Napoleon repeated his daily ritual of checking the hollow chair leg for further missives from his partner. And as he had just left one for Illya-- the fake book had been Poe-- he found a response.

'Napoleon,' It began normally enough. Like any other letter he might recieve. But he knew it wasn't, and that was enough to make his stomach flutter.

'I want you.' Rather straightforward. Then again, Illya wasn't one to pussyfoot around the important issues.

'Tonight, if at all possible.' Napoleon smiled. He would make sure it was possible.

'I'm afraid this letter isn't quite as... demonstrative as the last,' Ah, well. He could live with the minor disappointment, though he had been looking forward to another play-by-play of just what it was Illya wanted from him.

'but since I wanted much the same thing, I decided not to waste the ink on smut.' Silly Russian, smut isn't a waste of ink.

'I will spend a little time on sentiment, however.' Giving into his sentimental side? Napoleon was going to have to save this letter for, oh, let's say eternity.

'I love you.' He smiled to himself, imagining the softly-accented voice wrapping itself around those syllables.

'These little words are inadequate, they don't express the depth of my feelings, but I don't know what else to tell you.' At this, Napoleon melted. He blinked back a tear and kept reading.

'You are the most important part of my life, Napoleon, and you deserve to be told this more often than I can ever tell you.' This time, the tear rolled down his cheek. What he read was not what he had initially expected, but he wouldn't trade it in for anything.

'It's a pity that we have to live like this, but the time we spend together more than makes any sneaking around worth it.' Which had been Napoleon's sentiments exactly. As much as he would really *like* to shout his love from the rooftops, it just wouldn't be a smart move.

'All my love, Illya' He traced over the name with one finger, thoughts drifting ever-more persistently towards thoughts of the man who bore it.

'PS- I meant it about needing you. Tonight. And you know how I get when I am disappointed.' Napoleon laughed. He definitely would not be upsetting the Russian anytime soon, if he could possibly avoid it. The consequences would be far from pleasant.

Just as he had folded the letter and was about to slip it into his chest pocket, his communicator intoned.

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