tuesday texting.

[forfun]

the phone sex +
sexting meme

what it says on the tin. leave a blank comment, include your preferences or a starter, it's all good. reply to others with a text, a dirty picture (please link all nsfw things!), misfires, misdials, drunk filthy voicemails, whatever your heart desires.

Comments

[smoothlydone]

Peril. Where are you?

Are you anywhere near coffee?

[zhelezo]

it is possible.
is your head hurting you, cowboy? i did tell you it was impossible to out drink a russian.

[smoothlydone]

if I don't remember it, it didn't happen. important rule.

since you're out, I wouldn't refuse a cappuccino.

[zhelezo]

you seem to be under the impression that i like fetching for you.

[ :| ]

[smoothlydone]

no need to get tetchy, Peril.

[For one thing, the volume goes up when Peril is tetchy and oh god he might actually die]

if you happen to be in the vicinity of a coffeeshop and find yourself in possession of a cappuccino, I would be grateful.

[zhelezo]

[ The temptation to tell Solo to go swing for it is so strong. ]

i'll be fifteen minutes.

[ He just won't be happy about it. ]

[smoothlydone]

[He's...never happy about anything, why exactly would this be different?]


then I'll see you in fifteen.

[Fifteen minutes, that's fine, that's good, Solo can be vertical presentable in fifteen minutes.]

hope you don't mind switching to action!

[zhelezo]

[ He could have made it in ten but Solo makes him somewhat petty. Still, fifteen minutes later and Illya is striding into the room with intent. The door bangs against the wall with a vicious sound but the smile he feels about it doesn't make it to his face. ]

Here's your coffee, Cowboy.

[ He better be wearing clothes, otherwise this fancy Italian liquid is going all over him. ]

ready and eager to switch to action!

[smoothlydone]

[He is wearing clothes, thank you. He is upright, showered, hair combed back, wearing one of the sleeker suits in a deep blue, suit jacket draped casually over the back of the chair, and is at least staring at a newspaper. He can do a lot with fifteen minutes, with the proper motivation. The illusion is perfect.

Until the sound of the door slamming open goes straight through his head and he flinches like he's been shot at. The illusion is shattered.

He tosses the paper aside and accepts the cup with both hands, not at all eager bordering on desperate.]

Thank you, Peril. You're too kind.

[zhelezo]

[ He shouldn't be so terribly pleased with that flinch, but then he shouldn't be a lot of things when it comes to Napoleon Solo. Illya takes a step back, coffee delivered, and leans against an antique and hideous looking table with ease. Crossing his ankles over, he does the same thing with his arms, and then looks his partner up and down.

The vodka had probably been a bad idea.

But he'd been fairly goaded by a charming smile. And besides, he can handle it far better. Meaning he'd woken up bright eyed and bushy tailed. ]

It wouldn't do to have you die already. I'd have to break in a new partner.

[smoothlydone]

[He's usually better at holding his liquor, and Solo isn't convinced Illya hadn't topped up his glass once or twice (or several times) during the evening. No one can drink that much vodka and just be fine the next morning. He must have cheated somehow.

There might be a murmur of "more like break a new partner" into the sip of beautiful, live-giving cappuccino. But it's probably just his imagination, if he has one of those. Solo takes a long drink, never mind if it's still a little too hot, and then flashes another of those charming smiles, only a little less radiant than usual.]

Why, Peril. That almost sounds like you care.

[zhelezo]

[ He sighs. ]

We have work to do. I do not want to be distracted by incompetence.

[ He might care. Deep down behind the iron bars of his ribs. Unfortunately no one will ever be able to pry the truth out of his hands. ]

Speaking of, will you be doing any today?

[smoothlydone]

Yes. [Rude. There's the Peril he knows and...well, knows.] But my work doesn't begin until the evening. Remember?

[He can just about swing around in the desk chair without wanting to black out, and props his feet on the desk while plucking up the invitation to tonight's little soiree, at which he will be trying to goad their target into saying something incriminating.]

And you know I'd hate to be a distraction for you.

[zhelezo]

[ He merely raises an eyebrow. ]

You could still make yourself useful.

[ It would require a miracle, he knows. ]

[smoothlydone]

[In Solo's defense, the groan and laborious dragging of his feet off the desk in preparation for making himself useful isn't much different from any other day, when he's trying to needle Illya.

He gestures with the cappuccino.]

It sounds like you already have something in mind.

[zhelezo]

You know what they say about idle hands.

[ He pushes off of the table and crosses the room to the window. They drapes are closed over - presumably because of the light - but Illya has no qualms about yanking them open and letting the bright light filter through. ]

You are already firmly acquainted.

[smoothlydone]

[The immediate ohgodwhyno reaction is ruthlessly reined in as Solo takes a deliberately slow, appreciative sip.

He could be annoyed, and he is, but the trouble here is that this is almost entirely his own fault. It hadn't begun as a drinking contest, just Solo goading Illya into having a drink with him that wasn't the obligatory end-of-mission congratulations, we saved the world again toast. But it had evolved into a drinking contest after Solo saw how easily Illya tossed back his shots, and yes, parts of the evening were a little hazy, but Solo knows perfectly well that whatever happened, it happened because he'd been overconfident.

It won't happen again. Not that that helps in the moment, when the light from the window feels so solid against his eyes that it seems he could use that to stab his partner.]

Now, Peril. Just because the KGB never trained you in the fine art of fun-having doesn't mean it's too late to make a start.

sorry! i completely zoned out yesterday lmao

[zhelezo]

[ Never drink with a Russian, did your Handlers never tell you that, Solo? ]

I can have fun.

[ Does he sound mildly offended? Perhaps. That's his default state around Napoleon. And more often than not, Gaby too. They are too good at goading him, their teasing barbs getting in under his defenses. ]

Not your kind.

No worries friend, I swam around in TFLNs all of yesterday \o/

[smoothlydone]

[Even through the headache and the vague feeling that death might be a mercy, Solo can smirk. Getting under the Peril's skin is—there's no other way to put it—a fun new hobby, which he indulges perhaps a little too much.

Someday he might tone it down.]

How do you know not my kind? Have you ever tried my kind?

yes that was me too lmao

[zhelezo]

[ His jaw twitches slightly. ]

I do not want to.

[ Illya turns at the window and glances towards his partner, taking in the line of his shoulders against the back of his chair. ]

[smoothlydone]

[It turns out a very effective hangover cure is getting the opportunity to prod at the surly, uptight Russian. He needs to remember this.]

Why not? Afraid you'll enjoy it?

[zhelezo]

No.

[ He wishes he could go back to torturing Napoleon with bright lights. ]

I would not.

[smoothlydone]

[Well he can't, because that would be cruel.

And because Solo would absolutely find a way to get back at him.]

How do you know? Tell me that, Peril.