Illya Kuryakin was not in love. He knew this to be true, was absolutely certain of that fact. Then why did it bother him so much that Solo brought women to his room almost every night? Sometimes it was part of the mission, the American using his techniques of seduction as a means of distraction or to pry loose some very precious information. Other times… other times it seemed as if Napoleon solely let them in to take his mind off things, not even for the joy of sex but to full up the empty spaces in between missions.

It bothered Illya to no end, much more than he was prone to admit. Yet he was not in love, most certainly not. Falling in love with your partner like some silly love-sick preteen was not the Russian way. He had better things to do.

That is what he kept telling himself as he stood in the bathroom, bent over the sink with his hands firmly gripping the sides of it. He felt his fingers tap against the cool stone as he tried to regulate his breathing. Feeling his nostrils flare, he closed his eyes and muttered curses in his native language.

They were about to embark on another mission, where Napoleon was going to use himself as a distraction while Illya snuck in to do some research. But for some reason, today more than others, he simply couldn't agree with their usual way of working. The mere thought of Solo using his charms on some unsuspecting woman… it made him see red, quite frankly.

"Hey Peril, what's taking you so long?"

Illya's eyes snapped open when he heard someone enter the public bathroom. His gaze shot up, until it locked with Napoleon's in the mirror. The American was already dressed-up neatly, hair slicked back and smirk ever-so attractive as it tilted slightly to the side.

"I will just need another moment," Illya breathed, voice even more accented due to his inner turmoil. Napoleon frowned in that better-than-thou way of his, although the Russian swore he could see a hint of worry hidden beneath the façade.

Instead of doing the sensible and leaving his partner alone, the confident American took a few steps forward. His eyes flashed a lovely green, sending a shiver down the other's spine.

"Is something bothering you again? What- is it because Gaby had to leave for a solo-mission? Do you miss her?"

Miss her… He had no idea.

"It is not important. Just leave, I will be out in a minute." He promptly began washing his hands, hoping that would discourage the other. No such luck- all of a sudden he was spun around and trapped against the sink.

"What are you-"

"There is something wrong. Don't think you can hide it from me, Peril." He thoroughly searched Illya's face for an emotion, any at all, but somehow failed to miss the upcoming blush. Illya hated himself for reacting this way, but still held his head high under that scrutinizing look. "Tell me. We're partners, right?"

The Russian lowered his eyelids. Napoleon standing so close to him, the warmth radiating off his body… it did something to him, turned on a switch he hadn't flipped in quite a while.

"So, Cowboy. You want to know what is wrong?" he purred, voice dropping to seductively low tones.

Solo's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before his body was roughly pushed back until it hit a wall. He had no time to react as his mouth was covered by hungry lips.

He struggled at first, but the tall man pressed back with such enthusiasm it soon drained any want to resist. …Illya was a surprisingly good kisser.

The American felt his muscles slacken, body trapped between the wall and the much bigger body of his partner. The hand that touched his face was cool, but sent a scalding electricity through his skin nonetheless. And those lips, the way he moved them, oh, no woman had ever made him feel this way. Forcedly prying open his own, capturing his tongue and sucking it in before roughly kneading it. For the first time he was the one being dominated, and he had to admit he loved every second of it.

When Illya finally pulled a way, his cheeks were flushed a lovely pink, eyes shining feverishly. Solo's own gaze was unfocused, his lips parted as he panted and slowly slid down the wall. The Russian didn't say anything to explain himself, but that wasn't necessary.

"O-okay then," Napoleon said once he could speak again. "We'll use a different method to get in."

And when the two left the bathroom, Illya Kuryakin for once had a satisfied smile adorning his features.

xoxox

Gaby sighed when she finally arrived at the hotel her bosses had told her the others were currently staying in. Sometimes it was nice being away from them for a while, but she had to admit she'd missed her boys.

After grabbing the spare key from the lobby she made her way up, ready to meet with her favourite Russian and American sweethearts.

However, when she opened the door to their shared hotel room, she stumbled upon a sight unlike any other.

Illya and Napoleon where currently lying on the couch, one on top of the other, both in different stadia of undress. Either they had both decided to become cannibals, or the mouth-on-mouth combat was of a very different kind.

Both men stared at her once they became aware of her presence, Gaby unblinkingly staring right back.

Solo was the first to speak up, his partner far too frozen in shock to react.

"Gaby, there is a perfectly good reason for this. Allow me to explain-"

To which Gaby chuckled, closing the door behind her. "Don't worry, I don't judge." After which she calmly made her way to her own bedroom.

Illya was still frozen when the door fell shut behind her. Napoleon wriggled a bit beneath him.

"Well then, where were we?"

Illya couldn't find the humour in the situation.