Ilya was glad there was some iced tea left; even though it was tepid, it was still wet.  The doctor wanted
              him to go over every detail of his newly-returned memories, examining everything he felt about them.  She
              wanted to know exactly how he felt about Napoleon, why he had let the man kiss him, how he had felt
              before, during, and after the kiss.  When had he started thinking about Phillips; before or after he’d noticed
              his partner’s erection?  She also wanted to know how he felt about John.  Had John tried to kiss him, or
              made any sexual advances, and if so, did his actions trigger the same reaction Ilya had felt when Napoleon
              had kissed him?

              He felt he would talk himself hoarse going over the minutiae of his memories and feelings, but he
              understood why the doctor wanted him to examine everything in such detail.  Putting everything out where
              he could look at it thoroughly made the worst of the memories easier to face, and he needed to face the
              horrors of his ordeal to overcome them.  He needed to look at his feelings, too, since they gave him clues to
              how well he was progressing.

              She told him she was very encouraged at the progress he was making, even if it seemed to him he’d never
              be free of Phillips’ influence.  She also told him to stop feeling guilty about any deaths his confession might
              have caused; it was Phillips who’d used the information and Phillips who’d caused those deaths, not
              him.  He told her he’d have to give that theory some more thought.  She told him to do that and they’d go
              over it again during their next session.

              Shortly after she left, John came in with lunch for them both.  As they were eating, he said, “I asked the
              doctor to gather up her case notes and give them to Alex so he can pass them on to whoever will be taking
              over your therapy in UNCLE’s Medical Section.”

              Ilya looked up from his meal.  “When was it decided I would be returning to New York?”

              “The minute Alex confirmed you were still alive, I suspect,” John answered. “You surely didn’t think he
              was going to come all this way to personally retrieve you and then leave empty-handed?”

              “I . . . suppose not,” he said.  “I just never really thought about before.” He reached out and took his lover’s
              hand.  “I don’t want to leave you.”

              “And I will be saddened to see you go as well,” he said, taking the hand that held his and bring it up to his
              lips to gently kiss it, “but it’s what you need, and deep inside yourself it’s what you truly want.”

              “But I want you, too,” he argued.

              “My little snowflake,” he replied, “New York is full of people; you hardly need to tie yourself to a man
              twice your age.  You’ll be fine once you have a little more therapy and start back to work.”

              “I won’t be able to do field work as long as the KGB has me under sanction,” Ilya pointed out.  “I might not
              even make it back to New York alive; they lost 6 agents, and for that kind of thing heads literally roll.”

              “I’ve been thinking about that, and I think I can work something out with the Kremlin,” John
              mused.  “They’re not above trading ‘considerations’ for technology, especially something they could use in
              their space program.”  He smiled at the younger man as he gathered up the tray to return it to the kitchen.

              John spent the afternoon getting in touch with certain people and arranging certain things, unaware he would
              soon have something much better to trade.

              That night when he slipped into bed, his snowflake had a request: “Make love to me; warm and slow and
              tender, so I can have the memory when I’m back in New York.  No questions,” he said, putting his fingers
              across John’s lips to stop him.  “If I feel anything uncomfortable, I’ll tell you.  I don’t want anything except
              moans of pleasure coming out of your mouth for the rest of the night.”  The older man smiled and nodded,
              kissing the fingers against his lips.

              He decided since the fingers were there he might as well start with them. He drew his lover’s thumb into
              his mouth and sucked gently, moving on to the rest of the fingers in turn.  Lapping at his palm.  Kisses across
              the back of his hand.  Up his forearm to the elbow, pausing to kiss and lick the inside.  Further up his arm to
              the armpit, which he nuzzled for the sweet aroma of Ilya.  Nibbling his way across his shoulder and up his
              neck to his earlobe, which he gently sucked.  Kissing his way to his full, soft lips, which he covered with
              his own.  His tongue flicked across the lips beneath his, asking permission to enter.  Ilya’s lips parted,
              allowing John’s tongue inside to explore as it would, while his tongue did its own explorations.

              His tongue wasn’t the only thing exploring.  Ilya’s hands were moving across his lover’s skin, pausing to
              caress sensitive areas.  Nipples.  The small of his back.  Up his spine and down his flanks.  Low on his
              belly, just inside his hip bones.  One set of his fingers toyed with his pubic hair while the other traced the
              cleft of his ass.  John moaned and bucked his hips, trying to make the fingers move to more sensitive areas.

              John worked his way to Ilya’s groin with almost painful slowness, kissing, licking, and nibbling his torso
              and limbs.  He paid special attention to those areas which caressing provoked moans, gasps, or other
              reactions.  He wet his lips and locked them on the inside of his lover’s thigh, sucking hard to produce the
              biggest hickey he could.  Ilya yelped and tried to break the suction with no success.

              Satisfied with his efforts, he let go and gently licked and kissed the abused flesh.  Then he moved on to the
              best part.  He gave his lover’s cock and balls a thorough tongue bath, pushing his knees up to include his
              perineum and anus.  He was making incoherent but pleased noises by the time John kissed his way up his
              penis to lick away the fluid leaking from it and wrap his lips around the tip.  Slowly working his way down
              to the base swallowing a scant inch at a time.  Pulling back to the tip and sucking down the length of
              it.  Slowly making love to it with his lips and tongue, wanting it to last as long as he could make it.  Finally
              granting his begging, sobbing lover his wish, finishing him off while his snowflake howled in passion and
              swallowing every sweet, salty drop.

              While Ilya caught his breath, his lover moved up beside him and took him in his arms.  He kissed him
              thoroughly and then rolled them both over.  He decided a limp, sated Ilya was the best blanket he’d ever
              had.  He was certainly something fun to run your hands over.  A few minutes later his “blanket” had
              recovered, and promptly attacked him.  Starting at his collar bones, he kissed, nibbled, and licked his way
              to John’s groin, giving as good as he’d received.  Soon it was he who was making incoherent noises as Ilya
              showed him how good a student he was.  He never ceased to marvel at how his snowflake could swallow
              him to the base without either choking or smothering.  How DID the man breathe with 10” of cock down his
              throat?  It was his last coherent thought as his lover worked his magic.  Soon he was howling as he came,
              and Ilya was sucking down his seed like sweetest nectar.

              They lay there together for a time, sated and resting, softly touching each other.  John noticed his snowflake
              looked rather pensive and asked what he was thinking.

              “You’ll think it’s silly,” he replied.

              “Not if I don’t know what it is.  Please tell me.”

              “I’m . . . small.”  He touched himself.  “Compared to you.”

              “You are NOT small!  I told you before, I’m an ‘elephant’.  It’s why I’m always so careful and slow when I
              enter you.  I’m terrified I’ll hurt you with that monster.”  He reached down and started fondling Ilya’s
              cock.  “I’m half a foot taller than you, so I’m just bigger everywhere.  Your 7” is more than adequate for
              whatever you want to do with it.”  He kissed him.  “Even if you wanted to make love to me with it.”

              He felt the cock in his hand jump, and smiled.  Kisses and touches developed a sense of urgency as both
              men signaled their desire to do this new thing. He let Ilya take the lead, only guiding him if he asked a
              question.  He soon learned he’d never been inside another man, and only in a woman a few times, “as duty
              required.  But that’s mostly Napoleon’s job.”  So he showed him how to prepare a man to be entered,
              lubricating Ilya’s fingers and sliding them, first one and then two and finally three, into his anus and moving
              them to stretch himself.  He showed his lover by touch where his prostate was, and softly moaned as his
              snowflake stroked him there to confirm he had the right spot.

              Then Ilya was kneeling between his thighs with his slick, rock-hard cock pressed against his opening.  He
              slowly pushed into him, past his sphincter and inside him.  John moaned as he was slowly filled with cock
              and gasped as it brushed his prostate.  He enjoyed being filled as much or more than being inside another,
              and being a submissive “bottom” didn’t bother him in the least.

              Ilya discovered he liked the tightness of John’s hot channel; it was a different sensation altogether from
              being inside a woman or a mouth.  He started to move and found he enjoyed the control being a “top” gave
              him.  He shifted a little, and heard his lover cry out as he nailed his prostate directly several times.  He
              speeded up as he realized he was nearing his release, and he felt John take one of his hands and wrap it
              around his erection.  “Make me come for you,” he gasped as he stroked himself with his hand.  Ilya
              tightened his grip and matched his strokes with his thrusts as best he could until the body beneath him
              spasmed as John came, screaming out Ilya's name and spurting semen over both their bodies.  The muscles
              contracting around him caused him to come harder than he ever had, and his scream of pleasure echoed his
              lover's.

              In that moment of bliss and loss of control, John let slip the words he’d promised he would never
              speak:  “Oh, yes, my love,” he whispered.