Let it Snow
Napoleon was glad that Illya was driving this leg of their journey. Although he knew about Yosemite, Napoleon had no idea how breathtaking it actually was. The mountains and their sheer drop offs made him just a bit anxious, but Illya handled the rental car like a pro.
This marked their first vacation as a couple and Napoleon wanted it to be perfect. They'd had a good start of it. Their plane was on time, the rental car had exactly the make and model Napoleon requested. The disappointment didn't set in until they started the climb out of the Central Valley and into the mountains.
For Christmas, Napoleon wanted snow and all he saw was dried grass, fallen leaves, and barren fields. True, once they got into the park, he was glad the pavement was dry and ice free, but just a little snow clinging to the tops of the trees would have been nice.
Illya slowed as they entered the small village and Napoleon pointed to a sign.
"Left here, Illya," Napoleon glanced up from his map and realized the hotel was looming in front of them. Illya was suppressing a grin. "Oh, we're here."
Their destination was the Ahwahnee Hotel. It had been built in the late Twenties, the creation of Gilbert Underwood. He created many other lodges and from what Napoleon heard, this one was nothing short of spectacular. It was self contained with a large dining room, a bar, lounge, and all the amenities a weary traveler could want. Except snow. Even the hotel seemed dreary and tired looking, dull gray and brown against the green of the surrounding pine trees. The turquoise awnings over the windows didn't even cheer Napoleon. They merely reminded Napoleon of the brilliant blue sky overhead.
They checked in with little trouble and began the walk to their cabin. Napoleon had finally booked one of two Feature Cottage rooms. It came complete with a sitting room, a king bed, a fireplace, and privacy, and they were in high demand. His renowned luck came into play as the original guest had just called an hour earlier to cancel and Napoleon happily snatched up the reservation. It was more than they had agreed on, but after discussing it at length with the clerk, Napoleon felt it was money well spent.
"It sure is removed from everything," Illya muttered as they walked to the cottage. "The restaurant is back in the main hotel."
"I thought the privacy would be nice." Napoleon inhaled deeply and the rich smell of pine surrounded him. Even though the parking lot was full and the lobby bustled with activity, you could hear the whisper of the wind as it moved through the large pine trees and the gurgle of a nearby brook. It was all so serene and restful.
"At least there isn't a foot of snow to wade through." Illya jarred Napoleon out of his good mood. How could they celebrate Christmas without snow?
Napoleon unlocked the front door and felt a little thrill of restored good faith. The cottage was rustic but warm and inviting. Its pine paneling glistened in the sun and everywhere Napoleon looked, he saw the welcome that the Ahwahnee was famous for in the tasteful furniture and decor.
"Hey, look, there's a fireplace." Napoleon smirked at Illya's comment. He didn't think Illya had been paying attention to him, but Napoleon had waited until after a prolong bout of love making to bring up the finer aspects of the room he'd booked for them.
Illya started to roam the room, poking in the corners, as was their usual practice. It was hard to shake off work habits and Napoleon really didn't try. There was a knock on the door and Napoleon went for his gun. He checked the move and glanced out the peephole at the bellman.
Now if they could both just leave UNCLE behind for a few days, they might just salvage the vacation, snow or not.
Stuffed to the gills, Napoleon grabbed an extra blanket from the closet and carried it into the sitting room where Illya was starting a fire. He undid his belt and ran a hand over his stomach before grabbing some pillows and dropping them on the floor.
"That was an incredible meal," Illya said as Napoleon adjusted the pillows and blankets. "I haven't had venison tart since I left England. And your salmon looked good."
"My salmon was excellent. How was your Rigatoni?"
"Mmm, but I see something even tastier." Illya leaned in for a long, lingering kiss. Illya's sexual appetite had come as a surprise to Napoleon and brought to mind the phrase 'still waters run deep.' That was certainly the truth in Illya's case. Thankfully, Napoleon was more than willing and able to pace him and pace him Napoleon did, the crackling fire the only witness.
He woke and took a moment to gather his thoughts in the darkness. Napoleon didn't remember them getting into bed, but they obviously had. He could hear Illya's soft snoring and something else—a slow measured drip, drip, drip. He looked up at the roof and frowned. He hadn't heard the rain, but it obviously it must have stormed.
With a groan, Napoleon climbed from the warm bedding and shivered as he groped for his robe. He got to the bathroom without running into anything, an old trick he'd learned soon after becoming a field agent. No matter what, always memorize the path to the bathroom.
He peed, washed his hands, and started to leave the bathroom. Then, just as a bit of hopeful wishing, he grabbed a washcloth and wet it thoroughly. They might not, but then and again, they just might.
Napoleon carried the cloth and a towel back to bed, setting them on the nightstand within easy reach.
He tossed his robe onto the bottom of the bed and climbed back into the warm cocoon of blankets.
Illya mumbled something a bit obscene when Napoleon cuddled up to him, but Napoleon just kissed the sleep-tangled hair and drifted back to sleep.
When Napoleon woke the next time, daylight was struggling around the edges of the curtains. He could still hear the dripping outside, but it didn't matter. There were umbrellas in the umbrella stand by the front door and then Illya rolled over, sporting an impressive morning erection, and Napoleon thought of very little after that.
It took them a while, but eventually they got out of bed, showered and shaved. Napoleon had avoided opening the curtains as they were told at the front desk that it was one of the ways of signaling the maid. The last thing Napoleon wanted was a visit from her while he was occupied with screwing his partner.
"Hey, Napoleon, what do you want to do today?" Illya had dressed in jeans and a pullover. He was lacing up his hiking boots as he posed the question.
"I thought maybe a little hiking and then checking out the spa here. I hear it's first class." Napoleon was also dressed casually, but he had his street shoes on. The boots would come later.
He heard Illya open the door, but he was bent to the task of unknotting a shoelace.
"Hey, Solo, heads up!"
Napoleon looked up just in time to catch the snowball in his chest. He howled as the snow went everywhere. "Illya! What the hell!"
He raced out onto the porch and stopped. Everything was covered in snow, pristine, white snow. Illya was in the middle of the path, carefully packing another snowball, his hands already red from the cold.
Suddenly, Napoleon had a very different day in mind, one that involved hot chocolate, cuddling in front of the fireplace and letting the world pass them by. A sudden bit of song slipped into his head, As long as you love me so, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
The second snowball smacked into the wall by Napoleon's head and he laughed. "You missed! You need more target practice." He grabbed a handful of snow to make his own weapon and laughed again. This was going to be the best Christmas ever.
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