Solo's wings are distinctly corvid. A magpie would be too obvious, too cliché, but there's something about the sleek grey and black feathers that sets off his dark hair and marble skin to dangerous effect. Rakish, devilish, and devastatingly charming. More than one shiny object has been snatched under the shadow of those wings, the light of that smile. A hooded crow, perhaps; steely blue and midnight black, less notorious but a thief nonetheless. If his wings have a flaw, it's that they betray his restless spirit, shuffling and flaring and stretching more often than most people's. They're only completely still when he's perfectly at ease or seconds away from snapping. It's like nothing so much as watching a bird with clipped feathers, longing for freedom but unable to chase it. It's only in his head that his wings have been clipped, though; the long black flight feathers are pristinely intact.
Illya's are strigiform, wide and soft-edged for silent movement. The pale undersides made him particularly adept at airstrikes in Russia, where the white winter skies provided the perfect backdrop, but now he is no longer so reliant on those skills. With U.N.C.L.E., he keeps his wings folded tight against his brown and caramel jackets, and the mottled russets and golds don't stand out in a crowd, not like Solo's do. Almost drab, really – just the way he prefers it. And they move without a whisper, just like the rest of him. Even at their most silent, Solo's and Gaby's wings rustle against their clothing, the stiff feathers scraping with the faintest of rasps against cotton or silk or leather. Only Illya's make no noise; together with his superb night visions, this makes him the obvious look-out and point-man on many of their night missions.
Gaby's wings are falconid, just as sharp and fierce as she herself. Her flight is swift and precise, maneuverability nearly unbeatable. Even Illya can't keep up with her at her fastest, and Solo's sleeker wings are equally unmatched to her dives and turns. Gaby's flight is fun until it becomes furious, and then she's just a streak of motion. Many underestimate her because of her size, but oh, that is a deadly mistake indeed. Her words and wit are sharp as any beak, her hands as strong and sure as any talons. Gaby is a hunter disguised as a songbird, and never hesitates to use that to her advantage.
They have a masterful set of skills among them even without the wings; with them, they are more than a match for any opponent.
They have tells, all three of them, but they are not a liability because only those familiar with them understand what they mean. Solo's wings go dull and lustreless when he's not feeling well, Illya's get restless and ruffled when he's upset, Gaby cleans hers aggressively when she's stressed.
They never mention these tells, but they know.
They're stuck in an unheated cabin one night, and Illya pulls the other two close to him, one on either side, and stretches his wings out over them. He was made for the cold, and the downy feathers trap the heat of three bodies and warm them all.
They're caught somewhere they shouldn't be in a dark warehouse, and there's no cover. Without a word, Solo yanks his partners into a corner and splays his dark flight feathers in front of them. They blend perfectly into the bizarre shadows of the interior, and the guards pass without incident.
They're hot on the heels of their targets when one of their tires is shot out. "Take the wheel!" Gaby shouts to Illya, and jumps, launching herself out of the careening vehicle and taking to the skies. Their adversaries don't think to look above them when they see the pursuit falling away in their rearview mirror, and Gaby takes out the driver with a magnificent dive and holds the passenger at gunpoint, wings outstretched dramatically behind her and hands completely still, until the backup arrives. Illya has to fight the urge to applaud.
Solo wears his wings like a fashion accessory, easily displayed until they're almost forgettable despite their near-constant motion. He plays it off as vanity, preening, a continuous dissatisfaction with his appearance, and onlookers eat it up. They never think to link the vain young man with ravenesque wings to the thief who leapt from their balcony and disappeared into the night.
Illya wears his wings like a secret, slow to show them but careful not to look too conspicuous about it. He doesn't like to spread them in public, even to stretch, and keeps them close to his body instead, an additional guard against his many secrets.
Gaby wears her wings like a challenge, faux-naïveté worn like a mask that drops away at the time of the strike, stunning her prey as surely as any blow. She likes to match them to her outfits and wear jewelry that brings out the gold and the copper in them, and she lets people think of her as a silly young thing with dainty wings. No one looks too closely at how strongly they come to a point, how sleek they lie against her shoulders.
They are spies, after all. Distraction and misdirection are what they do.
I wrote this back in December as part of a "short story celebration" that marked the third birthday of takingoffmyshoes fanfic. As a thank-you to everyone who'd supported me and encouraged me, I spent two weeks taking writing requests on tumblr, and then posted the finished stories first to tumblr, and then to my AO3 account in February. I initially wasn't going to post them here, but then I thought why not? You guys have been just as kind and encouraging here, and I'll make sure to open up requests on this site as well when December rolls around again.
This was my first time with wing-fic, but it was tons of fun to write. In case anyone is interested, Solo's wings are based on a combination of Magpies and Hooded Crows (more the Central European variety, rather than the Irish/British variety); Illya's are based off of Barn Owls, and Gaby's are based off of the European Kestrel (also called the Common Kestrel).
As always, thank you for reading! Any feedback you'd like to leave is welcomed and appreciated.