Leaves of Three
Napoleon looked down at his toes, wiggled them, and then started laughing. Whatever THRUSH had pumped him with, it had been primo stuff. He hadn't felt this good since he was a teen and had had his wisdom teeth pulled. Of course, the aftermath then hadn't been much fun, but never mind that now.
Napoleon rested his back against the cool cement of the wall and sighed, humming softly. He really did need to get along with things and affect his own rescue. He was tired of waiting for Illya. In fact, Napoleon was tired of waiting for Illya on a number of issues.
He'd been dropping hints for what seemed like forever. Either Illya was incredibly dense or just not very perceptive. It never occurred to Napoleon that his partner might not be interested. Illya was often blissfully ignorant to things around him, unless they were of a scientific in nature or food oriented. What Napoleon felt for his partner was neither scientific nor edible and he'd just about had enough of Illya's playing hard to get.
There was the cacophony of distant fighting and Napoleon lurched up to his feet and staggered to the door of his cell, stepping up on his tippy toes, which made him start laughing all over again and he nearly fell over before he managed to peek out the small barred opening. That sounded promising, but until it got a lot closer, he was just going to wait over here for a couple of minutes. He'd nearly reached his cot again when there was a loud explosion in the corridor in front of his cell and a hole appeared in the wall. That was more like it!
He wiggled out of the hole, half stumbling over the debris and the body of his THRUSH guard. He paused to slap the man's face to make sure he wasn't faking the huge hole in his chest, and then looked around to get his bearings.
Left was back towards the labs and he had no desire to head back there. He'd had about as much of this happy juice as he was able to stand. Right seemed as good a direction as any and he headed off.
Napoleon wandered in and around the ongoing battle as THRUSH agents attempted to hold off the advancing UNCLE party or at least Napoleon assumed it was UNCLE. At this point, he didn't really much care. As long as he'd been sprung, he was happy... hell, he was happy with just about anything right now. The whole thing reminded Napoleon of bit of some of the skirmishes he'd fought during the war. Those seemed to end in about the same fashion too, with lots of bodies and even more explosions.
He stumbled down a flight of stairs and out into the courtyard. A mortar impact chose that moment to send up a shower of sand and rock near the entrance. Napoleon decided the opposite direction was a better choice.
A small doorway beckoned to him and he pushed his way through it and into the woods. He stopped just before stumbling into a creek and decided to follow it for a bit, pushing through the dense vegetation, occasionally dropping to his knees to rest and try to clear his spinning head. The damn truth serum was giving him a walloping case of lightheadedness along with everything else.
Walking was getting harder and harder, his knees had very different ideas than his head did about keeping him upright. Finally Napoleon sank to a soft bed of green and stretched out. The sun felt so good that he stripped off what remained of his dirt streaked shirt and let the warmth caress his skin. He thought about taking his pants off as well, but that was just... not right, at least not without Illya present.
Napoleon stared up at the leaves as they danced against the brilliant sky. Its color reminded him of his partner's very blue eyes. Napoleon had stared into those eyes before, seeing pain, fear, amusement, but never what he really wanted to see, passion. He wanted to see Illya's eyes, hell, his whole face, when he made love, a sight closed to him at the moment.
But no more, once he'd gotten his head clear, Napoleon swore he was going to tell his partner exactly how he felt. And if Illya had any common sense, he'd realize he felt the same and then they would... Napoleon's hand brushed across his groin and he sighed deeply, thinking of how good it would feel to have Illya's hand there... better yet, his mouth hot, wet, and loving...
Then suddenly Illya was looming, flush from the fighting and the heat, his hair matted with sweat and his expression joyful at his discovery of Napoleon. Napoleon blinked, not sure if the man was really real or just one of the myriad of images that kept bursting in on him
"Napoleon, finally! We have been searching the fortress for hours looking for you!" Illya was panting, and leaned over, hand on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. "We were beginning to fear the worst."
"You're not half as glad to see me as I am to see you!" Napoleon reached out for him and pulled him down. Illya, caught unaware, tumbled awkwardly forward down onto his partner. Then and there, Napoleon made a solemn vow to never let him go.
Illya sat in the hospital bed and jerked at his bandage-swathed hands. The straps securing them to the bed rails held firm. The itching was unbearable and he dropped his head back and rumbled out his displeasure.
"I did say I was sorry." Napoleon's voice was just as distressed and he wiggled in the bed, attempting to stem the itch with the bedclothes. At least he had the fortitude to not scratch and because of that had avoided Illya's predicament.
"I know." Illya twisted and shimmied as much of his body as he could. "I just can't bear this itching.... I can't believe you picked a patch of poison ivy for an impromptu nap."
"I was heavily drugged, in case you forgot. I was lucky to remember my name. If I hadn't been, I'd have recognized the shape of the leaves."
"And I can't say I'm overly delighted at your sudden expression of affection." Illya stopped and shook his head. "It is not that I regret your announcement or the suggestion that followed, but rather the timing."
"I'll make it up to you, Illya, I swear I will." Napoleon's memory traveling back to the moment, that spark in Illya's eyes, the feeling of their bodies as they ground against each other. The sharp smell of sweat and semen as they both climaxed. It didn't make his penis itch any less, but at least he had the memory... and the reality that his partner was as interested in him as Napoleon was in his partner. "Well, at least it was only frottage and not anal sex."
"Don't even go there."
"I didn't... at least not yet."
Illya exploded in another mass of writhing and twisting. "Nor are you likely to any time soon."
"You young people, you should take more precautions," Waverly's voice interrupted from the door. "You are both rather a sight for the eyes though. It's been a long time since I've seen such a profound reaction to poison ivy. Is the Calamine lotion helping?"
Waverly looked from one to the other and shook his head. "Next time, be careful! Use a prophylactic." He started to walk out. "And don't do it in a bed of poison ivy..."