Rattled

by nickovetch

Napoleon came in at dusk, sweaty and bruised from playing football with Nicky's boys in the empty lot next door. He cleaned up and walked into the bedroom where he was surprised to see Illya sitting subdued on the bed with his arm in a sling.

"What happened to you?"

"Don't ask." His pout was practically pitiful.

NS sat next to him and gently rubbed his uninjured shoulder. "Just like old times, partner."

"How so?" Illya snarled.

"You, in a sling, and me in perfect shape."

"Well, I wouldn't use the word, 'perfect...'" he groused.

Napoleon flexed his muscles in a body builder's pose and Illya sighed. "All right. You are perfect."

Napoleon grinned and IK added, "Perfectly narcissistic."

"Oooh—wait, Illya, while I go look up the big word in the dictionary."

The blond AF repositioned himself carefully on the bed and grimaced in pain.

"What did you do this time, IK? Get shot?"

"No."

"Stabbed?"

"No."

"Poison dart?"

"No!"

"Then what mayhem has befallen you, old bean?"

He sighed. "I don't know, Napoleon. All I did was raise my gun arm and there was this 'ping' sound, a sharp pain, and now my arm won't go up at all." He looked embarrassed and stared at his plastic toes.

"Hmm. I see. But there's something else you're not telling me, isn't there?"

Illya looked very uncomfortable and shook his head fractionally.

"Illya, you can tell me anything. I love you," Napoleon assured as he rubbed the trembling man's back.

IK took a deep breath and looked NS square in the eye.

"Napoleon...I rattle."

"You what?"

"Rattle. As in shake, rattle, and roll. As in baby rattle. As in rattlesnake..." The American agent held up a hand to cut Illya off.

"Before you rattle off any more..."

IK groaned.

He jumped off the bed and demonstrated his peculiar predicament to his perplexed partner.

Napoleon merely smiled at him. Very largely and seductively in Illya's opinion. He gathered the worried young man into his arms and carefully drew him close.

"Illya, my love, I don't care if you buzz, hum, snap, crackle or pop. It makes no difference to me." He proved his point by planting pursed lips on pouty.

Still shaking, Illya did emit a quiet rattle or two. Napoleon still smiled.

"What's so funny?"

"You, lyubovnik. I can't wait to see what kind of noise you'll make in a minute or two..."

He pulled the smaller man onto the bed and pounced. "My own private passionate percussioned paramour." He giggled at his alliteration as he worked his magic on plastic parts.

"Napoleon."

"Yes, caro."

"Piss off, partner."