Title: ̶Ob̶j̶e̶c̶t̶s̶ Spies May Be Closer Than They Appear.

Summary: Napoleon has a very unorthodox plan to handle an unexpected issue. Illya is just along for the ride.

Warnings: None.

Notes: Set post-movie.

...

Illya glared down at the glass in front of him and tried to ignore the weight of the several stares aimed in their direction.

This was not the first time he had to deal with unwanted attention of some kind while attempting to complete a mission or even his first time inside a disreputable establishment such as this, but none of that was particularly reassuring or helpful in his current situation. The fact Solo seemed relaxed and content, almost preening under all the attention only served to darken his mood further.

Just one more proof of what terrible spy the American was.

They chose to sit side by side on a small booth by the wall with an adequate view of both the entrance and exit as they waited for their mark to arrive, and the unwanted attention hadn't stopped since their arrival.

Truthfully, the place wasn't as terrible as Illya had feared it would be when Waverly gave them the details for this new assignment. There was no obnoxiously loud music blaring from every corner, and while he had witnessed more physical intimacy in the last few minutes than what he was used to seeing even between men and women, it wasn't as scandalous or indecent as it could have been. Illya had certainly been in worse places than this.

"They are still staring," Illya muttered, glaring at a tiny young man sitting a few tables away until he finally stopped staring. He found another man watching and glared at him too.

"Of course they're staring, Peril," was the American's unconcerned reply. Solo met Illya's gaze as he took a sip from the drink some random man had brought for him.

Illya eyed his own glass but didn't touch it. Solo still resisted to accept the hard-learned fact he should not ingest anything handed to him by strangers or drink alcohol while on missions, but Illya knew better. He was the better spy.

"We are on mission," he reminded the American. "We should not be drawing attention to ourselves."

Solo met his gaze once again, blue eyes gleaming under the lights and lips curled into a smug smile. "You really can't blame them for appreciating the view, can you?"

Illya gave Solo an unimpressed look.

"Come on, Peril. Loosen up a little," Solo suggested with one of his obnoxious smiles as he did something ridiculous with his eyebrows. "Can't you just enjoy life a little and let everyone around you do the same?"

"We have mission," Illya reminded him once again, tone flat.

Solo observed him for a moment, head tilted slightly to the side. "You do realize you're drawings even more attention with that attitude, don't you?"

Illya refused to acknowledge that as he continued glaring at the American.

"You're a spoilsport," Cowboy muttered with a pout. His expression smoothed out a second later. "Alright. I may know a way to get them to stop staring. Most of them anyway."

It was Illya's turn to raise an eyebrow as he stared at the American, waiting for him to start laying out his insane plan. Most of Cowboy's plans were utterly ridiculous, but to Illya's endless frustration and surprise, they usually worked.

"Don't freak out," Solo warned soothingly, but rather than explain about what exactly he shouldn't freak out, the American took the time to finish his drink first.

Illya watched with narrowed eyes as Solo put the empty glass down on the table with more care than was necessary, never breaking eye contact. He followed the movement of Solo's hand out of the corner of his eye, but he still tensed, taken by surprise when he felt the first touch of cool skin against his hand. Illya's first instinct was to snatch his hand away and demand to know what the hell Solo thought he was doing. He did neither, not wanting to draw even more attention.

He used all of his considerable willpower to remain calm, taking slow deep breaths as he forced his expression to remain neutral. Illya tried to discretely pull his hand away, but when Solo merely tightened his grip he stopped, allowing the American to move their now joined hands downward until they came to rest on his thigh.

The curve of Solo's smile turned softer around the edges, and before Illya even knew what was happening Cowboy had closed the distance between them, his head coming to rest on Illya's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Steady on, Peril," Solo murmured, face tucked against his chest as his thumb traced small circles on the skin of Illya's trembling hand. "The only way those men will lose interest is if they think we're more intimately involved, and therefore no interested in anyone else here tonight."

Despite his words, Illya could feel that Solo wasn't as relaxed as he pretended to be. He wondered if it was the contact itself that made the American uncomfortable or if he was simply wary of a possible violent reaction from him. Both options were equally possible.

As he pondered that, Illya found himself getting distracted by the feel of another body- Cowboy's body so close to his and the heat it emanated. They had been close before, of course, but never like this.

"This is not the Russian way."

"I bet it isn't," Solo answered with a soft chuckle, his body loosening up as he tilted his head upward to look at Illya. "It's all for the good of the mission- Right, Peril?"

"Be silent," Illya growled, the fingers of his free hand tapping his own thigh. Still, he did nothing to dislodge the American or pull away from him.

It was harder than it should have been, but Illya finally pulled his attention away from Solo and took a discreet look around. Just like the American promised, there weren't as many eyes still on them, but it didn't take him long to see the man who sent Cowboy the drink still staring at them, this time with a frown. Illya made sure to glare at him until the man finally turned away.

"You need to smile a little, Peril," Solo advised, his own lips curled into a smile. "We don't want people to think I have you here with me against your will, do we?"

Illya didn't smile. He merely schooled his expression so it wasn't quite so obvious how much he wanted to punch the smile off the American's face. That would have to be enough. And, if doing this got men to stop staring at Solo and kept their covers from being blown, then he would resign himself to go along with Cowboy's stupid plan.

He could always make the American pay for making him do this once the mission was completed.

...

A/N:Is this just a big cliche? Hell yeah. Is Illya in total denial about everything that happened here? You bet he is. Was Napoleon hesitant to push too much for once in his life? Also yes, the idiot. They'll get there eventually. 😉

I'm pretty sure I mentioned before that I have bits and pieces tucked away in my drafts of different fic ideas for this fandom that I started but never finished. Finally, I managed to mix most of them into a 5+1 type of fic (which is not finished yet). This is one of these bits, except it didn't quite fit in that fic, so I after I gave it somewhat of an ending I decided to post it apart. I hope you enjoyed it!

This is unbetaed and I'm not a native speaker, so please feel free to point out any mistake you may find.