Fic: The Winner By a Nose Affair (original)
Equal time for silly costumes... here's a special treat just for my flist. Don't ask me why my head started playing with the Illya-in-drag motif earlier today (other than that I had to wear a skirt), it just did. So I randomly wrote up this piece of silliness, and I am posting before my common sense kicks in.
Title: No real title yet. Suggestions?
Summary: Illya wants to win the UNCLE Halloween costume contest for Most Effective Disguise. Napoleon has a suggestion.
Notes: Gen, 1300+ words. Please tell me if it's stupid; I won't hate y'all.
ETA: Due to popular demand, there is now a second chapter to this piece of craziness - and more is planned, if I ever manage to write it!
“Hey, Illya, have you got a date for the office Halloween party yet? Only two weeks, you know--”
“I'm not going.”
Napoleon Solo actually did a double take. “Not going? But... the costume contest...”
“Every year I enter the costume contest, and every year I am found out. I'm not going.” There were several divisions in UNCLE's inter-office costume contest, but the prize Illya always entered for - and never won - was the most coveted of all among Section 2 agents: Most Effective Disguise. You could only win if no one at the party guessed who you were; a difficult feat in a business where disguise-spotting is a survival skill, and very nearly impossible for a top agent whose features are well known, but Illya counted every year's loss as a professional failure.
“C'mon, Illya,” Napoleon coaxed, sitting down on the edge of the Russian's desk. “You've got to come. The party wouldn't be the same without you.”
“I have no costume, and no ideas for one. Napoleon, I am not going - now will you please get off my desk?”
“What if I have a costume idea for you?” At Illya's dubious look, Napoleon leaned over the desk and whispered rapidly in his friend's ear.
“Absolutely not,” Illya protested. “It won't work. I will be found out again, and I will be laughed out of Section 2! I'll have to take a lab posting in the Kalahari desert! I won't do it.”
“If you do it,” Napoleon said, “then on the next mission where you'd normally have to wear a disguise, we'll reverse the conditions. You can dally with a pretty girl while I poke around in a dirty basement. Deal?”
Illya thought it over for a minute... then his smile lit up the whole office. “Deal.”
…...............................................................................................
The UNCLE Halloween party was scheduled to start at six PM. About half past three, Napoleon Solo, all decked out in full formal Highland gear complete with a knife in his stocking - his preferred division of the costume contest was Most Stylish Costume, plus a kilt is a wonderful conversation starter for flirting - left his apartment, went down one story, and knocked on Illya's door. “Are you ready to go?” he called.
“No I am not!” the Russian snapped. “Come in, Napoleon. There is one thing neither you nor I thought of when I agreed to this.”
Napoleon deactivated the alarm system, fished out his key, and opened the door.
Illya was standing by the sofa, clad only in his boxer briefs, in the middle of a room that looked like a wardrobe explosion. His blond hair was slicked back, as he did when getting ready to put a wig on, and he was holding a girdle in one hand.
“Shut the door!” he ordered.
Napoleon hastily shut it. “What exactly are you going as?”
“A witch. If this is to work, my nose must pass as false.” Illya tossed the girdle at Napoleon, who caught it rather dubiously, and picked up a sheer stocking. “Now... you will have to help me dress. I never realized before that women have to reach the middle of their back just to do up their own undergarments!”
…...................................................................................
Two hours later, Illya was almost ready to go. With advice and occasional help from Napoleon - who had much more experience with women's underthings, though usually in getting them off rather than putting them on - he had managed to don girdle, stockings, carefully stuffed brassiere (it had taken all of his socks and most of Napoleon's to fill), and a slip. He had also - without Napoleon's help - applied his green face makeup, put on his long tangled black wig, and pinned it up to keep it out of his way. Now he was very carefully running a thin line of putty around the sides of his aquiline nose, just enough to make it look like a false nose in danger of coming off.
“Aren't you done yet?” Napoleon grumbled. “I could still get another date, you know. All she has to know is that my 'prior commitment' stood me up.”
“Patience is a virtue, Napoleon,” Illya replied absently. “Besides, it's only ten minutes' drive to headquarters, and I'm almost done. There!” He straightened up, stretching his cramped shoulders.
“Ten minutes in good traffic,” Napoleon retorted. “Hurry up, Illya, you can unpin your wig in the car.”
“All right, Napoleon, I'll hurry!” Illya picked up the short, raggedy black skirt, turned it around a couple times trying to find the front, and dragged it on over his hips like a pair of trousers. Then, of course, he had to tuck in his slip and make it lie flat. “There should be a pair of green rubber gloves somewhere, do you see them?” he asked.
“I've got them,” Napoleon said, scooping them off the phonograph. “Put on your shirt and let's go!”
Illya picked up the short-sleeved black blouse, then put it down again and went into his bedroom. “I need a long-sleeved shirt underneath,” he explained.
“I begin to see why my dates are always keeping me waiting,” Napoleon mused. “If they're half as slow as you...”
“Um, Napoleon... can I borrow your black turtleneck? I know you have one.”
Napoleon very nearly burst out laughing; only the prospect of entering the UNCLE Halloween party with no date deterred him. Illya's black turtleneck, of course, had been purchased to fit the Russian in his normal state of dress; the addition of “falsies” stretched it much too tight around the chest. The fabric was barely holding.
“Sure,” he said, and almost sprinted to fetch it.
Illya heard his partner's unbridled laughter clearly from the apartment upstairs, but decided not to take offence.
….....................................................................
Needless to say, Illya did win the costume contest, and he was not laughed out of Section 2. In fact, once he was finally “unmasked”, he was congratulated on his cleverness by most of UNCLE's female employees, and on his bravery by all of the male ones.
In the car on the way home at half past two, the very tired, very happy and slightly giggly conspirators compared notes. “My favorite part,” said Napoleon, “was when I walked in with you on my arm and every one of the men looked jealous.”
“My favorite part was when Mandy told me to fix my nose, it was coming off,” Illya mumbled drowsily. Acting is hard work, and between staying in character - even when he'd had to use the restroom - and evading awkward questions from the secretarial pool, he was just about worn out. He stretched against the seat cushions, relaxed, almost purring like a cat.
“Yeah...” Napoleon wasn't quite as sleepy, but he wouldn't mind getting to bed, either. “Hey... Illya?”
“Mmmf?”
“How did you get... you know, all the stuff... the girdle and things?”
Illya giggled. “The skirt and blouse were from a secondhand store, the makeup and wig from a costume store. As for the underthings--” He smirked. “I simply wrote down my own measurements - well, most of them - gave them to a sales clerk in the lingerie department of Macy's, and explained that my sister, visiting from overseas, had fallen and broken her ankle and that her luggage had been lost in transit.” Another giggle. “The clerk was very sympathetic... she gave me a complimentary discount.”
“You are a smart Russian.” Napoleon pulled into his parking space and, glancing over, decided his friend was in a good enough mood to take a joke. “I like a girl with brains,” he flirted. “You want to come up to my place for a nightcap?”
Illya snorted. “Fix your head, Napoleon, it is coming off,” he said. “I am going to my own apartment to remove these... instruments of torture... immediately! And,” he added, ducking his head back into the car, “if you stop flirting with me, I may even give you your socks back.”
Title: No real title yet. Suggestions?
Summary: Illya wants to win the UNCLE Halloween costume contest for Most Effective Disguise. Napoleon has a suggestion.
Notes: Gen, 1300+ words. Please tell me if it's stupid; I won't hate y'all.
ETA: Due to popular demand, there is now a second chapter to this piece of craziness - and more is planned, if I ever manage to write it!
“Hey, Illya, have you got a date for the office Halloween party yet? Only two weeks, you know--”
“I'm not going.”
Napoleon Solo actually did a double take. “Not going? But... the costume contest...”
“Every year I enter the costume contest, and every year I am found out. I'm not going.” There were several divisions in UNCLE's inter-office costume contest, but the prize Illya always entered for - and never won - was the most coveted of all among Section 2 agents: Most Effective Disguise. You could only win if no one at the party guessed who you were; a difficult feat in a business where disguise-spotting is a survival skill, and very nearly impossible for a top agent whose features are well known, but Illya counted every year's loss as a professional failure.
“C'mon, Illya,” Napoleon coaxed, sitting down on the edge of the Russian's desk. “You've got to come. The party wouldn't be the same without you.”
“I have no costume, and no ideas for one. Napoleon, I am not going - now will you please get off my desk?”
“What if I have a costume idea for you?” At Illya's dubious look, Napoleon leaned over the desk and whispered rapidly in his friend's ear.
“Absolutely not,” Illya protested. “It won't work. I will be found out again, and I will be laughed out of Section 2! I'll have to take a lab posting in the Kalahari desert! I won't do it.”
“If you do it,” Napoleon said, “then on the next mission where you'd normally have to wear a disguise, we'll reverse the conditions. You can dally with a pretty girl while I poke around in a dirty basement. Deal?”
Illya thought it over for a minute... then his smile lit up the whole office. “Deal.”
…...............................................................................................
The UNCLE Halloween party was scheduled to start at six PM. About half past three, Napoleon Solo, all decked out in full formal Highland gear complete with a knife in his stocking - his preferred division of the costume contest was Most Stylish Costume, plus a kilt is a wonderful conversation starter for flirting - left his apartment, went down one story, and knocked on Illya's door. “Are you ready to go?” he called.
“No I am not!” the Russian snapped. “Come in, Napoleon. There is one thing neither you nor I thought of when I agreed to this.”
Napoleon deactivated the alarm system, fished out his key, and opened the door.
Illya was standing by the sofa, clad only in his boxer briefs, in the middle of a room that looked like a wardrobe explosion. His blond hair was slicked back, as he did when getting ready to put a wig on, and he was holding a girdle in one hand.
“Shut the door!” he ordered.
Napoleon hastily shut it. “What exactly are you going as?”
“A witch. If this is to work, my nose must pass as false.” Illya tossed the girdle at Napoleon, who caught it rather dubiously, and picked up a sheer stocking. “Now... you will have to help me dress. I never realized before that women have to reach the middle of their back just to do up their own undergarments!”
…...................................................................................
Two hours later, Illya was almost ready to go. With advice and occasional help from Napoleon - who had much more experience with women's underthings, though usually in getting them off rather than putting them on - he had managed to don girdle, stockings, carefully stuffed brassiere (it had taken all of his socks and most of Napoleon's to fill), and a slip. He had also - without Napoleon's help - applied his green face makeup, put on his long tangled black wig, and pinned it up to keep it out of his way. Now he was very carefully running a thin line of putty around the sides of his aquiline nose, just enough to make it look like a false nose in danger of coming off.
“Aren't you done yet?” Napoleon grumbled. “I could still get another date, you know. All she has to know is that my 'prior commitment' stood me up.”
“Patience is a virtue, Napoleon,” Illya replied absently. “Besides, it's only ten minutes' drive to headquarters, and I'm almost done. There!” He straightened up, stretching his cramped shoulders.
“Ten minutes in good traffic,” Napoleon retorted. “Hurry up, Illya, you can unpin your wig in the car.”
“All right, Napoleon, I'll hurry!” Illya picked up the short, raggedy black skirt, turned it around a couple times trying to find the front, and dragged it on over his hips like a pair of trousers. Then, of course, he had to tuck in his slip and make it lie flat. “There should be a pair of green rubber gloves somewhere, do you see them?” he asked.
“I've got them,” Napoleon said, scooping them off the phonograph. “Put on your shirt and let's go!”
Illya picked up the short-sleeved black blouse, then put it down again and went into his bedroom. “I need a long-sleeved shirt underneath,” he explained.
“I begin to see why my dates are always keeping me waiting,” Napoleon mused. “If they're half as slow as you...”
“Um, Napoleon... can I borrow your black turtleneck? I know you have one.”
Napoleon very nearly burst out laughing; only the prospect of entering the UNCLE Halloween party with no date deterred him. Illya's black turtleneck, of course, had been purchased to fit the Russian in his normal state of dress; the addition of “falsies” stretched it much too tight around the chest. The fabric was barely holding.
“Sure,” he said, and almost sprinted to fetch it.
Illya heard his partner's unbridled laughter clearly from the apartment upstairs, but decided not to take offence.
….....................................................................
Needless to say, Illya did win the costume contest, and he was not laughed out of Section 2. In fact, once he was finally “unmasked”, he was congratulated on his cleverness by most of UNCLE's female employees, and on his bravery by all of the male ones.
In the car on the way home at half past two, the very tired, very happy and slightly giggly conspirators compared notes. “My favorite part,” said Napoleon, “was when I walked in with you on my arm and every one of the men looked jealous.”
“My favorite part was when Mandy told me to fix my nose, it was coming off,” Illya mumbled drowsily. Acting is hard work, and between staying in character - even when he'd had to use the restroom - and evading awkward questions from the secretarial pool, he was just about worn out. He stretched against the seat cushions, relaxed, almost purring like a cat.
“Yeah...” Napoleon wasn't quite as sleepy, but he wouldn't mind getting to bed, either. “Hey... Illya?”
“Mmmf?”
“How did you get... you know, all the stuff... the girdle and things?”
Illya giggled. “The skirt and blouse were from a secondhand store, the makeup and wig from a costume store. As for the underthings--” He smirked. “I simply wrote down my own measurements - well, most of them - gave them to a sales clerk in the lingerie department of Macy's, and explained that my sister, visiting from overseas, had fallen and broken her ankle and that her luggage had been lost in transit.” Another giggle. “The clerk was very sympathetic... she gave me a complimentary discount.”
“You are a smart Russian.” Napoleon pulled into his parking space and, glancing over, decided his friend was in a good enough mood to take a joke. “I like a girl with brains,” he flirted. “You want to come up to my place for a nightcap?”
Illya snorted. “Fix your head, Napoleon, it is coming off,” he said. “I am going to my own apartment to remove these... instruments of torture... immediately! And,” he added, ducking his head back into the car, “if you stop flirting with me, I may even give you your socks back.”