Make Your Bed and Lie in It	   Make Your Bed and Lie in It by
TheRimmerConnection  
 
Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me. Now isn't that a
surprise? ;) 

 

'Just coffee. Black.' Illya's eyes sparkled and Napoleon continued his
gentle urging, knowing that he was, quite ill-advisedly, using his bedroom
voice. He couldn't help it when Illya looked at him like that.'What?
You're not having a sundae?' 

'No. Thank-you Napoleon. I am perfectly happy without.' 

'Just a small one. I'll go halves with you.' 

'No. Thank-you. Why are you so keen for me to have an ice-cream? What are
you up to?' 

'I'm just offering you dessert. Why aren't you eating?' 

'It's nothing. I've had a very trying few days.' He dropped his voice so
that they wouldn't be overheard, but Marvin's sister was otherwise
engaged. 'Marvin was rather intractable under the influence of those
flowers. He refused to move without a lot of...of hugs, and you may have
noticed he wasn't much better on that wretched mountain.' Napoleon
grinned, but kept his head down so that Illya wouldn't notice. 'I'm not
very good at hugging strange men,' Illya finished sulkily. 

'You're not all that great at hugging familiar men,' Napoleon added under
his breath. Unfortunately, Illya's sharp hearing caught it. 

'What exactly are you suggesting?' 

'I'm suggesting you have a dessert.' 

'That doesn't really answer my question.' 

'You didn't answer mine very satisfactorily.' 

'Why are you so keen for me to have a dessert?' 

'Because I worry about you when you don't eat.' 

 

They left the ice-cream parlour at last, taking their leave of Miss Clump
and Mr Quartz, and strolled back to the hotel, a couple of miles away.
Napoleon wished he had followed Illya's example and just had the coffee;
his choco-fudge-mountain sundae was sitting very heavily in his stomach.
It hadn't helped that Illya had smirked all the time he was eating, his
smirk getting broader as Napoleon struggled more and more to finish the
enormous dessert. 

'I don't know how you finished that ridiculous sundae,' Illya said
tiredly. He was stumbling slightly, his natural grace a little diminished
by his weariness, so that he bumped into Napoleon from time to time. They
climbed the stairs to their room and Napoleon gently pushed Illya in ahead
of him. He shut the door, checking the lock was properly set, then sat on
the bed that practically blocked the way into the tiny room. Illya slumped
down next to him, hands clasped in his lap, and turned his head towards
Napoleon. Napoleon laid a hand on his shoulder. 

'Bit of a heavy day, wasn't it?' Illya nodded. 

'I've had easier. A tussle in a cemetery after two transatlantic flights
in as many days isn't my favourite way to end an affair.' 

Illya's eyes were half-closed, a sultry look on his face that invited
intimacy. His lips parted slightly and Napoleon felt him lean in
fractionally. Napoleon took a deep breath. Maybe this time...it was right:
now was that unexpected opportunity he had been waiting for. He rested his
other hand on Illya's other shoulder, tilted his head, leant in and
pressed his lips to Illya's. 

Illya's lips were firm and warm. For a moment, Napoleon thought he was
leaning into the kiss, then the sensation was gone and there was nothing,
just an unyielding mouth on an unwilling man. Then Illya put a hand on his
chest and hissed, 

'Let me go! Napoleon, if you value your life, let me go!' 

Napoleon drew back, getting up and stepping away from the bed. 

'Ah, I, uh, sorry, I thought...' 

'No, you didn't,' Illya butted in, also getting to his feet. 'You didn't
think at all.' He turned his back on him. 

'I won't do it again,' Napoleon said. 

'No. You won't,' said Illya softly. It didn't sound like a threat, just a
statement. He sighed and went on, 'Take your desserts and your
oh-so-charming manner, and go to sleep Napoleon.' He pulled off his shoes,
jacket and holster, crawled across to the other side of the bed, dumped
the discarded items in a pile on the chair there, pulled back the covers
and got under them, hauling them up over his still-clothed shoulders, his
back to Napoleon. 

Napoleon took more time undressing, going down to his vest and shorts. He
sat on the edge of the bed to remove his socks. He had a strong urge to
bury his head in his hands, but he refused to do that. What had he read
wrong? What aspect of Illya's behaviour in the seconds, minutes, hours,
days, months even, leading up to that moment, had he misread? If that look
hadn't been a come-on, Napoleon had lost his touch. If Illya's behaviour
in the ice-cream parlour hadn't been teasing and significant, Napoleon had
never heard sexual overtones before. If the looks Illya had been giving
him for the last affair, the touches he had been unnecessarily laying on
Napoleon for...well, probably a year or more now, weren't an expression of
interest, Napoleon had never... Well, perhaps he hadn't. Certainly he'd
blown it now. 

He gingerly lifted the covers and crawled in next to Illya, lying on his
back in the half-darkness, contemplating the ceiling, twiddling his thumbs
on the outside of the covers. The way Illya had said 'No. You won't,'
played over and over in his head. Not a threat, not nasty. Just a
statement, as if Illya trusted him not to even try it again. Maybe it
would be okay. Maybe. He still wasn't quite sure why he'd done it at all. 

'Why did you?' came a slightly irritable, muffled voice from next to him.
Napoleon jumped. He hated it when Illya seemed to read his mind like that.


'Why? Because...' Napoleon considered for a moment, twiddling his thumbs
faster to hide from himself the fact that his hands were shaking. 'Because
I've been fighting doing that for so long. You have a habit of looking
desperately desirable at the most inappropriate moments. You looked so...'
He gave up and turned his head to look at the back of Illya's head. Illya
rolled over to lie on his back and stared at the ceiling for a while. Then
he nodded slowly. Napoleon stared at him, his mouth falling slightly open.


'Well? What...' 

'Napoleon, it really doesn't matter. You won't do it again. I know you
won't.' He turned back onto his side, muttering, 'You said you wouldn't.' 

Napoleon scratched his head in embarrassment. He nodded and stared into
the darkness until he fell asleep. 

 

Illya sat there looking relaxed and just slightly mystified when Napoleon
entered the cell. He shrank away as Napoleon approached to try and snap
him out of it. 

Napoleon didn't dare put his arm around him. His promise of months ago
still resonated in his head whenever he came near his partner. Not that he
was about to lose control and just kiss the man, no matter how tempting it
was, but he didn't want to give Illya the impression that he was pushing
his luck, and he preferred himself sticking to his own rules, even when
Illya was in no condition to care. He grabbed his hand, 

'Come on, gimme a hand with this!' 

He had to help Illya into the mask. The last thing he needed was Illya
passing out on him. He yanked it down over his face. Illya just stood
there, looking vaguely about himself as if he'd never worn a gas mask
before. Hopeless. He helped him up to the blasted window and wrapped his
arms around his legs to give him a boost. The effort not to rest his cheek
on those muscular legs was almost unbearable and he shook himself into an
abrasive temper to block out any more awkward feelings. It helped as he
grabbed his hand and they ran across the lawns, down the steps, darting to
and fro, over the wall, through the fence and down to the road. 

 

The end of the affair was unsatisfactory from Napoleon's point of view.
His rightful and sworn revenge was snatched from him. To kill the man who
had put Illya's life in danger was denied him and he sulked his way back
to headquarters. Once there, it filtered through his angry mind that it
was probably just as wellU.N.C.L.E. agents were not supposed to exact
cold-blooded revenge on the enemy, not unless they were under orders,
anyway. He was relieved to have his partner back, so much so that he
persuaded him to come on his date with the girl afterwards, saying she was
a possible danger, an unknown and it would be worth having a chaperone
around. He was too worried about his partner to concentrate on the date in
any case. He was still acting a little too laid-back for Napoleon's
liking. 

 

He pulled on his coat in the office he shared with Illya, wondering how
his partner was doing. He had left him in Medical, griping and fidgeting
while a harassed-looking doctor tried to check him over for any
after-effects of the treatment to which he had been subjected. The thought
improved Napoleon's mood considerablysome things never changed. He should
probably go and rescue him, before he actually started snarling at the
medics. He took the coat back off and laid it across his arm. He hurried
down to Medical and paused at the reception desk to sweet-talk the nurse
there into telling him where Illya had ended up. He tapped her fondly on
the nose and wandered nonchalantly along the corridor, hands in pockets,
stopping outside the door, which was slightly ajar. 

'There's nothing wrong with meI'm fine. Please, please can I go?' 

'Ah, excuse me?' Napoleon coughed and poked his head around the door. The
doctor looked around and glared at him. Napoleon assumed he'd get an angry
memo about this tomorrow, CEA or not, but it was worth it for the grateful
look on Illya's face. 

'I haven't quite finished with Mr Kuryakin, Mr Solo. What are you doing
here? 

'Mr Waverly wants the two of us to go and collect something. Really, we
ought to be going.' 

'Mr Waverly should know that medical clearance takes timeespecially when
the patient is so uncooperative.' He glared at Illya who looked supremely
innocent. 'Very well, go, but I want you to bring yourself back here if
you notice any strange feelings, any odd sensations, unusual emotions,
dizzy spells...' 

'Yes, yes,' snapped Illya, leaping off the couch. He sped to the door and
stood behind Napoleon, tugging at his jacket. 

'I'll see he does,' said Napoleon, touching an invisible hat to the doctor
and turning a raised eyebrow on Illya, glancing meaningfully at the
tugging fingers. Illya let go and they hurried down the corridor, out of
Medical, and out of the building. 

'What does Mr Waverly want us to collect?' asked Illya. 

'Oh, he heard my stomach rumbling and said that we should pick up some
dinner.' 

Illya grinned, a real grin, and tutted. 

'Really, Napoleon!' 

'What? I didn't lie. Got you out, didn't it?' 

Illya nodded. Napoleon looked up and down the street, rubbing the back of
his neck. 

'Wanna get take-out or do you want something more civilized?' Illya huffed
and swung his arms. 

'To tell the truth, I've spent just a little too much time indoors
recently. Can we get take-out and eat in the park?' 

'Sounds ideal.' 

They got their food and found a secluded bench behind some rocks and
shrubs where they could eat in peace. When they had eaten, they sat
watching the birds flying between the trees ahead of them, until Napoleon
glanced at his partner's blank face and spoke, 

'Do you remember anything from while you were in that cell?' 

'Pretty much everything. I was perfectly aware of what was being said. I
just couldn't make much sense of it and I couldn't do anything. You were a
bit frantic, weren't you.' 

Napoleon shifted a little, 'I was keen to get out. Plus, I was worried you
were going to do something weird and get yourself killed.' Illya looked
hard at him and got up, waiting for Napoleon to copy him before he started
to walk beside him, hands in his pockets. 

'You were very...restrained. No, actually you were downright unpleasant.
Thank-you. I knew I could trust you.' 

'I beg your pardon?' 

'You thought I looked cute. I could see it in your eyes. You didn't take
your hand off my neck for ages. I could feel your fingers playing with my
hair. But then you just got on with it.' 

'Hell Illya, I was trying to get us out of there alive. If I'd had the
right to slam you against a wall and kiss you stupid...stupider, I still
wouldn't have done it. The whole thing was a little rushed, if you didn't
notice.' Illya nodded and they walked in silence to the edge of the park,
before Illya said he was going to get some supplies for his long-empty
apartment, and made it clear he was doing his shopping alone. 

 

Napoleon looked across at Illya, who was, unusually for him, distracted
from his report. He was twiddling his hair between his thumb and
forefinger and watching his pencil flicking backwards and forwards between
the fingers of his other hand. Napoleon sat back in his chair, glad of a
reason to look up from his own work. 

'What's the problem?' 

'I need to talk to you. Can we meet after work?' 

Napoleon frowned slightly, then shrugged, 

'Sure. Come to my apartment?' Illya nodded and Napoleon watched him leave,
heading back to the labs. He'd been a little off since they had returned
from the Gurnius affair. Napoleon had assumed it was the after-effects of
having to inhabit the persona of such a monster, but Illya had played
plenty of roles in the past and shaken off even the most unpleasant after
a day or two. Napoleon returned to his work, but failed to concentrate and
achieved nothing more useful than a bad doodle of Illya's eyes in the
margin of one of the personnel reports he was trying to file. He scribbled
it over and stuffed the pages back into his in-tray, deciding to wander
over to the secretarial pool offices as an antidote to his unusual
nerviness. 

 

'Come in. Drink?' 

Illya nodded and removed his coat, throwing it onto the hooks near the
door. He followed Napoleon around as he poured their drinks, not asking
what Illya wanted. Illya kept quiet and Napoleon glanced at him every now
and again, but did not press him to explain until they were seated on the
sofa with a glass each in their hands. 

'Well? Spill it then.' Illya looked vaguely at his drink for a second,
then seemed to register what Napoleon meant and knocked it back in one
gulp. He set his glass on the coffee table and remained there, leaning
forward, hands in his lap, not looking at Napoleon. 

'Terry said you told her our friendship was being strained.' 

Napoleon stared, then remembered what he had said as she released him from
the electrocution apparatus. 

'Oh, Illya! I was in a lot of pain. I didn't mean it...it was just
something to say to her, take my mind off that machine. It hurt.' 

'Yes. It hurt, Napoleon. It hurt a great deal.' 

'I was grouchy. What did you expect? Thanks?' 

Illya remained silent and Napoleon kicked himself. 'I'm sorry. You're
right. You do deserve thanks. You saved my life. I know. I'm an ungrateful
bastard.' He sighed. If only he could take Illya in his arms, soothe him
as he would if a woman looked at him that way, but he'd promised and,
apart from the odd white lie and the necessary deceptions of the job,
Napoleon Solo kept his promises. 

'I'm sorry, Illya. I didn't mean it, it was just...small talk, you know?'
Illya's arms were still folded in front of him and Napoleon rubbed at his
eyes to stop himself looking at Illya. 'Sorry, I'm sorry. I know it was
hard. I know. I didn't say it to you. I didn't mean it to you.' 

'No. No, I'm sorry. Not your fault, I know. It was just...' 

Illya wished he could take Napoleon in his arms and hold him, to tell him
it was really all right, but he'd blown up that bridge already. No going
back, not with any semblance of honour or dignity. It wouldn't be fair
anyway. Napoleon would never know where he stood with him again. Stand
firm. That was the only answer. 

They sat in silence for a while. Illya slowly sank back onto the sofa,
ending up shoulder to shoulder with Napoleon. Well, he may not be able to
hold him, but there was nothing to stop him leaning on him, just as he
always had. 

It was awkward sitting this close to Illya without putting an arm around
him. Not just because that was what he wanted to do, but because Illya was
cutting off the circulation in his left arm, and the best way to avoid the
creeping numbness would be to get his arm out of the way, and the only way
to do that without moving away, which would look like he was trying to
brush him off, would be to put the arm around Illya's shoulders. Of
course, he could just tell Illya about his arm. He opened his mouth to
tell him, but stopped short when he saw an odd look in Illya's eyes. It
was a strange sort of pleading look, almost as if he wanted... 

Napoleon sat still. Illya glanced at him and frowned a little. It was his
own fault. He had caused Napoleon to make a promise. Why did the man have
to be so noble, so gentlemanly, so...oh to hell with it. He leaned his
head back on the sofa, dropped his right shoulder a little, letting his
head fall almost onto Napoleon's shoulder. Napoleon turned his head and
gave him a piercing look. Illya looked up into his eyes and his mouth
turned down ruefully. Napoleon raised his other arm and patted his
shoulder, raising an eyebrow. Illya's face went completely blank and
Napoleon faced front, smoothing his hands over his knees, working the
creases out of the fabric. He felt Illya's head drop onto his shoulder and
an increase in pressure as he leaned on him more heavily. It was
impossible. He extricated his half-numb arm from between them and laid it
along the back of the sofa. Too high really, but safe. Illya felt the arm
go and moved into the vacated space. Napoleon tried to speak again, but
couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound provocative in any
sense of the word. After a while, Illya started to snuffle slightly, and
Napoleon realised he'd fallen asleep. Hell, he had to be really tired.
Probably wasn't sleeping. This latest affair had been enough to give
anyone nightmares. To be that similar to a man that depraved, to be able
to take on his persona so easily. It had to be worrying. He left his arm
where it was and allowed his eyes to close. 

He woke up again with Illya drooling half on, half off his shoulder.
Napoleon's arm was wrapped tightly around him, and Illya's own hand was
resting on his shirt front. Napoleon felt guilty and started to pull his
arm away. Illya shifted and woke up. He slowly realised where he was and
looked faintly embarrassed. He took his hand away and tried to sit up.
Napoleon gave his shoulder a squeeze before letting him go. 

'Tired?' he asked. 

'Mmm,' Illya grunted, running a hand through his hair and gazing blearily
at his watch. Napoleon brought up his own wrist and said, 

'Three o'clock.' 

'In the morning?' Illya sounded incredibly Russian for once. Not just
Russian, but dopey and sluggish, his tousled hair flopping down over one
eye, making him squint. Napoleon brushed the hair out of his eye without
thinking, then winced, 

'Sorry.' 

'Don't fuss me, Napoleon,' said Illya, but there was no menace in his
voice. 

'Sorry,' said Napoleon again. 

'Oh, don't be. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...' He stopped and leaned back,
closing his eyes. 

'Hey! Shouldn't have what?' 

'Shouldn't have fallen asleep,' finished Illya, unconvincingly. He hauled
himself off the sofa and went to the hooks to fetch his coat. He shrugged
it on, while Napoleon watched. 

'You could, ah, stay here, you know,' Napoleon said, raising an eyebrow at
him. Illya shook his head. 'The spare bed's all made up,' Napoleon
clarified. Illya twitched a smile and shook his head again. 

'Thank-you, Napoleon. I must go home. I have things to do.' 

'Yeah, well, you be careful. Plenty of strange men about, this time of
night.' Illya shot him a withering look and left, pulling the door shut
behind him. 

 

Illya stood up as Napoleon fell. That last shot from the molecutronic gun
had been too close, knocking him over the edge of a steep drop. Illya was
being observed, watched by the Thrush and now they were suggesting that he
could be the next test subject. It would have made him smile, if his heart
hadn't been cracking into a hundred pieces. They may be watching him, but
they weren't very good at reading him. If Napoleon was gone... being shot
would be a comforting option. However, with their lethal new weapon
apparently broken, that particular option seemed to be closed to him. He
felt the magical effects of good training kick in as he was led back to
captivity. At least while he was on this mission his heart could keep its
destruction to itself, he had no use for a broken heart in the field, so
he ignored it. 

There was only one moment when he thought it might get the better of him.
On the phone to Mr Waverly, he had to report Napoleon's death. He kept his
head down, stared at the dust, imagined himself to be reporting the death
of a total stranger, and only heard the faintest tremolo colouring his
voice. Then it was back to work, getting the gun back to headquarters,
checking it in, beginning the painstaking job of disassembling it. It all
kept his mind occupied until the moment they heard that Napoleon was
alive. 

He knew he couldn't carry on with the delicate work on the gun, his hands
were threatening to shake uncontrollably, so he begged the necessity for
him to follow up on the crackly call. Mr Waverly allowed it, too, which
didn't surprise him until he thought back on it later. Mr Waverly was
usually all for one person seeing through one task unless they were
compromised. Perhaps he had known how badly Illya was compromised. 

Then there was the realisation of the import of Napoleon's call, the crazy
rush down to the bomb-disposal bunker, the anxious seconds that seemed to
last for hours as they secured the bomb, lowering it, waiting for the
detonation. Then the flood of relief (not to mention water) when it was
all over, which was not just down to the safe disposal of the bomb. 

 

Illya stood in the office, watching as Napoleon tried to persuade the girl
to go out with him. He was having no success, which made Illya want to
laugh out loud, but he kept to a reserved smile. He wanted her to go, to
leave him with Napoleon. 

'Well, get on with it,' he prompted, knowing the little half-serious,
half-joking scheme Napoleon had worked out. He watched as Napoleon
presented her with the safety pin she had provided to help save all their
lives. He watched stoically as Napoleon kissed her briefly, and with a
little more amusement as she graciously accepted the joke and took her
leave. 

Napoleon let Lisa Rodgers walk her to the exit, which surprised Illya:
Napoleon usually made a point of at least walking their female guests back
to the outside world, even if he couldn't go any further with them. When
the door had closed, he turned to Illya and looked at him hard, the lights
reflecting harshly across his slightly sunburned face. 

'You all right?' he asked, staring into Illya's eyes, allowing no
deception. Illya nodded. 

'I would have been a whole lot better if you'd made more of an effort when
they were shooting at you.' 

'Huh?' 

'You scrambled around on those rocks like a novice. I kept thinking you'd
found a good line of cover behind some nice substantial rocks, I'd just
start to relax, and then up you'd pop again in full view. Idiot. I'd have
failed you on the survival course if you'd been in my class.' 

'Did you get to try running on those rocks?' asked Napoleon defensively,
knowing that Illya was right. He'd known at the time that his strategy was
all wrong, but he was too scared to think straight, too well aware of the
alleged power of the thing. His whole body was shouting 'oerun!' and
instead of ignoring it and following his training, he'd played headless
chicken and almost got himself killed. 'It wasn't as clear where I was as
it may have looked, particularly with the, ah, ground shaking around me
like that...all those explosions, you may have spotted from where you
were,' he went on. Illya sniffed derisively. 

'Napoleon, there were boulders ten feet tall down there. It wouldn't have
taken much to keep behind at least one or two of them.' 

'Ah, well, you're welcome to do it next time,' Napoleon said appeasingly.
Illya pressed his lips together to hide the grin threatening to erupt. To
help himself out, he said, 

'You scared me. I thought you were dead.' 

'Now you know how I feel, a lot of the time.' He drummed his fingers on
the table and Illya bounced on his toes, trying to maintain an even
temper. 

'I already know that,' he said firmly. Napoleon looked up and shrugged, 

'Do you?' He stared at Illya who held his gaze unflinchingly. 

'Yes. I do. I also have work to do. Are you going to come and help, or am
I about to be coerced into writing your report again? I warn you, asking
that girl on a date has already alerted me to the fact that you don't have
one organised for tonight, so you can't use that excuse.' 

'No wonder you got your promotion to number two; deductive skills like
that, whoowee!' Napoleon whistled with a shake of his head. He pouted,
blowing little raspberries with his bottom lip. 'In that case, it seems I
have no choice, I'll write the report. You probably deserve the break,
anyway.' Illya raised his eyebrows at that unexpected concession, then
ushered Napoleon ahead of him, just to make sure he did actually get as
far as their office. 

Two and a half hours later, Illya blew a few strands of hair away from his
eyes and looked up. Napoleon was watching him; not just watching him,
actually staring; so much so that he was no longer really seeing him and
failed to respond when the object of his stare noticed what he was doing. 

'Napoleon?' Napoleon jumped and sat back nervously, running a hand through
his hair. 

'Huh?' 

'Have you written your report?' 

'Uh? Oh, yeah. All done, ready for marking.' He winked. Illya narrowed his
eyes, but didn't say anything as he looked down again to gather his papers
together and deposit them in his out-tray. Napoleon let his gaze fix on
Illya's hair once more, watching the golds, whites and browns shifting in
the light. Illya looked up through his eyebrows and cleared his throat. 

'You're staring,' he said softly. Napoleon nodded, 

'Sorry,' he said, but he didn't look away. 

'You're meant to stop what you're doing when you apologise for it.' 

Napoleon gave an apologetic smile. 

'I know it. Have you done?' 

'Yes. If I had anything left to do, I could hardly carry on with you
watching me like that.' He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair
and slung it on, coming round to sit on the desk next to Napoleon. 'Well?'


'Well? Well what?' 

'Are you going out or going home? Do I get a ride or am I walking?' 

'Well I didn't sit here waiting for an hour just to dump you at the door
of Del Floria's now did I?' 

'An hour? You mean you finished your report an hour ago?' Illya said in
disbelief. 

'More or less,' Napoleon replied, rubbing his chin pensively, 'I've been
writing those things for years. My side of it was less fun-packed than
yours anyway.' 

'You mean there was less of it you could actually report.' 

'Sorry?' 

'I don't suppose Mr Waverly really wants to know what you got up to with
that girl.' 

Napoleon raised an amused eyebrow and stood up, patting Illya on the
shoulder. 

'Don't worry about it. I was a bit too preoccupied to, uh, do anything
with her except walk and escape. You would have found my behaviour
exemplary.' 

'Your behaviour, in public at any rate, is always exemplary, Napoleon.
That is half the problem. Are we leaving? I really don't want to spend the
night here when I don't have to.' 

'Home then.' Napoleon grabbed his own jacket and strode out of the office.
Illya followed him and they marched side by side out of the building and
round to the car Napoleon had parked earlier. 

'Got any food?' asked Illya as they pulled away. 

'Some. Why? Don't you?' 

Illya screwed up his face, thinking. 

'From memory, I have half a loaf of stale bread, some probably mouldy
cheese, an open tin of soup that might just give me food poisoning, and a
cold pork chop that definitely would.' He smiled endearingly at Napoleon,
who took his eyes off the road just long enough to ascertain that he was
being manipulated. 'What have you got?' Illya asked. 

'A loaf-end of rye bread, some eggs that might explode if they're not
handled with care, a bottle of flat soda and a most likely black banana.'
He stole another look at Illya and grinned at the disappointment on his
face. 'But I also have a chocolate gateau in the freezer, next to your
vodka, and Luigi's number on the wall next to the entry phone, so you can
call him for pasta while I liberate the dessert. How's that sound?' 

'Tempting,' said Illya, closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat,
'You have an account with Luigi?' 

'You mean, ''Will I have forgotten you helped to eat it when the bill
comes in''? Yes, in all probability.' 

'In that case, it sounds like an excellent idea.' 

An hour later they sat side by side on the sofa, munching on pasta and
complimentary garlic bread, listening to the crusty bits flying across the
room and keeping a commentary. 

'Floor by the window.' 

'That one went in the fireplace.' 

'Under the armchair.' 

'Almost to the front door.' 

'That one doesn't count, you flicked it on purpose. It has to be bona fide
shrapnel from biting down on it.' Napoleon wagged an admonitory finger at
Illya, then popped the last piece of garlic bread in his mouth, wiped his
fingers on a napkin and sat back. He watched Illya finish off his own
piece, glance back at him and pick up the last of the pasta. Napoleon
shuffled round to get a better view and Illya paused, fork half-way to his
mouth, 

'Is that gateau soft enough to eat yet?' he asked. Napoleon rolled his
eyes, 

'The packaging said 'Let stand for two hours at room temperature.' Thanks
to Luigi's lightning service, we've only given it half an hour.' 

'That will do, won't it?' 

'It'll still be frozen.' 

'Well, we can always suck it.' Illya's slight lisp chose that moment to
show itself and Napoleon groaned inwardly. The last thing he needed was to
sit there and watch Illya sucking on slippery slices of semi-frozen
chocolate cake. 

'I'm not sure that's a good idea. You don't get the flavour if it's too
cold. It's not designed to be eaten frozen.' Illya put down his pasta bowl
and got up. 

'I'm going to check on it.' 

Napoleon watched him enter the kitchen area, go up to the cake and drag
his finger across the surface, leaving a deep furrow in the top layer of
chocolate cream. He watched the finger disappear into his mouth and come
out clean and Napoleon looked away, breathing out carefully. Illya looked
across at him and called to attract his attention, 

'The top's thawed. I'll bring it over. Where are your knives?' 

'Uh, top drawer next to the oven.' He heard the drawer slide out and in
again, then looked round in time to see Illya approaching as carefully as
a child with a full plate of dinner: gateau held before him in both hands,
knife between his teeth, both eyes focused squintily on the cake. 

'Mind the rug!' yelled Napoleon, as Illya's foot came perilously close to
catching under it. Illya lifted it at the last second and successfully
deposited the cake on the table amid the debris of their main course.
Napoleon reached forward and took the handle of the knife, wincing
slightly as Illya opened his mouth and he carefully drew it out. 

'Didn't your mother ever tell you not to put knives in your mouth?' he
asked, looking at the damp blade, shrugging and wiping it on his shirt.
Illya watched him do it, the corners of his mouth twitched and he shook
his head. 

'My mother was more interested in whether there was anything worth cutting
up with the knife. If it was better than a potato she wouldn't have minded
all that much if I'd run in holding it up to the hilt between my teeth.'
He took the knife and started to cut the cake, preventing Napoleon from
asking further about this little piece of his personal history. The knife
sank easily through the top, but stopped as it reached the frozen centre.
Illya worked the knife up and down, trying to hack through it, then gave
up, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. 

'Here,' said Napoleon, gesturing to be given the knife. Illya turned the
cake so the knife handle faced Napoleon, who took it and pushed down. 

'Face it Illya, you're going to have to wait,' he said after a few
moments. 

'But I'm hungry. Maybe we can do it together?' He put his hands over
Napoleon's and together they pushed down. The knife slid painfully through
the icy layers and after a little more effort, they managed to cut two
mis-shapen slices. Illya took the biggest and started to eat, licking off
the soft topping, chocolate curls sticking to his upper lip, then he slid
the point of the frozen lower half into his mouth and sucked. He glanced
at Napoleon, then did a double-take. Napoleon's slice was melting between
his fingers. He hadn't touched it. He was staring at Illya, swallowing.
Illya flicked his eyes down guiltily, then looked up again. He popped the
rest of his slice into his mouthan indecently large portion that distended
his cheeks and made breathing awkward. He shook himself, gave Napoleon a
'cake's good' sort of thumbs-up and waved at him to eat his. 

Napoleon put the point of his slice into his mouth and tried to bite it
off. No chance. The base was rock solid. Illya was gulping as his
chocolate and cream melted in his mouth, but Napoleon wasn't going to try
that. The only choice was to follow Illya's example. He sucked the frozen
dessert, pulling it out from between his lips, then returning it for more.
By the time he was halfway through, he realised that Illya had fallen
silent. His mouth apparently empty once more, he was staring, just as
Napoleon had stared earlier. His lips were parted, traces of chocolate
still clinging around them. Napoleon hesitated, then put the gateau back
into his mouth for another slow suck. He heard Illya swallow and looked
back at him. Okay, he thought to himself, what the hell are we going to do
now? I'm not falling for that one my friend. You're not going to catch me
out like that. That's how you got me last time. He gave up on the cake and
put it down. He looked at his hand and tried to wipe the chocolate off on
his napkin, but there was too much of it and it was too sticky. He made to
get up. 

'I'm just going to, ah, wash this off...' he said. Illya held up his own
sticky fingers, 

'Why?' He raised a chocolate covered digit and licked it. Napoleon shook
his head, 

'No, Illya. I can't take it. I can deal with everything else, but I
cannot, with the best will in the world, sit here and behave myself if I
have to watch you doing that.' Illya's mouth fell a little further open.
and that old yearning look appeared in his eyes again. He slowly raised
the next finger and licked it. Napoleon slapped his own knee in
frustration, then wished he hadn't. He glared at the sticky mark on his
suit, then snapped his eyes up to meet Illya's. 

'What do you want?' he asked fiercely. Illya did not flinch. He put a
third finger in his mouth, pulled it out slowly, then replied, 

'I'm not going back on what I said, Napoleon. 

He was trying to sound firm, but it came out all wrong. He didn't want
Napoleon to think he was fickle, but he refused to lose his right to lick
his fingers in front of Napoleon whenever he wanted to. If that was a
problem...then Napoleon would have to...to...' He couldn't think of
anything he'd rather Napoleon do than take his fingers and lick them for
him. He held out his other hand, just as sticky, to Napoleon, who stared
at it, 

'Uh, that one's covered in chocolate too.' 

'I know. I thought...' He couldn't offer that. Not without going back on
himself. He withdrew the hand and sat next to Napoleon in silence. After a
minute, Napoleon spoke again, 

'I meant it, Illya. What do you want? I'm sitting here watching you pose
and lick and suck and show off like you're trying to get into my bank
account, not just my bed, and all I can get from you is that the second
option there isn't actually an option at all. Which is it? Either you are
the meanest, cruellest tease that ever came in male form, or you don't
realise yourself that your mind and your body are not saying the same
things.' 

'I know what I want,' said Illya, but it came out shakily and the words
died almost before they'd left his lips. Napoleon leaned closer, 

'Say again?' 

'I know what I... I can't Napoleon. I won't go back on what I said.' 

Napoleon sat up straight, grabbed Illya's sticky fingers and squeezed. 

'Do. You. Want. To?' he asked slowly, enunciating each word with infinite
care. Illya looked up, scared, his eyes flicking back and forth, looking
for the exit. Napoleon kept hold of him. 

'Do you want to?' he repeated. 

Illya nodded miserably. Napoleon sighed and sat back, not letting go of
Illya's hands. 

'Thank God for that,' he said, and raised one of Illya's hands to his
lips, sucking a finger into his mouth and licking off the chocolate and
hearing Illya's little gasp of astonished pleasure as it slid back out. He
took the second finger into his mouth, tonguing the rough callous that
revealed the spot Illya used to pull the trigger on his Special. Illya
watched him take the third finger and shifted a little. 

'Hey! That's my cake you're eating!' he said. Napoleon glanced at the
half-uneaten slice on the table. He nodded his head at it, 

'You can have mine.' 

Illya moved closer and Napoleon let his finger slide from his mouth. He
rested his forehead against Illya's so that Illya could smell the
chocolate on his breath. 

'I would kiss you, but I promised I wouldn't.' 

'Did I make everything much more difficult than it should have been?'
Illya asked, not moving. Napoleon nodded, rolling his forehead up and down
against Illya's. 

'And I'm not sure why. You could tell me, but I suspect you won't.' Illya
closed his eyes, 

'It would be better if I didn't.' The point of his nose searched down
Napoleon's face, helping his mouth to find Napoleon's without having to
open his eyes. 

Napoleon opened his mouth to the kiss, then tilted his head to give him
room to speak, 

'Even so, it's always better to start, ah, this sort of thing, without a
great big secret hovering around, hmm?' Illya grunted a grudging
acceptance and snuggled his head into Napoleon's shoulder. 

'I didn't want to be one of your infatuations. I was worried that I was.
You know, you didn't really show any interest earlier, so I thoughtwell, I
thought you'd get over it after a while, and I didn't want to get involved
if you'd just forget me in a few weeks.' 

'You thought I'd do that to you?' 

'Not on purpose, no, but Napoleon, you spend so much time pretending to be
in love with girls who you actually just have a crush on, I didn't think
you knew how to do it properly any more.' 

'You think I'm in love with you now though?' Illya gave him a sharp look, 

'If you're trying to make me feel insecure, it's not going to work. I knew
I'd made a mistake, almost as soon as I'd pushed you away that first time,
but I couldn't go back on it. I couldn't stop watching you though, more
than I had before. You've been so ridiculously well-behaved, but you've
also been watching me like a hawk. I thought at first you were worried you
might have damaged our partnership, but-' 

'I was.' 

'Not really, you weren't. I made it perfectly clear that I didn't mind;
you picked up on that quickly enough. You were more worried about doing
something that would change that. Well that's not normal for you.' 

'What?' 

'If a girl brushes you off, you're polite to her, but you don't hover
round her, you don't keep on and on waiting for an opportunity.' 

'I didn't mean to...' 

'No, you're not listening. It doesn't matter that you did or did not, the
fact is, you couldn't stop yourself. That's enough for me.' 

'How'd you come to be so damn self-assured?' 

'In this? It's you. And I know you. I was terrified I'd never find a way
to tell you it was all right now. I didn't want you to think I'd changed
my mind. I never changed my mind, I just...' 

'...didn't trust me at first.' 

'Of course I trusted you,' Illya snapped. 'If I didn't trust you I would
have kicked you out of the room when you tried it, and applied to Mr
Waverly for a transfer the next morning, though it would have broken my
heart to do it.' 

'Okay. Okay. Calm down. Can I ask you a question?' Illya raised his
eyebrows encouragingly. 

'I, ah, just wondered whether you actually... Well, you said I was in love
with you. Am I allowed to make the complementary assumption regarding your
feelings?' 

Illya shook his head, which threw Napoleon for a second and he began to
frown, but it wasn't that sort of head-shake, as it turned out. 

'Of course I am. You're not that blind, surely?' 

'I think,' Napoleon said awkwardly, 'that I might be.' Illya took his hand
and sucked a finger into his mouth. Napoleon closed his eyes. Illya
shuffled closer. 

'I have been in love with you since the first time you told me to take
care during a mission, and I realised that you didn't have to.' 

'Gee, I'm gonna have to watch my words more carefully if saying ''take
care'' is enough to push people over the edge.' 

'Shut up Napoleon. You are released from your promise, you know?' 

'I know,' replied Napoleon, slowly and seductively. He pulled Illya closer
and put a sticky-fingered arm around his shoulder. 'Your move though.'
Illya looked up at him, glanced at the table, leaned forward, and picked
up Napoleon's unfinished slice of cake. He sat back in the circle of
Napoleon's arm and Napoleon opened his mouth slightly. Illya ate the cake,
biting the well-thawed slice in half, then popping the last piece in his
mouth with a satisfied little grunt of pleasure. Napoleon raised an
eyebrow and gazed at him, a grin spreading slowly across his face. Illya
noticed him staring and licked his lips. 

'I'm hungry,' he explained through a mouthful of chocolate, shrugging. 

'So am I,' muttered Napoleon. 

Illya licked his fingers again and leaned back. He raised his hand and
stroked a stray lock of hair away from Napoleon's eyes. His fingers rested
on his forehead a moment, then stroked down over his closed eye, rasping
the lid with their rough tips, then on down, brushing his lips. Napoleon
pushed, cat-like, into the touch, letting his eyes remain closed, and
cried out in surprise as Illya grabbed his lapels and suddenly jerked him
forwards, pulling him upright into his arms. Napoleon felt slightly sticky
hands come to rest on the back of his jacket. He expected to feel the
touch of Illya's lips on his at any moment, and puckered up slightly in
preparation, but instead he felt the pressure of Illya's grip increase and
he was pulled in tightly against him, Illya's head buried in his neck and
the scent of chocolate and Illya swirling all around him. 

Instinctively, Napoleon's own arms came up to wrap around Illya. He felt
him inhaling in the crook of his neck, and his hand coming up to ruffle
the short hairs just above his nape, pulling him closer. 

Napoleon shifted, stuck at an uncomfortable angle, and felt Illya's arms
tighten, as if he was afraid that Napoleon was about to let go of him.
Napoleon squeezed him reassuringly and turned his head towards Illya's. 

'Illya?' He half expected (though it would have shocked him,) to see tears
in Illya's eyes when he looked up, but he was not crying. He looked at
Napoleon out of the corner of his eye and took a deep breath. 

'You smell good,' he said simply, still keeping his arms wrapped tightly
around him. Napoleon finally managed to shift into a more comfortable
position, but as a result was caught completely off guard when Illya
rolled his head enough to press his lips to Napoleon's. 

In time, he could feel the urgent prod of Illya's erection in his side,
feel the discomfort of restriction and body-shaking pumping of blood to
his groin. Somehow, though, it didn't feel as imperative as usual.
Normally this level of arousal would have found him loosening his belt,
starting to strip his partner, hastening towards the relief of climax, but
he hadn't had his fill of just holding Illya yet; just kissing him softly;
just stroking back the fine hair from his broad forehead. 

He felt Illya's movement, felt his hand drop from his neck, and on down to
his waist, as if to initiate something more, but instead, he just plucked
at the fabric, easing the pressure, then returned the hand to skim fingers
over Napoleon's neck. 

It would be so easy just to let their hands slide back down, slip between
waist-bands and flesh, let the frenzy of sex and passion carry them away,
until they were at it, hammer and tongs on the sofa, or the floor, or the
bed, but it was better this way, when they could read each other so well,
and when they both knew that somehow, that wasn't what either of them
wanted. Not tonight. Not when they had already waited too long; so long
that another twenty-four hours would hardly make a difference. 

'Illya?' Napoleon asked. Illya looked at him through sleepy eyes, his lips
still trailing over Napoleon's jaw. 

'What?' 

'Are you okay here? I mean, are you comfortable?' 

'Not really, but you are assuming I care, which I don't, so long as you're
not planning on going anywhere.' 

Napoleon sat back, away from Illya, but keeping a hand on his shoulder. 

'How does a cup of cocoa sound? To go with your cake, I mean.' 

'You don't think we've had enough chocolate?' Illya grinned mischievously.


'I didn't think so.' Napoleon leaned forward to kiss him again. Illya
allowed it, but then pulled back to look at his watch. 

'It's half past ten. We both have to be at the office for 8.30 tomorrow
morning. I ought to go home.' 

Napoleon's face fell and he let his hand drop down to play with Illya's
fingers. 

'You're, ah, leaving?' Illya stared levelly at him and he stuttered a
little. 'I, I just thoughtmaybewell, you'd stay. N-not that you should,
uh...' He ran a hand through his hair and down over his face. 'Sorry, I
just thought we'd be more comfortable inin bed. I don't mean to say that
weI know we can't, not now, not -' 

'I know. No. You're right. I'm ridiculously tired, Napoleon. I haven't
really slept for about a month, and then, when I thought you'd been
killed... But,' he went on, 'I would love to stay. Just don't expect
anything out of me tonight.' Napoleon grinned. 

'Of course not. I didn't really-' 

'Intend to,' finished Illya. 'I know. Let's get that cocoa.' He climbed up
off the sofa, grabbing Napoleon's hand and pulling him to his feet, which
lost him his balance and made him clutch at Illya for support, aware at
the first touch that it felt an awful lot better than not being in Illya's
arms. He kissed him again and walked them towards the kitchen. 

Illya actually giggled, there was no other word to describe it. 'You're
going to have to get this out of your system, Polya.' Napoleon's eyes
widened in delight at the unprecedented diminutive. 'I think it might be a
little inconvenient in the office.' 

'You'd better help then,' said Napoleon. 'Come on.' 

They took their cocoa back to the sofa and sat side by side, drinking and
demolishing more of the gateau. Then they sat in companiable, chocolatey
silence, watching the city lights through the window, growing more and
more drowsy until Napoleon prodded a slightly nodding Illya, heaved
himself to his feet and put out a hand to pull Illya up. 

'Come to bed with me?' Illya nodded, his cocoa mug dangling from his
finger. Napoleon took it from him and put the mugs down in the kitchen. He
put an arm around Illya's waist and pulled him through to the bedroom. 

Napoleon watched Illya slowly removing his clothing and rubbed his face.
He really didn't think he could cope with being naked next to Illya all
night, though he'd done it without thinking in the past. 

'It gets very cold in here at nightthe thermostat is broken. I'll lend you
some pyjamas.' 

'Thank-you,' replied Illya, secretly relieved. He wasn't sure he could
control himself all night if they were naked in bed together, though
they'd done it without thinking in the past. 

'I'll get them just as soon as I've been to the bathroomI'm sorry to be
such an appalling host, taking the first turn,' Napoleon said, heading for
the door, 'But I'm absolutely bursting and -' he hurried away and Illya
stood, nursing his persistent and irrepressible erection, gazing fondly
after Napoleon. 

A considerable time later, Napoleon returned, looking a little sheepish. 

'Sorry to be so long. The bathroom's all yours.' 

'Thank-you.' Illya dashed to the bathroom, leaving Napoleon searching for
the pyjamas. 

He rummaged through his chest of drawers for the pyjamas, and when he had
found them, headed to the bathroom. He didn't think twice before knocking
and immediately enteringafter all, they had shared bathrooms during
affairs for year, and if the new set of circumstances didn't give him more
right to interrupt than ever, he'd lost his judgement. 

He was in time to catch Illya, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet,
panting, chest heaving, his head lolling back against the wall. He flicked
his gaze to Napoleon, looking extremely guilty. 

'Napoleon, I- I didn't lie to you. I really am horribly tired. It was just
that I don't want to be half asleep the first time we- and I couldn't have
got to sleep in the condition I was in.' 

'Me neither,' said Napoleon, winking cheerfully and holding out a roll of
toilet paper to him. 

'You mean you-?' Illya grinned, trying to look disapproving and failing.
Napoleon nodded. 'We could have saved each other the bother,' said Illya
mock-mournfully, taking the toilet roll to clean up. 

'No, I'm with you, you're tired. I don't want to make love to you for the
first time when you're completely out of it. Plus, I really did need to
pee, and it just wasn't practical.' He held out the pyjamas and Illya took
them and hauled them on. Napoleon waited for him and as he came to the
door, he took his face in his hands and kissed him carefully, feeling his
whole body relax as he did so. 

'Bed,' he said, slapping Illya's backside lightly. They climbed into the
bed and Napoleon flicked off the lights. 

Even then, they could have done more. Napoleon itched to run his hands all
over the man at his side. Illya had a drowsy notion that carrying on
kissing Napoleon would be good, but he didn't really have the presence of
mind left to order his body to do that sort of thing. 

Napoleon pulled Illya close, wrapping an arm around him, but Illya
wriggled out of the way. 

'Too hot,' he muttered apologetically. He took Napoleon's hand and held it
against his chest, intertwining their fingers, before drifting easily off
to sleep. 

Napoleon gently squeezed the sleep-lax fingers between his own, where he'd
really always wanted them to be. It felt like every time he had grasped
Illya's hand to haul him up over the edge of a cliff, onto the roof of a
train, over a high windowsill. It was every time they had staggered along
a corridor together to escape, being showered with cordite and concrete
and falling rafters. It was every time he or Illya had been drugged out of
their skull and the other had led them to safety. It was every time they
had been forced to sleep in a tiny, confined space, and had gone to sleep,
wrapped around each other, without the slightest suggestion that it was
anything other than necessity and comfort. 

He closed his eyes, made sure his fingers were tightly laced with Illya's
and drifted easily off to sleep.  


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