Slashy...
He didn't move but Napoleon could feel the ghost of a shiver.
Touching, grabbing or gripping a partner in order to rescue him, giving him a comforting – or a mocking - pat on the back, it was part of the business.
This... this was different.
With Napoleon's arm wrapped around his shoulders, Illya's brain wasn't processing as it usually did. A tingling sensation was creeping through the nape of his neck as tentative fingers were brushing it.
This... this was different.
"Napoleon?"
Fiery blue eyes met flaming hazel ones.
They could laugh and get up.
Illya pressed his lips against Napoleon's.
Gen...
A delicious scent tickled his senses. Illya Kuryakin indulged himself with savoring the smell, keeping his eyes closed for a few seconds. Eventually he gave up.
Napoleon enjoyed himself with his friend's face, blue eyes wide open, amazement turning into wonder at the sight.
"You like roast chicken, don't you?" the dark haired man was deftly blending the ingredients of what looked like to be... Caesar salad?
"Is this what you call a picnic lunch, Napoleon?"
Napoleon Solo chuckled. "This is aunt Amy's idea about picnic lunch..." He pointed at this friend. " Especially for my "charming but skinny Russian friend"."