MFU Fanfic: Without a Word (Parts I - VII)
This story starts from this screencap from The Off Broadway Affair 
, but is not connected to the episode at all. The lively discussion which followed the posting of the first screencap in late February sparked the idea. Subsequent screenscaps such as An invitation? A warning? and Sleight of Hand? as well as evocative ones posted by other cousins, and the ensuing lively discussions, inspired the continuation.
Part I can stand by itself as well as being the first chapter of the expanded version of Without a Word. I see the action of the story occurring somewhere between two of my other stories, Overtures and Bare Hands.
There are slash and het implications in the early chapters. By Part IV they are no longer merely implications, the rating becomes NC-17 and I wouldn't consider it work safe from then on.
Disclaimer: Don't own MUNCLE and no money is being made!
Also, posted in installments on mfu_yumdaily as follows:
Part IX
Part VIII
Part VII
Part VI
Part V
Part IV
Part III
Part II
Part I
Excerpt:
“Partners, you say?” the woman asked, her gaze flickering between the two men.
Without a Word
Part I
“Partners, you say?” the woman asked, her gaze flickering between the two men.
Napoleon eyed the redhead seated across the table from them. Vera's upswept hair revealed the nape of her neck, pale and unblemished. It would be pleasing to leave a tiny mark there, he thought. To help you remember me for a few days. He suppressed a smile. Women remembered him for more than a few days. He reached for his brandy. Napoleon had seen Illya's eyebrow arch critically when references to the amorous indulgences of Napoleon Solo were made. Few understood how carefully he controlled his indulgences. Napoleon was good at controlling himself, which might have been why the ladies remembered him fondly. Illya hasn’t known me long enough to realise that those impulses don't control me, even if I let it appear that way sometimes. Napoleon took a sip of his brandy. Since we’ve been partners there hasn't been much for Illya to observe to help him realise. Napoleon swirled the amber liquid in his glass before taking another sip. Have we actually been that busy these past couple months?
Napoleon recalled the stern look Illya had given him that first morning and felt a little warmer under his tuxedo. Have I been avoiding giving him cause to look at me like that? Napoleon set down his glass and clasped his hands. In case he doesn’t let me touch him again? Something tightened low in Napoleon’s stomach and one of his thumbs slid over the other. The feeling of stroking along Illya‘s back, down towards the twin dimples. Napoleon moved his knee to the side of the chair. You’re paler than Illya, Napoleon thought, considering Vera‘s bare shoulders. Illya's hands would look dark against your breasts. Napoleon’s gaze followed the green satin curve of Vera’s neckline to the point where her breasts were pressed together into a charming line. Another sweet place to kiss, he thought and wondered what colour Vera's lingerie might be. Dark green, like the satin and velvet of the gown? Or black? Lacy? Soft flesh showing through flowery patterns. Warm flesh that Illya would hold up for me to kiss once he removed your brassiere.
Napoleon gave himself a mental shake. Where'd that come from? He sought his glass, slid his fingers around the stem, cupping the bowl loosely as he brought it to his mouth. You shouldn’t be daring us. The light caught the jewels in Vera’s earrings when she tilted her head and Napoleon’s eyes moved away from her breasts. Square cut emeralds…the colour of your eyes. The stones were patterned with intriguing imperfections. Napoleon saw that Vera was watching him more than listening to his remarks about their dinner, taking note of where his eyes lingered. Let‘s alter the game a bit, Napoleon thought. When Vera took a cigarette case from the beaded evening bag lying on the table, extracted a cigarette and leaned forward placing the cigarette between her lips, Napoleon kept his eyes on her face and commented on the piece the band was playing more or less passably. He observed with satisfaction her look of mild annoyance.
Illya’s hand closed around the small candle holder in the middle of the table and held it up to the tip of Vera’s cigarette. The move startled Napoleon. Around the other end of the cigarette, Vera smiled. Talk about a misnomer, Napoleon thought. She’d duped THRUSH out of a small fortune for research, gotten UNCLE to intervene and save her and her invention and now she thought she’d play Illya and him against one another. Illya set the candle down and drew his fingers slowly away from the glowing ruby glass. Napoleon’s eyebrow raised the tiniest bit before he caught it. Was Illya accepting her challenge? Under the table, Napoleon swung his leg wider. Vera was observing Illya’s hand as it withdrew across the linen. Napoleon glanced up. Illya's expression was still, his eyelids lowered ever so slightly over the direct gaze he was levelling at Vera. There was the merest hint of a smile on his lips. Vera took the cigarette from her mouth and stared back, not moving now either, except for the gentle rising and falling of her breasts. Napoleon’s eyes had strayed back to them, but she didn’t notice this time. Napoleon looked up at her face. Her lips were parted as though she still held the cigarette between them, her eyes locked on Illya’s. The smoke from her forgotten cigarette drifted between them.
For the second time in as many minutes, Napoleon was startled. Getting to know his new partner had proven to be an experience like no other and Napoleon was a man of considerable and varied experience. What was happening right now was an excellent example of how much Napoleon didn’t yet know. How much do you know, Illya? Do you know that I’m seriously tempted for the first time since you laid your hand on my knee in that smoky club? A tingle ran along the inside of Napoleon’s thigh. He took a long swallow of his brandy. In the morning I didn’t want you to leave. Napoleon’s fingers tightened around his brandy snifter.
Illya moved his hand to his pocket. A jangle. He stood, car keys dangling from his index finger and turned towards the front door without a word. Napoleon glanced at Vera. Her eyes were following Illya’s back as he wove his way around the tightly packed tables.
Oh, you’ve been playing with amateurs, Napoleon thought. He stood, tossed some bills onto the table and extended his hand to Vera. “Shall we join him?” he asked, his voice low. Vera jerked her gaze away from Illya’s receding form and looked at Napoleon, eyes opening wider for an instant. Napoleon smiled just a little. He's caught you already. Vera raised her hand slowly, the emerald in her ring reflecting the flickering light of the candle flame.
****************
Part II
The black sedan they had rented was roomy and the black leather interior merged with the shadows, revealing nothing. Its engine purred in the darkness. The ceiling light came on when Napoleon opened the passenger door and handed Vera in. He slid in next to her and shut the door. Illya didn’t turn on the headlamps until the door slammed. Tiny coloured eyes winked open along the dash, their gleam doubled in polished wood and chrome. Napoleon was curious where Illya was planning to go. Vera and Napoleon turned towards him, but Illya manoeuvred past the other parked cars and onto the cobbled road without explanation. The street lights and the headlamps of the occasional passing car threw his profile into relief, but Illya kept his eyes forward, weaving the car through the narrow, steep streets, his hands guiding the steering wheel as he executed sharp turns, the wheel gliding back through his hands as the path of the car straightened. Vera was watching Illya’s hands. Is she thinking how broad they are? Napoleon wondered. Or where he will touch her first? He stretched his arm along the back of the seat. She’d be able to feel its warmth there, but he didn’t curve his hand around her bare arm. She’s probably expecting me to, Napoleon thought. His fingertips brushed against the sleeve of Illya’s suit jacket.
Illya cracked open his window. It had rained earlier and the tires made a lulling swish along the pavement as he guided the car out of the town, away from the street lamps and further up the mountain. Where is he going? Napoleon mused again, curious, but unconcerned. Silence suited the dark road and Napoleon chose not to talk either. Vera hadn’t been listening to him at the restaurant. The silence seemed to intrigue her or perhaps she hadn’t even noticed that he‘d stopped talking, aloud anyway. Napoleon leaned across Vera and turned on the radio. Illya had tuned it to a classical station earlier and Napoleon left it there, the volume low. Liszt. He leaned back slowly, let the soft wool of his tuxedo jacket rub across Vera’s arm. They were heading north on a winding road, quiet at this hour, the bright windows of the town hidden behind the curve of the mountain. Vera settled back against the seat, resting her neck against Napoleon’s arm. He didn’t move it. The rhapsody played on.
There was a sharp snap in the darkness, then a second. Vera held another cigarette to her lips. Napoleon reached across her again and pressed the lighter into the dashboard to heat. He waited, his right arm resting on the dashboard, his knee brushing against Vera’s leg, and looked up through the windscreen. The clouds were pulling apart, a few stars becoming visible. When the lighter popped out, Napoleon held the glowing metal up to Vera’s cigarette. His thigh rubbed past her knee when he plugged it in again, then he settled back, careful to leave an inch or two between them. It was getting cooler as they climbed. He smiled a little as he felt Vera edge nearer to his side.
Napoleon saw Illya check the rear view mirror. Napoleon checked the side mirror. The darkness was unbroken. Napoleon tilted his head back, closed his eyes. Vera moved a little closer. He let her.
****************
Car doors were closing. Napoleon opened his eyes and sat up.
Vera stirred next to him, but didn’t sit up. “He’s brought us back,” she stated.
“He has,” Napoleon replied and wondered at Illya’s thinking. The hotel would have sufficed. But it would have been less private.
“Yes, sir. We were just finishing up.” Napoleon heard the jingle of keys, the creak of iron hinges. Illya had come back to the THRUSH nest. At least we managed to empty this one without needing to blow anything up, Napoleon mused. Which was fortunate, since the small chateau was centuries old with gardens sloping down from its grey stone walls to the ornate metal gates which had just swung open. They must have been driving up through the vineyards that descended from the garden walls towards the town. Napoleon could hear the murmur of Illya’s voice but not the words. He was speaking softly. The junior agents’ voices were louder. Pleased at a job well done.
“We’ve swept everywhere, sir, for bugs, explosives and booby traps. We’ve tested for chemicals.” The young agent’s voice dipped, but Napoleon could still hear. “Even the food, sir. It’s fine. Um, we had dinner.” He heard a low murmur from Illya. “We’ve checked the security system and changed the codes. We were just about to set them when you arrived." One of the trucks started up. “Thank you, sir.”
Illya slipped into the driver’s seat without closing the door all the way, drove the car through the gates and slid out again.
There was the scrape of metal across stone as the gates began to shut. Another vehicle pulled up and more doors slammed. Napoleon glanced into the side mirror. He listened to the heavy thump of crates being loaded into the van.
Napoleon heard “good night” in three languages before doors slamming one after another and the scrunch of gravel marked the departure of the other agents and the last of the samples for the lab.
The gates clanged shut and Illya slipped back into the car, closing his door this time.
*******************
“Did you see who they had in the car?” Begault asked Mercier as they pulled away.
“Mm,” Mercier answered. “Do you think they are planning to interrogate her?”
“That’s a new word for it,” Begault replied. “You saw the way she was snuggled up to Solo.”
“He was guarding her. That’s why he stayed in the car with her,” Mercier said. “She already double-crossed THRUSH. She might have held back information.”
“Well, you never know with Solo. That might be part of his interrogation technique,” Begault suggested as he took the first turn.
“Oh, come on, you don’t believe all that talk about him, do you?” Mercier said.
“I’ve heard it from too many, ah, eye-witnesses, shall we say, over the years to disbelieve,” Begault responded, shifting into a lower gear. “The man could almost be French.”
******************
Part III
Illya parked the car as close to the chateau as he could and in as open a space as the luxuriant growth of the trees and shrubs permitted. They walked the rest of the way up through the gardens, Illya several steps in front, his eyes darting from side to side along the winding walkways. The glare from the security lights around the chateau filtered down the terraces, through the foliage, enough for them to find their way. A light breeze was rustling the leaves, swaying the slender branches, casting moving shadows across the path. Napoleon couldn’t see one of Illya’s hands at his side. He’s drawn his gun, Napoleon surmised. Vera’s arm was linked with his, he pressed it closer to his side. It helped to steady her when the spikes of her heels caught between the bricks of the path and would made it harder for her to break away, if there were an ambush waiting among the fragrant leaves. A gust of wind blew up the path as they passed under an arch of blooming lilac. Vera gasped. Napoleon hardly felt the raindrops shaken lose over them. They must be cold on your bare shoulders, Napoleon thought. Trickling down between your breasts. Napoleon drew Vera’s arm further through his.
Ahead of them, Illya walked through a patch of light. A large ring of keys hung from the hand by his side. Napoleon could distinguish the shapes of large antique keys and smaller, indistinct shapes which must be modern ones. Illya disappeared around a hedge.
Three steps later, Napoleon and Vera emerged onto the lawn before the chateau. Illya had already crossed it and was mounting the steps to the terrace by the front door. The security lights were bright here, their blue tinge eerier than the shadows of the garden. Illya seemed to know which key was needed and was holding the front door open for them after only a moment. As soon as they followed him inside, Napoleon heard Illya securing the locks behind them and resetting the alarms.
They paused in the middle of the marble floor. Napoleon’s eyes darted from window to window, squinting into the shadows that gathered between them and by the stairs, then turning to check Illya's location. In the electric twilight created by the outdoor lights filtering through the curtains, he could see Illya pointing up with his gun and heading for the stairs.
Vera had not drawn her arm away when they entered the house. Is she trying to appeal to my protective side now? Napoleon wondered. Or has Illya actually unnerved her a bit? Their footsteps were loud against the marble floor as he led her to the grand staircase, the echoes rising into the darkness above them.
*****************
Illya continued several paces ahead of Napoleon and Vera up the stairs and down the corridor towards the bedrooms. He stopped in front of the door to Vera’s boudoir and found the key on the ring to lock it. Napoleon felt Vera stiffen against him. The window at the end of the hallway and the small nightlights dotting the corridor near the baseboards, barely dispelled the darkness. Even in the gloom, Napoleon could discern the smile on Illya’s face when he turned from the door he had just locked and moved further along the hall.
It made sense not to use Vera’s bedroom. She would know it too well and that could be a disadvantage. Illya had been over the house and most of the garden in the morning after he had found Vera’s machine and used it to incapacitate everyone in the chateau and nearby grounds whose ears weren’t protected, which had been everyone other than Napoleon, Vera and himself. The Section Three agents had joined them after they had disabled the machine. Napoleon resisted the urge to poke at his ear. Illya had insisted on applying the substance to Napoleon himself, whispering into his ear before he blocked out all sound. Napoleon had chafed under the necessity of being deprived of one of his senses. The substance Illya had used was warm and smelled like honey. One hot shower had not been enough to remove all of it.
The door Illya stopped before was to a guest room which had been prepared for a THRUSH visitor who had not had a chance to enjoy it. They had sent his suitcase along with him to the HQ in Toulouse.
Napoleon and Vera were still arm in arm when Illya ushered them into the room. Vera stopped when the dim light from the corridor was cut off by Illya locking the door behind them. The darkness inside the room was complete. Illya jingled when he walked past them. The sound of metal over metal heralded a bit of light coming up from the garden. After tying back the draperies and the curtains, Illya opened the French doors onto a terrace. The cold air rushed into the room as Illya strode out. This time Vera actually pressed herself against Napoleon’s side. He slide his arm out from under hers and around her waist. He wondered whether it was the night air or Illya’s prolonged silence that made her draw closer. He let his hand slide down her hip as they walked to the doors and onto the terrace.
On the far side of the terrace, Illya stood with his back to them, the outlines of his dark suit disappearing into the gloom. Only the pale smudge of his hair showed against the mountain wall rising behind the chateau. Illya’s head was tilted back. How well I already know every angle of you, Napoleon thought and looked up, too. The clouds were gone. The lights in the garden were no rivals for the blaze of stars in the black sky. Vera must have looked up as well because Napoleon heard her sharp intake of breath. I’ve lived in cities so long, I’ve almost forgotten what a clear night can look like, he thought and let his hand glide along the velvet of Vera’s dress from her hip to the top of her thigh and back. He could feel the outline of her garters. She pressed closer against him. The night was getting colder.
Illya turned and walked towards them, then on into the room. Napoleon glanced over his shoulder, but could see nothing in the dark interior. Apparently, Illya recalled the lay of the room sufficiently well to navigate without flicking on a light. Napoleon heard faint scraping and thumping noises and then the long scratch of a wooden match. A small flame made the darkness waver. Vera hadn’t turned, she was still studying the stars. Do you think the answer’s there? Napoleon thought.
“Shall we go inside? Illya’s started a fire,” Napoleon whispered to Vera as though a louder utterance would be gauche.
The fresh air must have revived her because Vera chuckled softly and turned to face Napoleon, pressing her breasts against his chest and sliding one hand up his sleeve to his shoulder. In her heels, she was the same height as he was. Napoleon could smell the spicy sauce from the peach flambée they had had for dessert. He had ordered it because he thought Illya would enjoy both the flavour and the flames, and he had. So had Vera. She leaned in for a kiss and Napoleon pivoted to her other side, his hand gliding across her stomach to her opposite hip. Still trying to divide and conquer, are we? Napoleon thought. He steered Vera into the room. He wanted to see what Illya had planned.
******************
Without a Word
Part IV
The young fire was already licking between the logs stacked in the grate, crackling and flickering as the kindling was consumed. Napoleon remembered more of the details of the chamber now. In the afternoon, he had done little more than glance into it to speak with Illya as he concluded his search of the interior. There was much gilt on its furniture and several mirrors on its white panelled walls. The firelight played off their surfaces without lightening the further reaches of the spacious room. Napoleon spied the glint of cut glass and thought he might have located the liquor cabinet. He couldn’t see where Illya was.
“A libation?” Napoleon asked, disengaging from Vera before the fire.
“Water first,” she answered, moving closer to the hearth, her palms up to the flames. “Then a cordial, perhaps.”
Faintly, Napoleon heard a tap running. Now he knew where Illya was. The doors are thick. He found glasses on the shelf below the decanters and a teardrop-shaped bottle behind them. He poured Vera some sparkling water. He took a couple steps to hand her the tumbler and watched her drink. “More?” he asked when she finished. He held out his hand for the glass.
“No, thank you,” she murmured, returning the glass. “The cordial would be nice now.”
Napoleon was pleased to have the heavy, cut-glass tumbler back in his hands. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Surprise me,” Vera answered. She took another step towards the fire, the silk of her stocking catching the light when the slit in her dark gown opened as she moved. It would be easy to reach the garter through that slit, Napoleon thought and decided on Grand Marnier. He had recognised the shape of its bottle when he was feeling for the water.
Crystal flutes rang against one another as Napoleon extracted the liqueur from the back of the cabinet. He half-filled a tiny glass and offered it to Vera.
“What did you think I would want?” Vera enquired as she accepted the glass. She sipped. “A good choice,” she remarked, taking another sip. “What will you have?”
“I have to explore a bit more before I decide,” Napoleon said and located a bottle of cognac for himself. He had just finished pouring when he heard the bathroom door open and Illya emerged. The door was in the far corner of the room where the firelight didn’t reach. Napoleon was glad he had already set the bottle down when Illya stepped into the firelight, took the glass from Vera’s hand and wafted it under his nose. He tasted the liqueur, then handed it back to her.
“Anything less sweet?” he enquired.
“Ah, yes. Vodka, I think,” Napoleon answered, his eyes following the deep vee of the dressing gown Illya had donned over what appeared to be nothing else at all. The snifter chimed against the cognac bottle as Napoleon reached into the cabinet for the bottle he thought was probably vodka.
Napoleon joined the pair by the fire and handed Illya his vodka. “Would you like more?” he asked Vera. Vera didn’t reply as Illya upended his glass. They both watched him swallow with his head still thrown back.
“A good choice,” Illya said and offered Napoleon his empty glass.
“Vera?” Napoleon enquired. Illya had tied his robe loosely. He turned towards the fire. Napoleon watched Vera’s eyes following the movement of the shiny fabric as it revealed glimpses of Illya’s skin.
“Yes, please,” she murmured and extended her glass in his general direction without looking away from Illya. Napoleon took it and returned to the liquor cabinet with the empty glasses. When he had given Illya his drink, Napoleon had smelt mint and shaving cream. His hand moved around the stem of the cordial glass. Stroking under Illya’s jaw when he had just wiped the lather away. Kissing along his cheek to the corner of his lips. Napoleon took a drink of his cognac before refilling Illya’s and Vera’s glasses. Tasting Illya. Mint, chocolate, vodka, dill pickles. It didn’t matter. Pushing past Illya's lips and tasting. Napoleon leaned on the cabinet for a moment before he brought Illya and Vera their drinks and excused himself.
Finding the door to the bathroom more through touch than sight, Napoleon closed it behind himself before switching on the light. He blinked in its glare as he glanced around the small room. There was another dressing gown on one of the hooks behind the door, next to where Illya had hung his clothes. Disrobing quickly, Napoleon hung his clothes beside Illya’s. Convenient that there should be two robes, Napoleon thought as he fingered the maroon silk. Had the THRUSH they captured been expecting a companion? Had they missed anyone in the grounds or even in the house? Unlikely in the house, Napoleon reasoned. He turned on the tap in the basin, took out his communicator, contacted Mercier and advised him to question the THRUSH with the suitcase closely on that. Then Napoleon turned to the mirror and smiled as he spread lather over his face.
Illya was adding a log to the fire when Napoleon returned. From somewhere in the room, a phonograph was softly playing Clare de Lune. Vera was sitting in the middle of the sofa facing the hearth. Illya picked up a poker and nudged the log into place. The bottommost log broke in two; sparks flew up the chimney. Napoleon glanced at the sofa as if he could divine from a look whether Illya had been sitting next to Vera on it while he was gone.
“Is there anything I can get you?” Napoleon asked as he approached the settee.
Vera smiled up at him. “No, Illya’s taken care of everything.” Napoleon sat down on her left side and extended his arm along the back of the sofa, hoping it wasn‘t the side where Illya had been sitting. “I see you’ve changed, too,” Vera commented, admiring Napoleon’s chest for a moment before her eyes dropped to his knees. “Cecil would no doubt be pleased that you like his clothes,” she smiled and Napoleon crossed his legs and leaned towards her.
“It was considerate of him to leave them behind,” he replied. The fire was warming the room. “You must feel overdressed now though,” he said and lifted one side of the slit in her dress without touching her leg. “I could help you remove those, if you like,” Napoleon offered, referring to the black garter and the stocking top which came into view as he lifted the cloth higher.
Illya walked back to the couch and held out the snifter to Napoleon. Napoleon let the velvet fall and reached up to take the glass. Illya took a drink of his vodka and Vera looked up at him. “I can do that myself,” she replied without moving her eyes from Illya. She slipped her hand through the slit in her gown and undid the small hook of her garter. She lifted her knee slowly and reached under her thigh to undo the hook in the back, then she began rolling her stocking down her leg. Illya remained standing and finished his vodka. Napoleon sipped his cognac. Vera leaned forward and slipped the rolled stocking off her foot and left it on the floor. “That is better,” she said and reached under the velvet again to undo her other garters.
Napoleon reclined against the arm of the sofa and watched, admiring Vera's showmanship. “If you need any help,” he remarked and cupped his hand around the snifter to warm the cognac that had grown cold while he was out of the room. Vera glanced at him, shook her head and then raised her eyes to look at Illya, but he’d walked back to the liquor cabinet. Napoleon couldn't help enjoying the look of confusion on Vera’s face. God, he’s good, Napoleon thought. Vera slipped the second stocking off her foot. Napoleon leaned closer and traced a finger along the back of her neck near the zipper of her dress. “Shall I help you with that?” he asked. He wasn’t surprised that this time she accepted. Illya walking away had clearly rankled. When the zipper was partway down her back, Vera stood. Napoleon stood, too, and brought the zipper down to the small of her back. Normally, he would have slipped his hands inside, around her waist, at that point, but Napoleon decided to follow Illya’s strategy of benign neglect.
Vera glanced over her shoulder at Napoleon and began to slip the gown off her shoulders. “Would you help me with the hooks,” she asked, almost sweetly.
Trying to get Illya jealous, are you? Napoleon thought and smiled. He was almost certain, Vera would misinterpret that. Napoleon let the backs of his fingers stroke down her spine to just above the brassiere closure, then he unhooked it. He felt her shiver a little at the touch. His smile increased slightly. Looks like I’m going to be the one making the offering to Illya, Napoleon thought, running his finger the rest of the way down Vera’s back and unhooking her garter belt. Vera pushed the dress the rest of the way off her shoulders. With a soft swish, it slid past her hips and onto the floor around her feet. Black lace, Napoleon noted, holding on to one side of the garter belt and reaching up to catch the brassiere before it fell. He slipped them off around her and dropped them onto the couch. Illya had returned, vodka in hand and stood in front of them. Vera looked over her shoulder at Napoleon and smiled invitingly for Illya to see.
Napoleon stepped closer, tilted his head so that he was looking at Illya over Vera's other shoulder and brought his hands up under her breasts. He caught Illya’s eye as he cradled them in both hands. Vera glanced back towards Illya and their eyes met. Illya had that same look he’d had in the restaurant, only his eyelids were the tiniest bit lower now. She’ll think he’s getting drunk, Napoleon thought. She doesn’t know about Illya and vodka. Napoleon leaned his head against Vera’s hair, smiling even more now. The smell of cigarette smoke mingled with her perfume. I’ve always liked Chanel, Napoleon thought and glanced towards Illya. He was still looking straight at Vera. Napoleon felt her sigh. He lifted her breasts a little higher and turned his head towards her. Vera had lowered her eyes.
Illya finished his vodka in one swallow, set the glass down sharply on the end table and brought his lips to her right breast. Napoleon had kept his hips away from Vera so that she wouldn’t feel his erection. When Illya’s lips closed over her nipple, Napoleon shifted closer, pressing himself into the cleft of her buttocks and running his thumb over her other nipple. He felt the shudder run right through her. He rubbed his cheek against her hair as he watched Illya’s mouth. As far as he could tell in the dim light, Vera’s nipples and Illya’s lips were the same shade of pink. As Illya suckled her breast, the underside of his lower lip brushed the side of Napoleon’s hand. Napoleon called upon the control on which he prided himself. Watching and feeling Illya’s lips had been almost too much, so Napoleon turned his head and kissed Vera’s ear, letting the tip of his tongue play around the loop of the earring piercing her earlobe. She answered by pressing her hips back against Napoleon. A two front war is hard to win, Napoleon silently warned her. He felt Vera’s fingers sliding under the elastic of her last garment, pulling it down to her thighs. She wiggled slightly, which felt good to Napoleon, and the garment fell to her ankles. Vera stepped out of it.
Illya straightened up and took a step back. Vera let out a startled, mournful cry, reached out towards him and caught one end of his robe‘s sash. She pulled and Illya’s dressing gown fell open. Napoleon felt her sigh. Illya was impressive aroused and Vera was clearly relieved that he was. Napoleon rubbed his forehead against Vera’s hair so she wouldn’t feel his smile. He had you worried that you hadn’t had any effect at all on him, didn’t he? She tugged at the end of the sash, but Illya stepped further back, let the sash run through the belt loops and fall limply to the floor in her hand. He was looking at her eyes again, apparently heedless of her nakedness or her arousal. The erection sort of gives that away, Napoleon thought. But just because he’s able, doesn’t mean he’s willing. Napoleon thought Vera might pull free and try to seize Illya, but she didn’t. She was reaching out with her arms in a supplicating gesture, but pushing her hips back against Napoleon. I’m going to be offended if I’m the consolation prize, Napoleon thought.
Illya cocked his head, the flames gleamed in his hair. He shrugged his shoulders and the robe fell away. The firelight bronzed his skin. Almost too beautiful, Napoleon thought. Vera drew in her breath sharply. You think so, too, Napoleon translated. How could you not? Illya took another step backward, then turned and walked to the liquor cabinet. Vera made a small, distressed sound. What a tease, Napoleon thought. If the situation were reversed, there would be a word for what she was. There doesn’t seem to be a word for when a man does that to a woman, Napoleon marvelled. Illya picked up a bottle and upended it. Napoleon could tell it was spring water. Did you want to show us how beautiful you look walking away or are you simply thirsty? Napoleon mused. Vera shivered, but Napoleon didn’t think she was cold. The area from the hearth to the sofa was comfortably warm. He dropped one hand from Vera’s breast to her waist and pulled her more snugly against him. It seemed to soothe her.
Illya walked back and stood in front of them with the water bottle. He offered it to Vera, but she shook her head. He held it up and raised an eyebrow at Napoleon; he declined as well. Illya took another long drink and set it down next to his empty vodka glass on the end table. “Which one of us do you want, then?” he asked.
Vera’s whisper was hoarse. “Both of you.”
Illya tilted his head. “Which one first?”
“Both of you,” Vera repeated softly, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire.
Illya raised his eyebrows and glanced at Napoleon over Vera’s shoulder. “At once?”
Vera nodded.
******************
Part V
Illya leaned around Vera, dropped something into the pocket of Napoleon’s robe and drew back a pace. Napoleon’s eyebrows raised. You were prepared for her to say both? Napoleon didn’t find it surprising that Vera had been flirting with both of them. It was somewhat annoying, especially her attempts to get them to compete over her, but not that surprising. To carry the game this far though… Napoleon listened to the sound of her breathing. He brought his mouth close to her cheek, exhaled softly over the flushed skin and brushed his lips down to her jaw. Vera tilted her head sideways so he could continue along her neck. When he reached her shoulder, he straightened up and leaned his cheek against hers. Or aren’t you playing anymore? Beneath his hand, her heart drummed. Aroused, yes. His thumb stroked back and forth across her nipple. But maybe still following some game plan. Napoleon took a deep breath and Vera leaned back against him. Which is rather attractive, in an Angelique-like kind of way, Napoleon acknowledged.
Illya stood watching them for a moment. When he advanced, he raised both hands to Vera’s neck. One hand slipped between her face and Napoleon‘s, gliding over Napoleon’s newly-shaved skin, the other curved around Vera‘s cheek, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone. Napoleon released the breast Illya had not kissed and slid his hand down over Vera’s abdomen, pulling her closer. Her lips parted in a sigh just before Illya’s mouth closed over them.
All along Napoleon's body, muscles tensed. Don’t like it, an inner voice growled. He took a deeper breath, his cock swelling against Vera’s buttocks. The sound she made was muffled by Illya’s tongue exploring. Napoleon’s eyes were only inches away. He tried to close them, avert them, but they were fixed on the subtle movements of Illya's lips. His tongue isn’t very deep, Napoleon observed, his muscles relaxing marginally. He exhaled. Just testing the waters. Napoleon breathed in. No…teasing. Napoleon was almost shocked. It was almost cruel. Thank heavens, you don’t do that to me. Napoleon's breath gusted across their cheeks. Illya was bending from the waist to kiss Vera, holding his body apart. Napoleon could feel her straining forward, seeking more contact.
The hand by Napoleon’s cheek slipped away, down Vera’s neck to her shoulder, her upper arm. Illya held Vera lightly, his hand encompassing her arm, his fingers pressing gently into her flesh. Napoleon had tilted his head down to watch them. He wanted them back by his cheek. Wanted those fingers on him. Mine! he shouted silently. Possessive? Me? Napoleon asked himself politely. Mine! the voice hissed. When? Napoleon enquired again, a hint of uncertainty in his inner voice. I flit like a butterfly and am happy for others to do the same, he assured himself. Illya’s fingertips slid a fraction of an inch along Vera’s arm. Napoleon felt the vibration low in her throat as she responded to that tiny movement. Oh, you have strung her very tight, Napoleon observed with some admiration. He hadn’t contemplated just how much of an artist Illya was, being somewhat distracted when those attentions were turned only on him. Illya’s index finger pressed a little deeper into Vera’s shoulder; she leaned a little further towards him. Mine! the voice snarled at that finger. I’m as tightly strung as she is, Napoleon realised.
He glanced up at their faces. Mistake. Illya was drawing back slightly, the pressure against Vera’s lips a bit less than when he’d last looked. Her lips were open. Her tongue attempting to explore now. Illya was permitting it. Napoleon splayed his fingers across Vera’s abdomen, pushing his hips lightly against her. Vera hummed. Whether it was his motions or gaining entry to Illya’s mouth, Napoleon couldn’t say. He looked down at Illya’s fingers again and eased his hand away from Vera’s breast, bending his elbow until he’d brought his hand just above Illya’s hand. Napoleon let his fingers descend, his fingertips gliding along the inside of Illya’s thumb and index finger, stroking the soft fold of skin between them before settling the heel of his palm against Vera’s back, his fingers resting on Illya’s. He felt a murmur from Vera. Still playing? Napoleon queried. Do you think I’m challenging Illya by putting my hand there or are you just responding to a touch? Hungry for more? Napoleon moved his hand along Vera’s abdomen, pulling his palm away, dragging his fingertips a little lower. He could feel her muscles tightening in anticipation. The couple inches he gained by arching his hand allowed him to touch Illya with the back of his hand. He stroked down the length of him and up again. Vera pressed forward against Napoleon's fingertips, pushing his hand more firmly against Illya. There. Napoleon saw it. The tiniest curve at the corner of Illya’s lips. Vera thrust her tongue more forcefully into Illya’s mouth and the curve grew slightly more pronounced. Oh, this is going to be a very long night, Napoleon thought, because he wasn’t absolutely certain why Illya was smiling.
******************
Part VI
Illya pulled away from Vera, sliding his hand out from under Napoleon‘s and off her shoulder. She leaned after Illya and Napoleon held her back against him, his fingers tightening on her shoulder, his hand flattening against her abdomen. The breath she drew in was uneven. “Patience,” Napoleon murmured in her ear and she released the breath slowly, closing her eyes and letting her head loll back against Napoleon’s shoulder. Napoleon glanced at Illya and caught the flicker of an eyebrow before Illya turned to the fireplace. He bent to take a log from the ornate woodbox by the hearth and again to drop the wood on the steadily burning logs. Embers fell through the grate; spears of light were thrown into the shadowy corners of the room. Illya added another log, prodding it into place with a poker. Napoleon watched the firelight play over Illya’s body. Each part the flames revealed made him want to see more, each part the shadows veiled made him want to touch.
“The bed will be more comfortable,” Illya said, pivoting back to face them, the poker still in his hand. His voice gave Napoleon a start. As though he had forgotten what a versatile instrument it was, how its tones affected him.
Vera had felt Napoleon start and opened her eyes. Napoleon felt her turning her head in Illya’s direction, lifting it off his shoulder. “Yes,” she agreed and let her head drop more heavily against Napoleon. He stroked along Vera’s arm, inhaled her perfume, heard Illya replacing the poker. Patience, Napoleon advised himself.
His eyes followed Illya as he moved indirectly towards the bed, not passing near them, which would have been the shortest route. Circling, like a predator approaching the lair of his prey. Napoleon lessened the pressure from his hands, let the one on Vera’s abdomen feather down along her skin, skirting the light curls and alighting on the top of her thigh and moving inward. Her skin was already moist. The side of his hand touched her where she wanted his fingertips to be. He smiled at the quick intake of breath and angled his hand so the side drew away, pressing more firmly with his fingertips. They glided along the slick skin to the inside of her thighs. She parted them and he moved his fingers upwards. Vera grew very still in his arms. It was a moment Napoleon always savoured, that listening pause when the rhythms of two people synchronised. His fingers ventured a little further upwards before he whispered, “To bed?”
“Yes,” she said again, simply. Only this time her voice quavered.
Teasing, Napoleon thought. Illya’s sussed this one well. They turned as one towards the large, high bed.
Napoleon’s eyes opened very wide, but he managed not to pause as he ushered Vera to join Illya. Illya had thrown back the light-coloured covers to reveal dark sheets upon which he was now kneeling, apparently rearranging the multitude of pillows. The firelight only dimly illuminated that part of the room, but the collapse of one of the logs sent a flare into the farther corners as Napoleon watched, throwing the part of Illya closest to them in bright relief. And I can’t have him tonight, Napoleon bemoaned. Illya shifted then, the pillows arranged to his satisfaction, and reclined on them. With one arm behind his head, one knee raised slightly, he regarded them with equanimity. Lord Leighton would have loved to have you as a model, Napoleon thought. The picture of repose, except for that one part of you which is very alert. The flare died away and Illya was only a vague outline. Not so vague that Napoleon couldn’t discern Illya reaching down to lazily stroke that alert part. Vera inhaled sharply and Napoleon hugged her against himself. Is this mainly to torment her? Napoleon wondered. To best her at her own game? Or is this for me, because I was attracted to it? Napoleon's gesture provided them both with some comfort.
They had reached the bed. Napoleon helped Vera up. It was high enough that there was no way to do it gracefully or demurely. She got her knees under her and crawled towards the centre of the bed to Illya. Napoleon waited, taking in the dark corners of the canopy, the draperies gathered about the posters of the bed, Illya‘s holster on the high night table on this side of the bed. He’s probably hidden his gun under the pillows, Napoleon thought. He circled the bed, took the gun weighing down the pocket of his robe and tucked it and the small tube Illya had dropped into his other pocket under the closest pillow and slipped off his robe. With one foot on the bed frame, he stopped. His eyes had adjusted to the low light enough to distinguish Vera leaning over Illya on all fours, her hands on his shoulders, her knees on either side of his hips, her face lowering towards him like a succubus. Before a thought formed, Napoleon’s hand had glided under the pillow to grasp his gun. He shook his head at himself, but left his hand on the gun. It seemed to steady him as he watched Vera kiss Illya.
He couldn’t see Illya’s expression, but he could see that he didn’t lift a hand to hold or caress her. Vera bent her elbows and knees more as she kissed, angling her head as she sought the best position. Somehow Napoleon knew it was Vera’s tongue in Illya’s mouth, Illya’s mouth open to her. He wasn't lifting off the pillow towards her, but allowing her to press him deeper into it. Napoleon’s heartbeat accelerated. Vera wasn’t resting her body on Illya which surprised Napoleon. He had felt how eager for contact she was. As though the kiss is so absorbing, she’s forgotten about the rest of her desires for the moment. Napoleon pressed his erection against the side of the mattress. The friction gave him some relief. Vera raised her head, tilted it and descended for another kiss. She was making sounds low in her throat, growls almost, like a hungry animal feeding. Napoleon couldn’t quite bring himself to let go of his gun. Illya moved his arm from behind his head and let it fall palm upwards across the mattress in Napoleon’s direction. The fingers were lightly curled. Not clutching the bed clothes, like I make you do. Napoleon thrust against the side of the mattress, staring at the half-open fingers of Illya's hand. I want to kiss the centre of your palm, feel your fingertips against my cheek. Run my tongue between your fingers. Napoleon pulled his gaze away from Illya's hand to look at Vera again. She was kissing along Illya’s neck. The hand Napoleon could still see was stroking down over Illya’s chest, stopping at a nipple, outlining it with a fingertip. Napoleon pushed harder against the mattress. Inside you. I want to be inside you. No where else. With no one else, Napoleon thought and pushed even harder against the firm mattress. No one else? Napoleon asked himself in alarm. Why not? I’ve always loved variety. Open to attraction in all its forms. Diversity. Light-hearted diversity. Vera’s mouth had progressed to one of Illya’s nipples now. She drew back and Napoleon thought he could see her tongue darting out to lick, her fingers still stroking across the nipple nearer to Napoleon. He couldn’t see any response from Illya in the dark. There was no sound from him, no movement, no arching up towards her touch. As you do when I kiss you. When I enter you. Soundlessly, Napoleon spewed against the bedding. Vera’s hand was sliding down Illya’s chest, curving around his hip. Mine! Napoleon pulsed again against the mattress. Vera’s mouth stopped suckling, her knees backing down the side of Illya’s legs. Napoleon clutched the edge of the mattress as the final wave flowed out of him. It had been a long time since he had done something like that.
The tip of Vera’s tongue had found the tip of Illya’s erection, was touching it gently, tasting it. Her tongue circled and lapped, then her lips closed over him, drawing him up into her mouth. Napoleon didn’t move, despite the wetness. His hands were still crushing the edge of the mattress between his fingers. More of Illya disappeared inside Vera’s mouth. Illya’s hand remained open on the sheet. That’s got to feel good, Napoleon thought as Vera descended all the way to Illya’s abdomen. Napoleon twitched. Finally, he climbed onto the bed. As he crawled past Illya’s hand, Illya's fingers trailed along Napoleon's thigh, his calf. Napoleon twitched again. He had barely started to soften and he felt himself hardening again.
Napoleon reached out for Illya's foot, drew a finger across the arch before he pulled it further away from Illya's other foot and knelt in the space he’d created between them. A warm space. Vera made a sound. Napoleon hands slid up the inside of Illya’s calves, up Vera’s thighs. She made another sound around Illya. Napoleon smiled. My little accident may prove useful in the next half hour or so, he thought. Napoleon was a resourceful man. Turning adversity into advantage was something he did well. He hardened a bit further. No rush, he cautioned himself. No rush at all. His fingers reached the top of Vera’s thighs. Their presence there drew another sound and a slight backwards thrust. Napoleon pulled his fingers away. Distracting you from what’s in your mouth, am I? Napoleon thought. Let’s see if I can distract you even more. He trailed his fingertips up the cleft between Vera’s buttocks. He paused, listening. That sounded like a moan, Napoleon thought. Perhaps I have discovered something else that piques your interest, dear. He put his other hand on Vera’s hip. Let it rest there and stroked further up her back with the fingertips of his other hand. Vera moved backwards slightly into his touch. Good, Napoleon thought and then he made the mistake of leaning sideways and looking past Vera’s shoulder. Her hand was clutching Illya’s hip now, her thumb pressed hard into his flesh and pulling his hip up towards her. He’s not thrusting at all, Napoleon observed. But she’s not letting that slow her down. In fact, it’s spurring her on. Vera's shoulders were moving down now, the movements of her head more pronounced. She must feel he’s close. Or she’s determined to get him there, Napoleon marvelled, straightening and then leaning forward over Vera, sliding his hand from her back around to her breast and caressing it as she bobbed and gasped. He shifted his knees closer, his erection nudged the underside of Vera’s buttocks and slid under. She gasped again. Napoleon smiled. Two fronts. Mustn’t forget that, he cautioned himself and heard Vera choke a bit and then swallow. Napoleon slid his hand soothingly from her hip to her shoulder and back. Know exactly how that goes, he thought, continuing to rub Vera's back with his hand. From Illya there had not been a sound.
*****************
Part VII
Vera lay herself down on Illya, her head resting on his shoulder, her lips brushing against the side of his throat, the hand that had been at his hip curved around his upper arm. The arm that was still flung out across the bed. Illya’s eyes were closed. His other arm lay on the pillow near his head. He didn’t bring his hand down to stroke Vera’s cheek or to rest it on her hair. While Napoleon watched, Illya opened his eyes. A plaintive sound escaped Vera. Illya closed his eyes again. Neither of his hands moved. Napoleon shivered and sat back on his heels.
Softly, Vera moaned again. Napoleon spread his hands across the back of her knees, pushing her legs farther apart as he slid his hands up her thighs. Lightly, he pressed into her with both thumbs. He heard her take a deep breath. He dragged his hands slowly back down her thighs, moving them around the curve of her legs all the way to her ankles and back up, holding his thumbs away from his fingers, letting them brush against Illya’s shins before they rose along Vera's thighs, over her buttocks and onto her back. Napoleon leaned down and kissed softly beneath her shoulder blades, lingering, touching her skin with the tip of his tongue and then moving lower. He rested his head against her back for a moment and listened to her heart hammering. Good.
Napoleon stroked down Vera's side to her hip with the palm of one hand, letting his fingertips graze along Illya’s skin this time. Illya's breathing was steady. Napoleon's hand wandered up Vera's side, under her arm to her shoulder, down to her elbow and back up to where her hand grasped Illya’s upper arm. With his fingertips, Napoleon traced between her fingers and then back down her arm to her side and her hip. Napoleon sat back on his heels again. This time Vera whimpered. He continued his retreat towards the foot of the bed, grasped Illya’s ankles and brought them together, bending down to brush his lips across the tops of the feet while his thumbs massaged the underside of the arches. Raising Illya's foot to my shoulder. Napoleon's stomach tightened. Not possible right now, he reminded himself.
A thin sheen of perspiration spread across Napoleon's skin. He circled Vera’s ankles and nudged them further apart, settling himself astride Illya’s legs and between hers. Napoleon leaned forward and nuzzled first the top of Vera's thigh, then her buttocks, grazing the skin with his teeth, drawing the firm flesh between them. He sat back once more. Vera squirmed and lifted her buttocks, then settled back onto Illya, murmuring. Found a pleasant position? Napoleon surmised. Lightly, he stroked between Vera’s legs, his fingertips skimming the soft skin between Illya’s testicles before he feathered around Vera’s nether lips. Her back was rising and falling noticeably with her breathing. He let two fingers explore more deeply. A sigh. Napoleon withdrew his hand. A whimper. Napoleon tilted his head. Ready, I think. He leaned over Vera’s back and brought his hips slowly forward. His thighs pushed Vera further up Illya’s chest. Vera lifted her head a moment, then lowered it onto the pillow between Illya’s head and his hand. Her lips were near Illya's ear now. That might work out well, Napoleon thought as he entered her.
Napoleon heard the quaver in Vera’s exhalation. That must be tickling Illya’s ear, he thought. In the dimness, he couldn’t see any change in Illya’s expression. Perhaps I can get you to open your eyes again. Napoleon withdrew completely, slid over Illya and back into Vera. She sighed. Napoleon's motion pushed her a tiny bit further up the pillow. His next thrust had the same result. Vera’s shoulder was under Illya’s chin. Napoleon grabbed her hips and slid her back towards him. She moaned at the contact this produced. With one hand, Napoleon held her as he pushed. Vera slid up Illya’s chest again. A little cooperation from my partner would be nice, Napoleon grumbled to himself. No sooner had he thought it than Illya’s hands moved. His fingers gripped Vera’s shoulders. When Napoleon thrust next, Illya let Vera glide upwards a little then pushed her down towards Napoleon.
“Ah,” Vera gasped.
“Good?” Napoleon leaned forward and asked. He didn’t usually ask, because he knew. He knew now, but he wanted to hear what Vera would say.
“Hmm,” she replied.
“We must be rather heavy on Illya,” Napoleon continued. “We could move.”
“Nooo,” she replied, lifting slightly against Napoleon and tightening her grip on Illya‘s arm.
There wasn’t enough light to see Illya’s expression, but the perfect rhythm of the movements convinced Napoleon that Illya was smiling in the dark. “All right, then,” Napoleon crooned back to Vera, thrusting again. Vera slipped along Illya’s chest towards the pillows before Illya pushed her down onto Napoleon. They could have achieved the same effect if Vera had simply reached up to the headboard and pushed herself back, but that would have involved lifting herself off of Illya, losing that contact, that friction. I should be irritated, Napoleon thought. My attentions are usually more than sufficient. He withdrew completely, then pushed back slowly over Illya, over the soft, sensitive skin and into the wet heat of Vera. Napoleon couldn’t suppress a murmur of satisfaction. He withdrew and aimed a little lower, nudging the smooth skin between Illya’s testicles, gliding over it and into Vera again, until his own testicles rested on top of Illya’s. Napoleon took a deep breath and held himself there, eyes closed, absorbing the two sensations. Illya let out a breath. A faint whiff of vodka. Napoleon could swear Illya was grinning now. He was certainly hard again. Napoleon could feel that. Smiling, he considered the precise trajectory of his next thrust.
The sounds Vera was making were rising in pitch. Each time Napoleon drove her forward, Illya was waiting a little longer to push her back down. Napoleon was half sitting on Illya’s legs, enjoying the feel of their rubbing against the inside of his thighs and calves each time Vera slid back against him. Up and back, both motions were clearly pleasing Vera. It was on an upward thrust that she cried out, a long, wavering, slightly sorrowful sound as though she regretted descending from that summit. Illya didn’t push her shoulders. He moved one hand to the small of her back and pressed. Napoleon felt Illya’s hips moving from side to side beneath Vera. She gasped. Napoleon could see the muscles in Illya’s forearm tightening as he held her against him, could feel the undulation of his hips. Vera had straightened her arms. Her head hung down between her shoulders, her breathing loud, then she arched her back and screamed.
Around Napoleon, Vera's muscles contracted. He leaned forward trapping Illya’s arm, drove himself into Vera and held on. This time she collapsed on top of Illya. Quickly, Napoleon withdrew. Vera mumbled a half-hearted protest against Illya’s neck. Napoleon slid between her buttocks, up onto her lower back, nudging against the side of Illya’s hand. It lifted slightly. Napoleon rose higher on his knees and pushed underneath the hand. Illya’s fingers closed possessively around Napoleon and his hips surged upwards. Napoleon’s balls tightened. Despite the firmness of Illya’s grasp, Napoleon drew back a little, then pushed forward. The small friction was enough. He pulsed against Illya’s palm. Hold me. Hold on to me. Please, Napoleon thought as the flood within him crested.
Napoleon's eyes were closed, his head drooping when he felt Illya’s hand tighten again. Napoleon shifted more of his weight onto Vera’s back and Illya lifted against the weight of them both, once, twice. Napoleon could hear Illya‘s breathing. It wasn’t very loud; he was still holding back. Napoleon swung his head to the side and dragged his eyelids up. Illya had finally opened his eyes. Napoleon looked down into their darkness, his head dropping lower. He couldn’t reach Illya’s lips. He had softened enough to ease away from Illya’s hand; he withdrew an inch or two, then pushed back again, his shoulders hunched, his head getting lower, his lips parting as though he could reach the lips he wanted to kiss. His breath harsher now, Illya lifted Vera and Napoleon several inches off the bed. A tremor moved through them all. Illya's eyes squeezed shut. Vera murmured, stroking Illya's upper arm. For a moment, Illya held them aloft. A low, deep sound. Illya subsided. Napoleon held his head up until Illya opened his eyes again. A glimmer of light brightened the wall behind the bed. By it, Napoleon saw the curve of Illya's lips. The charred logs collapsing through the grate made a tinkling sound. Napoleon sunk onto Vera’s back. The shadows in the room glowed a faint orange as his eyes closed. His hand stroked down Vera's side to her hip, coming to rest on the bed next to Illya's thigh. Napoleon was smiling, too.
************
As the story is too large for one post, the final two chapters (Parts VIII and IX) may be found here.
, but is not connected to the episode at all. The lively discussion which followed the posting of the first screencap in late February sparked the idea. Subsequent screenscaps such as An invitation? A warning? and Sleight of Hand? as well as evocative ones posted by other cousins, and the ensuing lively discussions, inspired the continuation.
Part I can stand by itself as well as being the first chapter of the expanded version of Without a Word. I see the action of the story occurring somewhere between two of my other stories, Overtures and Bare Hands.
There are slash and het implications in the early chapters. By Part IV they are no longer merely implications, the rating becomes NC-17 and I wouldn't consider it work safe from then on.
Disclaimer: Don't own MUNCLE and no money is being made!
Also, posted in installments on mfu_yumdaily as follows:
Part IX
Part VIII
Part VII
Part VI
Part V
Part IV
Part III
Part II
Part I
Excerpt:
“Partners, you say?” the woman asked, her gaze flickering between the two men.
Without a Word
Part I
“Partners, you say?” the woman asked, her gaze flickering between the two men.
Napoleon eyed the redhead seated across the table from them. Vera's upswept hair revealed the nape of her neck, pale and unblemished. It would be pleasing to leave a tiny mark there, he thought. To help you remember me for a few days. He suppressed a smile. Women remembered him for more than a few days. He reached for his brandy. Napoleon had seen Illya's eyebrow arch critically when references to the amorous indulgences of Napoleon Solo were made. Few understood how carefully he controlled his indulgences. Napoleon was good at controlling himself, which might have been why the ladies remembered him fondly. Illya hasn’t known me long enough to realise that those impulses don't control me, even if I let it appear that way sometimes. Napoleon took a sip of his brandy. Since we’ve been partners there hasn't been much for Illya to observe to help him realise. Napoleon swirled the amber liquid in his glass before taking another sip. Have we actually been that busy these past couple months?
Napoleon recalled the stern look Illya had given him that first morning and felt a little warmer under his tuxedo. Have I been avoiding giving him cause to look at me like that? Napoleon set down his glass and clasped his hands. In case he doesn’t let me touch him again? Something tightened low in Napoleon’s stomach and one of his thumbs slid over the other. The feeling of stroking along Illya‘s back, down towards the twin dimples. Napoleon moved his knee to the side of the chair. You’re paler than Illya, Napoleon thought, considering Vera‘s bare shoulders. Illya's hands would look dark against your breasts. Napoleon’s gaze followed the green satin curve of Vera’s neckline to the point where her breasts were pressed together into a charming line. Another sweet place to kiss, he thought and wondered what colour Vera's lingerie might be. Dark green, like the satin and velvet of the gown? Or black? Lacy? Soft flesh showing through flowery patterns. Warm flesh that Illya would hold up for me to kiss once he removed your brassiere.
Napoleon gave himself a mental shake. Where'd that come from? He sought his glass, slid his fingers around the stem, cupping the bowl loosely as he brought it to his mouth. You shouldn’t be daring us. The light caught the jewels in Vera’s earrings when she tilted her head and Napoleon’s eyes moved away from her breasts. Square cut emeralds…the colour of your eyes. The stones were patterned with intriguing imperfections. Napoleon saw that Vera was watching him more than listening to his remarks about their dinner, taking note of where his eyes lingered. Let‘s alter the game a bit, Napoleon thought. When Vera took a cigarette case from the beaded evening bag lying on the table, extracted a cigarette and leaned forward placing the cigarette between her lips, Napoleon kept his eyes on her face and commented on the piece the band was playing more or less passably. He observed with satisfaction her look of mild annoyance.
Illya’s hand closed around the small candle holder in the middle of the table and held it up to the tip of Vera’s cigarette. The move startled Napoleon. Around the other end of the cigarette, Vera smiled. Talk about a misnomer, Napoleon thought. She’d duped THRUSH out of a small fortune for research, gotten UNCLE to intervene and save her and her invention and now she thought she’d play Illya and him against one another. Illya set the candle down and drew his fingers slowly away from the glowing ruby glass. Napoleon’s eyebrow raised the tiniest bit before he caught it. Was Illya accepting her challenge? Under the table, Napoleon swung his leg wider. Vera was observing Illya’s hand as it withdrew across the linen. Napoleon glanced up. Illya's expression was still, his eyelids lowered ever so slightly over the direct gaze he was levelling at Vera. There was the merest hint of a smile on his lips. Vera took the cigarette from her mouth and stared back, not moving now either, except for the gentle rising and falling of her breasts. Napoleon’s eyes had strayed back to them, but she didn’t notice this time. Napoleon looked up at her face. Her lips were parted as though she still held the cigarette between them, her eyes locked on Illya’s. The smoke from her forgotten cigarette drifted between them.
For the second time in as many minutes, Napoleon was startled. Getting to know his new partner had proven to be an experience like no other and Napoleon was a man of considerable and varied experience. What was happening right now was an excellent example of how much Napoleon didn’t yet know. How much do you know, Illya? Do you know that I’m seriously tempted for the first time since you laid your hand on my knee in that smoky club? A tingle ran along the inside of Napoleon’s thigh. He took a long swallow of his brandy. In the morning I didn’t want you to leave. Napoleon’s fingers tightened around his brandy snifter.
Illya moved his hand to his pocket. A jangle. He stood, car keys dangling from his index finger and turned towards the front door without a word. Napoleon glanced at Vera. Her eyes were following Illya’s back as he wove his way around the tightly packed tables.
Oh, you’ve been playing with amateurs, Napoleon thought. He stood, tossed some bills onto the table and extended his hand to Vera. “Shall we join him?” he asked, his voice low. Vera jerked her gaze away from Illya’s receding form and looked at Napoleon, eyes opening wider for an instant. Napoleon smiled just a little. He's caught you already. Vera raised her hand slowly, the emerald in her ring reflecting the flickering light of the candle flame.
****************
Part II
The black sedan they had rented was roomy and the black leather interior merged with the shadows, revealing nothing. Its engine purred in the darkness. The ceiling light came on when Napoleon opened the passenger door and handed Vera in. He slid in next to her and shut the door. Illya didn’t turn on the headlamps until the door slammed. Tiny coloured eyes winked open along the dash, their gleam doubled in polished wood and chrome. Napoleon was curious where Illya was planning to go. Vera and Napoleon turned towards him, but Illya manoeuvred past the other parked cars and onto the cobbled road without explanation. The street lights and the headlamps of the occasional passing car threw his profile into relief, but Illya kept his eyes forward, weaving the car through the narrow, steep streets, his hands guiding the steering wheel as he executed sharp turns, the wheel gliding back through his hands as the path of the car straightened. Vera was watching Illya’s hands. Is she thinking how broad they are? Napoleon wondered. Or where he will touch her first? He stretched his arm along the back of the seat. She’d be able to feel its warmth there, but he didn’t curve his hand around her bare arm. She’s probably expecting me to, Napoleon thought. His fingertips brushed against the sleeve of Illya’s suit jacket.
Illya cracked open his window. It had rained earlier and the tires made a lulling swish along the pavement as he guided the car out of the town, away from the street lamps and further up the mountain. Where is he going? Napoleon mused again, curious, but unconcerned. Silence suited the dark road and Napoleon chose not to talk either. Vera hadn’t been listening to him at the restaurant. The silence seemed to intrigue her or perhaps she hadn’t even noticed that he‘d stopped talking, aloud anyway. Napoleon leaned across Vera and turned on the radio. Illya had tuned it to a classical station earlier and Napoleon left it there, the volume low. Liszt. He leaned back slowly, let the soft wool of his tuxedo jacket rub across Vera’s arm. They were heading north on a winding road, quiet at this hour, the bright windows of the town hidden behind the curve of the mountain. Vera settled back against the seat, resting her neck against Napoleon’s arm. He didn’t move it. The rhapsody played on.
There was a sharp snap in the darkness, then a second. Vera held another cigarette to her lips. Napoleon reached across her again and pressed the lighter into the dashboard to heat. He waited, his right arm resting on the dashboard, his knee brushing against Vera’s leg, and looked up through the windscreen. The clouds were pulling apart, a few stars becoming visible. When the lighter popped out, Napoleon held the glowing metal up to Vera’s cigarette. His thigh rubbed past her knee when he plugged it in again, then he settled back, careful to leave an inch or two between them. It was getting cooler as they climbed. He smiled a little as he felt Vera edge nearer to his side.
Napoleon saw Illya check the rear view mirror. Napoleon checked the side mirror. The darkness was unbroken. Napoleon tilted his head back, closed his eyes. Vera moved a little closer. He let her.
****************
Car doors were closing. Napoleon opened his eyes and sat up.
Vera stirred next to him, but didn’t sit up. “He’s brought us back,” she stated.
“He has,” Napoleon replied and wondered at Illya’s thinking. The hotel would have sufficed. But it would have been less private.
“Yes, sir. We were just finishing up.” Napoleon heard the jingle of keys, the creak of iron hinges. Illya had come back to the THRUSH nest. At least we managed to empty this one without needing to blow anything up, Napoleon mused. Which was fortunate, since the small chateau was centuries old with gardens sloping down from its grey stone walls to the ornate metal gates which had just swung open. They must have been driving up through the vineyards that descended from the garden walls towards the town. Napoleon could hear the murmur of Illya’s voice but not the words. He was speaking softly. The junior agents’ voices were louder. Pleased at a job well done.
“We’ve swept everywhere, sir, for bugs, explosives and booby traps. We’ve tested for chemicals.” The young agent’s voice dipped, but Napoleon could still hear. “Even the food, sir. It’s fine. Um, we had dinner.” He heard a low murmur from Illya. “We’ve checked the security system and changed the codes. We were just about to set them when you arrived." One of the trucks started up. “Thank you, sir.”
Illya slipped into the driver’s seat without closing the door all the way, drove the car through the gates and slid out again.
There was the scrape of metal across stone as the gates began to shut. Another vehicle pulled up and more doors slammed. Napoleon glanced into the side mirror. He listened to the heavy thump of crates being loaded into the van.
Napoleon heard “good night” in three languages before doors slamming one after another and the scrunch of gravel marked the departure of the other agents and the last of the samples for the lab.
The gates clanged shut and Illya slipped back into the car, closing his door this time.
*******************
“Did you see who they had in the car?” Begault asked Mercier as they pulled away.
“Mm,” Mercier answered. “Do you think they are planning to interrogate her?”
“That’s a new word for it,” Begault replied. “You saw the way she was snuggled up to Solo.”
“He was guarding her. That’s why he stayed in the car with her,” Mercier said. “She already double-crossed THRUSH. She might have held back information.”
“Well, you never know with Solo. That might be part of his interrogation technique,” Begault suggested as he took the first turn.
“Oh, come on, you don’t believe all that talk about him, do you?” Mercier said.
“I’ve heard it from too many, ah, eye-witnesses, shall we say, over the years to disbelieve,” Begault responded, shifting into a lower gear. “The man could almost be French.”
******************
Part III
Illya parked the car as close to the chateau as he could and in as open a space as the luxuriant growth of the trees and shrubs permitted. They walked the rest of the way up through the gardens, Illya several steps in front, his eyes darting from side to side along the winding walkways. The glare from the security lights around the chateau filtered down the terraces, through the foliage, enough for them to find their way. A light breeze was rustling the leaves, swaying the slender branches, casting moving shadows across the path. Napoleon couldn’t see one of Illya’s hands at his side. He’s drawn his gun, Napoleon surmised. Vera’s arm was linked with his, he pressed it closer to his side. It helped to steady her when the spikes of her heels caught between the bricks of the path and would made it harder for her to break away, if there were an ambush waiting among the fragrant leaves. A gust of wind blew up the path as they passed under an arch of blooming lilac. Vera gasped. Napoleon hardly felt the raindrops shaken lose over them. They must be cold on your bare shoulders, Napoleon thought. Trickling down between your breasts. Napoleon drew Vera’s arm further through his.
Ahead of them, Illya walked through a patch of light. A large ring of keys hung from the hand by his side. Napoleon could distinguish the shapes of large antique keys and smaller, indistinct shapes which must be modern ones. Illya disappeared around a hedge.
Three steps later, Napoleon and Vera emerged onto the lawn before the chateau. Illya had already crossed it and was mounting the steps to the terrace by the front door. The security lights were bright here, their blue tinge eerier than the shadows of the garden. Illya seemed to know which key was needed and was holding the front door open for them after only a moment. As soon as they followed him inside, Napoleon heard Illya securing the locks behind them and resetting the alarms.
They paused in the middle of the marble floor. Napoleon’s eyes darted from window to window, squinting into the shadows that gathered between them and by the stairs, then turning to check Illya's location. In the electric twilight created by the outdoor lights filtering through the curtains, he could see Illya pointing up with his gun and heading for the stairs.
Vera had not drawn her arm away when they entered the house. Is she trying to appeal to my protective side now? Napoleon wondered. Or has Illya actually unnerved her a bit? Their footsteps were loud against the marble floor as he led her to the grand staircase, the echoes rising into the darkness above them.
*****************
Illya continued several paces ahead of Napoleon and Vera up the stairs and down the corridor towards the bedrooms. He stopped in front of the door to Vera’s boudoir and found the key on the ring to lock it. Napoleon felt Vera stiffen against him. The window at the end of the hallway and the small nightlights dotting the corridor near the baseboards, barely dispelled the darkness. Even in the gloom, Napoleon could discern the smile on Illya’s face when he turned from the door he had just locked and moved further along the hall.
It made sense not to use Vera’s bedroom. She would know it too well and that could be a disadvantage. Illya had been over the house and most of the garden in the morning after he had found Vera’s machine and used it to incapacitate everyone in the chateau and nearby grounds whose ears weren’t protected, which had been everyone other than Napoleon, Vera and himself. The Section Three agents had joined them after they had disabled the machine. Napoleon resisted the urge to poke at his ear. Illya had insisted on applying the substance to Napoleon himself, whispering into his ear before he blocked out all sound. Napoleon had chafed under the necessity of being deprived of one of his senses. The substance Illya had used was warm and smelled like honey. One hot shower had not been enough to remove all of it.
The door Illya stopped before was to a guest room which had been prepared for a THRUSH visitor who had not had a chance to enjoy it. They had sent his suitcase along with him to the HQ in Toulouse.
Napoleon and Vera were still arm in arm when Illya ushered them into the room. Vera stopped when the dim light from the corridor was cut off by Illya locking the door behind them. The darkness inside the room was complete. Illya jingled when he walked past them. The sound of metal over metal heralded a bit of light coming up from the garden. After tying back the draperies and the curtains, Illya opened the French doors onto a terrace. The cold air rushed into the room as Illya strode out. This time Vera actually pressed herself against Napoleon’s side. He slide his arm out from under hers and around her waist. He wondered whether it was the night air or Illya’s prolonged silence that made her draw closer. He let his hand slide down her hip as they walked to the doors and onto the terrace.
On the far side of the terrace, Illya stood with his back to them, the outlines of his dark suit disappearing into the gloom. Only the pale smudge of his hair showed against the mountain wall rising behind the chateau. Illya’s head was tilted back. How well I already know every angle of you, Napoleon thought and looked up, too. The clouds were gone. The lights in the garden were no rivals for the blaze of stars in the black sky. Vera must have looked up as well because Napoleon heard her sharp intake of breath. I’ve lived in cities so long, I’ve almost forgotten what a clear night can look like, he thought and let his hand glide along the velvet of Vera’s dress from her hip to the top of her thigh and back. He could feel the outline of her garters. She pressed closer against him. The night was getting colder.
Illya turned and walked towards them, then on into the room. Napoleon glanced over his shoulder, but could see nothing in the dark interior. Apparently, Illya recalled the lay of the room sufficiently well to navigate without flicking on a light. Napoleon heard faint scraping and thumping noises and then the long scratch of a wooden match. A small flame made the darkness waver. Vera hadn’t turned, she was still studying the stars. Do you think the answer’s there? Napoleon thought.
“Shall we go inside? Illya’s started a fire,” Napoleon whispered to Vera as though a louder utterance would be gauche.
The fresh air must have revived her because Vera chuckled softly and turned to face Napoleon, pressing her breasts against his chest and sliding one hand up his sleeve to his shoulder. In her heels, she was the same height as he was. Napoleon could smell the spicy sauce from the peach flambée they had had for dessert. He had ordered it because he thought Illya would enjoy both the flavour and the flames, and he had. So had Vera. She leaned in for a kiss and Napoleon pivoted to her other side, his hand gliding across her stomach to her opposite hip. Still trying to divide and conquer, are we? Napoleon thought. He steered Vera into the room. He wanted to see what Illya had planned.
******************
Without a Word
Part IV
The young fire was already licking between the logs stacked in the grate, crackling and flickering as the kindling was consumed. Napoleon remembered more of the details of the chamber now. In the afternoon, he had done little more than glance into it to speak with Illya as he concluded his search of the interior. There was much gilt on its furniture and several mirrors on its white panelled walls. The firelight played off their surfaces without lightening the further reaches of the spacious room. Napoleon spied the glint of cut glass and thought he might have located the liquor cabinet. He couldn’t see where Illya was.
“A libation?” Napoleon asked, disengaging from Vera before the fire.
“Water first,” she answered, moving closer to the hearth, her palms up to the flames. “Then a cordial, perhaps.”
Faintly, Napoleon heard a tap running. Now he knew where Illya was. The doors are thick. He found glasses on the shelf below the decanters and a teardrop-shaped bottle behind them. He poured Vera some sparkling water. He took a couple steps to hand her the tumbler and watched her drink. “More?” he asked when she finished. He held out his hand for the glass.
“No, thank you,” she murmured, returning the glass. “The cordial would be nice now.”
Napoleon was pleased to have the heavy, cut-glass tumbler back in his hands. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Surprise me,” Vera answered. She took another step towards the fire, the silk of her stocking catching the light when the slit in her dark gown opened as she moved. It would be easy to reach the garter through that slit, Napoleon thought and decided on Grand Marnier. He had recognised the shape of its bottle when he was feeling for the water.
Crystal flutes rang against one another as Napoleon extracted the liqueur from the back of the cabinet. He half-filled a tiny glass and offered it to Vera.
“What did you think I would want?” Vera enquired as she accepted the glass. She sipped. “A good choice,” she remarked, taking another sip. “What will you have?”
“I have to explore a bit more before I decide,” Napoleon said and located a bottle of cognac for himself. He had just finished pouring when he heard the bathroom door open and Illya emerged. The door was in the far corner of the room where the firelight didn’t reach. Napoleon was glad he had already set the bottle down when Illya stepped into the firelight, took the glass from Vera’s hand and wafted it under his nose. He tasted the liqueur, then handed it back to her.
“Anything less sweet?” he enquired.
“Ah, yes. Vodka, I think,” Napoleon answered, his eyes following the deep vee of the dressing gown Illya had donned over what appeared to be nothing else at all. The snifter chimed against the cognac bottle as Napoleon reached into the cabinet for the bottle he thought was probably vodka.
Napoleon joined the pair by the fire and handed Illya his vodka. “Would you like more?” he asked Vera. Vera didn’t reply as Illya upended his glass. They both watched him swallow with his head still thrown back.
“A good choice,” Illya said and offered Napoleon his empty glass.
“Vera?” Napoleon enquired. Illya had tied his robe loosely. He turned towards the fire. Napoleon watched Vera’s eyes following the movement of the shiny fabric as it revealed glimpses of Illya’s skin.
“Yes, please,” she murmured and extended her glass in his general direction without looking away from Illya. Napoleon took it and returned to the liquor cabinet with the empty glasses. When he had given Illya his drink, Napoleon had smelt mint and shaving cream. His hand moved around the stem of the cordial glass. Stroking under Illya’s jaw when he had just wiped the lather away. Kissing along his cheek to the corner of his lips. Napoleon took a drink of his cognac before refilling Illya’s and Vera’s glasses. Tasting Illya. Mint, chocolate, vodka, dill pickles. It didn’t matter. Pushing past Illya's lips and tasting. Napoleon leaned on the cabinet for a moment before he brought Illya and Vera their drinks and excused himself.
Finding the door to the bathroom more through touch than sight, Napoleon closed it behind himself before switching on the light. He blinked in its glare as he glanced around the small room. There was another dressing gown on one of the hooks behind the door, next to where Illya had hung his clothes. Disrobing quickly, Napoleon hung his clothes beside Illya’s. Convenient that there should be two robes, Napoleon thought as he fingered the maroon silk. Had the THRUSH they captured been expecting a companion? Had they missed anyone in the grounds or even in the house? Unlikely in the house, Napoleon reasoned. He turned on the tap in the basin, took out his communicator, contacted Mercier and advised him to question the THRUSH with the suitcase closely on that. Then Napoleon turned to the mirror and smiled as he spread lather over his face.
Illya was adding a log to the fire when Napoleon returned. From somewhere in the room, a phonograph was softly playing Clare de Lune. Vera was sitting in the middle of the sofa facing the hearth. Illya picked up a poker and nudged the log into place. The bottommost log broke in two; sparks flew up the chimney. Napoleon glanced at the sofa as if he could divine from a look whether Illya had been sitting next to Vera on it while he was gone.
“Is there anything I can get you?” Napoleon asked as he approached the settee.
Vera smiled up at him. “No, Illya’s taken care of everything.” Napoleon sat down on her left side and extended his arm along the back of the sofa, hoping it wasn‘t the side where Illya had been sitting. “I see you’ve changed, too,” Vera commented, admiring Napoleon’s chest for a moment before her eyes dropped to his knees. “Cecil would no doubt be pleased that you like his clothes,” she smiled and Napoleon crossed his legs and leaned towards her.
“It was considerate of him to leave them behind,” he replied. The fire was warming the room. “You must feel overdressed now though,” he said and lifted one side of the slit in her dress without touching her leg. “I could help you remove those, if you like,” Napoleon offered, referring to the black garter and the stocking top which came into view as he lifted the cloth higher.
Illya walked back to the couch and held out the snifter to Napoleon. Napoleon let the velvet fall and reached up to take the glass. Illya took a drink of his vodka and Vera looked up at him. “I can do that myself,” she replied without moving her eyes from Illya. She slipped her hand through the slit in her gown and undid the small hook of her garter. She lifted her knee slowly and reached under her thigh to undo the hook in the back, then she began rolling her stocking down her leg. Illya remained standing and finished his vodka. Napoleon sipped his cognac. Vera leaned forward and slipped the rolled stocking off her foot and left it on the floor. “That is better,” she said and reached under the velvet again to undo her other garters.
Napoleon reclined against the arm of the sofa and watched, admiring Vera's showmanship. “If you need any help,” he remarked and cupped his hand around the snifter to warm the cognac that had grown cold while he was out of the room. Vera glanced at him, shook her head and then raised her eyes to look at Illya, but he’d walked back to the liquor cabinet. Napoleon couldn't help enjoying the look of confusion on Vera’s face. God, he’s good, Napoleon thought. Vera slipped the second stocking off her foot. Napoleon leaned closer and traced a finger along the back of her neck near the zipper of her dress. “Shall I help you with that?” he asked. He wasn’t surprised that this time she accepted. Illya walking away had clearly rankled. When the zipper was partway down her back, Vera stood. Napoleon stood, too, and brought the zipper down to the small of her back. Normally, he would have slipped his hands inside, around her waist, at that point, but Napoleon decided to follow Illya’s strategy of benign neglect.
Vera glanced over her shoulder at Napoleon and began to slip the gown off her shoulders. “Would you help me with the hooks,” she asked, almost sweetly.
Trying to get Illya jealous, are you? Napoleon thought and smiled. He was almost certain, Vera would misinterpret that. Napoleon let the backs of his fingers stroke down her spine to just above the brassiere closure, then he unhooked it. He felt her shiver a little at the touch. His smile increased slightly. Looks like I’m going to be the one making the offering to Illya, Napoleon thought, running his finger the rest of the way down Vera’s back and unhooking her garter belt. Vera pushed the dress the rest of the way off her shoulders. With a soft swish, it slid past her hips and onto the floor around her feet. Black lace, Napoleon noted, holding on to one side of the garter belt and reaching up to catch the brassiere before it fell. He slipped them off around her and dropped them onto the couch. Illya had returned, vodka in hand and stood in front of them. Vera looked over her shoulder at Napoleon and smiled invitingly for Illya to see.
Napoleon stepped closer, tilted his head so that he was looking at Illya over Vera's other shoulder and brought his hands up under her breasts. He caught Illya’s eye as he cradled them in both hands. Vera glanced back towards Illya and their eyes met. Illya had that same look he’d had in the restaurant, only his eyelids were the tiniest bit lower now. She’ll think he’s getting drunk, Napoleon thought. She doesn’t know about Illya and vodka. Napoleon leaned his head against Vera’s hair, smiling even more now. The smell of cigarette smoke mingled with her perfume. I’ve always liked Chanel, Napoleon thought and glanced towards Illya. He was still looking straight at Vera. Napoleon felt her sigh. He lifted her breasts a little higher and turned his head towards her. Vera had lowered her eyes.
Illya finished his vodka in one swallow, set the glass down sharply on the end table and brought his lips to her right breast. Napoleon had kept his hips away from Vera so that she wouldn’t feel his erection. When Illya’s lips closed over her nipple, Napoleon shifted closer, pressing himself into the cleft of her buttocks and running his thumb over her other nipple. He felt the shudder run right through her. He rubbed his cheek against her hair as he watched Illya’s mouth. As far as he could tell in the dim light, Vera’s nipples and Illya’s lips were the same shade of pink. As Illya suckled her breast, the underside of his lower lip brushed the side of Napoleon’s hand. Napoleon called upon the control on which he prided himself. Watching and feeling Illya’s lips had been almost too much, so Napoleon turned his head and kissed Vera’s ear, letting the tip of his tongue play around the loop of the earring piercing her earlobe. She answered by pressing her hips back against Napoleon. A two front war is hard to win, Napoleon silently warned her. He felt Vera’s fingers sliding under the elastic of her last garment, pulling it down to her thighs. She wiggled slightly, which felt good to Napoleon, and the garment fell to her ankles. Vera stepped out of it.
Illya straightened up and took a step back. Vera let out a startled, mournful cry, reached out towards him and caught one end of his robe‘s sash. She pulled and Illya’s dressing gown fell open. Napoleon felt her sigh. Illya was impressive aroused and Vera was clearly relieved that he was. Napoleon rubbed his forehead against Vera’s hair so she wouldn’t feel his smile. He had you worried that you hadn’t had any effect at all on him, didn’t he? She tugged at the end of the sash, but Illya stepped further back, let the sash run through the belt loops and fall limply to the floor in her hand. He was looking at her eyes again, apparently heedless of her nakedness or her arousal. The erection sort of gives that away, Napoleon thought. But just because he’s able, doesn’t mean he’s willing. Napoleon thought Vera might pull free and try to seize Illya, but she didn’t. She was reaching out with her arms in a supplicating gesture, but pushing her hips back against Napoleon. I’m going to be offended if I’m the consolation prize, Napoleon thought.
Illya cocked his head, the flames gleamed in his hair. He shrugged his shoulders and the robe fell away. The firelight bronzed his skin. Almost too beautiful, Napoleon thought. Vera drew in her breath sharply. You think so, too, Napoleon translated. How could you not? Illya took another step backward, then turned and walked to the liquor cabinet. Vera made a small, distressed sound. What a tease, Napoleon thought. If the situation were reversed, there would be a word for what she was. There doesn’t seem to be a word for when a man does that to a woman, Napoleon marvelled. Illya picked up a bottle and upended it. Napoleon could tell it was spring water. Did you want to show us how beautiful you look walking away or are you simply thirsty? Napoleon mused. Vera shivered, but Napoleon didn’t think she was cold. The area from the hearth to the sofa was comfortably warm. He dropped one hand from Vera’s breast to her waist and pulled her more snugly against him. It seemed to soothe her.
Illya walked back and stood in front of them with the water bottle. He offered it to Vera, but she shook her head. He held it up and raised an eyebrow at Napoleon; he declined as well. Illya took another long drink and set it down next to his empty vodka glass on the end table. “Which one of us do you want, then?” he asked.
Vera’s whisper was hoarse. “Both of you.”
Illya tilted his head. “Which one first?”
“Both of you,” Vera repeated softly, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire.
Illya raised his eyebrows and glanced at Napoleon over Vera’s shoulder. “At once?”
Vera nodded.
******************
Part V
Illya leaned around Vera, dropped something into the pocket of Napoleon’s robe and drew back a pace. Napoleon’s eyebrows raised. You were prepared for her to say both? Napoleon didn’t find it surprising that Vera had been flirting with both of them. It was somewhat annoying, especially her attempts to get them to compete over her, but not that surprising. To carry the game this far though… Napoleon listened to the sound of her breathing. He brought his mouth close to her cheek, exhaled softly over the flushed skin and brushed his lips down to her jaw. Vera tilted her head sideways so he could continue along her neck. When he reached her shoulder, he straightened up and leaned his cheek against hers. Or aren’t you playing anymore? Beneath his hand, her heart drummed. Aroused, yes. His thumb stroked back and forth across her nipple. But maybe still following some game plan. Napoleon took a deep breath and Vera leaned back against him. Which is rather attractive, in an Angelique-like kind of way, Napoleon acknowledged.
Illya stood watching them for a moment. When he advanced, he raised both hands to Vera’s neck. One hand slipped between her face and Napoleon‘s, gliding over Napoleon’s newly-shaved skin, the other curved around Vera‘s cheek, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone. Napoleon released the breast Illya had not kissed and slid his hand down over Vera’s abdomen, pulling her closer. Her lips parted in a sigh just before Illya’s mouth closed over them.
All along Napoleon's body, muscles tensed. Don’t like it, an inner voice growled. He took a deeper breath, his cock swelling against Vera’s buttocks. The sound she made was muffled by Illya’s tongue exploring. Napoleon’s eyes were only inches away. He tried to close them, avert them, but they were fixed on the subtle movements of Illya's lips. His tongue isn’t very deep, Napoleon observed, his muscles relaxing marginally. He exhaled. Just testing the waters. Napoleon breathed in. No…teasing. Napoleon was almost shocked. It was almost cruel. Thank heavens, you don’t do that to me. Napoleon's breath gusted across their cheeks. Illya was bending from the waist to kiss Vera, holding his body apart. Napoleon could feel her straining forward, seeking more contact.
The hand by Napoleon’s cheek slipped away, down Vera’s neck to her shoulder, her upper arm. Illya held Vera lightly, his hand encompassing her arm, his fingers pressing gently into her flesh. Napoleon had tilted his head down to watch them. He wanted them back by his cheek. Wanted those fingers on him. Mine! he shouted silently. Possessive? Me? Napoleon asked himself politely. Mine! the voice hissed. When? Napoleon enquired again, a hint of uncertainty in his inner voice. I flit like a butterfly and am happy for others to do the same, he assured himself. Illya’s fingertips slid a fraction of an inch along Vera’s arm. Napoleon felt the vibration low in her throat as she responded to that tiny movement. Oh, you have strung her very tight, Napoleon observed with some admiration. He hadn’t contemplated just how much of an artist Illya was, being somewhat distracted when those attentions were turned only on him. Illya’s index finger pressed a little deeper into Vera’s shoulder; she leaned a little further towards him. Mine! the voice snarled at that finger. I’m as tightly strung as she is, Napoleon realised.
He glanced up at their faces. Mistake. Illya was drawing back slightly, the pressure against Vera’s lips a bit less than when he’d last looked. Her lips were open. Her tongue attempting to explore now. Illya was permitting it. Napoleon splayed his fingers across Vera’s abdomen, pushing his hips lightly against her. Vera hummed. Whether it was his motions or gaining entry to Illya’s mouth, Napoleon couldn’t say. He looked down at Illya’s fingers again and eased his hand away from Vera’s breast, bending his elbow until he’d brought his hand just above Illya’s hand. Napoleon let his fingers descend, his fingertips gliding along the inside of Illya’s thumb and index finger, stroking the soft fold of skin between them before settling the heel of his palm against Vera’s back, his fingers resting on Illya’s. He felt a murmur from Vera. Still playing? Napoleon queried. Do you think I’m challenging Illya by putting my hand there or are you just responding to a touch? Hungry for more? Napoleon moved his hand along Vera’s abdomen, pulling his palm away, dragging his fingertips a little lower. He could feel her muscles tightening in anticipation. The couple inches he gained by arching his hand allowed him to touch Illya with the back of his hand. He stroked down the length of him and up again. Vera pressed forward against Napoleon's fingertips, pushing his hand more firmly against Illya. There. Napoleon saw it. The tiniest curve at the corner of Illya’s lips. Vera thrust her tongue more forcefully into Illya’s mouth and the curve grew slightly more pronounced. Oh, this is going to be a very long night, Napoleon thought, because he wasn’t absolutely certain why Illya was smiling.
******************
Part VI
Illya pulled away from Vera, sliding his hand out from under Napoleon‘s and off her shoulder. She leaned after Illya and Napoleon held her back against him, his fingers tightening on her shoulder, his hand flattening against her abdomen. The breath she drew in was uneven. “Patience,” Napoleon murmured in her ear and she released the breath slowly, closing her eyes and letting her head loll back against Napoleon’s shoulder. Napoleon glanced at Illya and caught the flicker of an eyebrow before Illya turned to the fireplace. He bent to take a log from the ornate woodbox by the hearth and again to drop the wood on the steadily burning logs. Embers fell through the grate; spears of light were thrown into the shadowy corners of the room. Illya added another log, prodding it into place with a poker. Napoleon watched the firelight play over Illya’s body. Each part the flames revealed made him want to see more, each part the shadows veiled made him want to touch.
“The bed will be more comfortable,” Illya said, pivoting back to face them, the poker still in his hand. His voice gave Napoleon a start. As though he had forgotten what a versatile instrument it was, how its tones affected him.
Vera had felt Napoleon start and opened her eyes. Napoleon felt her turning her head in Illya’s direction, lifting it off his shoulder. “Yes,” she agreed and let her head drop more heavily against Napoleon. He stroked along Vera’s arm, inhaled her perfume, heard Illya replacing the poker. Patience, Napoleon advised himself.
His eyes followed Illya as he moved indirectly towards the bed, not passing near them, which would have been the shortest route. Circling, like a predator approaching the lair of his prey. Napoleon lessened the pressure from his hands, let the one on Vera’s abdomen feather down along her skin, skirting the light curls and alighting on the top of her thigh and moving inward. Her skin was already moist. The side of his hand touched her where she wanted his fingertips to be. He smiled at the quick intake of breath and angled his hand so the side drew away, pressing more firmly with his fingertips. They glided along the slick skin to the inside of her thighs. She parted them and he moved his fingers upwards. Vera grew very still in his arms. It was a moment Napoleon always savoured, that listening pause when the rhythms of two people synchronised. His fingers ventured a little further upwards before he whispered, “To bed?”
“Yes,” she said again, simply. Only this time her voice quavered.
Teasing, Napoleon thought. Illya’s sussed this one well. They turned as one towards the large, high bed.
Napoleon’s eyes opened very wide, but he managed not to pause as he ushered Vera to join Illya. Illya had thrown back the light-coloured covers to reveal dark sheets upon which he was now kneeling, apparently rearranging the multitude of pillows. The firelight only dimly illuminated that part of the room, but the collapse of one of the logs sent a flare into the farther corners as Napoleon watched, throwing the part of Illya closest to them in bright relief. And I can’t have him tonight, Napoleon bemoaned. Illya shifted then, the pillows arranged to his satisfaction, and reclined on them. With one arm behind his head, one knee raised slightly, he regarded them with equanimity. Lord Leighton would have loved to have you as a model, Napoleon thought. The picture of repose, except for that one part of you which is very alert. The flare died away and Illya was only a vague outline. Not so vague that Napoleon couldn’t discern Illya reaching down to lazily stroke that alert part. Vera inhaled sharply and Napoleon hugged her against himself. Is this mainly to torment her? Napoleon wondered. To best her at her own game? Or is this for me, because I was attracted to it? Napoleon's gesture provided them both with some comfort.
They had reached the bed. Napoleon helped Vera up. It was high enough that there was no way to do it gracefully or demurely. She got her knees under her and crawled towards the centre of the bed to Illya. Napoleon waited, taking in the dark corners of the canopy, the draperies gathered about the posters of the bed, Illya‘s holster on the high night table on this side of the bed. He’s probably hidden his gun under the pillows, Napoleon thought. He circled the bed, took the gun weighing down the pocket of his robe and tucked it and the small tube Illya had dropped into his other pocket under the closest pillow and slipped off his robe. With one foot on the bed frame, he stopped. His eyes had adjusted to the low light enough to distinguish Vera leaning over Illya on all fours, her hands on his shoulders, her knees on either side of his hips, her face lowering towards him like a succubus. Before a thought formed, Napoleon’s hand had glided under the pillow to grasp his gun. He shook his head at himself, but left his hand on the gun. It seemed to steady him as he watched Vera kiss Illya.
He couldn’t see Illya’s expression, but he could see that he didn’t lift a hand to hold or caress her. Vera bent her elbows and knees more as she kissed, angling her head as she sought the best position. Somehow Napoleon knew it was Vera’s tongue in Illya’s mouth, Illya’s mouth open to her. He wasn't lifting off the pillow towards her, but allowing her to press him deeper into it. Napoleon’s heartbeat accelerated. Vera wasn’t resting her body on Illya which surprised Napoleon. He had felt how eager for contact she was. As though the kiss is so absorbing, she’s forgotten about the rest of her desires for the moment. Napoleon pressed his erection against the side of the mattress. The friction gave him some relief. Vera raised her head, tilted it and descended for another kiss. She was making sounds low in her throat, growls almost, like a hungry animal feeding. Napoleon couldn’t quite bring himself to let go of his gun. Illya moved his arm from behind his head and let it fall palm upwards across the mattress in Napoleon’s direction. The fingers were lightly curled. Not clutching the bed clothes, like I make you do. Napoleon thrust against the side of the mattress, staring at the half-open fingers of Illya's hand. I want to kiss the centre of your palm, feel your fingertips against my cheek. Run my tongue between your fingers. Napoleon pulled his gaze away from Illya's hand to look at Vera again. She was kissing along Illya’s neck. The hand Napoleon could still see was stroking down over Illya’s chest, stopping at a nipple, outlining it with a fingertip. Napoleon pushed harder against the mattress. Inside you. I want to be inside you. No where else. With no one else, Napoleon thought and pushed even harder against the firm mattress. No one else? Napoleon asked himself in alarm. Why not? I’ve always loved variety. Open to attraction in all its forms. Diversity. Light-hearted diversity. Vera’s mouth had progressed to one of Illya’s nipples now. She drew back and Napoleon thought he could see her tongue darting out to lick, her fingers still stroking across the nipple nearer to Napoleon. He couldn’t see any response from Illya in the dark. There was no sound from him, no movement, no arching up towards her touch. As you do when I kiss you. When I enter you. Soundlessly, Napoleon spewed against the bedding. Vera’s hand was sliding down Illya’s chest, curving around his hip. Mine! Napoleon pulsed again against the mattress. Vera’s mouth stopped suckling, her knees backing down the side of Illya’s legs. Napoleon clutched the edge of the mattress as the final wave flowed out of him. It had been a long time since he had done something like that.
The tip of Vera’s tongue had found the tip of Illya’s erection, was touching it gently, tasting it. Her tongue circled and lapped, then her lips closed over him, drawing him up into her mouth. Napoleon didn’t move, despite the wetness. His hands were still crushing the edge of the mattress between his fingers. More of Illya disappeared inside Vera’s mouth. Illya’s hand remained open on the sheet. That’s got to feel good, Napoleon thought as Vera descended all the way to Illya’s abdomen. Napoleon twitched. Finally, he climbed onto the bed. As he crawled past Illya’s hand, Illya's fingers trailed along Napoleon's thigh, his calf. Napoleon twitched again. He had barely started to soften and he felt himself hardening again.
Napoleon reached out for Illya's foot, drew a finger across the arch before he pulled it further away from Illya's other foot and knelt in the space he’d created between them. A warm space. Vera made a sound. Napoleon hands slid up the inside of Illya’s calves, up Vera’s thighs. She made another sound around Illya. Napoleon smiled. My little accident may prove useful in the next half hour or so, he thought. Napoleon was a resourceful man. Turning adversity into advantage was something he did well. He hardened a bit further. No rush, he cautioned himself. No rush at all. His fingers reached the top of Vera’s thighs. Their presence there drew another sound and a slight backwards thrust. Napoleon pulled his fingers away. Distracting you from what’s in your mouth, am I? Napoleon thought. Let’s see if I can distract you even more. He trailed his fingertips up the cleft between Vera’s buttocks. He paused, listening. That sounded like a moan, Napoleon thought. Perhaps I have discovered something else that piques your interest, dear. He put his other hand on Vera’s hip. Let it rest there and stroked further up her back with the fingertips of his other hand. Vera moved backwards slightly into his touch. Good, Napoleon thought and then he made the mistake of leaning sideways and looking past Vera’s shoulder. Her hand was clutching Illya’s hip now, her thumb pressed hard into his flesh and pulling his hip up towards her. He’s not thrusting at all, Napoleon observed. But she’s not letting that slow her down. In fact, it’s spurring her on. Vera's shoulders were moving down now, the movements of her head more pronounced. She must feel he’s close. Or she’s determined to get him there, Napoleon marvelled, straightening and then leaning forward over Vera, sliding his hand from her back around to her breast and caressing it as she bobbed and gasped. He shifted his knees closer, his erection nudged the underside of Vera’s buttocks and slid under. She gasped again. Napoleon smiled. Two fronts. Mustn’t forget that, he cautioned himself and heard Vera choke a bit and then swallow. Napoleon slid his hand soothingly from her hip to her shoulder and back. Know exactly how that goes, he thought, continuing to rub Vera's back with his hand. From Illya there had not been a sound.
*****************
Part VII
Vera lay herself down on Illya, her head resting on his shoulder, her lips brushing against the side of his throat, the hand that had been at his hip curved around his upper arm. The arm that was still flung out across the bed. Illya’s eyes were closed. His other arm lay on the pillow near his head. He didn’t bring his hand down to stroke Vera’s cheek or to rest it on her hair. While Napoleon watched, Illya opened his eyes. A plaintive sound escaped Vera. Illya closed his eyes again. Neither of his hands moved. Napoleon shivered and sat back on his heels.
Softly, Vera moaned again. Napoleon spread his hands across the back of her knees, pushing her legs farther apart as he slid his hands up her thighs. Lightly, he pressed into her with both thumbs. He heard her take a deep breath. He dragged his hands slowly back down her thighs, moving them around the curve of her legs all the way to her ankles and back up, holding his thumbs away from his fingers, letting them brush against Illya’s shins before they rose along Vera's thighs, over her buttocks and onto her back. Napoleon leaned down and kissed softly beneath her shoulder blades, lingering, touching her skin with the tip of his tongue and then moving lower. He rested his head against her back for a moment and listened to her heart hammering. Good.
Napoleon stroked down Vera's side to her hip with the palm of one hand, letting his fingertips graze along Illya’s skin this time. Illya's breathing was steady. Napoleon's hand wandered up Vera's side, under her arm to her shoulder, down to her elbow and back up to where her hand grasped Illya’s upper arm. With his fingertips, Napoleon traced between her fingers and then back down her arm to her side and her hip. Napoleon sat back on his heels again. This time Vera whimpered. He continued his retreat towards the foot of the bed, grasped Illya’s ankles and brought them together, bending down to brush his lips across the tops of the feet while his thumbs massaged the underside of the arches. Raising Illya's foot to my shoulder. Napoleon's stomach tightened. Not possible right now, he reminded himself.
A thin sheen of perspiration spread across Napoleon's skin. He circled Vera’s ankles and nudged them further apart, settling himself astride Illya’s legs and between hers. Napoleon leaned forward and nuzzled first the top of Vera's thigh, then her buttocks, grazing the skin with his teeth, drawing the firm flesh between them. He sat back once more. Vera squirmed and lifted her buttocks, then settled back onto Illya, murmuring. Found a pleasant position? Napoleon surmised. Lightly, he stroked between Vera’s legs, his fingertips skimming the soft skin between Illya’s testicles before he feathered around Vera’s nether lips. Her back was rising and falling noticeably with her breathing. He let two fingers explore more deeply. A sigh. Napoleon withdrew his hand. A whimper. Napoleon tilted his head. Ready, I think. He leaned over Vera’s back and brought his hips slowly forward. His thighs pushed Vera further up Illya’s chest. Vera lifted her head a moment, then lowered it onto the pillow between Illya’s head and his hand. Her lips were near Illya's ear now. That might work out well, Napoleon thought as he entered her.
Napoleon heard the quaver in Vera’s exhalation. That must be tickling Illya’s ear, he thought. In the dimness, he couldn’t see any change in Illya’s expression. Perhaps I can get you to open your eyes again. Napoleon withdrew completely, slid over Illya and back into Vera. She sighed. Napoleon's motion pushed her a tiny bit further up the pillow. His next thrust had the same result. Vera’s shoulder was under Illya’s chin. Napoleon grabbed her hips and slid her back towards him. She moaned at the contact this produced. With one hand, Napoleon held her as he pushed. Vera slid up Illya’s chest again. A little cooperation from my partner would be nice, Napoleon grumbled to himself. No sooner had he thought it than Illya’s hands moved. His fingers gripped Vera’s shoulders. When Napoleon thrust next, Illya let Vera glide upwards a little then pushed her down towards Napoleon.
“Ah,” Vera gasped.
“Good?” Napoleon leaned forward and asked. He didn’t usually ask, because he knew. He knew now, but he wanted to hear what Vera would say.
“Hmm,” she replied.
“We must be rather heavy on Illya,” Napoleon continued. “We could move.”
“Nooo,” she replied, lifting slightly against Napoleon and tightening her grip on Illya‘s arm.
There wasn’t enough light to see Illya’s expression, but the perfect rhythm of the movements convinced Napoleon that Illya was smiling in the dark. “All right, then,” Napoleon crooned back to Vera, thrusting again. Vera slipped along Illya’s chest towards the pillows before Illya pushed her down onto Napoleon. They could have achieved the same effect if Vera had simply reached up to the headboard and pushed herself back, but that would have involved lifting herself off of Illya, losing that contact, that friction. I should be irritated, Napoleon thought. My attentions are usually more than sufficient. He withdrew completely, then pushed back slowly over Illya, over the soft, sensitive skin and into the wet heat of Vera. Napoleon couldn’t suppress a murmur of satisfaction. He withdrew and aimed a little lower, nudging the smooth skin between Illya’s testicles, gliding over it and into Vera again, until his own testicles rested on top of Illya’s. Napoleon took a deep breath and held himself there, eyes closed, absorbing the two sensations. Illya let out a breath. A faint whiff of vodka. Napoleon could swear Illya was grinning now. He was certainly hard again. Napoleon could feel that. Smiling, he considered the precise trajectory of his next thrust.
The sounds Vera was making were rising in pitch. Each time Napoleon drove her forward, Illya was waiting a little longer to push her back down. Napoleon was half sitting on Illya’s legs, enjoying the feel of their rubbing against the inside of his thighs and calves each time Vera slid back against him. Up and back, both motions were clearly pleasing Vera. It was on an upward thrust that she cried out, a long, wavering, slightly sorrowful sound as though she regretted descending from that summit. Illya didn’t push her shoulders. He moved one hand to the small of her back and pressed. Napoleon felt Illya’s hips moving from side to side beneath Vera. She gasped. Napoleon could see the muscles in Illya’s forearm tightening as he held her against him, could feel the undulation of his hips. Vera had straightened her arms. Her head hung down between her shoulders, her breathing loud, then she arched her back and screamed.
Around Napoleon, Vera's muscles contracted. He leaned forward trapping Illya’s arm, drove himself into Vera and held on. This time she collapsed on top of Illya. Quickly, Napoleon withdrew. Vera mumbled a half-hearted protest against Illya’s neck. Napoleon slid between her buttocks, up onto her lower back, nudging against the side of Illya’s hand. It lifted slightly. Napoleon rose higher on his knees and pushed underneath the hand. Illya’s fingers closed possessively around Napoleon and his hips surged upwards. Napoleon’s balls tightened. Despite the firmness of Illya’s grasp, Napoleon drew back a little, then pushed forward. The small friction was enough. He pulsed against Illya’s palm. Hold me. Hold on to me. Please, Napoleon thought as the flood within him crested.
Napoleon's eyes were closed, his head drooping when he felt Illya’s hand tighten again. Napoleon shifted more of his weight onto Vera’s back and Illya lifted against the weight of them both, once, twice. Napoleon could hear Illya‘s breathing. It wasn’t very loud; he was still holding back. Napoleon swung his head to the side and dragged his eyelids up. Illya had finally opened his eyes. Napoleon looked down into their darkness, his head dropping lower. He couldn’t reach Illya’s lips. He had softened enough to ease away from Illya’s hand; he withdrew an inch or two, then pushed back again, his shoulders hunched, his head getting lower, his lips parting as though he could reach the lips he wanted to kiss. His breath harsher now, Illya lifted Vera and Napoleon several inches off the bed. A tremor moved through them all. Illya's eyes squeezed shut. Vera murmured, stroking Illya's upper arm. For a moment, Illya held them aloft. A low, deep sound. Illya subsided. Napoleon held his head up until Illya opened his eyes again. A glimmer of light brightened the wall behind the bed. By it, Napoleon saw the curve of Illya's lips. The charred logs collapsing through the grate made a tinkling sound. Napoleon sunk onto Vera’s back. The shadows in the room glowed a faint orange as his eyes closed. His hand stroked down Vera's side to her hip, coming to rest on the bed next to Illya's thigh. Napoleon was smiling, too.
************
As the story is too large for one post, the final two chapters (Parts VIII and IX) may be found here.