~Illya's Birthday~

Illya Kuryakin woke up to find his partner sitting over him, holding his hand.

"This isn't medical..."

"No, I let myself in. Like you did, on my birthday." Napoleon kissed his forehead. "This getting through to you?"

"Oh, right... I hadn't even thought about the date." He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Happy birthday, Illya mine."

"Thank you, Napasha." He smiled, cuddling against the other man's chest. "I think it will be."

"I woke up at four-thirty on June eighteenth-- a day we have off-- to make you pancakes. It had better be a happy birthday." He grinned.

"Pancakes?" Illya brightened. "Now?"

"They'll be ready in a few. The batter's waiting by the stove. I didn't want to make them too soon, because then you'd have cold pancakes. Maple syrup or boysenberry? I brought both."

"Boysenberry." He answered without hesitation. "Napasha, you are *wonderful*."

"No denying it." Napoleon shrugged, beaming. "And I promise to be wonderful today, and tonight, and for the rest of our life."

"Lives, you mean."

"Life." He shook his head. "I don't have one without you."

"Life." Illya ceded. "I'm going to throw something on while you're in the kitchen."

"Okay." He kissed Illya quickly before leaving his side to finish breakfast.

---/-/---

Napoleon loaded the fluffier, better looking pancakes onto Illya's plate, flipping a couple of misshapen ones onto his own, and slathering both helpings with butter. He poured a liberal amount of boysenberry syrup onto his lover's plate, and drowned his own in maple.

Illya hummed to himself, fixing two cups of coffee. He tossed a couple spoonfuls of sugar into his own, but left it dark.

"Is this enough Syrup, 'lyushka?"

"Perfect." He smiled, glancing over. "How do you want your coffee today?"

"Oh, I can fix it, Illya, you don't have to--"

"Please don't be ridiculous, Napoleon. You made me breakfast, it's not any trouble at all for me to make your cup of coffee while I'm making my own. Cream or sugar?"

"A little of both." He shrugged. "Come and sit down, I want to know how you like these."

Illya carried their coffee to the table, scooting his chair over closer to Napoleon's. He cut into the stack and took a large bite. "Mm... if's--" He swallowed. "It's very good. Now, if you will excuse me, conversation will have to wait while I polish these off."

"Be my guest. That's what they're there for."

Breakfast wolfed down, Illya dragged his partner back to his bed. "That was excellent, Napoleon. Now, I assume you have some wicked little plans for me today?"

"Oh, definitely. Some wicked and some not so wicked."

"Ah-ha. And which category does my surprise party fall under?"

Napoleon sighed. "Act surprised?"

"Always."

"I guess spies are just lousy people to throw surprise parties for. Now, as to my other plans for you...?"

"Wicked first."

"As you wish..." He whispered, nuzzling his lover's neck.

---/-/---

Illya smiled over at Napoleon, feeling too happy. The back of his hair was still damp from their shower together that afternoon, when Napoleon had washed his hair for him. He smelled like his partner's aftershave. Several spots on his neck and shoulder were starting to turn purple-ish from being sucked on vigorously in bed. Every fibre of his being sang out his love for Napoleon, and he had to keep telling those fibres to keep it down before the whole room heard.

The so-called surprise party-- he didn't think any section two agent had ever really been surprised by one-- was being held at Napoleon's apartment, which only served to further remind Illya of what it was he was supressing a reaction to.

"And now, the piece de resistance-- the cake. Chocolate. With cherries baked into it, and fudge icing." April announced, flicking off the lights.

Lisa carried the cake into the room, met by a smattering of applause and some 'ooh'-ing sounds. The whole room burst into 'Happy Birthday', some of them managing to stay on-key.

Illya blew out the candle-- instead of trying to arrange one for each year of his life, Napoleon had suggested placing just one in the center-- and the crowd clapped again.

"You made a wish, right?" April asked.

He nodded, smiling somewhat foolishly. It was most definitely the happiest birthday he'd ever had.

"Well, don't let her worm it out of you." Mark smiled. "Only works if you don't tell anyone, you know."

Of course, he knew he'd be getting what he wanted. In fact, what he wanted was squeezing onto the couch to sit next to him.

"Open mine first." Napoleon insisted.

Unable now to keep from grinning, he did so, revealing a set of two podstakanniki.

"What is it?" A voice from the back of the group asked.

"Tea glass holders." Illya traced the intricately carved design on one of them, turning it over in his hands. "These are beautiful... but they must have been expensive!"

"Not nearly as expensive as I thought they'd be." Napoleon shrugged. "Actually, I was quite surprised. They were very affordable for being so handsomely made."

"I've never owned anything nearly so nice... well, hardly anything." He amended, sparing the ring on his finger a fleeting glance. "Everything else will look so out of place next to them."

"They came with glasses, but I was afraid of breaking them. They're back in my closet, I figured I'd take them over to your place some other time."

Illya nodded. "Whenever it is convenient. For now... well, just looking at them, it's-- they are beautiful pieces."

"Hey, I think it's time Illya owned some more nice things." April suggested, handing over a package. "Mark and I picked this up."

A small tag read 'fragile', and he opened it carefully. Inside was a porcelain coffeepot, which elicited a soft gasp from its recipient.

"Do you like it?" She grinned expectantly.

"How on earth did you get this? The only times I have ever seen pieces like this, they belonged to very important people..."

"Well, you know." Mark leaned in, enjoying his friend's pleased reaction. "I mean, missions take you over to parts of the world where they make gorgeous things that most people never see, but it's not like it was outrageously expensive. Well, not when we combined our American money, anyway."

"And you *are* a very important person." April chimed in again, squeezing his shoulder.

"Mm, quite." Waverly nodded, passing yet another gift over."

"Thank you, April, Mark. Thank you, Sir." He nodded to each of his friends in turn, opening the latest, a crystal ice bucket filled with oddly shaped glasses, bulbous at the bottom and stemming upwards. "Oh, it's wonderful!"

"What, ah, is it?" Napoleon whispered.

"It keeps drinks chilled in the glasses." He answered, accepting a couple more packages. From the secretarial group, he received some nice linens, and from the boys in the lab, a very high-tech camera with various lenses and attatchments.

"So you can play around with it when you're not being ordered to use one." One of them supplied. "Also, if you wanted to tinker with it and make improvements, it would be okay."

"It takes photographs in the dark?"

"Yeah, and it's got a distance of--"

Napoleon watched the highly technical discussion of the new toy-- apparently very new, with many features as yet unavailable to the other agents-- without paying attention to what was being said. His partner understood, which was all that was really important. And apparently, it was something Illya wanted, not just as a tool, but as something he could play with. Napoleon smiled, resisting the urge to ruffle his blond's hair.

"So that'll be great for taking vacation pictures, eh?"

"With this, I could take other people's vacation pictures." Illya answered triumphantly. "I could take vacation pictures of the next town over!"

---/-/---

Illya had stayed-- presumably to help clean up after his party-- and now he was happily ensconced in Napoleon's arms.

"So was it a happy birthday?"

"Wonderfully happy." He sighed, resting his cheek against Napoleon's shoulder. "Thank you."

"Thank you." Napoleon whispered. "You make everything worhtwhile, lyubov."

"Mm... I don't feel like I could move from this spot..."

"Not even just down the hall to my nice, big bed?" He coaxed, blowing softly on the shell of Illya's ear.

Illya moaned quietly, turning his face to bury it against Napoleon's neck. "Nyet. Here, I am perfectly content."

Napoleon swept an arm under the backs of Illya's knees and stood, his lover still held firmly in his arms. He then proceeded to carry the mildly protesting Russian back to the master bedroom, where he deposited him on the bed.

"I'm not being presumptious, am I?"

"Nyet." Illya sighed, stretching out on his back. "Here, I am just as content. Moreso, even, if you intend to ravish me." He grinned, crooking a finger at his partner.

Napoleon accepted the invitation without hesitating, pouncing on the smaller man and kissing him passionately.

Illya was slowly divested of clothing, every inch of his body gently kissed and nibbled and thoroughly loved. Napoleon turned him carefully so as not to miss any spot, front or back. He lingered no longer on any proven sensitive spots, keeping the same pace even as he reached Illya's erection, which he left swollen and weeping, moving to taste every last hidden place between his partner's thighs before moving down his legs.

Illya found enough presence of mind to speak, though he only got to words out at first. "Not feet."

"No?"

Time to try again, though he didn't feel he could justly articulate his reasons and desires. He just wanted Napoleon, darn it. His feet didn't care one way or another, they weren't an erogenous zone. Besides, he'd been on them earlier, and wasn't sure he wanted them licked... All the parts that wanted Napoleon were above the ankle, though, and they were impatient.

"Nyet... vozvrashatsya."

Napoleon shrugged, pulling himself level with Illya. "Okay. Not feet."

Another slow-burning kiss crushed between them, and Napoleon's next question was transmitted through touch, directly from mouth to mouth, where Illya answered it in kind.

How do you want me?

I only want you.

Again, more insistent, the kiss begged the question. How do you want me?

Again, fiercely, Illya kissed him back. I only want you.

How, asked by a hand cupping the back of his head, fingers winding gently in the dark gold curls beneath paler blond silk.

You, an answering caress against a love-fevered cheek.

A softening of technique on Napoleon's part. What do you want me to do?

A sub-vocal whimper and a firmer grip on Illya's part. Just love me.

Napoleon pulled back until he was just barely nipping at Illya's lower lip. Their chests brushed with each heavy breath, but aside from where they held hands, contact between them was light.

Lead.

Illya pulled him back down, rolling their bodies so that they lay side by side, touching everywhere touch was possible.

Yes.

Breathing grew ragged, kisses became frantic. Thoughts were jumbled, coming in bursts of sensation more than in any coherent form. Wet heat spread over Illya's abdomen, over Napoleon's. Even if they had been in any sort of mood to question who came first, neither man could have said for certain. Napoleon tasted the mixed white fluid gingerly, but seemed to forget about it and all else quickly as sleep overcame them both.

They curled around each other, one hand pulling blankets up over their bodies. Whose hand was, again, open to debate, for neither remembered later the difference between them in that moment.

---/-/---

~FIN~

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