InsaneJournal

WHO: Napoleon Solo & Illya Kuryakin
WHERE: Coffee Shop
WHEN: Mid April
WHAT: Solo spots the man of his dreams -not like that. Sorta like that around here though.
WARNINGS: Shameless men.
STATUS: Complete.

Coffee wasn't exactly Solo's go to, but on the odd occasion that he had to stay up until God knew when just to get the security detail memorised, it was a welcome morning pick me up. And while he could easily order it to his suite, with little more than a phone call, there was something a little more personable about being in a coffee shop for a morning coffee.

He'd actually got the last few nights to sleep peacefully, without another life pushing into his consciousness, the same few moments of memories stubbornly repeating over and over again on the odd night. It tended to leave him restless, frustrated and at odds. It was why he'd taken on work so quickly, picking up a few jobs just to keep his mind occupied.

It did mean that he was far less awake in the mornings though, and that resulted in taking up his space in the nearest, cute little coffee place -he avoided those hipster ones with the complex menus, he didn't need to work out maths to order a damn coffee.

He was sitting near a window, his coffee sitting on the table, slowly cooling while he skimmed over an actual physical newspaper, when the bell over the door dinged, and Napoleon felt the urge to sit up a little straighter. He caught the back of the gentleman who'd just entered, and he felt like he couldn't quite take his eyes off the back of the new customer.

There was just something that had him staring, over the top of his newspaper, while the person made his way to the counter. It wasn't until Napoleon caught sight of his profile that he felt his fingers twitch, like he was about to reach for a weapon he didn't carry. He'd been catching glimpses of the man in his dreams for the last week and a bit, while they replayed, highlighted over and over, little details sticking with Napoleon all the time. He'd never caught the agents name, but he was aware that the massive blond was KGB and Napoleon's job was to keep the stubborn Ms Teller away from him.

And now, it seemed, both Ms Teller and the KGB agent were in Orange County, in circles that Napoleon was now running around in, and as much as Napoleon was sure he should fold up his paper and leave, coffee be damned, he was stuck in his seat, just watching.

---

Illya was acutely aware that he was being watched. Observed even. He might not be in Russia any longer or on a particularly dangerous mission but there were some senses that never left you. Knowing when you were being watched was one of those. Pretending not to notice however required a greater amount of finesse. The same finesse that had him approaching the counter and ordering a coffee, black, no sugar with apparently no concern or worry for his surroundings when truthfully he had the brunette caught and held in his peripheral.

He was well dressed, impeccably so, with shoulders that seemed better placed on somebody with rougher hands and a jaw that Illya bet could cut glass. He was also staring. Vividly so. Normally when somebody watched you like that there limited reasons as to why and most from Illya’s perspective were to do with an intent to harm or murder though the setting wasn’t exactly conducive to that.

Of course he could be wrong.

Illya tapped his knuckles against the counter as he waited, casually leaning against it as he waited for his coffee though admittedly he stood apart from the others waiting and definitely towered over them by several inches.

---

There was something about seeing the KGB agent who'd pulled the rear off Ms Teller's car, his attempts to stop the car had been more than impressive, the sheer drive of a man to use brute strength against a hunk of metal. And watching him, the stocky block of a man that he was, Napoleon was certain that the same could still be said of him.

He knew he was staring too, it was rather impossible to not know he was, but Napoleon didn't exactly try to hide it either. Taking a long drink from his cup, eyes automatically tracking the tapping of knuckles while the other man waited for his drink.

It was an odd sense of foreboding that Napoleon wasn't used to having, least of all about strangers, since all his awareness of the man came from the thinly hid stalking from the moment Napoleon had crossed the Iron Curtain.

---

Illya by this point was now in possession of his coffee and still the brunette was staring. The sensible approach would be to sit back, observe, and then follow until he knew the other's motivations but there was something about the man that made Illya do the exact opposite of sensible.

He turned away from the counter and caught those vividly blue eyes, holding that gaze as he crossed the distance that separated them before he settled his weight in the chair opposite the stranger.

"Do I have something on my face?" He inquired, a casual tilt of his head accompanied by a sip of his coffee.

---

The boldness wasn't that surprising, although Napoleon was still getting used to this whole crossover thing. "Aside from what I am sure is a dazzling smile, I'm sure?" It wasn't like Napoleon had much reason to stare, other than the obvious, who wouldn't stare at a man build like this? But he found himself unable to put dreams and reality entirely aside right then.

"I do apologise if I made you self conscious though." And somehow, Napoleon doubted that was what his staring might've been doing. It did make him wonder just what the background explanation could possibly be, and if he'd dreamt of Russia and been foreign or at home.

---

Smile? Illya?

The Russian snorted quietly as he idly placed his coffee on the table and he ignored the strange feeling of warmth that crept over him as he met that gaze more closely, noticing how the blue was a lot more intense than he'd initially thought. Those were the sort of eyes that could take somebody apart without even trying and he imagined that the brunette had no trouble with finding plenty of people willing to let him do just that.

"You did not make me self conscious," he informed the other, accent thick and alien in the current environment. "But you did make me want to know why you were staring as I do not think that we know one another?" Illya would have remembered meeting a man like this who had good taste in clothes, the Russian did appreciate somebody who knew how to dress well.

---

"We don't," it was interesting hearing the accent, since he hadn't gotten to actually meet the KGB agent as far as dreams, just enjoy the chase through the streets of Berlin, seeing the impressive actions of the other man, from trying to stop the car to barrelling through doors. Napoleon had been quietly impressed and not a little bit intrigued. "But then we all start off that way, don't we?"

Napoleon knew that it was dangerous territory, should the dreams become a commonality, which they surely would eventually, but it was near impossible for him to not poke at things, he wasn't that good at self-control. He saw things he liked and he chased. And surely, without an Iron Curtain to escape, there was more to poke at here.

"I'm afraid I'm simply someone who appreciates attractive things. Can't help myself you see."

---

Illya's eyes watched the other man closely from over the rim of his cup as he took a prolonged sip, discerning and trying to learn as much as he could with all the things not spoken. It was amazing the things people gave away without speaking after all. This man's body language suggested to Illya that he was relaxed but at the same time curious, intrigued even, and the Russian wanted to know what it was about him that had put this man in this particular predicament.

"I'm afraid I'm simply someone who appreciates attractive things. Can't help myself you see."

"I think perhaps your eyes require attention," Illya replied without hesitation.

---

The shark grin was impossible to keep from his face, those eyes twinkling just from the encouragement that he wasn't instantly shut down as the large Russian gave back just as he got. Napoleon almost felt like Christmas had come early. "You are more than welcome to pay them any attention you'd like."

The grin shifted to a smirk, as long fingers wrapped around his cup to take his own sip, hardly prolonging things, but Napoleon didn't want to waste his drink either. "I can probably think of a great many things you could give attention to."

---

There was a slight narrowing in the corner of Illya's gaze before it flicked to the grin firmly on the other man's where perhaps it lingered longer than it should. "Such as?" Illya challenged, the lift of his eyebrow definitely one to go in the history books.

He still didn't fully understand what it was about this American that had him sitting here and exchanging conversation but here he was and apparently he was showing no signs of moving.

---

"My excellent taste in restaurants for one thing," he should probably at least keep things polite to start with, goodness knew how things could shift, and as much as he had the strong urge to worm into both this mans life and that of Ms Teller, he didn't really know how things might turn out as the dreams progressed.

America and Russia weren't exactly friendly, and he did just steal and asset from under the eyes of the KGB. Likely not something that would be let go, given what Dr Teller was rumoured to be capable of. Napoleon had paid attention during history class, he was very well aware of the tone of the Cold War.

"I'd hate to make assumptions on the first meeting." Discussion of sheets could always wait until Napoleon was sure it wouldn't be a very messy conquest.

---

"That would be bad," Illya agreed as he folded his arms across his chest, sitting back into his chair and letting his gaze wander again. Was the risk worth it? That was and would always be a calculation he did before he did anything. He was not impulsive though given his propensity to explode at the most random of moments you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise.

He inhaled and exhaled in the same breath.

"Excellent taste? I think I will need to be the judge of that."

---

"Well, that is the hope." It was very easy to drop any pretense of trying to figure this one out, looking at things purely from the perspective of the dreams and working out anything as a CIA agent -which he most certainly was not.

Somehow wringing a dinner date out of this random occurrence wouldn't be the strangest thing for Napoleon, but just for the sake of it, he wasn't against the prospect. Living on the edge of the seat was just the way Napoleon had taken on life so far, why stop now?

"Proving my point is a habit of mine, I do like when I have someone to impress." Although he got the impression that it would be a challenge impressing this one.

---

Ordinarily Illya would walk away, pretend as if this interaction had never taken place but his instincts were screaming at him to entertain it, to dig that much deeper, and if it took a dinner date to do that then so be it. He was no longer in Russia after all and Amnerica he had found was a lot more accepting of things in general, it wasn't as though he needed to report this back to his superiors.

"I will tell you this," he murmured as he leaned forward to scribble a number on a nearby napkin, "I am a very difficult man to impress." The napkin was pushed across the table by long tapered fingers that were immaculately kept including nice trim nails.

He had done worse things in the pursuit of the truth than accept a dinner date from a man. Besides dinner was exactly that, you sat across from one another and ate food while exchanging conversation, not exactly a prelude to anything more... salacious.

"Ball is in your court, Cowboy." Why that particular nickname slipped out he didn't know but it seemed to come naturally to him as Illya collected up his coffee, rising to his impressive stature before he turned to head out of the coffee shop.

---

Hard to impress or not, Napoleon was relatively intrigued by it all.

There was probably a lot to not do with this, given the dreams and the opposing sides and the fact that he'd shot at this man more than once already in the dreams, it was probably going to blow up right in Napoleon's face. But life would be boring if he didn't take the odd chance, chase a little danger, make some bad decisions.

And he really felt this pursuing anything in regards to this gorgeous wall of a man was an excellently bad idea. Given the number that was just slid across to him, he was so sure that he wasn't the only one considering bad ideas.

"Then I'll aim to impress." He tapped a finger on the digits, just as the other man made his exit, and Napoleon had no shame about watching his ass while he left.