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Portland Oregon of all places. There’s 150 miles of river and a vast ocean between this city and Mother Russia but Illya hears her all the same. Gaby, Solo and Illya are infiltrating a human trafficking ring that has deep roots in the docks and shipping of the city. He is unsurprised when Oleg is waiting in his hotel room. His stride never breaks as he walks into the room, removes jacket and key, then stands at attention.
He is asked to report on his activities with U.N.C.L.E. He provides information dispassionately and almost gets through this moment unscathed. But Oleg can tell. It’s like the dominant can smell the change in him and for all Illya knows, he can.
When Oleg asks, “What is it?” Illya does not need any clarification.
He does not ask, How long did have you known? Did you think it was funny to partner me with my soulmate? To let me see what I can never touch? Did you laugh the the United States didn’t have this bit of intel? Is this some kind of perverse experiment on soulmates and our ability to suppress our nature? Did you do it just to hurt me?
Instead, “How are you mitigating the risk that Solo might order me to defect?”
He smiled and flicked a bit of something off the arm rest of his chair. “Did he finally figure it out? Bah, if he were a patriot we would have been concerned. This man might order you to suck his cock, but never to do something in the interest of Sanders and the CIA.”
Illya must have a tell. Perhaps he stiffens or his breathing changes because Oleg laughs, brash and loud and plosive. “Or maybe you are so far from what anyone would want in a submissive that even your own soulmate hasn’t used you for what you’re good for.”
His first instinct is to defend Solo. To say that the man would never take what wasn’t given. That he was the Cowboy to Illya’s Red Peril, partners and equals. That Napoleon has given him distance because that is what Illya demanded. He holds his tongue but such words are there.
His instinct is to defend Napoleon Solo. And isn’t that a thing?