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Spring is wishing Hexham a warm goodbye, and while house arrest is never a good thing, Illya's partners have taken the downtime and pleasant weather as a vacation. Which, of course, leaves Illya to check all of the actual security boxes. He checks windows, he checks doors, he listens to the radio tuned in to the police station, he keeps watch from the roof at night, and then in the morning, he repeats the cycle all over again.
As the sun sets over the hilly horizon, however, something breaks up the monotony. Illya is triple checking the lock on a window when he hears it. The sound is so small and faint that for a moment, he thinks he imagined it. He closes his eyes and focuses his senses, listening closely for repetition. The second splat is much louder, and he jolts, eyes flying open to see a large droplet of water snaking its way down the glass. Illya tilts his head to the side and follows the trail until another droplet of water hits the window. Then another patters against the pane, and another and another, until the sky breaks open and it begins to rain in earnest.
Illya's wings twitch as he watches the rain in the last gray light of dusk. It'd been days since he'd last preened– distracted by making sure they were safe. He could feel every out of place and grimy feather, and nothing was a better cure than rain. His wings twitch again, and his mind scrambles for reasons he should not give in.
‘It's not safe,’ he tells himself. If he's caught off guard with wet wings, he'll have lost his biggest advantage over an enemy and become encumbered. But his partners are asleep upstairs and the rain is bound to be sun-warmed, and god, his feathers could use a rinse. Illya sets his jaw and turns quickly away from the window to stalk silently upstairs. The stairs to the attic are already down, so he doesn't have to risk the sound of the hatch waking his friends.
Tucking his wings tight against his back, Illya climbs the steps and finds the trap door to the shingled roof. From the placement, it most likely used to be a chimney, but now it serves as an easy access point. The rain isn't a downpour, but it's more than a sprinkling and it's enough to make Illya have to slick his hair back by the time he makes it to his perch. He crouches on the edge of the roof, as he usually does, holding onto the lip of it for balance and looking like a living gargoyle.
Before it's even a conscious decision, Illya's wings are already spreading out, angling to catch the droplets falling from the sky. The feeling of the rain penetrating his feathers makes him sigh contentedly, the sound turning into a pleased hoo from his chest. He gives his wings a shake, flinging off excess water and realigning crooked feathers.
“Didn't know you were the bird-bath type, Peril.”
Solo's voice startles him, and Illya stands, whipping around to face him and folding his wings. Heat blooms in his face and ears, and he snaps, “What are you doing up here?”
Solo warbles, amused, as he picks his way across the roof to Illya.
“Same as you,” he says, inky black wings stretching out behind him, “Just didn't think I'd have company.”
“You don't,” Illya snarls, moving to push past him.
Solo grabs Illya's arm, stopping him in his tracks and making his wings bristle. “You saw me roll in the snow, Illya. You don't get to be embarrassed about wanting to preen in the rain,” Solo eases, voice laced with affection.
“Is not the same.”
“You're right. It's not.” Illya meets Solo's eyes, sparkling with good humor as he finishes, “My incident was much more humiliating.”
Illya scoffs and shakes his head, but doesn't pull away. The rain has teased the curl back into Solo's hair, and the gentle look on his face makes Illya feel….it makes him feel safe. Solo must see the realization behind Illya's eyes, because his soft smile grows and he nods back towards Illya's perch.
“Come on. Let's not waste a good summer drizzle,” Solo's hand falls to Illya's wrist and he tugs him along back to the edge of the roof.
Solo shakes out his wings and tips his face up into the rain, sighing happily. Illya watches him for a moment, following the water trailing from Solo's primary feathers. Tenatively, Illya returns to his posture, keeping an eye on Solo the entire time.
“Isn't that better?” Solo trills without looking at Illya.
Illya hums in reluctant agreement and relaxes a little. He stares out at the fences and sheep dotting the landscape and whispers, “I could not suppress it; the want. I could not ignore it anymore.”
“You don't have to. Not with us. Not with me.”
A shiver runs down Illya's spine and he looks up at Solo, awestruck. His partner feels his gaze and meets it, his cheeks rosy. Illya has to tear his eyes away after far too long, trying to ignore his pounding heart. He stretches his wings out a little further until his feathers brush Solo's.
Solo shifts his wings to increase the contact, and Illya bites back a smile. Maybe this house arrest wasn't so bad, after all.