Head Over Heels	Head Over Heels by Spikesgirl58  
 

It had been one of those nights at Taste. They didn't happen very
frequently, but when they did, it was a blistering slap across the face.
For one reason or another, be it the way the stars lined up, be it some
Divine Intervention, Illya had no way of knowing why it happened. Yet as
the night progressed, he watched his highly trained and very skilled crew
crumble into an act worthy of the Three Stooges... 

One waiter decided to blast through the wrong kitchen door and crashed
into Rocky, sending them both to the floor with an enormous amount of
noise. A plate came back, the entrée deemed too salty to eat. Illya had
personally re-cooked the entrée only to have the patron declare it worse
than the first attempt. Illya hadn't gotten into a fight with him, but it
was close and the man's departure wasn't something that would help
business. 

Then, they ran out of a wine, a first, and Celeste dropped a $300 bottle
of scotch, sending a shower of alcohol all over herself and three guests.
Thankfully, no one was injured, except Stella who sliced a finger cleaning
up the glass. Then the convection oven turned up its toes and died, but
only after completely charring a Crème Brulee and sending horrific fumes
through the kitchen and restaurant. 

If there had been a Michelin reviewer in the place, this night would have
cost him a star. 

Illya unlocked the front door of the house he shared with his partner and
slipped inside. Shutting and bolting the door, Illya leaned against it and
sank to the floor. He stank from the smoke and his back and feet were
competing to see which one of them could ache the most. He really wanted
to take a long hot bath, but Napoleon was undoubtedly asleep by now.
Perhaps tomorrow, he would coax Napoleon into the tub and they could soak
the morning away. 

Illya felt a nudge to his leg and he smiled at Beurre Noir. The little
tabby rubbed against the rough material of the chef pants, purring and
chirping. Illya reached out a finger to scratch her chin and then yanked
his head around at the unmistakable sound of a cat with a hairball. 

He got to his feet and swayed for a moment at the lightheadedness that
threatened to take him down to his knees. He looked around to try and to
find Moutard, but when he did, it was too late. 

Of course it had to be on the cover of a new cook book, one that he'd been
given the task of reviewing, one that was still a work in progress...
Moutard regarded him with a look of superiority and pride. 

See what I did for you? Aren't you proud? the slanted green eyes seemed to
be asking. Illya cleaned off the manuscript as best he could and felt his
stomach roil at the smell. It was probably good that he'd not eaten
anything for the last few hours, otherwise, he'd have another mess to
clean up. 

He set the manuscript on the kitchen table, hopefully out of harm's way,
and washed his hands, wincing as the soap stung the numerous cracks and
splits in his fingers. He hated the change from summer to fall with its
drying humidity. There was always about three weeks that his hands got so
dry and chapped that no amount of lotion helped, not that he could have
anything on his hands while he was cooking. He knew he needed to break
down, slather his hands with Corn Husker's Lotion, and go to bed with his
hands encased in cotton gloves. Yet, it always kept him from sleeping, and
even with tomorrow being Monday and his day off, he was reluctant to lose
sleep, not with Winston gone and Matt's unable to concentrate. 

The Italian had recently received a letter from his sister, telling him
that their father was ill and his mother needed him to come home. Matt was
torn; he had a loyalty to the restaurant and Illya, but famiglia è
famiglia.  At any other time, Winston would have been able to pick up the
slack, but he was attending a class in San Francisco for the next month,
leaving Taste shorthanded at the height of their busy season. Illya had
pressed Matt to leave, but instead the redhead contented himself with
phone calls and beating himself up with guilt. It wasn't doing him or
Taste any good, but Illya couldn't make Matt see that. 

 Illya wouldn't mind a night of staying awake, not if he was being
properly motivated. It seemed like forever since he and Napoleon had
watched the sun rise through sleepy eyes after a night spent in each
other's arms. Their days were so busy now, if they had time for sex; it
was frequently more of a slam dunk process than protracted lovemaking. It
wasn't that neither of them wanted to, there just didn't seem to be the
time anymore. Maybe tomorrow he would just let the world hang itself and
he'd stay in bed all day and convince Napoleon to do the same. 

Illya dried his hands carefully and opened the refrigerator. He didn't
have the energy to make anything, but he knew he needed to eat or there
would be hell to pay later in the night. He settled for a huge bowl of
cereal and tried not to reflect upon the irony of the moment. He'd
recently been named one of the state's top chefs and here he sat, eating
stale cereal. It had been weeks since he'd puttered about the kitchen,
Napoleon sitting at the table kibitzing and laughing while they drank wine
and just enjoyed being with each other. Tomorrow night, he'd have to find
the energy to try something new and surprise Napoleon with it. 

 

Illya walked quietly up the stairs, trying to avoid the squeaky steps.
Even the remodel hadn't helped; it merely moved the creaks to new spots.
He pushed open the bedroom door and smiled. The nightstand light was still
on, but Napoleon was slumped in sleep, the novel he'd been reading open
and Napoleon's glasses dangling precariously on the tip of his nose. 

Illya crossed to the bathroom and stripped quickly. He should shower; he
was sweaty and the smells of the kitchen clung to him like a frightened
child, but all he wanted was to crawl into bed and settle down beside
Napoleon. The shower could wait until morning. He brushed his teeth and
headed for bed. 

He knew if he tried to keep from waking Napoleon, his stealth would have
the opposite effect. So he slipped the book from Napoleon's hand and
removed the glasses only to be met by a sleepily mumbled, "You're home." 

Illya kissed Napoleon's head and smiled. "Yes, finally, go to sleep." He
shut off the light and walked around the bed, stubbing his toe and barking
his shin in the process. Cursing, he collapsed onto the mattress. He
really needed to either break down and bring in a maid service or get his
act together and shovel out at least the bedroom. He'd make that decision
tomorrow morning. 

"You okay?" 

"Just a rotten end to a rotten day." Flexing his aching foot, Illya
slipped in between the sheets and settled back. "Tomorrow has to be
better." At least it was Monday... 

"I've been called out of town tomorrow," Napoleon mumbled, still more
asleep than awake. 

"Oh, I thought..." All the plans Illya had made suddenly faded, but he
kept his sigh to himself. "Okay." 

"Sorry, I know it's our day off and all, but if I don't move, I'll miss my
opportunity. At most, Shawna and I will be gone just a few hours..."
Napoleon trailed off. 

"Shawna's going with you?" The young woman had made no bones about how
attractive she found Napoleon, how willing she would be if he was. It
twisted in Illya's gut and he stamped down the rising twist of jealousy
that he felt. "It's fine." Illya snapped off the light and stared up at
the ceiling. It truly was fine; in his heart of hearts he knew Napoleon
was faithful. It just would have been nice to catch a break and have a
quiet day together. 

He'd nearly nodded off when the phone rang. Napoleon jerked awake,
involuntary smacking Illya in the process. Napoleon had the receiver
before the second ring and Illya contented himself with rubbing his side.
He didn't need to hear to know who was on the other end. 

"It's okay, Rocky, you do what you have to do; we'll be fine. Tell Matt
I'm sorry." Napoleon hung up the phone and sighed. 

"Matt's father?" 

"They just called in the priest for the last rites. He and Rocky are
headed for the airport." 

"I don't envy them that plane ride." 

"Does Matt's family know about Rocky?" 

"No idea." 

"That could be brutal. I remember our trip back." Napoleon grew quiet and
Illya reached out, finding his partner's hand in the dark. He squeezed it
and then, "Where's your ring?" 

"Took it off for rehearsal and forgot to put it back on." 

"Why?" 

"Why did I forget to put it back on? Just getting old, I guess." 

"No, why did you take it off?" 

"The character I'm playing isn't married. The director found it
distracting." 

"Oh..." 

"Are you all right, Illya?" 

"I'm... yes..." Illya rolled onto his side and felt Napoleon settle down
well away from him. Suddenly, Illya never felt so alone in his entire
life... 

 

A strange smell woke him. It wasn't any usual smell, not of their
intermingled scents, not even of coffee, it was something very different.
Without opening his eyes, he reached out for Napoleon, but encountered
only cool, empty sheets. 

Of course, Napoleon would want to get an early start... with Shawna. Illya
sighed, determined not to go there. He rolled over onto his right side and
came up with a jerk. Something soft and cool touched his face. 

He snapped on the light and frowned. Two roses, yellow with red tips, lay,
crossed, on his pillow. That's when he became aware of the candles,
flickering in the dim light of the bedroom. 

What? Napoleon would never leave candles burning.  This made no sense to
him. Still, he picked up the roses and smelled them. Wonderfully fragrant
and so unlike the ones they used in Taste. They were always careful to
make sure whatever flowers graced the tables, they were scent free. 

Since he was awake, Illya decided to pay a visit to the bathroom, wincing
as he took the first few steps. He could remember, back in his heyday with
UNCLE, of bounding out of bed, even after being tossed from a moving
vehicle or hung, dangling, from a helicopter or cliff. Of course, the pain
he had now was probably due to those adventures, but it didn't make it any
easier to take. 

Still holding the flowers, he limped into the bathroom and stopped. There
was a bath, still steaming, its water slick and fragrant, to greet him,
along with three more roses. He smiled and set the two he held with them. 

He peed and flushed, then decided, even as tired as he was, that bath was
too good to resist. He climbed in, groaning as the hot water surrounded
him. He closed his eyes in bliss and relaxed, letting his body slip for a
second beneath the water. He stayed there as long as his lungs would
permit and then resurfaced. He didn't squeeze the water from his hair,
just brushed it out of his face and rested his head against the edge of
the tub. He didn't open his eyes even as the bathroom door opened and the
wonderful smell of fresh brewed coffee enveloped him. 

"I thought you'd like that." Illya sat up, eyes now open as Napoleon
offered him a cup of coffee and a kiss. 

"Balm for my weary soul." Illya took the cup, and drank half of it without
stopping. 

"I didn't want to wake you, but I was duty bound." 

"Duty bound?" Illya finished the cup and handed it back. 

"Of course." Napoleon slipped off his robe and gestured to his partner.
Illya scooted forward and Napoleon slid in behind him. The water rose,
precariously close to spilling over the lip of the tub. Illya leaned back
against him and sighed. 

"This is nice." 

Napoleon wrapped his arms around Illya's waist, pulling him close. "Do you
know how good you feel?" he whispered into Illya's ear before nuzzling it,
teasing it with his tongue. 

"Tell me." Illya reached back to catch Napoleon's head. He twisted so
their lips could meet in a near kiss. 

"You're a dichotomy. Your muscles are so hard, yet your skin is soft. I've
seen your eyes promise death and guarantee paradise. Your body, still so
capable of so many things, yet willing to rest... a little." 

"A little..." He caught his breath as Napoleon's fingers found and
caressed his genitals, sighing as they fondled him. 

"And after all these years, all I have to do is touch you and you're hard.
Aren't you tired of me yet?" 

"Ask me again in a few dozen years. Perhaps then I will be able to answer
you intelligibly." 

Napoleon let one hand travel upward to toy first with Illya's chest hair,
then move to his nipples, squeezing first one then the other to rigid
attention. "I love the feeling of your skin against mine, the roughness,
the softness, your heat." Napoleon's penis throbbed against Illya's back
and he started to sit forward but Napoleon held him firm. "We've been in
too much of a hurry these days." 

"But you have to leave." 

"Do I?" Napoleon's lips and tongue were busy, licking, nipping, tasting
Illya's neck. 

"Your trip... I thought you'd be gone when I woke up." 

"There's plenty of time and you seemed to need a little reassuring. You
know how I am about rendering care and aid." 

"And as lovely as this is, it is hardly the most practical spot for what I
have in mind." 

 "True, but where's the fire?" Napoleon held him firmly until Illya again
relaxed. Only then did his hands start to roam over the familiar body
against him. If Napoleon wanted to take the time, Illya was willing. 

He closed his eyes and just felt, relishing the tactile sensation of
Napoleon's fingers as they traveled across his skin, the heat of
Napoleon's breath on the back of his neck. Now he understood what Napoleon
wanted of himnothing, nothing but his acceptance and enjoyment. 

"Now you're getting it." Napoleon sucked in an earlobe, teasing it the way
he would have a nipple could he have but reached. Still, he kept the pace
maddeningly slow. 

Napoleon let one hand drift precariously close to Illya's penis, only to
veer off at the last moment to caress its way up Illya's thigh and then
tangle itself in his pubic hair. The back of Napoleon's hand brushed
against Illya's very interested penis and Illya grumbled both his
enjoyment and frustration. 

"You like being teased, don't you? You like having me so close you ache
for my touch, but enjoy the desperation my not touching you directly
provides." 

"Only to a certain point," Illya hissed as Napoleon's fingers traced the
base of his penis and went to stroke his balls. 

"These feel like they mean business." 

"They would be most appreciative of the attention." One of Napoleon's
fingers managed to wiggle its way past to stroke Illya's perineum. 

"Do you want me?" 

"Always." 

"Where?" Napoleon's hand finally found its way and began to travel up and
down Illya's dick, squeezing it tightly, rhythmically. 

"You need directions at this stage of the game?" 

Napoleon chuckled. "You know, for a Smart Russian, you can be very dense
when you so choose. I meant would you like me to jerk you off here, have
me in you as you are clutching onto the sink for dear life or in our bed
with your feet in the air and me buried up to the hilt in you?" 

"Yes, please." Illya let his head fall back as Napoleon's hand continued.
He felt Napoleon's lips curl into a smile just before latching onto his
skin and biting, not hard enough to break the surface, but enough to leave
a mark. 

He groaned and let Napoleon take the lead, completely surrendering,
dropping any pretense of control. He could feel Napoleon's dick, rock hard
and throbbing against his back. If Illya had had any sense of decorum at
that point, he'd have reached back, taken Napoleon... but instead he just
felt. 

He started to breathe heavier as Napoleon worked him. 

"Come for me, Illya," Napoleon whispered encouragingly, his hand moving
faster, his grip tightening. He kissed and bit as his other hand pinched
and rolled a nipple between his fingers. 

 With a gasp, Illya obliged, ejaculating in short hard spurts. Napoleon's
hand never stopped until it was obvious that Illya was finished. 

"Thank you." Illya turned slightly to kiss Napoleon. 

"You haven't seen anything yet. Get up." 

Illya climbed dripping from the tub and stepped carefully upon the throw
rug. Its rubber backing kept it from slipping. He offered Napoleon a hand
up and his partner rose gracefully from the water. Without reaching for a
towel, Napoleon gestured to their pedestal sink and Illya smiled. 

"All right." Illya threw a towel over it, mostly to keep himself from
slipping against the porcelain. He leaned over and looked back over his
shoulder, his eyes partially shut, his lips curled in open invitation. 

Napoleon grabbed up a jar of petroleum jelly and dug out a large gob. "Do
you know where this is going?" 

"One is hopeful." Illya reached back to spread his cheeks. 

"You really are shameless." He didn't toy, but slid two fingers into
Illya. Illya gasped even as he was moving backward to meet the intruders.
Napoleon curled his fingers and let the tips brush against Illya's
prostate, first one way, then the other. "You like feeling me in you,
don't you?" 

Illya wanted to answer, but Napoleon took that moment to add one more
finger and his vocal abilities were reduced to a throaty, needy whine. He
tried to move, but the sink preventing him from having any real freedom of
movement. 

The tiredness, the aches and pains of a reckless youth, every mistake,
every incident, every other moment of time was banished. He wasn't even
certain when Napoleon swapped fingers for dick, but Illya was suddenly
aware of hands holding his hips as he rocked in an ancient movement of
time. 

Then just as Illya thought he couldn't take a second more without
exploding, Napoleon pulled free and Illya collapsed forward, holding
desperately onto the sink to keep from falling to the floor. "What
the...?" 

"Come on, Amante, I know you're made of sterner stuff than this." Napoleon
took two steps and held out his hand. "I told you the way I want you." 

Swallowing, Illya pushed off the sink and followed Napoleon back into
their bedroom. He flopped down on the mattress, his dick bobbing angrily
at Napoleon. The man merely grinned, leaned down a planted a kiss on its
tip. 

"Napoleon, I swear..." 

The man knelt on the bed, moving first one foot, then the other to his
shoulders. 

"You swear what, partner? You are hardly in a position to complain. By my
reckoning, you've already come one more time than me today." He slipped
back into Illya and sighed. "Let's say we take this home, shall we?" 

Illya didn't bother to speak, at least not with words. Instead, he let his
body answer, silent except for vocalizing his pleasure. 

Napoleon's control was good, but not absolute. No man's was when he got to
that point and Illya squeezed his muscles and Napoleon was gone, thrusting
into him and gasping, his head thrown back as he climaxed. Illya needed
nothing else at that point to encourage his own and he ejaculated again
with a groan, feeling his heart pound like a locomotive as it strove to
keep up with him. 

Napoleon eased Illya's legs down, knowing that Illya's body, so content to
play dumb a moment prior, now protested every little movement. He leaned
down and kissed Illya. "Good morning." 

"Oh, yes, I think that qualifies as a very good morning," Illya murmured,
his lips not leaving Napoleon's. 

Napoleon's hands were moving again, easing the blankets back up into
place, even as they continued to kiss. "You get some sleep and I will see
you tonight." 

"Mmm uh," Illya murmured, suddenly too sleepy to protest or argue. With
Napoleon's fingers caressing his face, he drifted back to sleep. 

 

Illya woke and blinked furiously for a moment before snatching up the
bedside clock. Two o'clock?  He shook the instrument, but only its regular
ticking answered back. Then he remembered. It was Monday. It was a day off
and then he smiled as the memory of the morning's activities came back to
him. 

He rolled over and sat up and other memories returned, some not as
pleasantly recalled. Only the roses, now in a vase on the nightstand, and
the various candles, now extinguished, made him know it hadn't been a
dream. He stood and other things verified the reality of his morning. 

Good, pain is sometimes good. The bathroom stood as usual. The bathtub was
empty, the jar of Vaseline again stored, the towels replaced and hanging
neatly. He turned on the shower and grabbed his razor, stepping into the
sharp streams of water with a sigh of contentment. 

The water helped soothe the aches and pains away and he emerged feeling
rejuvenated. It was amazing what a bout of incredible sex and ten hours of
sleep could do for a man. That's when he saw the heart drawn on the
mirror. Napoleon was such a hopeless romantic. 

He'd have loved to have called Matt and just wasted time talking, but he
remembered the late night call. He never pestered his other employees on
their days off, figuring it was the least he could do since they put up
with him five days a week. 

He spent the rest of the day doing chores around the house, gathering up
magazines and books to donate to the local college, sweeping away months
of accumulated stuff. 

 Something kept niggling at him from the back of his mind, but he couldn't
put a finger on it. He checked the calendar in the kitchenthe one spot
where everything in their incredibly busy lives was written down, but the
day was free, completely open. That was nearly unheard of for either of
them... and Napoleon would have to work that day. 

Around six, Illya opened a bottle of his next favorite wine. It struck him
as odd that they would again be out of his favoritethey never seemed to
run out of Napoleon's but such was life. He could have gone to the
restaurant or Vinea and pulled a couple of bottles, but it wasn't worth
the effort. He settled down on the couch with the preview cookbook and
jotted notes as he skimmed the recipes. 

By seven, he was starting to get an uneasy restlessness in the pit of his
stomach. He needed to start dinner or at least be thinking about it. Then
the phone rang. Illya grinned and lifted the receiver. 

"Kuryakin." 

He was surprised when Napoleon's voice didn't greet him. Instead it was
Henry, his misen poux chef from Taste. 

"Chef, I've got a bit of a problem." Henry was having to shout over a
crowd. 

"Of course, what's wrong?" 

"It's our monthly meeting down at the community center and the frigging
pilot light on the stove's gone out again." 

Illya grinned and chuckled. He got at least two or three of these calls a
month. "It always amazes me that I'm the only one in town that can light
the pilot on that. We really need to buy that place a decent stove." 

"I hate to bother you and all, but you can hear the crowd. They want to
eat and..." 

"No problem, I'll be right over." Illya hung up the phone and stood. He
jotted down a note for Napoleon, just in case the man returned while he
was gone, grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. 

While the September days were still warm in the Foothills, the nights were
growing cool, especially when riding his bike. He pondered for a moment as
to which one he wanted to take and settled on his favorite Suzuki. 

The community center was neither in the community nor the center of
Jackson. It sat on the edge of town, a short trip, but long enough that
when Illya climbed off the bike, his face was tight from the cold. The
parking lot was full tonight and Illya tried to remember exactly what
group Henry was with... the Clampers or maybe Knights of Columbus? One
fraternal organization was much like the other to Illya's way of thinking.


Two men were hanging out on the steps and one hurried away at his
approach. 

"Hey, Chef, thanks for helping us out in our hour of need." Richard, their
rep from the county seat and a frequent guest to Taste, greeted him 

Illya grinned. "It's what I do. What are you doing in town?" 

"I don't get to do stuff like this very much, so when I'm here, I like to
stop in and rub elbows, sort of pre, pre, pre campaigning. 

"Like anyone would challenge you for that seat." Illya reached for the
door and Richard grabbed it a second before he did and pulled it open. 

"After you, Chef." 

Illya nodded, stepped through the door and almost immediately slammed to a
stop. "I'm going to kill him..." 

 

"Admit it, you were surprised," Napoleon said as Illya snapped off the
bathroom light and joined him in bed. The single nightstand light made the
room glow a soft orange. 

"Yes, and you were lucky I am no longer armed or I would have probably
shot the closest people to me." Illya settled down and sighed. "Giving a
former agent a surprise party isn't exactly safe." 

"But safer than giving a current one a surprise party." Napoleon scrunched
around for a moment, punching and shaping his pillows into the proper
shape before completely relaxing. "And you were surprised. I just can't
believe you forgot your own birthday." 

"You try to remember all the stuff I have to and not lose track of a day
or so." Illya felt Napoleon's arm snake over his waist and dropped his arm
over it. "So Matt's father is fine?" 

"And breathing fire, according to the son. Apparently the recent harvest
isn't what he'd like. I just knew I had to get Matt out of town to give
him enough space to actually be able to cook... and Winston also." 

"This whole school thing was a ruse as well?" 

"No, but after the third failed recipe he figured out that the instructor
didn't know what he was doing. He's been back for about a week, staying at
a friend's house in Arnold." Napoleon chuckled and kissed Illya's head.
"And you just waltzed in there, Mr. Ignorant. The look on your face was
really wonderful." 

"So many people..." 

"I had to turn twice as many away. You are very well liked and respected
in the community, Illya. I don't think you are even aware of how many
lives you've touched." 

"There's only one I really care about though." Illya squeezed Napoleon's
arm tightly. "Thank you and be prepared to meet your Waterloo, Napoleon." 

"Are you threatening me, little man?" 

"Little?" 

"Well, more than adequate man just doesn't have the same ring to it." 

"No, that's not a threat... it's a promise. When you least expect it,
expect it." 

"I shall wait with breathless anticipation." Napoleon's hand slid from
Illya's waist and down a muscular thigh. "So did I break you this morning
or is the playground still open?" 

"Depends upon what you have in mind." 

"You." 

Illya's answer was a sly smile and to turn off the light.  


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