Whenever Napoleon kept his hair a touch too long, the curls made an appearance. It was only with the help of hair products that he could get it to behave and it was rare for anyone to see the natural state of his hair unless he had just taken a shower. Which, oddly enough, Illya now fell into the category of.
"I'm a lover, not a fighter," Solo teased, not realizing how it came off. For some reason, he was dropping his guard around the other man, which didn't happen too often, and never like this. There was a certain level of intimacy with sharing a bed with someone, even if they weren't technically doing anything. "You just want to get your hands on me and rough me up. I'm onto you, Peril." But it wasn't a no.
In all honesty, he probably could use a few lessons. He wasn't a bad fighter, but he wasn't as highly skilled as he could be. He relied too heavily on his looks and guns to get him out of situations.