Illya settled down in front of Napoleon's fireplace, a mug cupped between his hands. Napoleon was next to him, their shoulders touching. The radio was playing Christmas carols, and the windows were covered in feathers of frost.

The perfect romantic first-ever-Christmas-in-America.

Except that it wasn't.

Romantic.

It was Napoleon.

And Napoleon liked women.

Illya sighed.

Napoleon picked up on it. "Something wrong, tovarishch?"

"What? Oh, no, just..."

"Tired?"

"Not too tired." He shook his head, offering a slight smile. The dinner Napoleon had served him had been at least as large as what they had for Thanksgiving, and being full did tend to push one towards the sleepy side, but sleep wasn't what was on Illya Kuryakin's mind.

"Well, it's still Christmas, so don't go getting melancholy quite yet. Have you even touched your eggnog yet?"

Illya raised the mug to his lips, tasting a little. It was too sweet, but he didn't complain.

"Here," Napoleon pulled Illya's hands towards him.

The reason for this, Illya was not exactly happy to note, was access to the eggnog, which Napoleon poured a shot of brandy into.

"Try it."

Illya obeyed. The liquor cut down on the thick, sweet quality, and even though it wasn't his usual taste, it was rather good. And it made him feel a little warmer inside.

Then again, sitting so close to Napoleon had done that.

Perhaps too well.

"Hey, I got you a present." Napoleon said excitedly, rising to his knees.

"Oh, Napoleon, you didn't-- I mean, you shouldn't--"

"Come on, it's under the tree!"

The American was off like a shot, to the other corner of the living room. Illya followed, watching as Napoleon searched out the correct package. They met under the hanging light fixture.

That's when everything fell to pieces in Illya's structured little internalized world. Napoleon glanced up, then at Illya. And then he kissed him.

It was nice.

Not great, of course, not deep and long and hot and wet. But nice.

Soft and unhurried and warm and with Napoleon's lips just a little moist and only slightly parted...

The room spun as they parted. Napoleon was blushing-- something Illya couldn't remember ever seeing his normally-suave partner do.

"Illya, I-- geez, I'm sorry, Illya... I wasn't thinking. It was just, you and I, mistletoe... I must have forgotten who it was I was about to kiss and I just did. You-- you're not too mad, are you? You'll forgive me?"

"Mad, I-- No, Napoleon, of course I forgive you. I mean, there is nothing to forgive. It is-- one of your American traditions. And after all, you promised I would learn about all of them, and really there was no harm done." He rambled, hoping Napoleon would shut him up soon.

Preferably with another kiss...

"Ah, Illya? Perhaps we should move...?"

Illya looked back up to the mistletoe, shrugged, and kissed both of Napoleon's cheeks before heading back to the fire.

Napoleon trailed behind him, still holding the gift.

All in all, for a first Christmas, it was a merry one.

~FIN~