Howdy, here's a cheeky Gallya fic for you all. Let me know what your thoughts are! Enjoy! x

'Where is Cowboy?' Illya said, coming through the door of the team's shared apartment in central London.

'He's out for dinner with his latest conquest. We've got the night off.'

'Oh, that's nice for a change.'

Gaby hummed in agreement, pulling various things out of cupboards and putting them on the counter.

'What are you doing?' Illya asked, as if it wasn't obvious. Feelings between them hadn't yet been properly addressed between them. Even so, they both knew it was going to have to come out sooner or later.

'Making dinner.'

'Good.'

'Why, good?'

'Cowboy thinks he can cook but he really can't.' Illya said with a small smile.

'That's true.' Gaby smirked as she poured herself a glass of wine. Illya took off his jacket and sat at the kitchen table.

'How was your day?' He asked.

'Small talk huh?' Gaby took a generous sip of wine.

'Sorry,' Illya smiled humorously, 'what are you making?'

'Eintopf.'

'I have never had.'

'Well then why don't you help me make it?' Gaby said, already getting to work peeling the carrots shed bought that day. Illya was silent so Gaby looked around at the Russian who looked rather nervous.

'What is it Illya?' When he didn't answer Gaby realised, 'you don't know how to cook?' Illya shook his head slightly, embarrassed. Gaby smirked. 'Come on Mr. Red Peril, I'll turn you into the KGB's finest cook, even Solo won't be able to argue.'

'This is not good idea.' He murmured.

'You say that about everything. Come on. It'll be fun. Just watch what I do. I'll talk you through it.'

'Alright.'

Gaby went back to peeling carrots, explaining the best way to peel them quickly then chop them evenly. Illya hovered awkwardly over her shoulder as she continued. When she got to the onion, peeling it and getting ready to cut it, Illya finally spoke.

'Won't that make you cry?'

'Not if you cut it the right way.'

'What is the right way?'

'I'll teach you. Come here.' She gestured with the knife for him to come closer, 'no, come behind me.' Illya was thankful that Gaby did not see the tips of his ears go pink at her orders.

'Maybe it is better I just watch.'

'How are you going to learn by watching? It's like muscle memory.'

'Not really, it's-' Illya began to correct.

'Shh,' she raised the knife slightly, 'do you want to learn to cook properly or not?' the small German glanced around.

'Yes.'

'Good. So here, take the knife,' Illya's hands brushed against Gaby's waist as he reached around her to grip the knife and onion. 'Now cut like this.' Gaby placed her hands on the Russian's guiding his hands, slicing the onion on its side. Illya tried to ignore how perfectly their hands melded over their work, concentrating hard. So hard in fact that the knife slipped. Illya bit back a frustrated cry as the knife sliced into his finger.

'дерьмо.' He swore, retracting his hand to suck on his bleeding finger.

'Illya are you alright? Let me get the first aid kit.' Gaby ran to the bathroom to retrieve said kit. When she returned Illya was using a tea towel to stem the bleeding.

'Was deeper than I thought. Sorry about the cloth.' He looked at her sheepishly.

'It's fine, you'll just need a couple of stitches.' Gaby forced him into a chair at the kitchen table and got to work sterilising the cut. She got a needle and threat out next.

'You're an idiot.' She murmured as she sutured his finger.

'I'm sorry, the knife slipped. It is difficult to-' Illya began his slightly indignant apology.

'I was talking about the dishcloth.'

'Oh...'

'You're turning into a Brit. Waverly would be impressed.'

'Sorry.'

'Stop apologising.' Gaby said a little too sharply as she finished the last stitch. Illya remained silent. 'There, now just a bit of padding.' She fished a small bandage out of the box and wrapped his finger pretending not to notice Illya's intense gaze.

'Good as new.' She murmured.

'Thank you.' Illya said, just as quietly. Gaby kept her eyes down as she packed up the box.

'Let me just put this away and then I'll carry on with dinner.' Gaby got up and Illya grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him; their faces mere millimeters apart. Her breathing sped up.

'What are you doing?' Gaby murmured nervously. Illya cupped her cheek and pulled her lips to his in a small, tender kiss. She sighed into his mouth as he did. Illya brought his hands to her waist, pulling her closer to him and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Illya deepened the kiss tentatively until Gaby pushed him away gently, coming up for air. Their foreheads remained touching.

'Um, maybe we should get back to, uh,' Gaby cleared her throat, 'food.'

'Good idea.' Illya breathed, his voice slightly hoarse.

The two returned to the kitchen counter. Gaby finished chopping the onion in silence before putting it into a pot with the carrots

'I'll cut the rest of the food up, you fill the pot with water,' She instructed, 'don't want you actually cutting off your finger.' She smiled at Illya as he obliged. 'Make sure you put some salt in the water' and Illya did just that. He stood and watched her again, except that he seemed far more interested in her than whatever food she was preparing next. She felt her cheeks flush under his gaze.

'You're blushing.' He stated, going back to his standoffish self.

'That's because there's a boiling pot next to me,' she muttered back as she scraped some green beans into the pot, 'do you mind peeling the potatoes for me?'

'Of course.' Illya got to work, trying his best. Gaby glanced over and sighed.

'Peel away from you,' she instructed, 'otherwise you will cut yourself again.'

'How did you learn to cook?' Illya tried to engage in small talk again and Gaby rolled her eyes, chopping up one of Illya's unevenly peeled potatoes.

'I had to fend for myself. My foster father was always in the shop when I was younger so I had to take care of myself.' Illya nodded, not knowing what to say next. They stayed silent while they peeled and chopped the rest of the potatoes and sausage.

'Now,' Gaby said as she pulled two glasses out of the cabinet, pouring them both some wine, 'we wait.' She handed him a glass while taking her own.

'Thank you.' He said as he knocked their glasses together before taking a sip.

'It'll be about an hour so I'll come and get you when it's ready if you want?'

'No, it's okay,' Illya shook his head, smiling, 'I will stay.'

'Alright.' Gaby said in a small voice before making to go into her own room.

'Gaby?'

'What is it Illya?'

'Will you keep me company? It's more interesting to wait for an hour with someone.' Gaby nodded and sat down with him at the table. It was very quiet for a while. Gaby caught him staring again as she leafed through one of the files that had been left on the table.

'You're staring again, my Russian friend.' She said as she sipped her wine again.

'Sorry.'

That's it. Gaby put her wine glass down and slapped the file shut. She moved over to Illya, straddling him in his chair.

'Gab-' the Russian was silenced as Gaby's lips crashed into his, hard.

'You like your women strong, right?' she smirked before kissing him again, with even more fervour. Illya pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her. He moved his lips down her neck and she let out a small moan in appreciation as he kissed her collarbone. It was then that he realised she had stolen one of his t-shirts.

'This is mine.' He breathed.

'You weren't here and I needed a clean t-shirt after working in the-' it was Illya's turn to shut her up.

'I don't care,' he said 'it looks better on you anyway.'

'Спасибо, Илюша.'

'Don't call me that.' He growled before kissing her again, Gaby smiling into his lips.

'Wait, wait,' Gaby placed a small hand on his chest, 'what the hell is going on?'

'What do you mean?'

'This,' Gaby gestured between them, 'I need to understand what this is.'

'I think it is pretty obvious, Chop Shop Girl.'

'Yes, thank you, Illya,' she rolled her eyes, 'you know what I mean.' Illya thought for a moment. Gaby bit her lip nervously.

'I think there is no need to pose as couple anymore.' He smirked and Gaby shook her head, fighting a smile.

'Well I think we need to work on your sense of humour.'

'Perhaps we can negotiate that if you wear my clothes more often.'

'I think you have a deal my Russian friend.' Gaby said planting a small kiss on his lips before making to get up. However, Illya locked his arms around her, refusing to let her up.

'Going somewhere Chop Shop Girl?'

'Trying to fix our dinner, Illya,' she said through gritted teeth, trying in vain to break out of his grip, 'otherwise it will burn and then you won't be happy.' The Russian shrugged.

'I'm not hungry.'

'Well I am. I spent four hours fixing Solo's stupid car so it was ready for his date.'

'Shame you are trapped.' He chuckled.

'Who knew you could be so childish.' Gaby muttered, mostly to herself.

'We have the night off, Gaby. I do not have to be in KGB mode all the time.'

'I know, I just didn't realise that you had an off switch.'

'I'm just full of surprises.' Illya had loosened his grip on Gaby by this point. She leaned towards him, feigning a kiss before quickly slipping from his grip.

'As am I.' Gaby swiped her wine from the table, taking a sip still staring at Illya, a sultry look in her eye. Before the Russian could do anything she turned to give their dinner a stir. Illya, unable to resist, turned her around and pressed her into the counter beside the stove. 'Illya' Gaby sighed as their lips connected. She absentmindedly shoved everything off the counter as Illya picked her up onto it. The Russian's lips were hot and sweet on hers. Gaby's hands went to roam Illya's chest. This was one of the few days he was wearing a shirt instead of that stupid turtleneck so Gaby reveled in the way his muscles rippled beneath the fabric.

'Take it off.' Illya ordered her between kisses. Gaby obliged, not taking her lips from his. As she methodically unbuttoned his shirt her lips gradually moved to kiss down his chest until he pulled her up again by the chin to kiss her. Illya idly thumbed at the hem of her - his - t-shirt before Gaby put her arms up, letting him take it off her.

'Ты красивая' he breathed, admiring her, before kissing his way down her sternum. Gaby moaned in appreciation, running her fingers through Illya's hair. Gaby had her overalls still on, the top half wrapped in a knot around her waist. Illya sighed.

'One time you wear coveralls...'

'Sorry, I don't plan my clothes for every not-planned occasion.' She said, trying to kick them off her legs to help Illya. And as if it couldn't come at a worse time, the couple heard the jangle of keys from the front door.

'Shit.' Gaby muttered, hopping off the counter and gathering her clothes before running into Illya's room with him close behind. Gaby slammed the door and pressed her ear up against it. She heard Napoleon throw his keys down and remove the pot off the stove.

'Anybody home?' He called. Gaby could almost hear the smirk in his voice. Gaby could only assume he was helping himself of her Eintopf but before she could come out and stop him Illya grabber her wrist.

'What are you doing?!' She hissed.

'If you go outside, Cowboy will suspect.'

'Trust me Illya, he already knows.'

'He does?'

'Oh dear God, you're so naïve.' Gaby rolled her eyes, a smirk on her face.

'No I am not!' Illya hissed back indignantly. Gaby made to open the door again, only managing to do so a fraction before Illya pushed her back against it.

'Now Cowboy definitely knows something is going on.' Illya scolded.

'Well then,' Gaby retorted, 'no need to keep quiet any more.' She pulled him down to her, his hands roamed her body. Gaby leapt up into his arms allowing him to press her into the door even more before he carried her to his bed and lay her down. The pair shed the rest of their clothing and Illya lined himself up with Gaby.

'Блядь' she bit out as the Russian began to move on top of her.

Illya woke up and stretched gently. He smirked slightly as he remembered the night before. Who knew Gaby was that flexible? Hmm Gaby. His smile widened a little more thinking of her, until he realised: Gaby?! Where was she? Illya sat up quickly, looking around the room. Maybe she'd gone out? Surely not. Illya put on a t-shirt and some sweatpants before making his way into the living room. He heard the shower running from the other side of the flat and Gaby's not so good singing voice above the spray. He smiled again. Illya was so wrapped up in last night's events that he didn't even notice Solo sat on the couch.

'Morning, Peril.' The American said, putting down his newspaper.

'Cowboy.' Illya acknowledged in a far to serious tone.

'Did you two miss me last night?'

'No, Solo, why on Earth would we miss you?' Gaby said as she emerged from the bathroom, heading towards her own room.

'Good question.' Solo smirked, 'Though there was an abandoned Eintopf on the stove when I got back.'

'Illya wasn't hungry and I fell asleep.' Gaby lied smoothly, much to Kuryakin's relief.

'So nothing happened at all?' Solo carried on fishing.

'No.' Illya said, too quickly.

'You don't sound too sure, Peril.'

'What you talking about?' Illya crossed his arms.

'Well when Gaby came out here this morning, from your room I might add, she said something along the lines of "thank you, Mother Russia." At this point the tips of Illya's ears had gone red. He looked at Gaby with a mix of fury, helplessness and distress but all she could do was shrug.

'I told you he knew.' was all she said before retreating into her room.

Translations:

дерьмо - shit

Спасибо - Thank you

Илюша - Illyusha (nickname)

Ты красивая – you're beautiful

Блядь – damn