Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin

Category: slash

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 964

Summary: It’s for the mission, dammit.

Notes: Written for the Colours Table Challenge – “purple”

 

“I can’t see why I am the one doing this, you are the master of disguise, partner mine.” Napoleon’s voice was muffled as he pulled the cloth over his head and into place.

“Mm shrt.” Illya mumbled around the pins he held between his teeth.

“You’re barely two inches shorter than me, and there are shoes.”

Illya just grunted around the pins.

“Ouch, Illya!” Napoleon yelped when his partner’s pinning got a little too close to the flesh.

“Yes, and if I wore the shoes I would need to reach the proper height, I’d get a nosebleed. Now hold still.” Illya yanked Napoleon around until he could reach the stitching that needed done.

Finally sewn into the costume he would be wearing for this evening of undercover work, Napoleon tried to breathe a sigh of relief, and could barely take in the air to do it.

“How does anyone breathe, let alone dance, in this?”

“Practice, Napoleon.” Illya continued to make adjustments and fuss with the outfit. Then moved on to the shoes.

Napoleon watched his partner’s deft fingers lace the boots up to his knees, encasing him in snug, smooth leather.

“How sure are we that Egret will be there tonight?”

“One hundred percent.” Napoleon felt his voice soften a little with the increasing lack of air he was getting; the costume much more snug than he was used to and restricting his diaphragm.

“You know we will only have one chance then, when Egret comes backstage. I will be waiting for you by the green room door and you need to be sure Egret is following.”

“Right, and you’re certain that this will work, tovarisch?”

“Yes. You are a ringer for the dancer Egret has been courting.  Just get to the green room and I’ll do the rest.  Be happy it is someone from the chorus line and not the lead that caught Egret’s eye, or you would have to do more than sing and dance, you’d have to strip as well.”  Illya seemed a little too disappointed with that.

Napoleon grimaced at his partner and then looked down at the costume he felt had been welded on his body.  “You couldn’t have gotten us a closet with a mirror?  How bad does it look?”

“Not bad at all, thank you very much.  I put a lot of time into finding all the right pieces for this.  And it’s a good color.  Too bad you have to cover your hair, it really brings out the red.”

“Thank you, I think?”

“You are welcome, Napoleon.”  Illya looked pleased and a little too gleeful.  “You know this is a color that in ancient times was reserved only for royalty.  Some cultures even had a penalty of death for those caught wearing it who were not of royal blood.”

“I’ll show you some blood if pictures of this get around headquarters.”

“Now, Napoleon, I know you are more secure in your manhood than that.  Don’t you trust me?”  Illya gave his partner a grin and wide innocent eyes.

“Sadly, yes, I do trust you.”  The lights dimmed and came back up, signaling that the show would soon start. 

Illya pinned the headdress in place and patted his partner on the ass, pushing him toward the door.  Napoleon slapped his hand away and then turned one more time, facing Illya. 

“Are you sure?”

“You look fine.  My best work yet.”

Napoleon swept out of the room and into the line of the chorus trooping past the door to the tiny room as Illya returned all the bits and bobs back into the tackle box he had brought along from headquarters.  He stashed it and made it out to the wings in time to see the chorus line take the stage.  He took a moment to watch, smiling as Napoleon perfectly executed the choreography they had worked for three days solid to memorize.  The heels of the boots made the tight muscles of his thighs and ass stand out and the leather encasing his strong calves only made the whole effect that much more mouthwatering, for anyone who appreciated that kind of thing.  The royal purple satin of the bustier and the matching short shorts set his tanned skin off well and the peacock feather headdress was only too right on that head.

Illya scanned the crowd, and there was Egret, in the front row and unable to take eyes off of Napoleon.

The number was almost over.  ‘Come on, Napoleon, make eye contact, reel in the fish’ Illya silently urged. 

Sure enough, Egret followed the dancers and Napoleon peeled off the line and led Egret right to Illya’s waiting arms and sleep dart. 

“Hey Lonnie, I thought you had a live one there for a minute!” one of the other dancers teased as Napoleon and Illya dragged a drunk looking Egret out the back door.

“I’d better have a live one later,” Napoleon muttered so only Illya could hear.

“I think that can be arranged,” Illya grinned.  “You will need help getting back out of my handiwork, after all.”

“Did you ever suspect that our Dr. Egret was posing all this time as a woman?  For that matter, did THRUSH?”

“I’m not sure THRUSH would care, though I will bet they would have liked it if Egret hadn’t shown up at this particular club without his usual plumage.”

“Just our good fortune that he likes the, ah, ladies.”  Napoleon grinned.

“Well, he does like the trappings, anyway.”

“Perhaps not so much when he wakes up.”

As they got in the van they had requisitioned for the night, the neon sign flashing ‘Carousel Grill ~ Finest Drag in Town’ flashed its purple and green light on them, reflecting brightly off the satin and leather Napoleon still wore.