Napoleon set the bags down and signed the guest register. Meanwhile, Illya surveyed the bed and breakfast through the windows of the main office.

The Shangri-La was made up of several small, round cabins, connected by a wooden walkway that never made a straight path from one place to another. In the front, there was a glass gazebo, and in the back there was a beautiful Japanese zen garden and koi pond. To one side, there was a spa, a regular wooden gazebo, and between the two, a totem pole.

A small older woman came hiking up to the main office. "Sorry to keep you gentlemen waiting!" She said cheerily, wiping her hands on an apron.

"No trouble at all." Napoleon smiled.

"Let me just say, we're very glad to have the guru staying here. Most of our clients embrace eastern spiritual paths. Oh, here's your key. I'll show you to your cabin."

As they left, a little point cat with a bent tail rubbed up against Illya's ankles, and he crouched down to scratch behind it's dark ears and down it's lighter back.

"This way," the proprietress motioned. "And you'll feel free to use the meditation gazebo whenever you like-- provided it's not being used, of course. And the zen garden is very relaxing as well."

"And the, ah, hot tub?"

"The spa." She nodded. "Of course, we couldn't afford to have a big one like a larger resort might, but we make do just fine, I think. It's open, too. Well, here you go. I'll let you boys unpack. Dinners are often served over there." She pointed to a deck with several picnic tables. "Seven o'clock, or you're fending for yourselves."

Napoleon set down their luggage and unlocked the door, but before he opened it, the woman doubled back.

"Oh, and don't worry about the dog. He's friendly."

Illya swallowed. "The-- dog?"

"Niko. But he's a sweetheart. Wouldn't hurt a fly." She waved in the direction of a large doghouse. And then she was off again.

The two agents performed their usual security checks, sweeping the room for any bugs.

"Waverly never said anything about dogs when he handed us this assignment."

"Oh, don't worry about it. She said it was harmless. Hey... what do you say we--"

"We should unpack, then."

Napoleon glared at the suitcases, as though they personally had interfered with his love life.

"Illya, did you, ah, notice something... about our cabin?"

"No. The room was clean."

"I meant, as in just one bed?"

"Ah, but that chair folds out."

"Right." He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a little tense. "But we wont be using it, will we?"

"Don't be silly? Why should we? We've slept together even before we started, you know, sleeping together."

"Good." Napoleon leered, backing his partner against the wall by the bed. "Now, as I was saying... what do you say we save the unpacking for later, break in that one bed...?"

Illya sighed. "Really, Napoleon. Do you think of nothing else?"

"You know the wonderful thing about that robe?" He asked, fingering the guazy white material of Illya's disguise.

"I have a feeling you'll be coming up with one I've not heard before."

"It's so easy to get you out of..." He purred.

"Did you pack--"

"In my shaving kit."

Illya turned around, rummaging through what had been a very orderly suitcase until he came up with the lotion. When he turned around, Napoleon had flopped down onto the bed, face-first.

"I think you're a bit overdressed for the occasion."

"You'd better undress me, then." Napoleon mumbled half-into the pillow. He made no move to assist.

With another exasperated but loving sigh, Illya knelt on the edge of the bed, reaching around to loosen the other man's tie. "You want to make this go any quicker?"

Napoleon raised himself up on his forearms, allowing Illya to unbutton his shirt. When it was open, he dropped back down and lifted his hips. His belt was unbuckled quickly, and his trousers and boxers yanked down his legs with alacrity. For a while, they stayed like that, naked and unmoving. Finally, Napoleon broke the silence.

"Will you?"

Illya nodded dumbly, before realizing that in their current positions, Napoleon could not see him.

"Illya?"

"Yes." He breathed.

He knelt between his partner's legs. The thing that took his breath away wasn't that Napoleon was letting him do this, but that Napoleon *wanted* him to do this. When they had first become lovers, it was with caresses, fondling and groping that often led to completion. Then they had progressed to going down on each other, and then Napoleon had taken him.

Illya had assumed that this was the way it was always going to be, and he was fine with it, because he was not a virgin with men, and he knew Napoleon loved him, would be good to him. And because Napoleon had only ever really been with women, and was used to taking the dominant position, no pun intended. But when Illya had suggested it, half-fearing rejection, Napoleon had accepted. And apparently it was good for both of them, because he was being asked to do it again. And Illya wanted nothing more than to please Napoleon, especially when lovemaking was involved.

He began by kissing his way from the base of Napoleon's spine to the base of his neck. He then left love bites across his partner's shoulders, followed that by brushing soft, fluttering kisses over each scar, a part of his mind remembering the fact that the man responsible for such-and-such a mark was dead, or that the hand which committed such-and-such a flogging would never move again, and that if the perpetrators of the earlier beatings, before they had been partners, still lived, Illya would learn their identities, and he would kill them. But tonight, he had other matters to attend to...

His way sufficiently prepared, he slid into Napoleon, his breath coming out in a hiss of pleasure. Illya's right hand held fast to Napoleon's, their fingers interwoven. His right wormed its way under the body beneath his, to first tweak one nipple-- if done too early on, Napoleon was ambivilent to any attention lavished upon his nipples, but once he was aroused, he was receptive to a number of touches which otherwise left him lukewarm. Illya had been careful to catalogue many such touches already-- and then to the more sensitive ticklish spot along his ribs, just a few inches down and over. Their heads were angled just so, allowing awkward kisses to pass between them.

Napoleon let out a whimpering moan, bucking back against Illya. His grip on his lover's hand tightened, and he craned his neck further, so that their lips could fuse perfectly, and when he came, his shouts were muffled by Illya's mouth, so that no one walking past would hear.

Illya collapsed, spent and boneless, half on and half off of Napoleon's body. He moved to withdraw his now-limp member, when an arm twisted up, a hand catching him.

"Not yet... don't move yet..."

He nodded, again forgetting that Napoleon could not see him, and dropped back down, a living blanket.

"I love you."

"Love you... mm, you're warm."

"You're pretty warm, yourself." Napoleon chuckled, snuggling up against Illya.

They fell asleep, still connected, in their bed.

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