A
Bittersweet Christmas
By YumYumPM
Originally Posted 2003
The Christmas Holidays are here and
Napoleon decides to show his partner a Christmas he'll never forget.
Four
Days Before Christmas
It was four days
before Christmas and Napoleon Solo, dressed in his best tux, was enjoying a
wonderful evening at a fashionable discothèque. He raised his glass, sighing mentally as he
took in the sight of the stunning blonde on his right and the equally taciturn
blond on his left. He looked at his
date, a tall blonde with china-blue eyes, whose sleek black dress left little
to the imagination. It had taken a lot
for him to get this particular young lady to agree to go out with him and the
evening's ending promised to be well worth it.
His partner,
dressed in his usual black, just sat with his arms folded, his blue eyes
glaring at Napoleon. Illya's date for this evening was a small
brunette whose hair was cut even shorter than his own.
In spite of what
Illya thought, it was not Napoleon's fault that Bridgette had insisted that he
provide a date for her friend; nor was it his fault that Illya had made a minor
mistake on their last mission that Napoleon had no qualms about using to
blackmail him into going along on this date.
They had finished a good meal, which he had paid for, when the
conversation turned to childhood memories from Christmases past. Bridgette and her friend had done most of the
talking and Napoleon had mentioned that some of the Christmases he'd enjoyed most were those spent
at his Grandparents. Illya had not
joined in the conversation at all, causing Napoleon, who had never thought
about it before, to wonder what kind of Christmases his partner had memories
of.
After the meal,
Bridgette had been in the mood for some dancing, which she did with
abandon. The music was loud, and for
some unknown reason Napoleon's spirits were at an all time low. Illya's date rose from the table, indicating
that she, too, wanted to dance. Illya
reluctantly got up and stared daggers at Napoleon, who merely lifted his glass
to salute him. This was one highpoint
that could prove very amusing, Napoleon thought.
He watched as
Illya and his date approached the dance floor.
He knew his partner could dance, but he wasn't prepared for just how
well. He watched with astonishment as
Illya and his date twirled around the floor as if they had choreographed the
moves. Soon other couples on the floor
were moving back to watch in admiration.
"They're really
good," Bridgette remarked.
All of a sudden,
Napoleon felt a strange tightness in his chest.
It wasn't as if he were jealous of his partner's dancing abilities, after
all he was an accomplished dancer as well; he just preferred music where you
could hold your partner close. He always
felt a little silly dancing to disco music.
But, Illya was poetry in motion.
He frowned realizing that it wasn't that his partner was good at dancing
but the fact that he was good at something with someone else that bothered
him. He closed his eyes, his mouth dry, and
wondered when he had started to feel so possessive about Illya.
"Napoleon, are
you all right?" Bridgette asked, her
hand on his arm as she tried to get his attention. Looking into her worried eyes, he opened his
mouth to tell her he was fine and found out that he couldn't. Here he was with a beautiful woman willing to
grant his every fantasy or so she had led him to believe and he felt that he
would rather be with the blond on the dance floor. Confusion set in and then panic, he stood up
and reached for his wallet with the intention of paying whatever bill they
might have. The music had stopped and
Illya and his date were heading back to the table. Napoleon panicked, he couldn't take it
anymore so he dropped his wallet on the table and walked away. He didn't see the look of indignation on
Bridgette's face nor the look of worry in his partner's eyes.
,
He wasn't sure
how he managed to make it back to his apartment. His mind had literally shut down and he was
working on automatic. He unlocked the
door, not bothering with the lights, made his way to the bar were he got a
bottle of Haig and poured himself a glass.
He took a sip, and then taking the bottle walked to a far corner of the
room and slowly slid down to the floor.
He closed his eyes wishing he knew what the hell had come over him. He knew he cared for his partner and trusted
him with his life, but...
He poured
himself another drink and willed himself to think of something else, anything
else. Leaning his head against the wall,
he thought of Christmas at his grandparents, the Christmas tree loaded with
presents, sledding down the hill behind the house, the mouthwatering food. He wasn't sure how long he sat there drinking
when he heard the doorbell ring. He
didn't have the energy to answer it and he prayed that whoever it was would
just go away.
Illya stood
outside the door waiting for someone to answer.
He was worried about Napoleon; his actions were definitely out of
character. He and Brenda had returned to
the table to see Napoleon walking away.
Bridgette had called him to come back but he hadn't answered, more
importantly he had left his wallet behind.
It had taken quite some time to calm the girls down and send them home
in a cab, using Napoleon's money, of course, before he could go in search of
Napoleon. The car was still where they
had left it, so he decided to try Napoleon's apartment on the off chance that
that's were he had gone. He had debated
about contacting U.N.C.L.E. to put a trace on Napoleon, but decided against it.
After a few
minutes of knocking and nobody answering, Illya decided to let himself into the
apartment. Opening the door, he noticed
that the room was in darkness, so he flipped the switch, lighting the
room. He spotted Napoleon, his eyes
closed, slouched on the floor at the far side of the room, his tuxedo all
wrinkled and his tie crooked. He was holding a glass atop one knee and a
bottle in his other hand. Slowly so as not to startle his friend he made his
way to him, dropping the wallet on the coffee table on the way.
"You forgot your
wallet," he said softly as he squatted down in front of Napoleon. "Are you all right?"
Napoleon opened
his eyes and poured himself another drink, unable to look into the blue eyes
that belonged to his partner.
Taking the glass
from him, Illya said, "Oh no, my friend, you've already had enough. Now tell me what is bothering you."
Napoleon bit his
lip; he couldn't bring himself to do that, so he said the first thing that came
into his head. "I wanna go home."
That amused
Illya. "I don't know how to tell you
this, Napoleon, but you are home. Upsy Daisy." With a grunt, Illya grabbed him under the arms
and pulled him up. Placing one arm
around his shoulder, he guided Napoleon into his bedroom and watched as he
collapsed face down upon the bed. Illya
stood back wondering what is was that had Napoleon in such a state. Reaching down he removed Napoleon's shoes and
pulled the covers up. Shaking his head
and turning off the light, he left the apartment after first making sure the
alarm was set.
Tingaling tingaling tingaling
Three
Days Before Christmas
The next morning
Illya arrived at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters at his usual time. As he took his badge from the pretty
receptionist, he wondered out loud about when Napoleon might arrive.
"Oh, Mr. Solo
arrived over an hour ago," the receptionist informed him, to which he raised an
eyebrow. "He's in a meeting with Mr. Waverly."
Fingering his
badge absentmindedly, Illya nodded and headed toward his office. When he had left his partner the night before,
Napoleon had been out like a light. To
get to work early was very uncharacteristic of his friend and he wondered what
brought it on. He would find out why
later, but for now he had a stack of paperwork waiting for him.
He had just
started on the paperwork, when Napoleon burst into the office rubbing his hands
together gleefully.
"I just got
through talking to the old man and we have three days off. If you leave now and pack we can be out of
here in two hours."
Illya just
looked at his partner as if he was crazy. "Napoleon, I have got too much
paperwork..."
Napoleon just
ignored that. "I'll be by your place shortly to pick you up," he asserted
before leaving the room.
"Napoleon, where...?" Illya called after him as his phone rang but
Napoleon was already gone. He picked up
the phone. "Kuryakin, here," he said absently.
"Mr. Kuryakin,
have you seen Mr. Solo," Waverly inquired.
"He just left,
Sir." Illya sat back down to give Mr.
Waverly his whole attention.
"I've just had a
most disturbing conversation with Mr. Solo."
Mr. Waverly sounded indignant. "He demanded three days off for you and
himself. Do you know what this is all
about?"
Illya looked at
the phone in his hand in amazement. "No,
sir."
"Something is
obviously wrong. I want you to stick to
your partner until you find out," Mr. Waverly ordered.
"Yes, sir." Illya didn't argue as he put the phone down,
three days off!! He quickly set his desk
straight and left to pack.
Tingaling tingaling tingaling
It was a long
drive and Napoleon whistled a Christmas tune while Illya sat next to him
napping. He had gotten up that morning
with a vague recollection of the events of the night before. Napoleon remembered thinking about the
Christmases he had spent with his grandparents and wondering what Illya's
Christmases had been like. Then he'd
decided the only thing to do was to show Illya what a good old fashion Christmas
was like. Yes, that was it, he would share a Christmas like he'd had with his
grandparents with his partner. It had taken a lot of talking, but he'd gotten
Mr. Waverly to say yes. Then all he had
to do was make a phone call.
"Do you want me
to drive for awhile?" Illya asked still not having any idea as to where they
were going.
Napoleon stopped
whistling and with a brilliant smile replied, "No, it's not much further."
Illya checked
his watch, it was just getting dark and they had been on the road since ten o'clock
that morning. Traffic had been bad and
it was starting to snow, but Napoleon had not seemed to mind, that being
unusual in itself. He also had refused
to tell Illya where they were going. A
few minutes later, the car turned down a small winding road and came to a stop.
The two men got
out of the car and Illya stretched as he took in an old two-story house with a
wraparound front porch, and the lights blazing from every window. An elderly black woman came out of the front
door and his partner rushed up to greet her while Illya went to get the
suitcases out the trunk.
Waving Illya
over, Napoleon said with pride, "Mama Joe, this is my partner Illya
Kuryakin. Illya this is Mama Joe, the
best cook in the state."
Mama
Joe shook her head at Napoleon. "Oh, Nap-o-leon, you
hasn't changed a bit, just gottin taller," she said
as she ushered them inside.
Illya
set his suitcase down and unbuttoned his coat while he looked around. The hallway was long, running through the
entire house, with a staircase to one side going to the next floor. The walls were covered with an old fashion
wallpaper pattern but it only added to the charm. There were four doors leading off the hall,
two on each side. He glanced at his
partner to see the American taking everything in with barely concealed
excitement.
Mama Joe went to
a closet in the hall, took out a coat which she buttoned up, and continued her
conversation. "I's got everythin' ready, just like
you ask. Supper's on the stove and I'll
be back to make sure Christmas dinner gets done right."
"Thanks, Mama
Joe, I really appreciate this," Napoleon said with sincerity as he escorted her
out to her car. When he returned he
found his partner was still standing in the hallway. "Why don't you go upstairs and pick out a room
while I get food on the table?"
Illya picked up
his suitcase and started for the stairs.
Going up two of the steps, he stopped and turned. "Napoleon, why am I here?"
Napoleon didn't
answer. He just smiled and paused at a
door leading to the living room, glanced inside with approval before going on
to the kitchen.
There were three
bedrooms upstairs. One master bedroom
with its own bath, one bedroom with a double bed and rose patterned wallpaper
that shared a bathroom with a smaller room that contained twin beds. There was striped wallpaper in that room as
well as a pine dresser and armoire. A
braided rug lay on the floor making the room inviting, so Illya decided that he
would sleep there. He put his suitcase
on the bed to unpack and began to pull out some things to put in the
dresser. On the dresser was a picture of
a young boy whose closed-mouth smile was slightly crooked, and he had just picked
it up to look closer when he heard footsteps rushing down the hall.
His curiosity got
the better of him. He put the photo down and followed the sounds
of the footsteps. They had gone down the
hall and up a small stairway at the back of the house. Quietly going up the stairway and reaching
the top, he saw bed frames, rockers, lots of boxes, picture frames, and his
partner. Napoleon was hanging out an
open window at the far side of the attic.
Hearing steps
coming toward him, Napoleon turned around, his eyes bright with excitement. "Isn't this great?" he asked waving his arm
toward the window.
Illya looked out, there seemed to be a million
stars, and a full moon shown down on hillside at the back of the house.
Napoleon was
leaning out the window again. "I used to
come up here to get away from everything," he reminisced. "See that tree? That's the tree I fell out of when I was ten
and broke my arm." Then realizing that
Illya couldn't possibly care, he laughed. "Come on, supper's on the table."
As he followed
Napoleon down the stairs Illya inquired, "I take it this is your grandparents'
home."
Napoleon glanced
back, his eyes alight with amusement. "Oh,
didn't I tell you?" Seeing Illya's look
of indignation, he laughed. "When they
died, they left the place to me. I've tried
to keep it up, but...," he left the rest unsaid and shrugged.
"It's very nice,
what's for supper?" Illya asked.
"Stew," he said
as he picked up a lid and leaned over to sniff the wonderful aroma. He reached for the ladle and poured generous helpings
into two bowls. "Do you want to eat in here or in the dining room?"
"Here is fine."
Nodding he took
the bowls to the table, and then went back for silverware and the basket of
bread that Mama Joe had left. "Is tea
okay with you?" he asked, waiting for Illya's nod before he poured two glasses
that he also brought back to the table.
"Dig in," he instructed as he picked up his spoon. Then he noticed with amusement that Illya had
already started.
"This is very
good," Illya said as he helped himself to some fresh baked bread.
"I told you Mama
Joe was the best cook," Napoleon stated.
"My parents traveled a lot when I was growing up, and I spent a lot of
time here. Mama Joe practically raised
me."
Illya's eyebrows
went up at this information; Napoleon rarely talked about his childhood.
After they had
finished the meal, Napoleon said, "I'll clean up here, why don't you go into
the living room and fix us some drinks."
Illya nodded. "I
don't suppose..."
"Try the
freezer?" Napoleon suggested trying to keep a smile from breaking out. Illya could be so predictable sometimes.
Illya walked
over to the refrigerator and opened the freezer, finding a bottle of
vodka. With unconcealed delight, he
pulled it out and headed for the living room to fix the drinks. The living room contained comfortable furniture;
a lit fireplace was the main attraction along with a Christmas tree, off to one
side, waiting to be decorated. He went
over to the buffet and poured himself a drink, then finding a bottle of scotch,
poured one for Napoleon. Settling into one
of the chairs placed in front of the fireplace he stared at the flames.
When Napoleon
walked into the room, wiping his hands on a dishtowel, he found his drink
waiting for him on the buffet and joined Illya in the other chair by the
fireplace. He looked in satisfaction at
the tree that stood in front of the window and turned to Illya, planning to ask
if he wished to help decorate it just as Illya let out a yawn. Napoleon suggested as he finished off his
drink. "Let's get to bed. It has been a long day."
Illya merely
nodded as he wearily got up and followed his partner up the stairs to the
bedrooms. "Goodnight," he yawned as he watched Napoleon go into the room with the
double bed.
"Sleep tight,"
Napoleon responded.
Sometime in the
early morning hours, Napoleon awoke to answer the call of nature and relieve
his bladder. Half asleep he left the
bathroom and got back into bed.
Tingaling tingaling tingaling
The
Day Before Christmas
Illya woke up in
a strange bed and turned over to find Napoleon in the other bed. "Napoleon?"
Napoleon woke up
and blinked as he looked around. "Sorry, I had to go to the bathroom last night
and I guess my feet forgot where they were supposed to go. This used to be my room when I stayed here," he
apologized. "Tell you what. You clean up and I'll fix breakfast."
Illya took a
shower and put on his usual black outfit, then went down the stairs and into
the kitchen. He found it amusing to catch
sight of his partner wearing an apron, his expression one of intense
concentration, his tongue sticking out, while mixing some batter in a
bowl.
"I hope you know
what you're doing?"
Napoleon looked
up only slightly embarrassed and set down the bowl. He picked up a piece of paper that he had
been concentrating on. "I've got step by step instructions," he declared.
Much to Illya's
surprise breakfast turned out to be very good.
After helping to clean up the kitchen, Napoleon was not a very neat cook;
they went to the living room where Napoleon started another fire in the
fireplace.
Going over to
the tree, he started rummaging through the boxes near it.
"Wanna help?" he
asked Illya.
Illya lounged in
one of the chairs, his feet on an ottoman, coffee cup in hand replied, "No, I
think I'll just watch."
Napoleon let out
a mental sigh, then reached down and pulled out a string of lights. He started to untangle them and then decided
that they needed some music for atmosphere.
He moved toward the stereo, but became entangled in the cord. The more he tried to get loose the more
wrapped up he got.
"Illya, help me
out here!"
Illya got up
with a chuckle. "Maybe we should just
plug you in."
The look of
consternation on Napoleon's face was priceless and he methodically worked to
unwind him. Napoleon insisted that he
help decorate the tree, so he gave in.
It took longer
than it should, Napoleon would get nostalgic over some of the ornaments and he
started to tell the stories behind them.
Illya didn't mind, it was nice to hear about the good times Napoleon had
growing up. They took a break for lunch
and then continued decorating the tree.
Napoleon
realizing he had done most of the talking asked his Russian partner, "So what
was Christmas like when you were growing up?"
Illya paused as
he put tinsel on the tree, remembering back. "First off, we don't celebrate
Christmas on December 25th, we celebrate on January 7. We do have Christmas trees, though."
"With presents?"
"With presents,
though it's not about how much you spend."
"Oh, you mean
it's the thought that counts?"
"Something like
that." Illya had to agree. "We generally
celebrate for six days, with a church service on Christmas Eve and a huge meal
on Christmas Day."
"You went to
church?" Napoleon asked surprised.
"It was tradition,"
Illya explained. "The food was
wonderful, there would be goose or maybe a suckling pig and Babushka would pass
out the presents."
"How do you say
`Merry Christmas' in Russian?" Napoleon
asked as he got the star to put on top of the tree.
"c Rodzhestvom Krisowom, it means `The
Birth of Christ'. Christmas is a time
for family and friends."
"Not that much
different from ours," Napoleon said as he put the star on top and stood back to
judge the effect. "So what is the memory
of your last Christmas with your family?" he asked absently.
Illya caught his
breath, the memory was painful, he closed his eyes and softly he said, "The
Germans came."
Napoleon looked
at his friend in shock, how could he have been so thoughtless, he reached over
to place his hand on his friend's arm and said with anguish, "Illya, I'm
sorry."
Illya placed his
hand over Napoleon's. "It is okay, Napoleon, it's not your fault. It was a long time ago."
Wishing he could
take away his friends pain, Napoleon looked out the window. The snow had stop, and the hill behind the
house would be covered in white, he got an idea and began pulling his
partner. "Come on, I've got just the
thing."
Following
Napoleon to the back of the house, Illya watched as he rummaged through closets
and drawers, pulling out jackets, caps, gloves, and boots. "These should fit, put them on."
Taking the
clothing thrust upon him Illya wondered if Napoleon had lost his mind, and
after dressing in them, he followed him into the yard anyway. Napoleon went over to a shed and opened the
door to a lot of junk, somewhere in that junk he managed to pull out two sleds.
Triumphantly, he
motioned Illya to take one.
"Last one down
the hill is a rotten egg."
Illya shook his
head, Napoleon had lost his mind, but it had been awhile since he'd been able
to take pleasure in sledding, so he shrugged and followed along enjoying the
experience again. They spent most of
the rest of the afternoon going down the hill and throwing snowballs at each
other. It felt good not to have to worry
about anything.
Mama Joe showed
up to make sure everything was ready for dinner the next day and to fix them a
warm supper. She came out the door and
shook her head. `Children' she thought. "You
better get in here and have something to eat before you freeze," she called.
Napoleon looked
over to see the small black woman, arms wrapped around herself to keep the
chill away. "Just on more time?" he pleaded and watched as she turned to go
back into the house shaking her head.
"What do you
say, partner, one more time? I'll race
you," Napoleon asked.
Illya nodded and
sneakily started down before Napoleon had time to set his sled down on the
ground. He heard Napoleon call, "Hey"
with indignation and laughed. He was
halfway down the hill when the sled hit a bump and he went hurtling into a
tree. He lay there not moving as
Napoleon, pale with fear, came rushing over.
Gently turning
his partner over Napoleon was relieved to find him breathing. There was a big cut over his eye that was bleeding
profusely. Scooping him up, he rushed
back to the house .
Mama Joe was
waiting at the door. "Take him upstairs," she ordered as she followed him up
and went into the bathroom to gather up some medical supplies.
Napoleon laid
him on the bed and backed up so Mama Joe could start work on him.
"Lord child, the
things you two get up to." She placed a
cloth on top of Illya's head to help stop the flow of blood and then started to
take off the wet clothes that covered him.
She looked up to see Napoleon's pale face. "Youse better go
get out of them wet clothes," she ordered, and when Napoleon appeared reluctant
to leave. "I's been taking care of things like this since before you was born."
Tingaling tingaling tingaling
Napoleon was
downstairs pacing when Mama Joe finally came down wiping her hands on a
towel. "He's gonna be alright, don't you
worry none. He just needs to sleep. I
got you some soup and sandwiches in the kitchen and everything is ready for
tomorrow. If he wakes up you give him
some of that soup, you hear, and get some sleep, you know Santa won't come ifin
you stay awake." She chuckled as she
gathered up her coat and left.
Napoleon crept
quietly up to the room to find his partner asleep and tucked in with a bandage covering
one eye. He looked just like a little
boy and it warmed Napoleon's heart to know he would be okay. Going back downstairs, he put on some music
and fixed himself a drink, he wasn't really hungry.
Later on he
decided he would fix some soup to take upstairs when he went to check on
Illya. As he started up the stairs, he
met Illya on his way down, tying the tie on his robe.
"You're supposed
to be in bed."
"I'm tired of
lying down," Illya said grumpily as he passed Napoleon and headed for the
living room. "Is that supper?"
Napoleon just
stood there for a minute and then followed his partner into the room, taking it
as a good sign that Illya was grumpy. He set the tray on the coffee table and
said, "Just what the doctor ordered, chicken soup."
He watched fondly
as his friend tackled the soup as if he hadn't eaten in days.
"This is very
good. Aren't you going to eat?" Illya
asked when he managed to take a break.
Napoleon shook
his head. "I'm not hungry yet. Maybe you
should get back to bed, that was quite a lump you took there."
Illya waved the
idea away. "I've gotten worse from THRUSH."
He finished eating and leaned back trying to get comfortable.
Napoleon got up
from where he was sitting, snatching up pillow and moved to sit next to his
friend. He was surprised when Illya took
the pillow to lean it up against him and made himself at home. He couldn't help but put his arms around his
little blond partner. Even though Illya
had made light of it, Napoleon knew he could have lost him to a freak accident
and that thought worried him. When he
felt his partner relax and fall back to sleep, instead of going to bed, he
stayed there through out the night holding on to him.
Christmas
Day
Illya woke up
the next morning to find himself asleep on the sofa with a blanket over
him. He had a headache and couldn't
remember a whole lot from last night except for a feeling of being safe and
protected. He wondered were Napoleon was
and got up slowly to search for him, even as his head continued to throb.
He checked the
kitchen, no Solo. After a moment, he headed
upstairs and checked the bedrooms, his bed was still rumpled from the previous
day, but the other beds were still made.
Where could Napoleon be? Then he
remembered the attic, and that comment Napoleon had made about using it to go
to escape. He quietly made his way up
the steps. There sat Napoleon on an old
rocking horse looking as dejected as Illya had ever seen him. Going over he squatted in front of him trying
to make eye contact. "Napoleon, what's wrong?" he asked softly.
Napoleon lifted
his eyes to look into the clear blue eyes of his partner. "You could have died,"
he choked out and looked away.
"I could die
everyday and so could you, but I didn't," Illya asserted.
Napoleon just
shook his head and Illya felt like taking him in hand and shaking him, so he
did.
"I'm fine," he
said exasperatedly, their mouths just inches apart, when suddenly they heard a
door slam. Both men stood up reaching
for guns they weren't carrying. Swiftly
they ran down the stairs, Illya coming to an abrupt stop as he glanced into the
living room. He was still standing there
staring when Napoleon came up behind him with a note.
I just stopped by to
check on dinner. I also left a few
presents for both of
you under the tree.
Mama Joe.
PS. Don't worry about
the cost I charged them to your
account.
Napoleon read
aloud, then he noticed that the lights on the tree were lit and there were presents
underneath it.
The two exchanged
glances, Illya started. "I wasn't expecting..."
"Neither was
I. Let's go see what we got." Napoleon true to his word headed toward the
tree.
They both
squatted in front of the tree with Napoleon sorting thought them. There were six packages in all, three for him
and three for Illya. He passed Illya's
over to him and watched with amusement as he sat Indian style on the floor. Gesturing grandiosely, Napoleon offered, "Go ahead, open them."
Making himself
comfortable, one knee up, he watched as his partner gingerly took one of the
packages and weighed it in his hands, than shook it, listening. Finally,
he tore the paper off to reveal a bottle of his favorite vodka. With a smile of delight, he turned to the
next package to repeat the same process, opening it to find a cashmere sweater in
the same color blue as his eyes.
Napoleon couldn't help but notice how nice the sweater looked and the
look of wonder on Illya's face as he fingered the soft material. He had to bite his tongue when Illya brought
it up to his face and rubbed his cheek. Letting
out a sigh of contentment Illya reluctantly set the sweater aside and started
on the last present. Napoleon couldn't help but laugh aloud when Illya
pulled out a pair of red silk boxers with reindeer on them.
Looking at
Napoleon with dismay Illya asked, "Why aren't you opening yours?"
Napoleon picked
up his presents. "Because, I was having fun watching you open
yours." He proceeded to tear the
wrappings off his. He wasn't surprised
to find a bottle of his favorite Scotch, and a sweater, his in a warm brown, as
well as a pair of green silk boxers with Santa's on them.
Illya seemed to
find the last amusing. "Maybe we should
try them on to see if they fit," he joked.
Napoleon
smirked.
Illya moved
closer. "Napoleon?" he purred.
Napoleon looked
up absently. "What?"
"Have you ever
made love under a Christmas Tree?"
Napoleon's eyes
got big. Illya had a devilish small on
his face. "Does the time I was ten
count?" he asked tentively.
"I don't think
so," Illya said, as he got closer still, almost on top of his partner.
"Can I plead the
fifth?" Napoleon choked.
Illya looked at
the bottles on the floor puzzled.
"That's not what
I meant and you know it," Napoleon said exasperatedly.
"You have still
not answered the question." Illya's mouth was mere inches away.
"If I say no, do
I get to find out now?" Napoleon
breathed closing the gap between them and taking Illya's mouth with his.
When they
finally parted, Illya said breathlessly, "You're very good at that."
Napoleon smirked.
"I've had lots of practice." Grabbing
his partner, he pulled him to lie flat on the floor to repeat the process. After awhile he came up for air. "I didn't know you liked being kissed so
much."
"Neither did I." He pulled Napoleon's lips down again. "Napoleon,
shouldn't you be doing something more?"
Napoleon pulled
away and looked down at the man he was holding. "Hey, buster, this is an equal
opportunity relationship. You can start
something too, you know."
Reaching up to
grab his partner's crotch, Illya responded with amusement, "You mean like this?"
"Ahhh, exactly
like that." Napoleon leaned back down to
take more advantage of the situation.
"Napoleon, do
you trust me?" Illya asked once they
broke for air again.
Napoleon looked
deep into the blue eyes and spoke with his heart, "With my life."
Epilogue
Mama Joe stood
in the doorway looking in, shaking her head in disgust she headed toward the
kitchen muttering, "It's a good thing I
forgot the pie, the way those two boys are going they'd a burned the dinner."
The End.
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