The Soldier

by Spikesgirl58

Napoleon Solo sipped his coffee and stared out the living room window towards the low building. A month ago, Taste had been just a word, one of several thousand that he knew. Now Taste was practically his world... well, part of it at any rate. He watched his former partner help unload a small truck, crates of fresh vegetables, Napoleon guessed. He could see green leaves sticking through here and there.

He still felt a little ill uneasy here. He'd arrived, confronted Illya about their past, and ended up in his bed. In the month that had passed, he'd barely left the house. He'd place a couple of calls back to New York, making sure to put the charges on his credit card. It was a bit frightening to him just how little money Illya seemed to have. Every spare penny went back into his restaurant and Napoleon knew he wasn't drawing a salary of any kind. If push came to shove, he'd wager that everything in the tiny cramped house Illya now called home was exactly as if had been from the day he'd moved in. Taste had been renovated, improved, made to sparkle and Illya was sleeping on a bed with a broken spring, which Napoleon seemed to find with irritating regularity, and lived in one of two pairs of jeans and a few tee shirts. He had a half dozen chef jackets, all pristine and dry cleaned regularly, and Napoleon was willing to wager Illya only bought street clothes when the fabric in his current outfit surrendered to wear.

There was a movement to his left and with a blur of brown, a small cat leapt up onto his lap, butting her head against his stomach.

"Hello, cat." He scratched her head and she immediately began to knead his leg, purring loudly. He tried to remember this one's name. He wasn't good with animals, but this one had taken to him.

Napoleon pushed the curtain aside and watched as Illya finished negotiations with the driver. There was a handshake, then a hug, and Napoleon felt a little spark of something flare. He wouldn't call it jealousy, but he was taken aback by Illya's increased tactile need. He seemed to be always touching these days. It was certainly a change from when Napoleon had first met him. The man had shied away from contact with his fellow humans, at least until he was very familiar with them. Not anymore .

Of course, Napoleon was benefiting from it as well. When they were together, Illya was always touching him, as if still trying to make himself believe Napoleon was real and here.

Napoleon's lips curled into a smile, remembering the feel of Illya's fingers, rough and calloused from his work, stroking his stomach, of Illya's very satisfyingly-sized dick prodding the small of Napoleon's back requesting his attention, a whiskered cheek rubbing against his as they went through the moves of early morning love making. This was something else that had surprised Napoleon. Illya's libido seemed to have taken on a life of its own, not that Napoleon was complaining, but when they'd first been together, he'd almost always been the instigator. Those days were long past... not that Illya gave him a chance. Illya's days seemed to be broken down into a few select activities, besides his restaurant he slept and screwed. That was the beginning and end of his days, they seldom varied, even on his days off.

In short, Napoleon Solo was bored.

The truck left and the red head, Illya's business partner, joined Illya and they were sharing some private joke. Now him, Napoleon was jealous off. Tall, thin as a rail, with a wild afro of red hair, Matt was everything Napoleon wasn't. And worse, he, like Napoleon, held a near singular title—he was also Illya's former lover. Napoleon didn't know why he felt such jealousy towards Matt; he was obviously more interested in that ABBA-crazed head waiter, Rocky. Yet every time he watched Matt's arms snake around Illya's waist in a hug, a little flame surged in Napoleon's heart. Every time he saw Illya and Matt kiss, another log o' jealousy was tossed onto the fire. And Napoleon knew that for him to act upon it would be to drive Illya away. To be accepted here, Napoleon was being asked to accept the new version of his partner.

The front door opened and Illya walked in, smiling as he spotted Napoleon. "Morning."

"Only on the East Coast; as far as I'm concerned, this is still the middle of the night here." Napoleon started to stand, but the little cat in his lap protested, meowing loudly.

"I'm gone a few minutes and you got after a little pussy," Illya said, his grin widening.

"Any port in a storm." Napoleon set the cat aside, stood, and gathered Illya into his arms for a kiss, reestablishing his claim on the man. Illya, likewise, surged forward, his mouth hungry on Napoleon's, his fingers tangling in Napoleon's hair, his body pressed as close as clothes and flesh allowed. "Don't tell me you are horny again."

"That would indicate a previous cessation to it. I prefer still." Illya moved his mouth to Napoleon's neck, searching for a bit of unmarked flesh. Both men bore the souvenirs of their lovemaking proudly and Matt seemed to take special joy in pointing them out. "Do you know what you do to me, Solo?" Illya worked his way up to an ear.

Napoleon reached behind Illya to draw their groin closer, so that Illya could feel Napoleon's erection. "I am thinking it's mutual."

Illya sighed. "But no time. I'm driving into the city..."

"City?" Napoleon's fingers were busy, working the fly of Illya's jeans down.

"Stockton, for supplies. Thought you might like to come along for the...." Illya gasped as Napoleon suddenly dropped to his knees and took Illya's penis in his mouth.

In spite of their early morning bout, it took Napoleon just a matter of a seconds to reduce Illya to a groaning mess. Just a few more and it was all over. Illya's fingers, which had been digging painfully into Napoleon's scalp, carded through his hair tenderly as Napoleon calmed down from his own climax. He'd never met a woman who could make him, quite literally, come in his pants the way Illya did.

"Good?" Napoleon stood, kissing Illya, letting him taste himself.

"How about you?" Illya pulled away and glanced down. "Repay the favor?"

"Too late and in need of change of pants, I'm afraid."

Illya chuckled, a warm comforting sound. "The offer for the road trip is still open if you're fast about it. I have to be back here by three for dinner."

Napoleon rapidly climbed the stairs, changed his pants, stopped in the bathroom to brush his teeth and then presented himself at the foot of the stairs.

Illya led the way to a battered truck and climbed in. It looked as if sheer will and rust were the only things holding the vehicle together.

"Jez, Kuryakin, what a heap!" It was a running gag with them. Every time he saw the truck, he had to rib Illya about it.

"Careful, she's the same age as me." He patted the dashboard fondly. "Love me, love my Ford. She may not look like much, but she's sound under the hood and still gets decent gas mileage. Probably better than that tank you drive." He started the truck up, smiling at the smooth sound. He grabbed his sunglasses from the dash and slipped them on. "Plus looking like this, I never have to worry about someone lifting her."

"Why don't you buy a new one?" Napoleon winced as the passenger door groaned a protest as he opened it to climb in.

"No need, this does what I ask of it, the price was right...."

"Someone paid you to take it off their hands?" Napoleon quipped as Illya pulled out onto the main road to Highway 12. "Does it even have an air conditioner?"

"Two of them." Illya rolled down his window, waved to someone he knew and slowed for a battered stop sign, one of Jackson's only traffic stops.

"Funny man. So what possessed you to start up a restaurant here of all places?" This had practically been the first time since his arrival that they were both awake and not engaged in either sex or eating. Or intent upon one or the other.

"Again, the price was right and the owner was willing to work with us. He's been trying to unload it for awhile and when we made an offer, he jumped." Illya glanced left and right and pulled out. "Too much competition in San Francisco. I knew I was good, but it takes time to build enough of a following to survive and with all the choices the City has to offer, there isn't much of a chance for a new chef to stake any kind of territory. Seven out of ten restaurants fail in their first five years. I didn't want to be another statistic. Neither of us had anything holding us there."

"Still living hand to mouth though."

"Still living hand to mouth," Illya echoed. "But I'm my own boss, I do what I want when I want and if I fail or succeed, it's square on my shoulders, not on the whim of someone else."

"Sounds nice, but..." Napoleon trailed off, watching the yellow hills go by.


"Illya, this is all you do."

"I am assuming you mean that everything I do now is somehow related to the restaurant."

"You don't go out, you don't travel, you just work. You're always working, either getting ready for a meal, cooking it, cleaning up after it and all the steps in between. "

"Yes, this is what I am now. This is all I am now." Illya stared at the road before him, then slowed to pull off onto a patch of dirt, put the truck in neutral and set the brake. "I did warn you of this when you announced your intention of staying in Jackson. I knew this was going to happen." There was a deep sigh and he pulled off his sunglass to reveal resigned blue eyes. "When are you leaving?"

"What? Who said anything about leaving?" Napoleon reached out to touch Illya's forearm, still so formidable. When they'd been agents, he'd come to rely upon that strength more than once. He squeezed. "I'm not going anywhere, Illya. I was making an observation, that's all." Mindful that they were parked alongside a major thoroughfare, Napoleon brought his hand up to brush the long bangs from Illya's face. "I told you I was with you for good; I meant it then and I mean it now. You need to trust me on this."

"I'd like nothing better." Illya turned into the touch. "But the mind is a fanciful thing and I have nothing to offer you. I have worked very hard to be where I am. The place is just starting to show a profit and we are finally getting ahead of the mortgage."

"I wish you'd let me help. I have the resources." Even as he said the words, he saw Illya shake his head.

"Never in a million years, Napoleon, but I do appreciate your offer."

"It, like me, will always be here for you." Napoleon dropped his hand to Illya's thigh and squeezed. Illya dropped his hand on top of it and squeezed back. Napoleon started to pull his hand away, but Illya stayed it. He smiled slightly, an unspoken request for Napoleon to leave it and then the sunglasses slid back into place and Illya eased the truck back onto the road.

The talk turned to safer subjects after that, but Napoleon was still inwardly shaken, still amazed at how little trust Illya gave him. Yes, he'd hurt him and he'd spent the next several years searching for Illya, wanting to make up for a momentary lapse. It was hard to think that Illya just expected, more than that, anticipated his leaving. If only there was some way to prove that he wasn't leaving Money had given him freedom, confidence and security. Perhaps it would do the same for Illya. But his Russian was still fiercely proud, so it was going to take thought, planning and a bit of subterfuge to make it happen.

That night, Napoleon sat at the bar, watching the diners as the waiters and the staff danced about them. Napoleon had been to fancier restaurants in his time, he'd been to better appointed ones, he'd been to those who offered an extensive wine list and a huge menu. Yet he'd never been to one that tended to the needs of the dining community the way this one did. If you weren't a fan when you entered, you were when you left. Rocky had an uncanny ability to make you feel as if you were his best friend. The menu wasn't huge, but everything was prepared from scratch and it varied from week to week. Napoleon had been eating there for a month now and found himself anticipating each meal as if it was an entirely new experience. Quite often it was. Whether it was Matt or Illya cooking, the food was still spectacular.

Even more amazing, Napoleon had never yet heard the word 'no' from any of Taste's staff. Matt joked that, "The answer is always yes, what's the question?"

"Can I get you a refill?" Celeste was one of a matching set of bartenders. Her sister, Stella, was her twin in every way and between the two of them, they handled the bar at Taste with aplomb and a certain amount of insanity. It was another aspect of Taste that had surprised Napoleon. Most four-star restaurants he'd dined in, they were stuffy and pompous affairs. Not Taste. It was warm, friendly and non-threatening. Whether you were a first-time diner or a gourmand, the staff would do their best to put you at ease and treat you as if you were the only diner there.

"How about a Solo Ricky?"

"Sure, no problem!" She hesitated. "What goes into it?"

"No idea. Never had one, just thought it up."

"Then absolutely I can make it."

"Hey, Stell, can I get some brandy?" Matt appeared beside Napoleon, knocking him playfully with his shoulder. "Chef let you out of the house tonight, did he?"

"Got tired of watching TV."

"Chef has a TV? I lived there a year and never saw one." He grinned as the woman handed him a snifter full of amber liquid.

"Well, from the amount of dust and other stuff piled on it, I'm not surprised you missed it. I found a mouse skeleton on it..."

"Not surprising around here... the little cari, they get everywhere." He started to walk away and Napoleon took a chance, remembering what Illya had said not long ago.

"Matt, could we get together and talk, just the two of us?"

"Sure. I can free up a couple hours off tomorrow afternoon. How about meeting me at the park tomorrow around two?" Matt waited for Napoleon's nod before started back through the crowd, taking care not to spill the liquid.

"Here you go, champ. That'll put hair on your chest." Celeste pushed the tumbler in front of him and watched intently as he sampled it.


"What is it?" a woman sitting beside Napoleon asked.

"A Solo Ricky," Celeste responded. "Just came up with it."

"I'd like to try one." She was flirting with Napoleon and out of habit he flirted back. As she turned back to them, he watched Celeste's face darken. He instantly became aware that he was being watched closely by the staff of Taste. Of course, they had a vested interest in its continued success. If something happened to Illya, Matt might be able to carry the restaurant for awhile, but he also might not. He got the message loud and clear. He backed off.

He was watching a couple of kids toss a football back and forth when he saw a flaming mass of hair and knew Matt was in the house... well, the park actually.

"Napoleon." Matt settled down on to the bench beside him. "What can I do for you?"

"I will admit to nefarious purposes."

"I expected as much." A beat. "I won't do anything to hurt Chef."

"I'd never ask you to do that, Matt. I know what he means to you... to us." Napoleon studied his backs of his hands for a moment. "What do you know about me?"

"Surprisingly little. I know that you two were in a relationship, that he caught you with someone else and left. And now, here you are."

"There was a little more to it than that, but this isn't the time or the place for that discussion. I have spent the last few years trying to find and make it up to him."

"That won't be easy, Cara. Le emozioni, they are still fresh, still just below the surface. I think that's what makes him such an incredible chef, he concentrates solely upon the food to escape them. Does that make sense?"

"To someone who finds making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich challenging, not really. " Napoleon chuckled. "Matt, I'm a wealthy man and I want to share that with him, with you."

"He'd never permit you to give us money. He was been resolute in that. No one save one of us can carry the financial burden of the restaurant. And he is right."

"I want to make him my business partner, sign half of my assets over to him. I thought perhaps it would be a way to show him that not only am I serious about my intention to stay here, but that I am prepared and willing to make this a permanent situation."

"You could not tell him for he'd never allow it." Matt's words were coming slowly now. "If he was to get a hint, even an indication that something was occurring, he'd put an end to it."

"Exactly. I need someone I can trust, someone who knows the people here and the way to handle this. In short, I need an inside man."

"It would make my father proud to hear someone considers me a man."

"I do and I owe you a lifetime of thanks as well."

"Non capisco."

"You kept his heart safe for me until I could find him. Thank you for that. Then when you met me, knowing who I was, what my intentions were, you held a hand out to me. Not just a man, but an honorable one as well as considerate and caring."

"Chef is right—you do have a lingua di talent...a talented tongue."

"I'm not exactly sure we're speaking of the same thing."

Matt chuckled then and nodded. "Love, she makes you do the crazy dance."

"Amen to that, brother. So, tell me, what is the easiest way of infusing a little money into the business?"

"You're our new business manager, you tell me."

"How closely does Illya look at the books? If I were to uncover funds...?"

"A little you might be able to convince him of, any more than a couple of hundred and he would become sospettoso... um, suspicious."

"Do you have any relatives that might suddenly leave you money?"

"My relatives, they were not entirely pleased with my choice to leave Italy and come to America. Illya knows this. For them to reward me would be unlikely."

"Damn." Napoleon stopped and stared out over the expanse of dried yellow grass. It had at first surprised him that the city didn't try to keep the parks up, but that was before he knew just how dry everything was here and it wasn't even the middle of June yet. Then he began to smile. "Matthew, my boy, have you ever written a grant?"

"A grant? I can barely write in English enough to legally be here."

"What about Rocky? The two of you are officially together?"

That was the only good thing that came out of the terrible beating Rocky received from an ill timed visit to a local bar. Matt had stayed with the waiter while he recuperated, then in a move that surprised no one, he moved Rocky into his rental, lock stock and barrel. They'd been inseparable ever since.

Yes, Cara, most assuredly together."

"Is he trustworthy enough to help us with this?"

"With the writing of a grant? His skills are very good; Chef knows this as well."

"Then this is what we are going to do."

Illya wound his fingers through his hair and stared at the books, as if the numbers would magically rearrange themselves on the page for him. The harder he worked, the less money he had. He wasn't quite sure how it happened, but every month, no matter how carefully he budgeted, there was enough for their expense, but very little else. They needed to replace the water heater, one of the convection ovens was on its last legs and the roof needed to be resealed before the rains came. He'd been hoping for a small surplus, just enough to cover an evening in Sacramento, something to show Napoleon that while he did appreciate the offer of financial help, he was okay, that they were okay.

Napoleon happened to walk in just then and set a cup of coffee down in front of him. "How's it going?"

Illya managed a smile. "We are solvent... for another month."


"Yes, Napoleon, I know and , thank you, but no."

"Have it your way, but just so you know, the offer will always be open to you." He patted Illya's shoulder and walked quietly from the room.

Illya frowned. Napoleon didn't usually give up quite so easily, but no matter. He returned to the books. With Napoleon's help, they'd reclassified the business, managed to refinance the mortgage to a better interest rate and found a couple more ways to trim expenses. Yet as quickly as they found money, an emergency cropped up.

The front door to the small chalet style house opened and Matt came running it, his face nearly as red as his hair.

Illya was up to his feet, glasses pulled off, his face concerned. "Matt, what wrong?"

Matt leaned over, panting, hands on his knees. Wordless, he held out an envelope with one hand.

Napoleon watched from a discreet distance, half hidden by the kitchen door.

"A what?"

He couldn't hear Matt's reply, but the young man really was an excellent actor. It was if he'd really been surprised by the registered envelope, by their sudden infusion of good fortune.

"No, Matt, I won't let you; that's yours and you should do something with it. Take Rocky on a trip."

"It's a grant. It has to be used to improve the business. This is my restaurant too." Napoleon heard that protest well enough. "Please, Illya, let me do this."

A flare of jealousy exploded in Napoleon as Illya took Matt in his arms and kissed him. At the same time, he was thrilled by the action. It meant that Illya had agreed.

"Moving in on my man?" he asked, walking in with a tray of cookies. He was constantly trying to get Illya to eat and found that snacking was his best ally in this quest.

"Wait until you hear what this crazy idiot is doing." Illya looked at the check. "This would knock our mortgage down to nothing and still leave us enough to get the roof and the convection oven taken care of. Hell, if we're careful, we could even pay off our loan in a couple of months. What do you think, Napoleon?"

"I can arrange that for you." With that much money, Illya would never realize a few more dollars had been thrown into the pot as well. He could easily slip another four or five thousand into the account. It was like shooting fish in a barrel...

Next Rocky received a small inheritance and after much arguing added that to the bank account. Then Napoleon incorporated them and that trimmed a bit more from their state taxes. He started working in earnest and discovered a handful of other tax breaks and spun them into gold as well. By the time they reached August, they were in a truly comfortable position.

Wednesday morning was set aside for the weekly staff meeting. From the dishwasher to their erstwhile accountant, Illya expected full attendance. This morning, however, things were a little different. People staggered in, all arriving before the required hour of eleven, but some just barely. Jesus wrestled in a tray of various pastries and quick breads and set it in the center of the table before taking his usual spot between Roxanne and Henry.

Illya had been playing aimlessly with a pencil and shifting a couple sheets of paper around, the epitome of nervous energy. Napoleon was at a loss to know where he'd found it considering their activities of the last twelve hours. Whatever else might be said, the boy had stamina.

"Are we all here? Mentally and physically?"

Rand waved his hand wearily as he rested his head on his arms. "Physically, possibly. Mentally, never before noon. Can we go now?"

"Not quite yet. First I have some good news that some of you have already been privy to. I am pleased to announce that as of yesterday, Taste is ours."

"What?" Roxanne was suddenly all attention. "I thought we still had years to pay on the mortgage."

"We did, but the Fates have been kind to us. Through Matt's and Rocky's generosity, we've been able to pay off the note ahead of schedule, saving us several thousands in interest. Napoleon was able to reclassify the business, along with finding us some tax breaks that were equally beneficial. So now comes the decisions—who would like a raise?"

"Are you serious?"

"Does this mean you are actually going to draw a salary for yourself as well?"

Rocky's question took Illya by surprise, but he recovered. "I'd rather you have it. You're the ones who do all the work."

"Yea, huh, now pull the other one, Chef," Roxanne murmured. "It seems to me that for all the equality you go on about, you are getting the short end of the stick."

"Be that as it may, it was not the question on the table."

"If we refuse, what happens?"

"Nothing, the money will go into the bank for future needs."

"Sounds like a good place for it to me," Matt murmured. "But as co-owner, I'm distaining..."

"I think you mean sustaining," Illya muttered

"Abstaining," Napoleon and Rocky corrected and then grinned at each other, a moment shared.

"Si, whatever, I'm not voting, nor am I getting a raise."

"May I say something?" Napoleon usually kept quiet during the meetings. He knew they still saw him as an outsider, a warrior just fresh from the battlefield with an askew vision of their world.

"Of course, cara." Matt gestured to the table and helped himself to a cheese Danish at the same time.

"I'm talking as your bookkeeper now and if you don't believe me, ask your accountant. It would make better business sense for you to start drawing a salary, Illya. It would drop your EED and payroll taxes, and give you a better footing coming next tax season. You're already having to pay for all exemptions for yourself, you might as well get a salary too."

"Not what we're discussing."

"Cara, it is the question we are discussing. How long has it been since you've gotten a steady paycheck?"

Illya sighed and clenched his fist, obviously working to hold on to his temper. "We are not discussing this now, Matthew."

"I think you forget I have as much say in this as a salaried employee. I remember when you quite literally shoved that down my throat. Now it's your turn. How many people think Chef should be paid?"

"I'm not..."

"We aren't asking you," Matt snapped. Hands went up and he glanced over at Illya with a sly smile on his lips. "Oh, look everyone thinks the same as me. Now is this truly our business where we shared equally in the decision making or have you been... how do you say—doratura del giglio all this time?"

"Gilding the lily is right, Matt. Give it up, Kuryakin, it's a losing battle," Napoleon advised, breaking off a small piece of spicy pumpkin bread and chewing it slowly. "Jesus, this is good enough for a dessert."

"Thank you, Napoleon." The baker beamed under the praise.

"Why do I know that you are somehow behind all of this?" Illya muttered, staring at his hands.

"Maybe you are just naturally paranoid? Or perhaps you just need to quit while you're ahead. Within a month, you should be able to do both, draw a living wage for yourself and give them all a raise."


"Trust me, I'm your bookkeeper."

"That doesn't fill me with a sense of confidence."

"Okay, now you need to be gracious and thank your employees for their sacrifice." Napoleon's grin grew wider

"If he did that, we'd think he was sick," Rocky muttered and then looked aghast. "Crap, I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Yes, sadly, you did, cara." Matt reached out and wrapped a slender hand around the shaggy brown head. "Ma ti amo comunque." He kissed Rocky's head and chuckled.

"Am I really that bad?" Illya asked.

"No, Amato, you are worse."

"Excellent, then my reputation is still intact. What are you all waiting for? Go to work."

Rand stood and stretched his arms. "Sounds good to me. Who wants to turn a few dozen potatoes for me?"

"How did you guess that was my secret dream?" Henry dismounted his chair as if it was a horse.

Celeste and Stella had been sitting, their heads close together is quiet discussion. "We'd like to say one more thing before everyone leaves."

"And that would be?"

"I think... we think you should put Napoleon is charge of the wine list. He already knows more about the local vinters than we do and we grew up here. We could really do with someone who understands wines."

"Napoleon, you would do this for us, yes?"

"Providing he draws a salary, just like the rest of us," Illya added.

"No. I would be happy to handle your wine list, but I need more money like Carter needs another liver pill."

"You're too good to take our money?" Illya faced him, a look of sheer hell in his eyes.

"Why not? You were too good to take mine." Napoleon crossed his arms.

"But that's not the question on the table."

"Don't use my own words against me, Kuryakin, you won't win."

"Oh, won't I? How many people think Napoleon should have to draw a salary just like the rest of us?"

Napoleon stretched out on the bed, the mattress still so new it crinkled when he sat on it. "That was some end run you pulled today." He spoke loudly to be heard over the running water in the sink.

"Looks who's calling the kettle black." Illya spit out a mouth of toothpaste. "By rights I should have your balls for cufflinks."

"That would make it diffcult to accessorize... among other things."

Illya shut off the water and turned out the light. The moonlight coming through the window silhouette his figure and Napoleon smiled as Illya walked to the bed and straddled him effortlessly. "In fact, by rights I should take you down."

"If you think you're man enough to try." Napoleon reached up and interlaced fingers with his, tugging just enough to pull Illya within kissing range. "You're a force to be reckoned with, Kuryakin."

"Would you want me any other way?"

"No, naked works for me."

"And now you work for me." Illya's grin was impish and Napoleon frowned.

"Why am I suddenly filled with dread?"

"As opposed to something else?" Illya stretched out on top of him. "That comes later and at my leisure."


"Among other things." Illya kissed him, lingering, drinking his fill before moving on to Napoleon's throat. "Now you're going to find out just how wild sex can be with us blue collar workers."

"You been holding out on me...?" Napoleon started, then gasped. "Shit, Illya..."

"You talk too much, Napoleon."

"You throw your clothes on the floor."

"It's my house..."

"I'd prefer our house...," Napoleon corrected.

"Does it mean that I'd have to pick up my clothes?"


"My house."

"You're a slob, Kuryakin." Napoleon managed to get that much out before talking lost all its interested for him.

"You're a control freak, Napoleon." Illya licked his way up one side of Napoleon's penis. "And a liar." Down the other side. "A hopeless romantic." A kiss and lick to the tip. "And mine."

Napoleon's eyes rolled back and he moaned. For some reason, he was fine with all of that. Mentally he added, "And just wait until next month, my love, you are in for the ride of a lifetime."

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