The long low steps were covered in a late Winter snow, the large glass doors folded slightly back above the terrace let the drift of classical music wash over the pristine scene of the well kept gardens.  Couples in formal attire danced and whirled across the floor, the myriad colors of feathers and expensive cloth pervading the  atmosphere.  Morning suited waiters tottered with trays of champagne and canapés and again the laughter rang out, loud and merry.

Illya sat on the step, the snow falling lightly about his shoulders and a bottle of vodka in his hand, half consumed.  His jacket open and his bowtie and shirt undone.  He rubbed a hand over his face feeling the stubble there.  He had never been terribly good at cocktail parties and could not now seem to remember why he had let Napoleon talk him into this one.

 Ah yes, the invitation had been a present on the successful climax to a case.  The Ambassador had gotten into a terribly sticky situation and the UNCLE agents with efficiency had extricated him from it, saving his daughter, his sanity and his position in one fell swoop.  With typical aplomb he had thanked them for their gracious offer and muttered imprecations about it being his job and happy new year.  Napoleon, who always loved a good party was entranced with the idea.  Illya had left him talking animatedly as he headed back to the car.
 

The bottle made the short trip back to h is lips again as he looked about the icy world, tiny lights had been strung in the trees and several revelers ran amok, playing like children with snowballs and hide and seek.  He closed his eyes.

He felt a hand close over his shoulder only to be pulled away quickly.

“Your soaked.” Came the familiar American voice.

“Why aren’t you dancing with the princess?” his voice sounded tired and resolute as he did not even look up at his companion.

Solo laughed a low deep rumble in his chest as he sat next to his partner on the wet step. “Something to do with a  bodyguard and fiancé.” He perched his elbows on his knees and looked sideways at his partner.

“Ah.” Illya sighed again lifting the bottle of vodka to his lips.

“Your unhappy.” Solo offered at length.

“No. Not really, Napoleon.”

“This is certainly not the face of a happy man, I should never have bullied you into coming.” Napoleon’s voice held a slight waver, a guilty note.

“Oh it’s alright, you said so yourself that I needed to get out more.” The sarcasm was not lost on the American and again he winced.

“You know I have never seen you drunk before.” Napoleon was saying.  There was  a new note in his voice something that brought the Russian up short looking for the first time at his partner, squatting in the ice on the step. He smiled, draining the bottle.

“Unfortunately I am not drunk.” He tossed the bottle to one side and leant back, his elbows digging into the snow, melting through the thin layers of fabric.

Napoleon reached into his tuxedo and pulled out a long flat box and turned it over in his fingers.  Illya knew the crest on the top and frowned.  When did he get so serious about that blond girl to be buying her jewelry?  Ah now that would account for it, he winced to himself.  Since he still held the box, Illya reasoned that the affair was over, certainly only minutes to the new year and being a hopeless romantic Solo would not have been able not to bestow his gift.  Instead he sat out here in the snow with a  recalcitrant Russian who did not know how to relax enough to have a good time.  He sighed and Napoleon looked  up, his fingers stilling on the item.

“I suggest you find Barbara before the clock strikes 12 Napoleon.”

Solo frowned slightly, “She’s left.”

“Ah I am sorry.”

“Why?” Napoleon followed the path of Illya’s incredibly blue eyes to the box in his hand and he smiled. “Oh I see, no its ah.” He leaned back almost casually tossing the gift across., “Its actually for you.  I bought it for your birthday.”

Illya frowned, “My birthday is months away.” He took the box up in long fingers.

“Last birthday, just didn’t have the nerve to give it to you.” Napoleon laughed nervously and Illya studied the usually elegant man before him, curiosity outweighing all other emotions at this point.

“Why?Does it explode?” he shook the box gently and smiled, his tone light and teasing.

“No.” Napoleon looked at the couples playing, at the ground, in fact anywhere but at his partner, he held his breath as he heard the top snap open and Illya drew a deep sigh.

“It’s beautiful.” Napoleon turned to look at his friend , his partner and saw the light shine in too bright blue eyes.  He lifted the heavy gold chain from the box and turned it over in his hand, the solid bar inscribed with his name.

“There’s an inscription underneath.” Napoleon looked away again. “Not overly original I am afraid.”

Illya screwed his eyes up and peered at the inscription, it was in Russian and said simply, “Tovarisch”.  Illya swallowed quickly to cover his emotions and reached his hand towards his partner.

“I don’t deserve it Napoleon.”

“I’d give you anything you asked for Illya, you should know that by now.” He answered whilst doing up the clip on the bracelet about his friends wrist.

“Anything?”  Illya’s breathless response made the American shudder as the hand reached his shoulder.

“Yes, anything.”  The blond  leant forward, his lips finding the cold ear lobe before him and blowing softly across it smiled broadly as he felt the American arch back into the touch.

“Are you sure?” Illya asked again, his fingers tracing down the straight back stopping to press lightly at tense muscles.

“Are you teasing me?” the response plaintive.

“No.”  Illya stood brushing the snow from h is shoulders and shivered, yet the cold had little to do with it.  He reached down and offered his hand to the American, who took it and stood up. “this is not the time or the place Napoleon.”

The American frowned as he brushed himself down. “I knew it was too good to be true.” He said softly.

Illya laughed, a softening about the deep blue eyes, a tiny wrinkle at the corner of his mouth and Napoleon moaned softly. “I simply meant that it is a little to cold and public even for my tastes.” Illya remarked.

“It’s only 20 minutes home.” Napoleon walked forward reaching out a hand to touch the soft pale cheek before him.

“Well then, you had better drive, I don’t think I can.” Illya answered smiling and leaning into the caress.

The New Year rang out, just as they made the car, Napoleon gunned the engine and snow crunched as he headed down the driveway.  The American, who usually exhibited patience in abundance,  never realized that 20 minutes was such a long time to wait.  He tooled the car easily into his underground security park of the high-rise apartment block he called home.  Turning the engine off he looked over at Illya who had remained quiet during the drive home, the long wheat colored eye lashes resting easily on his cheeks.

“Illya?” a hand moved of its own volition and caressed the hand on the steering wheel without looking up. The blond smiled, opened the car door and hopped out, leaving the American to trail in his wake as they made the lifts.
 

Napoleon opened the door to his apartment, the wood fire though unattended and glowing softly kept  the lounge room a temperate climate as he threw his keys onto the table top and headed for the drinks dispenser.

A cold hand stilled his as he poured a measure of scotch into the glass.  Solo heart leapt as he turned around to look at Illya, the downcast eyes, the softest of touches upon the hand and his lips, oh god his lips burning into the cold flesh of his throat, it was all Napoleon could do to not swoon.  The Russian caught his chin in his hand steadying the Americans face as he leaned in to the kiss.  His lips parted, licking at the corner of Napoleons mouth, tracing the fine edge of his lips and flicking his tongue in to explore the soft warm depths.  Napoleon’s hands shook as he reached forward to gently cradle the blond head, holding it trapped to his lips.

Illya pulled back his hands resting on the thin cloth of the brunette’s shirt. “Are you sure Napoleon?” the voice soft, the sweet Russian accent lulling him as he enclosed strong arms about the slender form.

“Oh yes Illya, of this I am very sure.”

The Russian looked quizzically up into dark brown eyes, “You never said anything before milok.”

To this Solo smiled ruefully, “Thought you would kill me.”

Illya reached up and kissed the American very thoroughly again, his tongue darting into the soft mouth, exploring over the teeth and tongue, pulling back slightly to run his own teeth over the swelling lips.  His hands not still either had effectively stripped the American of his jacket and shirt and went to work on the loops of his belt.

Pulling the zipper down he felt Solo’s erection through the layers of soft cloth push against him as his own fingers scratched lightly through the fabric, rocking slowly.  The American groaned arching into the touch his eyes misting.  He reached down and stilled the tormenting hand and looked into glazed blue eyes.

The American’s long fingers found the buttons on the morning shirt and with deft strokes undid them touching and stroking the soft pale skin beneath.  Illya’s breathing quickened as the warm hands laid flat against his chest and began to toy with the erect nipples.

“Your soaked through.” The American whispered.  With economical and deft movements he stripped the man before him, reaching down to push the sodden pants out of the way and wrapping him in warm dry arms.  He stroked the back of the blonds neck, his hands making lazy circles towards the firm round buttocks.

Illya began to nibble at his partner’s neck sucking he skin at the sensitive junction between neck and collarbone.  He raked his teeth over the spot, laving at it a moment later with a warm tongue.  It was Napoleon’s turn to shudder and pulling the Russian with him he moved towards the fire, finally sinking down onto the thick rug.  The embers glowing softly Napoleon pushed in another log and closed the door waiting for the sparks to ignite the dry kindling.

The Russian crouched behind him, long fingers curling about his chest, feeling the hard ridge plains down towards the evidence of his arousal.  They carded through the dark pubic hair, all the while careful not to touch the now weeping erection.

With a growl low in his throat, Napoleon turned around pining the blond to the floor and kissing him again, his body slightly off to one side as he nibbled and licked the length of the now writhing form.  He took each nipple in turn into his mouth and sucked, Illya moaned and arched up, like a solitary dancer on the wings of ecstasy  he pulled the tormenting mouth down and held it firm.  Napoleon took the hands from his head with a sharp nip to the sensitive flesh and pinned him down again, his lips trailing down to the thatch of soft pale hair.

The Russian shuddered and moaned as a gust of hot air was blown across the sensitized flesh of his cock.  Napoleon paused just long enough to make sure he had the blonds attention and keeping eye contact took the throbbing shaft in one long stroke down his throat.  The satin skin rubbing against the hard muscle was encased in hot moisture, Napoleon held the thrashing hips down and sucked, his tongue swirling under the glans and swallowing the musk of his lover.  Moving off completely to lay between his legs Napoleon sent a cautious finger to fondle and cradle the testicles.

Illya panted, his hips jerking his lips parted and a long slow moan escaped.  His hands searching for the devouring face frantically pulling at the dark head to reposition it above his straining flesh.

“Please Napoleon,” he begged quietly.

Solo looked up a fire alight in his dark eyes as he knelt between his partners legs. “Please?” he cocked his head to one side and looked down a curious mixture of love and lust battled for dominance across his handsom features.  Illya gasped again and reached up, his knees bending and exposing the aching void of his body.

Napoleon bent down, his hot probing tongue licking the pre-cum from the rosy shaft before him, and then further down to the testicles and finally pushing past the tight ring of muscle and into the sweet Russian body. All control snapped as the tongue laved at his anus, he bucked and moaned and cried out as it was withdrawn.

The American brought his fingers to his lips and wetting them pushed back against the tight opening loosening his lover ready to accept him.

“Please, oh god yes…” Illya moaned.

“You want me to make love to you?”  Solo’s face was close to the Russian’s, his body doubled over with his knees resting on the big American’s shoulders.  Solo leaned down and licked the side of the pale neck, pausing long enough to notice the rapidity  of the pulse, his lips captured those below him as he replaced his fingers with his thick long cock, rocking slowly in as Illya arched taking all he could into himself in one thrust.  He cried out, tears streaming down his face at the intensity of the impact, his hand pulling the American further into him as he ground his body against the smooth satin flesh, his cock hot and throbbing.

Napoleon pulled out till just the very tip of his cock rested inside the dark hot channel, Illya cried out again.

“Oh god, yes, please, more.” His voice hoarse with emotion and hollow with need, Napoleon pushed in again and withdrew finding the rhythm and finally pounding into the tight hot flesh.  Illya arched his back desperately trying to rub is aching erection against the satin smooth skin before him and cried out when the position would not allow it.

Napoleon took one of the Russians  hands in his own and licking across the palm positioned it on his own straining flesh.

“Let me feel you come.” He whispered.  Illya ran a knowing hand down the length of his shaft, pausing for a moment to fondle the weeping crown as Napoleon watched transfixed on the sensuality exuded from his cool Russian friend.

Unable to hold back any longer he began to pump in earnest, his cock making several passes to the Russians over sensitive prostate.  Illya shuddered with his own impending orgasm and Napoleon put his back into pounding the body before him.

The tight anal muscles contracted as Illya sent his seed across his body, the ripples tearing the climax from Solos body and throat and with a final jerk and shudder he came, filling Illya with long slow pulses of semen.  He held up looking down into blue eyes,  slowly releasing the legs before him and sending a gentle hand to smooth away the stray blond curls from the high forehead.

Illya sighed as he felt Napoleon slowly slip from his body and was gathered into the strong arms before him, rocking slowly holding him safe.  He rested his face against the broad chest listening to the heart return to a normal rhythm.

Solo kissed the top of the head before him and whispered softly, “Happy New Year.”

Illya laughed softly, Napoleon had never known the cool blond to make such a happy and spontaneous sound, a soft rumble as he cuddled in closer before the fire.

“Yes,” he finally said, kissing the flesh before him, “I think it will be.”
Finis

 



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