Another MFU blurb

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII.

Summary:
In which Napoleon forgets his cold-weather gear on a mission in the mountains, but Illya is generous… and smug.

Notes:
There are two versions of this piece.  This is the light slash
version.  There is a gen version on my
dreamwidth if you’d prefer reading that.
The two blurbs are around 95% similar.

Not cross-posting this because I’m just too lazy rn.

“Napoleon, I did tell you that the weather on these peaks
can change in an instant,” Illya said, calmly.

“And I did say that we had to travel light,” Napoleon
replied, scowling in discomfort as a stiff breeze blew around them. He was glad
he was in the lead; Illya wouldn’t have seen that scowl.

“Well done, then,” Illya said, not even needing to see the
scowl to know it existed.  “You are light…
and cold.”

“I am not cold,” Napoleon insisted.  “I just find the temperature range here less
than optimal.”

Just as Illya had been able to know that the scowl existed
without seeing it, Napoleon knew that Illya was smirking without need to turn
around.

“Don’t say it,” he said.
“Don’t even say it.”

Illya just responded with a mischievous chuckle, which
Napoleon realized may have been less desirable than a simple “I told you so.”

“Fine, you can say it.”

“But I won’t,” Illya promised, sympathy creeping into his
voice in spite of himself.  “Here,
Napoleon; you may borrow my sweater again.”

Napoleon looked back now, watching as Illya removed his
black turtleneck and handed it to him.

“You end up doing this a lot,” Napoleon admitted.  He could be stubborn at times, particularly when
testing his limitations; thankfully, Illya was always there to back him up, one
way or another.  “Are you sure?”

“Trust me, Napoleon; I don’t mind at all.”

Napoleon shrugged and put the sweater on; it was a tight
fit, seeing as though he was a size larger than Illya.  The sweater, nevertheless, stayed on,
providing him with the extra bit of warmth he needed.

“Thanks, Illya,” he said, sincerely.

“What are partners for?” the Russian replied.  “…If not for ‘I-told-you-so’s and fawning
over their lovers in tight-fitting sweaters?”

Napoleon smirked.

“So that’s what
your angle was…!” he said, shaking his head in amusement.  “No wonder you never seem to mind lending me
your sweaters!  And here I thought you
were just being generous…”

“Oh, but I am,” Illya said, sweetly.  “It’s just that I get quite a bit in exchange
for what I give.”

“You’re going to get it, alright…” Napoleon mused, drawing
a sweater-clad arm around his partner.  “I’ll
get you for this.”

“I am counting on it,” Illya replied, without missing a
beat.

Napoleon squeezed him into a tighter hug—doubling duty as shielding
him from the mountain breeze as they continued on.  Illya responded with a kiss—one he knew that
would serve as an invitation to more later.

The message was received and understood.  And in the back of his mind, Napoleon made a
mental note to “forget” his cold-weather articles more often.

It ended up being more enjoyable than he would have
expected.