Work Text:
Napoleon lost track of how many corners they had turned when he sidestepped his hundredth pedestrian and finally decided they were safe enough to catch their breath. His eyes locked on Illya who was just up ahead, and he wondered how on earth the guy hadn't broken a sweat from maintaining this ruthless pace. Truly a deranged creature, Napoleon kept telling himself, but it was really just so he didn't scuff his own ego trying to compete with the KGB miracle.
Briefly, he thought about entertaining himself by letting Illya go on while winding down in one of the surrounding cafés. He supposed that was a show for another day though.
He picked up his pace quickly, made a grand leap, and snatched the newsboy right off of Illya's head.
They both came to a full stop. Illya touched the top of his head before spinning on his heel, glowering, and Napoleon watched all of it with unmitigated delight.
"Give it back," Illya hissed, "Now."
Napoleon did and leaned back against a shop window. Again, he wondered how this man could be standing in front of him without heaving in a labored breath or two.
"We sure booked it out of there, huh?"
"Yes," Illya agreed, his jaw clenched. "Because I told you to listen to me, but you insisted on doing it your way."
Napoleon smiled unapologetically. "And hey, turns out my way is a hell of a lot more fun than yours."
"Do not toy with me, Cowboy."
"Oh, Peril, I wouldn't do anything of the sort."
"You could have jeopardized the entire mission—"
"You're being dramatic."
"—If we had proceeded with the original plan, we would not have needed to be chased down like loose dogs. What are we going to tell Gaby?" Illya was snarling now, closing in on Napoleon, too angry to pay attention to his surroundings.
Napoleon, on the other hand, was not, and what he heard next was a woman very loudly complaining somewhere down the block. He couldn't help the frown that curved his mouth once he looked over and saw their pursuers weaving through the crowd. Shit, those guys were quick.
At last, Illya stopped chiding him. "What are you looking at?" he asked, but Napoleon didn't give him any time to see for himself.
"Don't turn your head. Keep your eyes on me."
Illya regarded him skeptically, but he listened. "Alright. What is happening?"
"Kiss me."
For one terrifying moment, Napoleon was convinced he'd unwittingly thrown Illya head first into an existential crisis and that they would, surely, end up as hostages and possibly dead within the next twenty four hours.
Fortunately, Illya regained his composure by the time he'd finished the thought.
“You... You have finally lost your mind, haven’t you?”
Napoleon snuck another glance to his right, caught sight of their guys peering into a shop, and began to count. "Just kiss me. Come on, now."
“No."
“Fine, then. I’ll kiss you.”
Illya drew closer despite Napoleon's proposition. He growled, “Do it, and you will no longer have lips—“
Under different circumstances, Napoleon would have taken his time to play and savor this little game of theirs. He would have liked to see just how far he could push, how much he could prod before Illya would surprise him.
And it really was too bad that they were short on time, he thought, as he grabbed Illya by the lapels and pulled him in until hardly any space was left between them at all. Napoleon allowed his words to pour out then, knowing Illya could easily—and would easily—free himself unless provided a reason not to.
“This is an enormously crucial matter, so do listen carefully. If you don’t kiss me within the next ten seconds, our cover will be rendered naught, and we will most likely be tortured before anyone comes to find us. Now, I know this situation isn't ideal, but we're out-gunned, if you recall. You have four, three—”
Illya, eyes wide and mouth agape as Napoleon gave the countdown, appeared to panic before he finally squeezed his eyes shut and leaned in.
One of Napoleon’s hands made its way to Illya's nape, holding him there as they proceeded to have a... damn good makeout session, if he said so himself. It didn't exactly help that Illya was as tense as a drawn wire, but Napoleon could work with it. He ran his other hand down Illya's chest, leading, and just like that, Illya relaxed a fraction.
After he was sure the men had passed them, Napoleon opened one eye. He squinted past a few annoyed bystanders. He was right; their pursuers were meandering off.
That was when Illya did something pleasant with his mouth and had Napoleon pulling away with an airy laugh. When he looked up again, Napoleon saw that Illya's face had contorted into a grimace, both his cheeks and lips enticingly pink.
He opened his mouth, mainly to distract himself from the bewildering realization that he wanted to kiss his partner again, but also as a way to diffuse the weird undercurrent now surrounding them.
“Oh, come on. It wasn't that bad.”
“Shut up."
"I'm a good kisser, admit it."
"Shut up. What is our next move?"
Pushing away from the window, Napoleon straightened his jacket and grinned. “That, my friend, is simple. We go back to the suite and desperately beg Gaby not to kill us for being fools."
Illya scoffed, but Napoleon didn't miss the slight upturn of his mouth.
"Easy."