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Illya Kuryakin just wanted to to come home and relax after a mission like every other spy out there. Come home, kick off his shoes, eat something. Hell, maybe he’d pour himself a drink and read a book. Illya should be able to do that! He thought that was reasonable enough.
Walking into his apartment after another mission, Illya realised that was not reasonable. Not with his lifestyle. Illya opened the door to his apartment and was immediately greeted with the sight of his boyfriend, world renown spy known for being ruthless and a good shot, Napoleon Solo, sitting on the couch in his pajamas with an orange tabby cat cradled to his chest; giving it kisses, petting it, and cooing at it.
Napoleon had stayed behind this mission to recover from a concussion he suffered on the last op. Illya could tell before he left that Napoleon was sad— as a spy, Illya knew that if you were out even for a day that you felt like you were the most useless being in the world. He hated that Napoleon was so sad but to come home and see him smiling, even with a strange cat made Illya’s inside all warm and fuzzy.
“Why is there a cat in my apartment?” Illya asked slowly, almost cautiously, as he took off his shoes and coat. He walked to the dining table and draped his coat across the back of a chair. He heard Napoleon coo more at the cat, calling it a name that he couldn’t quite pickup on; he could hear the cat purring as Napoleon talked to it.
“Don’t you mean our home?” Napoleon said in a teasing tone. Illya turned around and gave an exasperated sigh at the correction. Napoleon had moved into Illya’s apartment five months ago and he was still saying ‘my apartment’. Napoleon never seems to really mind but Illya doesn’t want him to think that he doesn’t take any of this seriously. “Anyway, you weren’t supposed to be home until next week,” he answered with a shrug.
“That doesn’t answer my question, Cowboy,” Illya said as he walked to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. He picked up a bottle of vodka that Gaby had left for Napoleon before the mission. He raised the bottle toward his boyfriend, silently asking if he wanted a drink. Napoleon shook his head. Illya shrugged and continued to pour himself a drink.
“Look, Peril, the poor thing kept showing up on the window garden and eating all my vegetables and strawberries… She was so hungry! She had no tags either so I just took her in” Napoleon explained. He got up from the couch and moved into the kitchen and stood in front of Illya. He leaned forward a bit and turned his body so that his head was rest on Illya’s chest but the cat wasn’t being squished.
“Can we keep her?” Napoleon spoke softly. Illya looked down at his boyfriend who was all soft edges and bedhead; not his usual sharp edges and slicked back hair. He liked him like this, all cuddly and soft and relaxed.
“Yeah, I guess you can. But I am not cleaning out any litter boxes, Cowboy,” Illya said as he watched Napoleon smile. Napoleon pulled away in excitement and danced a little around the kitchen as he let out cheering noises.
Napoleon kissed Illya— his lips were soft and warm against the other man’s. The kiss quick and savoury. He pulled away from the kiss, both of their eyes half-lidded and cheeks a little pink. Illya leaned in for more and was met with an enthusiastic Napoleon ready to give. The cat jumped out of Napoleon’s eyes to avoid being crushed between their two bodies. With free arms, he was quick to press his body against Illya’s, wrap his arms around his torso and deepen the kiss.
“I missed you so much,Peril,” he said when they broke the kiss. Illya was breathing heavily and kissed his boyfriend’s forehead, moving to rest his chin on top of his head, pressing Napoleon’s head against his chest once again.
“I missed you, too, Cowboy” he replied, his voice rough and his accent thick.
After a couple minutes of standing together in the kitchen, the moved to the couch. Illya lied down with Napoleon cuddling him, his ear pressed directly over Illya’s heart to listen to it beat. It was like clockwork and Napoleon felt like he could listen to it forever.
“The cat’s name is Babushka, by the way” Napoleon said and Illya let out a dry chuckle, remembering how Napoleon used to call him Babushka when they first started dating.
“I love it” Illya said. “It’s perfect”