"I don't see why you get to pick the mark," Napoleon complained to Gaby as they let themselves into the small flat the U.N.C.L.E. team was currently based in. Deep in the heart of Vienna, they had been on assignment for three weeks. Despite their best efforts, none of them had managed to flush out their target, an arms dealer purportedly in the city. The boredom was starting to grind on Gaby and Solo's nerves; not to mention, the repeated failures had turned Illya into a snappish monster. The man had already torn his way through two sets of furniture. The one time Solo had idly observed that it was like living with a poorly behaved terrier, the only thing that had kept his head attached to his shoulders had been Gaby's swift, determined intervention.

For all their sakes, Solo had covertly removed the chess set Illya had a tendency to brood over, replacing it with any manner of devices in need of repair. He didn't care if he had to break the equipment himself – as long as it kept the Russian busy and focused on something other than their dismal progress. Whereas Gaby had taken over receiving transmissions from Waverly. The man was unhappy with their stalled mission, and proceeded to make it clear in every sarcastic, snide comment possible. With Napoleon, it had resulted in an hour long battle of wits that had become so inappropriate, Gaby almost asphyxiated on laughter, Peril blushed painfully red and muttered maniacally under his breath, and Solo was all but impossible to live with for the next two days. With Illya, he'd broken the phone. Then the couch.

As frustrated as he was with their awkward stand-still, Waverly had no new information available to shake the agents loose. They hadn't just followed their leads to the ground – they'd gone subterranean with them, and still nothing. Which resulted in Gaby and Solo finding unconventional ways to entertain themselves.

It had started two weeks ago. Still bolstered by confidence, the brunette pair had stopped at a quaint café to idly discuss the specifics of the mission. Solo had, inevitably, become distracted by an attractive waitress. With a long mane of platinum hair and icy gray eyes that twinkled when she smiled, Solo set about flirting quite ferociously with her, charming more than few giggles and speaking smiles from her. As competitive as she usually was with her colleague, Gaby had proceeded to match him, overture for overture, with the lovely blond woman. Her blushes had been markedly deeper at Gaby's comments than Solo's. He'd been forced to admit defeat when Gaby had secured a kiss in the hallway by the kitchen as they were leaving.

This marked the birth of a competition seeing them through the worst of the boredom. They toggled between genders, gradually intensifying the goals. Thus far, Gaby had nosed ahead, having poured her frustration into a magnificent seduction of an intense young painter two days ago that Solo would have to have been at his absolute best to match. With that conquest completed, it was time to select the next target. And Gaby, greedy little creature that she was, insisted that it was again her turn to choose.

Illya likely knew what they were about, since neither had made much of an effort to hide their exploits from him. Thus far, though, he'd merely sniffed disapprovingly and ignored them. Solo had caught a few of his longing, frustrated glances thrown at Gaby, but that was between the two of them. It was volatile enough working with Peril; the last thing he wanted was to get involved in the man's love life.

He gave them one of those glares now from his position on the couch, hunkered over a transmitter spilling its mechanical guts all over the scratched coffee table. Napoleon just smirked at him insouciantly as he and Gaby companionably collapsed on the twin of Illya's seat.

"Because I'm winning," she informed Solo with a quirk of the brow.

"That's why I should pick," he insisted.

"Why should it matter? After all, you're prettier than me." Solo was about to shoot off a smart rejoinder when Illya's deep voice cut through the banter.

"No, he's not." They both turned to face the Russian, who had his cobalt gaze pinned to the high-frequency transmitter, studiously avoiding their eyes. Solo was startled, and a little disconcerted, at the niggle of irritation and insult that curled against his spine. It wasn't surprising, of course. Illya's soft spot for Gaby was plush as down; still, Solo was shocked at the way his partner's preference for the girl smarted. But he grinned broadly, waiting until Peril glanced up from under his brows.

"That's because you're prettier than both of us." The man's glare could have splintered steel; Solo just grinned wider, a white flash of attitude and irreverence. He didn't need to look at Gaby to know that her choked noise was a strangled chuckle. Illya took his time responding, studiously unscrewing a plate.

"You're an idiot, Cowboy. What I meant was, 'pretty' is not an appropriate adjective to use on a man. If anything, you'd be better described as 'classically handsome.'" A compliment. How out of character. Crossing his legs and draping his arm along the spine of the couch, idly playing with Gaby's dark hair, Solo eyed the Russian.

"Would you also be considered 'classically handsome'?" Solo teased. Illya just shrugged without looking at him.

"Obviously." His simple confidence made Napoleon smile. He looked over in time to see Gaby's considering expression, and the way her gaze flicked back and forth between him and Peril. A silent communication unfolded between them, carried out by raised brows and meaningfully flung looks. And Solo decided that he didn't like the sound of it at all.

Simple enough to decipher; Gaby had chosen the next target.

And it was their partner.

What a terrible idea.

A terrible, intriguing idea.

Napoleon slid another glance to where Illya was hunched over wires and screws, his broad shoulders and sleek amber hair lit by the soft sunlight pouring in through the window behind him. In the privacy of his own head, Solo could admit that the thought had fascinated him since the first time he'd laid eyes on Peril. But the price of it could be so monumental, not even eye-crossing, toe-curling pleasure would be worth it.

"Well, that would be unfair," he murmured. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Illya glance up at them, then shake his head and look back down. Good. He was back to thinking they were idiots. Solo continued carefully. "You would have a distinct advantage." And the cost of failure could be sky-high. Gaby just tilted her head, challenge written in every line of her face.

"Don't tell me you're scared of losing. After all, you're 'classically handsome.'" Illya twitched, but said nothing. Solo reflected that Gaby was likely the most ruthless out of the whole bunch. He should have known better than to underestimate her.

"This win should have an extra boon," Napoleon bargained. He still didn't think this was a very good idea, but the chance of such a challenging dare drained his common sense like sand from a fist. If they didn't end up killing each other, he was going to make sure it was worth it.

"Driving privileges for the next ten missions." Solo tilted his head as he considered the wager. Gaby was an impressive driver. By far their best option for anything resembling dangerous. Any other time, though… She was terrifying. Utterly, ridiculously terrifying in any casual driving setting. And ten missions? That could be easily six months of trying not to die from a heart attack every time Gaby wanted to go out for coffee.

"Three," Solo bargained.

"Five."

"Fine." Napoleon blinked, the aftertaste of the impulsive, rapid-fire agreement lingering on his tongue. Had he really just agreed to this? Sliding a glance over to where Illya sat, broad, long-fingered hands gently threading wiring through individual housings, Solo considered. Even if he lost or died, the potential for fun was outrageous. And finally tasting that sculpted mouth and watching those long lashes flutter in mindless pleasure… he looked over to where Gaby was eyeing both of them.

Start your engines," she murmured. Solo slowly, devastatingly, smiled.

I know, I'm a bad person. Where is the next Phoenix chapter, you're asking? Well, it's almost completed, and it's a monster. It will be out Friday, on my namesake I swear it. In the interim, here's a fun little goop that's probably going to get inappropriate very shortly. I can't quite bring myself to OT3 Solo, Illya, and Gaby, but they're the closest I've ever gotten with any characters.

Delighted myself with this beautiful movie twice, and probably will again in the near future. With the shitstorm that is my life, I've got to take my bliss where I can get it. And imagining these two incredibly gorgeous men having incredibly gorgeous sex is pretty freaking blissful, if you ask me.

I'll poke at these boys again pretty soon. Once Phoenix is up and running again, I'll see how far I can get with this sweet little thing.

Hope you like it!

Love, Tango