Fräulein Teller liked to be tall.
Wherever they were staying, she knew that at some point, Illya would grab a book and sit in the best armchair of the room. Or, one of his favourite hobbies, play chess against himself, how fun. Then, she would wait for him to settle down and start his activity: today would be reading. Fine.
Without a word, Gaby would take her shoes off, grasp some grapes from the table, and climb on top of Illya's armchair, sitting on the edge of its back. He'd keep reading, perfectly still and unflappable as she'd struggle not to fall on him. She wouldn't have hurt him if she did, of course, but it would have been unnecessarily embarrassing and she'd never want that.
As soon as she would have been steady, she'd allow her bare legs to rest on each side of his impressive body, and occasionally, her foot would tickle his thigh. Her hands would find their way through his blonde hair while the mechanic would bend over, trying to decipher some words in Illya's book, written in his mother tongue.
She wouldn't be completely focused on her task (how could she?), and would understand something crazy like a cat looking for the bathroom, definitely not what Illya would read. Anyway, it wouldn't be time for Russian lessons, so she'd easily give up with a sigh, and eat her green grapes, letting her lover finish his chapter.
Eventually, she'd feel his fingers running on her skin, going back and forth on her calf. Then, he'd look up and stare at her, silently craving her mouth, but he wouldn't make a move. She would be smiling, thinking about how unlikely their situation was: a giant like Illya under the control of a little chop shop girl like Gaby. She would decide whether or not she'd lean in and steal him a kiss or two. She'd probably think that it was worth it, as always, and he wouldn't complain, finding that grapes tasted a thousand times better on her lips.
Thanks a lot for reading this short story, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.