Unfair Competition - Picfic Tuesday - 3/26, 26/3

[rachaeljurassic.livejournal.com]

I love holidays, I actually have time to do one of these!

Unfair Competition

Illya Kuryakin gazed at the woman sitting across the table from him and wondered, not for the first time, if she was ever going to shut up.

This wasn’t how he had envisioned the evening. By now he had rather hoped to be heading back to her place. She was supposed to be enthralled by his conversation. He had been piling on the charm all night. According to his plans they were to go to her rooms after dinner and...

He sighed. She didn’t notice.

This was his first time back in Leningrad since his days at the Naval Engineering School. He’d had no time for socialising back then. He hadn’t had the energy for anything except stumbling to his bunk and falling into a coma. It had been nice to come back and actually see the city.

He, and his partner Konstantin Sokolov, had been sent to check on some troubling reports coming out of Helsinki. The Moscow office had received a tip that a THRUSH operative from Finland had traveled to Leningrad. He was part of an official trade delegation but the company he represented was a front. He had been meeting with top officials and was being watched. The two UNCLE agents had bumped into a number of their rival KGB operatives during the week of talks and visits. Neither group had got in each other’s way, but neither had they assisted one another other, which was a shame as they were undoubtedly working on the same case. Possibly as a consequence they had failed to find any concrete evidence of the man’s intentions, although they had a list of men that he had spent time with, which would be followed up over the coming months. For the moment though their assignment was over. The trade delegation had departed that afternoon. Illya and Kostya were to catch the train to Moscow the following morning. And here he was, blowing half a month’s pay on a complete waste of time.

Kostya had warned him. His friend had decided to head to a local bar to try his luck and urged Illya to do the same.

‘Why didn’t I listen?’, he thought. He knew why, of course. She was stunning, charming, intelligent. They had met during one of the parties thrown for the foreign business men. She was probably a spy since she had spent the evening trying to seduce a number of the delegation. But even as she had done so she had kept her eyes on Illya and, once the Finns had left, she’d sashayed towards him. He had been mesmerised. She reminded him of an actress he had seen in a film recently, except she was in colour. He had asked her to alleviate his boredom on his last night in the city. She had agreed on one condition, he took her to see Swan Lake.

Illya glanced up from his meal, wondering if he had missed anything important, but she was still talking about the ballet. Well, not exactly the ballet, one dancer in particular. It was becoming more and more obvious that she would rather have been on a date with him.

Illya had to admit that he had been similarly engrossed by the performance. He had little experience of the ballet so had not been that enthusiastic about attending. It had, however, been spectacular. It was a far cry from the first time he had been. He had been training with the Northern Fleet at the time, in his last month before going to sea for the first time. According to their commanding officer it was important that the cadets were educated in the finer arts. He was convinced that they were in great need of a trip to the ballet. So, one evening, the whole class was bundled into trucks and driven to Murmansk. Most of them would rather have been sleeping, Illya included. He had been to the cinema as a child and the occasional concert but never anything as grand as an opera or ballet. It was true that all Soviet citizens were supposed to improve themselves culturally as well as politically, but the Kuryakins had never had the money to go. The vast majority of his fellow cadets were in the same boat, they came from working families in the cities or collective farms and had never seen the inside of an opera house. They were suitably impressed.

Sadly, that trip had been a disaster. Illya had been so tired he’d fallen asleep only to be awakened by an elbow to the ribs from his neighbour. He had apparently been snoring. However, this paled into insignificance compared to the behaviour of some of the others. He watched his commanding officer turn an ugly shade of red; his embarrassment and fury aimed at the cadets as they yelled their enthusiasm, talked constantly and tried to chat up the local girls. Once back at base their commander had laid into them, screaming at the top of his lungs about their boorish behaviour and the shame that they had brought upon the Soviet Navy. They had been made to stand at attention for the rest of the night and been put on punishment detail for the remainder of their stay at the training facility. It had been one of the longest months of Illya’s life. On the up side, they had not been taken to the ballet again.

He attacked his meal with renewed vigour. The restaurant was well beyond his means so he was determined to at least enjoy the food. He tuned in and out as Olya droned on about the dancer’s magnificent physique. Illya decided she was the rudest girl he had ever had the misfortune to spend an evening with. Surely it was poor form to spend a date extolling the virtues of another man, however impressive those virtues turned out to be. Sure she was stunning, charming, intelligent, but her appeal had well and truly worn off. A small voice at the back of his mind wondered if she might invite him back to her apartment anyway. He was determined to resist. He wasn’t going to be anybody’s second choice.

The meal ended, she continued to talk, starry-eyed. He walked her home, more inane chatter. At her door she said goodbye. He bowed politely and left, fuming inside. She hadn’t even asked him in! He would have refused of course, but it was the principle of the thing. The small voice was back. He ignored its insistence that he wouldn’t have turned her down. Damn it!

He stormed into the hotel room he shared with Kostya, belatedly realising that the other man might have company. It quickly became evident that he did not. Illya raised an eyebrow.

“I think I may be too sophisticated for Leningrad girls,” Sokolov said thoughtfully.

“You?” Illya replied skeptically.

“Yes, me. I’m used to Moscow girls now.”

“So I’ve heard,” Kuryakin mumbled under his breath as he took off his uniform jacket.

“They didn’t understand my jokes,” Kostya continued.

“Good grief, you didn’t tell them that one...”

“No, no.”

“Thank goodness, that was obscene,” Illya replied.

“I was my usual charming self,” Kostya went on.

“That’s where you went wrong then.”

Kostya threw a pillow at him.

“So,” Kostya said after a moment, “how was your date?”

Illya glared at him.

“I told you,” Sokolov continued. “That’s what happens when you go for girls that are out of your league.”

“She wasn’t out of my league” Kuryakin snarled back.

“Oh come on, she’ll be used to dating Captains and Admirals, not Lieutenants.”

“It had nothing to do with that,” Illya shot back as he stripped off his trousers.

“Did the Kuryakin charm fail you then?” Kostya teased.

“I can be charming.”

“Explaining the denaturing of proteins in cooked meat is not charming.”

“I didn’t do that!”

“Thank God, because that was embarrassing...”

“Yes, I know. No need to bring that up again.”

“Last time I go on a double date with...”

“Shut up Kostya!”

“Did you offer her salo?”

Illya hurled his trousers at him.

“Because Russian girls don’t find cured fat all that romantic,” Kostya pressed on, laughing as his friend advanced threateningly towards him. “I know it goes down well in Kiev but...”

The remainder of the sentence was cut off as Illya attempted to smother his friend with his shirt. After a brief tussle Sokolov conceded and they both lay, panting on the floor between their two beds.

“So what was it then?” Kostya asked when he had got his breath back.

“Some stupid dancer.”

“He was on the date too?”

“No, you idiot,” Illya replied as he got to his feet. “He was in the ballet. She went on and on about how wonderful he was.”

“On your date?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that was rude.”

“That’s what I thought,” Kuryakin said as he folded his clothes over a chair.

“Was he good?” Kostya asked, struggling back into his bed.

Illya paused for a moment.

“Yes, he was amazing. It was hardly fair. How was I supposed to compete with that. Him, stripped to the waist, wearing tights.”

“Feeling a bit inadequate, are we?”

“No of course not,” Illya lied.

“And you, trying to look all smart in your uniform.”

“Don’t start.”

“And him, jumping around looking all virile,” Sokolov continued, with mock sympathy.

“Are you looking for another beating?” Kuryakin picked the pillow off the floor and held it menacingly.

“I’m ready for you this time, you don’t stand a chance.”

Illya threw it at his friend, who caught it and, in one movement, put it behind his head.

“Thanks,” Kostya said with a smirk.

Kuryakin switched off the light and sat down heavily on his bed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sokolov added. “She’s obviously not worth it.”

“Hmmm.” Illya pulled back the sheets and got into bed.

“Like I told you, these Leningrad girls have no class.”

Silence.

“What was his name? I need to check this guy out. He must be something if he can distract a girl out on a date with you.”

“Piss off Kostya,” Illya replied darkly.

“I mean it. He must have some impressive assets.”

“I’m not so tired that I can’t get up and kill you.” The threat sounded a little weak.

“To beat the famed Illya Nickovetch.”

“Kostya!”

“And his jokes about neutrons and electron configurations.”

Kuryakin said nothing but Sokolov could tell he was trying not to smile.

“Seriously, who was he?” Kostya asked again.

“Oh, I don’t know...some guy...Nureyev, I think...yes, Rudolf Nureyev,” Illya replied wearily. “I think he’s going to be big.”

Comments

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Beautiful last line from our poor Kuryakin. The girl may live to regret turning away our beautiful blond, however... we can only hope ;)

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

And... Happy Birthday. It's so nice to have you write us a story for the occasion ;)

[rachaeljurassic.livejournal.com]

Thanks. :-) And yeah, not only rude but stupid!

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Absolutely outstanding! Wish you had more holidays so you could write more.

Now s it really your birthday today? If it is, Happiest of birthdays to you! :D

[rachaeljurassic.livejournal.com]

Thanks mrua7. I wish I had more time too, I've had several ideas for the Tuesday picfic recently but been snowed under with work. Next week I'm on holiday so I won't be able to do that one either.

Thanks for the birthday greetings. :-)

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

That was lovely. Even the cut was put in exactly the right place; and so are all the words. I do like She reminded him of an actress he had seen in a film recently, except she was in colour.

Gloating over the Kosta-Illya banter, and the small voice, and the naval expedition...

May I add my own Happy Birthday! (And send a cuddle to the new member. I'm afraid I don't know her name.)

[rachaeljurassic.livejournal.com]

Thanks laurose8.

Really glad you liked it. I'd like to write more Kostya one day. And I have to admit that the naval trip to the ballet was based on a true story I once read. It was too good to not include in IK's backstory.

Rachael

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

We'd certainly like to read more Kostya; and true stories.

[rachaeljurassic.livejournal.com]

Oh good. Thanks for being encouraging. I like inventing OC's but I know they can be irritating too.

[avery11.livejournal.com]

Nice to see you writing again, and may I wish you a very happy birthday.

Leningrad girls--they simply have no idea what they're missing, do they? Okay, I will admit that RN did look pretty amazing, bare-chested and in tights. But I'll bet IK could have given him a run for his money!

[rachaeljurassic.livejournal.com]

Thanks!

Maybe IK should have stripped off in the restaurant? And no, you can't exactly blame her, she wasn't alone.