The Tuxedo - Picfic Tuesday - December 15th

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Illya Kuryakin was not a fan of the tuxedo. He had no issue with dressing formally, but the tux was too much like a uniform for his liking. Despite the best efforts of his various teachers and commanding officers, there had always been a non-conformist streak in him. Even with U.N.CL.E. Illya eschewed the regulation hair length and wore the expected shirt and tie only when it suited him. Aside from the occasional pointed comment, Alexander Waverly turned a blind eye to the Russian agent’s bending of the rules.

Generally, the rendezvous Illya was dressing for would fall into the hands of Napoleon Solo. Unfortunately, because a false identity was required for the meeting, it had been passed to Illya. Although Napoleon was more than competent at disguising himself, he was far too well known at the 21 Club to risk him going. Some of the female staff would know him just from the way he breathed.

Pulling on the trousers, Illya was amazed at how well they fit him. As he was playing the part of a rich playboy, an off the peg tuxedo was out of the question. Accounting had authorised one be made-to-measure by Del Floria, using the finest quality cloth. Napoleon had been rather sniffy about that. The senior agent had many tailor-made suits, but accounting had never paid for any of them up front.

After ensuring his shirt was properly tucked in, Illya reached for the black silk bow tie. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something about this particular piece of neckwear which attracted him. A smile played on his lips as he imaged himself in later years, wearing such a tie on a daily basis. His daydream was interrupted by the sound of his communicator.

“Kuryakin,” he stated, after assembling the device.

“Aren’t you ready yet?” Solo asked, his voice tinged with annoyance.

Napoleon, for once, had been relegated to the position of chauffeur, and he wasn’t too happy with it.

“I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” Illya calmly replied. “Maybe now you’ll understand how it feels when I’m waiting for you to finish preening yourself.”

“I don’t preen,” Napoleon snapped, before cutting the connection.

Illya couldn’t help the grin which appeared on his face. Solo was his partner, and close friend, but he enjoyed seeing the man brought down a peg or two every so often.

Sliding his arms into the jacket of the tuxedo, he was impressed again at the perfection of the garment. It fit him like a glove. Most of the jackets he owned were his general shape and size but they did nothing to emphasise him as a whole. This one accentuated his slim hips and athletic body and, for the first time, Illya understood what Napoleon meant when he said a well-tailored suit was more than an expensive garment.

The last thing he had to do, before filling his pockets with anything he may need, was to fasten on his ankle holster. His jacket fit so well that it was thought a shoulder holster might show up to anyone looking for it.

Just as he was about to step out of the changing room, Illya took one last look at himself. He smiled as he imaged the face napoleon would pull when he saw him.

Comments

[badgermirlacca.livejournal.com]

Oh, lovely!

I would love to see you write Illya springing a Russian Christmas surprise on Napoleon. Everyone seems to forget that they don't traditionally celebrate at the same time the West does.

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Thank you :-)