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keelywolfeDrive
By Keelywolfe
Rated: R
(Illya/Napoleon)
~~*~~
With all his various degrees and years of training, Illya Kuryakin was more than a little annoyed that his designation for the day seemed to be chauffeur. Spending the day protecting a young debutant who had simply seen too much was a ridiculously easy assignment, hardly worth the talents of the two men who'd been given it but he and Napoleon had been available and willing to sacrifice their day off, and so were trapped for at least one rounding of the clock.
Not that Napoleon seemed to be minding.
His partner was in the back seat, of course, reassuring their temporary ward and, again, of course, offering the occasional solicitous pat on the shoulder. She melted beneath his sultry cozening with nauseating ease, batting her painted eyes and Illya imagined that all too soon she would be accepting whatever falsely sweetened promises his partner offered. From the sound of it, a lovely café in little Italy was already on the table and perhaps a nightcap afterward.
The only good thing about being in the front seat was that neither passenger could see him attempting to break a world record for eye rolling.
That Napoleon never lied to his conquests was possibly his only saving grace as far as Illya was concerned. He chose them perfectly, that much was true; ones that would be happy to offer themselves without damaging Napoleon's tattered nobility any further. Brainless, twittering creatures that only had hair color and breast size to mark them as different. All of them were just waiting for the chance to thread their tentacles into any available wealthy man until he proved less prestigious as first thought. Then they would drop all contact with him except to titter about his downfalls with their equally dim friends while waiting carelessly for their next target.
His partner was merely a bump in their gold and diamond-studded road; to spent the night with a real spy nothing more than a gossipy story to be told after too much champagne.
It disgusted him, these little games. Sex for the sake of having sex was one thing; Illya was hardly the icy predator he knew he was called in rumors and he enjoyed sex as much as any man. Perhaps not quite as much as his partner, and a memory niggled at him, hardly as vague as he wished it, of his partner in a shower, thinking himself alone, and Illya hadn't meant to watch him but the mirror was only partially fogged and Napoleon had been touching himself, slowly and surely and he'd looked...he'd been so exquisite...
Blinking, Illya shook the memory away. It wasn't about that, regardless of any temptation or distant lust. That Napoleon was attractive was hardly up for debate. It was simply his tastes that were in question, these tawdry paste-jewels that called themselves ladies.
His partner offered himself far too cheaply.
Illya knew he shouldn't let it bother him. When it came down to it, he was the one who would be seeing Napoleon come Monday morning. What bothered him was that their pretty, foolish little debutant probably wouldn't know, or even care, exactly who had swept in and out of her life.
Worse, this one was bolder than most, her hand resting inappropriately high on Napoleon's leg as though their 'chauffeur' was both blind and dumb to anything occurring in the backseat. When he saw it was drifting still higher, the tenuous grip he had on his temper slipped from the moorings that held it and Illya found himself speaking before he could haul it back, reckless, thoughtless words spilling free.
"Taking two ladies to the same restaurant in one week?" Illya asked loudly, shaking his head in mock dismay. "What will the waiters think?"
It took a moment for his words to filter through to the couple in the back, but Illya could almost feel the sudden chill entering the once-cozy atmosphere. He could hear their charge moving back to her own side of the car and the heady satisfaction of knowing that nothing Napoleon could say would salvage his dinner date would be worth any vengeance his partner might seek.
He met Napoleon's eyes in the mirror, briefly, and hid a wince at the real anger lurking in their depths. Even knowing Napoleon would be furious hadn't quite prepared him for seeing that temper aimed in his direction as it so rarely was. Illya held the stare, widening his eyes in deliberate innocence. Perhaps, well, it was more like a certainty that he had been a bit unfair, but it had still been the truth and through the mirror the anger in Napoleon's gaze melted into a rueful 'touché'.
He was to be forgiven then, as he had known he would be, although Illya would not be at all surprised if Napoleon chose not to speak to him for most of tomorrow morning. A little spitefulness was more than deserved.
But he also knew Napoleon would be there, with him, and nowhere else.
-finis-
By Keelywolfe
Rated: R
(Illya/Napoleon)
~~*~~
With all his various degrees and years of training, Illya Kuryakin was more than a little annoyed that his designation for the day seemed to be chauffeur. Spending the day protecting a young debutant who had simply seen too much was a ridiculously easy assignment, hardly worth the talents of the two men who'd been given it but he and Napoleon had been available and willing to sacrifice their day off, and so were trapped for at least one rounding of the clock.
Not that Napoleon seemed to be minding.
His partner was in the back seat, of course, reassuring their temporary ward and, again, of course, offering the occasional solicitous pat on the shoulder. She melted beneath his sultry cozening with nauseating ease, batting her painted eyes and Illya imagined that all too soon she would be accepting whatever falsely sweetened promises his partner offered. From the sound of it, a lovely café in little Italy was already on the table and perhaps a nightcap afterward.
The only good thing about being in the front seat was that neither passenger could see him attempting to break a world record for eye rolling.
That Napoleon never lied to his conquests was possibly his only saving grace as far as Illya was concerned. He chose them perfectly, that much was true; ones that would be happy to offer themselves without damaging Napoleon's tattered nobility any further. Brainless, twittering creatures that only had hair color and breast size to mark them as different. All of them were just waiting for the chance to thread their tentacles into any available wealthy man until he proved less prestigious as first thought. Then they would drop all contact with him except to titter about his downfalls with their equally dim friends while waiting carelessly for their next target.
His partner was merely a bump in their gold and diamond-studded road; to spent the night with a real spy nothing more than a gossipy story to be told after too much champagne.
It disgusted him, these little games. Sex for the sake of having sex was one thing; Illya was hardly the icy predator he knew he was called in rumors and he enjoyed sex as much as any man. Perhaps not quite as much as his partner, and a memory niggled at him, hardly as vague as he wished it, of his partner in a shower, thinking himself alone, and Illya hadn't meant to watch him but the mirror was only partially fogged and Napoleon had been touching himself, slowly and surely and he'd looked...he'd been so exquisite...
Blinking, Illya shook the memory away. It wasn't about that, regardless of any temptation or distant lust. That Napoleon was attractive was hardly up for debate. It was simply his tastes that were in question, these tawdry paste-jewels that called themselves ladies.
His partner offered himself far too cheaply.
Illya knew he shouldn't let it bother him. When it came down to it, he was the one who would be seeing Napoleon come Monday morning. What bothered him was that their pretty, foolish little debutant probably wouldn't know, or even care, exactly who had swept in and out of her life.
Worse, this one was bolder than most, her hand resting inappropriately high on Napoleon's leg as though their 'chauffeur' was both blind and dumb to anything occurring in the backseat. When he saw it was drifting still higher, the tenuous grip he had on his temper slipped from the moorings that held it and Illya found himself speaking before he could haul it back, reckless, thoughtless words spilling free.
"Taking two ladies to the same restaurant in one week?" Illya asked loudly, shaking his head in mock dismay. "What will the waiters think?"
It took a moment for his words to filter through to the couple in the back, but Illya could almost feel the sudden chill entering the once-cozy atmosphere. He could hear their charge moving back to her own side of the car and the heady satisfaction of knowing that nothing Napoleon could say would salvage his dinner date would be worth any vengeance his partner might seek.
He met Napoleon's eyes in the mirror, briefly, and hid a wince at the real anger lurking in their depths. Even knowing Napoleon would be furious hadn't quite prepared him for seeing that temper aimed in his direction as it so rarely was. Illya held the stare, widening his eyes in deliberate innocence. Perhaps, well, it was more like a certainty that he had been a bit unfair, but it had still been the truth and through the mirror the anger in Napoleon's gaze melted into a rueful 'touché'.
He was to be forgiven then, as he had known he would be, although Illya would not be at all surprised if Napoleon chose not to speak to him for most of tomorrow morning. A little spitefulness was more than deserved.
But he also knew Napoleon would be there, with him, and nowhere else.
-finis-
