Gimme, Gimme, Gimme	   Gimme, Gimme, Gimme by Spikesgirl58	
 

Sharp clear air was the first thing he sensed upon waking. That and a
fervent wish that he still slept with his gun so he could shoot the bird
that persisted in a two-note song just outside the window. Obviously song
birds were wasted on those with hangovers to nurse. 

It was only October, but already the smell of winter was intermingling
with the scent of fallen leaves. Illya Kuryakin reluctantly opened an eye,
arguing that as long as the other stayed closed, he was still technically
asleep. Without moving, he glanced over at the bedside clock and inwardly
groaned. One more minute and he'd officially have to wake up and this
morning he desperately wanted to stay in bed. 

No matter, he reached out a sluggish arm to cancel the alarm. Napoleon was
still burrowed beneath the blankets and sheetsno use both of them being
miserable at the same time. Bracing himself, Illya pulled back the covers
and slipped from the bed. It was just about time to either start leaving
the window closed at night, turning on the heater or putting on pajamas. 

Still, the cold helped shake a bit more lethargy from his limbs and he
stretched, wincing at the pull in certain muscles. His lower back ached
and he felt like he'd been reamed with a Brillo padand of all the nights
to break down and pander to his love of hot Thai cuisine. Going to the
bathroom was going to be a double treat this morning. 

These are the things you never think about in the heat of passion, he
thought as he padded his way to the bathroom. By the time he got shaved
and into the shower, the aspirin he'd taken had kicked in and he was
starting to feel halfway alive again and his mind was already starting to
mull through the daily tasks that lay ahead. 

He toweled off and headed back to the bedroom, found his favorite pair of
sweat pants, still desperately in need of new elastic, and pulled on a tee
shirt. Napoleon mumbled something and rolled over, but Illya let him
continue to sleep. 

Fifteen minutes later Illya was back, this time bearing coffee. He set the
cup on the nightstand and laid back down, snuggling up against Napoleon's
back and wrapping an arm around him. 

Nuzzling the hair at the back of Napoleon's neck, Illya murmured, "Wakey,
wakey, sweet prince." He kissed the skin briefly. 

"God, Illya, don't you ever tire out? You're like a freaking rabbit." The
protest was half hearted at best as Napoleon stirred to blink sleepily at
him over his shoulder. "I hate to admit this and will deny saying it until
my death bed, but I don't think I'm 'up' for it right now, amante." 

"Then I shall alert the media and mark it down on the calendar. This was
the morning Napoleon Solo refused sex." Illya brushed Napoleon's sleep
ruffled hair off his forehead and smiled. "Look, are those pigs I see
flying by the window?" 

"Enough!" Napoleon tried to sound forceful, but Illya merely chuckled and
offered him a mug. "What were we thinking last night?" Napoleon rearranged
himself so he could both handle the cup of coffee and wrap an arm around
his lover. "This reminds me of a very bad joke I heard once." Napoleon
took that first sip and closed his eyes in a rapture that only a coffee
drinker could understand. 

"Just once?" 

"The Norse god, Thor, decides that he's feeling a little anxious, so he
takes on the guise of a human and comes to Earth. After a brief time, he
finds a willing woman in a bar and they retire to her home where they have
copious amounts of enthusiastic sex..." 

"I see where this reminds you of us..." 

"Stop interrupting." Napoleon ordered as he took another sip of coffee. 

"Anyhow, the next morning, he's feeling a little guilty about having had
this woman without even formally introducing himself, so he rolls over and
he says, "Madame, I'm Thor." And the woman looks at him and says, "You're
thor? I'm so thor I can hardly pith." 

Illya stared at him for a long moment, his face devoid of all emption.
"Oh, that was the joke then?" 

"Well, laugh." Napoleon nudged him with his shoulder. 

"Actually, those were sort of my exact thoughts earlier, after a fashion."
Illya shifted to try and find a more comfortable position and then he
grinned. "I think we need a new mattress." 

"I think I need a new back...or possibly a new body." 

"But I am so fond of the current one," Illya protested, pushing the cup
aside for a kiss. "Warts and all." 

"Remember that when I'm 84 and you're pushing me down the driveway in a
wheelchair." 

"I intend to." Illya kissed him again and then wiggled out from beneath
Napoleon's arm. "You've got about 30 minutes to shower and shave before
Matt shows up. No going back to sleep, Napoleon," he warned as the dark
head started to droop slightly. 

"You're a harsh task master," Napoleon muttered, but Illya merely smiled
and winked at him. 

Breakfast was a brainless task in Illya Kuryakin's opinion. It just didn't
seem to offer him the challenges that other meals did. Most people, if you
gave them breakfast meats, eggs, and bread or pastries of some sort, they
were happy. That didn't mean it kept him from enjoying the food he made
for the meal; it was just an automatic thing he did on Sunday morning like
feeding the cats or starting the coffee. 

He was sauting some onions in preparation for a picante sauce for his
avocado huevos rancheros when two strong arms slid around his waist and a
hand moved down to gently cup his genitals. He smiled contentedly and then
one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. 

"Well, that's either you, Napoleon, or Matt. Want to give me a hint?" The
hand tightened threateningly and Illya chuckled. "Napoleon, it is then." 

"Matt?" 

"One can never be sure." Illya stirred the onions around as the hand began
to caress. "None of that now," he warned, but tilted his head obligingly
as lips started to nuzzle his neck 

"Can't I let you know how sexy you are to me?" Napoleon whispered. "Or how
much I love you?" 

"Of course, but your timing is somewhat awkward, since we will have a
houseful in a relatively short amount of time." 

Napoleon sighed and, with one final stroke, brought his hand up Illya's
stomach and chest to rest on his shoulder. "What would you like me to do?"


"Do you feel up to fanning the avocados for me?" 

"You trust me to do that?" 

"I trust you to tell me if you think you can't." Illya pointed to a
cutting board. "If you prefer, you can practice on some strawberries
first." 

"Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight. Take me through the darkness to
the break of day." Illya glanced up at the singing voice that floated
through an open window and over that of the new Dave Brubeck tune playing
on the radio. 

"Mmm, what an excellent idea," Napoleon said, grinning. "Oh wait, been
there, done him." 

"You are on a roll this morning, Solo," Illya said, chuckling again. "I am
going to go out on a limb and say Matt convinced Rocky to come with him
this morning." He pointed at Napoleon. "Don't say it! You had your chance
earlier. As I recall, you turned me down." He paused to flip some eggs in
a frying pan. 

"Enjoy the rest as it's unlikely to happen again." Napoleon opened the
kitchen door just as Matt was pulling back his hand to knock. The redhead
had learned the hard way that knocking was safer than just walking into
the small chalet style house now that Napoleon had moved in. "Cara," Matt
said, hugging Napoleon briefly before abandoning him for his partner. "And
how are you this morning, Chef?" He brushed some hair from Illya's face to
study it and, after a moment, smiled. "My grandfather would say that you
look like someone rode you hard and put you away wet." When Illya turned
his head to protest, Matt kissed him and quickly stepped out of arm's
length, grinning. 

"That's a fair estimate of our evening after you left," Napoleon said,
accepting a platter of fruit from Rocky, who kissed Napoleon's cheek and
smiled as he flushed. It was obvious that Napoleon still felt a bit
awkward with the more open physicality of Illya's friends and co-workers. 

"You got to learn to pace yourself, Cara. I don't want to assume sole
responsibility of the place because you and your dark-eyed canaglia
scopata te a morte." 

"Matthew, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Illya snapped. "And
I'll have you know I'm far from dead -just a little tired. You're not
looking as spry as usual yourself, I might add." 

"Well, I'm not as young as I used to be." He paused to wrap his arms
around Rocky as he passed by and grinned. "But I'm not as old as I'm going
to be." 

"Excellent, in the meantime, youngster, help Napoleon with the avocados.
I'm just about ready to bake this. " 

"And me, Chef?" Rocky washed his hands quickly. 

"You can go get the coffee cake and slice it. Jesus said that he'd leave
us two loaves in the walk in in the restaurant." 

Rocky touched a forefinger to his head and immediately left. "So when are
you going to make an honest man out of him, Matt?" Napoleon asked,
concentrating on making his slices evenly spaced. Matt, on the other hand,
made it look easy as he quickly sliced through the fruit. "I'm thinking at
Christmas. He's already hinting that it's the perfect time to receive
jewelry." 

"He's right. That when I gave Illya his first piece...of jewelry, I mean."


Matt laughed out loud. "Oh, Cara, we are corrupting you. And, yes, I knew
what you meant." He finished slicing his avocado and pressed gently on the
end to make the slices fan. He moved closer to Napoleon and slipped his
hand over the top of Napoleon's, carefully guiding the knife. "And then
like this." He positioned Napoleon's fingers and pushed. "Look at that,
better than Chef could do." 

"You're a wonderful teacher, Matt. Have you ever thought about give all
this up for the classroom?" 

"He just does it because he thinks you have soft hands, Napoleon." Illya
interrupted as he layered the tortillas, refried beans, eggs, lettuce,
tomatoes. "If you two are quite finished with those...?" 

"And leave the limelight of slaving back in a kitchen?" Matt carried the
cutting board to Illya and held it as he slid the fruit off and into the
pan. Illya sprinkled grated cheese over the top and waited as Matt opened
the oven. "Perish the..." Rocky's abrupt entrance interrupted him and he
immediately frowned. "Cara mia, what's wrong?" 

"There's a guy crawling all over the front of the restaurant." He set the
platter down. "He tried to follow me inside and when I told him the place
was closed, he started asking me all sorts of weird questions. Chef, he's
kinda scary looking." 

A hard look settled in Illya's eye. "What kind of questions, Rocky?" 

"When you'd be there, would you be out front or in the back, how vested
are you in Taste, stuff like that." 

"Matt, would you mind watching things here?" Illya grabbed a towel to wipe
his hands off. 

"Do you need help?" Napoleon had no trouble slipping into his former role
of enforcement agent. While it was true neither man was up to the level
they had been as top UNCLE's agents, both were still in good shape and
very fit. 

"Just as back-up for now. Watch me from the living room in case." 

Illya walked out of the kitchen and through the small courtyard. Leaving
by a side gate, he entered the parking lot and headed purposefully to the
restaurant. Sure enough there was a stranger standing on the front porch
of the establishment, trying to peer through a darkened window. Illya set
his field agent persona in place and approached. 

"May I help you?" Illya asked politely, but with a 'who-the-hell-are-you?'
tone in his voice. 

"You the owner?" The stranger towered over him, but Illya wasn't deterred.
When you were as short as he, you got used to it quickly. "Yes." 

"We've had some complaints." The man started to reach into his jacket and
Illya took a step backwards. Alarm bells were going off in his head and
he'd only become an older spy by listening to them. However, instead of a
gun, the man pulled out a small black book. 

"Complaints?" This was news to Illya. While it was true he didn't have his
finger on the pulse of the restaurant like he used to, he still was well
aware of everything that went on with the place. 

"Accusations that need to be checked out." 

"I'm sorry, but if you would like to come back during business hours, I'm
sure we can handle all your questions." Illya hazarded a look towards the
house and immediately Napoleon moved out, walking noiselessly along the
short path. Because of the bend in it, he was invisible to the man on the
porch. 

"Are you Tovay or Kuryakin? What kind of names are those anyway? Why can't
you have American names?" 

"Because neither of us are Americans," Illya explained. "What exactly is
the nature of these complaints, sir?" 

"I'll have to get them to you later. Are you open tonight? It says that
you're open tonight." 

"Yes, sir, we are and I'd be please to put your name down for a
reservation should you care to dine with us." 

Napoleon let himself be seen then and the stranger took a step back.
"Later, maybe, yeah, whatever." He turned and hurried away. 

"What the hell was that all about?" Napoleon softly asked as he watched
the man jump into a car and leave. 

"I have no idea, but I don't like it." He turned to leave and then paused.
"Napoleon, do you have any plans for tonight?" 

"Nothing outside the usual, why?" 

"I would feel better if you were in the front of the house tonight. If you
could just hang around in the bar and keep your eyes and ears open, it
would be appreciated. I don't like the looks of that man." 

"No problems. I can flirt with the Twinkle Twins." 

"They would literally shoot you if they heard you call them that." 

"A risk I will be glad to take for a few moments of their wide-eyed
charm." 

"Let me know how that works for you." 

They walked back toward the house, but Illya hesitated. The car had
stopped just at the corner and the stranger was watching them. "There is
something very odd here." 

"THRUSH?" 

"What would be the point? I'm of no use to them any longer, except perhaps
in the revenge sense and he'd have had ample time to snatch or kill me if
that was indeed his game." Illya shook his head and walked back to the
small vine-covered courtyard. "He'll be gone soon enough when everyone
else shows up. 

When the restaurant had first opened, Illya had started the tradition of
having a Sunday morning brunch/ staff meeting. People, especially those in
the culinary industry, felt more comfortable about talking when there's
food involved. It was a way to let his staff know that he appreciated them
as well as valued their input. This was a time to talk freely without
worrying about repercussions or to make suggestions. Everything was
permitted during this time and Illya had learned to listen patiently to
everyone, even the dish man. Mike had saved him thousands of dollars more
than once simply by advocating the use of one type of crockery over
another. 

Halfway through the meal, Illya stood and cleared his throat. The good
natured bickering that was going on between some of the staff stopped and
the conversation that Rocky was having with two of his waiters stilled.
Illya rarely addressed them during this time, preferring to sit back and
listen instead, so this move in itself stood out. 

"I need to say something to all of you and you must focus and be serious
for a moment." He waited for everyone to settle down. "This morning, there
was a stranger poking around the restaurant. I confronted him and he said
that there had been complaints leveled against us. Complaints and
allegations of a nature he wouldn't discuss with me. Does anyone know what
he's talking about? Has a customer spoken to you or has anyone receive a
letter that they didn't feel otherwise inclined to share with me? These
are serious charges and I need to know what you know." 

A chorus of protests, cries of innocence and general disbelief, went up
around the table. Illya locked eyes with Rocky. "There is nothing to your
knowledge? Matthew?" 

"No, Cara, nothing. We have received nothing but praise that I'm aware
of." 

"Napoleon, anything from the business end?" 

"Not that I wouldn't have already mentioned to you. All our creditors are
paid and happy." 

"I thought as much. That's what bothers me about this situation." Illya
leaned on his knuckles and surveyed each member of his team. "Tonight,
this gentleman is going to be joining us as a diner. I want you to act
professional. Do not be deterred by his questions, or go out of your way
to answer them. Be honest, be patient and by all means possible do not let
him get under your skin." Illya stopped and took a deep breath, choosing
his words with extreme care. "Napoleon will be in the bar tonight. For
reasons you might not understand, trust me when I say he's the one you
want at your back. If at any time you feel threatened, coerced or insulted
by this man, go to Napoleon. If he tells you to get me, I want you to do
just that and then begin to quietly escort our guests from the restaurant.
Do it quietly and quickly. Agree to whatever it takes to get them out of
Taste. Am I understood?" 

"Can we ask why, Chef?" Roxanne had pushed her plate away and was studying
him with an anxious look in her eyes. 

"No, not now, I'm sorry." Illya smiled to soften the harshness of the
words. "I will explain it all later. Let's just get through the night,
okay?" 

A buzz of conversation exploded the moment he sat down and Napoleon leaned
forward. "You're really worried, aren't you?" 

"Yes." Illya reached for his coffee cup and stared into it. "If something
happens, it would finish the restaurant. I...we can't afford this right
now." He locked eyes with Napoleon for a long moment and then murmured,
"And I won't have any more blood on my hands." He stood back up and walked
into the house. 

Matt stared after the blond. "Napoleon, what did he mean by more blood?" 

Napoleon rose stiffly and glanced back towards to the kitchen. "Matt,
would you help me get the...um, you know?" 

"Sure, right, I can do that." The redhead masked his confusion well as he
followed suit. 

"Need help?" Rocky looked anxiously about the table, still obviously
trying to digest Illya's words. 

"No, I shall be right back." Matt kissed the shaggy brown head and trailed
after Napoleon. 

Illya was standing in the kitchen and looked over as Napoleon and Matt
came through the door. Napoleon ushered Matt thought and then locked the
door behind him. 

"What is this?" Illya shifted his attention from one man to the other.
"Some kind of intervention?" 

"Matt wants to know what's going on and I think we owe it to him."
Napoleon sank into a chair at the small kitchen table. "How much do you
know about our pasts?" 

"Just that you two used to be an item and then Illya left you." 

"You didn't tell him anything?" Napoleon addressed this to Illya, who
shrugged. "And you, Matt, you didn't notice anything strange about the way
Illya acted or...looked?" 

"Looked?" Matt was openly puzzled and then realization hit. "You mean all
the scars?" He chuckled as he admitted, "It never crossed my mind to ask.
Some of us have a rougher time coming out than others. We often attract
undue attention and have the shit beat out of us. I figured Illya would
tell me what he wanted me to know." 

"Now you know one reason why I slept with him," Illya muttered. "No
questions asked." 

"Illya and I used to be part of a very specialized enforcement
organization. Some of the people we fought were not especially taken with
our continued existence." He paused at Illya's snort. 

"God, Napoleon, just come out with it," his partner snapped, his humor all
but gone. "We were spies. We ran around the world killing people." 

"Our job was to protect the innocent and make sure that good had a
fighting chance over evil," Napoleon corrected. 

"I don't understand." Matt sat down across from Napoleon, but his eyes
never left Illya. 

"We were trained killers. We slept with our guns...or anything else to get
the job done." The Russian had gone back to the window, looking out at the
people milling about the long table as they talked and cast sidelong looks
at the house. "And it looks like it might just have finally caught up with
me." 

"Us," Napoleon corrected gently. "We're both equally involved in this,
Illya. We were, still are, partners." 

"Well, that explains a lot," Matt said, rising. "And I can understand why
you didn't feel like sharing. That would sort of put people off. You think
this guy is a bad guy?" 

"I don't know, but I'm not willing to take a chance. How many covers do we
have tonight?" 

"First seating is pretty much gone, about half with the second, nothing
really on the third." 

"When he calls, put him in third preferable or second if necessary. I
don't want him there any longer than is possible." 

"Gotcha, Chef." Matt moved towards the door and then stopped as he was
reaching for the doorknob. "You do know we are all in this with you, all
of us." 

"Noif it comes to that, just Napoleon." Illya smiled slightly. "He's been
watching my back for a long timeno use changing that now." Matt nodded
once and slipped back outside. 

"He's hiding it, but he's scared." Napoleon came to stand by Illya's side,
slipping an arm around his waist. 

"He's not the only one, Napoleon. We've been out of the loop for a long
time. We're rusty, both of us." 

"Couldn't this guy be someone else, like a food safety inspector?" 

"They always arrive during business hours and announce themselves." Illya
sighed. "No, this is something completely different. Still, there's no use
worrying about it now. Let's get cleaned up." 

That night, with Napoleon safely settled in the bar, business went on as
usual in the small restaurant. Illya was in the middle of butterflying
lamb chops when Rocky came into the kitchen. The fact that he wasn't
singing or even smiling, drew immediate attention from Matt. 

"He's here, isn't he?" the redhead asked, setting down the knife he'd been
using. 

"At table six." 

"Good," Illya said, settling the chops onto a plate and wiping off the rim
with a cloth. "It's time to do what we do best and that is to serve him.
Rocky, I want you to take the table. Dee will understand. Be professional,
be patient and if you need to..." 

"Get Napoleon." 

"YesHe'll be watching you from here on out as well. If there's something
going on he doesn't like, he'll let you know." 

Rocky took a deep breath and looked over at Illya, who nodded and turned
back to the plate as Matt stepped in for a kiss. PDAs weren't encouraged,
but it seemed to be what the man needed at the moment. 

Thusly armed, Rocky started humming the "The Impossible Dream" and headed
for the double doors. 

A few minutes later, Rocky was back. "Chef, table six wants to know if he
can do a split plate on the starters?" 

"Depends, which ones?" Illya afforded him little attention as he tried to
keep the contents of three pans all moving. 

"He wants to split the mushroom ravioli and the meatballs." 

Illya turned to stare at him. "On the same plate? That would be
disastrousthose two sauces would battle each other the minute they
touch...wait." Illya paused. "Mike, do we still have that sample dish, the
one that looked like a figure eight?" 

Mike turned from scraping a plate. "Um, last I saw it was on a shelf in
the office." He pointed in the general direction with his spatula. "I'll
go look, Chef." Roxanne dried her hands off on her apron and walked
quickly from the kitchen. She was back in a moment with the piece. 

"Tell the man yes, Rocky," Illya said, returning to the stove. 

And so it went all evening, a constant stream of requests from table Six-
could Chef do this? Would Chef do that? Would he do the specialty of the
house, but change the starch? Illya's first chef had drilled into his
head, indeed into every one of his students' heads, that the answer was
always yeswhat was the question? If the customer was happy, it didn't
matter that your principles were compromised, that your dish was changed
or that the choices made no sense what-so-ever. It was quite the challenge
for Illya to remember that as he struggled to find the balance between the
requests and keeping true to his own vision of the dishes. 

Rocky walked wearily into the kitchen. He too was feeling the burn as he
struggled to keep this one customer content. He'd given up singing or even
humming. The dark head bobbed wearily as he leaned back against the wall. 

Matt glanced over and smiled at him before pulling a tray of souffls from
the oven. 

"I'm sorry, Chef," Rocky murmured after a long moment. 

"Did you finally punch him out?" Mike wanted to know. "I'd have done it
about half an hour ago." 

"Sadly, that goes against every bit of my training. I have done everything
except offer him gratuitous sex, but to no avail. He wants you, Chef."
Rocky shook his head sadly. "And he doesn't look happy." 

Illya glanced over at the clock and shrugged his shoulders. "It's time
anyway." He pulled off his food-stained chef's coat and tossed it over on
a convenient counter. Turning his equally stained apron inside out so the
clean side was now facing the world, he pulled on a clean jacket and
buttoned it to the neck. 

When they started Taste, it had made sense to have both him and Matt
visible in the dining room. It gave them a direct line to their patrons,
to find out which dishes were, or more importantly, weren't working. Matt
loved the social interaction and Illya, like now, found it a necessary
evil. 

Giving Rocky an affectionate pat on his shoulder, Illya said, "Rocky, you
were outstanding tonight. I don't say this often enough, but you are a
vital part of the restaurant and we would suffer without you." 

"Thank you, Chef, but I feel like these are your parting words." 

"They very well could be. Napoleon is still in the bar?" 

"Never took his eyes off me." 

"With Celeste and Stella there? I find that hard to believe." Illya smiled
and walked out of the kitchen. As was his habit, he started with the left
side of the room, carefully choosing a path to some of his regulars first.
All the time, he watched table six from the corner of his eye. The man
seemed anxious and equally attuned to where Illya was in the room. Passing
close to the bar, Illya caught Napoleon's eye for the briefest of seconds
and he nodded to his lover. Then, squaring his shoulders, he approached
table six. 

"You made it back. This morning, I wasn't so sure." Illya kept his tone
neutral. 

"Yes. You cooked everything tonight?" 

"I did. Is there a complaint?" 

"Chef, to be honest, I couldn't come up with one if I had to." The man
offered his hand and Illya regarded it warily for a moment before taking
it in a careful grasp. You could tell much of a person's intentions by how
they shook your hand. The stranger's grip was firm without being crushing,
very businesslike. "I want to compliment you upon your staff as well. My
waiter couldn't have been more accommodating, especially with some of my
more avante garde requests." 

"I'll be sure to let him knowthank you." 

"Do you do this kind of business every night?" 

"This is a fairly typical Sunday." Illya looked around the room. About
half the seats were filled by diners just finishing up, lingering over
their coffee or drinks. 

"You should expand." 

"This is about the food, not money. I will never expand the restaurant
beyond this." 

"How about opening another?" 

"My partner talks of it, but, no, I have no plans." Illya returned his
attention to the man. "This is enough for me." 

"A chef without dreams of greatness?" The man folded his napkin and placed
it before him. "Do you lack ambition or just suffer from insecurity?" 

"Excuse me?" Out of the corner of his eye, Illya saw Napoleon stand and he
shook his head. "Neither and now, if you will pardon me..." The man
grabbed Illya's forearm and then hastily released it when a cold blue
stare was leveled at him. "Thank you for dining with us this evening." He
kept his voice level, but the tone of dismissal couldn't be ignored. Illya
turned and walked back into the kitchen. 

Matt, as well as the rest of the kitchen staff, was there the moment he'd
cleared the doors. "All is well, yes?" 

"All is well," Illya repeated. "Rocky, he loved your service. For some
reason, the fact that we aren't planning to expand seemed to trouble him
more than it should." Illya rubbed his eyes, trying to coax the headache
away. 

"Five loved the souffls, Chef." Dee, another of Taste's long-standing
waiters, sang through the pass through. "Oh and Napoleon wants to know how
much longer you're going to be." 

"Send him back to me, would you, Dee?" Illya walked into the tiny closet
they laughingly called an office and collapsed into a chair, closing his
eyes. He didn't need to see Napoleon to know the moment his lover walked
into the room. A sense of peace and reassurance suddenly settled upon him
and he knew Napoleon was close at hand. A breath later and he felt gentle
pressure on his temples rubbing them tenderly. 

"You okay?" 

"Now I am." He let his head loll forward. "Is our friend still here?" 

"He was collecting his bill last I saw." 

"Would you be so kind as to make sure he finds his way successfully off
the property, old friend?" Illya smiled as soft lips pressed against his
temple. 

"Your wish, my command." 

"My wish, against the law...but then and again, when did that ever stop
us? I'll be another hour here." 

A reassuring squeeze to his shoulder and Napoleon was gone. Immediately,
the world felt a little less kind and generous. 

The rest of the evening played out without incident or excitement,
something for which Illya was thankful. The stranger still bothered the
hell out of him and he even paused to ascertain the conditions of the
windows and doors downstairsall lockedbefore wearily heading upstairs. In
the old days, he would have dropped to the couch and been done with it,
but those days were past. He'd not sleep on the couch when he had
Napoleon's arms instead. 

Napoleon was stretched out on the bed, his attention firmly held by the
latest best seller, something political by the looks of it. There had
always had rumors of the dark haired agent being shallow and without
interest in anything not wearing a skirtIllya smirked over that thought.
He knew that Napoleon was highly intelligent and well read, both in the
classic and the modern sense. Illya, in fact, didn't know anyone who
actually read more than Napoleon, himself excepted. 

No reading tonight though, not for him. Illya sat on the edge of the bed
to toe off his shoes and take his jacket and tee shirt off. He didn't have
the strength or desire to go farther than that. He fell back on the
pillows and sighed. 

"You're not going to sleep with your pants on," Napoleon said after a long
moment. He slipped his book mark in place and glanced over at the blond. 

"I lack the energy or the desire to do more," Illya muttered, his gaze
firmly affixed on the ceiling. "What the hell was all that about tonight?"


"I have no idea." Napoleon set the book upon the night stand and settled
back on the pillows himself. "Suppose you tell me?" 

"He wasn't THRUSH, that's for sure, but then who the hell was he?" Illya
rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head into his pillow. 

"I could make a couple of discreet calls if you'd like." Napoleon let his
fingers trail up a long thin scar on one of Illya's shoulder blades. A
path of goose bumps followed the movement and Napoleon smiled. "After all,
I'm still a former agent in good stead." 

"Not worth the effort." Illya's voice was muffled by the pillow. 

Napoleon smiled slightly and began to run hand over his skin. Illya
permitted himself to sigh encouragingly at the sensation and Napoleon
hand's first began to trace small circles and then to knead at the stress
tightened muscles. 

"You need a good rub down, my friend." Napoleon's lips followed his hands.


"That's not what I need, Napoleon, not really." Illya rolled over and
captured one of Napoleon's hands. He brought it to his mouth, kissing each
finger carefully, his eyes never leaving Napoleon's. 

"And what is it that you need, Mr. Kuryakin?" Napoleon let his mouth play
into a smile as Illya reached up and pulled him down into an embrace. 

"I'll give you a hint. It starts and ends with you." He pushed Napoleon's
robe off his shoulders and swept it aside. 

"Hmm, I'm liking the sound of that." He shifted so that Illya was on top,
a clear invitation. 

"I thought as much." Illya started a slow but deliberate caress with his
lips and tongue down Napoleon's neck, nipping, sucking, laving his tongue
over his pulse point and down to the junction of his neck and shoulder. 

He followed the path back up, rubbing his whisker-stubbled face against
Napoleon's clean- shaven cheek before returning to that mouth he loved. He
thrust his erection against Napoleon's thigh and Napoleon reached for him,
but Illya stayed his hand, entwining their fingers and guiding the hand
down to the bed, pressing it against the mattressa definite message. 

Smiling, Napoleon relaxed beneath his lover's body, happy to simply
respond to his touch, comfortable and confident in his role as the
submissive in this case. Thus assured, Illya stripped off and returned to
his assault, following an oft-travelled path to first one nipple, then the
other before trailing down his stomach. He paused in between to savor a
cicatrix or two along the way, running just the tip of his tongue over
raised scar tissuea reminder of what had brought them to this point in
their lives. 

Hair didn't appear on Napoleon's body until just below his navel,
something so different from his own body. Settling between Napoleon's
legs, he paused to admire the burgeoning erection his lover sported. It
was hard to believe, looking at his penis that it was as well attended as
it was. Rock hard and weeping pre-seminal fluid, it looked like it had
been denied its very existence for months. Illya knew better and for a
moment, he waivered, anxious to feel Napoleon entering him, stretching
him, loving him. 

A knot of tension tightened in his stomach and he shook his head. No,
tonight he would lead, anything to break the grip the day's events held
upon him. Grasping Napoleon's penis with one hand, he worked the base with
his fingers while plying his tongue to the tip. 

A movement broke his attention and he flicked his gaze up just as Napoleon
was grabbing the lube from the nightstand. Smiling, Illya returned to his
task of seeing how close to the edge he could bring his lover without
sending him over. Without slowing either hand or mouth he reached out his
remaining hand and Napoleon obliging squeezed a generous amount of cream
onto those fingers. 

Thus armed, Illya worked his free hand down and in, massaging, stretching,
preparing Napoleon to receive him, all the while never pausing in his oral
stimulation until it became apparent that he either needed to finish
Napoleon off or change tactics. He reached for the tube again, slathering
his own extremely eager penis. 

Napoleon hitched up his hips and stuffed a pillow beneath his back. Unlike
Illya, he wasn't quite as flexible, but then again, he didn't find himself
in this position as often as the Russian did. 

Illya position himself and pushed gently, stopping as just the tip of his
penis entered the tight band of muscle. Napoleon hissed and Illya bent his
head back, savoring the sensation. 

"Oh my God, you feel so good," Illya murmured. 

"It always amuses me to hear an atheist say things like that," Napoleon
panted as Illya slid a bit further in, then pulled back only to press in
deeper. 

"This is almost enough to make me believe in heaven." Illya repeated the
movement again and again until he was fully sheathed. "Are you ready?" 

"Once around the moon I think." Napoleon managed before breaking off into
a moan of carnal delight. Illya set the pace, picking it up as he drew
closer to the edge. Napoleon's fingers clawed at his ass, fingers digging
in and Illya balanced on one hand as he worked his lover's penis with the
other. Suddenly he started slamming into Napoleon's body with all the
force he could muster, each thrust being met with a welcoming grunt of
pleasure. 

Then a breath, a mutual half groan/half cry of triumph and Illya leaned
back, chest heaving as he ejaculated. Beneath his hand, he felt Napoleon
throb to his own climax, the resulting muscle contractions drawing Illya's
climax out just a bit further. 

Despite the coolness of the room, Illya was covering with a fine sheen of
sweat and he panted as the last tremors left him and he felt Napoleon's
body slowly casting him out. He used Napoleon's robe to wipe his partner's
semen off his stomach and hand. He flopped down alongside Napoleon
capturing and kissing his left hand and the gold band there. 

"Thank you," he murmured as Napoleon returned the gesture. He didn't ask
if he'd hurt Napoleon, trusting his partner to have said something earlier
if the situation had become more than he could bear. 

"You needed it. I can remember feeling like thatall stressed up with no
one to kill." Napoleon smiled sleepily, pulling the pillow from beneath
his back. "Why don't we do that more often?" 

"Napoleon, if we did that any more, we'd never get out of bed..." 

"I meant the other. I don't mind you...driving." Napoleon ran a hand
through Illya's hair, letting the strands fall free from his fingers. 

"No idea really, things just never turn out that way it seems. Almost
didn't tonight." 

"I sensed that, but let me be the first to thank you for your
single-minded purposefulness." 

Illya pulled himself free of Napoleon grasp and stood. "I need a shower." 

"You...ah..need some help?" Napoleon caught his hand. 

"Think I can handle it, thanks, but maybe later you can come in and scrub
my back." 

Napoleon's mouth played at a smile. "I think I could arrange something." 

Illya wasn't sure what woke him. He came to an instant awareness,
something born in his days as an agent. Beside, Napoleon was nestled down
into a cocoon of blankets and pillows, still deeply asleep. There was
something Illya couldn't put his finger on. He slipped from the bed and
grabbed a pair of jeans from the chair near his side of the bed. It took
just a moment to wiggle into them and shove his feet into a pair of boots.
That accomplished, he grabbed a shirt and tugged it on. He abruptly
realized it was one of Napoleon's, but it didn't matter. He buttoned it as
he went down the stairs. Then a voice stopped him. 

"Illya what the hell are you doing?" 

Illya glanced up the stairs at Napoleon and smiled slightly. "I heard
something, so I thought..." 

"You'd go out and look for it alone? Did you get up on the stupid side of
the bed today? You don't go into anything like this without backup."
Napoleon pulled on a sweatshirt as he reached the bottom of the stairs.
"And to think I used to call you Smart Russian." 

"Okay, you've made your point. I just didn't think it was anything." 

"Let's just leave it with you didn't think period." 

"Can we just drop this for the moment and find out what I did or didn't
hear?" Illya opened the front door. The gray day had given way to a
miserable night and mist was starting to gather in low spots. Illya
snatched up his jacket from the coat tree and slid out into the night with
Napoleon on his heels. 

For a moment, he just stood there, breathing deeply, letting his sense
awaken to the sounds, smells and sights of the night. A whisper of noise
drew his attention towards the restaurant and he pointed off to the left
to Napoleon. He nodded once and slipped away. Illya moved quietly in the
opposite direction, taking care to stick to the shadows. He glanced across
the empty parking lot, but saw nothing. Still, he flanked the neat fence
that separated the lot from the hedge, using the foliage as a cover. He
came up to the back of the restaurant and hesitated at the sight of two
dark forms, intent on the kitchen door. 

"Okay, Tommy, try it now," one shape urged the other. 

Smiling softly, Illya stole up behind them. "It works better with a key,
Tommy," he whispered to the closest form. The man, Tommy, jumped back in
surprise and Illya took the opportunity to slam a fist into the kidney of
the other shape, presumably the first man's partner in crime. 

A sharp cry and the second men fell to the ground as Illya turned his
attention to the other. "Do you have any idea how dangerous breaking and
entering can be as a profession?" Tommy made the mistake of trying to land
a punch. Illya blocked it and returned one of his own, feeling
satisfaction as his knuckles made contact with a fleshy jaw. Tommy
staggered back a step and Illya crouched, ready to launch himself at the
man. 

A searing punch to his side reminded Illya that there were two assailants
and he dropped, rolling easily back up to face them both. Then came the
blow to the back of one knee and Illya grunted as the leg went from
beneath him. 

"That why it pays to have a look out man, Blondie," Tommy murmured. Both
men moved in, trying to capture the Russian's arms to hold him still, an
easier task on paper than in practice as Illya eluded them for a time. The
problem was that Illya, while in good shape generally, was far from his
fighting fitness. Working with weights and occasional sparing matches was
nothing compared to the daily onslaught he'd faced at the hands of THRUSH
and it had taken its toll, as had time. Illya wasn't a young agent any
longer and eventually his arms were pinned. He instinctively tightened his
stomach muscles against the blows he knew was coming. He gave voice to
each punch that landed, knowing that it would keep his attacker from
laying heavier ones. He let his head roll when the blows switched from low
to higher up. 

Illya decided he'd had enough and was about to drop to his knees in an
attempt to loosen the firm grip on each arm when he saw movement in the
night and then heard the soft voice of his partner. 

"I think we've had enough exercise from one night. What do you think?"
Napoleon leveled the P-38 at the attacker's temple and cocked the gun.
That stayed the punch he was about to deliver and he started to glance in
Napoleon's direction. "No, eyes front, if you don't mind." The man
complied. "Illya, are you okay?" 

"Fine, couldn't be better." He spit out some blood and pulled himself
free. "Just what I want to do on my night off is have my ass kicked by a
bunch of punks." He wiped his mouth off and glanced at the blood,
glittering black in the half light. Abruptly, he drove back an elbow,
dropping Tommy to his knees and then brought a stiffened hand down onto
his neck. Tommy went to the ground, unconscious. 

Not to be outdone, Napoleon slammed the butt of his gun against his man's
neck and he too was down for the count. "And that leaves us with you,
sir." He leveled the P-38 at the remaining man. "Let's talk." 

"It was their idea, man. They were the ones who said this place was
rolling in cash, not me. I'm just an innocent bystander who got caught up
in it." 

"I see." Illya rubbed one fist into the palm of the other. "And the
prisons are filled with innocent men, aren't they, Napoleon? The morgues,
on the other hand, remain blissfully open for business." 

"What? No, you can't kill me." 

"Correction," Napoleon said as Illya disappeared into the night. "My
friend can easily kill you a dozen different ways, and all of them
impossible to prove or even trace." 

Illya returned carrying a roll of wire and wire cutters. With very little
wasted movement, he attended to his unconscious guests first, trussing
them up as if they were Thanksgiving turkeys. He made sure the wire was
tight enough to be wiggle proof, but loose enough to not cut into tender
skin. He'd only been restrained with wire a few times in his tenure as a
guest of THRUSH, but it wasn't something he was eager to repeat.
Hopefully, these men would come to a similar conclusion. That
accomplished, he turned his attention to Napoleon's burden. "We can do
this the hard way or the hard way, which ever you prefer." The man sat
down obediently and Illya twisted the wire about his wrists and ankles. 

"Ow, that hurts." 

"Good, then you know you're still alive." That accomplished, Illya finally
acknowledged his partner. "Excellent timing as usual." 

"You want to call Milt or should I?" 

"Guess I should be the bearer of bad news. Can you keep an eye on these
three for me while I do that?" 

"It's why you pay me the big bucks," Napoleon said, with a smirk. 

"Among other things." 

Illya had to give Milt credit. The sheriff was there quickly, in spite of
the lateness of the hour. He hustled the men into the back of his sedan
and pointedly glanced down at the gun shoved into the waistband of
Napoleon's trousers. 

"You have..." 

"A permit to carry?" Napoleon guessed. "Yes, Sheriff, I do." 

"I was gonna ask if you had the safety on," Milt amended . "A shot there
might cripple a man for life." 

"Rest assured that was the first thing I did before stuffing it down
there, Sheriff." 

"There might be another one out there, Milt." Illya looked up from signing
the police report. "There was a guy hanging around the restaurant all day
and night. I'm thinking he might have been a front man. They should crack
pretty easily. You want me to take a spin with them?" 

"No, I think you should see a doctor and then maybe get some sleep. Leave
the police work to those of us who know what they're doing." 

"Fair enough." Illya handed back the clipboard and watched the man ease
himself back into the car and drive away. "Do you think we should tell
him?" 

"Naw, let him work it out for himself. After all, it's the Law of the
West." Napoleon punched him lightly on the shoulder and Illya winced.
"Come on, old man, let's go get you patched up and then we need to have a
long talk about things." 

"What sort of things?" Illya started to walk back towards the house. 

"Why you have this inane desire to end your life early?" 

"They wouldn't have killed me, Napoleon. They were just kids." He stopped
to look back at his partner. 

Napoleon was clearly agitated and punctuated the air as he spoke, "So were
we when we joined UNCLE and we killed quite efficiently from what I
remember. The only reason we weren't killed ourselves was because we
looked out for one another, watched each other's back. Why do you keep
insisting upon stuffing me in a corner like I'm some God damn porcelain
doll?" 

"You're really angry, aren't you?" The question was so soft Napoleon
almost didn't hear it. 

"Yes, I'm furious. You're not 20 anymore, Illya and, damn it, I don't want
anything to happen to you now that I just gotten you back again." Napoleon
grabbed him by his upper arms, fingers digging painfully into his biceps.
"Do you hear me, I won't lose you again." 

Illya closed the gap between them. "You won't lose me, Napoleon. I swear."
He took a deep breath. "I'm just not used to having to check with someone
when something needs to be done. I just got used to taking care of it
myself." 

"Not anymore." Napoleon hugged him, holding him tightly. 

"Not anymore," Illya repeated. "Can we go to bed now? For some reason, I'm
very tired all of a sudden." 

"Sure." Shifting his position, but keeping one arm firmly around the
slender waist, they walked back to the house. 

Five weeks later 

"Illya?" His name was half sung into his ear and Illya reached out to push
the speaker away. He'd been already kept up much the night by the same
voice, singing the same song. 

"Go away," he mumbled. If he'd had the strength or motivation, he'd have
rolled over onto his stomach and buried himself beneath the pillows, but
that would offer far too tempting a target for his over-amorous lover.
Instead he draped an arm over his eyes. 

"Illya, guess what?" Napoleon tried again. 

"Napoleon, it's my day off and I'm sleepinggo away." 

"Just guess and then I'll let you go back to sleep." 

"How about you just tell me and I let you live?" 

"Okay," Napoleon murmured. "I just wanted to let you know that it snowed
out last night." He unceremoniously clamped two freezing hands onto
Illya's bare stomach. The man was out of the bed with a shout, a curse and
the look of sheer murder in his eyes. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Illya managed after a moment. Solo's hands
were beet red from the cold and Illya had every intention of staying away
from his lover's grasp at all cost. 

"Just thought you'd like to know, that's all." Napoleon's smile was
devilish. "But now that you're up, you have 45 minutes before we're due at
Matt and Rocky's." 

"What?" Illya grabbed the bed side clock even as he was drying his stomach
off with the corner of the bedspread. "What? This can't be?" Illya gasped
as two arms snaked around him and cold hands cupped his genitals. "You are
so going to die, Solo." 

"Mmm," Napoleon agreed, holding the naked body even closer to his.
"Promises, promises." 

"I'll promise you this. When you least expect it, expect it." Illya
suddenly tipped a shoulder and easily tossed Napoleon onto the bed. Thus
assured that his dignity was intact, Illya headed for the bathroom. 

Carrying two bottle of Chianti in one hand, Illya let himself into Matt's
rented house. 

"Hey, Mattie, we're here!" he shouted when the only thing to greet them
was Rocky's floppy-eared young beagle. "Hi, Chiquitita, how are you? He
reached down to scratch the hound's head. He was still ill-at-ease around
dogs, but since he'd known this one practically from birth, he was
reasonable sure it wouldn't try to eat him. 

"We're in the kitchen, Cara," Matt sang out. Napoleon had never been in
the house and glanced around at the entry hall, a neat little alcove with
doors leading off from three walls and a staircase erupting along the
fourth. Illya headed towards the farthest one, after sitting briefly to
remove his snow-crusted boots and his jacket. When he stood, Napoleon
followed suit. Illya was wearing a soft blue sweater that he knew was
Napoleon's favorite, just as Napoleon had donned a pale yellow cashmere
sweater over his shirt because he knew Illya liked it. 

The kitchen was warm and steamy as a large pot of water boiled on the
stove. Rocky was sitting at the table, polishing silverware, and Matt was
slivering peppers. 

"Mmm, smells like home." Napoleon took a deep breath before handing the
wine to Rocky. He collected a brief kiss for his efforts as Illya walked
up to Matt. 

"Let me guess, ah, paglia y fieno?" 

Matt popped a piece of pepper into the Russian's mouth. "With a side order
of sweet spicy sausage for my friends who crave that as well." 

"Hay and straw?" Napoleon translated, coming up to Matt and squeezing his
shoulder. 

"With tomatoes. It's called that because of the green and yellow peppers,
along with the egg and spinach spaghetti you serve it with. My grandmother
used to make this dish all the time." Matt turned his attention to Illya
and nodded to a pot that was standing off just to one side by the sink.
"Cara, would you peel and seed the tomatoes for me?" 

"Seeing how you hate doing that, yes, it wouldn't be a problem." Illya
pulled up the sleeves of his sweater. 

Rocky was up and rummaging through a nearby hutch drawer, tossing an apron
to him in a causal fashion. Illya tied it about his waist and moved to the
sink. Napoleon had turned his attention to opening one of the bottles of
the Chianti. 

Illya was about halfway through chopping the cleaned tomatoes when there
was a knock on the front door. "You were expecting someone?" 

"Not me,Cara. All my guests are already here. Rocky, could you grab that?"


Rocky was out and then back a moment later. "Shelly has a piece of
registered mail. It's addressed to Taste." Illya frowned and rinsed his
hands off. Matt set the sausages he'd been browning off the heat. He
hooked an arm around Napoleon's neck and they moved into the entryway. 

"Looks like I hit the lottery when I gambled you might be here," Shelly,
Jackson's only postal carrier, said, offering the clipboard to Illya.
"Either one of you can sign itit has both your names on it." 

Illya signed and exchanged the clipboard for the letter. He turned it over
in his hand and his breath caught. 

"What is it, Illya? Bad news?" 

"Oh my Godit's a summons. We're being closed," Rocky guessed. 

"It's worse...it's from Michelin." 

"Somebody sent you a registered letter about tires?" Napoleon looked from
one chef to the other, not understanding their distress. 

"Napoleon, these are the people who award the stars..." Rocky swallowed,
reaching down to scoop up the eager beagle and hold her close. "Or take
them away..." 

"Okay, so open it up and find out which one," Napoleon said, excited.
"It's like getting a letter from the college of your choice to see if
you've been admitted." 

"You had a choice? I was told." Illya said, still staring at the envelope.
"I don't think I can do this." He offered it to Matt, who held up his
hands and stepped away. 

"Not in a hundred years." 

"Oh, for crying out loud." Napoleon took the envelope and carefully tore
it open. A single sheet of paper slid out and he opened it up. He scanned
it quickly and then refolded it slowly and put it back into the envelope.
"Huh, what do you think about that?" 

"Napoleon?" Illya's voice had dropped to a whisper. "Please..." 

"Oh, you want to know what the letter was about?" Napoleon's expression
was all innocence. 

"Yes!" Matt's voice rocked the hallway and Chiquitita squirmed anxiously. 

"Well..." Napoleon rubbed an eyebrow, drawing out the agony a bit longer.
"All I can say is, I don't know where you have your tattoo, Matt, my boy,
but I hope there's enough room to accommodate one more star." 

"What?" Illya snatched the envelope from Napoleon as he leaned forward to
kiss Illya's forehead. A combination of the adrenaline, wine and sheer
excitement made the blood rush in his ears and his vision started to
darken. 

"You got your fifth star, Chef," he said softly, then grabbed Illya as the
man threatened to sag. "Illya? Now, wait, you didn't faint when I
proposed," he muttered, his voice muffled against Illya's neck and Matt
and Rocky danced around jump and shouting. The puppy picked up on the
excitement and started to howl as well. 

Illya used the moment to take a few deep breaths and then nodded. "You I
was expecting. This was a total surprise. That crazed madman, the one we
thought as a front for those burglars was really a Michelin inspector,"
Illya murmured, his eyes still on the letter"that's why he was asking all
those bizarre questions. If I'd thought about it a moment before jumping
to a conclusion..." 

"Can't fault you for that, we both did. Well, it's over a month early, but
Merry Christmas, amante." Napoleon angled his head around to capture
Illya's lips and then grinned at the besotted expression. "I think a few
phone calls are in order, what do you say?" 

"I think perhaps a drink first," Matt interrupted. "And then if you're
very good, Napoleon, I will let you see that there is more than adequate
space for my tattoo." 

"NO!" both Rocky and Illya shouted at once and Napoleon grinned. 

"Think I'll have to take you word for it, Matt, my boy. For some reason,
it makes the natives restless otherwise." 

Later that night, Illya lay in his lover's arms, sticky, sweaty and
feeling very satisfied with his life in general. 

Napoleon kissed the corner of his eye. "Happy?" 

"Incredibly so." 

"Told you I'd bring you luck." Napoleon brushed damp blond hair from
Illya's eyes. 

"You've brought me more than that, Napoleon. You always have. You always
trusted me, believed in me when no one else did. Those first few months at
UNCLENew York were hard ones, but you never wavered. You were right there
from the beginning." 

"To the end." Napoleon kissed his temple again. "Till death and all thatI
meant it, Illya, all of it." 

"I know, as do I." Illya shifted slightly to reach for a glass of water.
"It's been a helluva year, Napoleon. If someone had told me this time last
year that I'd be happily married now and running a five star restaurant,
I'd have laughed them out of the state." 

"As long as I can keep you laughing and loving me, then I'm happy." 

"Always." Illya settled back down and closed his eyes. Tomorrow would
bring new challenges, more attention, more game playing and hard choices,
but for now, all was right in his world. Thusly, safely wrapped in his
lover's arms, he slept.  


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