~Napoleon's Birthday~

"Happy birthday, Napoleon." Illya Kuryakin whispered, kissing his partner's temple. It was early morning, and Solo had yet to wake.

Of course, Illya hadn't woken up there. If he spent last night at Napoleon's, he wouldn't be able to spend tonight-- the night of Napoleon's birthday-- making love to the man. But he had gotten there early, let himself in with the spare key he'd been given, and made breakfast.

Napoleon stirred, eyes fluttering open. "Illya?"

"Illya." He nodded, caressing his lover's cheek.

"Key?"

"Key."

"Good. I thought you were a dream."

"No, that's you." He deadpanned.

"Right."

"Do you eat in bed?"

"Depends on what you're offering." He grinned licentiously.

"Toast, eggs, coffee, bacon, and orange juice. Have I left anything important out?"

"No." He chuckled. "So how long is that going to take?"

"I already made it."

"I think you are a dream. Or maybe just a miracle."

"Wait here, I'll bring it." Illya smiled, brushing another soft kiss across Napoleon's forehead.

---/-/---

Napoleon allowed his partner to feed him occasional bites, provided he be allowed to return the favour, and they ate a substantial breakfast off of the one plate.

"Mm... good. I didn't know you could cook."

"Remiss of you. We've been lovers for almost a year."

"Canned and frozen doesn't count."

"Neither does breakfast, really. It's not difficult, and it only takes one pan. Now if I had made waffles, that might be something."

"How early did you have to get up? It's only six now. When you wake up at four in the morning, getting the bread to fall into the toaster alone is difficult."

Illya rolled his eyes. "I didn't even need to make a mess of your kitchen. Now, if you would like to see me actually cook, some time I will."

"Some time not tonight." He nodded. "Because tonight, I'm eating out."

"You found out about the surprise party, didn't you?"

"If I hadn't, that would have given it all away." Napoleon grinned.

"But you had."

"Yes. Was there ever any doubt?"

"Not in my mind, though April was certain they'd get you this year."

"I'll act surprised this time." He promised, setting the dish aside. "Now... before I get dressed and ready for work, I need a shower. Join me?"

Illya kissed Napoleon in reply, pulling him out of bed and towards the bath.

---/-/---

The day at HQ was uneventful. Mostly, Napoleon engaged in brief chats with well-wishers, while Illya stood by, smiled indulgently, and filled out the day's paperwork without complaint.

According to plan, Illya suggested dinner out in celebration, and while Napoleon was tempted to suggest a change just to throw off the party-planners, he dutifully agreed to letting his partner take him to his favourite restaurant.

He glanced around the commissary, spotting Mark.

"He's making sure you get your job done, isn't he?" Napoleon whispered.

"Yes, and I had a devil of a time convincing them that I'd be able to do it. You know they were going to have some curvy blonde woman invite you out? I told them it would be a bad idea to appeal to your baser instincts and then ruin your chances."

"Oh, they're not ruining my chances." Napoleon grinned. "You coming back to my place for drinks after dinner?"

"Yestyestvyenno." He nodded. "I polovoye snoshyeniye*."

"Yestyestvyenno." Napoleon smiled. "I'm so glad I know all the useful phrases."

"The prurient ones, anyway." Illya snorted.

"Like I said, useful. And I do know enough Russian to get by on missions to eastern Europe. Contrary to the opinions of certain persons, I am perfectly capable of doing without you in the Soviet bloc." He feigned affront.

"Liar." The blond smirked.

"I had a life before you, and I don't need to go running to you for every little Slavic thing."

"What do you need to run to me for, then?" Illya pressed.

Napoleon coughed, setting his coffee down. "Other than that butt of yours needing to be saved. Don't you know by now?"

"Come up with a list sometime, that way I won't forget."

"You never forget anyway."

"Well, then, that way you won't forget."

"I may not have your memory, but there are things I don't forget, Illya."

*Naturally. And sexual intercourse ---/-/---

Illya rarely enjoyed himself at parties. For one thing, he generally had little in common with other guests, unless it was an office party, in which case he knew he had work in common. The pressure to make small talk was one he could always do without. But it was Napoleon's birthday, the first since thier relationship began, and he was enjoying it just as much as anyone else.

Of course, he would still much rather take Napoleon home and make love to him, but he would stay for as long as Napoleon wished, and he certainly would never suggest leaving before his partner's cake was brought out and presents opened.

Just about everyone was through with dinner, and the waiter was refreshing their drinks. Napoleon squeezed Illya's thigh beneath the table.

"We're still on, right?" He whispered.

"I would not miss it for the world." Illya smiled.

"Good. Now... presents?"

April laughed, grabbing a lumpy package and passing it to him. "Mark and I pooled our money for this one. *He* wrapped it."

Napoleon opened the gift, revealing a very nice sweater. "Thank you."

"From the secretarial pool." Illya snorted, passing over a much tidier gift.

"A tie. It's lovely, and it--"

"Matches your eyes." One girl finished breathlessly.

"Exactly. Very thoughtful." Napoleon flashed her his most charming smile.

Illya looked the tie over, skeptical. It was two shades off from the perfect colour of Napoleon's eyes as he best liked them.

Mr. Waverly stood, clearing his throat. "Well, as I must be leaving this get-together a bit early, here is mine."

"Thank you, Sir." Napoleon nodded, reaching past tissue paper into a blue bag and pulling out a small bottle of expensive brandy. "Thank you, Sir!"

"Of course, of course, you're welcome. After all, birthdays come once a year, and when you get to my age, you'll be grateful just to reach them." He smiled, making his gracious exit.

"Are you kidding?" Someone snorted. "I'm grateful to reach them *now*."

Illya pressed another gift into Napoleon's hands, their fingers brushing. "From me."

"Thanks." He breathed, fumbling with the paper, eyes still on his partner. He looked down, uncovering the book inside, and looking at the spine for a title. "The Scarlet Pimpernel."

"I believe everyone ought to own a copy, or at the very least read it. Besides, you bookshelves are woefully under-full."

"Only in comparison to yours. I have an average number of books."

"Mankind on average needs more books." Illya countered with a shrug.

"And I'm sure that as the years go by, you will supply me with them." Napoleon smiled fondly. "Now who wants cake?"

---/-/---

They stumbled into Napoleon's apartment, carrying not only all of the gifts-- as well as those that had come in the post-- but the box with the remainder of the cake as well.

"Bet you want that drink now." He laughed, drawing the back of his hand across his forehead in mock exhaustion.

"I'll pour them. What did your family send?" Illya asked over his shoulder, busy at the small bar.

"Open the bottle from Waverly, will you?"

Illya complied, and went to the freezer for his vodka. He rejoined his lover on the sofa.

"Here you go. Open your other gifts." He urged, guessing at what they might contain. One of them was definitely a book, another had to be a record.

"This one is--" Napoleon glanced at the tag. "From my Aunt Myrna and Uncle Al. 'It Had To Be You'. The book is..." He peeled the tape slowly, taking more time than Illya thought necessary.

"Just rip the paper. You know you won't save it."

"It's my birthday, if I want to open it carefully, I'll open it carefully." He teased. "Ah, it's Wodehouse. From my cousin Stephen. You'd like him, Illya. He's got an ungodly number of books."

Illya handed him the next.

"This one's from Ted and Carol..." He opened it, holding up an outdoorsy-looking coat. "Well, this might come in handy. In case we ever have to go back up to the frozen north..."

"Let's hope you never have to use it for more than a weekend getaway somewhere."

"You want to get away to anyplace? Our anniversary's in a week and a half, and I've got a little vacation time owed me. You do, too. Hey, I know this great little place... it's up in--"

"It will be too close." Illya shook his head. "Our first anniversary... let us really get away. Let's get away from the East coast, from work."

"Lucky you, I know about a million great places. We'll pick one far away from the office." He smiled, kissing Illya's cheek. "Last one?"

"Aunt Amy."

Napoleon opened this one eagerly, producing a set of black silk pajamas. "Ooh, nice..."

"Mm... very. We shall have to thank your Aunt Amy. It's a lovely gift."

"Speaking of gifts, do I get something else from you? Something less material and more... you?"

"Yes, but you'll have to be quicker in opening me than you were with that book." He grinned, leaning forward and kissing Napoleon thoroughly.

Napoleon later remembered Illya's mouth against his, and the shedding of clothing, but for the life of him could not remember just when and how they'd moved to the bedroom.

"What do you want?" Illya gasped, pulling back from a kiss. "Anything you like... your birthday... however you want us to..."

"I want every conceivable thing with you, and I don't know what I want first." He answered honestly, looking over his lover's body. It didn't help him to decide. "I want to make love to you, I want you to make love to me, I want to be inside you, around you, tasting you, touching you... just love me."

Illya kissed him softly, moving along his jaw and down his throat, whispering between nibbled kisses. "I do... I will..."

Napoleon closed his eyes, hands cupping Illya's face without controlling his movements. Instead, he just lay back and followed the familiar path his partner's mouth took over his body, stopping to taste and to tease every favourite spot.

In one glorious instant, his universe was reduced to Illya, and the effect he had. After that, his universe collapsed further, to a fuzzy grey world of heavy breathing. He came out of it to Illya's arms wrapped around his waist, head resting against his stomach.

"I thought... you were going to take your time?"

"We have all night for taking our time." Illya shrugged minutely, turning his head to brush a kiss just beneath Napoleon's navel. He smiled at the fine tremor that ran through his lover's abdomen at the feather touch. "I wanted just to... you know, to make you forget everything outside this bed."

"As often as possible." He chuckled. "No worries there, tovarishch. I forgot a couple of things *in* this bed. But I remembered you, and most of me."

"Only most of you? I will have to try harder not to miss a spot."

"Eh, flip me over if you have to, I won't complain. Speaking of not complaining, didn't you want me to...?"

Illya pulled himself up to lie face-to-face with Napoleon. "If that is what you want. After all, you are the birthday boy."

"I want everything." He whispered.

---/-/---

Napoleon woke up that morning feeling incredibly sated, and still a little worn from the variety of methods of lovemaking employed the night before. Illya was still in his arms, and the world was exceptionally bright.

"Mmm..." The blond stirred, stretching once and returning to crush himself to Napoleon's chest. "Morning already?"

"It was morning when we finally fell asleep."

"Passed out from exhaustion, you mean." Illya joked. "I had no idea we could do all of that, and in the timeframe we were allowed."

"It was my birthday." He shrugged. "I got what I wanted."

"Yes, well, you'll get it again in a week and a half." Illya murmured, kissing Napoleon deeply. "On our anniversary."

"Don't forget, I'll be getting you what you want, too." He grinned, pulling the Russian into a second kiss. "And seeing as how it's Sunday, and the day after my birthday, I remember our being given the day off?"

"How many times did we make love last night?" Illya asked.

"What? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Five? No, six. Six times in four hours. Now we have a whole day, sixteen hours. Four goes into sixteen four times, six times four is twenty-four--"

"Twenty-four? Lofty goal, isn't it?"

"Yes, when you take meals and such into consideration, it seems quite a lot. Taking the full day, it would be one orgasm every hour. But I am always up for a challenge."

"Well... I think I could definitely be *up* for a challenge myself. No time like the present to start."

---/-/---

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