agoodyarn | for perilicious: Do do do do do... do do do... do do do do doooo SUPERMAN

The case attracted his attention immediately—any small movement like that attracted Illya's attention now, even if it was the man he trusted more than anyone in the world—but that was not important right now, or it would be the focus. He watched Clark's empty hand, looked back at his face.

That open, earnest face, and those beautiful eyes that still, after all these years, left him stunned for a moment. A million people had seen them today. Millions more would see them in the next week, as news agencies picked up the story. Who was that masked man was easier, so much easier than this.

He reached out to trace his fingers over the fist, then wrapped both hands around it, stroking his thumb over the back of Clark's hand. "Some of them will still be afraid," he said quietly. "Is this what you are doing now?"

"They will be," he agrees quietly, "but I'll just have to work that much harder to prove it to them."

He pulls Ilya's hand up to his lips to press a kiss there.

"But yes, this is... part of what I'm doing. This is the other half."

Which was when he opened the case and pulled out a pair of glasses. They were opened and plopped on his face, cutting the blue of his eyes and making his face appear flatter, wider. Less attractive.

"It's a work in progress," he admitted with a little blush, "but I took some of those lessons you learned and tried to put them to work."

Now he smiled, just a little.

"I can't wear a mask then, so I'll wear a mask the rest of the time."

If he thought he looked less attractive in glasses, he was mistaken, but they did make his face look...different. Less like himself. Illya couldn't help but approve of that. And that Clark was taking what Illya had learned about making himself unnoticed in a crowd and using it to blend in when he was not being...himself.

But which one would be the real him? The man in a red cape, or the man in glasses?

"Still do not like this," he said quietly, but took a step back to evaluate the overall impression. The glasses helped take attention away from his striking eyes, and they changed the shape of his face, but that was not enough. "Let me see the rest of it."

He frowned a little before changing the curve of his spine a little, slouching and reducing his height a few inches. He let his shoulders drop, let his stomach pouch out a little, and adjusted his clothes to make him look bulkier and less fit than he was.

"This was the best I could do," though to his credit, his voice was significantly different. Higher, lighter, and not as smooth. Still pleasant, but definitely not the same.

"Huh." It was a thoughtful, impressed little sound. Illya walked slowly around Clark, taking in the image of a quiet, rather nervous man, a bit taller and broader than he wanted to be and who tried to be small to make up for it. The voice was good.

He finished his circle and faced Clark again, hands behind his back, head tilted to one side, looking uncannily like one of his old trainers in Russia if only he could see himself. "Not bad," he said. "Better than expected. Looks like you were listening after all."

He looked past the glasses to smirk a little at Ilya.

"I always listen, Ilya. You should know that."

Then the glasses were pulled off, put back in their case, and returned to his pocket. His slouch disappeared and his voice was normal again.

"I could change my voice more, but I don't want it to feel unnatural. The best lies are always based on truth, after all."

He grinned and shifted his voice until it was an exact duplicate of Ilya's.

"Though if you think it needs to change, I can change it more."

"Smart-ass," Illya growled in Russian, stepping closer and reaching out to skim his fingers beneath the edge of Clark's t-shirt, over his side.

Martha had made the costume. They had decided on this together, then. That Clark would help the world, and not only that, he would do it as obviously as possible.

No wonder they had decided against consulting with him. His objections would have been audible in Moscow.

"New city," he murmured. "Finally you have finished your wandering, then?"

He nodded before leaning in for a soft, sweet kiss. It's was as much of an apology as he could really give for saving people.

"I like Metropolis," he admitted quietly. "And it's close to New York but not close enough to get in your way."

He would be too close to Ilya's work if he was in New York.

"Would not have minded you being closer," Illya admitted. In fact, he had sometimes thought that once Clark had decided to come home again, he might ask if he wanted to...

He let himself have a moment resting his forehead against Clark's before straightening again. "Do you have cover established?" he asked more briskly. He wasn't happy about this, but it was also a decision that had been made, and once Clark had decided something, it took a great deal to change his mind. This, Illya could tell, was too important to him.

And he knew that if Clark was going to begin doing...doing this, it would only be more difficult for Illya as UNCLE began to investigate this mysterious flying man. They would need to keep their distance. Continue keeping their distance.

He'd been leaning in for another kiss when Ilya had straightened up and he couldn't help giving the other man a bit of a pout for it.

"I'm always only a call away," he said as his own hand reached out to run down Ilya's arm. He knew why he was being businesslike about it. He was concerned. But he didn't have to like it. Ilya had such warmth to him, such kindness and an abundance of love. He'd always somewhat hate the service for making him hide so much of it.

"It's not really a cover. It's just me," he pointed out. "I graduated with a degree in journalism and I'm going to be starting with the Daily Planet."

A crooked grin.

"I figured this way, I'd have a good excuse to be around when situations like today go down."

Yes, well, he could consider the loss of that kiss a penance. Illya was very concerned. He was hiding most of it beneath ruthless logic: helping people was what Clark had always wanted to do, and while this was not the method Illya himself would have chosen for him, it would help people.

"The Daily Planet. Congratulations." But he couldn't stand firm against that little crooked smile. It should be weaponized. Illya sighed and returned it, small and a bit sad. He brushed a hand over Clark's shoulders, which would be more rounded when he was pretending to be less than what he really was, and traced Clark's cheek with his thumb.

"You're right. Is good idea," he said, reaching out to catch at Clark's hand. "But it will not really be just you. It will be...watered-down version of you."

"And when I'm in the costume, I can be the person I really want to be out loud and without hiding," he pointed out in return, pulling their hands to his lips to press a kiss to Ilya's.

Then he tilted his head.

"So how interested in me are your UNCLE people? If you don't mind me asking."

Somehow a soft smile had appeared on Illya's face, amazing how often that seemed to happen when he was around Clark, but that question prompted an aggrieved, put-upon sigh that ended in a groan. "Very, of course. Mysterious flying man in red cape appears out of nowhere and saves plane full of civilians? They want to know everything about you. Yesterday. Waverly is being his most polite. 'If you please' and 'I don't wish to trespass upon your valuable time' and things like this. Terrible sign."

Finally he caved and slipped his arms around Clark's waist, drawing him in for a proper hug. "Knew you would be trouble for me someday," he murmured.

He slipped in and perhaps he was being a little more affectionate than even he was usually. He'd just created a great big mound of work for his boyfriend, after all. And that meant he was going to try and soften the blow with kisses and touches and his arms around him.

"If it makes you feel better, I'm going to do a feature with one of my coworkers. That'll put a bit more information out to the public, make it seem less like I'm a mystery. If I do it right, they won't even think I am anyone but Superman."

A kiss.

"Nothing to look for."

Illya was not going to complain about the abundance of affection. Once they parted here, it would be dangerous for them to see each other too often. Yes, stealth came easy to them, but Clark was establishing a cover in Metropolis. There were rules to that. He would need to present a solid impression with no opportunities for curiosity. He needed to be boring, be there to confirm that he was boring. There could be no unexplained gaps in his presence.

It would be difficult enough explaining away his absences if someone noticed him gone when Superman—

"Superman?" He couldn't help but snicker at that. Leave it to the Americans to name their new rescuer something so sensational, and so quickly.

He rolled his eyes a little.

"Blame Lois for that one. And trust me, I do."

He ran a hand through his hair before leaning in for another kiss.

"So... am I allowed to tell people that I have a hot Russian boyfriend who lives in New York as Clark Kent, not-quite-ace reporter?"

After this many years together and the grueling training Illya had undergone, there should have been no reason for the surge of longing that question prompted in him. They had never really told anyone. He exhaled quietly, arms tightening for a moment.

"Not so sure that is good idea," he admitted reluctantly, hating his logical mission-planning instincts. "That might be a little too interesting, if you are trying to look boring."

"But every boring person has one or two little interesting things. Otherwise, it looks even more suspicious."

He was fiddling with the fastenings on Ilya's jacket, doing his damndest to look sweet and adorable to melt him a little on the point.

"And, getting a call from you will be a great excuse to leave a room if I need to dip out. Not to mention that I'd get to bring you to the company Christmas party and give us an excuse to be seen together so we can actually see each other."

Illya glanced pointedly down at the idle fingers and gave Clark a Look, but it was working. The wistful wish to simply be honest about the two of them—to their limited ability, at least—was getting the better of his natural caution.

"Tsch. You make it sound as if I would like to go to company Christmas party," he said dismissively, even as he imagined being able to walk into a room with Clark.

"So, Mr. Kent, what does your boyfriend do in New York?"

"Pine away and wish I could visit more often," and that came with a little waggle of eyebrows. But he laughed quickly and continued. "You said UNCLE pretends to be a charity organization. So clearly--"

He paused and held up a finger.

"Ilya, you have to keep the title straight. 'Hot Russian' boyfriend. It's very important."

The point dealt with, he continued.

"So clearly, you work for a non-profit. Which makes perfect sense for a sweet smalltown Kansan who plans on writing about the underdogs of the world."

Illya just rolled his eyes and grunted and did not dignify that with an answer. He thought about it, and wanted to find an objection, but...

"That is actually good story," he grudgingly admitted. "Even for group of investigative reporters. Will not take much to invent the details that are missing."

He would need to learn more about the charitable front that UNCLE used as its public face. And he would need to decide how much to tell his partners, and his boss. This new identity of Clark's was not his secret to reveal, he would never do so, but they would notice.

"I met you while I was doing my freelance work and traveling around," Clark continued thoughtfully, "and when you moved to New York since your organization opened up a branch there, it was a chance to be in a closer timezone."

He curled his fingers around the front of Ilya's jacket.

"We can actually be a part of each other's lives."

A part of each other's lives. The phrase kept echoing back on itself, drowning out the objections Illya could still make, even after all of this. He had been taught that there was no room for something like this in his life, but somehow Clark had moved into his life and never truly left it.

"Risky," he whispered, but the longing in his voice did not make it a convincing argument.

"Worth it," came Clark's reply, and it was fierce. What was life worth if you couldn't be with the person you loved? What was a better world for if you couldn't share it with the most important people to you?

His voice was softer when he spoke again, and there was longing there too.

"You could come home for Christmas. I could visit for a weekend and send you back to work on Monday with a spring in your step. We could go out to dinner somewhere, hold hands."

He reached up and stroked Ilya's cheek.

"UNCLE doesn't hate you. UNCLE isn't run by a bunch of ancient bureaucrats who think men who love men are weak. We can do this." A pause. "If you want it."

"Tsch, of course I want it," and there would be an interruption in speaking while Illya pulled Clark into a kiss, sweet and deep, and only let it go once he needed to breathe. Not for the first time, he envied Clark that particular ability.

It was hard, so hard to fight the instinctive feeling that he did not deserve it. He did. They did. They had worked too hard and been through too much together, and now they could have...weekends. Holidays. A life.

"Of course I want it," he whispered, resting his forehead against Clark's, fingers spread wide bracketing his waist.

for perilicious: Do do do do do... do do do... do do do do doooo SUPERMAN

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