This poem was written by a human, processed automatically, and queued to post. Click the links for more information about each horse. You can write and submit your own horse poetry at horsecounterbot.pythonanywhere.com/poetry.
A gallya fic where Gabby and Illya are spies in the present day?
“What if I told you to smile?”
The edge of his lips twitch but Illya refrains from giving in. Instead he keeps his head low and hands busy, hooking one cable into another, tying them with talented fingers while she pouts.
“Illya,” She practically draws out his name in the silence of the office that is all dark glass and sharp angles. There are no filing cabinets, which means no paper evidence. Gaby however, has that handled as she toys with the phone in her hand, pausing to lean back. Her shoulder brushes his chest and her leg slides back into his, letting her sit gently on the edge of his knee. The sudden contact makes his throat tighten and Illya glances up just in time to be caught with the eye of the lens. Gaby’s thumb brushes the smooth glass of the screen and she snaps their photo before he can look away.
He does scowl though, through thick golden lashes at the slope of her neck just inches from his dry lips. Her pulse jumps and he licks his bottom lip just as the phone chimes in with the password to the computer she’s hooked to.
“Oh,” She turns her head over, the tip of her nose nearly touches his own but he pulls back before they get too close and nudges her gently with hands on the back of her hips, towards the desk where the tablet lays like a bright beacon in the dark room.
“Delete that photo.” Illya murmurs softly, letting his hands linger a moment too long.
“No.” Gaby says with a final argumentative tone on her tongue.
“Gaby,” He warns softly, but nothing comes of his warning. Instead he watches her work, plugging her phone into a small slender cord that attaches into a port on the tablet. The screen goes dark then lights back up. Bits of data are dragged from one screen to another as Gaby runs the tip of her finger across the glass fronts.
“It’s just a selfie Illya,” She hums softly as she leans over the desk. The light of the phone and tablet cast her in a blinding white light while the rest of her is swallowed by shadows.
“Waverly will not --”
“Waverly won’t know. It’s just for me.” She doesn’t bother looking up. Instead his little hacker is working on diving into the operating system of the computer, digging for corporate ledgers that funnel the funds into markets that the government can’t quite reach.
Illya scoffs softly, “You said that about the last one of those.”
“To be fair,” Gaby starts softly, “You got a ton of likes from that last photo.”
He can see her grin in the darkness, all cat-like and mischievous, reminding him why he broke so many rules and regulations just to kiss her.
“I only care if you like me,” Illya says softly, retaliating against her argument about the photo of him she snapped while he wore her short robe open, crawling over her. She had promised him there, in between kisses that the risque photo was for her and her only.
Hours later it ended up on instagram and minutes after that, Waverly rang.
While Gaby works on the technology, Illya finishes his knots. He’s re-tied Gaby’s harness for safety measures, they are moving against a very fast clock, one that will alarm them thirty-seconds before the state of the art security system goes off, leaving them to the dogs.
“I think I’ve found it.” Gaby’s excitement is tangible. He watches as she bounces up on the tips of her toes, leaning over the desk. Her dark hair is tied high in a bun but several pieces of dark hair escape. Her bangs need trimming, they’re too long again and she blows out a soft huff of air just to temporarily knock them away.
“Good. We are short on time and the Cowboy is waiting.” Illya’s harsh accent washes over her and Gaby turns her head up just to send him a wink.
“I’ve got their books. Lots of money going from here to this shipping company in Rome. Vinciguerra?” She taps the screen of the tablet and then furrows her brow as the screen turns a dark shade of red. Gaby taps it again and then panic slides over her delicate features. The tablet lets out a loud squeal and the screen goes black with red lines streaking through. Yanking the cable free of her phone, she stuffs it down into her pocket and grips onto Illya’s arm.
“Time to go,” Desperation bleeds into her voice and she yanks him away from the desk. The tablet’s squealing is joined by a louder sound overhead. The lights in the dark office illuminate all at once, flickering on with bright accusing beams.
“What did you do?” Illya asks fumbling for a moment for his watch, trying desperately to tap the screen. The digital face of the watch flickers blue and then a small face appears.
“You two have triggered the security alarm. Don’t know how you did it, but every police officer this side of Manhattan is coming for you.” Napoleon’s smooth American tone is hard to hear over blaring alarms, but Illya holds his arm up higher as if to get better reception.
“How do we get out?”
Gaby crosses the office for the glass doors but they do not budge. Locks have all slid in place, caging them in for the night. She turns back to Illya, “Looks like we can’t go that way. Any other plans?”
“We could go swimming.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’ve got a boat!” Napoleon chimes in, head to the south side of the building, break a window and use those super spy powers of yours Peril. Surely a sleeper agent like you can scale a building.”
“Napoleon,” Gaby warns him soft and low, a growl escapes her as Illya goes dead still as if caught up in the shame of his past. He is constantly trying to outrun the shadow of a country that made him a psychological experiment. Gaby’s hand slips down the length of his arm and falls into his own. She squeezes his palm, “If you’re on the south side of the building. How do you expect us to get down twenty-stories?”
“Can’t you use your phone to hack the elevator? Or is this how MI-6 caught you?”
Gaby reaches over with her free hand and taps the face of Illya’s watch, silencing their annoying partner for good. She squeezes Illya’s palm one more time before pulling away, “Illya, we need a way out.”
He nods to her and glances back at the desk. There’s a heavy metal chair behind it and a few sharp columns hold up the ceiling overhead. Within minutes they are out. A chair falls from the top floor, bringing a sprinkle of tempered glass behind it. It falls into the Hudson while Illya pulls on Gaby’s harness once more, hooking her to him with a heavy clip. She shakes and he tucks her in, closer -- tighter. Her face finds his neck and he gives them a good tug for safety. “Gaby…” He edges along the broken glass, holding tightly to her. She digs her hands into the front of his vest and turns her head up just enough to catch his blue gaze, “What if I told you to smile?”
