Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin
Category: slash
Rating: G
Word Count: 606
Summary: All he wanted was a cuppa, dammit.
Notes: Written for the Colours Table Challenge – “white”
They are not, Christine, a scandalized voice said.
They are, too, Susan, and you know it.
Why do we even care? A third voice, one he couldnt identify, chimed in. Well never be in their league anyway.
But how much would you like to be? Or better yet, be a fly on the wall and watch? replied the voice that he recognized as Christine.
Watch what? asked the as yet unidentified female.
Her voice low, Christine replied, Well, watch them, you know, at it. That voice sounded all too interested.
You want to watch Solo and Kuryakin? Together? Susan again, sounding scandalized and not a little breathy and excited.
The counter in front of him, filled with white coffee cups and white plastic cutlery and piles of white paper packets of sugar, swam just a bit as his vision clouded with alarm and then came to crystal clarity as his head cleared. He wondered if a confrontation would be needed or if simply passing by and letting them know he had heard every word would do the trick.
The decision was taken out of his hands. His partner joined him at the counter amid a small flurry of low whispers. Obviously, he had startled the gaggle of gossips at the table around the corner.
Get the lead out, tovarisch, we have a shooting competition to win. Were going to be late if you dont get a move on. Napoleons voice was just loud enough for the women to hear and realize that Illya had been standing there for several minutes. The grin on Napoleons face let his partner know that he knew what was overheard.
I do not think it is the shooting range they want to watch us on, Illya said, in a dialect he was certain only Napoleon could understand, because they had been working on finding a language they could use that would exclude others when they wished. His tightly pressed lips made a grim line across his face, pale with frustration or perhaps outright anger. The look he shot at his partner would have felled a lesser man.
Dont worry, partner mine, well mop the floor with them. Napoleon smoothed an imaginary crease in the lapel of Illyas jacket and then brushed nonexistent lint from his shoulder.
Illya rolled his eyes and picked up his now cooled tea, his purpose for being in the canteen in the first place. You arent really helping, you know. His partners arrival and interruption of the speculation at the table only partially soothed his mood.
Just, ah, helping myself, Napoleon replied, and then continued in English, as is my prerogative. The very self satisfied grin he gave his partner didnt quite fail to relieve Illyas tension, but the grim set of Illyas mouth relaxed and the white flushed back to something like a normal skin tone.
Looking forward to winning the annual Section Two shooting competition, which was assured, did cheer the Russian somewhat.
As the men came around the corner, the table of lunching ladies was quiet and not a one of them glanced up as the head of Section Two and his partner passed by. This was an unusual enough circumstance that at any other time Illya might have made a dig at Napoleon. Today he simply allowed himself the smallest of satisfied smiles, though when Napoleon glanced at his partner he recognized that particular flavor of feral grin.
Napoleon made a mental note to cancel the reservation and pick up dinner on the way home. A smile crept across his own face as he thought about a private night in with this partner.