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Napoleon could have any alpha he wanted.
Illya thought as he watched the omega walk in across the ballroom. Even in the middle of this much rich and dazzling, all caught up in the tails of flowing gowns dragging across the shiny dancefloor, almost-too-sweet exotic liquors, and courtesy smiles that didn't mean half the things they showed, Napoleon still shone like a fine diamond, like nothing else Illya had ever seen. He couldn't have forgotten seeing something as beautiful as this, Illya repeated to himself, this gorgeous man Illya had had the honor of putting his eyes upon, tonight and many nights before and onwards, yet still, he had had no words to describe the way a warm sip of Trousseau lurched slightly inside his throat at the mere first sight of him.
Looking like a million dollars in his devastatingly fitted suit, Napoleon strutted further into the crowded room as if he owned it. He might as well actually do - own this room and every single soul within its four walls - with his utter charm and sharp, almost shark-like, confidence. And it certainly helped that he looked entirely delectable. Illya took another mindless sip and allowed himself to really watch the way Napoleon's navy suit moved around his skin like ocean waves in the night, the way his dark hair was slicked back in a breathtakingly effortless manner, and those infamous baby blues under long lashes that had gotten numerous of the world's most wicked on their knees before. Napoleon, as per usual, wields his beauty like a weapon, and oh how fatal could that weapon be: Illya knew firsthand what it felt like to feel the need to just succumb to it, to want to rip out his own beating heart so that Napoleon could see how much it had been yearning and begging to be held by the omega.
No words were even needed, his presence simply filled up the large space, the way this entire bustling party and its obnoxious partakers could never. Attention was all on him under seconds, heads were turned and appreciation whispered, but Napoleon kept his steps light and easy. Every step put forward was a calculated movement, elegant, yet the power the owner of those steps exuded was impossible to deny. His muscles shifted slightly under the silk, lithe and deadly like a panther, and Illya wondered, not for the first time, how he even did that. To be so strong, so capable, but never intimidating, like how Illya seemed to be all the time, what's with his giant limbs and brute tactics. A fleeting memory of Napoleon fondly tapping his cheek, calling him "a Red Peril in a china shop," two months ago in the middle of a mission in Uganda, popped into his mind. Illya almost had to physically shake his head to chase it away. God, as if it wasn't bad enough to be distracted by Napoleon's, well, simply being there.
They were actually in the middle of another mission right at this moment, following an alpha drug lord with royal connections so high up he was untouchable to all intelligence agencies around the world. Hence, it was the exact type of job for UNCLE's two best agents. They were informed that he would be at that night's fancy playdate to, besides buttering up with some new airhead young royalties and lobbying the old ones, look to have some fun with a shiny new conquer. There was simply no other choice more perfect for the role than Napoleon. Illya was sent along to observe their culprit, provide Napoleon with backup if deemed necessary, and extract him in case things went south. Just another day, another mission - nothing too special or demanding.
The problem, however? Illya was having a hard time acknowledging anything but the presence of his gorgeous Cowboy.
The whole room had spun on its metaphorical axis and seemed to spin around Napoleon alone. All eyes were on him, alphas and omegas alike; bold hands were reaching out to him, hanging on his sleeves, begging for even a fraction of his time, his attention. The omega simply smiled - his charming, signature smile that made knees go weak without fail - and brushed off every single attempt with the ease of someone who was far too familiar with such situations. This did not even dampen the crowd's desire in the least. In fact, they craved him even more, enchanted by his classy brand of coyness and confidence. Illya could feel his inner alpha's grumblings slowly getting louder and louder, so he quickly drained the last of his wine before slamming the glass down the bar with much more force than necessary. Lord, he was still too sober for the whole thing.
Illya waved at the bartender to grab him two shots of the best vodka available, and dragged a hand down his face, chanting again and again inside his head to remind himself not to snarl out loud. Not to stomp out there, grab Napoleon from those unworthy fingers, hold him close and hide him away from the rest of the world. Not to act like an insolent child and ruin a simple mission. Not to lose himself to indignified jealousy and unreasonable possessiveness. Yes, unreasonable, Illya mentally repeated the word. He had no claim on Napoleon whatsoever, and even without the barrier of a mission between them, he still had no right to stop Napoleon from having anyone or stop anyone from having the omega.
Because Napoleon could have any alpha he wanted. Why would he even lay his eyes on Illya?
The alpha chuckled bitterly and knocked down the spicy vodka in one short motion. Right, what is he even thinking? Acting all crazy like that over nothing. Napoleon - gorgeous, capable, sharp as a tack, oh so different from every stereotype of omegas Napoleon - would never want him. As a partner, maybe - they had reached a certain level of serene friendship so far, over the year they teamed up for UNCLE. But not like an alpha, a partner, a lover for life. He would never want Illya the way Illya desperately wanted him. The way Illya had wanted him, the very first day they met, when Napoleon waltzed into his life, beautiful and so bold he was not even bothered to hide his own enticing scent. The way that got Illya's inner alpha almost crawled its way out of his skin, begging and begging to be with his mate, mate, mate.
That same inner alpha was now whining, curling into itself inside Illya's heart like a dark, bruised patch he could not shake. Unlike what Napoleon and Gaby usually enjoyed accusing him of being - a hard-headed, could-not-give-a-damn, stoic, Soviet to the core man - Illya cared. He paid attention. He felt things so deeply that it could be nearly impossible to get out of them sometimes. That was how he knew. He knew he was not enough, or at least, not enough for someone like Napoleon. It was not about looks or capabilities - Illya was self-aware enough to know he was attractive in his own way, and if nothing else, he was damn sure that there wouldn't be anyone in the world who would protect and take care of Napoleon better than himself. Who would love him better than Illya himself.
But that was the thing, right? Napoleon needed no protection. He was no swooning damsel in distress that required a hero's rescue. He was a one-man army, a force of nature wrapped up prettily in spotless suits and disarming idleness. He could take care of himself just fine. And if strength and brutality were not what Napoleon needed, then what could Illya even offer him? His pathetic existence, full of flaws and shame? His wounded ego and a tendency to lash out instead of controlling his storm of fierce emotions that he could not learn to stamp down, even after all this time? His confusion before life, his fears of never being enough, his inexplicable insecurities and baggage? Illya was the goddamn depiction of an unstable alpha, for fuck's sake. Even his own country could not embrace him. Why would Napoleon want to get tangled up in this mess?
Someone like Napoleon deserves so much better. Someone who was strong, not just in power but in mind. Someone with the wits that can keep up with his own. Someone sophisticated, so he could talk arts and wine and luxuries with, without having to stop once in a while to tut at the cluelessness. Someone with the resources to spoil him, cherish him however he desired. Someone he could come home to, instead of an agent whose job was literally to run head first towards death. Someone who did not have to pick pieces of themselves up day by day, while wondering if they could make it to the next with this much pain and burden swirling inside their mind. Someone who was not Illya.
That someone, his mind supplied unhelpfully, could very well be in this room, right here, right now. The party was choked full of royalties and elites after all. Who was to say Napoleon would not catch their eyes through the crowd, go for a little chat, banter around like the little brat he was, and just knew? Who was to say what was happening next, then, after this mission was all said and done?
Napoleon could have any alpha, hell, even omega, he wanted. Why would Illya punish himself so much, knowing that his own feelings toward his partner were utterly unreciprocated anyway?
A smooth, warm palm slid across Illya's shoulder, while another curled around his empty shot glass on the bar counter. He had no time to even react - such a stupid, amateurish mistake to get caught off guard like this. He was on a mission, seriously! - before an equally smooth, warm voice floated towards him.
"You know drinking is not encouraged during work hours, right Peril?"
Napoleon was suddenly right there, behind him - must have gotten there while Illya kept his back to the ballroom, too caught up in his own self-pity. His hand stayed on Illya's shoulder nevertheless, even after he had used it to nudge Illya to turn around. The other left the glass, and found its way to Illya's tie, fondling the tidy knot almost absently. Blue, so much blue, like the ocean, stared right at him with the utmost intensity - almost like it had never looked at anything else but him.
"Never stopped you before, Cowboy." Illya took half a step back, and hastily swallowed a little. He could never think like this - when Napoleon was so close, and his scent almost fogged his entire consciousness.
"Me, sure. But you?" Canting his head upwards, Napoleon got himself right back in Illya's space, without a care of his scrambling effort earlier. "Is everything alright?"
"Why not?" As always, Illya resorted to shortness to avoid spouting things he could not afford to say out loud. He sobered up a little, remembering the reason why they were her in the first place. "You shouldn't be here like this, by the way, seen with an alpha and everything. What if Anschutz-"
Napoleon lifted one finger to silence him, with an amused glint in his eyes. "Now, now, Peril, you should not underestimate my understanding of our target. I know Anschutz, I know his entire type perfectly. There's nothing more rewarding for him than a little chase and claim. Seeing me with the hottest alpha in the room is exactly what's gonna make it work."
Illya ignored his instant flush at the casual comment Napoleon just dropped, deciding that it was the better option. But before he could open his mouth to utter some lame answer, Napoleon swiftly pulled at his tie, so he had no choice but to bring his entire upper body down, consequently wrapping himself around Napoleon, their faces only a mere inch apart. He could almost hear Napoleon's satisfied purring, in tune with his own alpha's happy croons. And he had no idea what to do with that information.
"Cowboy, this is- you-"
"You are. Don't even try to deny it, silly Peril. Don't you know what you are looking like right now? Anyone with eyes would want a piece of this." Napoleon whispered, warm breaths so close to Illya's lips. "And everyone wants a piece of me. It only makes sense that we stirred this boring night up a little, yeah? For the sake of our mission."
Illya's heart dropped a little at the words. Right, the mission. That was the only reason why Napoleon was acting like this. To cause the much-needed attention that would lead Anschutz right to them, like a flame to a moth. Napoleon did not want him, not really; not in the way it matters.
"You have stirred more than enough already, Cowboy." He straightened up, pulling himself away from Napoleon with some hesitation. "Selling it too much, and Anschutz might not be interested in an already occupied omega."
Illya turned around and signaled to the bartender for another refill. Besides him, Napoleon let out a little sigh, before carelessly ordering a random cocktail on the menu. They both leaned their backs against the bar at the same time, eyes scanning the room in front of them. Space was put between their bodies, and whatever tension there was dissipated into the air.
"Would that be so bad, though?"
Illya's head snapped toward Napoleon. The omega was looking up at him. Something almost wistful and vulnerable flashed across his face, but was gone before Illya quite caught it.
"Would that be so bad, being occupied with me?"
"We've got a job to do here, Cowboy." Illya frowned, trying to not let the phrasing get to his already hopeful, traitorous heart.
"Don't we always?" Another sigh, before Napoleon took his drink from the bartender and sipped it disinterestedly, his eyes back to the room instead of on Illya. Illya missed the endless blue already. "What I mean is, I like spending time with you, you know. I don't mind being occupied by you, with or without a reason."
And what was there to say to such words? Napoleon had always been so good at making Illya speechless like that, he did not even have to try. Here he stood, oh so randomly dropping the sweet sentiments that got Illya's heart aching with want. Sure, he must only mean it in a platonic, friendly manner, yet Illya found himself already starting to eat it up, craving more, thirsting for whatever crumbs Napoleon might leave him. Anything at all.
Illya scrambled to find a way to reply, as sincerely as possible, without letting anything loose, without hurting their precious new friendship. What he ended up saying, however, was just a simple "I didn't say it was bad, did I?"
The smile Napoleon flashed him was so worth it - worth all the awkwardness and pining, all the longing and heartaches, all the pain of things left unsaid within Illya's ribcage. He found himself smiling back, helplessly, before bringing his attention back to the room, looking for Anschutz's appearance. And at this moment, as Illya felt Napoleon's sparkling eyes linger on the side of his face, almost like he did not want to look away just yet, Illya felt his inner alpha settle down a little with pride. Must have something to do with the fact that it was him who had made Napoleon smile, happy, and content.
Napoleon could have any alpha he wanted. And even if Illya could never be that alpha, no matter how much he wished to be - maybe, just maybe, whatever this was, was enough, for now.