Chapter 1 – The night in Question
The night is question was really rather subdued in the grad scheme of things. Nothing was blown up. No one was shot or had to shoot anyone. They didn't even leave the hotel room. Maybe that was the problem. They got a little too comfortable with the domesticity of their partnership.
Illya ordered dinner, a steak for Gaby and roast chicken for himself.. Gaby fixed them each a drink, a tall gin and tonic minus the tonic for her, a cup of tea for him. He played chess. She sat on the couch, fiddled with some parts for a new listening device, danced around the room and when she got bored with all of that, turned her attention to her partner.
"Illya," she called as she passed behind his chair, reaching her hand out to ghost over the back of his neck. She knew that not touching him was almost more irritating to him than actually grazing his skin. He merely raised a brow and made the smallest noise of acknowledgment.
"I'm bored," she groaned.
"Do you want me to help you with the listening device?" he asked.
"I know what's wrong, but I need some copper wire to fix it and the shop will be closed by now," she sighed, flopping onto the couch beside him.
"Would you like to practice your Russian?" He asked, his eyes still on the board in front of him.
"Net, ya dumayu, chto u menya yest' eto vniz dovol'no khorosho , mister instruktor."
"Takim obrazom, vy sdelat'."
"What shall we do then?"
"I think I will go to bed," Illya started to stand up, but she grabbed his arm.
"I'm to restless to sleep, Illya. Won't you dance with me?" she asked, blinking up at him with those eyes he couldn't resist.
"You know I don't dance, Malyutka."
She just kept looking at him though, swinging their joined hands.
"Do you want to wrestle?" he asked nervously. She grinned at him, but before he could even think of how to begin, she had tackled him to the couch. "Wait, Wait, Waverly said the next time we damage furniture, we must pay."
She chewed her lip for a moment, before climbing off of him and beginning to move the furniture to the edges of the room. He followed suit, sliding the couch to the opposite wall. He had just put the last table next to the couch when he never toppled over as she landed on his back.
"I do not even get a warning," he teased pulling her around so they were face to face.
"Where is the fun in that?" she laughed, dropping her feet and breaking away before he could trap her in his arms.
Illya was a defensive fighter. He had no desire to hurt her, the goal was merely to catch her. He waited to react to whatever attack she would launch.
Gaby's advantage was her speed and flexibility. She was almost impossible to catch for long. Like water slipping through his fingers.
They went on for nearly an hour. He would think he had her, and the next moment she would be across the room preparing to run at him again. The last time, she didn't immediately try to escape. He had her pinned under him with her arms above her head. She was panting, but a grin danced across her lips.
"Are you prepared for surrender?" he asked.
"I will absolutely accept your surrender," she said, purposefully misunderstanding him.
"But it is I who have you trapped. Why would I surrender?"
"Because if you don't, I will kiss you," she replied, her eyes darting to his lips as she licked her own.
"You are making not giving up look very tempting," he said as he leaned in. She met his lips, and it was everything she expected. He was strong yet gentle. The weight of his body was almost crushing and yet she felt comforted instead of suffocated. His hands, while still cold, felt perfect on her over-heated skin.
What little clothes they had been wearing, were quickly removed and just when she thought he would finally give her what she had wanted since Rome, he pulled away.
"Rug burns," he said by way of explanation before pick her up and carrying her to bed.
She couldn't remember falling asleep, but when she woke up, there was 250 lbs of naked Russian on top of her and a pleasant ache she hadn't felt in a long time. She tried to get up, but his dead weight was too much.
"Illya," she called, dragging her fingers over his cheek which had been pressed into her neck. "Illya, I need to get up." She tried again, this time her hand found his ribs and gave a gentle shove.
"Son, lyubov'" he mumbled before rolling off of her.
After the using the bathroom, she went to the living room. The furniture was still against the walls, but in the early morning light, her stomach dropped. There was a reason they had never done this before, a good one. It wasn't just that it was a against policy.
He was loyal to his first love, Mother Russia. As a member of the German resistance and a British spy, she would never be welcome in his world, and he would never be happy in hers. The feelings that they had for each other were not enough to change the world.
She got dressed quickly, and snuck out. She wasn't ready to deal with the fallout yet. They were supposed to be doing recon on a corrupt ambassador, so she headed to her new job at the embassy.
Translations
Net, ya dumayu, chto u menya yest' eto vniz dovol'no khorosho , mister instruktor. = No, I think I have it down pretty well, Mr. instructor.
Takim obrazom, vy sdelat' = So you do
Malyutka = Little one
Son, lyubov' = Sleep, love