The truth is that Illya doesn’t pick up on Napoleon’s unconventional preferences until they become mission relevant. Then it’s all ice water in his veins, heat on his cheeks, eyes cast to the splay of his boots on their hotel carpet because he does not want to be caught looking shocked.
It shouldn’t be shocking. So many small, confusing things about Napoleon are making sense now, converging and collecting to form a neat profile in Illya’s mind. Of course, he thinks again. Of course, of course.
I love the characterisations here, how desperate both men are, how afraid and yet unable to stay away.