Bedfellows
I have been trying to write the "Most Difficult Thing" sequel that several of you have requested, but Illya seems to be very close-mouthed and Napoleon won't shut up. But what else is new, right? So here is my latest.
Title: Bedfellows
Author: aneuhaus
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, no money.
You never truly know someone until you have slept with them. When I say someone, I am referring to my partner.
For the past three days, and nights, we have been stuck in the only available room in a fleabag hotel in Cairo; and when I say fleabag, I mean it literally. It seems that we managed to arrive just before the celebration of some Muslim high holy day, Illya could tell you all the details, and every hotel in the city was filled to capacity except this one. No surprise there. Even this one had only one room left, so here we are sharing not only a room, but a bed as well. A double bed. For two grown men. Ridiculous. Right?
I have shared plenty of beds before, but the last time I slept with a male was five Christmases ago, and it was my sister’s cocker spaniel. He took a liking to me. Funny, it’s usually the female ones.
So I lie here listening to my partner breathe, thinking about all the things I didn’t know about him a mere three days, and nights, ago.
For instance, who would have thought that, when he gets too hot, Mr. Rough-Tough-Russian-Spy would kick off all the covers and sprawl on his stomach, arms and legs outstretched, like a two year old? Which would be fine, except it’s only a double bed, and sometimes his arm lands across my chest. I don’t move it away. I mean, he’s a highly trained agent. Who knows what he would do if I awakened him suddenly? He could tear me limb from limb before he even realized it was me. Right?
Then there’s his snoring. No, not really snoring; more a sort of sighing sound that rumbles in his chest when he is sound asleep. I can tell because of the rapid eye movements. Not that I stare at him when he’s sleeping, that would be creepy. It’s just that I am trained to be observant, so I notice these things. Right?
He talks in his sleep, too. That’s frustrating. Sometimes he says my name, I think, but then I can’t understand the words he says around it. His voice is never urgent, as it is when he’s warning me of a Thrushie at my back, or if I’m about to step on a land mine. No, it’s, uh, more of a soft murmuring deep in his throat that I feel all the way to my toes. Of course, his voice only affects me so much because he is my partner, and many times his voice has been my lifeline. Right?
However, the most amazing revelation is waking up with him in the morning. After three days, and nights, I am still astonished when I watch him in the first moments after he awakens. He gazes at me with lips turned up into a smile that rivals the brightness of the rising sun, his eyes soft and warm, and his head is framed by a tousled halo of golden silk, but the glimpse is fleeting. Then that damned wall comes crashing down, his hands conscientiously move to smooth down his hair, and the cool façade is firmly back in place.
Mr. Waverly called on my communicator a few minutes ago to summon us back to New York. Our plane leaves in two hours. Then we leave tomorrow morning for Liechtenstein. The Old Man said that, since one room seemed sufficient in Cairo, one room should suffice in Liechtenstein, the travel budget being tight and all. What he didn’t mention was what size bed there would be. I hope it’s a double. Uh, only because sleeping in close proximity makes it easier to watch each other’s backs. Right?
Hmmm. I wonder what new things I will learn about him in Liechtenstein.
Title: Bedfellows
Author: aneuhaus
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, no money.
You never truly know someone until you have slept with them. When I say someone, I am referring to my partner.
For the past three days, and nights, we have been stuck in the only available room in a fleabag hotel in Cairo; and when I say fleabag, I mean it literally. It seems that we managed to arrive just before the celebration of some Muslim high holy day, Illya could tell you all the details, and every hotel in the city was filled to capacity except this one. No surprise there. Even this one had only one room left, so here we are sharing not only a room, but a bed as well. A double bed. For two grown men. Ridiculous. Right?
I have shared plenty of beds before, but the last time I slept with a male was five Christmases ago, and it was my sister’s cocker spaniel. He took a liking to me. Funny, it’s usually the female ones.
So I lie here listening to my partner breathe, thinking about all the things I didn’t know about him a mere three days, and nights, ago.
For instance, who would have thought that, when he gets too hot, Mr. Rough-Tough-Russian-Spy would kick off all the covers and sprawl on his stomach, arms and legs outstretched, like a two year old? Which would be fine, except it’s only a double bed, and sometimes his arm lands across my chest. I don’t move it away. I mean, he’s a highly trained agent. Who knows what he would do if I awakened him suddenly? He could tear me limb from limb before he even realized it was me. Right?
Then there’s his snoring. No, not really snoring; more a sort of sighing sound that rumbles in his chest when he is sound asleep. I can tell because of the rapid eye movements. Not that I stare at him when he’s sleeping, that would be creepy. It’s just that I am trained to be observant, so I notice these things. Right?
He talks in his sleep, too. That’s frustrating. Sometimes he says my name, I think, but then I can’t understand the words he says around it. His voice is never urgent, as it is when he’s warning me of a Thrushie at my back, or if I’m about to step on a land mine. No, it’s, uh, more of a soft murmuring deep in his throat that I feel all the way to my toes. Of course, his voice only affects me so much because he is my partner, and many times his voice has been my lifeline. Right?
However, the most amazing revelation is waking up with him in the morning. After three days, and nights, I am still astonished when I watch him in the first moments after he awakens. He gazes at me with lips turned up into a smile that rivals the brightness of the rising sun, his eyes soft and warm, and his head is framed by a tousled halo of golden silk, but the glimpse is fleeting. Then that damned wall comes crashing down, his hands conscientiously move to smooth down his hair, and the cool façade is firmly back in place.
Mr. Waverly called on my communicator a few minutes ago to summon us back to New York. Our plane leaves in two hours. Then we leave tomorrow morning for Liechtenstein. The Old Man said that, since one room seemed sufficient in Cairo, one room should suffice in Liechtenstein, the travel budget being tight and all. What he didn’t mention was what size bed there would be. I hope it’s a double. Uh, only because sleeping in close proximity makes it easier to watch each other’s backs. Right?
Hmmm. I wonder what new things I will learn about him in Liechtenstein.