Past, Present, and Future
Title: Past, Present, and Future [a Distant Voices fic]
Author: Shelly - cosmosmariner
Pairing: Illya/Napoleon
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Illya makes a discovery, Napoleon confronts the past, but together they can face the future.
Distribution: Please ask me first, otherwise go for it!
Disclaimer: I totally do not own The Man From U.N.C.L.E. - if I did, I wouldn't leave my house.
December 30, 1975
Napoleon looked around his apartment, now bare except for the last few collectables that he and Illya were packing. He had hired a moving company to ship his boxes back to Smithton, and would be selling almost everything else.
It was time to take a break. The day before, he had gotten a huge stack of mail from Mrs. Yost across the hall and was sorting it when he noticed something different from the bills and scholarly quarterly papers he subscribed to. Light pink cardstock, roses embossed on the back flap. He turned it around and noticed the handwriting. Napoleon wondered why she would be writing to him now.
“Illyusha, come here and sit by me for a minute,” Napoleon called out.
Illya walked into the living room and sat on the small loveseat beside Napoleon. He had just gotten out of the shower and was combing his hair. “Who sent the letter?” he asked.
“It’s from Bunny. I wonder what she wants? Do you want to read it?”
“No, Pasha. She’s not my responsibility.”
“She’s not mine either, not any more.” Napoleon frowned and opened the envelope.
Dear Napoleon,
I tried calling you at your apartment and also at Solo and Associates, but they said you were in the field somewhere and wouldn’t return for a while. But I need to talk to you. Gerald has asked me to marry him and I want to discuss the final settlement with you, as soon as possible. Also I thought you might like to talk about taking back your apartment, since I won’t be needing it any longer. Contact me as soon as possible.
Thanks, honey.
Bunny.
Illya raised an eyebrow. “Good news, yes?”
Napoleon shook his head. “It seems like it, but who knows.” He yawned. “Shall we go over there this afternoon? Bunny doesn’t ever leave the apartment until after 3:00, not even on holidays, so I know she’ll be home.”
“You want me to come with you?”
“Of course I do. If she is really marrying Gerald, I have nothing to worry about. But if she’s not, it would be less painful for me to have you there. It’s purely selfish on my part.”
“I don’t know. I think I am going to do a little walking around in the old neighborhood instead. Do you mind?”
Napoleon shrugged. “Whatever you want to do, Illya. It’s fine with me. I mean, you didn’t come to New York to see my ex-wife. It’s going to be awkward, I guess. I think I’m just going to take a nap. Is that okay?”
The blond chuckled, and put his hand on top of Napoleon’s. “More than fine. How long have you been up anyway, Pasha?”
Napoleon yawned again. “I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been up since three this morning. It‘s hell getting old.” He rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”
“It’s 8:00. I’m leaving. Do you want me to pick up anything while I’m out?”
Napoleon didn’t reply - Illya could hear the deep, even breathing of sleep. He kissed him on the forehead and slipped out of the apartment.
--
Illya wrapped himself in a wool pea coat. The wind was blowing relentlessly through the streets of Manhattan and he felt very cold. It was 9:00 in the morning and the streets bustled with youth and vitality. Of course, it was almost New Year’s Eve and there were already festive decorations in nearly every window.
He had taken the subway to the old familiar stop, then walked a few blocks - it was almost as if sense memory took over for him. The building was still fashionable. He wondered if this area of New York would always be that way. He popped the collar of the coat and walked into the lobby of the apartment building.
The scent of the lemon oil that was rubbed into the wood permeated the air. The smell had not changed in the years since he first went to Napoleon’s apartment. He remembered the first night he stayed there. They were not yet lovers, barely even friends.
It was a difficult assignment, and Illya had a deep tissue bruise in his leg, a stiff back that threatened to cause him to walk doubled over and the beginnings of a migraine. He didn’t feel like he could walk up the three flights of stairs to his own small rented room. Napoleon insisted that he stay with him, in the building with an elevator and a more comfortable bed than the thin mattress that Illya slept on. Napoleon made a bed for him, put a soft woolen blanket on it, filled a pitcher of water and a bottle of vodka on the nightstand.
It was one of the first kindnesses done to him during his time in America, and gave him insight into the heart of this man, his brand new partner, that made him want to know him more.
Illya shook himself out of the memory, then walked outside of the apartment. He turned the corner and bumped into a young woman who wasn’t much taller than he was. She, too, wore a wool pea coat, only this one was green. She also wore a thick scarf around her head, like a turban. She looked up and gasped.
“I think I know you,” she said.
“I’m sorry, miss, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.” He began to walk away.
The young woman put her hand on Illya’s shoulder. He could smell her perfume, which he thought may have been Chantilly. “But I do. I’ve seen you before.” Her eyes grew wide. “The blond man. You‘re him. You‘re Illya.”
“And you are?”
“I’m Bunny Houghton. I used to be married to Napoleon.”
---
The diner was nearly deserted, even though the wind outside had picked up and howled even more violently. Illya and Bunny sat together in a booth. Bunny had black coffee, Illya had a cup of watery tea. Their body language was tense, yet accepting of one another.
“I wasn’t sure how to get in touch with him. He seemed to disappear.”
Illya shook his head. “He was with me.”
Bunny’s eyes went wide. “With you? I take it he found you?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. We found one another.”
The young woman unwrapped her hair. Illya saw that it was dark brown and shoulder length. “Tell me. Does it bother you that we were married?”
“Would it make you feel better if it did?”
She cracked a smile. “Very cute. I’m just curious. I know I’m jealous of all of Gerald’s old girlfriends.”
It was Illya’s turn to smile. “Madam, if I were jealous of all of Napoleon’s former lovers and trysts, I would constantly be angry or depressed. I don’t care where he’s been before me. I only care where he is when he’s with me.”
Bunny pursed her lips and was quiet for a moment. “He’s a difficult man to know.”
“Yes, however in our line of work that was an asset, not a weakness.” Illya took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses carefully.
“He was also a difficult man to love.” Bunny leaned back into the banquette.
“I find that any difficulty one might have in earning his affection is well worth any price. The reward is so much more than the risk.”
Bunny blew on her cup of coffee and took a long, noisy sip. “So, what are you doing here? Is Napoleon here, too? Do you think he’ll come to the apartment?”
“Do you want him to?”
Bunny stared at her cup as if it’s liquid depths held the answers to her questions. “I don’t know.”
Illya finished his tea and tapped his fingers on the table top. “What do you think about meeting him in a neutral place? Like a deli? Perhaps you can accidentally meet him the same way we met. Only it wouldn’t be an accident. I am bringing Napoleon to my favorite deli for lunch this afternoon. Do you think you could meet us there and talk to him about whatever it is you want to discuss?”
“It’s sensitive information. I want to talk to him about my settlement.”
Illya’s eyes narrowed. “And this isn’t something you can do through a lawyer?”
“I thought I would cut out the middle man.”
“Did you?” Illya rose to his feet and started to put his coat on.
“I thought it might be best. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the best way is to just cut and run. I don’t want to hurt anybody, I just want to be free of it once and for all.”
“Bunny, if I were you, I’d really consider doing it my way. It will be easier on you and better for everyone. 1:15 at Lenny‘s in the Village. I recommend the egg salad if you’ve never tried it. Until this afternoon,” he said as he left the restaurant.
--
Napoleon and Illya walked into Lenny’s and grabbed a table. Napoleon ordered a corned beef sandwich and pickled tomatoes. Illya ordered a medium bowl of borscht, gravlox, capers and cream cheese on a bialy, and a noodle pudding.
“Still eating for three or four, partner mine,” Napoleon chuckled.
“Napoleon, it’s not every day I can indulge in a quality bialy. I haven’t had gravlox since I left New York.”
“I don’t understand how you can put it away.”
Illya grinned into his borscht. “I plan on working it off later.”
Napoleon choked on his own sandwich, then laughed.
Illya was nearly finished with his bowl of soup when he smelled Chantilly. He looked up and saw Bunny coming toward them.
“Napoleon? Honey, is that you?”
Napoleon’s face turned pale and he sat his sandwich down. “Bunny? What are you doing here?”
“Getting a sandwich. I have a long day today, I was in this neighborhood and thought I would stop in for an early lunch. I‘ve heard the egg salad here is good,” she said, her eyes turning toward Illya. “Who is your friend here?”
“Oh,” Napoleon stumbled over his own words. “Bunny, this is Illya Kuryakin. Illya, this is Bunny, my ex-wife.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Solo.”
“Houghton. I’ve taken my maiden name back,” she added, pulling up a chair. “Well, Napoleon, do you mind if I join you for a moment? I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to check your mail but I’ve sent a letter.”
“As a matter of fact, I did get your letter. Congratulations are in order. I’m happy for you and Gerald. Will you be staying in New York?”
Bunny shook her head. “No. Gerald has gotten a position in Hartford. We’ll be heading up there this fall. I plan on moving out of the apartment soon, though. I wasn’t sure what you’d like me to do with the key.”
Illya took a healthy bite of his bialy. Napoleon frowned at his partner’s poor table manners and focused his attention on Bunny.
“I like your hair,” Napoleon said, his fingers nervously tapping his silverware.
“Oh. Well, Gerald likes it better longer. And I like it better brunette.”
“I thought you might. Anyway, you were saying, the key?” Napoleon asked.
“Yes. I am moving out of the apartment in a month. I’m not sure what you want me to do with the key. Also, I thought I would get my final settlement, since Gerald and I will be married sometime in April. It would be nice to purchase a new wedding dress.”
Napoleon took a small bite of his corned beef sandwich. Illya cleared his throat and spoke quietly. “Miss Houghton, I wish you every happiness.”
“Thank you. And I hope you are happy as well, really I do.” Bunny reached over and her hand on Napoleon’s, gave it a little squeeze.
Napoleon’s cheeks pinked slightly. “Bun, that’s very gracious of you. Listen, I know the middle of a deli isn’t the best place to say this, but I’m sorry about the way things turned out.”
“It’s all right. Honestly, Napoleon, it’s fine. I don’t hate you anymore. And you’ve been nothing but a perfect gentleman to me, even after all this time. So,” Bunny patted Napoleon’s hand again, then started to dig in her purse for her wallet, “the key. What should I do with it? Should I send it over to Solo and Associates? Put it in a safety deposit box? Just give me the word.”
“Sure, send it to the office. I think that will work out well. Don’t worry about a final cleaning, I’ll send a service over to do it. Give my best to Gerald, will you?”
Illya speared a tomato from Napoleon’s plate and popped it in his mouth. He looked up from his own plate and noticed Bunny glancing at him. He smiled and she returned the smile, their secret safe from Napoleon. She rose to her feet and nodded. “I certainly will, Napoleon.” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye, honey. Good luck with everything.”
---
“Can you believe it’s almost New Year‘s Eve? Almost 1976? C’mon people! Let’s take it way back with some Blue Notes! Only on WPIX, New York‘s home for disco!”
Napoleon cocked his ear toward the music and shimmied to the beat. He wrapped the last of his nesting dolls in old newspaper and sat them gently in a box.
The radio crackled and fuzzed. The love I lost…was a sweet love…the love I lost was complete love…
He called out to his partner. “Hey, Illya. You want to take a break? It’s almost midnight.”
Illya walked out of the small bedroom and into the living area. He had been sweating, moving boxes around and packing up the remainder of Napoleon’s books. His blond hair hung down into his eyes, damp and lank. His glasses were slightly fogged. “That sounds fine. Something cold sounds even better.”
“I have two bottles of Dr. Brown’s left. No vodka. The scotch is packed away. The water in this building is awful.”
Illya smiled. “Cream soda it is, then.”
Napoleon walked into the utility kitchen, grabbed the two bottles of soda and a bottle opener. Frankie Valli’s voice soared out of the radio. Who loves you, pretty baby? Who’s gonna help you through the night?
From the other room, Napoleon heard Illya singing along. He laughed, remembering all the times Illya had attempted to hide his passion for music. Napoleon knew, of course; the nights spent together at jazz clubs or listening to one of Illya’s cherished records had long exposed the truth. It was funny, though, to hear Illya singing along to disco.
“Come to me…baby, you’ll see,” Illya sang as Napoleon walked back into the living area, handing Illya a cold bottle of Dr. Brown’s.
They drank their soda in silence, listening to the radio‘s soft buzzing and crackling. Napoleon sat his bottle down on the floor and sighed. “You know what we forgot? A birthday cake. I was 45 today. Well, yesterday. I think it‘s midnight now.”
“Oh?” Illya said noncommittally.
“I forgot my own birthday cake.” His dark head bowed sadly.
“Luckily, I thought ahead and got you a kringle before I left Smithton.” He opened a box casually hidden behind a box of books and handed the wrapped wax paper bundle to his friend.
Napoleon‘s head lifted, his eyes lit up with surprise. “Birthday kringle. What will you think of next?”
Illya kissed Napoleon on the cheek. “Lots of things, Pasha. Lots of things.”
It only takes a minute, girl, to fall in love….let’s fall in love…
Napoleon laughed softly. “I already have.”
“Hmm?”
He nodded his head toward the radio. “Bum bum bum bum, fall in love…”
Illya smiled and moved closer to Napoleon’s mouth. Their noses touched. “I see what you mean,” he whispered. “Luckily, that’s what I was thinking of next.”
They kissed each other, nipping at one another’s chin and neck. Napoleon nibbled and sucked the hollow of Illya’s throat, drawing color to the surface, indicating him as his own. Not to be outdone, Illya scraped his nails down Napoleon’s arms and chest, slight red lines rising upon his dusky skin. It had always been this way, this desperate need that caused them to brand each other, to mark the other as their own. Passion built between them and their own moans and sighs of ecstasy fought with the rushing of the blood in their ears, creating a symphony of love, keeping perfect time with the radio.
Napoleon cried out first, collapsing on top of Illya, kissing his collarbone.
“I love you.”
Illya took a minute to catch his breath. “Yes. Napoleon.” He could feel his lover’s smile upon his skin. “Yes.”
“Mmmm. Let’s go to bed. I want to hold you tonight.”
“Napoleon… what will you think of next?”
He grinned and pulled Illya to his feet. “Lots of things, Illyusha. Lots of things.”
FIN
Author: Shelly - cosmosmariner
Pairing: Illya/Napoleon
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Illya makes a discovery, Napoleon confronts the past, but together they can face the future.
Distribution: Please ask me first, otherwise go for it!
Disclaimer: I totally do not own The Man From U.N.C.L.E. - if I did, I wouldn't leave my house.
December 30, 1975
Napoleon looked around his apartment, now bare except for the last few collectables that he and Illya were packing. He had hired a moving company to ship his boxes back to Smithton, and would be selling almost everything else.
It was time to take a break. The day before, he had gotten a huge stack of mail from Mrs. Yost across the hall and was sorting it when he noticed something different from the bills and scholarly quarterly papers he subscribed to. Light pink cardstock, roses embossed on the back flap. He turned it around and noticed the handwriting. Napoleon wondered why she would be writing to him now.
“Illyusha, come here and sit by me for a minute,” Napoleon called out.
Illya walked into the living room and sat on the small loveseat beside Napoleon. He had just gotten out of the shower and was combing his hair. “Who sent the letter?” he asked.
“It’s from Bunny. I wonder what she wants? Do you want to read it?”
“No, Pasha. She’s not my responsibility.”
“She’s not mine either, not any more.” Napoleon frowned and opened the envelope.
Dear Napoleon,
I tried calling you at your apartment and also at Solo and Associates, but they said you were in the field somewhere and wouldn’t return for a while. But I need to talk to you. Gerald has asked me to marry him and I want to discuss the final settlement with you, as soon as possible. Also I thought you might like to talk about taking back your apartment, since I won’t be needing it any longer. Contact me as soon as possible.
Thanks, honey.
Bunny.
Illya raised an eyebrow. “Good news, yes?”
Napoleon shook his head. “It seems like it, but who knows.” He yawned. “Shall we go over there this afternoon? Bunny doesn’t ever leave the apartment until after 3:00, not even on holidays, so I know she’ll be home.”
“You want me to come with you?”
“Of course I do. If she is really marrying Gerald, I have nothing to worry about. But if she’s not, it would be less painful for me to have you there. It’s purely selfish on my part.”
“I don’t know. I think I am going to do a little walking around in the old neighborhood instead. Do you mind?”
Napoleon shrugged. “Whatever you want to do, Illya. It’s fine with me. I mean, you didn’t come to New York to see my ex-wife. It’s going to be awkward, I guess. I think I’m just going to take a nap. Is that okay?”
The blond chuckled, and put his hand on top of Napoleon’s. “More than fine. How long have you been up anyway, Pasha?”
Napoleon yawned again. “I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been up since three this morning. It‘s hell getting old.” He rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”
“It’s 8:00. I’m leaving. Do you want me to pick up anything while I’m out?”
Napoleon didn’t reply - Illya could hear the deep, even breathing of sleep. He kissed him on the forehead and slipped out of the apartment.
--
Illya wrapped himself in a wool pea coat. The wind was blowing relentlessly through the streets of Manhattan and he felt very cold. It was 9:00 in the morning and the streets bustled with youth and vitality. Of course, it was almost New Year’s Eve and there were already festive decorations in nearly every window.
He had taken the subway to the old familiar stop, then walked a few blocks - it was almost as if sense memory took over for him. The building was still fashionable. He wondered if this area of New York would always be that way. He popped the collar of the coat and walked into the lobby of the apartment building.
The scent of the lemon oil that was rubbed into the wood permeated the air. The smell had not changed in the years since he first went to Napoleon’s apartment. He remembered the first night he stayed there. They were not yet lovers, barely even friends.
It was a difficult assignment, and Illya had a deep tissue bruise in his leg, a stiff back that threatened to cause him to walk doubled over and the beginnings of a migraine. He didn’t feel like he could walk up the three flights of stairs to his own small rented room. Napoleon insisted that he stay with him, in the building with an elevator and a more comfortable bed than the thin mattress that Illya slept on. Napoleon made a bed for him, put a soft woolen blanket on it, filled a pitcher of water and a bottle of vodka on the nightstand.
It was one of the first kindnesses done to him during his time in America, and gave him insight into the heart of this man, his brand new partner, that made him want to know him more.
Illya shook himself out of the memory, then walked outside of the apartment. He turned the corner and bumped into a young woman who wasn’t much taller than he was. She, too, wore a wool pea coat, only this one was green. She also wore a thick scarf around her head, like a turban. She looked up and gasped.
“I think I know you,” she said.
“I’m sorry, miss, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.” He began to walk away.
The young woman put her hand on Illya’s shoulder. He could smell her perfume, which he thought may have been Chantilly. “But I do. I’ve seen you before.” Her eyes grew wide. “The blond man. You‘re him. You‘re Illya.”
“And you are?”
“I’m Bunny Houghton. I used to be married to Napoleon.”
---
The diner was nearly deserted, even though the wind outside had picked up and howled even more violently. Illya and Bunny sat together in a booth. Bunny had black coffee, Illya had a cup of watery tea. Their body language was tense, yet accepting of one another.
“I wasn’t sure how to get in touch with him. He seemed to disappear.”
Illya shook his head. “He was with me.”
Bunny’s eyes went wide. “With you? I take it he found you?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. We found one another.”
The young woman unwrapped her hair. Illya saw that it was dark brown and shoulder length. “Tell me. Does it bother you that we were married?”
“Would it make you feel better if it did?”
She cracked a smile. “Very cute. I’m just curious. I know I’m jealous of all of Gerald’s old girlfriends.”
It was Illya’s turn to smile. “Madam, if I were jealous of all of Napoleon’s former lovers and trysts, I would constantly be angry or depressed. I don’t care where he’s been before me. I only care where he is when he’s with me.”
Bunny pursed her lips and was quiet for a moment. “He’s a difficult man to know.”
“Yes, however in our line of work that was an asset, not a weakness.” Illya took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses carefully.
“He was also a difficult man to love.” Bunny leaned back into the banquette.
“I find that any difficulty one might have in earning his affection is well worth any price. The reward is so much more than the risk.”
Bunny blew on her cup of coffee and took a long, noisy sip. “So, what are you doing here? Is Napoleon here, too? Do you think he’ll come to the apartment?”
“Do you want him to?”
Bunny stared at her cup as if it’s liquid depths held the answers to her questions. “I don’t know.”
Illya finished his tea and tapped his fingers on the table top. “What do you think about meeting him in a neutral place? Like a deli? Perhaps you can accidentally meet him the same way we met. Only it wouldn’t be an accident. I am bringing Napoleon to my favorite deli for lunch this afternoon. Do you think you could meet us there and talk to him about whatever it is you want to discuss?”
“It’s sensitive information. I want to talk to him about my settlement.”
Illya’s eyes narrowed. “And this isn’t something you can do through a lawyer?”
“I thought I would cut out the middle man.”
“Did you?” Illya rose to his feet and started to put his coat on.
“I thought it might be best. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the best way is to just cut and run. I don’t want to hurt anybody, I just want to be free of it once and for all.”
“Bunny, if I were you, I’d really consider doing it my way. It will be easier on you and better for everyone. 1:15 at Lenny‘s in the Village. I recommend the egg salad if you’ve never tried it. Until this afternoon,” he said as he left the restaurant.
--
Napoleon and Illya walked into Lenny’s and grabbed a table. Napoleon ordered a corned beef sandwich and pickled tomatoes. Illya ordered a medium bowl of borscht, gravlox, capers and cream cheese on a bialy, and a noodle pudding.
“Still eating for three or four, partner mine,” Napoleon chuckled.
“Napoleon, it’s not every day I can indulge in a quality bialy. I haven’t had gravlox since I left New York.”
“I don’t understand how you can put it away.”
Illya grinned into his borscht. “I plan on working it off later.”
Napoleon choked on his own sandwich, then laughed.
Illya was nearly finished with his bowl of soup when he smelled Chantilly. He looked up and saw Bunny coming toward them.
“Napoleon? Honey, is that you?”
Napoleon’s face turned pale and he sat his sandwich down. “Bunny? What are you doing here?”
“Getting a sandwich. I have a long day today, I was in this neighborhood and thought I would stop in for an early lunch. I‘ve heard the egg salad here is good,” she said, her eyes turning toward Illya. “Who is your friend here?”
“Oh,” Napoleon stumbled over his own words. “Bunny, this is Illya Kuryakin. Illya, this is Bunny, my ex-wife.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Solo.”
“Houghton. I’ve taken my maiden name back,” she added, pulling up a chair. “Well, Napoleon, do you mind if I join you for a moment? I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to check your mail but I’ve sent a letter.”
“As a matter of fact, I did get your letter. Congratulations are in order. I’m happy for you and Gerald. Will you be staying in New York?”
Bunny shook her head. “No. Gerald has gotten a position in Hartford. We’ll be heading up there this fall. I plan on moving out of the apartment soon, though. I wasn’t sure what you’d like me to do with the key.”
Illya took a healthy bite of his bialy. Napoleon frowned at his partner’s poor table manners and focused his attention on Bunny.
“I like your hair,” Napoleon said, his fingers nervously tapping his silverware.
“Oh. Well, Gerald likes it better longer. And I like it better brunette.”
“I thought you might. Anyway, you were saying, the key?” Napoleon asked.
“Yes. I am moving out of the apartment in a month. I’m not sure what you want me to do with the key. Also, I thought I would get my final settlement, since Gerald and I will be married sometime in April. It would be nice to purchase a new wedding dress.”
Napoleon took a small bite of his corned beef sandwich. Illya cleared his throat and spoke quietly. “Miss Houghton, I wish you every happiness.”
“Thank you. And I hope you are happy as well, really I do.” Bunny reached over and her hand on Napoleon’s, gave it a little squeeze.
Napoleon’s cheeks pinked slightly. “Bun, that’s very gracious of you. Listen, I know the middle of a deli isn’t the best place to say this, but I’m sorry about the way things turned out.”
“It’s all right. Honestly, Napoleon, it’s fine. I don’t hate you anymore. And you’ve been nothing but a perfect gentleman to me, even after all this time. So,” Bunny patted Napoleon’s hand again, then started to dig in her purse for her wallet, “the key. What should I do with it? Should I send it over to Solo and Associates? Put it in a safety deposit box? Just give me the word.”
“Sure, send it to the office. I think that will work out well. Don’t worry about a final cleaning, I’ll send a service over to do it. Give my best to Gerald, will you?”
Illya speared a tomato from Napoleon’s plate and popped it in his mouth. He looked up from his own plate and noticed Bunny glancing at him. He smiled and she returned the smile, their secret safe from Napoleon. She rose to her feet and nodded. “I certainly will, Napoleon.” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye, honey. Good luck with everything.”
---
“Can you believe it’s almost New Year‘s Eve? Almost 1976? C’mon people! Let’s take it way back with some Blue Notes! Only on WPIX, New York‘s home for disco!”
Napoleon cocked his ear toward the music and shimmied to the beat. He wrapped the last of his nesting dolls in old newspaper and sat them gently in a box.
The radio crackled and fuzzed. The love I lost…was a sweet love…the love I lost was complete love…
He called out to his partner. “Hey, Illya. You want to take a break? It’s almost midnight.”
Illya walked out of the small bedroom and into the living area. He had been sweating, moving boxes around and packing up the remainder of Napoleon’s books. His blond hair hung down into his eyes, damp and lank. His glasses were slightly fogged. “That sounds fine. Something cold sounds even better.”
“I have two bottles of Dr. Brown’s left. No vodka. The scotch is packed away. The water in this building is awful.”
Illya smiled. “Cream soda it is, then.”
Napoleon walked into the utility kitchen, grabbed the two bottles of soda and a bottle opener. Frankie Valli’s voice soared out of the radio. Who loves you, pretty baby? Who’s gonna help you through the night?
From the other room, Napoleon heard Illya singing along. He laughed, remembering all the times Illya had attempted to hide his passion for music. Napoleon knew, of course; the nights spent together at jazz clubs or listening to one of Illya’s cherished records had long exposed the truth. It was funny, though, to hear Illya singing along to disco.
“Come to me…baby, you’ll see,” Illya sang as Napoleon walked back into the living area, handing Illya a cold bottle of Dr. Brown’s.
They drank their soda in silence, listening to the radio‘s soft buzzing and crackling. Napoleon sat his bottle down on the floor and sighed. “You know what we forgot? A birthday cake. I was 45 today. Well, yesterday. I think it‘s midnight now.”
“Oh?” Illya said noncommittally.
“I forgot my own birthday cake.” His dark head bowed sadly.
“Luckily, I thought ahead and got you a kringle before I left Smithton.” He opened a box casually hidden behind a box of books and handed the wrapped wax paper bundle to his friend.
Napoleon‘s head lifted, his eyes lit up with surprise. “Birthday kringle. What will you think of next?”
Illya kissed Napoleon on the cheek. “Lots of things, Pasha. Lots of things.”
It only takes a minute, girl, to fall in love….let’s fall in love…
Napoleon laughed softly. “I already have.”
“Hmm?”
He nodded his head toward the radio. “Bum bum bum bum, fall in love…”
Illya smiled and moved closer to Napoleon’s mouth. Their noses touched. “I see what you mean,” he whispered. “Luckily, that’s what I was thinking of next.”
They kissed each other, nipping at one another’s chin and neck. Napoleon nibbled and sucked the hollow of Illya’s throat, drawing color to the surface, indicating him as his own. Not to be outdone, Illya scraped his nails down Napoleon’s arms and chest, slight red lines rising upon his dusky skin. It had always been this way, this desperate need that caused them to brand each other, to mark the other as their own. Passion built between them and their own moans and sighs of ecstasy fought with the rushing of the blood in their ears, creating a symphony of love, keeping perfect time with the radio.
Napoleon cried out first, collapsing on top of Illya, kissing his collarbone.
“I love you.”
Illya took a minute to catch his breath. “Yes. Napoleon.” He could feel his lover’s smile upon his skin. “Yes.”
“Mmmm. Let’s go to bed. I want to hold you tonight.”
“Napoleon… what will you think of next?”
He grinned and pulled Illya to his feet. “Lots of things, Illyusha. Lots of things.”
FIN