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#› gaby teller ╱ desires

heytheredeann · 2 months

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Not a love song

Tags: Post-Canon, Mentions of Gaby Teller, Misunderstandings, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Alterous attraction, Asexual Character, asexual illya kuryakin, Aromantic Character, Aromantic Napoleon Solo, Angst with a Happy Ending, Internalized Acephobia (only like one line of dialogue), Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sharing a Bed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt Napoleon Solo (only a little bit - to make him TALK loool)

Notes: This fic exists because with the new year I figured I'd try to be change I want to see in the world, and I definitely would love to have more aspec fics to read LOL. Sidenote for those who don't know: the term "alterous attraction" indicates a feeling that is not necessarily platonic but is not romantic either, it's something in-between that doesn't fit into either label or that is not easily identifiable as one or the other, and that's what I imagine Napoleon is experiencing (I struggled to pick a relationship tag, I wish Ao3 had a third option LOL). He's just there like "I WANT HIM" "Like a boyfriend?" "DUNNO, I W A N T HIM *grabby hands *". Illya's feelings could be straight up romantic or platonic or alterous as well, his POV is not shown so *shrug *. I tend to headcanon him as biromantic, but if you want to read aro Illya into this I definitely won't complain LOL. That's all, I think, enjoy!

It’s possible that Napoleon might have—misread the situation.

Though really, how is this his fault? Illya is the one sending mixed signals all around.

First he gets all cozy with him, always finding an excuse to touch him, be it with a hand on the small of his back, an arm around his shoulders as they sit close together or even his hands on his hips as he leans to look over his shoulder, and then, when Napoleon starts flirting back, he closes up like a clam.

Perhaps Illya is just confused about his feelings. Maybe he’s never been with a man before, and though he very obviously started indicating that he wants him close he wasn’t sure what to do once Napoleon started responding.

It would be understandable, and Napoleon should perhaps just talk to him about it, but—Illya has been steering clear of him for a week now, since when Napoleon got tipsy and impatient and he straight up tried to come on to him, and he isn’t sure what to do about it now that he might have completely ruined everything.

He was stupid, he shouldn’t have jumped the gun like that, he should have tried to ease Illya into it, but—he missed him. The most concerning part of the whole thing wasn’t the insistent pull of want that began growing in the pit of his stomach as Illya started freely touching him, that deep-seated desire to be held in his arms, tangled together under the sheets and allowed to relax skin to skin after a good fuck, that was acceptable, normal, but—

What he wasn’t prepared for was the panic that would overtake him the moment Illya started pulling away from him.

[More on Ao3]

#napollya #napollya fic #tmfu fic #ace illya #aro napoleon #the man from uncle #napoleon x illya #tmfu #not spn #my fanfic #this has been ready for ages tbh looool #but that's it i'm done re-reading it BYE #i'm probably not completely happy with it because it's so self-indulgent but THAT'S THE DEVIL TALKING. IF I DON'T INDULGE MYSELF WHO WILL #so here i'm finally posting it looool

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wendimydarling · 4 years

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Who’s in Charge?

Title: Who’s in Charge?

Summary: What happens when Illya’s authority gets tested?

Pairing: Illya Kuryakin x Napoleon Solo x Gaby Teller

Word Count: 3048

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Blowjob. That’s it.

A/N: Okay, a little background on this one might be needed. Gaby is in a formal Dom/Sub relationship with Illya Kuryakin. They have invited Napoleon Solo into the relationship as a second Dom, but it’s Illya that holds the reigns. This was originally written for another story but never panned out, so I changed some things around and made it a one shot. If anything’s unclear, don’t hesitate to ask! As always, I’m open to constructive criticism, and if you want to be added to the tag list or I forgot to tag you, just let me know!

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Gaby was exhausted. Her work day had been long and arduous, full of customer complaints and sexual innuendos from her male co-workers. Someone had let slip the nature of her relationship with Illya, and now it seemed that every human in the office with a penis was suddenly interested in her "as a person". Needless to say when she left that evening she had a headache, and she supposed a little bit of heartache too. People would never understand.

When she arrived at Illya's apartment, he and Napoleon were in the living room, arguing heatedly over whatever game was glaring at her from the iridescent tv screen. A few empty beer bottles sat abandoned on the coffee table; Gaby guessed the game was too exciting for the guys to take a break and add to the collection.

Her presence unnoticed, she wordlessly slipped into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of wine. After downing most of it, she poured herself another full glass, then watched her lovers while she put the bottle away. Illya was standing at this point and Napoleon was so close to the edge of the couch he seemed about to fall off it, both of them yelling at their team through the television as if their words could be heard by the coaches. Gaby shook her head and smiled, conceding to the fact that she would never understand men and sports.

She pulled two beers from the fridge and opened them, took them over to the guys, and placed a bottle in each man's hand and a gentle kiss on each of their stunned lips.

"How long have you been home?" Illya asked her, clearly confused. Napoleon remained quiet as he leaned back across the couch and took a swig of his beer, quite entertained by the fact that he and Illya had been caught by surprise.

"About ten minutes ago," Gaby responded, laughing at Illya's expression. She exchanged a glance with Napoleon as he laughed with her. Illya was rarely caught off-guard and did not like it, nor did he like being laughed at, both of which she knew she would pay for later. For now though, she was enjoying her brief moment of triumph.

Napoleon was still laughing, and Gaby focused on him. He had a beautiful laugh, deep and throaty, and the lines around his eyes told her that he laughed often. She liked that about him, his enjoyment of life; she would give anything to see the world in a humorous light. His eyes twinkled and he winked at her, sending a slight pang of arousal into her now tipsy belly. She gave him her best seductive grin, then turned back to Illya.

"Work was hell today, so I'm going to take a bath," she told him. The look on Illya’s face at her lack of request kicked her submissiveness into high gear.

"Need anything else before I do, sir?" She offered, looking at the floor and hoping that it was enough to satiate him. He came over to her and tilted her head up, forcing his gaze to his.

"No, I'm fine. Next time come greet me first," he commanded her, his tone authoritative. Gaby breathed a sigh of relief and, noting the anger still lurking behind the hazel in his eyes, leaned forward to kiss him, satiating him for now.

"Yes sir. Well, I'll be in the bathroom then," she stated, and turned once again to Napoleon.

"Feel free to join me when your game is finished," she smirked at him, lingering on his gaze as long as she dared. Looking once more to Illya (who was too busy glaring at Napoleon to look back), she grabbed her wine and headed to the bathroom.

The bath was luxurious. Gaby had long since finished her wine and felt relaxed and uninhibited, letting the delicious scent of candles, the hot water, and the soft music soak away the stresses of the day. She let herself doze, her body weightless in the water. Gaby was close to sleeping when the door flew open loudly, startling her awake. Illya and Napoleon walked in, both sporting a mischievous grin on their face.

"What are you doing?" She asked, receiving no answer. The guys exchanged a glance, and then all Gaby could do was stare wide-eyed as she watched Ilya slowly begin to undress Napoleon, peeling Napoleon's shirt up over his head. Her mouth fell open into an 'O' as Illya removed Napoleon's pants at a snail’s pace, then came back up and did the same with his boxers. She tried to look away from Napoleon's erection (which was growing harder by the second at the sight of her naked in the water), but the amount of alcohol she had consumed that night prevented her from being discreet. She thought back to the few times Napoleon had joined her and Illya, and Gaby realized that though she had felt him, she had never actually seen Napoleon fully naked before.

"Boy, you really can't take your eyes off of his dick, can you?" Illya remarked, jealousy evident in his voice. It did nothing to sway Gaby's stare however, her eyes remained fixed to Napoleon's lower half. Illya addressed Napoleon.

"Told you she was a cock-lover. Look at her salivating, I bet she can't wait to take you in her mouth." Gaby’s arousal sparked at the filthy words and she squirmed, but she waited to see what Illya's plan was. She looked from him, to Napoleon, to Napoleon's cock, back to Illya, and finally landed on Napoleon's face. He met her gaze proudly, no shame written anywhere on his handsome features. Her gaze shifted down again and came to rest on his member. She licked her lower lip then bit down on it, and was rewarded with an involuntary twitch from Napoleon.

Illya seemed extremely agitated then, watching the exchange between Gaby and Napoleon.

"Well go ahead and join her, tell her what you want her to do," he huffed, perching himself on the countertop to watch. Gaby understood then; Illya wasn't punishing her, he was punishing Napoleon. Illya knew her skill, had told her more than once that she was the best blow he'd ever had, and she guessed that Illya wanted to establish who the higher-ranking Dominant in this triangle was. Gaby looked at Illya, and Illya gave her a look that told her what she was supposed to do. She became a temptress and sat up, splaying her legs and resting her hands on the floor of the tub. She pressed her breasts together with her arms, and crooked a finger towards Napoleon with a "come hither" motion.

Napoleon looked at Gaby, eyes dark with desire.

"I heard you were fairly talented with your mouth," he purred, slinking towards the tub. She inwardly laughed at his naivety as he lowered himself slowly into the hot water. He had no idea what he was in for.

"I might be," she teased, swinging her legs behind her and grazing his stomach with her breasts as she slid up to lightly kiss his jaw. "Depends on who's asking."

Gaby placed another soft kiss on Napoleon's lips this time, waiting for him to command her.

"Well then love, why don't you show me?" He retorted. She kissed him a little harder, licking a little line from inside to outside his upper lip. He responded by opening his mouth and attempting to draw her in for a deep kiss, but Gaby pulled back before he succeeded, leaving him confused.

"Doms have to be more specific," she directed him, "what talent with my mouth do you want me to show you?" For emphasis, she began sucking on the pulse point in his neck, which made him exhale heavily and throw his head back.

"I want you to- hah!" Napoleon exclaimed as Gaby's fingertips found his cock. She ever-so-gently brushed two of them along his length, relishing his reaction and the control she was being given.

Illya never let her give him a blowjob anymore. He wanted all control at all times, which was disappointing for Gaby, though she understood why. To be able to make a man become completely undone under her touch, to have him begging, to have that much power over another individual, she got why Doms chose to be Doms. The feelings of satisfaction and power were addicting, and she knew Illya much preferred to feel in charge; he did not like being powerless and at the complete mercy of someone else as she did. It's why she chose to be a Sub, the helplessness turned her on more than the power. Still, she did occasionally enjoy being the one with the power, and she took advantage of those rare moments when they were given.

Letting her thoughts come back to the present, Gaby swirled one finger around the tip of Napoleon's swollen member and trailed it lightly down the underneath to his base. Napoleon's eyes were closed and his lips were pressed tightly together. She could see him frantically trying to regain the control that he had so quickly lost, could see him wanting to be the one leading the situation, as any Dom would. She chuckled softly at that notion, knowing full well that she was calling the shots right now. She looked up at Illya, who still hadn't lost his scowl. He huffed again and spun his finger in the air, telling her to move it along.

She looked back at Napoleon, who had opened his eyes again, though his head still rested against the back of the tub.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Solo, I didn't catch what you said," she taunted, her other hand sinking beneath the water to join its teasing partner by stroking his balls. Napoleon was too fast though and caught her wrist before her fingers reached their destination, pulling her face towards him with his free hand.

"I want. Your mouth. On. My. Dick." He told her, the authority in his voice sending shivers down her spine and waves of arousal through her stomach. "Please," he amended, and she had to smile. One of Napoleons's best qualities was that he secretly hated diminishing others, and she knew he would never make a good Dom. Still, she liked him, and she had been ordered by her Dom to pleasure him, so she obliged Napoleon's request.

Gaby place a slow, steady line of kisses down Napoleon's chest, applying gentle pressure with her fingers to the backside of his legs until he got the hint and exposed his groin to the air. She was good at what she did, but still, she couldn't breathe under water. She used the pads of her fingers to steady his erection, and continued the line of kisses down his length. Napoleon's breath hitched in the back of his throat at the contact of Gaby's lips, but he kept his eyes open this time, watching her go to work.

And go to work she did. She was slow and methodical, teasing him with the lightest touches, waiting until he would close his eyes only to surprise him by taking him full in her mouth. She would alternate licking and sucking, tasting him fully. Napoleon quickly began writhing, breathing heavily and trying his best to hold still so that he wouldn't thrust up and choke her. He couldn't think straight. This woman was taking him apart seam by seam and he found that he didn't even care. He chanced a look at Illya, who's eyes were fixated on Gaby's mouth with a murderous glare. Gaby chose that moment to hum loudly, and Napoleon's head snapped back towards her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes smiled devilishly at him and she hummed again, causing Napoleon to swear in a most undignified manner.

"Told you she would take you down a peg," Illya finally spoke. Gaby smiled around Napoleon's cock at those words and grazed her teeth up his length, relishing the desperate need behind his eyes. She began to suck on just his head, and all the resolve Napoleon had not to beg disappeared.

"Oh dear god," he panted, wondering if this would never end. He had never felt such pleasure in all his life. Illya had been right, she was far more talented than he had originally guessed. He also surmised that Illya had known Napoleon would underestimate her, and had wanted to see him like this, to see him taken apart and weak in order to show his dominance over both Napoleon and Gaby. Napoleon had been reduced to an absolute mess of a man and he looked like a fool in front of Illya, but he didn't care; it felt too good. Gaby kept sucking his head. It still wasn't enough to get him off and she knew it, but Napoleon wanted to cum, so against his pride he started begging.

"Okay Illya, you win. Shit, you both win. Oh my god, please, just—Jesus Gaby, fuck!—oh god, I'm... I want to cum, I can't take it anymore, I can't; I need to—it's not enough, oh god..." Napoleon shut his eyes and leaned his head back on the wall, still babbling incoherently. Gaby ignored his pleas and continued her torturous pace, watching Illya and waiting for him to give her the go ahead. Napoleon was shaking his head at this point, moaning and gasping interrupted only by the occasional curse. Gaby's mouth was getting tired, but Illya had not yet granted her permission to give Napoleon release. She knew that she would be severely punished if she didn't wait for Illya's command, so she backed off a little and stared at him pointedly.

Illya was watching Napoleon's face with wicked satisfaction. Gaby saw the jealousy written all over Illya, and she grunted her displeasure at him, inadvertently making Napoleon gasp and jerk up. He slammed into the back of her throat and she gagged hard, doing her best to breath while her lips remained closed around his dick; giving Napoleon a break now would also result in punishment later. Napoleon groaned out his apology, but didn't open his eyes. The incident seemed to shake Illya out of his trance though, because he finally looked at Gaby, smug.

"Finish him off," he stated with an air of pride, thinking to himself that he could have lasted longer than Napoleon. Gaby gladly complied. Prepared for it this time, she relaxed her throat and took Napoleon's entire length into her mouth, sucking hard. Napoleon’s eyes shot open and he cried out, crunching his torso forward and watching Gaby swallow him whole. His face twisted in painful pleasure at the sudden sensation and he felt his release building very quickly.

" Gaby , I'm gonna, I can't hold it, I'm-" he tried to warn her but she just looked up at him and briefly put her fingers over his mouth, relentlessly sucking him to climax. He cried out as his orgasm hit him, further turned on as he watched Gaby swallow every drop of seed he shot into her mouth.

Napoleon shuddered as he finished and relaxed against the back of the tub, closing his eyes once more to savor the gentle open-mouth strokes Gaby was giving him during his post-orgasm high. Breathing heavily, he opened his eyes as she slid off him, grinning like an idiot when she slid her body along his to come up to his face. Tenderly, she cupped his face in her hand, and he responded in kind by clasping the back of her neck and bringing her in for a kiss. He moaned as he tasted himself on her lips, grunting in displeasure and pain as his cock twitched far too soon after coming.

Napoleon broke off the kiss and looked over at Illya, but all he saw was the sink, Illya was gone.

"Where did Illya go?" He asked Gaby, stroking her hair. Gaby laid her head on Napoleon's chest and sighed, knowing her Dom was off pouting somewhere.

"He gets very jealous," she admitted, tracing a finger along the lines of Napoleon's muscles. "He's probably out there on the bed, figuring out how to punish me for giving you attention."

Napoleon looked at her, confused.

"But Illya's the one who brought it up; he instigated the whole thing, said he wanted to watch you take me apart. Why would you be punished for that?"

"Because I went beyond what I should have," Gaby said vaguely, pulling the plug so that the water in the tub could escape and standing up to get out. She grabbed a towel and stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself up to keep warm.

Napoleon remained in the tub for a minute, his brain still trying to process everything that had just happened. Gaby laughed and tossed him a towel, catching him off guard.

"Don't try to understand his reasoning, sometimes he just doesn't make sense," she told him, drying off and slipping her nightshirt over her head. Napoleon stood up and joined her outside the tub, wrapping the towel around his waist. He circled his arms around her from behind, looking at her in the mirror.

"Well, thank you for the sex," he chuckled, "I can honestly say I've never had a more excellent blowjob in my life." Gaby laughed out loud.

"I believe I should be thanking you. I never get to do that anymore and I miss it. It's fun." She winked at him, then turned in his arms. He kissed her again and she kissed back, but pulled away far sooner than he wanted her to.

"I'd better go find Illya," she sighed, heading toward the door. "Better to face my punishment now rather than later."

" Gaby?" Napoleon stopped her, grabbing her hand in his.

"Yeah?"

"Would you... would you care to join me for breakfast tomorrow morning?" he asked her, heart pounding. She was someone else's Sub, and though he had been invited to join them as a third party, he couldn't believe he had just asked her out, knowing she would say no. Gaby smiled at him though, and squeezed his hand.

"I would love to," she stated firmly, and pressed one last kiss to his lips before slipping out the door.

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Tag List: @littlefreya @sciapod @thiccgeralt

#henry cavill #henrycavill #Henry Cavill Smut #the man from uncle #napoleon solo #illya kuryakin #armie hammer #armiehammer #napoleonsolo #illyakuryakin

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thrillingdetectivetales · 4 years

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NOT ONLY THE SUGAR, BUT THE DAYS Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo/Gaby Teller

Another fic written for Eat, Drink & Make Merry, this one featuring everyone’s favorite Cold War-era OT3. No summary, but here is a tiny baby snippet:

Gaby frowns, “You’re cooking dinner for the cat?”

Napoleon wrinkles his nose. “The quality of the canned food at the grocery left something to be desired.”

Beside him, Illya nods, face somber and aggrieved.

READ IT HERE ON AO3.

#man from uncle #muncle #illya kuryakin x napoleon solo x gaby teller #illya kuryakin #napoleon solo #gaby teller #man from uncle ot3

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ryehouses · 4 years

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tagged by @pinkmanage to post 10 favorite characters from 10 different fandoms (like a week ago, i’m sorry, i have somehow slipped from this realm into the next, and it turns out the next is just my 7423rd skyrim playthrough. i too agonized over this.)

lyra silvertongue, his dark materials. i read the golden compass very young--too young, probably--and lyra was the first girl character i ever encountered who was rude and messy and brash and not at all very girly. loved her, love her, will continue to love her for the rest of my life.

arthur morgan, red dead redemption ii. is anyone surprised? i literally cannot articulate how profoundly affected i was by this stupid game and this stupid character.

dorian pavus, dragon age: inquisition. VERY glib, unafraid to set people on fire, the only man with a mustache that i trust unreservedly. i romance him ever single time i have a male inquisitor.

corvo attano, dishonored. this list is going to be... unfairly stacked in favor of dishonored, because dishonored is written into the core of my being, but like. corvo, though. interesting in both high and low chaos; eats rats; fucking HILARIOUS sense of humor (signing lady boyle’s book is hysterical, okay); likes swords and his murderous daughter; on a deeper note, i really love that the entire fate of dunwall turns on corvo’s willingness to be honorable, and i have howled about this concept at length before

billie lurk, dishonored. listen!! billie should have been the player character for dishonored 2 -- she’s got it all! a reason to go after delilah! an interesting motivation that isn’t just recycled from the first game! sick powers! i know a lot of folks didn’t like doto, but i really did and billie made me CRY

gaby teller, the man from uncle. my deep & abiding desire to get strapped by alicia vikander aside, i adore gaby, and pretty much every tmfu fic i’ve ever written or thought of centers around gaby, because she’s just so interesting.

daud, dishonored. not glib, not really a thief, but i love him so much. he’s terrible and dramatic and so upset that he’s having regrets over killing jessamine -- playing a low chaos daud is delightful, because he hates being a better person so much. also gains points for dreaming about corvo stabbing him to death, because, you know. same.

murphy cooper, interstellar. i physically cannot talk about interstellar right now, due to The Fragility Of It All, but man i love it when anger and love save the world hand in hand. i really do.

brynjolf, skyrim. this is absolutely because i’m in the middle of a playthrough right now, but bryn has been the hottest piece of ass in tamriel since 2011 and the fact that i cannot marry him is a crime. we love glib-tongued thieves.

guenivere/gwenivere, arthurian mythos; it ain’t matter what adaptation we’re in, i love that girl. she could get it. i maybe played the guenivere rp choice game 600 times attempting to bone arthur, lancelot AND morgana all in the same playthrough. it’s fine.

(honorable mentions to alistair theirin, the entire cast of hamilton, most animated dogs from 1992 - 2017, ALL disney princess animal companions, my horses in rdr2, and the entire da2 companion set, even though they’re all (with the exception of merill; don’t fuck with me on this) fairly terrible people)

do i even have ten mutuals any more? if you are a mutual and you know what my legal name is, consider yourself tagged.

#bhe #god #this was Tough (tm)

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theymakehistoryarchived · 4 years

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[NSFW] put a name in my inbox and my muse will answer: Anne writes her name on a slip of paper and slides it towards Illya.

@frombehindpaleeyes || [meme] accepting!

How interested they are in having sex with them: Once they’ve established that feelings are mutual, Illya would be very interested. Prior to knowing Anne also has feelings for him, Illya suppresses his desires for her. How much they would pay (or have to be paid) to have sex with them: Illya doesn’t believe in paying for sex, as it eliminates the ability to consent fully in his eyes. If they would rather bottom or top them: Illya is a solid top with 99% of his partners How good they think they would be: He admittedly hasn’t really thought about that If they’d prefer kitchen counter, wall, or shower sex with them: wall or kitchen counter, whichever is more comfortable for Anne If they’d fuck, have sex, or make love: Make love. Illya doesn’t just “have sex” or “fuck”. He only makes love, since he needs an emotional bond before becoming intimate If they were going to make it a threesome, the third person they’d pick: [Verse dependent for the first two] Napoleon Solo, Gaby Teller, or someone of Anne’s choice. It’d have to be a shared decision. Granted, Illya isn’t big on sharing. If they think there’s ever a possibility that it would happen: Very likely once they’ve established having mutual feelings.

#frombehindpaleeyes #muse: illya #shippy things #meme answer #nsfwish text

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laurasinele · 4 years

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From Russia with love (a Fictober19 drabble)

Prompt 25: “I could really eat something”

Fandom: The Man From UNCLE (2015)

Tags: Illya cooks pirozhki, Napoleon flirts shamelessly, Gaby is having a blast.

Warnings: to Illya, please my child, don’t get hurt; to Napoleon, one of this days he’s gonna hit back and you won’t see it coming.

Ao3

Their lodgings were in the attic of a centenary building near the Old Town, in Prague. Their mission was locating an arms dealer working to supply both the USSR and the USA with the, allegedly, ultimate nuclear weapon. Miss Teller was having a blast with all the bickering and ranting between her colleagues. Kuryakin was definitely attached to Mother Russia, and he was not amused by the idea of his government being fooled, but he had mixed feelings about interfering with his government plans, even if he was working to frustrate the USA plans too. Meanwhile, Solo was a man who served no king other than the man holding his leash. And this was currently the MI6. But, just to mess with Kuryakin, he was making an obnoxious display of patriotism that had the Russian baring his teeth at anything he said and the German laughing under her breath at their banter. Every single time, Kuryakin realised only two or three comebacks late that Solo was taking the piss. And every single time he fell again for it, as if he could not ignore none of Solo’s remarks.

Teller was supposed to infiltrate the inner circle of the arms dealer, claiming to have a copy of her father’s rocket plans. Solo accompanied her as her bodyguard. He had to plant as many bugs as he could before being dismissed. Teller would now live at the Palace, and the boys, as she called them, would stay at the shabby one room apartment, monitoring her every move.

Solo came back from leaving Teller at her rooms after meeting their objective. The evening air was cold and the stairs many, leaving him panting slightly. As he entered the loft, he took in a gulp of air and his mouth watered to the smell. Then, his brain registered Kuryakin’s profile, stooped over the small wood-burning stove. He let out a delighted hum to make his presence known.

“Pirozhki?”, he asked. Kuryakin looked at him with his usual overly serious expression and nodded once.

“I just finished preparing the filling”.

“Well, I could really eat something…”, said Solo, taking a fork and motioning to dip it into the pot. Kuryakin slapped his hand.

“No. Wait until they’re finished”, he admonished.

“I am starving here, Peril”

“Heat some canned beans, Cowboy”, he replied without looking up at Solo.

Solo walked to the window as he undid his coat. He removed his gloves and took a glance at the city below. Then he breathed a dramatic sigh.

“I could eat a whole Russian spy”, he mumbled.

Behind him, a clatter of pots, pans and cutlery told him that his seemingly innocent comment had reached the target and produced the desired effect. It was going to be an interesting night.

#fictober19 #the man from uncle #Illya Kuryakin #Napoleon Solo #gaby teller #illya x napoleon #napoleon x illya #illya kuryakin & napoleon solo #napoleon solo & illya kuryakin #gaby teller ships them

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karmabansheenz · 5 years

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Do I Stay or do I Go Now?

Well, everyone, this is it, my first ever Fanfic. I’m a Guy Ritchie super fan and I, like most, am obsessed with the character dynamics between Ilya, Solo, and Gaby. As I attempt to pay homage to this, please forgive any faux pas! Trigger Warning: Fiction contains attempted sexual assault.

1960’s

Napoleon Solo Ilya Kuryakin Gabriella ‘Gaby’ Teller

Who am I?

I’m an orphan. My Father was a Nazi rocket Scientist and my Mother – I don’t speak of her.

I am not proud of my lineage, not many daughters of the Nazi regime are.

I don’t like to go on about myself and neither do I particularly enjoy talking of the past. Therefore, all you need to know is that in the pursuit of trying to locate my Father I was recruited by one Alexander Waverly of the British intelligence agency and have now somehow found myself embroiled within a covert operations team alongside a devastatingly incorrigible American CIA Playboy, Napoleon Solo and a giant brooding Russian KGB Agent, Ilya Kuryakin.

Our codename; U.N.C.L.E.

“My, my Gaby.” Waverly tutted, jutting his short chin out as he admonished me, “We are particularly disinterested today I might say.”

He wasn’t wrong, he was never bloody wrong but I refused to take the bait, instead, I simply folded my arms across my chest lounging further back in the dark leather armchair.

Beside me, I felt Ilya tense, not one to approve of my ever being anything but the soft feminine creature he so yearned for me to be. Unable to resist I, therefore, took a deliciously long, sweet time altering my crossed legs. Fingers suddenly struck, ticking against his pressed grey trousers. It was a dead giveaway that I’d be successful in agitating him and only happy to further the strain I cocked my head and slipped the end of my pencil into my mouth.

Napoleon’s sharp kick to the back of my chair startled me as I slid against the linoleum floor.

“What?” I asked him doe-brown eyes wide.

“You know what. Take pity on Peril.”, the almost permanent natural quirk to his lips made it hard to take him seriously.

“Don’t speak for me, Cowboy.”

I rolled my eyes at the deep gravelly growl.

“Don’t do this, don’t do that.” I mimicked his surly monotone. “Can’t you ever have fun?”

“It’s nice,” interjected Waverly in his overly dry clip, “to see that after two successful missions you’re still all such good friends. Now if you don’t mind,” the slap of a stack of folders hitting the desk echoed around Alexander’s office, “back to business.”

I took the top folder scanning the front page of the dossier, paying particular attention to the small polaroid attached.

“William Chisholm,” The ice in Waverly’s glass chimed as he swirled his whiskey around, “Philanderer, business tycoon, madman. Quite standard statistics for a man with naturally sadistic tastes. Rumor has it he’s grown tired of kidnapping and trafficking women for fun and now has decided that biological warfare is more ‘his thing.’”

“Sounds like a real swell guy.” Napoleon drawled rising and releasing the top button of his shirt as he helped himself to a drink. “So, what's the plan?”

“It's delightfully simple really.” Waverly’s eyes met mine. “He’s very, very partial to a particular type of woman. And we, well we just seem to have exactly what he's looking for.”

“No.” Ilya stood his chair crashing against the floor. “Absolutely not.”

I took the whiskey from Napoleon's outstretched hand and shot it back. “When do we start?”

Ilya took a menacing step towards me and ignoring him I stacked my feet up on Waverly’s desk, empty glass shaking in Solo’s direction for a refill. Waverly cocked an eyebrow at me and I smiled,

“Well...?”

***

“Let's run through this, again shall we?”

Ilya towered over Napoleon, “I. Don't. Need. To. Go. Through. It. Again.”

Solo pushed on unperturbed. “Gaby and I will attend the event together in the pretense of being Husband and Wife.”

“You are not-”

“Oh, for god's sake Ilya.” I turned from the window overlooking New York City’s grandeurs skyline, my small foot tapping against the plush mustard carpet. “It’s a good plan, Solo and I will-”

“You should be My Woman.” the big blond Russian barked.

“Yes, yes,” I waved my hand at him, “Because it worked so well the last time, we played pretend.”

“Face it Peril,” Solo fitted his sapphire cufflinks, adjusting the sleeve of his tailor-made shirt, “Once again our Little Iron Curtain Girl has the right of it. You couldn’t even standby and be mugged next to Gaby. How do you think you’ll behave when the entire goal is to try to have her accosted?” he slanted an eyebrow, expertly knotting his bowtie even without the use of a mirror.

Ilya’s huge hands curled into fists at his side. “I do not like this plan.”

“You don’t have to like it.” I sighed lifting my thick brunette hair over my shoulder as I turned my back to him. “Now, zip me.”

Napoleon saluted me with his glass as he left the sitting room.

“Gaby,” I felt the hairs on my neck spark to life as his large index finger pressed against the top of my spine, skimming down, dipping into the low curve of my back before he pulled at the zipper, quickly covering once exposed skin.

I could feel the heat of his body behind me so close pressing inwards without moving. I turned, sliding the string straps of the dress up and over my shoulders as I craned my neck all the way back, just to look up at him.

“Gaby.”

“It’s time.”

I smiled at Solo’s perfectly timed call, feeling Ilya’s long fingers slide from the back of my neck where they’d briefly tangled into my hair.

“No garter this time?” I quipped up at him. His light grey-blue eyes were sad as he reached into his pocket pulling out a large engagement ring with a familiar centered pearl, surrounded by diamonds.

“No.” He took my hand, sliding the band onto my finger and this time I let him. “I will be listening.”

I smiled feeling my bottom lip tremble with a sudden stab of fear. “As usual.” was all I managed as we gathered to leave.

Ilya again balled up his fists, “I will be able to hear her Cowboy. But you, you do not let her out of your sight.”

Solo bristled, his pretty ego so easy to rattle, “Christ Peril, you think you’re the only one who cares about Gaby?”

“Not out of your sight Cowboy!”

Napoleon wrapped the white minx coat around my shoulders and nodded at the Russian, suddenly utterly serious. The intensity of the moment made the fine hairs on my arms prickle.

I rested my tiny hand on Ilya’s wide chest, feeling the quick thud of his heartbeat, pearl winking from the overhead lights. “I will be fine Ilya. I’m a big girl.”

***

Solo pressed against me as we swayed to the live orchestra at the Charity Gala. It was always the same, deranged men hiding behind mountains of good deed diversions.

“Spotted him yet?” Napoleon's warm whiskey-scented breath tickled over my ear and I moved to tuck my head under his chin scanning faces around us as he waltzed me across the floor. I spied ‘him’ suddenly striding down the main stairway, a stoic blond porcelain doll upon his arm.

“Gaby?”

“Mm-hum.” I made the affirmation in my throat gently taking over the lead in the dance to turn Solo back the way we’d come.

“Well done.” he smiled down at me. “Ready?”

I wasn’t, not really but when did that ever seem to matter?

Dressed head to toe in red I knew I was hard to miss and though I was small, I was not oblivious to the desire to ‘protect’ that that brought out in most men. William Chisholm's character profile was simple. He liked a good chase and he certainly enjoyed taking things that didn’t belong to him. Therefore, in order to bait our trap well, Napoleon and I were really going to have to sell this sham marriage.

My back now to the target I felt Solo’s hand slid down drifting over my backside. I reached behind me and gripped his wrist. “Naughty boy.”

“But Darling,” he drawled his middle American accent thick like honey. “It’s simply impossible not to misbehave when you look like this.”

“But Darling,” I cooed, “This is not the time.”

His dark blue eyes flashed along with his smile and probably for the first time, this close I really, clearly understood what that azure gaze could do to a woman when you had its full attention.

“It's always time.” he teased filling his hand and squeezing.

I turned it up, giggling and slapping at his tuxedo covered shoulder. “Not here.”

His hand trailed upwards cupping my face and I turned away in a spin but was quickly pulled back and dipped over his strong arm. “At least play fair Mrs. Jones.”

Laughing as he set me back on my feet, I noted eyes on us. Happiness did that, it drew people like flies, sucked them into its web. A few even softly clapped as he kissed my hand and led me from the dance floor deftly plucking two champagne flutes from a passing waiter. “To us.”

I clinked glasses with him and sipped coquettishly.

“Careful now.” he chuckled catching my chin in his thumb and forefinger, dipping to press his mouth against mine. My lips tingled and my knees wobbled as his tongue swept along my lower lip. I let my eyes shine; wasn’t sure I could have stopped them. “Shall we leave early?” he purred his gaze flicking quickly to the left.

“I would hope not.”

I pressed my fingers to my lips in feigned surprise, drawing away from the unfamiliar voice.

Solo turned to face the cause of our interruption, shifting slightly so his body was between me and our Mr. William Chisholm. “Excuse me I don’t believe we’ve met.” He extended his hand, “Theodore Jones.”

Chisholm took it, his dark green eyes never leaving my face. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jones.” Releasing Solo’s hand, he sipped from his own glass, eyes raking over me. “And who might this delightful creature be?”

‘Theo’ moved backward his hand again at my lower back, “Ah, allow me to introduce my beautiful wife, Olivia.”

William took my proffered hand his thumb grazing my knuckle's as he pressed a lingering kiss. “Wife?” he glanced back at the porcelain doll. “Yes, I have one of my own though I must admit she seems rather dull compared to yours.”

Solo cleared his throat, pressing me possessively against his side.

William’s smile thinned. He was by no means an unattractive man, wavy black hair, tanned skin, fit build. But knowing what I did, I could see it. The underlying darkness that sequestered his inner demons.

“How have I never met your acquaintance, before now?” he inquired casually, too casually.

Before Napoleon could answer I excused myself feeling both men's eyes on me as I weaved through guests in the pretense of needing the powder room. After touching up my lipstick and tucking away a few loose curls of hair I reentered and helped myself to a new glass of liquid courage.

I was unsettled. I felt like I’d stared into the belly of the beast, and it had rattled me.

Strolling through the wide corridors of the gallery I finally stopped before an abstract painting of two bodies intertwined. I drained the flute I held and reached for another, fingers colliding with Chisholm's.

“Please, allow me.” he raised the glass, licking off the droplets that had spilled over the rim before handing it to me.

I took it, trying to make every movement exaggeratingly slow. Through shuttered lashes, I stole a peek up at him and was pleased to watch his nostrils flare.

“Where have you been hiding Mrs. Jones.?”

I turned my back on him facing the painting once more. “Olivia, I insist.” Sensing him move rather than seeing him, I assumed he’d come to stand directly behind me.

“Not Livi? Or Liv?”

His breath brushed my bare neck and I snorted into my champagne. “You insult me, William.”

“How so?”

Looking back over my shoulder at him I again sipped my drink, “Do I look like a Livi or a Liv to you?” The question hung in the air, I felt the heat of it and cleared my throat putting space between us. “Besides I’m sure my husband told you of our recent adventures abro-.”

“He did,” William interrupted, “But I would prefer to hear your take on matters.”

I smiled, obviously wanting to make sure our stories matched I obliged him stepping slightly further away each time I felt him reach for the small of my back. “Is your curiosity quite satisfied?” I ended.

“No.” He breathed his movement more determined this time as he caught my wrist. Startled and playing the role I needed to, I tried to pull away. “Not at all I’m afraid.”

I eyed him nervously.

His smile flashed, predator-like. “I know your type Olivia.” he jerked on my wrist dragging me against his body. “You like to play at being in charge, but that’s just because someone hasn’t taken you in hand properly yet.”

It was a risky move but I went with what my instincts told me as his hard mouth crushed down on mine. Reeling back I slapped him, immediately covering my mouth with my hands in shock.

His eyes were alight. “Oh yes, I know your type indeed.”

“I have to go.” I stammered.

“Where are you staying?” he caught my upper arm, “Answer me.” his voice, though quiet, cracked like a whip.

Impeccably timed as usual ‘Theodore’ appeared around the corner with my fur coat in hand. “Darling, there you are.” he slid me back into the minx, “We’re going to be late.”

“Another engagement?” Chisholm feigned polite interest.

“I’m afraid so.” Solo smiled.

“Let me extend an invitation to you both to join me at my home tomorrow.”

I pressed into Napoleons side averting my eyes from William. Letting the men speak, though made sure enough that Chisholm could see my shaky hand clutching at my husband's jacket lapel.

“It’s a little get together. A celebration of a job well done for tonight's event. I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Well if that’s the case,” Theodore Jones quipped and the men shook hands again, “We’re staying in room 308 at the Waldorf if you would like to send the information over. Sadly, I must insist we leave now though.”

Knowing that Chisholm would expect further contact, I purposefully denied him interlocking my hands around Solo’s elbow as we nodded our goodbyes and slipped from the venue.

***

“Why must you always insist on behaving like this?”

I rubbed my head in my hands eyeing the half empty bottle of vodka sitting in front of me. It had been a long night, Napoleon made sure we had stayed out in case we were being followed. So, of all the wonderful thing we could have done in New York City, we’d attended the god-awful opera for appearances sake and now, well after midnight, all I wanted was to drink myself to sleep.

“More importantly,” I complained, “Why must you always insist upon making me drink alone?” I shook the vodka at Ilya, “Besides, this is my room. So, I will drink how I like. In my room.”

“You are like a little girl.”

Swigging straight from the bottle I waggled my finger at him.

“Hey!” I cried out, dumbstruck as he moved suddenly, snatching it out of my hand and striding straight across the room, begin emptying the rest of my vodka down the bathroom sink.

I flew after him, slapping my hands against his back and shoulders. I might as well be hitting a block wall for all the notice he took. One steely strong arm held me off as he poured out my only hope of a good night's sleep. “Stop!” I yelled resorting to yanking at his shirt.

Finished he swung to face me his eyes a stormy grey. “I will do it.”

I chewed on my bottom lip backing away from the raw heat of him, even as I stubbornly lifted my tiny chin, “Do what?”

“You. Know. What.”

“Pfft.” It was an un-lady like snort, my eyes daring him, “You had your chance in Istanbul and you didn’t.”

His face was stony as he towered over me “Do not speak to me of Istanbul.”

“Why?”

His palm struck the wall beside me. I didn’t even flinch.

“Why Ilya?” I purred finger jabbing him in the chest before trailing down lower, “Is it because you liked it?”

His jaw ticked, “Stop.”

My finger hit the ridge of his belt buckle, “Ilya?”

He was staring at my hand, resting above the seam of his trousers.

“Is it because you like to listen to me?” Tick, tock went his jaw again. “Did you want to watch me?”

Squealing I found myself suddenly tucked under his arm as he carried me from the bathroom. “What are you doing?!”

Huffing as my elbow found his abdomen, he juggled his hold on me until I was face down staring at the ugly carpet of the suite's bedroom. I could feel the restrained violence in him. Actually, folded over his thighs I could feel all of him.

His hands on my shoulder and hip pinned me and then he branded me with one.

I couldn’t even cry out, or gasp.

The second one was harder, sharper and mouth open against the side of the bed I sucked in a breath at the third before coming to life. “Ilya stop it!” I scrambled to free myself from his lap, fists clutching at the bedding and his trouser leg. “Stop Ilya!”

Four – Five.

“Ilya!” my blood pounded in my ears.

Six.

I screamed and he released me so suddenly I fell onto the carpet on all fours. Scrambling away I sat against the wall, hissing at the tenderness of my backside, ending up on my knees.

“Bastard.” It was a sob.

His eyes lifted from staring at his hands as if they didn’t belong to him, to my face and I read the regret in them, and... something else entirely.

“Russian Bastard.”

Shame flickered across his aquiline features and my gut responded in kind. How long had I taunted him, teased him, goaded him into putting his hands on me?

I had wanted him too and knew him well enough that nothing would have driven him to touch me like his anger would. We'd worked side by side for well over six months and other than wrestling in a hotel room in Italy he had only ever really touched me with his eyes. He didn’t think he was worthy of me; he didn’t think he was enough.

And here it was, my moment to tell him, he was.

And I couldn’t do it.

On his feet suddenly he paced before me, long legs eating up the limited space in the room. Hands plowing through his thick blond hair before he froze in place, staring at the door to the room.

“No.” I whispered.

He made to move towards it and I grabbed one large hand in both of mine. “Ilya.” He looked past me still at the door, “Please,” I begged softly, “Please don’t leave me here on my own.”

The plea hung in the air between us. I pressed my forehead against the backs of his knuckles. “Please.”

And then...

Finally, his strong long fingers wrapped around mine.

***

“Good Morning.”

Solo’s voice was irritatingly bland as if finding his partners together abed was nothing out of the usual. Granted we were both still completely clothed I was however fully curled atop the huge Russian like a happy kitten.

Ilya’s arms that had been wrapped around me dropped away as the curtains were opened and sunshine stung our eyes. As we moved away from each other the Americans eyebrows did suddenly arch in surprise as I wiped quickly at the corner of my mouth and he spied the corresponding wet patch on Ilya’s shirt.

The envelope in Napoleon's hand was waved in front of my face. I snatched it from him, broke the seal and scanned the contents as he dropped into one of the suites armchairs.

Snorting I flattened it against Ilya’s chest in disgust.

“What?” Solo smiled drolly.

I looked up at Ilya watching his expressionless features as he read the letter and then reread it. “I don’t like it.” was all he said after a while and handed it over to the American.

“Oh, for god's sake,” I quipped heading towards the bathroom, “that's all you’ve said since we arrived!” Shutting the door, I slid back against it to the floor, my hands were shaking.

“So, it’s a different invitation than we were expecting.” Solo called out, “But it’s still an invitation.”

“Oh wow,” the Russian drawled, “Love your logic Cowboy.”

I pressed my face into my hands, I wanted my mother and that gross juvenile desire only fueled the rise of quickening anxiety I'd begun to experience. Splashing cool water on my face I flushed the toilet for effect and returned to the room, leaning against the wall as casually practiced, as I could.

“We go then?” even I was impressed with how disinterested I sounded.

Napoleon's fingers drummed on the armrest.

Ilya stared at me, I stared at Solo, Solo stared at the ceiling.

The clock in the room ticked, ticked, ticked.

“We go.”

***

“You never cease to surprise me, Gaby.” Waverly signaled for the waiter as I removed my enormous white circled glasses and folding them placed them carefully in my handbag. “Tea?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Very well. Just the one tea then.”

I waited until we were left alone again. “Thank you for coming to meet with me.”

“Yes well, you didn’t really give me choice.” he cleared his throat and busied himself with his cuffs.

I forced a smile.

Again, we waited for the waiter to finishing serving Waverly his tea.

“So?”

I watched people on the sidewalk outside the café, I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him when I made my shameful admission. “I can’t do this.”

The teacup clinked loudly as it hit the saucer on the table but I bravely continued,

“It's different this time. I just, I can’t.”

Alexander took a deep breath, leaning on his elbow’s he stapled his fingers in front him peering over them at me. “But I’m afraid Gabriella, that you and I both know, you don’t have a choice. Do you?”

I snapped my eyes to his and was shocked at the sadness there, it was genuine.

“Somethings different Waverly.”

He lent back, resumed drinking his tea and mused. “I’ve never lied to you Gabby. So, I won’t start now. He’s a dangerous man, but no worse than the dangerous men you’ve faced before. Remember who your uncle was?”

Remember who my uncle was? What a hellishly absurd thing to say, how could I possibly forget?

Me? His innocent, pretty, little, trusting niece.

Waverly read the change in my expression and held up his hand, “Forgive me.” was all he said and we resumed a collective silence.

“He sent us, well I should say, my husband, this, this morning.” I slid it towards Alexander.

I didn’t watch him read it; I had already memorized it.

Mr. T Jones,

I delightfully request your presence tonight at a rather intimate gathering at my home. All I ask is that you bring your lovely wife with you of course, along with a very, very open mind.

R. Chisholm

Waverly pushed it back towards me, “What did he say when you met with him last night?”

“He invited us to a party, a celebration to mark the end of the charity drive I assumed.” The silence stretched out, “I’ve read the dossier, I’ve read his file, I know what he’s capable of. You all know, yet you all expect me to somehow walk in there as bait while you search for files.” Silence still, I was beginning to become agitated. “Me, my body, myself – for what? For paper? For documents?” I’d started to hiss.

“Gabriella,”

“No!” I slapped the palms of my hands on the table. Wavery looked bored. “If I do this. If I do this thing for you, it is the last assignment Alexander. The last!”

He was lazily nodding, more so to keep the peace. I was drawing lots and lots of very unwanted attention.

“Say it.” My eyes dared him to refuse.

“Yes.”

I unpacked my sunglasses. “Say it properly.”

Waverly crossed his arms and sighed. “Very well Miss Teller. After the successful completion of this assignment, I will release you from the task force, codename UNCLE.”

***

My Hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My mascara wouldn’t stop running. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

I needed a drink.

Startled as I left the bathroom and found Solo again in the armchair of my suite, I didn’t have time to paste on my normal bored façade.

“Where is Ilya?” I rushed out panicked that he too might see me in my current vulnerable state.

Solo, ever the gentleman, was quick to pour me a drink, and then another. “He’s busy playing with his Russian tech.” his long slender finger wiped at my cheek coming away black.

I hadn’t even realized I’d begun to cry again.

Wrapped up suddenly in Napoleon's arms I felt him kiss the top of my head, “It will be over before you know it.” He rocked me slightly as my breathing softened, “We may even get to dance again. You danced divinely Mrs. Jones.”

I laughed, soothed by the natural confidence Solo exuded. “For a chop-shop girl?”

He pulled back to look down at me eyes sparkling as he winked, “For a chop-shop girl.”

The suite door suddenly crashed open and desperate to hide my very real fear from Ilya I flew back to the safety of the bathroom as he advanced quickly on Napoleon.

“Now Peril, it's not what it looked like!”

From within my sanctuary, I heard the sound of splintering furniture, followed by plenty of huffing and grunting.

Fine, I thought, just fine. Let them tear the place to shreds. They’d been acting like caged bears with sore heads ever since we arrived, it would do them both good to burn off some steam while I somehow got myself together.

***

“You’ll never get in.” Solo mocked.

“I will.” Ilya was dusting the sleeves of his tuxedo as we emerged from the Mark X Jaguar and Solo handed the keys to the awaiting valet.

“No. You won't.” Napoleon retorted

“Watch me work Cowboy.” At the last minute, the Russian disappeared leaving just the two of us to be received at the front doors of the mansion. Wealth had never impressed me, Alexander Vinciguerra had tried to dazzle me with his enormous fortune in Italy, and I was even less moved as I stood in the ridiculous chandeliered foyer of William Chisholm’s ‘home’.

A home had to have a heart and I knew enough about this one's owner to know that wasn’t possible.

“Theo!” The booming cry came from down the hallway. “So good of you to join us.”

The men heartily shook hands and I pressed tighter against Solo’s side.

“So good of you to bring your little wife too.”

He gestured for us to follow him and I kept step with ‘Mr. Jones.’

“You picked our curiosity with your strange invite William. We weren’t quite sure what to make of it, were we Darling?”

I smiled, shaking my head. “No, it was very vague.”

William laughed; it was forced. “Well you can’t go around advertising your personal life when you’re an upstanding citizen like myself. I couldn’t quite risk openly inviting you to a swinger's party, having just met you.” His eyes never left my face as he spoke. “How would I know if you’d go straight to the papers, invite in hand.”

At the mention of swinging my heart dropped to my stomach, my fears confirmed and I pulled sharply on Solo’s arm, “Theo, we should go.”

“Now see here,” Solo began squaring off with William “This is absurd, I-”

“Mr. Jones, I specifically requested an open mind,” the quick clip of shoes told me at least three men were approaching us from behind. “I’ll be so disappointed if you tell me you’ve left that behind.”

I peered over my shoulder at the same time as Solo, acknowledging the presence of the three large suited men. The message was clear.

“I suppose, err that is, there is no harm in a married couple broadening their horizons.”

William clapped Theodore on the shoulder, “Yes indeed! Well said Mr. Jones.”

We followed Chisholm into the next room, Solo having to drag me the rest of the way.

“If it was good enough for the Romans and the Greeks!” William declared pushing red wine glasses into our hands, “It’s good enough for me.”

I turned my back on the debauchery before me, cheeks flaming from the site of half-naked men and women openly coupling in front of one another. Gulping at the wine, Solo’s hand had ended up pressed against my abdomen and I could feel the tension in him. Being a handsome, quick-witted Playboy was one thing but this was too lewd, too base. I knew he disapproved.

Seeing the stricken look on my face William countered, “Perhaps a quiet alcove for a gentler immersion?”

I allowed myself to be led and sat docilely beside Napoleon.

“Theo, let me properly introduce my wife, Tatiana?”

The demure porcelain doll from the night before had been replaced by a lively half-dressed one that happily trotted over, arms wrapping around her husband as her eyes undressed mine. Although nowhere near as tall, her sharp facial features reminded me of Victoria Vinciguerra. I disliked her immediately and by the tightening of Solo’s hand on my knee, he’d made the unpleasant comparison also.

“Darling, are they here to play?”

Napoleon cleared his throat as she moved towards him and not even having to act my eyes filled with tears. I didn’t want to see this; this sort of thing wasn’t for me.

“Olivia?” my husband called as Mrs. Chisholm suddenly perched on his lap and began to undo his tie.

“I’m fine.” I stammered, glancing around. I needed to get this over with, fast. “Where are the facilities?”

William gestured to the other side of the room and without delay I made a beeline for it. I didn’t dare look around until I was outside in the hallway again.

Trembling, I was so far out of my depth.

Thankfully alone, I slid past the obvious powder room making my way quickly up the stairs looking for a study. All our intel had said was it was in the left wing but so far the only bedroom after bedroom lined the hall.

I was beginning to panic; I could feel the bubble of it rising up threatening to choke me as I opened the final door - to the master bedroom. Heat flashed behind my eyes, there were no more rooms to check.

Hands against my heaving rib cage I stole one last look around the master bedroom, a tiny sliver of light I hadn't seen before winking under an internal doorway, into which - was a study.

I had never shaken so much or worked so fast in my life. The bottom drawer was locked and running my hands under the desk I hit a secret compartment, my fingers touching the cold metal of a key as the sound of the outside master bedroom door closing reached my ears.

I don’t know how I managed it but the key was back in place, papers folded and tucked in my purse and I was standing at the far side room, a book, hastily plucked from the wall to wall shelves, open and in hand as Chisolm entered.

Mask in place I turned slowly.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked nonchalantly leaning against the desk I had been rummaging through only seconds before.

I took a deep settling breath, “Books comfort me.”

He smiled lazily, “I think you were more comfortable downstairs than you want to admit, Mrs. Jones.” He crooked a finger at me. “Come, show me what novel was more interesting than getting to know me better?”

I obeyed, handing him the book and he briefly eyed the cover before placing it on the desk. “Emily Bronte. She has a unique way of describing love.” he mused as he lifted my hand to cradle his tanned face. “Will you haunt me I wonder?” he turned me suddenly, roughly, unzipping the back of my dress.

I went numb. I had what I needed, clutched stupidly between my hands, by all accounts the job was done but my limbs started to go cold with the realization that this time there may not be any escape.

“Theo?”

Chisholm’s lips pressed against my shoulder urgently as he took the purse out of my hands throwing it to the floor and yanked my dress down to follow it. “Where’s Theo-” I cried out as his hand tore into my hair, scattering pins as he wrenched me back to face him.

“It seems your husband can’t handle his wine, Mrs. Jones.”

In any other circumstances, I might have found it funny that once again the great Napoleon Solo had been easily incapacitated by another spiked drink, instead, my teeth chattered. “William,”

“Shhh, shhh, shhh.” His hand was still fisted in my hair as he lowered his forehead to mine, “Looking at you I think I do finally understand what drove Heathcliffe mad.” His teeth crushed against my lips as he forced his thick tongue inside my mouth.

Everything in this moment was predator verse prey and as the prey, I froze. William laughed amused as I screamed suddenly pinned underneath him on my back. Stars burst in my vision, as after successfully raking my nails down his face he struck me, hard and the back of my skull bounced against the floor.

I fought to stay conscious, “Stop - stop – stop-”

And then... he stopped.

Over-aroused by my terror Chisholm hadn’t heard the large blond Russian enter the room, he didn’t have time to feel the long blade slip deftly in between the back of his ribs. All he had time for was a wide-eyed stare a question on bloody lips as his head hit the carpet beside mine.

Ilya ridiculously casual, rolled the dead man off of me, shucking his impossible shoulders out of his jacket and then dressing me in it.

“Ilya.”

He brushed the hair from my eyes watching where I pointed and gathering me in his arms, stooped to pick up the discarded purse before leaving the room. Exiting the mansion from a side door I soon found myself tucked inside the back of the Jaguar, large hands holding the sides of my face. “Gabby, look at me. You will wait here.”

I shook my head at him. “Ilya,”

“You will wait here and I will be back how Cowboy says, Lick it Spit.”

I didn’t have time to correct him, he was already gone.

***

“Gabby, stay awake.”

Solo’s drawl sounded foggy in my ears.

“I’m sorry Gabby.”

I must be in shock, Napoleon never apologized.

***

“Gabby, wake up.” - Ilya’s curt clip.

“I suppose a thank you is in order.” - Solo.

“No.”

“That's twice now you’ve saved my ass Kuryakin.”

“Three times, if you count Istanbul.”

Solo chuckled beside me. “Well then, damn. I guess I really do love your work Peril.”

***

Too much to drink Ilya had told the concierge as he carried me through the lobby and knowing our room number and how often I requested room service for a ‘top up’ I guessed it was an easy sell.

“Ilya.”

His steely blue eyes were at my level as he knelt beside the bed and removed my shoes which after everything were still absurdly on my feet.

“I don’t want to talk Gaby.”

He was angry. Very.

“Ilya.” I touched his cheek, “I’m sorry.”

Unplanned, it had come out in a sob and unbelievably I watched the Russians eyes redden.

“No, I’m sorry.” he croaked his accent even thicker than usual, “I should have been faster. I was too slow.”

Hot tears streamed down my face, he and I both knew he’d been just in time but I couldn’t form the words. I couldn’t reassure him that somehow my body had remained unmolested. I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat because it was so clear now. Clearer for me than it had ever been before.

As soon as we had arrived at the mission, all I had wanted was to be safe in Ilya Kuryakin’s iron curtain embrace. Whenever I was scared or unsure, he called to me, like a lighthouse to a lost ship looking for port.

He was my church, my sanctuary. He was, home.

It wasn’t practiced, it wasn’t restrained. I threw my arms around his neck, pressing my lips against his. Fervently. Urgently.

Months of unspoken sexual tension exploded, utterly engulfing us both and hands that I had witnessed committing the most violent of acts suddenly touched me like I was the most precious object in the world.

Softly, tenderly Ilya worshiped all of me showing me wordlessly how much he cared and how much he loved.

Crying out against each other's lips at the end, he crushed me to him, as if he wanted to take me inside his body and unable to resist, I kissed him, and kissed him and kissed him.

And kissed him.

***

Sitting down to breakfast the next morning, Russian on my left, American to my right I stopped buttering my slice of toast as Alexander Waverly entered the dining room.

The folded newspaper tucked under his arm looked larger than normal and following my gaze he sighed,

“Yes, well I suppose I can’t say it was a total disaster, considering.” he jostled the paper to make a point. “But killing the man wasn’t really necessary, was it?”

Cutlery clanged onto the table from both the left and right of me and sensing his error in judgment Alexander took a quick step back. “Fine then,” he held up his free hand, “What's done is done, Lads.”

Sighing Waverly looked down at us all, his ragtag group of ‘professionals’. “I guess you’ll be saying your goodbyes then Gaby?”

My left hand pressed quickly overtop Ilya’s to stop the sudden ticking fingers on his thigh, large pearl winking from the overhead lights,

“No Alexander. No, there won’t be any goodbyes.”

#Napoleon Solo #Ilya Kuryakin #Gabriella Teller #Gaby #ilya #red peril #Alexander Waverly #Guy Richie #henry cavill #armie hammer #Alicia vikander #U.N.C.L.E #the man from uncle #fan fic writing #fan fic #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic problems #fanfic film

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somedeepmystery · 5 years

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Chapter FORTY | Read it on AO3

Chapter Summary: Farewell

Chapters: 40/40 | Rating: M | Paring: Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller

COMPLETE

Fic Summary: In a last minute effort to stop an evil plan by THRUSH, and with Solo on task for the CIA, Illya and Gaby are sent on a mission to intercept a priceless package, but it isn’t what any of them expected.

With their exit plans torpedoed, a mafia family and THRUSH agents hot on their heels, the duo is forced to deal with the troublesome package as well as the rising swell of desire and passion between them which threatens to either destroy them... or make them whole.

It feel like the end of an era guys. One year of my life. I am still amazed and a bit stunned at this entire thing. I hope you enjoy it.

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thegranddewru · 5 years

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Chapter Thirty Three | Read it on AO3

Chapter Summary: A declaration, a discovery, and a descent.

Chapters: 33/40 | Rating: M | Paring: Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller

#trying out the new cover #send me your thoughts #maybe just a way home #tmfu #illya x gaby #illya/gaby #gallya #babu #illya bb #illya kuryakin #gaby teller #smol queen full of sass #the man from u.n.c.l.e.#fanfiction

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microsuedemouse · 6 years

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Chapters: 50/50 Fandom: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller, Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo & Gaby Teller, Illya Kuryakin & Gaby Teller & Alexander Waverly Characters: Illya Kuryakin, Gaby Teller, Napoleon Solo, Alexander Waverly Additional Tags: Vignette, Prompt Fic, Dialogue prompts, Fluff, Light Smut, Ficlet Collection Summary:

Fifty moments in the shared life of Gaby Teller and Illya Kuryakin.

Like 'Things You Said,' this is a collection of vignettes based on a prompt list. The scenes are out of order but all belong in a single continuity.

Gaby picked up a bishop and stared at it critically, as if it were personally responsible for her difficulty in mastering chess. “What does this one do, again?”

Illya took a deep breath. “You do not have to learn to play chess,” he pointed out. “Perhaps you would prefer to play card games with Cowboy. He is always bragging how good he is at Blackjack.”

“No, I want to learn,” she insisted, frowning. “I just can’t keep track of how they all move. This game has so many rules.” She set the bishop back down, more forcefully than necessary.

“Is really not so complicated,” he told her. Glancing around, he reached for the pen and pad of paper that sat next to the nearby telephone. “Here. Pawn can move two spaces forward on first move, and one space forward after that, or it can capture by moving one space diagonally forward…” He began to draw out little diagrams for her, jotting down the important rules as he went.

Soon she held the completed instructions – which took up a few sheets of paper, because the notepad was so small – in her hands. Glancing through them, she cocked an eyebrow at Illya. “Your penmanship,” she said, “leaves something to be desired.”

He gave her a dirty look at that. “Is my third language, and second alphabet. You would prefer Cyrillic?” he asked. “Then I think chess would be hard to learn.”