I wrote this months ago and am now just publishing it here. It's probably for the best because I re-read it and found 1001 errors. ENJOY!

Whilst the rain had eased, it had left the ground a sodden mess. Sniper took care to lift the hem of his dress as he made his way to the main building. As soon as he reached the door he shucked off his mud-encrusted boots and slipped back into his gold heels.

He wiggled his toes, making sure they were on tight. They clopped against floorboards and echoed down the hall. He tried to tread as carefully as he could manage. He wasn't interested in explaining himself to curious teammates.

The metronome of the wall clock reminded him that it was close to 2 am. He knew that everyone would be in bed by now, and a good chance that Spy was no longer waiting for him. But this was how long it had taken him to muster the courage to seek him out. The whisky had just about worn off, and as its numbing effects faded his self-loathing resurfaced twice as strong.

"Piss," he mumbled for the hundredth time. This was ridiculous and he knew it. An inexplicable urge was pressuring him to give in to his temptations. This bad weather was a one off and he'd been thrown off his game. But, ultimately, it had led to an unexpected opportunity. He didn't know if he'd give himself another chance to dress like this.

He reached the end of the hall and cracked open the door to the recreation room. A solitary lamp sat in the corner; its sparse light illuminating the battered furniture. Someone had pushed everything up against the walls, leaving an open space in the centre.

He stepped into the clearing, looking for any sign of life. His shoe clacking was the only sound to break the oppressive silence that permeated that little room.

"Spook?" He tentatively asked. There was no answer. Sniper sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know if he should be relieved or disappointed. Somehow Spy's absence only made him feel more the fool.

He slumped on a nearby couch. He didn't really want to go back to his van so soon. He idly stroked his dress. As he touched the vibrant fabric, vivid memories of his dancing days appeared clear in his mind. He smiled as he remembered some of the better times. He and Fran would dance through hot afternoons and continue long after the sun set. Time stood still when they moved together. As much as he liked shooting people, it just wasn't the same kind of magic.

"Bloody Spy." He muttered to himself. "He missed out on some good moves."

"Well, I was beginning to think that you had stood me up Bushman. I am intrigued. What are these moves you speak of?"

Spy still had the ability to catch Sniper off guard. He jolted around to see Spy casually perched on the team's moth-eaten snooker table. He'd removed his jacket, looking completely at ease in his waistcoat and rolled sleeves.

Sniper pinched the bridge of his nose. "When you want something you don't give up, do you?"

Spy laughed and slid off the table. "Anyone who has met me would know that. But I admit, if you had come any later I would have resigned this as a lost cause."

He offered his hand to Sniper, who momentarily hesitated before he accepted it. Spy pulled him to his feet.

The Frenchman looked him up and down with a sly smile. "You are ravishing, Bushman."

"Come off it. Besides, this ain't any sillier than your bloody maid getup."

"Oh? You didn't seem to think it was so silly that day."

"Yeah, well. Somethin' must've been in the water. I swear I saw Truckie picking flowers after he spoke to you."

"Is that so? Then I must make sure to thank him later."

Sniper didn't know what to make of that, so he brushed it off and decided to just avoid preamble. "So, you've done some dancing then? Go on. Show us what you've got."

"Please. I am not a show pony anymore than you are. I need a skilled partner to demonstrate ze best of my abilities." He made a wide, sweeping gesture and opened his arms. He waggled his brows at Sniper.

"You know I only dance lead."

"I think it is fair to make an exception in this circumstance." He raised an eyebrow at Sniper's flowing dress to punctuate his point.

Sniper was still reluctant to subvert tradition. The female dancer certainly had the harder job, but it was also unquestioned that she was the glittering centre of attention on the dance floor. He also knew it would be sacrilege to dance lead wearing this thing. "Hmph. You're lucky I'm a pro. Ain't too many blokes who could pull it off."

"I am only too glad to hear it. Shall we begin?"

Sniper thought it would be a bit awkward just to throw himself at Spy without a proper send in. "It's hard enough being a sheila, but it's even harder when there's no rhythm. Do you have any tunes?"

"Please. I am ze Spy! It is my job to think of everything."

Spy excused himself and loped away to a dark corner of the room. Sniper stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, wondering what the man was up to and secretly praying that he could follow Spy's lead and not make a complete cock of himself. Eventually, after a bit of shuffling, Spy emerged with a hefty gramophone in his arms. He placed it on a table with a thump.

"I 'borrowed' this from ze Doctor's office. I did not ask permission, but I am sure he will never know it was gone." He pulled out a record sleeve and waved it at Sniper. "Finding a good recording of this was ze 'ard part. You can thank me later."

He carefully slipped the shiny black record from its cover and placed it on the gramophone. The needle began to run along the grooves, and a crackle later a very familiar tune filled the room.

As the first guitar chords of España Cañí reached his ears, a wave of sentimentality washed over Sniper. He could almost smell the hairspray in the air. "Crikey, that takes me back."

"I hope this is adequate to get you 'in the mood'. Paso Doble was not my specialty, but I believe I can keep up."

Sniper looked back at Spy with a fresh grin. "You better, mate. I have standards."

The two men looked each other down with purpose. The music took hold of Sniper's limbs, and he carefully stepped backwards, raising his hands in the air. It was the customary position before the start of the dance. Despite Spy's uncertainties he seemed to know exactly what to do. He took a step backwards with a controlled sway of the hips. He straightened his posture like a strutting peacock.

"Show me what you've got, filthy jar man."

"Try not to step on my toes, frog."

Even his wildest dreams Sniper couldn't have expected the intensity between them. They clashed together and his body embraced the music like an old friend. He was even keeping his balance in those precarious shoes. Sniper had danced follow before, but only as a means to understand his partner's steps. Now, as he let Spy lead him through the dance, he truly understood the thrill of it.

"Not bad, for a codger." He teased as he twirled around his partner. His dress fluttered after his body, accentuating his movements.

"I must admit," breathed Spy as he concentrated on his timing, "you are impressive."

Spy took him by the hand and pressed their chests together. The intimacy didn't bother Sniper as much as he feared. He was too caught up in the dance to care.

Spy moved Sniper's hand to rest on his waist, guiding his movements. Only experience stopped their legs from tangling together. They were so close that Sniper could smell the potent aroma of Spy's aftershave.

Sniper ducked and weaved around Spy. They moved in harmony, anticipating each other's steps before their next move. They were nearing the end of the routine now. The chorus of trumpets heralded the climax of the dance. Their eyes were locked on each other, electricity crackled around them.

The gramophone jumped, sending the music to a grinding halt.

The spell was shattered. In his surprise Sniper misplaced his foot, sending the both of them tumbling to the floor.

It was a chaotic tangle of satin, sequins and legs. Sniper was draped over Spy, struggling to catch his breath. As they both recovered from the shock their eyes met. That was all it took. They pressed their mouths together and kissed with the urgency of love-starved teenagers.

Sniper moved his legs up to fit more comfortably around Spy's hips. Spy wasted no time either, running his hands under the fabric of Sniper's skirt to gain more access.

"I haven't," breathed Sniper between kisses, "felt like this for years."

"Nor I –OH- keep doing that!"

Their touching was getting frantic. The sound of Spy's unbuckling belt only spurred Sniper on. He ground their hips together, revelling in the hot breath against his neck and the warm body pressed against his.

"Oh god," Sniper hissed. In one deft move Spy spun them around, asserting his dominance over the man. He hooked Sniper's legs around his waist, making sure to avoid those sharp heels. His wandering hand had found its way beneath Sniper's dress, and had now taken both their erections in hand, stroking them in tandem.

"You dance better than any woman." Spy groaned, using his free hand to reach around and grope Sniper's exposed thigh.

"Cause I'm the bloody best!" Sniper reaffirmed his statement by bucking into Spy's hand, and pulling him in for another bruising kiss.

The passion couldn't last. They came together gasping, swearing and hanging on to each other for dear life.

The gramophone continued to crackle, mingling with the sound of laboured breaths. They lay wrapped around each other, dazed as the heat slowly subsided.

Spy was the first the pull away, smoothing down his wrinkled shirt and clearing his throat. "Well… this is awkward."

Sniper would have made a similarly uncomfortable statement if something hadn't caught his eye. "Err… do you wear frilly knickers every day, or is that just for me?"

Spy looked down to discover that, with the trousers undone, his lacy black panties were exposed to the world. He quickly tucked himself in and zipped up his pants with a speed that would make Scout proud.

Even with the balaclava disguising his face he looked so mortified that Sniper was left with no alternative but to laugh out loud. He gripped his sides, almost crying with hysterics. The tension was broken.

"What?" Said Spy, trying to salvage some of his dignity. "They are comfortable. I do not see ze shame in it."

"I shoulda known you were a bloody poof. Are you wearing a bra too?" Sniper laughed again. He pushed himself to a sitting position, pulling down his dress for modesty. He was dismayed to discover that the lining was splattered with sticky white droplets. "Piss, that'll never come out."

Spy had moved to lean against the couch. He lit two cigarettes and handed one to Sniper, who accepted it gratefully. "I will pay for ze dry cleaning."

They smoked in silence, still both a little befuddled by this whole incident.

"Y'know. You could improve your posture. It would make it easier to follow you." Said Sniper when he reached the end of his smoke.

"Well, some of your steps were out of time! I suppose you were out of practice." Rebutted Spy.

"Guess we both need more practice..."

They sat side by side, staring at the crackling gramophone as that statement hung in the air. "So… same time tomorrow?"

"Oui. That would be for the best."