Kiss of Fire      Kiss of Fire by Spikesgirl58  
 

Illya Kuryakin sat back and stretched his feet out, lifting them one by
one to rest on a chair. For the moment, that was the limit of his
abilities. 

Roxanne collapsed beside him and he reached out to rest a hand on her
shoulder, massaging it gently. She moaned and let her head tip forward.
Rocky limped over to the table and hefted himself up onto it. 

"I think my blisters have blisters." He made a face as he eased his feet
out of his shoes and let them dangle. 

"You have a hole in your sock." Roxanne pointed out and Rocky wiggled an
exposed toe. 

"I didn't when I started." Rocky looked over as Matt joined them,
straddling a chair as if it wer a horse. "You broke me tonight, Mattie." 

"Sono morto (I am dead)." He rested his head on a pile of dirty linen
tablecloths and napkins. "Portare via il mio corpo rotto (Take my broken
body away)!" 

"No such luck, we still have to clean up," Illya mumbled. 

"I think we should wait for tomorrow... or possibly the day after." 

"Or just wait for the health inspector to close us? It takes less than an
hour for a rat infestation to take root." The three looked at him with
dubious expressions. "I'm serious. And it's not fair to stumble out of
here and leave Henry, Rand, and the rest of the crew to clean up." 

"Isn't that their job?" Matt protested. 

"Isn't this our restaurant?" Illya countered. There were grumbles as
Celeste brought a tray of drinks to the table and set it down beside
Rocky. 

"Napoleon thought you could all use some liquid 'oomph,'" she explained to
their enquiring looks. "How many tops did we do tonight?" 

"I lost count." Matt yawned and reached for a glass of wine. 

"I didn't. One fifty five..." 

"I thought we set the cap at one fifty," Illya said, frowning in thought. 

"You want to tell the Governor he has to come back another night?" Roxanne
took the glass Illya handed her and sipped. 

"That would have been only two more." Illya held up two fingers. 

"You're forgetting his entourage..." Roxanne took the fingers and squeezed
them. "His Ministers of Silly Walks." 

"Who?" 

Napoleon came walking in and slapped his hands together. "So what's next?"


Everyone at the table looked dully at him and Illya murmured. "If I had
the strength, I'd get up and punch him." 

"If I had the energy, I'd help you," Rocky added. "Did you just get up
from a nap, Mr. S? It's..." He squinted at his watch. "... God help me,
two o'clock in the morning." 

"That's easy, Rocky, my boy. Clean living, good health..." 

"He had a five hour nap this afternoon," Illya muttered, draining his
glass and getting to his feet. "The last one in the kitchen has to clean
the grease trap on Wednesday." 

 

Illya looked out of the bathroom as he shaved, a towel wrapped around his
waist. Napoleon was still lounging on the bed, wiggling his toes beneath
the sheet and letting their three recently acquired kittens pounce on
them. 

"There's something I don't understand." 

Napoleon glanced over at him. His hair was still a mess from sleep. "Just
one thing?" 

"Well, no, several actually, but why is it, I'm the one who found them and
fed them around the clock until they could eat solid food. I'm the one who
cleans up after them and makes sure they have food and water, why do they
prefer you?" 

"Easy, you're Nurture and I'm Entertainment." Napoleon wasn't disturbed by
Illya's grumbling. When they went to bed at night, within five minutes the
kittens were curled up against Illya, purring like little trip hammers. 

"Okay, you can Nurture." 

"You're better at that... ouch!" He yanked his foot back as Brunir's teeth
made it through the blanket. "Animal," he scolded the kitten, rolling it
over on its back and rubbing its stomach. The kitten protested and his
sister and brother came to his rescue. 

Illya chuckled and shook his head slowly. "I think I'll stay the course;
good point, Napoleon." 

"So what are you going to do today, my love?" Napoleon climbed out of the
bed and stretched. The day was bright and sunny outside and he felt
bursting with energy. 

"After last night, as little as possible." 

"You do realize what today is?" 

"Monday?" 

"That as well." 

 Illya was wiping the last of the foam from his face and checking to make
sure he'd not missed anything. Napoleon came up behind him and embraced
him. Illya smiled and rested his head back. "For a nickel, I'd go back to
bed. Is that tremendously decadent and Western of me?" 

"Face it, my friend, you are one of us now." Napoleon kissed the damp skin
of Illya's cheek, then rubbed his own unshaven face against it. "You can
run, but we will find you and make you submit to our will." 

"Is that your will poking me in the back?" 

"Among other things. Why don't you come back to bed and let me show you
the proper Capitalistic approach to the subjugation of the masses?" 

"There will be masses involved?" Illya turned in his arms, smirking. "Are
you trying to tell me making love with you is a religious experience?" 

"Let me show you, my doubting Thomas." Napoleon kissed the smirk off his
lips, holding Illya's head still as his tongue probed every bit of Illya's
mouth. "Let me love you," he whispered, pulling back to rest their
foreheads together. "Please, Illya..." 

"I can resist everything except the plea from a conquering emperor." Illya
moved back in to kiss Napoleon, this time the aggressor. It was their
usual pattern, offering control back and forth until one of them finally,
usually in desperation, took the upper hand. 

He felt Napoleon's lip curl beneath his. Why it thrilled Illya so much to
know that Napoleon smiled while kissing, he didn't know. His lover was
always smiling. It was when Napoleon frowned that the world trembled and
crawled away to hide. 

 

For two men approaching their sixties, the enthusiasm and energy with
which they attacked their lovemaking still amazed Illya. He sprawled
across the sheets, limbs so sated that to think about moving almost seemed
a crime against mankind. Napoleon was still resting on him, his ear to
Illya's chest, apparently listening as Illya's heart gradually calmed
down. 

Illya toyed with Napoleon's hair, secretly delighted that his mate was
wearing it a bit longer and no longer slicking it down. He was even more
secretly delighted that Napoleon blamed him for each and every gray hair
that found its way there. 

One thing that was certain, there was no faking it when it came to men.
His semen was drying between their stomachs, a visible, if sticky
testament to his satisfaction. There was also equal evidence elsewhere as
to Napoleon's climax. Illya's back ached slightly, something that would
never have happened a few years ago, but time marched on and he with it. 

"Thank you," Illya murmured. 

"And you. After last night, I wasn't sure when you'd be up for some
acrobatics." Napoleon rolled off him and grinned. "Now for your surprise."


"You're not going to immediately fall asleep?" Illya teased, smirking. He
was as guilty of this as Napoleon, but Illya was in that sort of mood at
the moment. 

"Funny guy, remind me to get you a spot on Ed Sullivan." Napoleon sat up
and reclaimed his robe from two sleeping kittens. "I am going to cook you
breakfast." 

"Cook? Usually breakfast when you make it comes in the form of Jesus' bear
claws and coffee." 

"Again with the doubting. Go take a long bath. I know you're stiff."
Napoleon's gaze lowered and he grinned again. "Well, stiff in some places,
not as much in others." 

"As the man responsible for said unstiffness, I'd not complain." 

"Not complaining, just wondering what I can do about it?" 

"Nothing for the next five minutes, please. Allow me to enjoy the moment
of bliss." 

"Sex with me?" 

"The thought of you making me food." Illya stretched back against the
pillow and sighed. "For some people, it's Spanish fly or oysters. For me,
it's the thought of you in my kitchen... barefoot... among other things.
Be careful with the knives..." 

"Sexist slave driver." 

"If the label fits." 

 

Illya stared into the fire as one of his hands stroked his stomach
absentmindedly. Napoleon had done better than actually cooking breakfast.
He'd managed a very worthy quiche, although Illya would swear it tasted
exactly like one that Matt favored. It seemed important that Illya believe
Napoleon had made it, and he very well might have, with Matt's help. It
didn't matter either way to Illya. It had been just the first of many
other surprises. 

The firelight caught and glinted against the gold of his watchband. It
felt odd to be completely naked except for a watch, but it was Napoleon's
Valentine's Day gift to him and Illya was disinclined to take it off.
Thin, but very masculine, the watch was very expensive and elegantly
crafted. The sentiment, I can't give you more hours in the day, but this
way you can mark them as I mark the days with you,  was pure Napoleon,
just bordering on romantic, but not. 

Not to be outdone, Illya had slid a ring, a replica of Julius Solo's ring,
on Napoleon's finger. Napoleon had worn that ring, never took it off,
until his father passed. Then, reverently, Napoleon had worked the ring
free and placed it in his father's pocket to be buried with him. 

Napoleon had gotten very quiet and Illya had feared he'd blundered, until
Napoleon erased all doubts from his mind with his heartfelt thanks and
passion. 

Illya glanced towards the kitchen and smiled at the noise of someone
cleaning up. Not only had Napoleon made him breakfast, but then a very
adequate dinner to follow. 

Dressed to the nines in his very best tux, Napoleon had served him Cornish
Game Hen with a light orange cognac glaze, Duchess Potatoes, and asparagus
with a white sauce. After cleaning up, Napoleon promised an incredible
dessert, which seemed contingent upon Illya being naked. 

Never a fool, Illya had arranged a couple of blankets and some pillows in
front of the fireplace, stoked the fire, added a log and then stripped
off. And waited... 

Finally, he could stand it no longer and he stood and winced, massaging
his lower back. Illya wasn't at all sure he could take another bout of
lovemaking tonight, at least not in the conventional sense. The trick
would be convincing Napoleon of that. 

Taking two steps towards the kitchen Illya stopped himself. He'd not do
Napoleon any credit by checking up on him. Instead, he turned and started
to climb the stairs just as Napoleon was exiting the kitchen, carrying a
tray of Napoleons. 

 "Where are you going?" 

"Forgot something important upstairs. What are those filled with?" 

"Chocolate." 

"I'll be right back down. Don't start without me." 

Illya walked in to their bedroom and stopped, stretching again. Somehow he
had to convince Napoleon... that's when he sensed movement in the
bathroom. 

Quietly, he walked in that direction and snapped on the light. Startled,
the three kittens looked up at him from their nest of toilet paper. It had
been a new roll and it was now all over the bathroom floor, most of it
shredded beyond use. 

"What are you doing?" Stupid, he knew they couldn't answer him. Sighing,
he scooped up Fremir and shook him gently, holding the kitten before his
face. "You are going to be the death of me." 

Mrph? So sad, so contrite. Only an ogre could stay angry. Sighing Illya
snatched the other two up and carried all three to the bed and plopped
them down in the middle of it, pausing to toss a lap quilt over them. 

The kittens properly distracted, Illya went back to the bathroom and
hurriedly cleaned up the mess, stuffing as much as he could into the
bathroom trash can. The rest went into the bedroom trash can and shaking
his head, Illya started to leave. 

Then he snapped his fingers, went back to the nightstand and pulled out a
tube of lube. At least he'd be prepared if not as enthusiastic as he'd
been that morning and that afternoon. 

Shaking his head again, Illya headed back downstairs, one hand clutching
the banister to keep from tripping over the kittens as they raced each
other to the kitchen. 

"Sorry for the delay, we had an incident..." Illya abruptly stopped and
smiled. Stretched out on the blankets, head nestled on a pillow, and still
wearing the tux, Napoleon was sound asleep. "I think even the mighty force
that is Napoleon Solo has finally run down." Illya smiled gently as he
helped himself to a pastry. 

Illya moved quietly to Napoleon's side and stretched out next to him. What
a sight they would be if someone was to come upon themIllya, completely
naked, and Napoleon, the epitome of elegance in his tux. 

Illya moved a pillow around and reached for a blanket. He knew that at
some point in the night, they would wake and make their way upstairs, both
too groggy to do more than mumble a few words. Settled, he made short work
of the Napoleon. He smiled as he recognized Jesus' signature filling. 

It didn't matter. Illya's heart heard everything Napoleon's was trying to
say and then some. And after all, what is love if not a song of the heart,
better sung in harmony than solo? And who better to sing it with than with
his Solo. And Illya conceded, as he licked his fingers clean and wiggled
closer to Napoleon, he was a very lucky man. Very lucky indeed.  


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