#nsik

40. exes meeting again after not speaking for years au - napollya (YOU’RE MAKING ME THINK ABOUT THE REUNION MOVIE FUCK)

[ Alexander Waverly, U.N.C.L.E. Inc. President, seeking new New York board members. ]

The phone rings.

“Illya Kuryakin,” the blonde, slight, pale man answers.

It’s a man on the other end.

“Mister Kuryakin.” Old, British, distinguished- something familiar, like he’s heard it before, through the tinny speaker of a television set, or maybe in his daydreams.

“I have a proposition for you.”

~~~~~~

[ U.N.C.L.E. Inc. shares skyrocket under new management! ]

“Cheers!” shouts Napoleon.

Illya, more subdued, raises his glass, filled with cold, clear, harsh liquid.

“Na zdorovje,” he says, and Solo smiles at his partner, at the sharp bite of the Russian, at the way he drinks his shot, at the way he supresses his smile at their success- he wouldn’t trade this for the world, he thinks, not as long as he has Illya with him.

He doesn’t want to imagine a scenario in which he does not.

~~~~~~

[ U.N.C.L.E. Inc. NYC executives have a falling out- can their partnership survive the personal turmoil? ]

“Mister Solo! Mister Solo, a few questions, please!”

The crowd follows him as he leaves the building for the last time. That old office, with their view, with their desks and their lazy susan conference table, with their half-carpet and half-hardwood, because Napoleon disliked the way his shoes rapped against the floor, but Illya felt carpet was unprofessional-

Was. Was. Was.

“Just a few questions, Mister Solo!”

Napoleon is vaguely aware of his escort shouting.

“No comment,” they say. “No comment.”

~~~~~~

[ Former U.N.C.L.E. Inc. execs Solo and Kuryakin to reunite at New York City Business Expo 2015! ]

Fifteen years pass.

It’s a strange feeling, Kuryakin thinks, to be in the same building as Napoleon Solo again without knowing precisely where he is- the hurt of the man’s absence in his life has lessened somewhat, from a gut-wrenching sense of loss, loss, loss to a constant nagging- a reminder of the connection they had burned.

He sees Solo first.

The silver suits him, he thinks- his old friend has gone gray around the temples, skin looser than in his younger years, but his eyes are the same. Still warm and smug and friendly and so, so much Napoleon that it makes Illya turn down the hall and restrain himself from sprinting away, away from the pain that he knows he will feel if he allows Solo to look at him.

Of course, Napoleon sees him anyways.

“Illya!” He shouts, abandoning the young businesspeople he had been chatting with at the sight of briskly moving, dark-suit-clad legs, at that familiar mop of blonde hair, at those broad, pale hands- Illya takes one look over his shoulder and breaks into a run, which prompts Napoleon to race after him, tackling him in the middle of the hall, sitting on his old partner’s stomach, breathing heavily.

There’s silence. The young folk must think they’re quite mad.

Napoleon lets an ear-to-ear, jaw-splitting smile crack his face.

“It is so,” he cries, leaning over to bury his face in Kuryakin’s neck, “so good to see you.”

Illya stares at the ceiling, heartbroken and hopeful all over again.

~~~~~~

[Rumors of Solo/Kuryakin affair surface- both men quit jobs after NYC Busi2015, take trip to Europe. ]

“I’m not as young as I used to be,” murmurs Kuryakin, warmly enclosed in his former-and-current partner’s arms, eyes sleep-soft, fluttering closed. The sun streams through the hotel windows and dances across their naked forms, which are covered only by a thin sheet, and sends warm thrills wherever its golden beams touches.

Solo smiles into his neck. “Neither am I, old friend.” He nuzzles his nose against the skin near the junction of Illya’s ear and neck. “I think we’ll manage.”

note: you can probably tell my writing gets really weird and experimental from 1-5 am. im so fucked up napollya fucks me up so badly

16. brand new neighbors au - shassie

It begins with brownies.

Shawn knocks on the door of the house beside his- the one that had, until recently, housed Pierre Despereaux, who had reportedly fled the country on multiple grand theft charges.

“New neighbor gift!” Shawn smiles winningly at the man who comes to the door. “You can’t say you don’t like brownies, Detective Lassiter.”

Lassie sighs.

“Spencer,” he says, “you know I don’t actually live here, right? This is an undercover op.”

Shawn grins and shoves the plate of baked goods into Lassiter’s hands.

“Well,” he says, “it wouldn’t be very good neighborship if I didn’t bring by a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift, would it?” He leans in closer to whisper confidentially to the other man. “It might get you made by the actual criminal.”

Carlton rolls his eyes.

“I highly doubt a criminal is going to suspect I’m a police officer because not enough people bring me food, Spencer.” He says, evidently exasperated.

“Well,” Shawn replies, ignoring him, “aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Lassiter scowls. “No.” He shuts the door.

It’s not until he’s standing in his kitchen, still frowning, that he realizes he’s still holding the plate of brownies.

~~~~~~

They’re a bit tied up.

“See,” the criminal says, checking the restraints securing Shawn and Lassiter to the pipe protruding from his basement floor, “I knew you were cops- that’s very rude, shutting the door in the face of a fellow neighbor like that.”

“Actually,” Shawn speaks up, interjects, “he’s a cop. I’m an innocent bystander.”

Lassiter groans and slumps against the pipe.

“Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” The perp asks him disapprovingly.

He lifts his head slightly and glares.

“You’re not one to talk,” Lassiter mutters. “You’re a criminal.”

Shawn snickers.