ext_31735 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
toomuchfandom.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2007-01-22 12:46 am
toomuchfandom.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2007-01-22 12:46 am
Entry tags:
Spy Games by Periwinkle (NC17)
fandom: MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E.
pairing: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
periwinkle27
author website: none (yet)
why this must be read:
Maybe I'm a little biased for reccing this fic, but I've had the chance to proof-read this. No, not beta this fic, but proof-read (my grammar skills aren't brilliant). To see if it works, and I can tell you, this works!
periwinkle is a fantastic writer, and has a great sense of humor even when she doesn't try to write humor. The story made me smile. Spy Games is a fabulous story and it's hard to write a decent review because I am so tempted to spoil the whole story, you'll just have to read it.
Spy Games is not one of periwinkle's 'fun/farce' fics, and it's ingenious, serious, hot and absolutely brilliant.
This story originated in the comment thread on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mfuwss where you can find a shorter version of this fic if you know where to look.
I am so glad that periwinkle posted this fic before the end of this month, because I really wanted to rec this.
The agent sat by the window, moving restlessly in his chair. Sweat was rolling down his back between his shoulder blades and he’d long ago given up trying to look well dressed and had discarded his jacket across the chair. The air conditioning, such as it was in this cheap hotel room, was barely doing anything other than stirring the hot air around and he had opened the window a crack in the hopes of getting a little bit of a breeze. It wasn’t helping.
His blond partner returned to the cheap dingy hotel room with a greasy bag in his hands. Tempting aromas of grease and salt emerged from it, mixing with the slight odor of sweat emanating from the man, and hung in the humid air. He dropped the bag of lunch on the bed, wiped away the moisture from his forehead with the back of his hand and then looked at his partner. “Anything?” he asked.
The man by the window put down his binoculars and stretched. “Nothing. I don’t think they’ve returned from their mission yet. How did we get stuck with a simple surveillance job anyway? Any rookie could have done this.”
The younger man looked up from the sandwiches he was laying out and said with a slightly acerbic tone, “You know perfectly well why. You just want something to complain about.”
Spy Games
pairing: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
author on LJ:
periwinkle27author website: none (yet)
why this must be read:
Maybe I'm a little biased for reccing this fic, but I've had the chance to proof-read this. No, not beta this fic, but proof-read (my grammar skills aren't brilliant). To see if it works, and I can tell you, this works!
periwinkle is a fantastic writer, and has a great sense of humor even when she doesn't try to write humor. The story made me smile. Spy Games is a fabulous story and it's hard to write a decent review because I am so tempted to spoil the whole story, you'll just have to read it.
Spy Games is not one of periwinkle's 'fun/farce' fics, and it's ingenious, serious, hot and absolutely brilliant.
This story originated in the comment thread on
mfuwss where you can find a shorter version of this fic if you know where to look.I am so glad that periwinkle posted this fic before the end of this month, because I really wanted to rec this.
The agent sat by the window, moving restlessly in his chair. Sweat was rolling down his back between his shoulder blades and he’d long ago given up trying to look well dressed and had discarded his jacket across the chair. The air conditioning, such as it was in this cheap hotel room, was barely doing anything other than stirring the hot air around and he had opened the window a crack in the hopes of getting a little bit of a breeze. It wasn’t helping.
His blond partner returned to the cheap dingy hotel room with a greasy bag in his hands. Tempting aromas of grease and salt emerged from it, mixing with the slight odor of sweat emanating from the man, and hung in the humid air. He dropped the bag of lunch on the bed, wiped away the moisture from his forehead with the back of his hand and then looked at his partner. “Anything?” he asked.
The man by the window put down his binoculars and stretched. “Nothing. I don’t think they’ve returned from their mission yet. How did we get stuck with a simple surveillance job anyway? Any rookie could have done this.”
The younger man looked up from the sandwiches he was laying out and said with a slightly acerbic tone, “You know perfectly well why. You just want something to complain about.”
Spy Games