his wandering eyes and Ethan’s fingers twitch, tapping an agitated rhythm against his dark denim jeans. Simon carelessly drops himself into the dark green lounge chair across from Ethan, sprawling himself, throwing his legs over the arm of the chair and raising his eyebrows at Ethan.
“Good trip…?” Ethan asks, trailing off at the end.
Simon smiles wickedly at him. “Lucrative trip,” he says, and after a moment, softens his smile and adds, “And it’s Simon.”
Ethan relaxes a little, huffing out an amused laugh.
The best way to deal with Ethan, he’s learned, is to just come right out with it. Spring it on him, no pussyfooting around. So that’s exactly what Simon does.
“I seem to be making you nervous, darling. Is there any particular reason for that?”
Ethan responds just as Simon knew he would, strengthening himself at the direct confrontation, fortified by the head-on attack. His shoulders unwind and his fingers stop twisting in his lap. He breathes in deep and laughs at himself, just a breath of it, half-blushing but mostly amused. It’s so very Ethan of him and Simon can’t hold back the warmth in his smile.
“I didn’t mean to get myself wound up, but here I am,” Ethan admits, almost self-conscious about it but not quite.
“You know there’s only room in this relationship for one diva and the position is already filled,” Simon says smartly, eyebrow arched high and teasing.
Ethan glances down at the floor as he smiles, bolstering himself before he looks back up at Simon.
“I want to ask you something. But I don’t want to overstep.”
A curious tilt of his head to the side, just a slight angle, and he silently urges Ethan on.
Laughing a little uncomfortably at himself again, Ethan self-consciously licks at his lips. “You can say ‘no’. Obviously. You know that. I don't want to pressure you.”
The longer Ethan rambles, the more Simon’s anticipation grows. It must be something special to get him so worked up. Ethan abruptly stands up from the sofa, wordlessly walking down the hallway and, a moment later, he steps back into the living room with a shoebox in hand. One of Simon’s. Well, one of Bruno’s, to be more precise.
“I was unpacking some of my things, hanging my clothes in the closet and, uh, I found these.”
He’s beginning to understand, he thinks, and the corner of his mouth twitches up. Ethan, who is trained to notice even the smallest details, notices his amusement and tenses up immediately. Simon needs to defuse this quickly, he knows, nip Ethan’s anxiety right in the bud before he clams up and shuts down. It isn’t in Ethan’s nature to show this sort of vulnerability and Simon will be damned if he scares him off.
“Manolo Blahnik? That’s what has you so nervous?” Simon asks benignly, a little amused. “Are there other fashion houses that frighten you? Or is it just that the red bottoms make you agitated like a Spanish bull?”
Ethan doesn’t answer him, just uncomfortably runs his fingers through his hair. Maybe he shouldn’t tease Ethan so much, but he makes it so much fun. He’s such a good sport about it and he takes it so well.
Simon is feeling generous, especially after the success of his most recent heist, so he doesn’t make Ethan say it.
“You're so afraid of asking me to wear a pair of shoes I already own?”
A flush settles over Ethan’s face and he starts to mildly defend himself. “I didn’t want to presume. They’re your shoes, but that doesn’t mean you wear them.”
His heart sings at this carefulness. No one else has ever been so gentle, so attentive about him. No one’s ever considered him anything so precious. With very few exceptions, it has been abrasiveness and roughness for as long as he can remember. And Ethan can make violence with the best of them, be all right hooks and left jabs. But in the ways that it matters, Ethan has the most delicate touch.
“I don’t want to ask you to be someone you’re not.” And, God, can he cut right to the heart of things. As sincere and earnest as they come.
Simon straightens up in his seat and silently rises, walking slowly deliberately over to Ethan. With one finger, he softly knocks the lid off the shoe box in Ethan’s hands and the cardboard clatters on the floor. All things considered, the shoes are rather plain. For this to be the heels that caught his eye, that got him so worked up, he really must not have gotten very far into Simon's shoe collection. A pair of black velvet pumps with red soles. Ethan was right that Simon doesn’t wear them himself. They’re for other men than him. But he isn’t at all opposed to wearing them for Ethan.
“You aren’t asking me to be someone else, Ethan,” he says, and gracefully sits himself on the couch. He swings his legs up, crossing them deliberately at the knee over the arm of the sofa, so his bare feet dangle over the edge just so. Nudging at the box with the point of his toe, he adds, “All you want is for me to wear a very expensive pair of shoes.”
With the utmost care, Ethan takes his ankle in hand and slides the shoe onto his foot. He glances up at Simon, nervously checking in, and Simon’s lip curls up in a smile. With the raise of Simon’s eyebrow in a dare, Ethan slides the other shoe onto his foot and then leaps forward, pouncing on top of him, knocking the wind out of him as he pins him to the couch, and Simon laughs.