The projectionist stops on an image of Solo in Saint Mark’s Square in Venice. His arm is lifted to throw seed to the pigeons, and his left shirt sleeve is rolled up to expose a muscular forearm dusted with dark hair, where swirls of gold curl across his skin.
Illya’s right wrist itches beneath the wrappings and his father’s watch. He betrays no emotion as the projectionist moves to the next slide. Oleg’s eyes are boring into the side of his head, waiting for him to flinch from the task.
The Second Directorate of the KGB keeps the citizens’ records: sigil location, what it looks like. The KGB knows what they are asking Illya to do.
Solo is handsome, broad-shouldered, with beautiful hands, an artist’s hands. Those clever hands and long fingers will be stilled by Illya’s doing. He will leave Solo’s dark hair matted in blood.
This is one of the rare BDSM AUs that really, really work for me, thanks to the way the author manages to make it perfectly fit these two characters. I truly believe they’re soulmates here, their needs and personalities uniquely complementing each other.