Holidays Old, Holidays New
by Periwinkle


A/N: Thanks to my beta Chani who suffered through many a draft and to Willow for the candy cane idea.

He was injured and he was alone. Not exactly the way Napoleon had planned on spending the holidays. During his last mission, a bullet had caught him in the leg, and while the projectile had passed through cleanly, the leg wound still was very painful. As he had also been knocked down hard enough to get a mild concussion, he had been kept in Medical for observation, only being released on Christmas Eve. When he tried to set up a date for Christmas dinner he discovered he was too late. Everyone he knew had made their holiday plans long ago. Indeed, if he hadn’t been out on the mission, he would have done the same thing himself.

Until this year, Napoleon had always gone to Aunt Amy’s for the holidays. She was the only relative of his that lived in New York City, and over the years it had become his habit to spend any holiday with her, whenever he could. It was so much better than sitting home alone, plus he loved his Aunt Amy and enjoyed her company. With time, they had formed all sorts of little holiday rituals and traditions that he came to treasure. They were the only things in his life that were consistent and calming. Being an agent for UNCLE didn’t allow you to settle into any routines. Routines could get you killed, and Thrush had never respected them anyway. They weren’t considerate enough to operate on a nine-to-five schedule (with weekends off) of subjugating humanity. Most of his days were spent operating on instinct or fear or whatever it took to get through an assignment, but at his aunt’s he could relax as much as he ever was able to relax. The only time he was able to fully relax was when he was with Illya, but he came close to it at his aunt’s co-op.

On the holidays, Amy and Napoleon would follow routines they had built up over the years. For Valentine’s Day, he would take her a big box of candy and flowers and she would exclaim that he really shouldn’t. Then as soon as his back was turned she would pick out the chocolate-covered cherries from the assortment and eat them. At Thanksgiving, she would put out a lavish spread of dishes and press food on Napoleon until he felt like he would explode. He had a suspicion that even Illya would have been unable to clean his plate that day. Aunt Amy would clear off the dishes as Napoleon had an after-dinner drink and then she would bring out a pumpkin pie. He would always tell her that he couldn’t possibly swallow another bite and then end up manfully eating a piece to keep her happy.


But Christmas was the best time at Aunt Amy’s. It was Napoleon’s habit to get there early in the day, and then upon arrival take a few minutes to enjoy the smells and the Christmas lights. Napoleon would go to his aunt’s trying to guess what she had done in the way of decorations that year. It was as if he was a little boy once again, for he would be filled with anticipation as to how the apartment would look and wondering what gifts he was getting from his aunt. His aunt’s place thrilled him because each year the number of ornaments seemed to grow larger, the trimmings bigger and the tree more highly decorated.

His aunt disdained the fancy new aluminum trees that were coming into vogue, insisting on a live tree. A large live tree. Napoleon always closed his eyes for a moment when he first saw the tree, sympathizing with the poor doorman who had to lug the tree into the elevator and down the hall to Amy’s co-op. Then, before Napoleon went over to the tree, he would simply stand in the doorway for a moment just letting the feeling of Christmas wash over him. There would be candles in red and green holders, tinsel on the tree, garlands around the fireplace and decorations hanging from the doorframes. The apartment would be redolent with the smells of the beef and cinnamon and mint. Once he’d sniffed the air to his satisfaction, he would then carefully examine the ornaments on the tree trying to find any new ones. He liked to look at the old ones in addition, turning to Amy and saying things like “Remember when you got this one? It was the year the family went to the beach and I found the starfish.” In a way, Amy’s place was a scrapbook of his life, every ornament and decoration bringing back a memory from the past.

When he had finished with that, he would look at all of the Christmas cards his aunt had received. Then the two of them would spend time slowly opening gifts, trying to drag out the process for as long as possible. Napoleon’s habit of taking each sheet of wrapping paper, smoothing it and refolding it helped make the gift-opening last longer than it would have for most people.

After they had looked at their gifts for a while, they would sit down to a roast beef and Yorkshire pudding dinner. For years he had been trying to get Illya to come along with him for the festivities, praising his aunt’s cooking, but Illya would mention something about good atheist Soviets and a jazz club and decline the invitation, pointing out that they would see each other on New Year’s Eve anyway.

But this year was different. He couldn’t follow his habit of going to Aunt Amy’s anymore because she had passed away in the fall. There wasn’t even an ‘Aunt Amy’s place’ as he had inherited the penthouse and lived in it year-round, and now as Christmas approached he was feeling more and more of a sense of loss. He had tried putting up a few decorations but it just wasn’t the same thing. His tree was smaller, for one thing. He did at least have Amy’s ornaments, but things just weren’t the same. It wasn’t much fun looking at ornaments alone without anyone to talk to. He was trying to have Christmas with ghosts and memories and it just wasn’t working.

Putting a steak under the broiler for his Christmas dinner, he poured himself a scotch and then turned on the radio to listen to Christmas carols. He took a moment to consider that drinking would probably make him even more melancholy and then decided that scotch was the only friend he was going to have for Christmas and to hell with it. Sitting in his favorite chair, he debated the wisdom of trying to start a fire, but his leg protested when he bent down to the fireplace, so he gave up on the idea. Every place he looked in the penthouse reminded him of his aunt and each of those memories made his heart twinge.

Just as he was pulling the steak out of the broiler, the doorbell rang. Putting the pan down on the hot pad, he walked to the front door, wondering who could be there. After all, everyone had somewhere to be today; except me, his mind added. He picked up his gun on the way to the door and kept his thumb on the safety until he heard Illya’s knock in their private code. He peeked through the peephole to play it safe in case Thrush was escorting his partner, saw that Illya was alone, then put the gun down, overrode the security system and let Illya in. He was surprised to notice that Illya was carrying two large bags with him.

After re-arming the security system, he turned and looked at his partner. He was careful not to look too closely, because Illya could read his facial language easily and he didn’t want this expression to be seen. Didn’t want to let down his guard and have Illya see the sadness and loneliness he had been feeling. But today he was hurting as he had been mourning his aunt and furthermore had been drinking, and it was a little harder than normal to keep a blank face. He settled for raising one eyebrow.

Illya understood. He put the bags down on the floor and said “I know you always had today with Aunt Amy. I didn’t want you to be alone if you needed company. But if you already have guests or would prefer not to be with me, I can just leave.”

“No,” Napoleon said, a little more sharply than he meant to. Moderating his tone, he went on, “I mean ‘No, I’d like you to stay’. I’ve been having trouble getting through today and there’s no one I’d rather be with than you. Everything has been different for me today, and I keep looking for Amy. To be honest, it’s been a difficult day.” He could feel his heart lighten at the thought of Illya’s company for even a little while today. It was a wonderful Christmas gift.

Illya gave him a little smile. “I remember when I came to America. Everything was so odd and foreign and I didn’t understand a lot of what was going on around me. I didn’t know basic things like where to get food or how to get to work. Everything was so dissimilar from Russia and I felt so lost and adrift in those days. Thankfully, Mr. Waverly partnered us and you took me under your wing. I’m not sure how well I would have done without your help. You were a lifesaver for me. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for being such a friend at that time. Without you I would have had so many lonely times as I’ve always found it hard to be sociable. But you made things easy for me.”

Napoleon took a moment to assimilate the words. Illya never expressed emotions. For him to say he considered Napoleon as a friend meant much more than flowery compliments or protestations of affection from another would. “I never needed any thanks,” Napoleon replied softly. “Your friendship and company have more than repaid me.”

As usual, Illya shrugged off the remark, but Napoleon could see the corner of his mouth twitching in an effort to not look pleased. In an attempt to hide his pleasure at Napoleon’s praise, Illya walked to the table, put the bags down and started pulling things out.

“I brought some beef and a Yorkshire pudding. It’s from a store I’m afraid. A Yorkshire is too much like a soufflé for me to attempt it.”

”I’m glad to see you have learned some things over the years,” Napoleon said lightly, all traces of melancholy having fled.

“Yes, well,” said Illya, “I also brought some wine, an album of Christmas music and other Christmas goodies. I drew the line at mistletoe though.”

Napoleon smiled at him, almost giddy in having his partner and best friend standing there, “Why Illya, don’t you want to kiss me?”

Illya snorted and said, “I figured knowing you, that your apartment would already be draped in it. Is there anywhere safe for me to put my feet?”

“Your virtue is safe with me for the moment,” Napoleon replied lightly, while he frantically tried to recall if he had any mistletoe. He had never kissed Illya, but he had often wondered what it would be like.

Illya was still pulling out foodstuffs. “Why don’t you set the table while I lay out the food? I’d hate for it to get cold.” He looked down for a minute and then said, “I forgot to ask you about your leg. Is it still paining you?”

“Not as much as before,” Napoleon replied, “although I’ve been trying to keep it elevated.”

Napoleon went for the plates and silver, almost bouncing a little as he walked, even though he was still favoring his leg. It was hurting, but he was darned if he’d let Illya know that. He didn’t want Illya to leave now that his lonely Christmas had just turned into something special.

Later in the evening the two men sat companionably on the couch, holding drinks, watching the sparkling lights as the music played. By mutual agreement, they had left the dishes in the sink for later. Neither man felt the need to begin a conversation; they were comfortable just being together, but finally Napoleon broke the silence when his curiosity got to be too much.

“Illya, I’m delighted that you are here. I needed a friend today and you’ve probably the best friend I have. But what made you think to come join me? All these years you’ve told me you don’t believe in Christmas.”

Illya stretched out his legs a little and made himself more comfortable. “As a Soviet, I do not believe in religion and the associated holidays. But I believe very much in friends. Do you remember when we were on ‘The Are You My Leader Affair’?”

Napoleon snorted. “That one is hard to forget. We spent five days trying to verify that Thrush had somehow managed to get alien beings to help them.”

Illya glanced at him, the corner of his mouth quirking up, “As I recall, you weren’t so blasé when those little green men tripped you and tied you up.”

“I could have gotten away from them!” Napoleon protested.

“I’m sure you could have, especially after I pointed out that they were children in costumes. How did they manage to catch you anyway?”

Napoleon kept his head down and talked to his drink, “Th summed o me.”

“What?” said Illya, grinning at Napoleon’s embarrassment.

“They swarmed over me, okay?” Napoleon growled. “Have you ever tried to escape from twenty kids while they are hanging onto you everywhere?”

“Everywhere?”

“Okay, almost everywhere,” Napoleon amended. “Had they hung on to that I probably would have fought harder.”

“Yes, that has always been the most important part of your anatomy to you,” said Illya, smirking. “Would you have reacted the same way if it had been little green woman?”

Napoleon glared at him, “And I suppose you know how to tell the sex of an alien?”

“Well, yes, if it’s an alien as in a foreign resident. Like, say, a Russian living in America. I can usually tell a Russian male from a Russian female.”

“Usually?” queried Napoleon.

“Think of it, Pasha. There are some elderly Russians bundled up in furs that I wouldn’t dare get close enough to to tell the sex.”

Napoleon laughed, which had been Illya’s intent all along. Illya had noticed from the moment he walked in how unhappy his partner was. It was painfully obvious he was still reeling from the loss of his aunt, and the holidays were magnifying the pain. Illya continued, “However, I was thinking of the stakeout. We sat together a long time, talking, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Well, one day we were talking about Aunt Amy. This was just after she died and you were reminiscing over the good times the two of you had together. I doubt you realize how much you told me; you were still somewhat numb over her passing. But you talked through the entire day’s stake-out and one of the subjects you kept returning to was Christmas.”

Napoleon looked at him, startled, “You’re right; I had no inkling that I let anything slip out, let alone that much. You know that you must be the only person in the world I would so fully have dropped my guard around?”

Illya’s lips quivered a little as he tried not to let on how delighted he was by that flattering remark, “Well, one day earlier this month I happened to be recalling when I first came to America. Everything was so unfamiliar to me then. I was lost, I didn’t understand the customs and I didn’t have anyone to help me become assimilated. The identification card that your government issued called me an ‘alien resident,’ highlighting my foreign status. It didn’t help that many people refused to associate with a ‘Commie.’ Several times at UNCLE I heard, ‘Go home, Red. We don’t want your type here’ or worse. Moreover, some people wouldn’t say it to my face but left me anonymous notes and threats. These days, the antagonism isn’t as prevalent, but I still meet people who refuse to believe a Communist can share U.N.C.L.E.’s goals. I had many days after I arrived in New York with only myself for company and it was a very lonely time, although I always hid how isolated I felt. You were the first real friend I made, and you’ve been the truest friend to me all these years.” Illya looked away for a moment, as if he was abashed to be caught having feelings. He looked back up, speaking to a spot somewhere on the far wall, “So … I was thinking about how you kept me company when I was alone and I realized that today would be a very lonely day for you. It felt like time to repay you for your help.” He put an arm over Napoleon’s back and gave him a small squeeze.

Napoleon choked up. For Illya that was a tremendous emotional display. Illya never let anyone see what he was feeling, not even Napoleon, although Napoleon knew his partner so well that he could usually sense what was going on in his partner’s head. What was even more astonishing though, was Illya’s touching him. Illya had always been wary of his personal space. Napoleon was the only person he ever allowed to touch him, in little brief pats, so this was a gesture of enormous magnitude. “Illyusha, you know you’ve always been my best friend too.” He put his arm around Illya in return and the two men sat for awhile in companionable silence, looking at the fire, grateful to me together and enjoying each other’s presence.

Finally Napoleon stood up, took a deep breath, marshaled his courage and said, “You’ve always been here for me and I’ve loved you for it.” Then he reached down, hauled Illya up and gave him a hug.

Illya pulled his head back and looked at him in surprise. Napoleon gave him an innocent look, but didn’t let go of him, and said “Isn’t that what they do in Russia?”

Illya shook his head. “If you’re trying to be Russian, you’re doing a poor job. You’re missing a step,” and he kissed Napoleon lightly on each cheek. “Now if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I need to go to the bathroom.”

Napoleon suspected that his partner needed a moment to get back to disassociate from him and return to normal. It wouldn’t surprise him if Illya was already feeling nervous and embarrassed about talking so personally and having Napoleon being so open with him in return. In addition, Napoleon was sure that Illya was unsettled by the brief kiss. He allowed himself a small grin. Now, if he could only keep Illya off-balance long enough to convince his Russian how much he cared about him. If he knew his Illya, the Russian was hiding in the bathroom until he could get himself under control and pretend the conversation hadn’t happened. Napoleon, however, had no intention of letting Illya slip back into his “Ice Prince” persona. The door to Illya’s emotions had cracked open a bit and Napoleon had every intention of taking advantage of the opportunity. So the minute the bathroom door closed behind Illya, Napoleon raced to the box of Christmas items.

There were quite a few that he hadn’t put up this year. A moment’s frantic digging through the box produced a dried piece of mistletoe. Napoleon ran to the kitchen, grabbed a piece of tape and stuck the mistletoe on the top of the frame of the door going from the kitchen to the living room, then ran back to the living room and grabbed their drink glasses. When Illya exited the bathroom, Napoleon was standing in the kitchen, reaching for the vodka bottle in the freezer, looking innocent. A little too innocent. Illya looked at him suspiciously.

“Having some more Christmas cheer, Napoleon? You look too happy about something already.”

“Illya, you mistrust me too much,” said Napoleon, continuing as if he hadn’t heard the muttered, “With reason,” from his partner. “Do think my getting another drink for Christmas is odd?”

“No, but the fact that you are drinking my vodka is a little unusual.”

Was he? Napoleon looked down at his hands. He had indeed mixed the glasses up and was drinking from Illya’s. “Just trying to share some Christmas cheer, my cynical friend.”

“I think you may have been cheered up more than enough, Pasha. You don’t usually get confused like that. Nor does alcohol normally make your skin flush or your breathing quicken.”

Trust his partner to notice these things, thought Napoleon. He never could pull the wool over Illya’s eyes. “What makes you think it’s the alcohol?”

Illya looked at Napoleon, a mixture of confusion, fright and concern racing across his face. His eyes were worried. “Napoleon, what are you talking about?”

Napoleon put his glass down as Illya took a step backwards, putting a little space between them and ending up in the doorway. Perfect. Napoleon took him by the shoulders to stop him, and then put one had on Illya’s chin and pushed up gently so that Illya was looking at the mistletoe. “That,” said Napoleon, and he brushed a kiss lightly across Illya’s cheeks, “thank you for helping me today.”

“Napoleon!” exclaimed Illya and his body turned rigid, although he didn’t move away. Napoleon hoped that was a good sign. Illya was still standing there at least, his body language telegraphing his agitation. “What was that all about?”

Giving one of his bright grins, the one that made the secretaries at UNCLE swoon, Napoleon said, “Just thanking you for keeping me from being lonely.”

“Just how lonely were you?” snarled Illya. “Do you have me confused with one of the lovely ladies at work?”

Napoleon sighed. Obviously Illya was not going to swoon and fall into his arms, no matter how much he wished for it. At the moment it seemed more likely that Illya would push Napoleon’s teeth down his throat if he tried anything more. “I’m sorry, Illya. I was pleased and honored at what you said about our friendship. I tried to tell you that I felt the same way about you, but I guess I went about it wrong. Let’s just sit on the couch and look at the tree and enjoy Christmas.”

Illya looked at him, his eyes hooded. “Did you mean that?”

“What I just said?”

“About kissing me because you were trying to show me what I meant to you.”

“Of course, Illuysha,” Napoleon said very seriously, “you know I would never lie to you, unless it was required by the job.”

Illya still had not moved away or shoved him aside, but his tense stance and rigid posture showed that he still was not sure of either the situation or Napoleon’s intentions. Well, Napoleon had never thought it would be easy, and he could tell he’d pushed as far as he dared. He needed to defuse the situation, and do it now. Feeling disappointed, he stepped back from Illya and said, “I’m going to get another drink. Can I get you one?”

“I don’t know,” said Illya, “is it safe?”

“No more surprises,” Napoleon said seriously. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll even remove the mistletoe.”

Illya sighed and moved to the couch and sat down on it. Napoleon was pleased to see that Illya was not perched at the end of the couch but in his usual position. At least he wasn’t trying to put extra space between the two of them. Illya looked at Napoleon and said, “No, you can leave it up. Now that I’m aware of it, it won’t be a problem.”

Napoleon, having refilled their glasses, sat down on the couch next to Illya and put the drinks on the coffee table. “I’m really sorry, moy droog. I didn’t realize it would upset you so much. I guess I really didn’t consider how you might react to my actions.”

Illya stretched out a little, relaxing his posture. “It’s quite all right, Napoleon. I realize you were teasing. I was just taken by surprise.”

“I wasn’t totally teasing, you know, Illya,” Napoleon said seriously. “I did mean what I said about being pleased and honored. And you are closer to me than anyone else. Your friendship means more to me than all the females in UNCLE combined.”

Looking at Illya, Napoleon could tell that he was making an impact. Illya was a little flushed with pleasure at the compliment, although he was trying to keep any reaction off his face. Napoleon leaned over and put his hand on Illya’s thigh. “Friends?”

“Always,” said Illya, placing his hand over his partner’s, “no matter what cockeyed ideas you may have.”

Abruptly changing the subject, Illya said, “You should get your leg elevated. But I don’t see a footstool or anything.”

“I’ve been sitting in bed,” Napoleon replied truthfully and then cursed at himself mentioning the bed. As he feared, Illya sat up.

“I should leave and let you rest.”

“No!” exclaimed Napoleon, turning his hand over so that he could grip on Illya’s hand. “I’d much rather have your company than rest, if you don’t mind.”

Illya looked at him doubtfully, “If you are sure…”

“I’m sure Illya. Very sure. How about you just put a pillow on the coffee table and I rest my foot on it? I can lean on you if I need more support.”

Illya snorted, “How come I always have to support you?” but he got up and pulled the coffee table closer, took a pillow off the couch and got Napoleon’s foot settled. Then he turned and grabbed one of the bags he had brought with him.

Opening the bag, Illya said, “I almost forgot, I brought a treat for the good little boys.” He pulled out two large candy canes and handed one to Napoleon. “But I’ll let you have one too.”

Napoleon started unwrapping his and got a very naughty idea. But before he could execute it, he looked up at Illya and his heart almost stopped beating in his chest. Illya had the end of the cane in his mouth and was working it in and out of his mouth as he sucked on it. His eyes met Napoleon’s, and he took the cane out from between his lips and said “Napoleon? Napoleon? Is something the matter?”

The hypnotic quality of the blue eyes, coupled with the sight of Illya’s lips and tongue, now turned red from the candy, had Napoleon transfixed. He slowly realized that his partner was looking at him and he tried to focus. Shaking his body to break the spell, he croaked out “What?” and then winced internally at how his voice sounded.

Repeating himself, Illya said, “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” said Napoleon. “No Illya, nothing’s wrong. I just had the strangest thought.” He leaned back on the couch so that his back was resting on Illya’s shoulders and tried not to think of the candy cane. Unfortunately, not thinking of the candy made it possible for him to think about other things. Like how good Illya’s body felt against his. He knew Illya was still staring at him so he kept his face turned away and worked on sucking the life out of the candy cane, trying to transfer his need from one object to another. Hopefully the angle of his body kept Illya from being able to see Napoleon’s lower regions, which were telegraphing all sorts of messages.

For a while the men just sat there companionably, each working on their candy canes, their thoughts turned inward. Or downward in Napoleon’s case. And when he wasn’t thinking about his desire for the other man and wondering if it was reciprocated, he was fixating on the red tongue and lips.

When Napoleon had finished his candy and felt as if he had his body somewhat under control, although his brain persisted in shifting south, he sat up, took his leg off the pillow and turned a little to look at Illya. Who was licking candy cane syrup off of his fingers. Napoleon wondered if Illya knew just how sexy that was. Their eyes met for a moment and Napoleon was sure there was a twinkle in the other man’s eye. He reached out, touched Illya’s lip and said “I think you missed a spot; I see some candy there.” Illya’s tongue flicked out, quick as a snake, and caught the end of Napoleon’s finger. Napoleon bit back a groan, but he had a feeling a little bit of sound had leaked out anyway, which his partner’s sharp ears would have surely heard. Illya took Napoleon’s hand in his and said, “You have no room to talk, moy droog, your fingers are covered with candy.”

“Let me do something about that,” Napoleon said, taking back his hand, and he began licking his fingers suggestively, simultaneously assessing his partner’s eyes. He noticed that Illya never stopped staring at his fingers, watching the whole time it took Napoleon to clean his hand off. Napoleon held his fingers up to Illya’s mouth. “Better?”

“Just a minute and I’ll tell you.” Illya’s tongue shot out and licked the tip of Napoleon’s finger. Napoleon was fairly sure by now that Illya was deliberately teasing him and he was desperately trying to think of how to move things in the direction he wanted them to go.

Reaching up and taking Illya’s chin with his free hand, he leaned close to his partner’s face and said “I think your face needs to be cleaned more.” Just as he finished, Illya released his other hand and turned his face in order to better hear Napoleon speaking. Quite by accident, his lips brushed Napoleon as he turned. Both men froze, not sure what to do next and unclear as to the other’s intentions. Napoleon knew he had to do something, so he put his arms around Illya, pulled him close and spoke softly in Illya’s ear, “I really am pleased you came to see me tonight. Thank you.”

Illya pulled away slightly, and one side of his mouth quirked up, “Yes, Pasha, I had noticed how pleased you were.”

Napoleon could feel his face redden slightly, but he managed to say in a level voice, “Now when I think of Christmas, I won’t be remembering Aunt Amy; I’ll be remembering our evening together.”

“I’m glad I could be of some service to you,” Illya said, still wrapped in Napoleon’s arms and making no move to escape.

Napoleon gazed upon Illya, so close that it would be so easy to kiss him. Except Napoleon didn’t want to do anything that would scare or upset his partner. No matter how badly he wanted Illya, their relationship was more important than anything else, so he waited for Illya to give him a signal that it was okay to proceed. Meanwhile, though, Illya had turned his head slightly and rested it on Napoleon’s shoulder so that Illya’s hair was tickling Napoleon’s mouth. Napoleon gave into impulse and dropped a kiss on the silken blond hair. Illya didn’t move, just stayed in the hug. Napoleon found it to be so comforting after the stress of the last few months. He could have happily stayed like that all night, not asking for more, feeling Illya against him. He had dreamed of being with Illya for a long time; so long that he couldn’t remember not wanting it.

Illya turned his head so that now his lips were resting against Napoleon’s neck. Napoleon was never sure, when he would try to remember the events of that Christmas, but he thought that Illya brushed his lips in a butterfly kiss against the skin of Napoleon’s neck. It was enough to make Napoleon look up; enough to make him see that Illya’s mouth was right next to his. He shifted his body slightly, trying to feel for evidence of Illya’s interest in him and he was pretty sure he sensed something responding, especially when he shifted a little bit more and heard Illya’s sharp inhalation. That intake of breath was enough to get him to move his mouth a fraction of an inch more so that their lips touched. Just barely a touch, and hardly a kiss, but definitely a declaration of intent. This was received, translated and responded to almost immediately when Illya tilted his head to make better contact.

Napoleon’s imagination had not been accurate. The taste of Illya, enhanced with hints of the candy cane was so much, much better than he had thought it would be. Illya seemed to agree for he was pressing a little closer to Napoleon, kissing a little bit harder. Their tongues touched for a moment and all questions and doubts were settled. It was obvious now that Illya wanted this as much as Napoleon did. He deepened the kiss and felt Illya respond. Like two magnets, attraction flowed between them going in a continuous circuit from one to the other.

Eventually though, it had to stop. Napoleon’s leg was severely bothering him from sitting in this twisted position. Reluctantly he pulled a little away from Illya, taking note as he did so of the Russian’s swollen lips and dark passion-filled eyes. Illya looked at him questioningly.

“Lusha, I’m sorry, but my leg is hurting me. I need to get it elevated.”

“Ah,” said Illya, “didn’t you say something about resting it in bed?”

“That would work,” Napoleon replied. “Maybe you could spend the night with me? It’s late and we’ve had a fair amount to drink.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t bring any pajamas with me,” Illya continued. “Would you object to my sleeping in the nude?” Napoleon was almost certain Illya was serious, because he couldn’t believe that his restrained partner would ever make a sexual suggestion. But just in case…

“Not if you plan to be sleeping in my bed,” said Napoleon. “I suppose I could forgo pajamas myself so you wouldn’t feel left out. Anyway, I find them so restrictive, don’t you?”

Illya stood up and held out a hand to help Napoleon up. He gave him a brief kiss and said, “Somehow I suspect someone could be in your bed in a full suit of armor and you’d find a way to get them out of it.”

“Why, Illya!” protested Napoleon. “Most of the women I date wouldn’t fit into a suit of armor.”

“If you are about to make a remark about me being your knight in shining armor, I suggest you think carefully before you open your mouth.”

Napoleon, who had been about to do exactly that, swallowed and said, “I think I can make you like me opening my mouth.”

Illya just smiled at him, took his arm, and helped him walk into the bedroom.
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