The Frozen Lake Affair

[svetlanacat4.livejournal.com]

I heard of heat... so perhaps some cool air?
And I'm sorry, lj cut... cut the text. And eventually I used the "manual system"...

“No!”

The tone was scathing, the look... kind of murderous. End of the discussion. Period.

Napoleon Solo sighed but pointed at the lake. “It's a wonderful place. Look, we could have a good time and...”

“No.”

“But...”

Icy blue eyes peeped at him icily over the dark glasses. Napoleon smiled tentatively in a new attempt to coax his partner into joining him.

“I rent skates for both of us...”

Pursed lips and fingers waved towards the lake were the only answer he got.

Stubborn Russian...

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders, left Illya's skates next to the bench and put on his own.

He loved the feeling. It wasn't about figure skating, about dancing gracefully on the ice. No. It was about the way you went faster and faster, almost effortlessly, sliding, gliding in the cold air It was about freedom...

Stubborn Russian.

The landscape was breathtaking, a world of rocks, ice, snow and dark blue fir trees... It was wonderful. Napoleon sliced delightfully through the air.

Stubborn Russian.

Illya was still reading his magazine, so obviously concentrated in ignoring his partner... Why? Napoleon remembered images of young Russians ice skating on lakes, rivers... He had thought, really that Illya would enjoy it... He didn't know much about his friend's childhood. Illya was supple, lithe, he was a gymnast, an acrobat but... Napoleon slowed down. He had taken it for granted but... perhaps Illya didn't know about ice skating. And of course, he wouldn't admit such a shortcoming...

Napoleon slid towards the board and peeped at his partner. Good... The magazine had been left on the bench, the glasses taken off and Illya was considering the skates. Encouraging...

“Illya? Give it a try... I'll...” He hesitated, “I'll help you...”

***

Illya Kuryakin couldn't help smiling at the sight. His partner stood on the ice, tousled hair – Brylcreem had lost the battle... -, rosy-cheeked thanks to the cold and the ride... Napoleon looked twelve... holding an inviting hand out to him...

“Illya?”

The Russian shook his head and gave up, putting on the skates.

“Come on, partner...”

Ice skating... Ice skating could be a pleasure, eventually, Illya thought. Speed, freedom, the feeling you were flying over the ice... Safely... It was exciting. He let go of his friend's arm and glided in a graceful arabesque.

Napoleon frowned at the obvious mastery. “Are you making fun of me, tovarish?”

The Russian brushed his disheveled hair aside, rosy-cheeked and smiled his devastating Illya's smile. “ I've been taught about ice-skating, Napoleon, as I've been taught about gymnastics...” The smile faded. “But I wasn't good enough to win a gold medal...” He put his hand on his friend's arm. “Today...” He smiled again, “I've been taught about how pleasant ice skating is... I watched you. You were so easy, so relaxed, so obviously happy...”

Napoleon chuckled.

“Though...” Illya raised a finger, “you could practice a little...”

“Oh, no... don't even try...”

The Russian slid back. “It's a matter of balance and...”

Napoleon Solo set off in pursuit of his mocking partner.

“Illya!”