Since real spies are so good, you never really know what actual spying is. But I do think spying is a lot more dangerous than we are led to believe. Richard C. Armitage
'Spying is a dangerous business,' Illya commented. Hanging by his fingertips, a thousand feet above what promised to be an extremely unfriendly, rock-strewn open grave, Napoleon was forced to agree. City suits had never been made for climbing mountains in. He had never been made for climbing mountains. His fingers felt about to deglove, but if they did, the pain he felt would be very short, before he hit those rocks. 'Can I give you a hand?' Illya asked, his head just visible over the edge of the icy ledge. 'Thought you'd never ask,' Napoleon managed to force through lungs constricted by his position. His entire body was about to come apart at the seams. Strong hands, reassuringly large hands, still warm from the gloves they had been nestled in, reached down and curled around Napoleon's wrists. It was a grip he would trust above any safety harness. Illya pulled. Napoleon scrabbled. His feet kicked at something on the cliff, and a rock came loose. The sound it made hitting the ground took a terrifyingly long time to come. But then a foot, a ridiculous slick-soled city shoe, got a bit of a grip. Illya hauled. Napoleon kicked again. Then he was lying on the ledge like a landed fish, and Illya was rolling him over, laying a thickly quilted coat over him, and touched a flask to his lips. The brandy stung all the way down, but not as much as whatever Illya was dabbing onto his ravaged hands. 'I thought I'd lost you that time,' Illya said. 'I thought I'd lost myself,' Napoleon panted. The sky was blue above him, beautiful. Everything was beautiful. Illya's golden hair in the halo of his fur-lined hood looked like something that belonged to an angel. Illya had carried hiking equipment for two grown men up that mountain, and in that moment he barely looked tired. Then Illya slumped back against the secure rise of rock behind himself, and breathed out one long breath. 'Do that again, Napoleon, and it will break me,' he warned. 'I wouldn't want to break either of us,' Napoleon said. 'Maybe we should lie here awhile. Then we can go home.'
Well done! I'm equally glad that no one was broken. You're welcome to post as a stand alone entry, but this works too ;) Thanks for a terrific take on the prompt.
For The Daily Prompt you can post a story here or wherever it fits the genre. The Word of the Day posts as a comment, and pfrye has been posting hers in AO3 as well. As I mentioned, you can use the tag to go back and use the previous prompts, and posting is as you would normally post a story. I just wanted to make the prompts available across genres, so if you would normally post in MUNCLE, that's just fine.
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sforzinda
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Date: 2020-02-27 07:34 pm (UTC)Hanging by his fingertips, a thousand feet above what promised to be an extremely unfriendly, rock-strewn open grave, Napoleon was forced to agree. City suits had never been made for climbing mountains in. He had never been made for climbing mountains. His fingers felt about to deglove, but if they did, the pain he felt would be very short, before he hit those rocks.
'Can I give you a hand?' Illya asked, his head just visible over the edge of the icy ledge.
'Thought you'd never ask,' Napoleon managed to force through lungs constricted by his position. His entire body was about to come apart at the seams.
Strong hands, reassuringly large hands, still warm from the gloves they had been nestled in, reached down and curled around Napoleon's wrists. It was a grip he would trust above any safety harness. Illya pulled. Napoleon scrabbled. His feet kicked at something on the cliff, and a rock came loose. The sound it made hitting the ground took a terrifyingly long time to come. But then a foot, a ridiculous slick-soled city shoe, got a bit of a grip. Illya hauled. Napoleon kicked again. Then he was lying on the ledge like a landed fish, and Illya was rolling him over, laying a thickly quilted coat over him, and touched a flask to his lips. The brandy stung all the way down, but not as much as whatever Illya was dabbing onto his ravaged hands.
'I thought I'd lost you that time,' Illya said.
'I thought I'd lost myself,' Napoleon panted.
The sky was blue above him, beautiful. Everything was beautiful. Illya's golden hair in the halo of his fur-lined hood looked like something that belonged to an angel. Illya had carried hiking equipment for two grown men up that mountain, and in that moment he barely looked tired. Then Illya slumped back against the secure rise of rock behind himself, and breathed out one long breath.
'Do that again, Napoleon, and it will break me,' he warned.
'I wouldn't want to break either of us,' Napoleon said. 'Maybe we should lie here awhile. Then we can go home.'
no subject
Date: 2020-02-27 07:47 pm (UTC)You're welcome to post as a stand alone entry, but this works too ;) Thanks for a terrific take on the prompt.
no subject
Date: 2020-02-27 09:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-02-27 10:00 pm (UTC)As I mentioned, you can use the tag to go back and use the previous prompts, and posting is as you would normally post a story. I just wanted to make the prompts available across genres, so if you would normally post in MUNCLE, that's just fine.