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

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.

Clark beamed so brightly even in that closed, quiet space between them.

"Then we can have it." A peck of a kiss and then a playful little grin. "So... will Clark Kent be able to visit his hot Russian boyfriend this weekend?" A sigh. "Or will he be hot on the trail of this strange vigilante that popped up in Metropolis?"

That actually got a bounce in his step.

"Or you visit me while you're investigating?"

"You are already enjoying this too much," Illya said wryly, shaking his head. "They will not put me onto this until it is clear the local Metropolitan agents are making no headway. But then," he smoothed his fingers through Clark's hair, trailed them down and curved them around the back of his neck, "they might need to send someone else. Who could maybe...stay with his boyfriend, who has just moved to Metropolis, while he is there investigating?"

He leaned into Ilya's hand as one of his own reached up to nudge the other man in the shoulder.

"There's no such thing as enjoying this too much," he pointed out. "But UNCLE's premiere agent can definitely come stay with his boyfriend while he's in town looking for the strange caped menace who saved a plane."

He should go back to work, Illya thought. He had not heard the briefings that were being pulled together, and he was somewhat surprised Waverly had not called him and asked, far too politely, where the hell he was. And Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter, should be on the ground getting as much on this story as possible.

He sighed, leaned in to kiss him again, straightened. "You should go," he said reluctantly. "You should be reporting on this. Cannot be away from a news agency when a story like this breaks." He half-smiled and added, "Maybe you will get lucky and get exclusive. But when you visit again..." His fingers skimmed the collar of Clark's shirt and he leaned forward to whisper, "bring the cape."

"Already have a piece written," he admitted with a little grin, "but you're right that my 'lunch break' is almost over."

He pulled back then, glancing around for a moment before smirking back at Ilya.

"I'll make sure to come in uniform next time. If you're not coming to visit me first."

Which was when he disappeared, the familiar pressure of a kiss slowly fading a moment later.

Illya smiled, quiet and genuine, and stood until the lingering warmth of Clark's hands had faded. Then he turned and went back downstairs, and back to the office, and did not explain his absence when he entered the briefing late and sat in the back.

The information was thorough, much more so than any of the news agencies had acquired, but Illya's tension ebbed as he found that even UNCLE had no evidence that Superman had a day job. As he had suspected, Waverly assigned the local agents in Metropolis to find out more, as much as they could, and Illya himself was sent on an unrelated job overseas with Gaby.

By the time he returned, Waverly gave him no time at all to settle in before assigning him the Superman Affair sending him on to Metropolis. He turned down the hotel arrangements with a casual, "I have someone to stay with," and was on the train within the hour, settling into his seat and pulling out his phone and marveling for a moment at doing this the conventional way for the first time before he dialed Clark's work number from memory.

"Hey, handsome," and it was Clark's work voice, which made sense given that he was almost certainly at the office at the moment.

He was typing up a report on the local dock worker's union strike, a cause close to his heart, and he'd managed to get a few fabulous soundbytes from the dock management that would hopefully make the populace a little more sympathetic to the worker's plight. Hopefully. He'd have Lois look it over before he submitted it.

"Missing you, as always. What's up?"

The greeting sparked a warmth inside him that spread to his fingertips. "Good morning, angel," he said, swallowing back a sudden swell of nervousness. They had done so many unbelievable, extraordinary things, both together and apart, and this was making him nervous. The normalcy of this.

But he pushed that aside and continued, "As it happens, I will be in town tonight. Maybe for a few days. For work." He smiled out the window of the train, looking softer and more at ease than he had in possibly years, if only he knew it. "Do you happen to know a place I could stay?"

"Well, as long as you can stand sharing a bed with a notorious blanket stealer" and by 'stealing' he actually meant that he sometimes floated in his sleep, tugging the covers off of his bed partner as he drifted up, "then I can definitely find you a place to rest your head."

He swiveled in his chair.

"And you get to see my new apartment."

"Think I can hold my own," meaning he was well-versed in the fine art of defending the blankets against theft by floating. "Will just steal them back, and leave you in the cold."

A woman in the seat opposite, who was clearly listening and trying to pretend she was not listening, giggled a little at that. Illya narrowed his eyes at her and crossed his legs, turning away, and lowered his voice, and switched to Russian. "You do not need to answer like this, I know you are at work and I do not think they know Clark Kent speaks Russian, but there are ears here and I do not think this woman needs to know what I am saying."

"I don't think she's an operative, Ilya," he said as he reclined in his office chair. "I think she's just a busy body who thinks we're being cute. Mostly because we're being cute."

He tilted his head.

"Though I should try and speak Russian to you more. My Russian will get rusty otherwise."

"And your accent is almost passable now," he teased, the fond smile on his face doing nothing to put off his nosy neighbor, even if she couldn't understand what he was actually saying now. "Yes, you should speak Russian with me at home, maybe. I refuse to start from scratch with you."

At home. Clark's new apartment. Of course he was bringing a housewarming gift for him. Besides himself. Another small, ordinary thing that people did for each other.

"We are, aren't we?" he asked slowly, watching the countryside passing as the train sped between his home in New York and Clark's home in Metropolis. This was a trip he would begin to get used to.

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

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