#THAT WINK WHEN HE BECOMES NAPOLEON SOLO JUST

[steviebbboi]

Napoleon solo cream pie professor trope please thanks

Hello again nonnie! Hope you enjoy the second drabble for our lovely Napoleon <3 Thank you again for participating in my 200 Follower Writing Challenge it means the world! Now, on to the show 'class'!

Pairing: FakeProfessor!Napoleon Solo x Student!Reader

W/C: 1.9k

Prompt(s): Professor AU, creampie

*Napoleon is undercover! Peep the alias name 👀

*also included/TW: MINORS DNI; THIS IS 18+, p in v sex, assumed foreplay, forbidden aspect to relationship, inappropriate relationship between professor/student, reader is in her early 20's, napoleon is undercover/fake identity.

This took a different, and more romantic, turn than I thought that it would lol. Some intense/serious fluff goin' on btwn these two, and tbh, I'm kinda here for it.

One Foot Forward

A muted voice could be heard as you crept closer to Professor Walker’s office. You frowned as the voice became louder in tone, it sounded like he was scolding someone.

“Listen, Peril. It’s not long now that I’ll have what we came for. I’d appreciate a little faith if you could find that in you somewhere in that body of yours.” 

“Peril? Who could that be?” You thought with a frown. You couldn’t hear the response of the person on the other line but you figured they must be a real heap for the professor to respond in such a way.

Instantly feeling guilty, you straightened up and knocked on the door twice and called out, “Professor Walker? Are you busy?”

You heard him hastily rush a goodbye and heard a casual “come in.” Hearing the permission, you entered the room and immediately flushed at the first sight of him sitting at his desk.

Professor August Walker. He’s a real looker for a college professor. When you decided to take Linguistics 101, you definitely didn’t expect for the Professor to be such a distraction. Once news got around campus about the new hot professor who spoke different tongues of what appeals to a woman’s heart, it seemed like only female students came to take the course. 

You really tried to not embarrass yourself like the other girls were (you could hear half of them giggle and swoon in every class), but he was just so handsome. A strong chin defined his angular face, his features cunningly charming enough where a small smirk looked like his natural resting expression. The man didn’t have a fleck nor did he have a blemish on his smooth and cut jawline. A true tall, dark and handsome kinda guy. 

You never questioned his teaching methods, nor did you question his style (even if he would wink at some of the swooning girls or when he would be naturally flirty with some of them if they asked a question). Was it inappropriate? Absolutely. But instead of feeling indignant about it actually happening, you were more upset with the fact that he gave you a D- on the last quiz. 

You were just slightly bitter that his attention was on the other students. They were throwing themselves onto him, sure, but you? You never dared to cross that line, even if he went there first (whether it was a wink or a cunning smile that would make the other girls become frantic). Every flirty attempt, you flushed and brushed it off because you were trying to be a good student. 

You were majoring in linguistics to travel abroad and took him, and his class seriously – overlooked all of these immature discrepancies. So, here you were, actually trying, and he gave you a D-?! 

That’s why you decided to go to his office hours to seriously ask him what he was thinking with this grade. Looking the test over, you could see that the answers that were marked incorrectly were actually right. Unsure of his intentions surrounding the marking of his grades, you decided to find out exactly what his problem was. 

You explained your plight to the professor now as you sat across his desk. You tried to gauge the facial expressions that he was giving you, an eyebrow quirk here, a twitch of a smirk there. Confusion bloomed as a headache as you watched his reactive ‘non-reactions’.

After he lets out a lasting hum of what sounded like curiosity, you couldn’t hold back your scoff. 

Now, that, he had an actual reaction towards.

“Is there another problem, Miss…?” Professor Walker pondered with his perfectly plucked eyebrow raised again.

A pause filled the space for a brief moment as you realized that he forgot your name. You exclaimed your name at him with wide eyes filled with an outraged disbelief. You couldn’t hold back the following words, “What kind of a professor are you?! First, you marked my correct answers wrongfully. Second, you forget one of your students’ names! I understand that you may be taken aback that you have a student who finally doesn’t swoon over your every breath, but that doesn’t mean that you get to treat me this unfairly!” 

You sat back in your chair in a huff as you tried to desperately catch your breath. His silence was palpable as he just sat there with his hands crossed on the desk. As the wind in your breath came back to you, you felt yourself flush again but this time, in embarrassment and shame. 

You just yelled at your professor– you definitely were going to fail the class now. 

Your eyes gravitated towards the cracked tile on the floor as you panicked on what to say, how to apologize for your outburst. But then he said your name so softly that it made you raise your head with regret.

“You’re right. I did mark your answers incorrectly and I do notice that you don’t swoon over me like the other students in class. I have treated you unfairly, and I’m sorry.” He said, his tone casually filled with a mystery of elusiveness despite the explicitness of his words.

“But I didn’t, in fact, forget your name.” 

You squinted over at him suspiciously, any traces of shame or guilt gone from your chest. “Then, what happened just now?”

He cleared his throat as he looked down at his paper covered wooden desk before getting up from his desk chair to straighten his pristine and pressed suit. His veiny hands, that looked uncharacteristically calloused for a professor, were tucked into his trousers in a way that made him look even more charmingly intimidating. He leaned on the desk in front of you now, the proximity of his position allowed you to inhale the intoxicating scent of his cologne. 

“I attempted to cover up my ridiculous cover since I know that I’d never be able to see you again after this.” He responded derisively, almost to himself.

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you tried to dissect the meaning behind his words, only coming up empty handed. Your breath stilted suddenly and the confusion melted into a shy desire as he reached out to tuck a wayward hair behind your ear.

“Tried to make it seem like I didn’t know you, to tempt me less,” he continued as he caressed your cheek. He abruptly chuckled, “but you scolding me, losing your temper, that lovely flush on that radiant complexion drives me crazy.” 

His gaze and touch titled down your neck sensually. In an unconscious daze just at his touch, your head moved with his touch to give him access to your supple and exposed skin. It was only a hint of skin showing between the strap of your dress and your cardigan, but as he stroked it, it felt so forbidden and daring. 

Before you realized, his face was leaning into yours. Any thoughts about what was happening completely escaped you as his lips touched yours. All you could think was that his lips were so soft. You whimpered into his mouth as his tongue expertly caressed yours languidly. 

Next thing you knew, he was carrying you over to the loveseat by the window and you were moaning on top of him with him already inside you. His lips were kissing and sucking along the same spots that his fingers innocently traced earlier in a manner that was far from innocent, but still so devoting. 

Napoleon Solo was a doting lover. Your pleasure was his pleasure. Usually, he’d take his time. But with you, he was more feral. Greedy. Because he knew that if he couldn’t have you, then he’d ruin you.

Your moans started to echo in the small office space as he started grinding into you as you bounced on his cock, which prompted Napoleon to brush a rough hand over your swollen lips to reluctantly muffle your sounds of pleasure. 

“Shhh, be good for me, my little secret.” He muttered into your ear with his own strained groans escaping his lips. His eyes rolled back as he allowed you to grind down on him even deeper as he relaxed his body on the back of the couch. Taking control was his usual forte, naturally. Even sometimes, a role. But with you, in this moment, he didn’t have to be. 

He would allow himself this one luxury of authenticity as everything else in his life was a well-told lie. 

“Professor, please.” You whined against his palm and licked it in wanton desperation. You clenched tighter around his girthy cock and he grunted into your neck as the sensation. 

“Fuck, gripping me so tight. You’re my good little student, aren’t you?” He moaned against your ear once more as he nipped at your earlobe seductively. The hand that wasn’t groping at your curvaceous hips stroked along your skin and in between your tightly-pressed bodies to circle your swollen clit.

“Yes, I’ll be a good student for you, Professor! Please let me cum, please!” You gasped into his mouth as he pulled you in for another forbidden kiss. He started to thrust into you wildly at hearing the eagerness in your voice, his caresses on your bundle of nerves rubbing faster.

You cried out your ecstasy as you felt that knot in your tummy unravel so deliciously. The combination of his grunts in your ear, your clit being stimulated as he drove his fat cock into your wet pussy was just too much to comprehend at once. You couldn’t believe a man as beautiful as he would even want you, would desire you. The way that you were the one to unravel him beyond what others perceived. It was the danger of getting caught that finally drove you to the edge.

Cumming around his cock that was still driving into you deep and slow, your whole body intensely shook as your orgasm seemed to last long enough for Napoleon to loudly groan out his own release against your open lips. 

The feeling of your Professor’s cock throbbing out his spend inside of you felt oddly filling, you bit your lip at the pleasure-filled sensation. Napoleon felt your pussy clench around him one more time and he captured your bottom lip into his own nip as he licked into your panting mouth. The taste of you was too intoxicating, and he wanted this moment to last. 

You left his office with a kiss filled with longing and a promise to see him at the next class. But he didn’t show up for the next class. He was out sick, the office reported. You waited anxiously, no other way to contact him. By the following week though, they replaced him with a new professor. 

You had no idea that that would be the last of your romance with the spy. Never found out the reasons behind his words or his sudden departure. You ended up graduating with your degree and traveling the world. 

The spy never forgot about you though as he fulfilled his mission. Never forgot how captivated he was by you. He glanced over his newspaper at you as you sat at the little cafe overlooking the Seine. Seeing you so confident and flitting about Paris filled him with an unconscious delight. 

The passion filled experience in his fake office shined over his mind once more as he placed one foot forward towards you.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed reading this weird-subtle angst Napoleon. I know his character in the movie is depicted to be quite mischievous and daring, but I thought it would be a cool spin to the inner conflicts that a spy would probs feel under the mask.

Tag(s) List: @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @mercurial-chuckles @caplanbuckybarnes

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[ksturf]

robert vaughn|:|uncleintro

[thebadboyfanclub]

I Got You (Napoleon x Reader)

This is the third time i’m trying to post this fucking thing, tumblr won’t let the posts I do from my laptop under search results but they will show posts I do from my phone. Anyways, enjoy!

“This better be worth it Waverly”

“Ohhh (y/n) dear trust me it will. Let me introduce you to your new colleagues”

As she walked in the room with one big desk and a few chairs, three of them were occupied by two men and one woman, probably in her 20s. Her eyes however focused on one particular man.... The man that was one of the reasons you thrived in the illegal field.

“This is Miss Gaby Teller, the most important person in this case, next to her is mister Illya  Kuryakin, her supposed fiance and-”

“Napoleon Solo. The thief”

She bitterly interrupted Waverly, he was of course aware of (y/n)’s past with Napoleon, it was one of the reasons he requested her to join this case, keeping from her that piece of information of course. 

“(y/f/n), you’ve grown up”

“you got old”

“Right, now that everyone knows each other, (y/n) please take a seat and i’ll explain the plan”

As she took a seat from the other side of the table, directly in front of Napoleon, she tried to focus on Waverly and ignore Napoleons intense stare that almost drilled a hole on the side of her head.

“Ok, so since Illya is here to be the love interest for Gaby and Napoleon is here to just get some Italian legs in the air, what am I here for?”

“You dear (y/l/n), you will be portraying miss Brigitte Richard, an heir to the Richard well know Cigar, he is a close friend of mine and graciously agreed to take his daughters name”

“Won’t they know what his daughter looks like?”

“His daughter has been kept away from the public eye and she had transferred in Britain during high school, that’s also where she went to College and recently decided to stay there. I will give you a file of hers to study. Your goal is to get close to Victoria vinciguerra during the event, maybe even seem interested in mister Solo, of course for show, nothing more”

“Of course, everything is only just for show when it has to do with Napoleon”

-

(Y/n) was dressed in her best attire, her long red dress that hugged her waist so beautifully, of course some silver diamond earrings on her ears and her hair up in a perfect updo, her heels were comfortable at least, but if she had to run the dress would not hold for long until it gives a show to anyone around her, she prays that it didn’t have to happen, or she would be royally screwed,

“Miss Richard , your father was right you do have your mothers eyes”

What a fool, she thought, this is who she was hiding from? a woman that complimented her for the resemblance in her eyes.... she wasn’t even close to being related to this people. However, on the outside, she smiled brightly at the tall blonde lady

“Thank you so much, god rest her soul she at least she was generous enough to pass them down to me, my dads brown eyes are great but a tad bit boring don’t you think?”

The blonde gave a tight lip smile to her comment. Of course, if she knew that her real parent had never seen this type of luxury, the lady wouldn’t even spare a glance.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, Victoria Vinciguerra”

“Brigitte Richard, my father made sure to keep me away from all of... this, he wanted his kids to be humble”

“I’m really sorry for your brother”

“It’s alright, I miss him but... c’est la vie”

(Y/n) had almost swallowed the file Waverly had given her, she even looked into the cigar company, just in case anyone asked questions. As the two ladies kept talking, she started hearing commotion,she turned her head  towards the direction it was coming from and saw one familiar man falling to the ground.

“What is going on over there?”

“Excuse me dear”

Victoria started walking towards him and of course (y/n) followed. When they finally reached the crowd that was already forming a circle around him, there he was fanning himself the invitation dramatically, in true Napoleon fashion. (Y/n) kissed her teeth in annoyance, he was supposed to discreetly blend in, not cause a god damn ruckus the minute he walks in.

“Thank you, Thank you”

“I wonder what they do to people without invitations”

That is when she decided to take actions. She weaseled her way out of the crowd and kneeled in front of him to his level, offering her glass of champagne to him.

“Are you alright sir?”

“Yes, thank you very much Darling”

“I’m Victoria Vinciguerra, she is (y/f/n). I do believe an apology is in order. I’ll take it from here”

You helped him get up on his feet and took two steps to lean in and talked to her.

“of course miss Vinciguerra... next one is mine”

She giggled as she walked away in triumphant. To be frank the rest of your job was to keep an eye on these two, yet she could still say she completed the most important part.What she didn’t expect was the growing fire in the pit of her stomach that was directed to Victoria, looking at her talking to Napoleon so nonchalantly made her teeth hurt and her breasts ached with rage.

“It’s such a lovely day to be so pouty miss”

“Well sir... there is nothing really here for me to smile about”

“Not even me?”

“I think I am better off being the reason for someone to smile”

“Roberto  Russo, charmed”

“Brigitte Richard”

Roberto was a handsome man, tall, light brown hair, hazel eyes, sharp jawline, full lips and extremely well dressed, no doubt he knew his way around women and money. What a better distraction and cover up than him?

What (y/n) had not calculated was Napoleon picking up at her “strategic” flirt and filling like punching the hell out of this pretentious little Italian boy that grew up spending daddy’s money. He restrained himself from walking over to her and taking her hand, guiding her away from everyone, keeping her all to herself.

“I saw you were talking to my aunt”

“Oh you are related to Victoria?”

“Yes, my dad is her brother. I actually haven’t spoken to her today, come with me?”

“How could I ever refuse?”

As he offered his arm she smiled and linked hers with his, walking over with her head held high as they got close to Napoleon and Victoria

“My dearest Roberto, how are you?”

she kissed her nephew at both of his cheeks and yet no smile was shown. She really was cold, Roberto however smiled brightly, feeling excited to show his knew “catch” to his aunt.

“I’m doing well... who might he be?”

“Jack Devinsky, Nice to meet you”

Roberto looked at Napoleon up and down, almost well not almost... judging him harshly. Napoleons sure looked rich but there were levels to how rich you were, especially when men judged one another.

“Roberto Russo. Well... aunt Victoria may I occupy you for a minute”

“Of course, anything for my nephew”

“It will only take a minute dear”

“I am counting”

She replied at him, he took her hand and placed a gentle kiss as he stared directly in her eyes, winking at her as she left her with Napoleon. They stood there in awkward silence for a few moments, they haven’t really spoken since the case started, (y/n) made sure to avoid him.

“You look stunning if that isn’t obvious”

“Thanks”

She said dryly. She barely even looked him in the eye, all she could see was that damn night, the night she lost everything, the night her heart shuttered, the night he showed her all the cruelty of the world he always talked about.

“You are mad at me”

“Do you blame me?”

“No, it still upsets me though”

“That sounds like a personal issue to me”

-

The event was a success. which meant (y/n) could finally relax and wear her pajamas, pour a drink for herself and lounge in the couch her room had. She still wore his necklace, the gold star necklace he had bought her way back when... she took the charm in her hands and felt the cold metal.

How much more could she take with him around? it took her so much time to heal and now here he was again, scratching the wounds she had closed up all by herself. She was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard a knock at her door. She got up to answer it and was met with the man of the hour.

“Napoleon”

“May I come in?”

She sighed before stepping aside to let him in. Even when all she wanted was to punch him in the face, her heart took over her and let him walk into her room and her life once again, even when she had swore to take revenge when she saw him again.

“What do you want?”

“To talk”

“About what?”

She was well aware she was snapping at him, could you blame her? He had swore to protect her, help her when she had nothing and no one, taught her everything and then one night she came home to find all his belongings missing... and that damn letter tore her apart, she didn’t sleep for days, she waited for him to return for months and yet he never did.

“(Y/n) I know-”

“YOU KNOW NOTHING

”her voice booming through the entire room, it was like a glass of emotions was overflowing, threating to spill and make a mess. He saw the pain in her face, her lower lips trembling, her hands forming fists... still what caught his eye was one thing, the necklace. She was wearing his necklace, after all these years she didn’t throw it away. He took a breath through his nose before continuing.

“(y/n) you have every right to be upset-”

“Damn right I do”

“Will you just listen?”

“listen to what Napoleon?! What?!What?!What?!”

Next thing that was heard was her glass smashing at the wall, Vodka dripping down and small pieces of glass going everywhere. Napoleon was shocked, he should have known this wouldn’t be easy, he had wanted to reach out to her over the years, he had even went through with finding her, yet every time he chickened out last minute and walked away from it. Now, here she was in pain, yelling and smashing things... she had become his enemy

“I’m sorry”

“You are sorry? Sorry? for what Napoleon? for leaving me? for doing it in such cruel way? for lying to me?”

“I never lied”

“You swore to me that you loved me, that you... cared”

There it was, tears. She couldn’t even control it, as her voice cracked and the waterfalls started, she didn’t also want to cover them, she wanted him to see what he had done... to hell with being the bigger person. He wanted to hug her, comfort her, make her feel loved but now all he could do was to try and reason with her.

“I had to leave”

“Why? What could possibly be the reason... money? paintings? women?”

“You know I would never cheat on you”

“Oh yeah, cause leaving our house in the middle of the night is so much better”

She tried wipe away her tears, silence falling between them once again. As a way to calm and hide her emotions, she kneeled and started picking up pieces of glass, her back turned to him. Napoleon went to her side and even when he wanted to pick her up and kiss her, he controlled his desire

“(Y/n) stop, you’ll cut yourself”

“I’m fine Napoleon”

“(Y/n) the maid can do it”

“I said I’m- FUCK”

a piece of sharp glass had cut her as she accidentally gripped it a bit too hard. Napoleon saw the blood and got up immediately to find some tissues, while (y/n) got on her feet and brought her hand close to her chest, closing it to a fist as a way to stop the pain. When Napoleon approached she turned her back once again

 “I said I’m fine”

“(Y/n) you are bleeding, let me care for you”

She had started crying again. As she turned around and opened her hand to him Napoleon gently placed the tissues on the wound, dabbing away the blood carefully.

“Why did you leave?”

“I thought I was protecting you, a way to keep you away from all of the things I was doing”

“Yet... here we are”

He looked up at her. Her lower lip was in between her teeth, tears freshly running down, her beautiful eyes were now red and puffy, her nose was running and he still found her heavenly.

“You kept the necklace”

“I tried throwing it away, or ponding it... I couldn’t find the courage... it’s too pretty”

“I tried coming back to you... multiple times”

“Why didn’t you do it?”

“I don’t know, I just didn’t”

She finally kept eye contact with him, getting lost once again in those ocean blue eyes, the eyes she looked at when they were laying naked on their bed, the eyes that looked at her when she woke up. With his one hand Napoleon slowly reached over and wiped a few tears with his thumb

“You are too pretty to cry over me”

“I missed you Napoleon”

She whispered looking down on the ground in embarrassment. She was everything he ever wanted, a woman that loved him and had his back and he tossed that all away, his intentions were pure yet the damage was gigantic. He hesitated for a minute, before taking her in his arms for a hug, her head nuzzling on his neck as she held on to him for the first time in what felt like centuries. Napoleon kissed her head, smelling her shampoo that was always the same, lavender.

“I missed you too munchkin”

She giggled at the nickname. Napoleon had met her when she was struggling to survive, she was this delicate little thing that looked everyone with kind eyes, yet once he got to know her he saw the passion, the fire, the potential she had to become something great, he didn’t want all that potential to go on illegal things that could possibly get her in jail or worse kill her. So from the beginning of the relationship he called her munchkin.

“Will we be alright?”

“I got you munchkin, I got you”

[wendimydarling]

Who’s in Charge?

Title: Who’s in Charge?

Summary: What happens when Illya’s authority gets tested?

Pairing: Illya Kuryakin x Napoleon Solo x Gaby Teller

Word Count: 3048

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Blowjob. That’s it.

A/N: Okay, a little background on this one might be needed. Gaby is in a formal Dom/Sub relationship with Illya Kuryakin. They have invited Napoleon Solo into the relationship as a second Dom, but it’s Illya that holds the reigns. This was originally written for another story but never panned out, so I changed some things around and made it a one shot. If anything’s unclear, don’t hesitate to ask! As always, I’m open to constructive criticism, and if you want to be added to the tag list or I forgot to tag you, just let me know!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gaby was exhausted. Her work day had been long and arduous, full of customer complaints and sexual innuendos from her male co-workers. Someone had let slip the nature of her relationship with Illya, and now it seemed that every human in the office with a penis was suddenly interested in her "as a person". Needless to say when she left that evening she had a headache, and she supposed a little bit of heartache too. People would never understand. 

When she arrived at Illya's apartment, he and Napoleon were in the living room, arguing heatedly over whatever game was glaring at her from the iridescent tv screen. A few empty beer bottles sat abandoned on the coffee table; Gaby guessed the game was too exciting for the guys to take a break and add to the collection.

Her presence unnoticed, she wordlessly slipped into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of wine. After downing most of it, she poured herself another full glass, then watched her lovers while she put the bottle away. Illya was standing at this point and Napoleon was so close to the edge of the couch he seemed about to fall off it, both of them yelling at their team through the television as if their words could be heard by the coaches. Gaby shook her head and smiled, conceding to the fact that she would never understand men and sports.

She pulled two beers from the fridge and opened them, took them over to the guys, and placed a bottle in each man's hand and a gentle kiss on each of their stunned lips. 

"How long have you been home?" Illya asked her, clearly confused. Napoleon remained quiet as he leaned back across the couch and took a swig of his beer, quite entertained by the fact that he and Illya had been caught by surprise. 

"About ten minutes ago," Gaby responded, laughing at Illya's expression. She exchanged a glance with Napoleon as he laughed with her. Illya was rarely caught off-guard and did not like it, nor did he like being laughed at, both of which she knew she would pay for later. For now though, she was enjoying her brief moment of triumph.

Napoleon was still laughing, and Gaby focused on him. He had a beautiful laugh, deep and throaty, and the lines around his eyes told her that he laughed often. She liked that about him, his enjoyment of life; she would give anything to see the world in a humorous light. His eyes twinkled and he winked at her, sending a slight pang of arousal into her now tipsy belly. She gave him her best seductive grin, then turned back to Illya.

"Work was hell today, so I'm going to take a bath," she told him. The look on Illya’s face at her lack of request kicked her submissiveness into high gear. 

"Need anything else before I do, sir?" She offered, looking at the floor and hoping that it was enough to satiate him. He came over to her and tilted her head up, forcing his gaze to his. 

"No, I'm fine. Next time come greet me first," he commanded her, his tone authoritative. Gaby breathed a sigh of relief and, noting the anger still lurking behind the hazel in his eyes, leaned forward to kiss him, satiating him for now. 

"Yes sir. Well, I'll be in the bathroom then," she stated, and turned once again to Napoleon. 

"Feel free to join me when your game is finished," she smirked at him, lingering on his gaze as long as she dared. Looking once more to Illya (who was too busy glaring at Napoleon to look back), she grabbed her wine and headed to the bathroom.

The bath was luxurious. Gaby had long since finished her wine and felt relaxed and uninhibited, letting the delicious scent of candles, the hot water, and the soft music soak away the stresses of the day. She let herself doze, her body weightless in the water. Gaby was close to sleeping when the door flew open loudly, startling her awake. Illya and Napoleon walked in, both sporting a mischievous grin on their face.

"What are you doing?" She asked, receiving no answer. The guys exchanged a glance, and then all Gaby could do was stare wide-eyed as she watched Ilya slowly begin to undress Napoleon, peeling Napoleon's shirt up over his head. Her mouth fell open into an 'O' as Illya removed Napoleon's pants at a snail’s pace, then came back up and did the same with his boxers. She tried to look away from Napoleon's erection (which was growing harder by the second at the sight of her naked in the water), but the amount of alcohol she had consumed that night prevented her from being discreet. She thought back to the few times Napoleon had joined her and Illya, and Gaby realized that though she had felt him, she had never actually seen Napoleon fully naked before.

"Boy, you really can't take your eyes off of his dick, can you?" Illya remarked, jealousy evident in his voice. It did nothing to sway Gaby's stare however, her eyes remained fixed to Napoleon's lower half. Illya addressed Napoleon. 

"Told you she was a cock-lover. Look at her salivating, I bet she can't wait to take you in her mouth." Gaby’s arousal sparked at the filthy words and she squirmed, but she waited to see what Illya's plan was. She looked from him, to Napoleon, to Napoleon's cock, back to Illya, and finally landed on Napoleon's face. He met her gaze proudly, no shame written anywhere on his handsome features. Her gaze shifted down again and came to rest on his member. She licked her lower lip then bit down on it, and was rewarded with an involuntary twitch from Napoleon.

Illya seemed extremely agitated then, watching the exchange between Gaby and Napoleon. 

"Well go ahead and join her, tell her what you want her to do," he huffed, perching himself on the countertop to watch. Gaby understood then; Illya wasn't punishing her, he was punishing Napoleon. Illya knew her skill, had told her more than once that she was the best blow he'd ever had, and she guessed that Illya wanted to establish who the higher-ranking Dominant in this triangle was. Gaby looked at Illya, and Illya gave her a look that told her what she was supposed to do. She became a temptress and sat up, splaying her legs and resting her hands on the floor of the tub. She pressed her breasts together with her arms, and crooked a finger towards Napoleon with a "come hither" motion.

Napoleon looked at Gaby, eyes dark with desire. 

"I heard you were fairly talented with your mouth," he purred, slinking towards the tub. She inwardly laughed at his naivety as he lowered himself slowly into the hot water. He had no idea what he was in for. 

"I might be," she teased, swinging her legs behind her and grazing his stomach with her breasts as she slid up to lightly kiss his jaw. "Depends on who's asking."

Gaby placed another soft kiss on Napoleon's lips this time, waiting for him to command her. 

"Well then love, why don't you show me?" He retorted. She kissed him a little harder, licking a little line from inside to outside his upper lip. He responded by opening his mouth and attempting to draw her in for a deep kiss, but Gaby pulled back before he succeeded, leaving him confused. 

"Doms have to be more specific," she directed him, "what talent with my mouth do you want me to show you?" For emphasis, she began sucking on the pulse point in his neck, which made him exhale heavily and throw his head back. 

"I want you to- hah!" Napoleon exclaimed as Gaby's fingertips found his cock. She ever-so-gently brushed two of them along his length, relishing his reaction and the control she was being given.

Illya never let her give him a blowjob anymore. He wanted all control at all times, which was disappointing for Gaby, though she understood why. To be able to make a man become completely undone under her touch, to have him begging, to have that much power over another individual, she got why Doms chose to be Doms. The feelings of satisfaction and power were addicting, and she knew Illya much preferred to feel in charge; he did not like being powerless and at the complete mercy of someone else as she did. It's why she chose to be a Sub, the helplessness turned her on more than the power. Still, she did occasionally enjoy being the one with the power, and she took advantage of those rare moments when they were given.

Letting her thoughts come back to the present, Gaby swirled one finger around the tip of Napoleon's swollen member and trailed it lightly down the underneath to his base. Napoleon's eyes were closed and his lips were pressed tightly together. She could see him frantically trying to regain the control that he had so quickly lost, could see him wanting to be the one leading the situation, as any Dom would. She chuckled softly at that notion, knowing full well that she was calling the shots right now. She looked up at Illya, who still hadn't lost his scowl. He huffed again and spun his finger in the air, telling her to move it along.

She looked back at Napoleon, who had opened his eyes again, though his head still rested against the back of the tub. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Solo, I didn't catch what you said," she taunted, her other hand sinking beneath the water to join its teasing partner by stroking his balls. Napoleon was too fast though and caught her wrist before her fingers reached their destination, pulling her face towards him with his free hand. 

"I want. Your mouth. On. My. Dick." He told her, the authority in his voice sending shivers down her spine and waves of arousal through her stomach. "Please," he amended, and she had to smile. One of Napoleons's best qualities was that he secretly hated diminishing others, and she knew he would never make a good Dom. Still, she liked him, and she had been ordered by her Dom to pleasure him, so she obliged Napoleon's request.

Gaby place a slow, steady line of kisses down Napoleon's chest, applying gentle pressure with her fingers to the backside of his legs until he got the hint and exposed his groin to the air. She was good at what she did, but still, she couldn't breathe under water. She used the pads of her fingers to steady his erection, and continued the line of kisses down his length. Napoleon's breath hitched in the back of his throat at the contact of Gaby's lips, but he kept his eyes open this time, watching her go to work.

And go to work she did. She was slow and methodical, teasing him with the lightest touches, waiting until he would close his eyes only to surprise him by taking him full in her mouth. She would alternate licking and sucking, tasting him fully. Napoleon quickly began writhing, breathing heavily and trying his best to hold still so that he wouldn't thrust up and choke her. He couldn't think straight. This woman was taking him apart seam by seam and he found that he didn't even care. He chanced a look at Illya, who's eyes were fixated on Gaby's mouth with a murderous glare. Gaby chose that moment to hum loudly, and Napoleon's head snapped back towards her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes smiled devilishly at him and she hummed again, causing Napoleon to swear in a most undignified manner. 

"Told you she would take you down a peg," Illya finally spoke. Gaby smiled around Napoleon's cock at those words and grazed her teeth up his length, relishing the desperate need behind his eyes. She began to suck on just his head, and all the resolve Napoleon had not to beg disappeared.

"Oh dear god," he panted, wondering if this would never end. He had never felt such pleasure in all his life. Illya had been right, she was far more talented than he had originally guessed. He also surmised that Illya had known Napoleon would underestimate her, and had wanted to see him like this, to see him taken apart and weak in order to show his dominance over both Napoleon and Gaby. Napoleon had been reduced to an absolute mess of a man and he looked like a fool in front of Illya, but he didn't care; it felt too good. Gaby kept sucking his head. It still wasn't enough to get him off and she knew it, but Napoleon wanted to cum, so against his pride he started begging.

"Okay Illya, you win. Shit, you both win. Oh my god, please, just—Jesus Gaby, fuck!—oh god, I'm... I want to cum, I can't take it anymore, I can't; I need to—it's not enough, oh god..." Napoleon shut his eyes and leaned his head back on the wall, still babbling incoherently. Gaby ignored his pleas and continued her torturous pace, watching Illya and waiting for him to give her the go ahead. Napoleon was shaking his head at this point, moaning and gasping interrupted only by the occasional curse. Gaby's mouth was getting tired, but Illya had not yet granted her permission to give Napoleon release. She knew that she would be severely punished if she didn't wait for Illya's command, so she backed off a little and stared at him pointedly.

Illya was watching Napoleon's face with wicked satisfaction. Gaby saw the jealousy written all over Illya, and she grunted her displeasure at him, inadvertently making Napoleon gasp and jerk up. He slammed into the back of her throat and she gagged hard, doing her best to breath while her lips remained closed around his dick; giving Napoleon a break now would also result in punishment later. Napoleon groaned out his apology, but didn't open his eyes. The incident seemed to shake Illya out of his trance though, because he finally looked at Gaby, smug. 

"Finish him off," he stated with an air of pride, thinking to himself that he could have lasted longer than Napoleon. Gaby gladly complied. Prepared for it this time, she relaxed her throat and took Napoleon's entire length into her mouth, sucking hard. Napoleon’s eyes shot open and he cried out, crunching his torso forward and watching Gaby swallow him whole. His face twisted in painful pleasure at the sudden sensation and he felt his release building very quickly. 

" Gaby , I'm gonna, I can't hold it, I'm-" he tried to warn her but she just looked up at him and briefly put her fingers over his mouth, relentlessly sucking him to climax. He cried out as his orgasm hit him, further turned on as he watched Gaby swallow every drop of seed he shot into her mouth.

Napoleon shuddered as he finished and relaxed against the back of the tub, closing his eyes once more to savor the gentle open-mouth strokes Gaby was giving him during his post-orgasm high. Breathing heavily, he opened his eyes as she slid off him, grinning like an idiot when she slid her body along his to come up to his face. Tenderly, she cupped his face in her hand, and he responded in kind by clasping the back of her neck and bringing her in for a kiss. He moaned as he tasted himself on her lips, grunting in displeasure and pain as his cock twitched far too soon after coming.

Napoleon broke off the kiss and looked over at Illya, but all he saw was the sink, Illya was gone. 

"Where did Illya go?" He asked Gaby, stroking her hair. Gaby laid her head on Napoleon's chest and sighed, knowing her Dom was off pouting somewhere. 

"He gets very jealous," she admitted, tracing a finger along the lines of Napoleon's muscles. "He's probably out there on the bed, figuring out how to punish me for giving you attention." 

Napoleon looked at her, confused. 

"But Illya's the one who brought it up; he instigated the whole thing, said he wanted to watch you take me apart. Why would you be punished for that?" 

"Because I went beyond what I should have," Gaby said vaguely, pulling the plug so that the water in the tub could escape and standing up to get out. She grabbed a towel and stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself up to keep warm. 

Napoleon remained in the tub for a minute, his brain still trying to process everything that had just happened. Gaby laughed and tossed him a towel, catching him off guard. 

"Don't try to understand his reasoning, sometimes he just doesn't make sense," she told him, drying off and slipping her nightshirt over her head. Napoleon stood up and joined her outside the tub, wrapping the towel around his waist. He circled his arms around her from behind, looking at her in the mirror. 

"Well, thank you for the sex," he chuckled, "I can honestly say I've never had a more excellent blowjob in my life." Gaby laughed out loud. 

"I believe I should be thanking you. I never get to do that anymore and I miss it. It's fun." She winked at him, then turned in his arms. He kissed her again and she kissed back, but pulled away far sooner than he wanted her to.

"I'd better go find Illya," she sighed, heading toward the door. "Better to face my punishment now rather than later." 

" Gaby?" Napoleon stopped her, grabbing her hand in his. 

"Yeah?"  

"Would you... would you care to join me for breakfast tomorrow morning?" he asked her, heart pounding. She was someone else's Sub, and though he had been invited to join them as a third party, he couldn't believe he had just asked her out, knowing she would say no. Gaby smiled at him though, and squeezed his hand. 

"I would love to," she stated firmly, and pressed one last kiss to his lips before slipping out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: @littlefreya​ @sciapod​ @thiccgeralt​

[thisispurpleyam]

Surreptitious Candor part 4

A beautiful lounge singer and Napoleon Solo cross paths during U.N.C.L.E.’s mission in New York. 

Napoleon Solo x WOC oc

I thought that this fic would only need 4 parts, but apparently it calls for two more...

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Playlist

*****

Knocking out and tying up the owner of the invitation was much simpler than Gaby and Illya expected. The man was the personification of nervous, awkward, and clumsy. He tripped over his own feet and started sobbing immediately after Illya kicked his door down. When Gaby suddenly appeared behind him, the poor guy just couldn’t take it and passed out. They finished the job quietly and swiftly before their oblivious victim’s neighbors noticed something was amiss. Shortly after, they set off to the rendezvous point the team had agreed on. 

At the soiree, Napoleon was blending in with the crowd perfectly, being the usual charmer he was. Amalia and Bernard didn’t even recognize him, as he had anticipated. So, when they paused to ask him who he was, he flawlessly delivered his story of being Alan Sinclair, the only child of the late Mr. and Mrs Sinclair. Everything else would have gone smoothly if it wasn’t for the gossip filling the room unnecessarily dragging out his job.

“Leon?” he heard a familiar voice call out to him, distracting him from his thoughts. 

He turned around and faced the singer whom he had recently become very well acquainted with. “Ah, Eula. Fancy seeing you here.” 

“After last night, who would have thought we’d run into each other again so soon?” she responded with a suggestive smirk. 

Napoleon knowingly smiled back, taking pride in the secret only they had the privilege of knowing. He took her hand in his and kissed her gloved knuckles. “Fate has its ways.” 

“I thought you didn’t like to dance, though?” Eula slyly asked, making a point of darting her eyes toward the dance floor. 

“I suppose I could make an exception for a certain chanteuse again, considering how well my night ended the last time I did,” he replied with a wink, taking the lead and joining the pairs swaying to the music. 

As the two of them moved in time with the song, it dawned on Eula how much time she had been spending with Napoleon. She preferred to be detached from people, being the independent and self-sufficient woman she was. Every involvement she ever had with a man, and they were very few and far between, only lasted a night. All of them, she either met at the lounge or worked with during one of her side jobs before she became a regular at the diner. She seldom let things get far as breakfast. Yet here she was, in her highest heels and most expensive dress, dancing with the devilishly handsome spy and enjoying his company for the fourth night in a row. 

“Alan,” Amalia Fernsby called out. “I see you’ve gotten comfortable enough to partake in the festivities.”

“Mrs. Fernsby,” Napoleon greeted as he pulled away from Eula, noticing her expression sour the moment they heard Amalia’s voice. He pretended to not notice and settled for an arm around her waist instead. “I couldn’t possibly say no to such a lovely dance partner.”

Amalia turned her focus to the singer and remarked, “you never told us the two of you know each other.”

“I prefer to keep our conversations on a need-to-know basis,” Eula responded curtly, flashing an artificial smile to emphasize her point. 

Bernard sensed the tension and stepped in, “I’m really glad you and Alan Sinclair are getting along well, though. His mother really meant a lot to our family. She was a wonderful tutor to you, and we’ll forever be in debt.” 

“She absolutely was. Maybe you could come over for dinner sometime, Alan,” Amalia excitedly added. “How your mother didn’t talk much about you, I will never understand. If I had a son as handsome as you, I would-“

“Mother,” Eula sternly cut in. “Let’s not make our guest uncomfortable, shall we?”

Before the conversation could get any further, their assistant came to inform Bernard and Amalia that their presence was requested by an important guest. 

Napoleon waited for any woman’s reaction whenever they realized a man had been dishonest with them. He anticipated Eula’s rage or tears, but neither came. Instead, she took her parents’ absence as an opportunity to get away from the crowd. 

“Let’s get out of here,” she said as she grabbed him and pulled him to an empty hallway, leading him to the fire exit door. She looked both ways to make sure the area was clear before dragging him inside the stairwell. 

Napoleon lazily raised both of his hands and offered Eula a sheepish grin, “Alright. You got me.” 

“Relax, Alan,” she said in sarcasm and leaned her back against the door. “I’m trying to help you.” 

Napoleon incredulously eyed the brunette. “You are?”

“Yes! So you better listen carefully before anybody notices anything out of the ordinary,” she responded all in one breath. 

Still doubtful, Napoleon inquired, “but why? Considering you just found out I used you and lied to you, the last thing you should be feeling is generosity.”

Eula rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Leon, I knew. From the moment we first met, I knew you weren’t who you presented yourself to be.”

“Alright, humor me then,” he challenged. “What do you know about me?” 

“First of all,” she started, taking steps closer to him and meeting his piercing gaze, “I know that you’re a conman. You always don designer suits that only the upper class of New York can afford, yet your hands are way too rough to belong to a man of wealth. Hell, even your car is more expensive than any I’ve driven before. As far as I know, no man can get that rich off physical labor alone. Hands like yours could only mean being heavily exposed to either field work or combat. My suspicions were proven right when I saw your scars last night. I’ve had my fair share of men, and I think I can tell the difference between a puny heir with no backbone and someone who had to do whatever he can to survive.” 

Napoleon could only look at her in wonder. None of the women he had been with were as observant. They usually swooned over the smallest things and bought whatever persona he sold to them. 

“I also know that you’re a thief. A good one, I might add, who would have gotten away with stealing my bracelet if I didn’t know the contents of my jewelry box like the back of my hand. After all, how can my bracelet disappear after I first spoke with you and suddenly turn up in my jewelry box after you spent the night?”

Napoleon snickered. “A good thief probably shouldn’t return items they’ve stolen.”

“Even if you hadn’t given it back, I still would have figured you out,” Eula confidently retorted. 

“Oh really? Why’s that?”

“Simple. You’re not at all the type of man to stick around. You’re the type who leaves after you’ve had your fun. And if the object of your desire doesn’t take you up on your offer right away, you move on to your next conquest. With me, you actually waited for three days and even visited the diner despite barely knowing me. What other reason would you have to stay other than the fact that you’d already figured out who I really was?”

Napoleon hated to admit it, but he was impressed. The CIA and U.N.C.L.E. had done a good job covering up his criminal record, yet Eula was able to glean that much information simply by paying attention. She might not have figured out the exact circumstances, but she got pretty damn close. “You’re perceptive, I’ll give you that.”

“Alright, then. My turn to ask now. How did you find out I was a Fernsby?”

“Your bracelet,” he answered nonchalantly. 

“My bracelet?” Eula asked in puzzlement. “But it’s a unique design that never reached the market.” 

“Precisely. At first I considered it was a knockoff brand, seeing as it had an emblem vaguely similar to the Fernsbys’ trademark logo, but the quality was way too high to be that cheap. Then I found out that in every photograph taken of the Fernsby women from different generations, each had that bracelet in common. I gathered that it was a jewelry unique to every woman in the family.”

Eula shook her head and scoffed. “I knew I should have thrown that stupid thing away. It never did quite fit me right.” 

“But there’s just one thing I couldn’t quite figure out.”

“And that is?”

“Every single Fernsby woman of the last three generations have their photographs in the paper, except for you.”

“I don’t really like to associate with my family. That’s the whole reason why I left the day I turned 18. I’ve been working at the lounge since then and even took up graveyard shifts at the diner.”

“So that’s why you’re helping me? Because you hate your family?” 

“Don’t mock me,” she firmly told him. “They’re not as ‘glamorous’ as they make people think. I may not know the exact details, but I was groomed to be the company’s heir and trained to understand the ins and outs. I know they’ve been caught up in human trafficking and drug dealing of some sort. I can’t exactly report them to the cops because even they can be bought by our family name alone. The money from the business my ancestors started deserves to be put to better use.”

“And you think I won’t misuse the money?” he sarcastically asked. 

“I think, you’re not doing this heist completely out of selfish reasons.”

“What makes you say that?”

“When you left the diner, I saw what you did to that young news boy. I saw how you bought all of the papers he had left just so he could go home. I also know that on the evening we met, when it was a really slow night at the lounge, it was you who tipped every single server on duty. Leon, you’re not as terrible of a person as you seem to think.”

“You’re trusting me way too much, Eula” Napoleon warned her. 

“Well, I’d rather trust you than my manipulative and controlling parents. At least I know you’re capable of helping people on your own free will. They only do it for show.” 

“If you hate them so much, why’d you come to the soiree?” he questioned. 

“Because it’s part of the deal,” Eula bit back. “I promised I’d show up to every stupid gathering they’d hold in exchange for them getting their ‘henchmen’ off my back. It doesn’t guarantee my safety from the tabloids, but it’s worth a try…”

Napoleon wordlessly studied the brunette. All the years he spent in his trade taught him to recognize dishonesty, and Eula showed no sign of it. “Fine,” he gave in. “When do we start?”

“We? I can’t go with you. I go on stage in a few minutes. You’ll be on your own, so you have to pay close attention to everything I tell you.” 

“Alright, what do I have to do?” 

Eula looked around the fire exit staircase to make sure no one could overhear and hurriedly instructed, “go into the janitor’s closet at the end of the hall. The wall on the left side of the door is hollow and has a hidden elevator behind it. You’ll need this,” she took off her bracelet and handed it to Napoleon, “because the emblem on the pendant unlocks the elevator doors.”

“Ah, so this ‘stupid thing’ has a use after all,” Napoleon teased.

She let out a dry laugh and answered, “yes, but I won’t be needing it anymore, so you can keep it. The elevator takes you to the most restricted area of the building. When you get there, you’ll see a steel door with a passcode. I would tell you the code, but they change it every 12 hours. You get past that, and then there’s a safe you gotta crack.”

“Lucky for you, safe cracking is a part of my skill set. But I suppose you already knew that otherwise you wouldn’t be telling me all this.”

“I didn’t really know. But considering the magnitude of this larceny, I just figured.”

“Hmm, fair enough. 

“Best be on your way before people start to miss you,” Eula ordered him. “Oh, and the password for unlocking the steel door from the inside is ‘awanggan.’ It’s Tagalog for infinity.” 

“Listen, Eula,” Napoleon began hesitantly, “I’m sorry for-”

“It’s okay,” she interjected with a genuine smile and joked, “I always knew you weren’t a ‘coffee and breakfast in the morning’ kind of guy from the get go.”

Napoleon began to make his way to the door until he paused in his tracks and turned back around. He caught her off guard by pulling her in and capturing her lips with his. After she got past her initial surprise, she eagerly responded almost immediately; each of them moving with an amount of aggression to ensure neither would easily forget the physical memory of the experience. He gave her bottom lip a soft bite before slowly pulling away.

 “Don’t miss me too much,” he smugly teased. 

“Whatever you say, Leon. Now hurry!” 

[onthemeander]

A commision for RooneyToony. Interested? then check out me

HERE

Dinner for Three by Onthemeander

  “Napoleon Solo?” A young hostess, with a bit too much Chanel number 5 clinging to her collar, greeted him as he shuffled in out of the hot summer rain. “Yes.” Doing his best to shoulder off his raincoat without getting any water on his pewter gray windowpane suit jacket. The coat rack was already full, so one of the women behind the host table whisked his away silently to be stored safely. Taking a moment, he inspected himself in the mirror behind the hostess stand. He was proud to see that his perfectly gelled hair managed to keep its shape, even having two soft curls grazing his forehead.

“Your party has already arrived, I will show you to them.” Her ponytailed hair nearly snapping him in the face with how fast she swiveled around. His leather Salvatore Ferragamos squeaking over the tiled floor, an intricate netted pattern of Crema Marfil and dark emerald marble. Diners were leaned in close to each other, drinking wine and exchanging stories, all in low lighting from golden teardrop chandeliers.

He saw her just behind a large gold room divider. The distance and geometric metalwork blurring the definition of her face, but he still recognized her. Brown hair, quaffed up top into a ponytail, was far stiffer and more structured looking than the natural soft wave it had only days ago. Now, everything had its place, fitting together into the image of a prim and proper princess in her cranberry red, ribbon detailed, Gucci shift. A bold color that stood out against the golds, browns, and emeralds of the restaurant.

“Miss. Teller, Mr. Solo.” The hostess said like a serf to a queen, delegating all honors to the young woman sipping from a snifter. That was when Solo noticed a man that he is frankly stunned even managed to disappear into the background. He was massive; barrel-chested, straight-backed, square-shouldered, and the blank face of a man hiding too many emotions. His soft navy turtleneck and cinnamon suede jacket did little to soften his hard edges. This man was the Berlin wall personified; barricading posture, barb wire stare, and probably a minefield type of personality.

“How do you know my name?” He saw no point in the pleasantries as he was not in the business of being summoned to random Italian restaurants by fashionable but menacing couples. He took his seat and settled back to convey an air of ease.

“It isn’t hard to find out the name of the most flamboyant fine arts thief in North America and Europe.” She smiled, brushing her curls over her shoulder and out of the way. She looked pleased with herself, knowing more than she ought to. Though the level of comfort in her posture hinted at her being used to this advantage over others. “I’ve yet to make it to South America. Next summer maybe. I’ll have your finest scotch.” He said, waving off the waiter before they even had a chance to open their mouth.

“So, what do I owe the honor of meeting such a beautiful woman again.” He didn’t spare a glance with the pleasantry as he skimmed the menu, it had a wide assortment of Italian food all exorbitantly overpriced for the subpar ingredients the dishes were sure to contain. “Not one for pleasant conversations?” Miss. Teller snarked, flipping open her menu in a huff. “Not with people who somehow manage to slip my locks to leave notes in my home like a common stalker.”

“Watch your tongue.” The big guy threatened, in a surprisingly deep and thick accent. His body was tightening up, coiling ready to spring, his eyes pinning Solo. The only part of his body that was moving was his finger tapping cross the table top.

“What can I get you all to eat?” The group one by one ordered an assortment of overpriced meats and pasta. Quickly, but never quick enough, the waiter scuttled off to inform the kitchen, leaving the unlikely table guests to their awkward staring contest. With no one willing to even fane amicable small talk Solo just bit the bullet. “So again, why are we here? I don’t find that my damsels in distress usually hunt down their princes’ and leave mildly threating dinner invitations on their pillow.”

Her fingers stroked the stem of her wine glass, leveling Solo with a calculating look. Leaning forward, pressing toward his direction with a stare that could make a thousand men fall for her. “I, in fact, would like to thank you.” She finally admitted settling back into her seat. “Thank me for what?” “You know what for.” She shook her head in exasperation, the light bouncing off the fake diamonds inlaid in her acrylic earrings. “I do, but I’d like to hear you say it.”

Pregnant pauses, even in busy restaurants will all the ambient noise of the world, would forever be awkward for those participating in them. The other man seemed to be trying to break the table in half with just the strength of his tapping index finger. Exhaling through her nose she finally capitulated. “Thank you… for pulling me out of the way of that drive by. I would be dead if it wasn’t for you.” With all the grateful tone of an addict to their intervention party.

“You are most welcome, Miss. Teller.” He would let her off easy, not forcing her to change her tone. Counting his luck, either she would refuse or her companion would throw him over the table and break him, and not in the pleasurable way that one would hope for.

“the Vinciguerra family… my family is thanking you and we owe you a debt of gratitude.” He almost sloshed his wine on his best shirt. “Vinciguerra…” Eyeing his companions, he planted his feet just behind his knees, ready to kick off and run. Eyeing the surroundings he hoped the crowd would keep him safe from any publicly overt violence, but now he wouldn’t be able to eat his Spaghetti Alle Vongole. “They are even willing to overlook the fact that you were in the process of ‘borrowing’ one of my families more prized artworks.”

“Why? I’d assume they much rather have a chat with me about it.” Miss. Teller simply nodded in agreement. “Mrs. Vinciguerra is feeling lenient since you managed to save her daughter’s life.” The man beside him finally contributed, his voice deep with that rough accent. It wasn’t Italian but it wasn’t fully American either, even with the proficiency in English. He sounded almost physically pained with such an admission.

With a surprising amount of aggressive grace, Miss. Teller rose from her seat, slinging her mini purse over a shoulder. “I need to use the powder room. Play nice, Illya.” The demand for doing nothing for Solo’s nerves. In fact, the exact opposite, making images of his broken body in a carpet bag and ten feet under became a very real possibility. He had heard of far worse happening to people who crossed the Vinciguerra family.

“Is this when you make thinly veiled threats so the wiretaps don’t catch on?” He was never one for avoiding trouble, in fact, his kindergarten teacher once wrote ‘active and disturbing interest in causing all sorts of trouble for himself and others.’ The man beside him, Illya, tightened his shoulders and barreled out his chest, almost inflating like a parade balloon, taking up more space.

“As she said, the family is in your debt. One time and one time only.”

“Right, because I am some knight in shining armor for her?”

“More like a drunken cowboy who got lucky.” He was glaring pointedly at the last dregs of the drink in Solo’s hand. His thick accent making him sound even more high, mighty and insufferably formal than Solo cared for, like those uppity businessmen that inquire about his services. They ultimately always wanted a discounted price in exchange for telling their other snobby friends at the yachting club about Solo and his skills in acquiring them their new renaissance masterpiece. All of them were practically begged for Solo to knock them down a peg or two… or ten. “Tell me how does a comrade become a family member of the Vinciguerra’s.”

There was a dangerous glint in his eyes as Solo called him comrade, though he kept his face blank and jaw clenched. “Miss. Teller needed a bodyguard and I am very skilled.”

“KGB?” Illya didn’t even bother to respond, instead of adjusting his sleeve cuffs like a posh prat that all good comrades were supposed to condemn. “Clearly you were hired for your conversational prowess.” He kept poking the bear, just waiting to see him snap. The waiter, as if having bugged the table themselves, found the perfect time to deliver their meals.

Unlike himself and their female companion, Illya had no food or drink in front of him. When asked he claimed, “I do not eat while I am working.” Once Miss. Teller returned, they all ate with little fuss, putting out your boilerplate small talk and trying to all appear far more normal and personable than they truly were. The drinks flowed as the conversation became stilted but thankfully it ended quickly. Solo could make his escape from Miss. Teller’s prying questions and Illya’s sharpshooter eyes.

“Please grab my coat,” He told the waiter, who continued in silence to fulfill the groups' whims. “Well, thank you for the meal, if you will excuse me, I will be heading home.” He stated, placing his folded napkin aside and rising from his seat. Placing on his most gentlemanly smile he scooped up Miss. Teller’s soft unmanicured hand. Clean yet slightly smelling of engine oil, was what he noticed as he pressed a steady and cordial kiss to the top of her palm. Returning her hand to the table top he turned and offered Illya a mildly completive handshake.

The pair kept watching him as he accepted his raincoat from the waiter. Aware of how on display he was, he did his best to put on his goat on in as attractive a manner as possible. It would be a shame to leave the audience disappointed. Once buttoned up and ready to brave the storm outside, he turned to leave with his head held high and a swagger in his stance. Maybe he’d even throw that hostess a little wink for the trouble. Suddenly though, he was face to face Miss. Teller’s bodyguard. Her very angry looking, bone breaking, Berlin wall style bodyguard.

“Give me back her ring.” It wasn’t a question at all, It was an absolute, unequivocal, demand. Miss. Teller looked down at her hand, surprised to find her ring finger bare of the Bulgari canary yellow diamond ring that usually rested there. Her eyes darkened, the low light making them to appear nearly black, as she leveled him with an unamused glare. Tilting his head trying to look innocent he weighted his options. how long could he outrun this man? Which escape route would be better, the kitchen or the front door? Would the big guy follow him all the way home? How many broken bones was he willing to risk?

A large hand clamped down on his shoulder, trapping him to his spot on the floor. Well there went all his options. Sighing through his nose, he pulled the multi-million dollar ring out of his breast pocket. She accepted it delicately, putting it back on her right hand. “And my watch.” A single beautifully manicured eyebrow lifted in speculation. Pouting like a naughty child he pulled the watch off his wrist, handing it over to the brick wall. The watch was promptly snatched from his hands and his shoulder was released. “Well, I would like to say this was lovely. However... Good night Miss Teller. Red Peril.”

Miss. Teller let out a loud snort, her fingers just barely concealing her smiling lips. Her bodyguard was less impressed and grouched out “Cowboy,” as he readjusts his watch. Controlling her smile, Miss. Teller watched him walk away with nothing more than a soft and teasing “Good night, Mr. Solo.”

“You really must stop leaving these lovely invites on my pillow. You could give men like me too many hopes.” He started with, tossing the crème color card stock onto her empty setting plate. With a lipstick kiss and all, “some would think you like to tease.”

“How was your dinner with Mrs. Vinciguerra.?” Miss. Teller asked, clearly choosing to ignore any questions of her methods. “Titillating, if not a little shocking to have happened. Is mildly aggressive dinner parties something of a family tradition?” When no one took his bait, raising to the thinly veiled insult, he just kept on talking. “It is surprisingly an interesting business opportunity for me.”

Miss. Teller simply gave a nod to her bodyguard, Illya was sitting beside them and seemingly found the one shadow in the restaurant to lurk. Again, they refused to respond so he just kept on chatting. “I would have apricated the heads up though.” His chair was wobbly against the slightly warped old wood floor, while attractive to the rustic Italian aesthetic, it was a bit of an annoyance. “Being thrown into a car is less than pleasurable, even if the other passage is as striking as Victoria.”

“Yes, Victoria has always been a great patron of the arts.”

“Seems so. She also seemed fond of you. We talked about you quite a bit.” Miss. Teller unattractively snorted into her martini glass at that, even across the table he could see a hint of an eye roll from her. “She is fond of my abilities.” And that tone of voice hinted at a very juicy and dramatic story. He had to know more. “Only your abilities? She sounded like a loving stepmother.”

“A stepmother who murdered my father and forced me to be her daughter.” Fascinating. Well, the family was known for their viciousness when they really wanted something. Whatever the girl had, it was clearly of great value to the family. Though the killing of a father seemed excessive, so he must have pissed them off somehow. But how?

“Gambling debts.” Is all Illya said to answer the unspoken question hanging off Solo’s lips. Miss. Teller, for her part, didn’t seem a bit bothered by the admitted faults of her kin. Though, from that moment on the conversation took a hard steer and avoided all talk of families for the rest of the evening. Instead, they chatted about cars and art and why Solo’s room was littered with every possible type of underthings.

“All alone, Peril? What happened to never let your princess out of your sight.” Illya looked mildly uncomfortable as Solo pulled out the leather mid-century modern moss chair. The man had tossed his suede bomber into the empty chair beside him, forcing Solo to sit across from him. “Powder room. She demanded I come sit. Wanted to make a grand entrance.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to disappoint.” Solo turned in his seat to stare down the length of the restaurant, in the direction of the powder room. A handful of moments ticked by, filled with the waitress pouring them water, strangers walked by on the sidewalk, the clicking of glass and silverware, and Illya’s tapping heel against the ceramic tiled floor. Finally, just as his eyes were starting to lose focus and become bored, she came out.

The door opened wide, her short legs striding as long as possible in an almost glide towards them. She had gotten rid of her winter coat somewhere, hopefully not left in the ladies’ room for whoever decided to use it next.

The sun was bouncing off the fresh snow that has coated the roads overnight, making the windows look like floor to ceiling lighting fixtures. The brightly lit storefront backlight Gabby in the most teasing of ways. The soft harvest gold color fabric of her tent dress was made virtually sheer, exposing her matching bodycon slip underneath. Every subtle curve of her boyish body was on display. Her hips were swaying in an attractive exaggerated figure eight as she came towards them.

He could hear Illya behind him, he had stopped fidgeting and instead was opting to take deep and controlled breathes through his nose. “Grand indeed.” Was all he could think of in response to the beauty before him. In a smooth swift movement, he stood up, ready to pull out the chair like a gentleman. Illya attempted the same, yet managed to bang his legs against the table and slosh water out of their cups. “You are looking stunning, Miss. Teller.”

“Thank you, Mr. Solo.” Her cheeks were lightly flushed, high on her cheekbones, making her look young and glowing. With a wide charming smile, he took up the cabernet bottle, letting the wine flow. The restaurant was romantic and sparkling, with a soft jazz band in the corner and the various anniversary couple necking in the back corner.

Miss. Teller, laughed and teased both her companions this way and that till the wine and the music became a heady cocktail in Solo’s brain. Illya's eyes glittered over top the edge of his wine glass, heatedly staring at them both. Solo for his part even took the chance to hand feed them both from his plate, enjoying the different ways their lips wrapped around his fork. Miss. Teller’s was soft yet determined, smudging glossy coral lipstick along with metal. Illya’s was just harsh enough to remove that stain once again.

The waitress placed the bill between Solo and Illya, which was promptly picked up by his table mate. “Well, this has been a wonderful evening,” Miss. Teller chatted away as Illya pulled out his card, Solo spotted the small square foil trojan package peeking out. Something he is positive he hadn’t seen at any other dinner and was now there for a very good reason. “such a shame to see it end so soon,” He offered up in agreement to her sentiment.

“Mr. Solo, would you like to join us for some drinks? Illya makes a sinfully good French 75.”

“Really? Is it strong enough? I must say I am a stickler for the classics and such a historical drink really should make me feel like I’m being hit by ww1 French 75mm field gun.”

“More like being pinned down by a Steyr SSG… 69.” Suddenly, Illya’s large hand landed atop Napoleon’s, almost completely covering his. A warm weight not so much pinning him down but urging him to not lift a finger without his permission. Rotating him palm he interlaced their fingers together, “That sounds truly wonderful.”

“Gabby, didn’t anyone tell you it’s impolite to wear sunglasses at the breakfast table?” The sun was bright and sparkling against all the crème leather and glittering glassware of the French bistro. Gabby was perched in a white frock against the booth, not so much sipping her coffee as much as chugging ever least drop. Her white oversized circle sunglasses shielded her eyes from the strong sun and even stronger peer judgment.

“You would rather me keep them on than see what will happen if you try to remove them.” She grouched out, pointedly leveling him with her sternest scowls. He seemed content to keep teasing, running fingers along her neck, between her falling hair, pressing at hickies just barely concealed with makeup. Her scowl remained but she didn’t do much to stop him outside of small squirming. “Peril did a number on you too, hmmm? I, for one, won’t be able to wear my bathing suit anytime soon,” He remarked.

“It is November,” Illya stated behind the lip of his cup, filled to the brim with black coffee. “Pity I was hoping to show you.” Under the table, Napoleon toes the strong ridge of Illya’s ankle bone, everything on this man was bold and brash and strong and virile. “You have shown me quite enough Cowboy.” “I cherish the chance to see you in this new way,” Napoleon whispered in the Russian’s direction, batting his eyes ever so slightly for good measure. “More than what you saw last night?” Gabby asked, joining Napoleon’s foot to rub up under the cuff of Illya’s slacks, her Mary Janes curiously missing.

“You two are complete menaces.” He grumbled without a single emotion crossing his brow. His thighs clenched tight, trapping Napoleon’s foot between them. “Why Peril, that is no way to speak to your boss,” Napoleon scolded trying to escape the iron grip of Illya’s thighs. His lip quirked in a suave way as he refused to let go of his prize.

             Their table was cluttered with all manner of messy napkins, used cutlery, lipstick-stained glasses and the remains of a family size bowl of Carbonaro. The conversation was flowing as smoothly as the wine, full-bodied and red with passion, little splashes of laughter, dry with wit and all with the finish of the promise of continued pleasurable company.

“Victoria wants you to acquire something for her sculpture collection.” Gabby let out over the last few bites of pasta, her hard-set stare at the plate belayed her frustration. Napoleon dabbed this mouth with his napkin, humming in interest at the request.

“I want you to take Illya.” She said, before even telling him the details of his new mark. “I thought I did that last night.” The man in question coughed into his fist, trying to hide the sunburnt looking blush creeping up his neck. It looked wonderful on him.

After a silent moment of held breathing, he sighed through his nose. “I work alone.” There was a loud metallic clank as Gabby slapped now her cutlery onto the marble tabletop. “I don’t care what you did. Victoria wants you to steal this sculpture and I want Illya with you.”

He side eyed the man in question, sitting imposingly large, good looks and blonde hair attracting the eyes of lonely housewives and some husbands around them. “Do you even know how to be subtle enough for burglary?” Know the man was made for fights and intimidation but theft required a lighter touch. Both Gabby and Illya scowled at him. “Napoleon. I am serious. I don’t have a good feeling about this. I want Illya there so you can keep each other safe.”

Studying their almost grave faces he relented. “Fine, you can come with me. Wear black.” With that he stood up, only stopping his retreat when Gabby’s surprisingly firm grip wrapped around his wrist. Her eyes were dark cold and steely as they stared up at him. “You both better come back, you understand me, Napoleon?”

“I don’t like this,” Illya admitted, as he ripped apart the slice of bread he took from the basket at the center of their table. “I don’t either, Illya.” She agreed to sip from her wine, keeping a wary eye on the open front door. “He will be fine. He wasn’t hurt.” Gabby hoped he wasn’t lying to protect her. When she heard that the heist went under, she had to be held back by Illya to keep her from going to find Napoleon herself. Every terrible consequence crossing her mind, Napoleon beaten by police, locked in a cell, being interrogated for hours or dead in the street from a cop with an itchy trigger finger

The hostess headed towards them and thankfully behind her was a Napoleon who appeared happy and healthy. “Miss. Teller, Mr. Kuryakin, it’s wonderful to see you again.” he sounded overly jovial, talking much louder than he ever would deem polite in public. “Napoleon, how have you been?” As he went to kiss her hand, she felt the scrape of a paper slide into her sleeve, so subtle she knew it was supposed to be a secret.

“Quite fine, laying low. Taking some time off, a vacation was in order.” He was being weirdly formal, it had been a while since he last pulled out the posh dialect around them. Illya shot her a look, picking up on the oddity as well, “I…  we were surprised when you asked to meet.”

The waiter came to take their drink orders as they continued their stilted conversation. “Yes. I got lonely and tired of waiting so I just took the initiative for once.” He was lying, openly to their face. She knew something was going and hopefully what was in her sleeve would tell her what it was.

“If you excuse me, I have to use the ladies’ room.” Quickly, without either of her men responding to her, she left the table heading to the bathroom in the back. Locking herself into one of the stalls, sitting on the seat, she fished out the paper from her cuff. ‘Wearing a wire. FBI after Victoria and husband. Don’t incriminate yourself. Act normal,’ was scrawled hastily across the paper.

Shit. Double shit. Looking up, her reflection instantly looked tired, her bags peeking out under her concealer. Act normal? Nothing about their entire relationship was normal. Most women don’t get saved by a flamboyant cat burglar from being shot by a rival mob and then proceeds to demand that the man sees you almost once a week for ‘dinner’. They were not nor...

He said to act normal. He meant their normal. Their normal… alright. He wanted to give them their normal than she would give those FBI buggers a real show. Turning on her heels she made a straight line to their table, gracefully folding into her chair. “Did you miss me, boys?” She asked leaning in close, lowering her eyes suggestively and rubbing her foot up Illya’s leg. He wouldn’t know what was happening but hopefully, she could get him on board without uttering a sound.

“Every moment without you Miss. Teller is absolute suffering.” Napoleon’s chair let out a godawful squeal as he shifted it closer to Miss. Teller’s. “You are too kind… Mr. Solo.”  He kissed her hand, which she quickly returned with a peck on the cheek, but dangerously close to his lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man in an ill-fitted pinstripe suit drop the silverware out of his hands onto the floor. His short-cropped hair, comically fake glasses, and solo table setting gave him away as a terrible undercover cop. Well, that and also the plastic the flesh colored wire to his earpiece catching the candlelight.

“So, I was thinking,” He slid his hand up her wrist, playing with the gold Chanel bangles along the way, “Do you think, we could go to your villa tonight?” Hopefully, she could get the feds what they wanted and they could leave them alone to enjoy what was turning out to be a pleasurable leavening. “For a drink, or something a bit… more entertaining.”

Gabby gave both him and Illya a charming smile, her eyes flicking between the two of them. She bit her lips and twirled her hair, portraying every overly girly flirtation the magazines dictated her to know. “Yes, I think so, the Vincequerras are on a business trip until Wednesday. They mentioned something about an Appalachian meeting.” Bingo, she could see a poorly disguised undercover cop whisper rapidly into his own watch.

“That sounds like a wonderful trip,” Napoleon kept going, putting on a façade of over interest. “Oh yes, the mountains must be beautiful this time of year.” Illya finally had something to say, he had a constipated look on his face, so he was clearly thinking.

“Well, it is very nice of them for letting us use their luxuries master bed and jacuzzi bath that easily fits three people.”  Gabby wanted to find the quickest excuse to leave this place. Get this damn wire off Napoleon, get out from under the feds thumb and hopefully get into a warm bed with these two. Gabby placed her hands atop Illya’s as well creating an interesting semicircle of affection. Napoleon smiled to them both, “Afterwards I could even give you a lovely Swedish massage that I actually learned from a Swede.”

The laugh Gabby let out was light and bubbly like the popping of the finest champagne. “You, Mr. Solo, are God’s gift to womanhood.” She positively purred. “Don’t say that Miss. Teller, it is dangerous to stroke his ego so vigorously.” Napoleon's eyes near twinkle in sudden joy at hearing such a poorly concealed innuendo fall from Russian lips.

“Well boys, if you are interested, would you take care of business for me?”

The breeze was warm but brisk as it rushed under Gabby’s skirt hem, keeping her suntanned skin cool in the heat. Her mojito glass sweated, creating a pool for her to skim her fingers across, aimlessly drawing patterns on the table. Napoleon reclined back, tipping down the brim of his Panama hat while scanning the paper in front of him with a smile. A copy of the New York Times was set, folded and neat on the table corner, the bold headline splashed front and center ARREST AT ‘APPALACHIAN MEETING’ OF NOTORIOUS MOBSTER LEADERS subheader: 64 mobsters including Barbara, Genovese and Vinciguerra family arrested in the biggest round up of a National Criminal Syndicate.

“Well, we are lucky that you could drive us across the border so quickly,”  Illya admitted, busying his hands by fiddling with a piece of driftwood like some runaway prisoner stereotype from a cheap Hollywood film.

“We can probably never go back to the US, not with the rest of the family knowing your hand in their arrest,” Napoleon added, picking up Gabby’s drink, finishing it. Only slightly taking pleasure in the outraged squawking their princess made in. “Can’t go to Italy ever again for that matter.” Which was a real pity, he had his eye on a set of Di Vinci sketches at the Gallerie dell'Accademia.

“Well, you finally made it to South America. I hear there is a lovely modern art museum in town if you boys would like to join me.”

[thelionofnaples]

Wishlist:

Hopping on this excellent bandwagon and posting my wishlist of plots, both canon and AU! Please let me know if you’d be interested in any of these or want a more detailed description of what I have in mind. Feel free to give your own input if you do want to do any of these! It’s a two-way street. :) 

Canon: 1. The Other Man -- “Say No To This” This idea sprung from “Say No To This” from Hamilton, because, let’s face it, Solo’s no stranger to being the other man. If he’s received a few kickbacks to ensure he doesn’t go opening his mouth to the wrong person, so what? Everyone’s happy, no one is the wiser, no one gets hurt. But what happens when being the other man starts to hurt? When his affair starts to be what he most looks forward to?

2. 1945; The Young Thief  Napoleon Solo joined the American army in 1945 at the tender age of sixteen, intent on escaping a lonely, neglectful home life and launching himself into the world beyond. He served as part of the cleanup forces that stayed behind in Europe once the war was done. It was during these few years that Napoleon got his start as a thief. With wide, startling blue eyes and breathless smiles he charmed his way through Europe. 

3. UST This one speaks for itself. Unresolved sexual tension. That relationship he can’t pursue, won’t acknowledge, dances around. The name he murmurs in his sleep. Whether it be an enemy stationed always across the line from him or star crossed lovers, this is that relationship never quite boils over... until it does.

4. Jealous lover going to extreme lengths Napoleon’s a sucker for being wanted. This doesn’t guarantee he’ll want you back, but the chase is an act in which he luxuriates. The more complex it gets, the more desperate, the more breathless with excitement he becomes... so long as it’s your attention he wants. 

5. Hurt/Comfort wound tending that builds to a deeper relationship As a spy, and as a spy with an eminently punchable face, Napoleon’s always nursing a few scrapes and bruises. And what’s better than some whump, really? Tending to wounds and patching each other up. Building a tender, trusting relationship in the peaceful silence of small safehouse bathrooms. Taking care of each other. Hurt, and then comfort. Also, and we’d have to chat about this, but the fallout from Gaby’s betrayal and Napoleon’s torture at Rudi’s hand.

AU: 1.“Babylon Berlin” Based heavily off the show Babylon Berlin. It’s 1929 and Napoleon Solo is an American spy undercover in Berlin, working as a detective for the Homicide squad while passing off information to his handler. Bonus points if you want to play a straight laced Vice squad detective, but definitely not required. Wild speakeasy parties, dancing, drugs, and booze, all couched in a art deco glamor.

2. Cursed New Orleans Vampire Otherwise known as the Interview With A Vampire AU. It’s 1800 and Napoleon, by fault of his own hubris and sass, has been cursed to never leave the borders of the city of New Orleans, and to live all his days in the dark, searching for company and a fresh meal, trapped as the world passes him by.  OR same thing but in the 1920′s. Still in New Orleans.

3. Soulmates (flower and color marks)  Everyone is born with the mark of a flower, the meaning of which is said to determine your fate. When you meet your soulmate the flower blooms with color, reflecting the circumstance of your meeting and the future of your relationship.  OR your tattoo appears when you meet your soulmate, rather than being born with it.

4. Gatsby You know that cliche that the people are who always surrounded by people are the loneliest? Napoleon Solo, mysterious and debonair and independently wealthy, known for holding lavish parties he drifts through with a charming smile plastered on. But who’s the man really? What causes his heart to ache and those thousand mile stares across the lake?

5. Fight Club/Illegal boxing ring/bookie Napoleon, despite being extremely punchable, isn’t much of a fighter. He is, however, an excellent con man, and a bookie the mob trusts with their money. He takes the bets for an underground boxing ring. If you ask who he works for he’ll just smile and wink.

6. Circus (ringmaster/acrobat) Not exactly a Greatest Show AU. More along the lines of the Night Circus, set in a circus where everything is too good to be true and nothing happens by chance. I’d prefer for Napoleon to be part of the circus, though whether he’s the ringmaster or an acrobat/silk ropes performer I don’t mind, and he can be set opposite either a theatre-goer or a member of the troupe.

7. Golden Compass (daemons) Based off Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series. In this world your soul is a physical manifestation outside of your body, it’s own conscious being that takes the form of the animal most like the truth of your soul. When Sasha settled into her final form towards the end of his puberty Napoleon was surprised she hadn’t taken the familiar form of the magpie that had so often flown reconnaissance for him while he slipped in and out of galleries unnoticed. 

8. Pacific Rim Napoleon is a jaeger pilot without a partner to drift with. He’s itching for action, with the need to move, but all previous attempts at drifting have ended in agony. He’s still beholden to the government in serving out his deferred prison term in service as a jaeger pilot.  

9. Mutant Based off the MCU X-Men universe. Napoleon discovered his powers early, and took great delight in pushing and pulling at people’s attention, focusing them in on him at will before blurring himself out of their conscious attention. It was a difficult mutation to hide as well, much to his benefit when the purges began. As he trained his powers he became capable of drawing attention to his eyes, his smile, and away from his hands as they skimmed wallets and watches and rings from unsuspecting party-goers as he makes the circuits. 

[rose-of-pollux]

Another MFU blurb

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII.

Summary: Takes place during the second year of the partnership. When a jealous rival agent uses his father’s Section I influence to get a cushy assignment while Napoleon gets a less desirable one, Illya sees red.  Napoleon, meanwhile, makes the best of it.

Notes: There are two versions of this piece.  This is the light slash version (also cross-posted to AO3).  There is a gen version on my dreamwidth if you’d prefer reading that. The two blurbs are around 90% similar.

Illya had gotten used to being treated unfairly by certain individuals, even within U.N.C.L.E.; such people were not numerous, thankfully, but they did exist.  Illya’s response was to have developed a thick skin and put up with the injustice—he was used to it, after all.  But while Illya had no problem shrugging off unfair treatment directed at him, it absolutely incensed him to see his beloved Napoleon treated unfairly—that was a rare phenomenon, but even someone like Napoleon had his detractors within U.N.C.L.E., and they had become much more vocal after his and Illya’s promotions to the heads of Section II.

Two such detractors were the number 2 of Section I, Mr. Campbell, and his son Clyde of Section II. Clyde Campbell—who most often was known as C.C.—had gotten into a high position in Section II—no doubt through his father’s influence.  He was not well-liked, however; his snobbish attitude had put him at odds with a lot of people, and Napoleon Solo’s arrival in Section II had been a breath of fresh air—particularly as it became clear that he was a far more competent agent, despite being younger.

Nevertheless, C.C. hadn’t felt threatened by Napoleon, even after Napoleon had defeated the elusive Emory Partridge; he was sure that his father’s influence would continue to boost his career to number 1 of Section II—so much so that he didn’t bother to hide his hostilities when Illya had been transferred to New York to help Napoleon try to bring in the Baron of THRUSH.  He had caught Illya in the hallway one day in October—just weeks before the Baron’s defeat—bragging that it would be promotion time soon, and as the new C.E.A, C.C. promised he would waste no time in sending Illya back to Europe.

Illya had said nothing—cynically, he hadn’t thought that there was anything to be done with him. And after he and Napoleon had defeated the Baron and gotten promoted instead of C.C., he didn’t think that it would ever be an issue again.

How wrong he was. C.C.’s father in Section I had been waiting for Waverly to go on his annual vacation; with Campbell temporarily running the New York branch, he was going to let his son have the preferable assignments—and so, when the need arose for a protection detail at an embassy ball, he assigned C.C. to mingle with the partygoers, and assigned Napoleon and Illya to go undercover as the help.

And Illya, who certainly hadn’t wanted to mingle and had already resigned himself to being undercover as the help even before Waverly had left, was absolutely furious as he saw Napoleon, wearing a butler’s uniform as he was, delegated to cleaning silverware and serving drinks and hors d’oeuvres when he was far more suited to the party scene—and deserved that position on account of his rank.

“The most disgusting display of nepotism I have ever seen,” Illya muttered, as he and Napoleon continued to serve the guests.  He glared daggers at both Campbell (who had come along to the party as a guest) and C.C., who were both chatting with the ambassador.  “You deserve to be the one mingling out there.”

Napoleon was glancing at the scene and then shrugged, looking back at Illya.

“So do you,” he pointed out.

“But I would hate that,” Illya said.  “Whereas you enjoy brushing shoulders at parties.  And you have been delegated to this job when you have done no wrong!”

“As fond as I am of seeing you fiercely protective over me,” Napoleon began.  “I still somehow seem to be the life of the party. Observe…”

He held out a silver tray of crackers and pâté, and held the tray up in a showy style, clearing his throat.

“More hors d’oeuvres, everyone?” he asked, with one of his winning smiles.

Illya watched in fascination as everyone speaking to Campbell and C.C.—including the ambassador, left the conversation to swarm around Napoleon.  Napoleon said something to the ambassador that caused him to laugh heartily as he took one of the crackers, clapping Napoleon on the back. Illya also saw, with quite a bit of satisfaction, that Campbell and C.C. were glaring daggers at Napoleon in utter frustration, clearly upset to see him so happy and at ease at something that was supposed to be knocking him down a peg in their eyes.

Napoleon walked back to Illya with a wink.

“That was very satisfying to see,” Illya said.  “But are you not the least bit upset at how you were assigned this job out of spite?”

“Not really,” Napoleon said.  His expression darkened.  “What does upset me were all the threats that C.C. made last year about transferring you back to Europe.”

“…How did you find out…?”

“Oh, he told me,” Napoleon said.  “He was so sure he’d get that promotion, he was bragging about it to me—going over all the changes he was going to make, and saying that, as an American, I was setting a bad example by spending time with you after hours, and if I didn’t watch it, I’d end up finding a Russian in my bed.”

“…Which you did,” Illya said, blushing.

“And that reminds me, after we’ve brushed off the dust of this mission, how about you and I…?” Napoleon trailed off, and Illya followed his gaze, freezing as he saw someone he recognized as a THRUSHie slowly heading for the ambassador.  Both Campbell and C.C. were completely oblivious, trying to get the ambassador back into the conversation.

“Illya…” he began.

“Da, I will cover you.”

Napoleon nodded and slipped towards the assailant, cutting him off just feet from the ambassador.

“Pâté?” he asked, innocently, and then slammed the silver tray into the THRUSHie’s face.  As all heads turned to the source of the commotion, Illya quickly fired his Special, tranquilizing the THRUSHie, and people screamed as they realized what the THRUSHie had been after.

Illya had just made his way over to Napoleon in time for the both of them to hear the ambassador angrily chew out Campbells for being incompetent protective agents and how it was the help who had saved his life.  Napoleon and Illya chose that moment to reveal their identities and save U.N.C.L.E. some face; they were promised a reward and commendations to Waverly, while the Campbells were threatened with the exact opposite.

With their identities revealed, Napoleon was allowed to enjoy the party after all, but opted to leave with Illya as soon as Mark arrived with replacements which were promised to be far more vigilant than the disgraced Campbells.

“You didn’t stay?” Illya asked, puzzled, as they walked down the moonlit streets of New York.  “I am sure the ambassador would have loved your company.”

“Well, I was having such a good time with you, I figured why not keep a good thing going?  I prefer your company most of all,” Napoleon replied. He smiled and, making sure that no one was observing, quickly kissed him.  “See, this is why I didn’t care too much about the assignment.  Sure, C.C. thought he was pulling one over on me, but at the end of the day, he’s still miserable and alone.  But I’ve got you—and that’s all I could ever want.”

Illya couldn’t help but smile back as they continued to walk.

“It is all I could ever want, too, Dorogoy.”

With Napoleon’s arm around him, the Campbells were long forgotten and unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

For now, it was just the two of them.