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“And his hair, and those eyes...” Napoleon says. After only a week away, Illya’s lover has come back transformed into an adolescent girl.
Illya keeps his eyes on the street, his jaw tense, and stares at pedestrians so he doesn’t have to watch the way Napoleon’s face is completely lit up with excitement. Nervous energy pulses through his veins, urging him to strike out at something, anything to quell the anger boiling inside. But they are in public, this is a café, and he can’t afford to lose control.
“I mean, and trust me when I say that it pains me to admit this, but he might be as good looking as I am.”
Illya blinks, and turns toward Napoleon, bewilderment in his eyes. Did he just come close to admitting someone else is better looking?
Beside him, Napoleon pays Illya no attention, still waxing lyrical about Bennett, his temporary partner over the last week. Waverly’s solution to a group of criminals using stolen antiquities to fund their terrorist plots had been to steal the items back from under their noses. The mission had required a particular skillset. Illya had been benched, and instead, Napoleon had been partnered with another thief-turned-spy caught and collared by Interpol.
“I still can’t believe it, I mean, I’ve admired his work for years. But they actually put us on a case together.”
Napoleon is still not stopping, and Illya’s frustration churns inside of him, growing stronger with each new word coming out of Napoleon’s mouth. Cowboy is doing this on purpose, Illya knows it, but it doesn’t mean it’s not working.
“Imagine if Bennett and I ever teamed up, you know, before we got caught. We would have been unstoppable.”
Illya and Napoleon are unstoppable, and they’re only stronger with Gaby. If Napoleon tries something like that Illya will be the first to catch him. And if he really needs to steal something there is Illya. Napoleon does not need Bennett, Illya thinks. Napoleon needs to stop talking about Bennett.
“I’ve never felt like I have so much in common with someone before. Did you know he actually managed to lift my ring? Without me noticing!”
Jealousy burns through Illya like acid, and his patience finally cracks.
“If you like him so much, you should request for him to be your partner.”
Napoleon stops and turns to him, eyes sparkling with astonishment. “Illya,” he says, “Are you jealous?”
Illya just glares at the street, and then he stands up, and walks out of the café. This time, the table stays intact
-
In Seville, Illya meets Bennett for the first time. The man shows up at their hotel room, passing along a folder of intelligence with a spark in his eye and a charming smile. He is exactly as handsome as Napoleon had described, and it is one of the most disorienting experiences Illya has ever had, like there are two Napoleons in the same room.
Bennett does not stay for long, and after a round of casual greetings and well wishes, he disappears back through the door, leaving Napoleon alone with Illya.
“I like him,” Illya says.
“You do?” Napoleon turns to him with a look of surprise. “And here I was worried you might hurt him.”
“No, I can definitely see his charm. He’s like a more charismatic and better looking version of you.”
Napoleon huffs, staring at Illya with his mouth open. “Peril…”
“And I don’t think I’ve ever quite seen eyes that shade of blue,” Illya continues, awe slipping into his tone.
“Wait.”
“He also has much better taste in suits.”
“Now you’re just-“
“Do you think he’ll be stayin-”
Before Illya can finish, Napoleon is upon him, grabbing his neck and silencing him with a hard, angry kiss. Napoleon kisses Illya like he has something to prove, and Illya sinks into it, allowing Cowboy to take the lead. He kisses Illya slowly, determinedly, pulling out every one of his usual tricks and more, teasing Illya into submission with his teeth and his tongue.
Long, sweet seconds later, they draw apart, breathless. Illya, despite swearing self-control, is half hard.
“You’ve made your point,” Napoleon says seriously, his forehead still pressed against Illya’s. “And I hope I have made mine.”
“You should not play games you will not win, Cowboy,” Illya says, a smirk playing on his lips as he eyes Napoleon.
“Well.” Napoleon shifts even closer, until the heat of his skin beneath thin layers of cotton becomes almost impossible to ignore. Napoleon’s arousal presses against Illya’s leg, and he knows the American can feel Illya’s interest through the fabric of his pants.
“I think I’m actually doing quite well for myself,” Napoleon murmurs.
Illya takes the time to study Napoleon, reads the mischief and expectation in his eyes, the half open lips, swollen red and begging to be punished a second time. He leans down, and captures the devious American’s lips in another kiss.
Then, he grips Napoleon’s wrist, and drags him into the bedroom.
Bennett’s name is never brought up again. Illya’s name, however, is repeated many, many times.