When Illya says "I love you Napoleon", gosh, I started crying. This is so beautiful. I love these two guys. Thanks for sharing.
From: Neon Date: 06/10/2009
Oops. I posted this on the wrong story.
Loved this one, too.
From: Neon Date: 06/10/2009
I fully and contritely retract my prior post. Once I accepted your AU, I fell in love with all your stories. I just wish I could delete my other comment.
From: Romanse Date: 10/11/2006
Sigh....that was absolutely DREAMY! A First Time story, so beautifully done! Those two were just so sweet taking those tentative steps towards inevitable love. Thank you for that magical story!
From: Bethany Date: 07/28/2006
I love Christmas stories - I loved Nakeisha's.
Below, are my favourite bits of your story. They are so very vivid & so very beautiful. There isd such a breath of life to them, & poeticism - But it doesn't detract, or make it too soppy to be imagineable...It just makes it all the more real(such beautiful language of description, etc)...
Here are the best examoles of all of that (for me) - Because this is a very beautiful Christmas story, & I was right there, transported even from this overwhelming heat of draught-summer!):
Napoleon pulled off Illya's red hat and rubbed snow in his hair, breaking the rubber band that kept it confined. He stopped, then, grinning down at his partner, flat on his back in the snow; blond hair spread out around him, cheeks bright red with cold, eyes brilliant and laughing up at him. There was a long pause. Napoleon's smile faded as he stared into Illya's face. He never knew where the next words came from - and he gave it a lot of thought, later on, as they sat over Christmas dinner with his family, as they helped decorate the tree, as he and Illya said their goodnights.
"How beautiful you are." The sentence seemed to hang in the air between them, as if frozen solid by the twenty-four degree temperatures. Illya's eyes widened and they were so blue - as blue as the sky overhead.
"Well, you," he looked at Illya some more, used his free hand to lift a strand of that bright hair, stare at it against his black glove as if he'd never seen it before. "You take my breath away."
"Illya Kuryakin - my long time partner, the best friend I've ever had," and Illya was blushing now, the color rising in his face quite apart from the cold reddening his cheeks. "Would you be very offended with me if - if I kissed you?"
Because he had never - had never once thought of his friend in a physical way.
But now he did. He couldn't stop thinking about that kiss, how Illya's mouth had softened and warmed under his, how Illya's lips had parted so willingly and how sweet that kiss had been. Through all the clothing he had been aware of Illya's body, lithe and elegant, hard and - and perfect. Illya's body was perfect, slim and long legged and Illya's hair had been a golden flood on the snow. Illya had looked at him as though he were the most wonderful person in the world. Illya had always looked at him that way
Illya had actually already knocked twice but his hand was shaking and it wasn't loud enough, he knew it. He had been lying in bed thinking about that afternoon, about the feel of Napoleon's lips covering his, about the weight of Napoleon's body pressing him deep into the snow, about Napoleon's arousal, hard and burning against his - his own, meeting it. He had flushed, thinking of that, his body aching for more. The ache had grown until it was intolerable so he had gotten out of bed and, just as he was, in the oversized T shirt he always slept in, his hair loose and falling down his back, barefoot on the cold stone floor he had gone down the hall to Napoleon's room, knocked at his door with trembling hands, knocked again and, finally, rapped sharply enough for Napoleon to hear him.
without ever noticing how it clung to his thighs and slipped off his shoulders, without ever wanting to take it off of him. He had seen Illya's hair down, too, on countless occasions during their time together and had never been aware of this urgent desire to put his hands in it, to wrap it around his fists and hold Illya's head still while he ... he swallowed. "Hello."
"Illya." And how delightful, to see his cool composed partner blushing and stammering, ducking his head now so his hair swung forward and hid his face.
"What?" He didn't look up.
"Um - come there?" He gave a quick glance in Napoleon's direction. Napoleon held back the bedcovers and patted the spot beside him.
"Yes." He patted the mattress again. "Right here."
"Well - if you're sure ..."
"Isn't that why you came?"
"You stay here. You're freezing. Why do you insist on wearing that thing in the dead of winter?"
"It's warm under the covers."
"So stay put." He climbed out of bed, wincing at the coldness of the floor on bare feet. "Jillian and her flagstones,"
Napoleon felt dizzy, as if he were falling, falling endlessly - he took Illya into his arms and they were falling together, Illya's mouth warm and sweet under his, Illya's body hard and urgent against his and when Illya's legs opened for him Napoleon groaned into his open mouth and Illya cried out, softly, pleadingly, the two of them wrapped up in one another, still falling. He kissed Illya's throat, inhaling deeply, savoring the good familiar scent of him, kissed the delicate line of his collarbone, at his shoulder now, back up to his neck, still so slow - he'd had no idea it could be this slow, or this good.
He gasped Illya's name, and Illya twined both legs high around his waist so he could sink deeper. It was a slow, sweet descent that finally brought the fall to an end, leaving them panting and shaking, Illya with arms and legs spread wide, Napoleon heavy on top. He managed to lift his head, finally, and looked into Illya's face - flushed, eyes brilliant, hair strewn about on the white pillowcase. He said, as he had said before, "How beautiful you are," and then "I love you, Illya" which led to another kiss.