Work Text:
The air had a chill to it. Not the kind that made your bones ache, but enough to know that winter was well on its way. Solo shrugged on a thick blue robe and began the trek down the hall to the kitchen. You'd think that the intelligence agency of a literal empire would be able to spring for better insulation, but no. They were trapped in a thin-walled cottage with just a fireplace to warm them, which Gaby had insisted on dowsing before bed for fear of a house fire.
Perhaps he could light one while she slept.
The thought had only just entered his head when he heard whispering from Illya's room. Solo backtracked, peeking into Gaby's room, expecting to see her missing. To his surprise, she was fast asleep, producing a tiny, kitten-like snore.
When he returned his gaze to Illya's door, he noticed it was cracked slightly. Curiosity won over any moral dilemmas Solo might have had about eavesdropping, so he stood in the doorway, cracking the door just a tad more until he could see Illya.
The man sat cross-legged on the flimsy twin bed in his room. His eyes were closed, and his head leaned back against the wall. Solo traced the curve of his exposed throat and wet his lips. Illya was whispering in Russian, and if it wasn't for Solo's highly trained ear, he wouldn't be able to make out what he was saying.
"I have made grave mistakes. My hands are stained with blood. It is my fault we are trapped here in the cold."
Solo's heart ached for him. He shouldn't be blaming himself. The mission went wrong because of sheer misfortune. He opened his mouth to say as much when Illya sighed and continued.
"Father, I know I deserve Your punishment, but please spare them from it. I cannot help the way I feel about him. I have tried. But he doesn't need to suffer for my mistake."
Had Solo mistranslated? It was late, but he could've sworn Illya said "he". He tilted his head a little closer and listened on.
"Please get them out of this mess I've made. If that means I don't make it out with them, so be it."
Oh, no. Solo was not going to tolerate those levels of self-blame. He'd grown up Catholic. He knew the kind of deeply rooted guilt it caused.
"Peril," he whispered, pushing the door open.
Illya jumped, shooting him a look of anger, annoyance, and a little bit of fear. "What are you doing in my room?" He spat.
"Your door was open," Solo lingered just inside the doorway, a foreboding sense of wrongness keeping him at a distance. Maybe he should've just gone back to bed.
"And that is invitation? Get out, please." Illya pinched the bridge of his nose, avoiding eye contact.
"Illya, wait-"
"Out."
"I'm not leaving." Solo set his jaw and crossed his arms, determined to pull Illya out of his well.
Illya looked him over for a moment. He met Solo's eyes finally and he held his gaze, searching for something in them. After a few moments, Illya sighed heavily, relenting to Solo's stubbornness.
The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as Solo approached the bed. Illya leaned to the right and pulled the cord of a tiny lamp. It didn't give much light, but it illuminated Illya's face just enough that Solo could see what could've been a blush creeping along his cheeks.
"What do you want?" Illya asked, his voice resigned.
"It's not that cold out. I think you're being a bit dramatic," Solo began, his tone teasing, as he took a seat on the end of the mattress.
Illya just stared at him, his face expressionless.
"Changed my mind. Out. Now," he demanded, reaching for the lamp. Solo grabbed his wrist before he could plunge them into darkness again.
"Hear me out," he asked, but when Illya's burning glare didn't budge, he added, "Please?"
Reluctantly, Illya dropped his hand, but his fingers drummed on his knee. Solo knew he would have to approach this carefully.
"Winter just started. Me and Gaby aren't going to die of frostbite any time soon. We're not as sensitive to the cold as you think, Peril."
A low groan rumbled in Illya's chest and he leaned back against the wall. "It's not nice to eavesdrop."
"We're spies. It's what we do." Illya responded with an unhappy hum, and Solo continued, "You can't blame yourself. If anyone's to blame it's me."
"No-" Illya shook his head, but Solo ignored him
"I literally tripped the alarm. I have no idea how I didn't see the wire." He did know how, actually. His eyes were not on the ground. They'd been fixed on the Russian agent in front of him.
"...it was very low-tech trap," Illya admitted, looking away, "It was…not expected."
"See?" Solo put a hand on Illya's knee. The drumming on his leg stopped and Illya stared at the hand. Something turned in Solo's stomach. Illya's face was in shadow now, and he couldn't tell if he minded the touch or not. To be safe, he retreated, folding his hands in his lap. "Not your fault."
"How much else did you hear?" he asked quietly, his voice small.
"Enough Catholic guilt to fill the Vatican," Solo ventured, offering a small laugh, "And that you secretly care about us. That tough guy exterior had to crack eventually."
"At KGB…emotions led to death. Comrades were just men. Collateral damage. But here…at U.N.C.L.E…" Illya didn't have to finish. Solo felt it, too. A deep connection had formed between the three of them since Rome.
"Yeah. I can't even remember the name of my desk mate back in New York. But I remember Gaby doesn't like gin; she only drinks martinis because she thinks it makes her look distinguished."
Solo saw the start of a smile start to pull at Illya's lips. "And I remember our pact to trade off eating the olives she thinks we like."
"She is always so pleased to give them. It would break heart for her to know," Illya looked up at him again, his eyes calm. Solo glanced down. His fingers had stopped their drumming.
"And," Solo hesitated. What if he really had mistranslated? He took a breath and started again, "And I remember that you take your tea with more sugar than you want to admit. And that you like your coffee black. Which doesn't make any sense to me, but, hey, who am I to judge? I remember you wear turtlenecks because you think the scar on your throat is unsightly."
At this, Illya absent-mindedly reached up to run his fingers along the raised strip of flesh that curved from just below his Adam's apple to the back of his neck. Solo frowned and gently pulled his hand away from it. This time he didn't let go. "I remember that you think your hands are too rough for any sort of tenderness. But I've seen the way you carry Gaby to bed when she passes out in the living room. And I see how you pet every dog and stray cat you cross paths with."
Solo could feel Illya's eyes burning into his head. He looked up from where he still held his hand and met his gaze. He felt small under the intensity of it. Small, and vulnerable, and too brave to stop now.
"Illya, I know you don't like what I'm about to say, but it's not a bad thing," Solo took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in his throat. "You are more than capable of softness. Your teeth are sharp, but you don't use them. When I look at you, look at your hands…" he lifted Illya's hand and pressed their palms together, "I don't see the blood you claim they're stained with. I just see you."
Taking a chance, he shifted his hand slightly and laced their fingers together. Illya, brow furrowed, looked at their hands, then back to Solo. The silence that passed between them was palpable. Solo's heart pounded in his chest. He hoped he hadn't made the wrong move. He didn't want to lose one of his only friends.
"Tell me if I'm wrong. Tell me to stop," he breathed, then used his free hand to pull Illya to him by the back of his neck. Solo gingerly pressed an exploratory kiss to his lips. He tasted like honey and freshly fallen snow. Goosebumps snaked their way down his arms and Illya's stubble scratched his face.
Illya dropped his hand and Solo's heart dropped, suddenly terrified that he'd made the wrong choice. But then he felt hands on the sides of his face, fingers buried in his hair, and Illya kissed him back. Solo swayed forward, relaxing into the motion.
They had to part for air after a while and they pressed their foreheads together, breathing heavily. "You don't have to be ashamed, Illya," Solo whispered.
"Ya net, dorogoy. I am sorry," Illya's voice was strained, and Solo became aware of the taste of salt. He opened his eyes to see a tear-stained face. Solo used his thumbs to swipe away the treacherous streams and kissed him again.
"Don't apologize. It's a rather frightening thing."
"I am scared of nothing," Illya attempted to growl, but it was broken up by a smile that had them both laughing as quietly as they could.
"I was headed to make tea, I could bring you a cup if you want," Solo offered after they'd settled down.
"I will come with you. Keep watch over fireplace so Gaby does not murder us."
Solo smiled adoringly at him, then pressed one last kiss to his lips, "Good plan."