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"Our man of the hour has a preference for squid, not oyster."
And well. Waverly was never one to mince words or pussyfoot around a topic, so Napoleon arched a brow at the obscure reference. So obscure, in fact, he was quite willing to put money on the fact that of the other two people in the room, he was the only one who would understand it.
As if on cue Illya frowned, looking confused and irritated both. "What does shellfish preference have to do with mission?" the surly Russian demanded, gesturing in annoyance.
To his side, Gaby snickered. Napoleon looked over to her, appraising and considering both. Curious. Miss Teller was a series of unique and interesting surprises.
"What our good chap here means, Peril, is that Mr. Bruveksi is a homosexual. He prefers cock to pussy."
Illya looked moderately alarmed for a moment, as though none of his training had prepared him for such a thing. He eventually sank into his seat a little, like a child sulking.
"Is stupid to say things not meaning of things said," the man muttered sullenly, before he sat bolt upright, casting Napoleon another alarmed look.
"How do you know what is oysters and squids?!"
At his side Gaby cackled harder, so much so that Waverly calmly handed her the glass of water that had been sat on his desk.
"Oh, Peril," Napoleon uttered sadly, smiling gently in a manner that seemed to catch Illya off guard. Illya looked particularly vexed after a moment, much like he did whenever he encountered something he didn’t understand, and Waverly politely drew their attention back before it could dissolve into a mess.
“Regardless, gentlemen. For...Obvious reasons, Miss. Teller is is not an option for this particular honeypot, and thus it must unfortunately fall unto one of you. Given Mr. Kuryakin’s... Poor history with honeypots, Mr. Solo, if you would be so kind?”
Napoleon waved an accepting hand airily, thoroughly enjoying the side-eye that Illya cast him. Illya might not receive well any slight to his abilities as a spy, but even the Russian himself was uncomfortably aware of his own shortfalls when it came to romance for the purpose of the job.
Mission asserted, there’s little to do after that while they wait for the official brief and the following procedures to begin. Waverly dismisses them and Gaby immediately excuses herself to lunch with the new woman stationed in the clothing department, with whom she’s been quite taken with as of late.
The day is still young yet, and Napoleon is considering visiting a recently opened cafè not far from U.N.C.L.E’s headquarters when he realises that Illya is following him. He angled his body just a little, head inclined and steps shortening a hair to let Illya know he’d been clocked, and the Russian reluctantly came to walk at his side, stewing in silence until they entered an empty hallway.
He’d gotten to number five in a ten point countdown when Illya spoke. “Why is it oysters and squids? Why not just say homosexual?”
It was a fair point, Napoleon supposed. Whether it was po-tay-toe or po-tah-toe both meant the same thing, and nobody called a french fry a potato. Then again, his Russian counterpart rarely saw the use in tact and sensibility, so he supposed to Illya the notion of having a delicate way of saying a man buggered another man was simply unnecessary.
“Because people react to the term homosexual the same way they react to the words air-born disease,” he noted, keeping his voice carefully low. Even in a progressive establishment like U.N.C.L.E where all understood that ‘needs must’ when it came to their line of work and most if not all cared little for where dicks went or didn’t go, it would be somewhat unseemly to be overheard. Illya merely grunted at his side, shoulders hunching a little more.
“The elite and those who presume themselves next to Godly see talking about such a thing, especially in such blatant terms, unclean. Tainted by association, perhaps. Not least, its still seen as immoral and illegal in many places, so those who dabble must be discreet. You’re no stranger to code words yourself,” he pointed out, covering the words with a cheerful whistle as he let Illya stew in it a little longer.
“I still see no reason shellfish is connotated to homosexuality,” the Russian huffed after a moment, and Napoleon cast him an amused, sideways glance.
“My dear. Have you ever seen an oyster or a squid? Whole?”
“Yes,” Illya replied curtly as they arrived at the elevator. It was empty, and thus they talked freely within its confines, having both established long ago no recording device was implanted. (More fool U.N.C.L.E).
“Alright. And tell me, what do people say of oysters, hm? Why did the Greeks love them so?”
“It is aphrodisiac, because of-- Oh." The realisation seemed to hit the Russian with quite as much force as the motorcycle had hit Alexander Vinciguerra, and Napoleon couldn’t help his easy grin.
“And the squid…” he prompted, and Illya scowled at him.
“Yes, yes. I see now."
The Russian was quiet for several long moments.
"So," Napoleon announced cheerfully as the elevator descended. "Seafood for lunch?"