Episode Epilogue 10 - Softer than a Sigh	 Episode Epilogue 10 -
Softer than a Sigh by ChannelD	
 

They made love with extreme care that night; each concerned with the
other's injuries, each hampered by his own. Illya's were the most
spectacular. He had seen the grenade, but not in time, so the explosion
had wrecked his car and he had broken his arm, suffered a concussion, and
had extensive soft tissue bruising. He complained that he hurt everywhere.
Napoleon's wrists had second degree burns all the way around, and the
least movement hurt. He didn't complain at all. 

It was so good to see Illya alive and relatively whole. He had worried, in
that part of his mind he had had to submerge during the mission; that
personal part, that Napoleon Solo human part. The overwhelming probability
was that Illya had been killed when the grenade went off under his car,
and Napoleon knew that, despite his self control, something had showed at
that moment. He had felt it, on his face as well as in his heart. But Love
hadn't noticed. Love didn't really notice anybody besides himself. It had
made it easy to subvert his staff - he had had no idea, for example, that
Hradny was so discontented, so ready to be turned. 

"He saw you waving goodbye to him?" Illya was sitting up against pillows,
his broken arm in a little nest which Napoleon had fashioned. "Wasn't that
risky?" 

"No. I knew he'd barely have time to recognize us before the explosion. He
knew what it meant, though." He smirked at his own cleverness. It had been
a superb move. The mission had succeeded, and to top it all off Illya was
with him, safe and sound, and both were off for the next few days. He
touched Illya's uninjured arm. "I was so glad to see you at the airport."
He hadn't spoken of that moment in the car. He knew he didn't have to.
Illya smiled down at him where he lay, flat on his back, wrists carefully
propped on pillows of their own. Now that they had managed to find
comfortable positions to recline in Napoleon wanted more than comfort. He
shifted, tried to prop himself up on his elbows to kiss Illya, and
promptly gave up the idea. Illya moved, then, sliding down carefully,
holding his arm tight against his body, grunting when his head bumped the
mattress. But they were side by side now on the bed, and when Illya looked
at him their eyes met and held. 

"I was glad to get the notice that you were coming home. No one knew what
had happened to you until you contacted New York for a flight. I let you
get marched right past me. I was supposed to be watching your back, and I
didn't even see you leave. Stupid." 

"Those hooded robes made great concealers. It's not as if you had any idea
how many were supposed to be getting into that car. That's why we have the
locating devices. Forget it. We have a more immediate problem." 

"What?" 

For answer Napoleon rolled over onto his side, gingerly, leaned over and
kissed Illya's cheek. Illya smiled, turned his head so their lips could
touch. 

They tried a few different positions - Napoleon on top, leaning on his
elbows, but the weight was too much for Illya's sore ribs. Then they put
Illya on top, but the way it hunched his shoulders forward made his arm
hurt, and when Napoleon tried to caress him lifting his hands hurt too.
Finally Napoleon turned around completely, rested his head on a pillow,
and was able to draw Illya's straining organ into his mouth. Illya
thrashed about, at once crying aloud in pleasure and grunting as he
struggled to get into a position to return the favor. By the time he
finally found managed it, and surrounded Napoleon's cock with his mouth
both were on the pinnacle. Napoleon reached around and grabbed Illya's
buttocks, pulling him closer and Illya draped a leg over Napoleon's
shoulder, dragging him in. They came together, crying out, pushing as
close as they could get, all injuries forgotten for that one blindingly
sweet, perfectly glorious moment. 

Napoleon couldn't move. He had ended up twisted half onto his side, a now
useless pillow bunched under his hip and one arm trapped under Illya. Any
attempt to get up required more leverage from his hands than he could
give. He groaned. "Illya ..." 

"What? Can you help me, Napoleon? I'm stuck." Illya's uninjured arm was
flailing around, trying to find purchase. 

"I was going to ask you to help me." 

"Well this is just great," Illya grumped, trying to roll enough to bring
his leg over. When he did that Napoleon shifted, and managed to flop onto
his back, tugging at his arm to get it out from under Illya. Illya raised
his hips a little and Napoleon pulled free. Disentangled at last they just
lay there, gasping. After a few moments Napoleon spoke. 

"How are you doing up there?" 

"My head hurts. And my arm hurts. And you hurt my ribs with your heavy
self. Other than that..." 

"Yes? Other than that?" 

"I'm perfect. Well, except that I wish you'd turn around in the bed." 

Napoleon groaned. "You must be kidding. I'm not moving." 

"But I want to kiss you goodnight." 

"It can wait till morning." 

Illya sulked. How Napoleon knew he was sulking without actually seeing his
face he couldn't have said, but the sulk hung heavy in the air, and he did
like Illya's kisses, so he muttered something impolite and twisted,
turned, wrestled with covers and finally ended up with his head on the
pillow beside Illya's. And Illya's lower lip was indeed out, and he
wouldn't look at Napoleon. 

"Hey," he said, pleased with himself. "Here I am, all set for my good
night kiss." 

"No. You said it could wait for morning. You ... oh. Mph. Mmm." Illya
stretched under the kisses and Napoleon, leaning again on his elbows,
cupped Illya's face between his hands and smiled at him. 

"I am so glad you are okay." 

"I'm glad you're okay too." Napoleon kissed him again. 

"They're calling this `The Love Affair' he whispered. "If our lives were a
mission, that's what I'd call it, too. Only I'd add the word true. The
True Love Affair. That's us." 

"Yes it is. You're right. Can you cook French toast with those hands?" 

"No. But I can order out. Breakfast with all the trimmings. Sound good?" 

"Yes. Goodnight, Napoleon. I love you." 

"I love you too, Illya. Goodnight."  


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