"Napoleon, be careful!"
Illya's warning came too late. The empty crates crashed around Napoleon, knocking him backwards into the shallow water. He floundered a bit until he found his footing and stood up, the water rising just to his shoulders.
Illya bent over the railing. "You're making that face again, Napoleon," he observed helpfully, watching with amusement as Napoleon fixed him with a steely glare before releasing a perfect arc of spouted water.
"I'm glad you find this so amusing, my Russian friend. You may not find it so funny when I catch pneumonia and you find yourself relegated to the couch for the duration."
"Oh. Um, let me get you a towel."
"Napoleon, please hurry. We're going to be late."
Illya leaned his elbows on the glossy, dark wood of the wet bar, slender fingers toying with the stem of his champagne flute.
Napoleon emerged from their bedroom, immaculately dressed in a snowy white shirt and navy slacks, his tie loose around his neck and his suit jacket hooked jauntily over his shoulder.
"Explain to me why we have to wear these things to a party?" He gestured to the shoulder holster that fitted snugly across his broad shoulders. "Are we expecting uninvited guests?"
Illya shrugged and came around from behind the bar, handing Napoleon a full glass of champagne. "It was quite clear on the invitations. I believe some of the other guests were also required to wear them, although I understand the two sportscasters politely declined and the gentlemen from prison simply weren't allowed."
"Sounds reasonable." Napoleon took a sip and laid his jacket carefully over a chair before eyeing his partner appreciatively. "You look very—dangerous tonight. You know, I really love you in black." He took a step forward and gently plucked the flute from Illya's hand, setting both glasses on the counter.
"Thank you. I do seem to wear it often enough, don't I?" He raised an amused eyebrow, then smiled as Napoleon backed him up against the bar.
"Yes, I've certainly noticed I'm not the only one who likes you in a black turtleneck. I have to admit, though, the shoulder holster is a nice way to accessorize." Napoleon rested his hands on Illya's waist, drawing him close.
"Tie my tie?" Napoleon whispered, a wicked gleam shining in the coffee-dark eyes.
Illya waved an admonishing finger under Napoleon's nose. "Later, Napoleon, later. We need to leave soon."
Napoleon laughed, then leaned forward to nuzzle the warm skin just above the edge of the black wool. "That's not what I meant, but now that you mention it . . ."
Their lips met tenderly as Illya enfolded his lover in welcoming arms. They kissed for some minutes, enjoying the oft-tasted sweetness once again, until Illya pulled back reluctantly.
"Now, enough of that. Veronica said no fooling around before the party."
"Oh? What about afterwards?"
"Oh, afterwards, she said it was a requirement." Illya pulled the wrinkled invitation from his pocket. "See? Right under the part about the shoulder holsters."
"Ah, yes. Those sports reporters didn't have any problem with that request, I assume."
"I would expect not."
"Hmm, you know, I knew I liked that woman for some reason."
"Oh, please, Napoleon," Illya responding scornfully, reaching for his black leather jacket. "You like her because she always lets you top."
"Come, Napoleon, time to go."
Illya sighed patiently as Napoleon nodded at him, then continued his conversation with the five young Japanese men in the strange suits. Glancing around the room, Illya noticed that although the cowboys had left, the two detectives from Cascade were still in an animated discussion with the two gentlemen from that military facility in Colorado, Aithine sitting happily between them on the couch. The older of the two detectives had his arm wrapped around the shoulders of his partner, fingers gently toying with the young man's earrings. The man with the distinct military bearing was looking bored, idly picking through the mixed nuts while his boyish companion argued some obscure metaphysical point with the curly-headed detective.
Beyond the couch, Illya watched as the two agents from London were saying their goodbyes to a blushing Veronica, claiming jet lag. But, Illya surmised, unless he misread the gleam in the deep blue eyes of the taller man, a good night's sleep was not going to be their cure for the long overseas flight. He practically shoved his green-eyed companion out the door, trailing promises to meet the young ::ahem:: ladies for "brekkie" the next day.
"Hard to get 'em to shut up once they get goin', hunh?" came a laconic voice from somewhere above him. Turning around he saw nothing, giving him a moment's pause before he realized it was that new government project speaking. He tilted his head to what he hoped was the appropriate angle.
"Too true, I'm afraid," Illya replied, watching with fascination as a gleaming rainfall of silver cascaded off the man called Darien as he materialized. "I see your partner has found a friendly ear." Illya jerked his chin over to where a short, balding man had cornered a taller, also balding man in prison fatigues.
"Yeah," Darien sighed, "better go rescue the poor guy. Bobby!"
Thinking to retrieve their jackets, Illya turned towards the hallway but his eye was caught by movement out on the darkened balcony. He noticed the two sports reporters had retreated there, their bodies so close together they almost looked like one form.
Ah, Illya sighed nostalgically. Young love.
"Are you finally ready?" came a smooth, soft voice in his ear. Illya turned with a smile to find Napoleon standing close.
"I am," he replied simply, suddenly wanting very much to be alone with his partner.
He could see a reciprocating warmth in his lover's eyes. "Let's say our goodbyes, then."
"Ah, Napoleon."
Illya sighed with pleasure as he was gently lowered to the mattress, strong hands carefully controlling his descent. Napoleon's lips were working their usual magic as they lovingly explored the tender skin behind Illya's ear.
"Like that, hmm?" Napoleon murmured as he journeyed across to the other side, his hands stroking Illya's sides before slipping underneath to cup the firm buttocks.
"Napoleon, wait," Illya said breathlessly.
Napoleon pulled back, confusion in his passion-darkened eyes.
"What is it, love?" he whispered.
Illya saw the bewilderment in his lover's face and leaned up to press a comforting kiss against the reddened mouth. "Who's this story for again?" he asked mischievously.
Napoleon frowned. "Aithine. You knew that."
Illya smiled slightly, reaching up to brush the frown away. "You know what that means, don't you?" His voice was sultry behind the teasing tone.
Napoleon began to smile. "No, what?"
"If it's for Aithine, then I get to, er, pitch, tonight." He raised his eyebrows. "You know," he whispered confidingly, "she thinks you're a slutty bottom."
Napoleon nodded. "Yes, I know. And it's not as though I'm exactly adverse to the idea," he continued, the beginnings of a devilish smile playing around his mouth, "but I ask you—who is writing this story, hmm?" He lowered his head and took Illya's mouth in a deep kiss, preventing the Russian from answering for a few, satisfying minutes.
When they finally parted, Illya gasped, "Veronica."
Napoleon nuzzled Illya's ear. "Exactly. And whenever she does get around to finishing a story, who is it that is usually—pitching?"
"You," Illya moaned as Napoleon placed a delicate kiss on his nipple.
"Right again. And, my beautiful, beloved Illya, who usually does the—catching—in her stories?"
"Ah, God—I do!" Illya cried out as Napoleon parted his legs and let his fingers lightly drift down Illya's inner thighs. Above him, Napoleon's smile faded as he took in his much-adored lover. As he bent to his task, Napoleon paused in his love-making to place a tender kiss on Illya's cheek.
"Happy birthday, Aithine," he whispered.
"From both of us," Illya added before his mouth was covered by Napoleon's demanding lips.
And, somewhere in the dark, behind the Fourth Wall, Veronica smiled and turned away.
Happy Birthday, sweet pea! ~V
What a sweetie. {{{hugs}}} This has to be one of the best presents I've received in a long time! It certainly made me laugh at odd times during the day—my co-workers started to give me stranger looks than normal. *bg*
The roster of the other attendees, for those of you not as, ah, fannishly fickle as Aithine is *bg* (show title & characters, in order of appearance):
(V: Darth Maul wanted in but I told him to take a hike. *bg*)
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