~Illya and Napoleon's Anniversary~

Napoleon Solo woke that morning to greet the sun streaming through a sheer-curtained French door, leading out onto a balcony just big enough for two people to stand on. He gave the small courtyard beneath their room a quick glance, but its beauty was nothing compared to the beauty of one Illya Kuryakin, still asleep in their bed.

Well, it was their bed for three nights, but three nights would have to do.

He was wearing the shirt from the silk pajamas his Aunt Amy had sent for his birthday. The agents had arrived late the night before, too tired to christen the bed. Illya was sleeping, sprawled out, covers kicked onto the floor, wearing the black silk pants.

Napoleon smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, winding the draw string around one finger. His other hand strayed to brush the hair back from his lover's eyes.

They opened slowly, and Illya returned his smile. "Is it today yet?"

"October twelfth." Napoleon leaned down to kiss him. "Happy anniversary, Illyushka."

"Happy anniversary, Napasha."

"You know, you look sexy wearing my pajamas."

"I look sexy without them." He shifted, bringing his arms up around Napoleon's neck. "Hm?"

"Mm-hm." He nodded. "I love you."

"And I you." Illya whispered, his lips brushing Napoleon's ear. Another kiss, and he flopped back against the mattress. "I remember a marathon love making session it took us ten days to recover from..."

He groaned. "Let's *not* try that again. I think I pulled something. Besides, I'd much rather be able to seduce you at my leisure today. And tomorrow... No recovery periods lasting longer than ten minutes..."

"I enjoy leisure. The blond shrugged, unbuttoning his partner's top. "If your Aunt Amy knew what these pyjamas were going through..."

"And who was wearing half of them." He rolled his eyes heavenward. "We may never know what would happen."

"Don't take more than an hour making love to me before breakfast, or I'll starve." Illya warned.

"I've seen you do more strenuous-- and less personally rewarding-- things than me before breakfast."

"When necessary. But if I'm going to be getting the kind of workout I'm anticipating, I'd like to be able to eat quickly. Besides, last night we barely had two bites."

"I know, I know... all right, this first one'll be quick, and then... we can head down to the kitchen... and make breakfast together... I am *so* *glad* UNCLE maintains little getaway places like this for 'fatigued' agents." His voice slid like silk against Illya's ear.

"I'd better start getting fatigued soon." Illya huffed, wriggling out of the pyjama pants.

"Some other time, we can try for twenty-something in a day..." Napoleon whispered. "Let's just limit our variety. I think it was the kitchen counters that did it for me last time."

"Did it for you as in you wanted me as never before, or did it for you as in that was where you pulled the muscle?" Illya smirked.

"Pulled muscle, unfortunately." He made a face. "Oh, the bending over it wasn't so bad, but the standing and bracing against killed my knees. And the bathtub did *not* help my back."

Illya chuckled softly. "Your idea, lyubovnik. Mm... make love to me?"

---/-/---

Breakfast was consumed on the small balcony. With most of the food finished off, Napoleon peeled grapes, feeding them to Illya, who sucked the juice from his partner's fingers.

"When are we doing gifts?" Napoleon asked eagerly, tossing the bare stem onto the empty plate.

"I thought after dinner."

"No, mine can't wait." He pulled Illya back into the bedroom, a huge grin breaking out over his face. "Come on, I really want to give this to you know..."

They tumbled onto the bed, a laugh starting between them.

"This wouldn't happen to be the same sort of gift you gave me before we ate?"

"No... this is the sort of gift I have tucked away in the drawer of the bedside table... Boy, are you beautiful." He sighed, nibbling at his lover's neck.

Illya blushed. "Stop that. No, no, keep kissing me... I mean-- I'm not beautiful."

"What do I have to do to convince you? Describe you as I see you, from the top of your head down to your toes?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Napoleon. I have known you too well for too long." He smiled, pinning the other man to the mattress, arms crossed at the wrist above his head.

"Your hair... is almost every conceivable shade of blond... from near-platinum to soft wheat to dark honey to the golden brown that curls around your ears and at the back of your neck... and it's so soft... touchable."

"Flatterer."

"Oh, shameless." He winked. "But it's all true. Your eyes... deep and blue and gorgeous, and they burn for me alone..."

"Always. Now what can you possibly say about my nose?"

"What couldn't I say about it? It completes your face--"

Illya snorted. "Oh, very suave."

"--perfectly."

"Go on."

He struggled upwards. "It's kissable."

"As is the rest of me, but as soon as I release you, that is all you will do, and I will never get to hear the rest of your praise."

"Ah-ha! So you *are* listening."

"Merely because I find it so amusing." He shrugged.

"You are entirely kissable... your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your chin, your ears... Your neck. Collarbone. Your shoulders, your strong arms, your lean, tautly-muscled body..."

"This is merely a perfunctory list of me."

"You've got cute legs." Napoleon continued, ignoring the protest. "And they're attached to a hot butt. Not to mention a *beautiful*--"

"And now your mind is in the gutter."

"I can't help it. You're straddling me, Illya, you know what that does to me."

He grinned evilly.

"Don't you even wonder what word I was going to use?"

"I know what you were going to say."

"But which word in particular,"

"Is all very well, but here we come to the real test- You said the top of my head down to my toes. You just try and make those sound sexy."

"On you? I couldn't make them otherwise. You know where I like your feet?"

"This had better not be something kinky."

"No!" He scowled lightly. "Seriously."

"At the ends of my ankles?"

"Seriously."

"Where?"

"Down at the end of the bed, next to mine."

Illya complied, stretching out alongside Napoleon, rubbing one foot along the other man's calf.

"Better?"

"Much. If you'd let go of my wrists, I could grab your present."

Illya released him.

---/-/---

To be continued (yes, you have to wait to find out what the prezzie is)

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