#bestwithinthreeyears

[hisfinessearchive]

        (head)canon-wise napkin is particularly comfortable with ills curryking as opposed to other men because he’s found on several occasions that he can trust him. in regards to the movie, illya cooperated with him throughout the breaking in / out of the facility and intended to get them BOTH out of there alive when it would have not proved to be a problem at all for the russians if solo died. ( in fact, it would have been a benefit ). anywho, ( my ) solo usually has some measure of discomfort with trusting other men because they have generally been unpleasant figures in his life. ( superiors in the army. sanders, who constantly reminded him that his worth depended on his skill. captors and torturers, adversaries, etc.. that’s not to say women haven’t been the same, but most times a woman has been used against him, as well, has been under the orders of a man. he suspects ulterior motives most of the time. ) so the fact that illya is a man that has literally saved him ( and continues to save him on the occasions he needs it as they continue to cooperate ) has led him to see that he can literally trust him with his life. not that he’ll ever openly admit to caring for him in such a way ( platonic OR romantic, verse dependent ). additionally, he has quite a lot of respect for him, even though he won’t admit that, either. ( we tend to forget that illya is far more brains than we’re led to believe. solo respects his cunning AND his strength, though he might poke at either. he has an image to maintain. )

[hisfinessearchive]

💋+ 12

send 💋 and a number to kiss this dumb agent.

twelve. on the ear.status: CLOSED I FELL ASLEEP AND WOKE UP TO A TRILLION OF THESE FUCK

        it caught him off guard.

        frankly, a lot of things illya did caught him off guard even now, when they were very, very familiar with one another and their motives. there were still days in which the other agent could seamlessly surprise him ( and always, solo had realized, he’d done so pleasantly; he was thankful that he was on a much less angry side of him now ). the event they would be attending was precisely his element, requiring them to put on their best suits and their patent leather shoes and to mingle among the elite, and at the moment that he felt a brush of lips against his ear, he had been looking through his wardrobe for a suitable tie.

         without a word, he turned, and he very mindfully caught illya by his tie, drawing him down for a proper kiss against his lips. he lingered there, withdrawing when he could find it in himself to do so. his gaze fell to the tie in his hold, and suddenly, his brows furrowed, eyes soon flitting back up toward the russian’s.

        ❝ surely, you have a better one, don’t you? ❞

[hisfinessearchive]

@kgbredperil / :*

        That was an expectant gaze that he was getting; Solo seemed to be waiting for something. He didn’t speak to clarify, nor did he move any closer. All that his beloved Peril received was an arch of his brow, a subtle inclination of his head after they had spend days apart on their respective assignments. Well?

[hisfinessearchive]

@kgbredperil LAY ME TO REST. a thing for our kids.

[hisfinessearchive]

“ We all have secrets. “

the house of yes sentence starters.

status: not accepting!

        Well, he wasn’t wrong.

        The problem was that between the two of them— as far as Solo was concerned— the thought of secrets was increasingly becoming unsavory. He wasn’t likely to acknowledge why because he wasn’t something he could care to face, nor was it something he was willing to confront. The simplicity of it, however, was that upon the thought of his partner withholding something from him, he felt a vague inkling of, well. Disappointment, perhaps.

        ❝ We’re all entitled to them, ❞ he agreed. What else could he say, anyway? I’d prefer it if you found it somewhere in your perpetually frustrated heart to trust me. No, that wouldn’t do. I wouldn’t keep secrets from you. Except he would.

        It was a little too convoluted. He needed a glass of that Krupnik he’d picked up in Poland.

        ❝ Would you like a drink? ❞

[hisfinessearchive]

‘stay there. i’m coming there to get you.’

different ways to say i love you.

status: NO MORE!!!

         far more relief settles in him than he expected. it’s cathartic— all of this is, because he’s little more than a crumpled heap where he is at the warehouse opening, exhausted, aching, bleeding and tired and hyper-aware of the adversaries he’s shot down surrounding him in the vicinity. it could have been worse. far worse, he knows— but it’s bad enough as it is, and he’s not too keen on relying on assistance, no matter who it is— no matter how much trust is placed in them, no matter how comfortable or relieved he feels with the knowledge that it’s someone he’s very, very familiar with on the other side of the radio.

        ( far more than familiar with. it’s something he hasn’t faced yet— he’s not sure he’ll ever face it. )

        ❝ i certainly don’t have anywhere else to be, ❞ he answers over the radio, holding the torn cloth of his sleeve up to his bleeding temple. he doesn’t speak his gratitude, but he considers it. for a long time, too; it’s a little disconcerting to have it weighing on him the way it is, but when they come face to face he knows it’ll be a thought that’ll easily be brushed away.

        he won’t consider what they have. he won’t consider what it means to him, or what it means to him to know that he has someone to rely on. he’s unwilling, unwilling, unwilling— it’d be a miracle for him to brush past the weight of the significance of what he feels.

        ❝ i’ll be at the entrance. ❞

[hisfinessearchive]

dumb gay spies aesthetic, three(?) / probably a lot as well. @kgbredperil is going to have an unholy amount of shit in her tag when she gets back on. I’d be a Goddamned Liar if I said i’m sorry.

[hisfinessearchive]

@kgbredperil i’m drunk and crying.

         ❝ Slivovitz, ❞ he confirmed, bottle in hand. ❝ ---A taste of home for you, I’m certain. ❞ Though, in Solo’s opinion, it tasted quite a lot like some form of paint thinner. ( Not that he knew what it tasted like---but it was offensive enough to the senses that he had reason enough to believe that it was the case. )

        He didn’t wait for Kuryakin to clarify if he’d wanted a glass, pouring some for him without a word. It seemed, at that point, that Solo was fairly intent on having his favorite Russian join him for a drink, claiming the glass intended for him and lifting it in offering.

         ❝ Neither of us have to be up early, Peril. ❞ Indicative enough. If he didn’t understand, however, there was a deliberate bow of his head; Solo looked up at him from beneath his lashes, and the grin that quirked the corners of his lips was positively wicked. ❝ I’d say a night of celebration is in order, if you’re not opposed. ❞

[hisfinessearchive]

“Whose blood is that?”

i’m too lazy to see what meme this was again?

status: well i mean shoot if you find it go ahead ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

        ❝ most of it isn’t mine. ❞ which meant that it had been a good day, a job considerably well done. still, he could have gone without any injuries at all, but when was solo ever granted the luxury of things going flawlessly in this line of work, anyway?

        he was a little sore, a lot tired, but still very much alive and functional, so perhaps they could make their way back to the hotel room and end the night with a bottle of gin and tangling into silk sheets.

        ( five stars, naturally. the last place they had been in was a terribly uncomfortable little safe house, and he was glad that they were given the opportunity to compensate for that awful stay with a far better one this time. )

         he leaned just a little closer, subtly, a hand settling against a shoulder as though he needed to steady himself, but he was just fine as it was. touch, however, was a bit of a comfort he wouldn’t admit to.

        ❝ you’re not worried, are you? ❞

         well—at least illya knew that he was insufferable at all times, even with the addition of blood and bruises.

[hisfinessearchive]

Has illya ever put you over his knee?

        ❝ —i’ve yet to find myself in that much trouble. ❞

[hisfinessearchive]

meta: napoleon and illya's relationship

send me a topic to write meta on for solo.

status: accepting until my my dying breath.tagging @kgbredperil cause that’s My Wife.

        well, they immediately thought it was a bad idea, as they still weren’t quite allies when it all started. when they first fell into bed together, they’d barely escaped with their lives; he blames the adrenaline, and quite frankly, thanks the adrenaline. he won’t admit to it, however—nor will he admit to the fact that he’s very, very pleased that he’s gotten the opportunity to see a considerably softer side of illya when he’s not being decidedly irritating for the fun of it.

        neither of them have discussed / opened up about anything remotely emotional regarding what they have, but they’re wordlessly glad that they’re not on opposite sides of the board anymore. the banter is everlasting, solo being insufferable and illya occasionally hitting him with a teasing remark that can actually leave him speechless out of the suddenness of it. ( he’s never speechless, what are you talking about? )

        illya is also the only man he’s ever been with, and i think that has a lot to do with men generally being on the more unpleasant side of things in his life ( authority figures: the army, sanders, and also where the CIA was involved in general: captors and torturers ). he’s the first man he’s actually felt sexual attraction toward and illya himself doesn’t know that, and solo probably won’t let that slip, anyway.

        there’s a lot of unspoken trust and protectiveness between them—solo having saved illya at the facility, and illya having saved him from torture. they still have yet to really verbalize what they mean to one another, and maybe they’ll never get to that point, but in the end, they’ve said enough through actions alone.

[hisfinessearchive]

but is this for @kgbredperil or is this wholly self-indulgent? The World may never know.

        Illya does care about him, he hopes. He’s sure he can see it. Even beneath the lines of his furrowed brow, the uninviting ( and, somehow, alluring ) curve of the near-perpetual scowl, he can see it. He doesn’t think anyone else can. Not anything beyond an unlikely partnership, but, Solo realizes, that he might prefer it that way.

       It’s simply a lot less trouble to keep--- whatever they are just for them.

       It’s in the way he’s, by some miracle, not always driving a fist across Solo’s face, no matter how much needling he does. ( When they do fight, perhaps, they bear more passion in themselves than most of what they do. ) It’s how a word meant to insult has actually become a term of endearment, and it’s also in the way, Solo has found, that he may just like hearing it more than his own name.

        ( When Illya does say his name, however, he suddenly forgets the title, and he wants to hear him say it again. )

        They bicker still, and he’s sure there won’t ever be a time where they’re not butting heads. Or, rather, a time when he isn’t incessantly annoying, but it’s all deliberate. It doesn’t matter; they find themselves in bed like lovers, and they steal slivovitz-flavored kisses, walk astray, a little lost in the taste, or the liquor, or perhaps the touch that comes afterward.

        Illya does care about him, he thinks to himself. And as he presses closer, sated, tired, the way they always end up, Solo can’t quite find it in himself to admit that he cares about him, too.

[hisfinessearchive]

@kgbredperil / I’M SORRY FOR ALL OF THESE THREADS

        It was only a partially self-indulgent gift.

        ( Alright. Entirely self-indulgent, but it was a gift nonetheless and the sentiment behind it was genuine. )

        The tie that he had purched--purchased, not stolen!--went, Napoleon thought, exquisitely well with what he considered to be Illya's best suit. He intended to make it very clear just which one that was, and it would be delightful to fasten that tie around his collar when he was wearing exactly what it was that could quickly drive him to impatience. As if there were anything Illya could wear that wouldn't.

        Those dreadful turtlenecks, probably. But they did incite impatience for getting them off.

        It was a two bed room with only one bed in use. The first night they slept beside one another had been surreal. Now it was familiar and always difficult to unravel himself from sheets and limbs in the mornings. He returned from the outing around noon to find the bed unoccupied, purchase in tow, in the lovely suit he'd been gifted with on his birthday because, well--- he simply looked great in it.

        And it might have become his favorite.

        Dissatisfied that Illya had settled on not waiting for his return ( not that Napoleon had waited for him to wake ), he occupied himself by ordering a bottle of champagne through room service.

[hisfinessearchive]

-Kissy face meme-

send 💋 to kiss my muse!

status: NO MORE MEMES

        Well— that was, perhaps, the most effective way to silence him.

        He had a penchant for prodding. And he did— often. The opportunity presented itself far too easily with Illya; as far as he was concerned, he’d be damned if he weren’t to take advantage of the opportunity to chip away at his patience. Solo could pick away at his partner endlessly and still never grow tired of it, but it was in the moment that he realized that Illya was close, exceedingly close, that he found he might have suddenly been at a grave disadvantage. And then— and then he kissed him, and— what was his name again?

        He didn’t understand how Illya was so difficult to read. Probably because he looked vaguely angry at any given moment, Napoleon told himself— as though rather than leaning in, he’d much rather take the opportunity to drive a fist across his jaw. But then he’d surprise him like this, and Solo would find himself just a bit lost, just a bit enamored in a way he wouldn’t like to admit.

        Oh, if only his country knew what grave disadvantage he had against this Russian.

        ❝ …You’ve got my attention, Peril. ❞ He’s quiet now.

[hisfinessearchive]

@kgbredperil / :^)

        There was something incredibly endearing about the way Illya slept.

        He looked peaceful. It was far different from the natural scowl he seemed to bear, and while Napoleon had, on more than one occasion, been on the receiving end of a faint smile or a soft laugh, he found himself just a bit taken by the sight no matter how often he had woken to his partner beside him. ( Partner--- as if he weren’t more than that. As if, of course, he didn’t consider Illya far beyond an ally during a time of political tension. )

        He didn’t want to wake him, but he hoped to bring him some measure of comfort. Waking to a massage could be considered as such, couldn’t it?

        Napoleon didn’t want to disentangle himself from his arms, but he did, slowly, gaze settling on the scars upon his skin not obscured by the duvet. He drew it downward, moving over him so that his hands could find his shoulders, kneading at tense, toned muscles and inclining his head to one side in subtle admiration.

        ( He’d traced those scars with his fingers and lips beforehand. He was familiar with them now, knew them, and came to know when Illya had been adorned with new wounds easily, even when they were apart. )

        A kiss pressed to the back of his neck, he lifted his head, only to continue working at his back as he slept, torn between deliberately waking him and allowing him to relax in his sleep.

[hisfinessearchive]

@kgbredperil / nothing is done yet but :^)

        He can’t say he anticipated the stationing in different countries so soon after U.N.C.L.E.’s formation, but by the time he’s finished with his portion of the mission at hand it’s been a couple of weeks since he’s seen either Teller or Kuryakin. There’s a rendezvous point for them to meet at later on in the week back in Germany; Napoleon has taken it upon himself for an early visit to the Russian’s hotel now that he’s had the time to spare, the flight from France to Italy one in which he’s allowed himself the pleasant thought of what might come in their spare time.

        He checks into a different room in the hotel, but knows the number of the room Illya’s found temporary residence in. Napoleon takes it upon himself to dial the number without any prior warning that he’d be there, lifting the phone to his ear and waiting. Assuming he’d be in---