Illya Kuryakin despised the person who had ever decided that one needed to flirt to achieve a date. Or just the whole concept of dating in general. Couldn't your love interest just… know? Form some sort of telepathic bond that perfectly conveyed your feelings and then you could both ride off into the sunset (but this time Illya would be the one driving that pathetically small motor)?

The Russian leered at his prey currently standing by the bar. Napoleon had dressed up extra nicely for tonight, as a means of celebrating another mission successfully completed. Illya didn't much care for the crisp suit or coiffured coup, but the alcohol-induced rosiness of his cheeks and happily shimmering eyes… Now that he found a little too appealing.

He swallowed and paced up and down where he was hiding in the corner of the room. Napoleon hadn't seen him yet, he could still retreat to his room and play a nice relaxing round of chess. No harm done, no bad memories made. But then of course, that idiot cowboy just had to look up right when he was about to make his escape. Grin widening to annoyingly gorgeous extends, Solo raised a hand and gave him a little wave. Illya swallowed again. No turning back now. He forced his feet to move and began walking towards the other. He tried desperately to remember everything he had written down on his little memory cards.

"Evening Peril. Care for a drink?" Solo asked in that ridiculously American accent of his. Ugh, so annoying.

"Sure," Illya replied with what he hoped was a pleasant smile, but probably more resembled a death-stare. He was the kind of man who could only smile when it came unexpected, surprising even himself. Now he had no such luck, but the other merely chuckled, already acquainted with his often considered rude social skills. Please, why did people call him rude? He always made sure to ask nicely before starting a fight, and he was just a little to-the-point and straight-forward, nothing more.

While Napoleon ordered him a drink, he readied himself for what was to come. Letting his eyes trail up and down his companion's relaxed figure, resting just a moment too long on the curves of his ass, he swallowed a final time and spoke up.

"Say Cowboy…"

"Yes Peril?" Solo asked nonchalantly, stirring the ice cubes in his whiskey before looking over and raising an eyebrow in that frustrating – sexy – way of his. Illya took in a deep breath and began what was probably the most torturous night he'd ever experienced.

"Did you steal those eyes? Because it looks like you ripped them out of an angel's eye sockets."

The stirring slowed down, then came to a complete stop. The other eyebrow went up too.

"…Excuse me?"

Illya's hand trembled. He clenched it into a fist.

"That dress looks nice, but it would look better on the floor of the room."

"Peril, I'm not even wearing a dress."

"The voices in my head told me to come talk to you!"

"I'm getting a just a liiiiiiiiittle bit uncomfortable over here…"

"The more you drink the… the better you can see me?" Shit, was he getting his cards mixed up? Illya put up his index finger as an indication that he needed a moment, turned around, and began frantically skimming through his cards. Yes, there it was! Of course Napoleon was looking at him like he'd grown a second head, he was getting the pick-up lines all wrong! With renewed vigour he turned around… Only to find Solo halfway through the room, apparently fleeing the premises.

"Hey! Suka, I am not done with you!"

Napoleon let out a scared little noise when Illya began running and picked up the pace, only to find his face meeting the floor not a minute later. Everyone around them seemed either shocked or unperturbed by the giant tackling him to the ground. And to make things worse, Illya continued with what Napoleon thought to be a mental breakdown.

"Are you okay? Because it is long falling from the sky."

"Please stop…"

"You have the best teeth please let us meet!"

"Dear Lord what did I do to deserve this…"

"If I were romantic I would shoot you!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your eyes set my intestines on fire!"

"Gross…"

Exasperated and utterly embarrassed, Illya tried one final time. After that he'd give up, run to Gaby, and sulk a round or four, five. "Is it hot in here or… Or is it just you?"

Finally, Solo stopped his complaining. He slowly looked over his shoulder, blinking.

"Wait a minute, are you… are you flirting with me?"

Illya could feel his face heat up faster than the sun. In a flash he was up and about, freeing Napoleon from his confines. "Nyet, that is ridiculous!" he spouted, entire body trembling with shame. Especially now that the other was giving him that look, that all-knowing better-than-thou smugness and argh! "I have to go." He whirled around and took big strides to escape the bar. He knew this was a bad idea from the start, a very bad bad BAD IDEA.

"Oh no not so fast!" Illya sped up when he heard footsteps following behind, racing up the stairs, but before he could reach his room he froze. He wasn't exactly used to a body pushing up to him from behind. Napoleon chuckled and brought his lips to Illya's ear.

"I miss my teddy bear. Can I sleep with you?"

Illya frowned. "What are you… chto?" He was utterly confused.

Napoleon's grin was audible in his voice as he continued. "You know what would look good on you? Me."

"Stop."

"They say sex is a killer. Want to die happy?"

He had to look like a boiled lobster by now, especially with those annoyingly gentle hands feathering over his stomach. "This is not funny Cowboy."

"Oh but it is Peril," Napoleon cooed. "But I have one last question."

"What?" Illya asked, feeling like he was ready to embrace death.

"Excuse me sir, but can I flirt with you?"

Solo laughed, even when Illya hit him up the head, still portraying a very ripe tomato. "Not funny."

"Yes it is! Not my fault you fail miserably when it comes to this, doll face."

"Don't call me that," Illya growled, twitching when Napoleon suddenly got really, really close.

"But uh, I think I will take you up on your invitation, if it still stands."

The Russian jerked back, but only slightly. He really couldn't figure out if the other was joking or not, but damn, he was licking his lips in very alluring ways, and those half-lidded eyes made his gut do a little flip-flop.

"Fine," he said in a low voice, and grabbed Solo by the hand to roughly pull him into the room before he could change his mind. Maybe his flirting did suck, but hey, at least it got him what he wanted in the end.