The Out of Africa Affair (MFU) Pt 2 of 3
Sep. 27th, 2009 09:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilda_eliseTitle: The Out of Africa Affair
Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
Pairing: Napoleon /Illya
Note: I'm not very good at challenges/fests (though I can't seem to stay away from the DtCA.) I originally wrote this story for the 2007 DtCA but the story wouldn't come together until three weeks before the deadline. The story posted was somewhat truncated. I've finally managed to rework the story, adding in what I'd been forced to leave out the first time. in the process, the story went from around 7,600 words to over 24,000. So I suppose this is "The Out of Africa Affair—Redux."
It began raining later that night. By then, Illya had either forgiven or forgotten and had started talking to Napoleon again. Making sure things remained that way, Napoleon stayed away from the topic uppermost in his mind. He had several days to walk through that particular mine field. No sense having it blow up in his face right now.
Instead, Napoleon brought Illya up to date on the gossip floating around UNCLE headquarters, both professional and personal. For once, the personal gossip wasn’t about them, or him, as it more than not tended to be. Twice he made Illya laugh, the full-blown uninhibited laugher Illya rarely used but that Napoleon loved to hear. He could have kept it up all night but it had been a long day, and not too long a time later they decided to turn in. Each made a quick trip to the outhouse, taking turns cleaning up as well as they could, the kitchen’s tiny sink doing double duty as a wash basin. Stripping down to their underwear, they climbed into their respective beds.
A half-hour later, Napoleon lay on his side listening to the rain. Less than three feet away, Illya slept the sleep of the righteous...or, at least, that of the extremely tired. Which was more than Napoleon could say. It happened sometimes; either too exhausted or too key up, Napoleon would find himself unable to sleep.
He studied his partner. The light from the banked fire gave a soft glow to everything, making Illya look just that much more desirable. Napoleon sighed and scolded himself for being such a coward. He could be sharing that bed right now. Or standing out in the rain. Don’t forget about that possibility.
But, oh, if it turned out that Illya wanted what he did. It had been years since Napoleon had been with someone he truly loved and who loved him in return, but he remembered the feeling as if it had been only yesterday. He wanted that feeling back; he wanted that feeling back with Illya.
Napoleon turned to lie on his back but staring at the ceiling didn’t help, either. He closed his eyes and tried to force sleep to come. Eventually, he succeeded.
~
Two days and several stops later, Napoleon sat and watched his partner as Illya stocked the last of the supplies. He would pick up one of the cans or boxes they had piled on the sturdy table and, giving more thought to it than Napoleon would have, place it on one of the shelves that lined the area to each side of the sink over the countertop.
They’d gotten good at this, quickly unloading and restocking the supplies, then moving on to the next line shack. This night, their last before returning to the main house and then home, found them ensconced in one of the nicer shacks. At least this one had a decent bed, though only one which Napoleon wasn’t sure he was glad for or not. The building was also larger, with two windows at the back, one near the bed and one above the sink in the kitchen area. Looking past Illya, he could easily see the clearing sky through its panes.
The summer rains had plagued them off and on and the last five miles or so of their trip here had been made through a downpour. Luckily, Illya had been able to pull the truck up close enough so that the back had slipped easily under the porch overhang. They had managed to unload the last of the supplies without getting too wet.
Knowing this would be the last of it, they had set to work, eager to complete their chore and settle in. Now, a fire happily burned in the kitchen stove, giving the place a, dare he say it, romantic atmosphere.
He could certainly use the help. He still hadn’t been able to find the words, or maybe make that courage, to tell Illya how he felt and what he felt. Maybe because he didn’t want to destroy the perfectly good time they were having. The work wasn’t terribly hard, the scenery was beautiful and they were alone together in a way they rarely ever were: no threats hanging over their heads, no chance of being called out on a mission to destroy the peace between them. Perfect.
“Why are you staring?” Illya’s words broke Napoleon’s reverie.
“I’m not staring,” Napoleon retorted.
“Yes, you are and you’ve been doing it for the last three days. So either stop it or tell me what’s bothering you.”
Napoleon picked up one of the cans on the table and passed it from one hand to the other. “There’s nothing bothering me...exactly.”
Illya stopped what he was doing and focused on Napoleon. “Then there is something?”
Napoleon hesitated. “I...I was wondering about the comment you made the other day.”
“And what comment was that?”
“The one about your teacher.”
A look, half regret, half disgust, flitted across Illya face. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything about that. But I was foolish enough to think it wouldn’t make a difference.”
“Then there was more than admiration for the man.”
Napoleon’s dawning joy was totally lost on Illya. “And if there was? Tell me, Napoleon, have you spent the last three days trying to think of a way to talk Waverly into partnering you with someone else?”
“Of course not!”
“No? You’re just curious, are you, wanting to know all the gory details?”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Napoleon protested, torn between elation and annoyance. “Did I say anything about it bothering me?”
Illya scowled at him. “You didn’t have to. Why else would you be thinking about it so much? I can just imagine what’s being going on in that devious mind of yours all this time.”
Napoleon put down the can he’d been toying with and stood up. He strode around the table to Illya’s side and grabbed his partner by his shoulders. “This is what I’ve been thinking about for the last three days.” And with that, he hauled Illya against him and soundly kissed him.
Napoleon hadn’t meant for it to be a long kiss. He’d only been trying to stave off his partner’s diatribe. But when Illya’s lips touched his, no power on earth could have pulled him away. Especially once Illya got over his shock and enthusiastically joined in.
How long they stood there, locked in each other’s embrace, Napoleon would never be able to tell. Nor would he quite remember how they contrived to make it to the bed, much less how they managed to shed their clothes without breaking contact. That they did manage it said a lot to Napoleon. Apparently, Illya had wanted him as long, or maybe even longer, than he had wanted Illya.
In any event, when they were finally under the covers, their naked bodies touching, joined together, as in tune with each other as their temperaments had long been, Napoleon set about making sure Illya would never question that the wanting was, indeed, mutual.
~
Illya woke before dawn. He lifted his head from Napoleon’s chest and reached over to push aside the curtain that covered the small window above the bed. There were the beginnings of color filtering into the eastern sky. They would have to be up and on their way in only a couple of hours.
Though still dark outside, the embers from the stove gave off enough light for him to see his lover’s face. His lover. Illya felt a swell of joy at that thought. Napoleon was his. He could touch him when he wanted; do whatever fulfilled his need for Napoleon and Napoleon’s need for him. He decided there was no time like the present. He brought his hand to Napoleon’s brow and gently brushed back the lock of hair.
Napoleon’s eyes opened instantly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Liar.” Napoleon looked rather pleased with himself. “You know you want me.”
Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure of what Napoleon wanted. It wasn’t as if they had actually done any talking the night before. Yes, he wanted Napoleon but what, other than his body, did Napoleon want from him? He looked away, returning to the view outside the window. “It will be light soon. Perhaps we should be up and on our way.”
“Hey,” Napoleon brought his hand up to caress the side of Illya’s face. “We don’t have to leave right away, do we?”
“They are expecting us back today. There would be no reason for being gone longer than anticipated.”
“Is that what you want?”
Illya shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Doesn’t it? I thought, well, I hoped I wasn’t alone in this.”
“In what? What exactly is ‘this,’ Napoleon? What exactly are we?”
Napoleon maneuvered his arms around Illya’s body and locked his hands behind Illya’s back. He pulled him even closer. “I don’t know about you, but I’m happy.” He laughed, a light and singularly joyous sound. “More happy than I’ve been in a very long time.” Tilting his head, he scrutinized Illya though long, dark lashes. “Please tell me that you are, too.”
“I want to be, more than you could possibly know. But—”
“You’re afraid, aren’t you? Of what?” Dismay filled the expressive eyes. “Of me? You’re afraid of me?”
Illya gave a hesitant nod. “If this doesn’t work out, I...I don’t know what it would do to me.”
“I love you, Illya. I would never hurt you, not in a million years.” Pain flitted across his partner’s features. “You believe me, don’t you?”
“I believe you. I know you would never intentionally hurt me. But nothing is guaranteed, not even love. If your feelings, or mine,” he added, seeing the beginnings of denial from Napoleon, “should change, it could destroy what we already have.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” Napoleon brought his head up and lightly touched his lips to Illya’s, staying only a few seconds before settling back against his pillow. “You’re right, nothing is for sure, hell, not even our lives. And feelings do change. As much as I’d love to be able to vow that my feelings will never change, as much as I feel they never will, I can’t. But however long this does last, a day, a year, fifty years, I can’t imagine ever being sorry that it happened, even if I’m the one who ends up paying the price you’re so afraid one of us will have to pay. Right now, I’m happy. You make me happy. Please, can’t that be enough for you?”
Illya searched Napoleon’s face, looking for what, he wasn’t sure. Once having known it, could he stay by this man’s side if love was withdrawn? Could he do so now, having already tasted it? No, he knew himself well enough to know that he would forever crave what they had at this very moment.
“Illya?” Napoleon uttered his name. Worry, impatience—and hope, were all expressed in that single word.
Pulling himself over to fully blanket Napoleon’s body, Illya lowered his head. He needed no words for what he wished to convey; his lips came down on his partner’s, imparting his message until no doubt remained.
Soon Napoleon’s hands were in his hair, running down his back and over his ass and back up again, as if his lover couldn’t decide what he wished to touch the most. But every touch was the same for Illya, an electric charge of arousal so strong that he thought he could die of it, or die at its lack.
He pulled his mouth away from Napoleon’s, who gasped and arched his back as Illya moved down and sucked in one nipple. He teased the bud with tongue and teeth until it hardened in his mouth. He flicked his tongue back and forth over the pebbled surface, while at the same time pinching its mate into the same state. Under him Napoleon bucked and moaned and spread his legs so that Illya’s body settled naturally between them.
As he moved further down, Napoleon finally settled his hands in Illya’s hair as if to hold his head where it was but Illya had other plans. Pushing the hands away, he lowered himself even further and came up on his knees. His lover’s cock stood hard and erect before him. He tucked his hands under Napoleon’s hips and lowered his head to take the organ’s length into his mouth.
Napoleon cried out, the sound dying down to a prolonged groan as Illya began sucking and licking. He held fast, his fingers digging into the muscles of Napoleon’s ass, savoring the feel and taste of the hot and heavy bulk moving in and out of his mouth. He glanced up to see Napoleon’s head thrown back and his hands fisted into the sheet.
He’d dreamed of seeing Napoleon like this, lost in a haze of passion that Illya had brought him to, that, Illya vowed, only he would bring him to from this day forward. He sucked harder and was rewarded with an inarticulate wail from the man beneath him.
Napoleon had bent his knees and planted his feet flat on the bed, the extra leverage allowing him to lift his hips and push his cock deeper into Illya’s mouth. Illya reciprocated by relaxing the muscles of his throat and taking the organ completely in. The wet strands of pubic hair tickled his nose as he buried his face against Napoleon’s groin.
He knew Napoleon was close. Coating a finger with the saliva that had dripped down between Napoleon’s ass cheeks, he swirled the digit around his lover’s puckered opening and then pushed it in.
Napoleon gave a strangled gasp and suddenly his hands were once again in Illya’s hair. He held Illya in place as his hips bucked up and down, shoving down onto the finger buried inside him, then up, pushing his cock even deeper into Illya’s mouth.
Illya managed to push a second finger into his lover’s body. With a prolonged groan, Napoleon came hard into Illya’s mouth. Illya swallowed each pulse of hot liquid, savoring the flavor. Finally, the spasms died down. He gave the softening organ one last suckle, then released it and levered himself up.
He froze, struck by the look on Napoleon’s face. He’d seen his partner look at many women in lust or passion; sometimes, even affection. But never like this, never with such deep and abiding love, writ so large that there was no denying the depth of Napoleon’s devotion. It left him at a loss for words so that all he could do was utter his lover’s name.
“Napoleon?”
Napoleon smiled. “Come here.”
Illya began to lie down but was stopped by Napoleon’s hand on his chest. “No, not that way.” He dropped his hands and wrapped one around each of Illya’s upper thighs. “Spread your knees and get up here.”
Illya awkwardly advanced on his knees until he was straddling Napoleon’s chest. He leaned forward to balance himself with one hand. His cock dangled in front of Napoleon’s face, still hard and in need.
Fascinated, he watched as Napoleon raised his head and took it into his mouth, his gaze never leaving Illya’s.
Illya moaned, his eyes closing against his will. It was too much at once, to see Napoleon doing this to him while being inundated by the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of Napoleon’s mouth. It was too much.
His hips began a slow undulation as Napoleon took more of him in with each push forward. His lover’s fingers slid gently up and down one ass cheek while almost leisurely sucking the life out of him.
He could feel the tension building within his body, demanding release.
“Napoleon, please.”
Somehow Napoleon managed to work his body up to wrap his arms around Illya’s waist, his mouth avid and hungry as he returned to his suckling. Illya began pumping his hips in earnest, driving his cock in and out of the welcoming orifice.
The sound of the squeaking bed filled the room; it sounded as if it would break at any moment. Illya didn’t care. The hot moistness of Napoleon’s mouth, the smell and feel of his lover was overpowering his senses. He squeezed his eyes shut and let go.
Afterwards, after the last tremors had shook his body, Illya looked down.
Napoleon raised his head and returned his gaze. He had managed to swallow most of Illya’s come; the only evidence of what he had just done was a drop of liquid that slowly dripped down his chin. Illya shakily brought his hand down and, using his thumb, wiped it away.
Neither spoke as they resettled on the bed, Napoleon on his back, Illya resting at his side. Drawing the covers over them, Illya leaned forward and they shared a long kiss, one that spoke of all their yesterdays and all their tomorrows. Then he burrowed down against his lover to steal the last minutes of the night.
~
“It looks like more rain is on its way,” Napoleon noted as he climbed onto the truck’s passenger seat. Clouds were fast building to the east and the winds were beginning to pick up.
“It is the height of the rainy season.” Illya glanced into the rearview window before putting the vehicle into gear and slowly accelerating away from the shack. “Van Riebeck did say they’ve been getting more rain than usual, even for this time of year.”
They followed the road back the way they had come, less than a mile along making the turn that would lead them back to the ranch house. Their route had been a circuitous one, taking the back roads off the main path that led to each shack, then doubling back and traveling on. Like a big lasso, the main road looped through Van Riebeck’s holding, ultimately returning home.
Napoleon leaned back in his seat, enjoying the quiet serenity of the bush. A silence had settled between them as the truck ate up the miles, unbroken save for a murmured comment from one or the other. But they had never needed words to communicate with each other; now, even less so. All he had to do was glance over at his partner and see the contentment that Illya wore like a comfortable coat to know that his friend shared his happiness. He smiled and settled further in his seat.
The quiet and the motion of the truck lulled him into a half-sleep as the miles slipped by. He superficially noted the darkening sky and the cooler breezes that were blowing through his open window. Soon, he was noting nothing at all.
“Napoleon, roll up your window.” Illya gently nudged his side.
He straightened and looked out. The clouds had closed in and a few splashes of rain pattered against the windshield. He cranked his window closed. “Is the rain going to be a problem?”
“It shouldn’t. But if it gets too bad, we can always go back and spend another night at the line shack.” Illya winked. “Not exactly what you would call a problem is it?”
Napoleon grinned. “Oh, I think I could manage that.” He gave the sky another look and his grin was replaced with a frown. “Looks nasty.”
Illya glanced up. “Yes.”
For the next few miles, Napoleon kept a nervous eye on the weather. Though not much past noon, it was dark enough to pass for late evening. And with each mile the rain seemed to intensify, so that by the time they reached the river it was a veritable deluge.
The river was no longer a gentle flow, staying lazily within its banks. The bridge was still there but the water now lapped over its surface and each end sat in a muddy bog that smudged the water’s edges into the surrounding grassland.
Illya stopped the truck and studied the way ahead. “I think we can make it.”
“You better more than think we can, partner mine. Van Riebeck probably won’t appreciate you losing his truck.”
“Not to mention our skins.”
“Yes, I happen to be very attached to my skin at the moment. Yours, too,” Napoleon added roughly.
Napoleon would never forget the look of surprised pleasure on Illya’s face before he revved the engine, threw Napoleon a wicked grin and started across the bridge.
~
The sky was fully dark by the time they pulled up in front of the ranch house. What men were about were wet wraiths appearing in and out of the rain. From off the porch, Tully approached the driver’s side of the truck, water running down from the brim of his hat onto his slicker.
Illya rolled his window down a few inches. “Where’s Van Riebeck?”
“He took some men out to move one of the herds closer in. A couple of the creeks have overflowed their banks and the fields next to them are being flooded.” He was practically shouting. He glanced from Illya to Napoleon. “You have any trouble coming in?”
“You could say,” Napoleon quipped.
“We almost didn’t make it back across the river,” Illya added. “I’m not sure how much longer the bridge is going to hold up.”
Now, that was an understatement if he’d ever heard one, Napoleon thought. At one point the truck had started sliding, the wheels moving precariously close to the edge of the bridge. He had sat, white-knuckled, unable to help in any way, as Illya had wrestled with the steering wheel, finally managing to pull the vehicle away from the brink. Inch by slow inch, they’d crawled forward, fighting for purchase all the way. At last, the truck had lumbered off the bridge and onto the muddy road.
“Won’t be the first time we’ve lost a bridge. Seems every time we have a downpour one of them gets washed away. Right now that’s the least of our worries.” Tully glanced back at the house. “Teela’s having a fit because there’s a leak in the kitchen, we’re down three men who just up and left a couple of days ago and if this damn rain don’t let up we’re all going to need webbed feet to get around. Anyway,” he continued, running his hand over his face in a vain attempt to wipe away the rain, “I’m really glad you’re back, David. This being the boss is no fun.”
Illya laughed. “I’m surprised Van Riebeck left you in charge.”
“Didn’t have much choice, now did he?” With a nod toward the house, Tully stepped away from the truck. “I was just going in to see what I can do about the leak when you two drove up. The boss is probably going to need you in the morning, David, so you both might want to call it an early night. There should still be some hot grub at the bunk house.”
“We’ll do that.” Illya rolled up his window and pulled the truck back enough to start a slow turn away from the house. Even here, the mud sucked at the tires, threatening them with being stuck in the quagmire. It was with a sigh of relief that Illya approached the huge barn where the trucks were all garaged.
Napoleon pushed open his door. “I’ll get it.” He hurried up to the barn door, trying to keep his feet from sliding out from under him at the same time. At first the door wouldn’t budge, but finally, the rollers loudly squealing, Napoleon managed to get it moving along its track. Illya quickly drove the truck through and into the darkened interior.
Standing just inside the doorway, Napoleon waited while Illya got down from the truck and walked over to the rack hanging on the wall off to his right. Keys of all shapes and sizes hung from hooks screwed into the large slab of wood. Placing the truck’s key ring on its designated hook, Illya moved to Napoleon’s side. They both turned to gaze out into the rain.
“We don’t even have raincoats,” Napoleon lamented.
Illya looked back into the barn, his gaze moving from place to place, searching. Finally, he made his way over to a table shoved against the far wall. He returned with a couple of pieces of burlap. He handed one to Napoleon. “They won’t keep the rain off for long but they’re better than nothing.”
With a grimace, Napoleon took the proffered protection. As one they hustled the door closed then made a mad dash for the bunkhouse.
Maybe it was the very ridiculousness of their situation, or maybe because he was so damn happy, but Napoleon found himself laughing as he splashed alongside Illya.
They pushed and shoved each other, pretending to fight for supremacy, though Napoleon knew, at least for himself, that it was merely an excuse to touch his partner. From the look on Illya face, he was pretty sure his partner’s reason was the same. By the time they made it to the bunkhouse door they were soaking wet, muddy up to their knees and practically holding each other up.
“Wait, don’t go in yet,” Illya shouted above the downpour. “Let the rain wash the mud off first.”
Napoleon couldn’t argue with that; at this point, they couldn’t get any wetter, anyway. He gingerly raised one and then the other leg so that the water pouring down from the overhang washed his pants clean. Illya did the same and then the two of them entered the bunkhouse.
“Davy!”
Napoleon frowned as his partner was practically bowled over by the exuberant Benjamin.
“You’re going to get wet,” Illya protested, all the while trying to extricate himself from the arms of the young boy.
Benjamin pulled back just far enough to look up into Illya’s face. “You gave us a bit of a skrik; couple of bridges are out and the main road’s a bloody mess. And the bakkie you took is probably older than me.”
Illya smiled down at the boy as he stepped away. “The truck held up admirably, so there was no reason to fear for our safety. But what’s this about the road?”
“Road coming in from Pietersburg is out,” one of the hands sitting at the nearest table offered.
Napoleon vaguely recalled the man’s name as Nelson. “That’s the one from Pretoria, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, which is why we won’t be gettin’ any new men for at least a week.”
Illya glanced over at Napoleon before responding. “And why is that?”
“Because the regular bus run’s been canceled. Tully was in here just a bit ago to let us know,” Benjamin piped up, pulling at Illya’s arm as he spoke. “Come on, Davy, you should put something dry on before you catch a chill.”
Napoleon put his head down to hide his smile. The kid had it bad, but it was a good idea. “Yes, Davy, why don’t we? I could do with some dry clothes, myself.”
Illya gave him a look, but then followed him over to their bunks with Benjamin trailing close behind.
“I’ll get your clothes out, Davy,” Benjamin eagerly volunteered. He was pulling open the drawer before Illya had time to protest. He exchanged glances with Napoleon, who merely shrugged before starting to remove his own clothes. With an economy of motion they removed their shoes, socks and shirts. The tight denim that encased their legs was another matter.
Glancing around as he balanced on one foot, the pant leg stubbornly refusing to come off, Napoleon noted that the other men in the bunkhouse had gone back to their own concerns. It was late, and most were either preparing for or already in bed. Yet he couldn’t help but notice the way Benjamin’s gaze lingered on Illya’s bare skin longer than would be considered polite, how his Adam’s apple bobbed with each deep swallow the boy took. He hadn’t worried about the boy’s preoccupation with his partner before, not really; he did now.
Finally managing to remove the offending item, Napoleon picked up two of the towels that had magically appeared, Benjamin’s work, he was sure. “Here, put this around yourself.” He threw one of the towels at Illya, using the other to start drying himself.
Illya gave him a startled look but took the towel, anyway. He carelessly swiped the moisture from his body, his attention riveted on Napoleon.
He managed to ignore his partner’s studied attention until they were both safely tucked into their respective beds. Turning his head toward his partner, he let his gaze lock with Illya’s. “Sorry,” he mouthed.
Illya only smiled, then pulled his blanket up and turned to face the wall. Minutes later, the lights were turned out. Napoleon let his eyes drift closed.
~
Napoleon felt the hand on his shoulder, then a wisp of hair across his cheek.
“Follow me,” Illya whispered into his ear.
He sat up, scanning the darkened room as he quickly donned the clothes placed at the foot of his bed. In bare feet, he followed Illya to the back of the bunkhouse and through the door set in its far corner, then down the long hall that connected the living quarters to the bathhouse. The glow from the pole light in the back filtered through the windows set high in the wall and kept them from walking into each other. They cautiously continued past the bath house entrance and on to a third door tucked at the end of the hallway.
Illya quietly opened the door and they both ducked inside.
Napoleon squinted as the bare bulb came to life. “You could have warned me.”
“Did you think we were going to stand here in the dark?”
“Wouldn’t it be safer?” Napoleon asked as he took in their surroundings. They were at the back of the washhouse, it’s grainy floor damp beneath his feet. Toward the front, well-used washing machines lined each side of the narrow room; the back half of the space was taken up with large folding tables.
“It would if I hadn’t brought an excuse for us being here,” Illya remarked somewhat sarcastically as he handed over half of the items he’d been carrying. “Here, hang these over one of the lines.”
Taking the clothes, which turned out to be his own, Napoleon followed Illya’s gaze. Off to his left, nestled between the row of machines and the tables, several clotheslines sagged between two poles. He walked over and proceeded to carefully hang his clothes. “I take it we’re here to decide what we’re going to do tomorrow.”
“I don’t believe we have much of a choice. We can either try our luck walking out of here and hope we manage to catch a ride back to the nearest airport or we stay here and wait it out.”
Napoleon finished hanging the last of his clothes and turned to contemplate his partner. Illya’s movements were fitful, not at all in keeping with his usual graceful motion. “You really don’t want to leave, do you?”
“I’m sure Mr. Waverly won’t be interested in what I want or don’t want. Besides, I’m sure you’d like to be out of here as soon as possible.”
“This isn’t about what I want. I know what I want. And you’re not answering my question.”
“What do you want me to say, Napoleon?”
Napoleon shook his head. Sometimes getting Illya to talk about his feelings was like pulling teeth. “I want you to tell me what it is you want to do. If you want to stay, you need to tell me so. If you want to leave—”
Illya stilled, his hands still resting on the line. “I think it would feel almost like a betrayal.”
“To Van Riebeck?” Napoleon walked over to Illya’s side, close but not touching. “Or to yourself?”
“Both, I suppose.” Illya looked up at him with a hint of a smile. “You know me much too well, my friend.”
“Yes, I do, but that’s not why I know what you’re thinking. At least, that’s not all of it. Did you actually believe I wouldn’t agree with you? That I would be okay with leaving these people in the fix they’re in when it’s in our power to help, if only a little? Just how well do you know me?” Until he’d spoken the words, Napoleon hadn’t realized just how much it hurt, the idea that Illya would think so little of him.
It was Illya who instigated the touch, lifting one hand and bringing it over to rest against Napoleon’s cheek. “Well enough to know you would stay as long as possible, do whatever was needed to be done. No, Napoleon, this was not because I don’t know you. I think it was because, now, I know you too well.”
“I don’t understand.”
Illya rubbed his thumb along Napoleon’s lower lip and his body leaned toward Napoleon’s. “Yes, you do. You’re my boss, for lack of a better word, and now you’re also my lover. I’m afraid of mixing up the two, of demanding something from you as your lover I have no right to demand from you as your,” he hesitated, tilting his head in bemusement, “well, I won’t say inferior.”
“You don’t know me as well as you thought if you thought I’d let you get away with it. You let me worry about the job, tovarisch, you just worry about keeping me happy, okay?”
“Is that my new job description?”
Napoleon caught the teasing note in his partner’s voice and relaxed. They had gotten over that hurdle, the first of many he was sure. But he was also sure they would manage the rest. “You’re damn right it is.”
“Then I shall start immediately.” And he did, leaning forward to place a kiss on the lips he had just been caressing.
Napoleon returned the kiss at first; he couldn’t help himself. But then sanity prevailed and he pulled back. “As much as I hate saying this, I think perhaps we should wait to continue this some other time, say, when we’re off duty.”
Illya nodded, yet Napoleon could see the deep regret in his eyes. It shadowed his own.
They quickly slipped out the door, turning off the light as they went. They let their eyes adjust before retracing their steps down the hall, making their way back to the bunkhouse entrance. Napoleon placed his hand on Illya’s arm just as his partner was opening the door.
“Did you hear something?” he whispered, straining to see into the semi-darkness behind them.
Illya stilled, his head cocked as if to catch any sounds. After a minute or so, he shook his head. “I don’t hear anything. Do you want to go back and check?”
Napoleon continued to peer down the hall. Finally he shook his head. “No, it was probably nothing. Come on,” he motioned for Illya to open the door, “my feet are freezing.”
With a speaking look, Illya pulled the door open and the two men hurried through as quietly as they could and made their way back to their bunks.
~
“Yes, sir, they don’t expect the road to be open for at least two more days.” Napoleon glanced around as he spoke into his communicator. He’d picked this spot behind the bunkhouse because it was away from the ranch’s general traffic and he’d be able to see anyone coming long before they saw him. Still, it paid to remain vigilant.
“That’s very disappointing. You and your partner are desperately needed on another affair. Surely, there’s more than one way in or out of that part of the country. Two young men like yourself, a walk to the nearest city should be no trouble at all.”
Napoleon grimaced at the instrument. Leave it to his boss to see a thirty mile trek through the bush as a ‘walk.’ “Several bridges are also out, or so we’ve been told, so walking isn’t an option. We’re basically stuck here.”
That morning’s news hadn’t been good. With the road closed and the bridges out, not only could they not get out but no new hands could get in. Van Riebeck had called for Illya first thing and his partner had been sequestered with the ranch’s owner ever since.
“I must say, I’m surprised at your lack of initiative in this matter, Mr. Solo, very surprised. I believe another round at the Survival School might do you and Mr. Kuryakin a world of good.”
“We are trying, sir.”
“Very well, let me know if there’s any change in your status. Hold on a moment, Mr. Solo.” Waverly’s voice was muffled, as if he was covering the mike. After several seconds of this he turned his attention back to Napoleon. “I’ve been informed that the weather is expected to clear within the next forty-eight hours. I’ll have a helicopter there to pick you up at that time. Waverly out.”
The line went dead. Napoleon closed off his communicator and started off to where he’d agreed to meet up with Illya, whom he hoped would be free by now. As he turned the corner of the bunkhouse, he could see where all the other men were milling around in front of the barn where all the trucks were housed. Illya was nowhere in sight.
Thinking of his partner, Napoleon brought his hand up and lightly brushed his fingers over his lips. They’d have to do a better job of controlling themselves. Last night, no matter how wonderful the kiss, couldn’t be repeated, not until they were home and in the safety of their own apartments. Even here, and thinking about the men he worked with maybe even especially here, it was too dangerous.
He saw Tully lift his hand in greeting and he waved back. He worked his way through the throng of men until he was at Tully’s side. “Where’s David?”
“Should be out pretty soon. It’s not like we’re going to be doing much more than moving herds to higher ground.” Tully glanced up and gave the sky a disgusted look. “‘Course, at this rate we’re going to need an ark to do that.”
“Isn’t the rain supposed to be letting up?”
Tully gave a snort of skepticism. “I’ve heard that one before.”
Napoleon only shrugged. If Mr. Waverly had anything to do with it, and Napoleon often felt the old man could do just about anything he set his mind to, the rains would be over in two days. But he couldn’t very well tell Tully that.
With nothing else to do but wait, Napoleon casually looked over the other men. It was something he’d fallen into the habit of doing years ago. More than once, it had saved his life.
Most were in there thirties and early forties, with a smattering of young boys probably right out of school. He’d gotten to know very few of them during his time here and probably wouldn’t get to know them much better in his time left. It was the way it was for him.
He came to Benjamin and his eyes widened slightly in surprise. The boy was staring at him with more hate in his eyes than Napoleon had seen directed at him in a long time. Even THRUSH agents rarely looked at him with such venom. He felt his side nudged and reluctantly pulled his attention back to the man next to him.
“Here he comes.”
Illya and Van Riebeck had just exited the house and were making their way over to the men. Napoleon took one look at their faces and felt his spirits sink. It wasn’t hard to figure that they were all in for a long, hard day.
~
“Hold on to ’im!”
Napoleon tried. He had his arms wrapped around the yearling’s throat, trying to get it away from the river and back toward the rest of the herd. The animal wasn’t cooperating. Neither was the weather. Napoleon was wet, ankle deep in mud and bone tired.
A shock of agony lanced up his left leg and almost took his breath away. It did break his hold on the animal that burst out of his arms, kicking wildly as it finally rejoined its brethren. Napoleon’s legs gave way and he fell on his ass in the mud. He didn’t care. With both hands wrapped around his throbbing shin, it was all he could do to keep from crying out in pain.
God, it hurt! His entire body was shaking, his breath coming in sharp gasps that sounded uncomfortably close to sobs. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to bring his body back under control.
“You stupid kak! Are you dof or something?”
Napoleon looked up through a haze of pain. Benjamin glowered down at him, spitting venom with each word; Napoleon only wished he knew what he was saying.
“You’re so useless, you can’t even handle a yearling. I don’t know why Van Riebeck even keeps you around.”
“Leave him alone, lightey.” Nelson had approached the two and now squatted down next to Napoleon. He tried prying Napoleon’s hands away from his leg. “Let me see.”
Though initially suspicious of Napoleon, Nelson’s attitude had changed after he’d seen the effort Napoleon had made to keep up with the rest of the men and their relationship had improved, something Napoleon was heartily thankful for as the man gently pulled his pant leg up to expose the injured area.
Napoleon sucked in his breath, still fighting the pain, and stared stupidly at his wound. Blood was freely flowing from the gash that ran at least six inches down his shin. The wound itself was ragged and ugly looking and the skin around it was already starting to bruise.
Nelson pulled out a kerchief from his pocket and then began to gingerly wrap it around Napoleon’s leg. “I know it must hurt like hell, but you were lucky. The animal could have broken your leg.”
“It feels like he did,” Napoleon responded through clenched teeth.
Nelson tied off the kerchief, then turned to Benjamin who was still standing nearby. “Go get David. We’re going to need something to carry him out on.”
“Stupid, moffie, getting himself skopped like a—”
“Boy, I’m not telling you twice. Now, get.”
Benjamin finally retreated back to where he’d tied up his horse. With a last look of disgust, he mounted and rode off.
“He doesn’t like you much, does he?” Nelson asked.
Napoleon gave a shaky laugh. Big black dots were forming before his eyes and he knew he was about to pass out. “Now, what makes you say that?” he managed to quip before being enveloped by the welcoming darkness.
~
Napoleon watched with a certain drugged detachment as the doctor gently bandaged his lower leg. Propped on a couple of pillows, it lay outside the covers that blanketed most of the rest of his body.
The ride to the ranch house was a blank, but he’d woken up, his leg on fire as Illya and two other men had pulled him from the truck’s passenger seat and carried him into Van Riebeck’s house.
Somehow they’d managed to remove his wet and muddy clothes and bundle him into bed. A towel had been placed under his leg, which was still bleeding profusely, and a call sent out for a doctor. Napoleon wasn’t sure how long he’d had to wait; it seemed an eternity though probably not more than ten minutes. However long, Illya had sat at his side, a look of quiet concern on his face. His partner had only given up his spot with the doctor’s appearance.
The pain was a little more than a dull throb now, thanks largely to the shot the man had given him before he’d begun cleaning the wound.
“You were very lucky, son,” the doctor commented as he tore the end of the bandage down the center to tie off the two strips.
“So I’ve been told.” Napoleon looked past the man, hoping for a glimpse of Illya who had disappeared into the rest of the house.
The man gently pulled the end of the blanket and tented it over the injured leg. “Well, don’t doubt it for a moment. More than one man has almost lost a limb to one of those animals, and a couple have. Those brutes are dumb but they can be mighty vicious.”
Napoleon shivered and pulled the sheet over his exposed left arm. “Considering what’s in store for them, I suppose you can’t blame them.”
With a laugh, the doctor stood up and grabbed his bag from the floor. “You’re probably right. Anyway, I’ve left you some medication to take. It’s there on the nightstand. Try to keep off the leg for at least twenty-four hours, though if you’re like the rest you have every intention of ignoring that advise.”
“I’m not making any promises, Doctor, but I’ll do my best.”
The man shook his head and then walked out. Illya, who had evidently been waiting right outside the door, replaced him.
“I can’t leave you for a minute, can I?” Illya grumbled as he pulled up a nearby chair and seated himself next to the bed.
“I didn’t do this on purpose you know,” Napoleon responded, though it was more out of habit than any real feeling that Illya was serious. He’d seen the look on his partner’s face as they waited for the doctor. If he hadn’t already known what Illya felt for him, he certainly would have now.
What surprised him a bit was that he’d never noticed it before. Well, he had noticed, but never made the connection. How could he have missed the affection, the love Illya had for him? More importantly, how had everyone else?
Illya sighed, resting his arms on his thighs as he leaned forward. “No, I know you didn’t. It’s just that it’s more difficult than I thought it would be.”
“What is?”
“Seeing you, like this.” Illya didn’t look at Napoleon as he spoke. Rather, his attention seemed to be on a spot on the far wall. “Not that it hasn’t been hard for a very long time. But somehow this...change has made it worse.”
“Did you think it wouldn’t? And don’t you know that the reverse is true, too?”
Illya grimaced. “I’m not stupid, Napoleon. Nor blind. I suppose it’s that the reality of it turned out to be far worse than anything in theory. I wonder—”
“What?” Napoleon shook his head, trying to clear the fog that was settling even more over his brain. “What do you wonder? About us?”
Illya finally turned to look at Napoleon. “Don’t be absurd. I’m merely speculating on how we will manage to deal with it.” He sat up and slipped his hand underneath the covers to take Napoleon’s. “Though, if nothing else, I wonder about you sometimes. No, you will not get rid of me so easily.”
The warmth of Illya’s hand brought a comfort Napoleon was fast becoming addicted to. “That’s good to hear.” He settled back into the pillows, the drug in his system taking hold and making it difficult to keep awake. “And with any luck, we’ll be back in New York by tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t count on that. We may be out of it but according to the radio, the storm has settled over Pietersburg. There won’t be any helicopters flying out of there and the next closest city is Pretoria. We could be here a few more days.”
Napoleon’s response was lost in a yawn.
“I should let you rest.” Illya’s hand slipped from his as his partner moved forward to place one knee on the bed. “I will be back tomorrow. Sleep well, my friend,” Illya whispered, placing his lips against Napoleon’s brow for a moment. More a benediction than a kiss, it warmed Napoleon even as Illya left the room and he was pulled toward sleep.
~
On to Part 3
Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
Pairing: Napoleon /Illya
Note: I'm not very good at challenges/fests (though I can't seem to stay away from the DtCA.) I originally wrote this story for the 2007 DtCA but the story wouldn't come together until three weeks before the deadline. The story posted was somewhat truncated. I've finally managed to rework the story, adding in what I'd been forced to leave out the first time. in the process, the story went from around 7,600 words to over 24,000. So I suppose this is "The Out of Africa Affair—Redux."
It began raining later that night. By then, Illya had either forgiven or forgotten and had started talking to Napoleon again. Making sure things remained that way, Napoleon stayed away from the topic uppermost in his mind. He had several days to walk through that particular mine field. No sense having it blow up in his face right now.
Instead, Napoleon brought Illya up to date on the gossip floating around UNCLE headquarters, both professional and personal. For once, the personal gossip wasn’t about them, or him, as it more than not tended to be. Twice he made Illya laugh, the full-blown uninhibited laugher Illya rarely used but that Napoleon loved to hear. He could have kept it up all night but it had been a long day, and not too long a time later they decided to turn in. Each made a quick trip to the outhouse, taking turns cleaning up as well as they could, the kitchen’s tiny sink doing double duty as a wash basin. Stripping down to their underwear, they climbed into their respective beds.
A half-hour later, Napoleon lay on his side listening to the rain. Less than three feet away, Illya slept the sleep of the righteous...or, at least, that of the extremely tired. Which was more than Napoleon could say. It happened sometimes; either too exhausted or too key up, Napoleon would find himself unable to sleep.
He studied his partner. The light from the banked fire gave a soft glow to everything, making Illya look just that much more desirable. Napoleon sighed and scolded himself for being such a coward. He could be sharing that bed right now. Or standing out in the rain. Don’t forget about that possibility.
But, oh, if it turned out that Illya wanted what he did. It had been years since Napoleon had been with someone he truly loved and who loved him in return, but he remembered the feeling as if it had been only yesterday. He wanted that feeling back; he wanted that feeling back with Illya.
Napoleon turned to lie on his back but staring at the ceiling didn’t help, either. He closed his eyes and tried to force sleep to come. Eventually, he succeeded.
~
Two days and several stops later, Napoleon sat and watched his partner as Illya stocked the last of the supplies. He would pick up one of the cans or boxes they had piled on the sturdy table and, giving more thought to it than Napoleon would have, place it on one of the shelves that lined the area to each side of the sink over the countertop.
They’d gotten good at this, quickly unloading and restocking the supplies, then moving on to the next line shack. This night, their last before returning to the main house and then home, found them ensconced in one of the nicer shacks. At least this one had a decent bed, though only one which Napoleon wasn’t sure he was glad for or not. The building was also larger, with two windows at the back, one near the bed and one above the sink in the kitchen area. Looking past Illya, he could easily see the clearing sky through its panes.
The summer rains had plagued them off and on and the last five miles or so of their trip here had been made through a downpour. Luckily, Illya had been able to pull the truck up close enough so that the back had slipped easily under the porch overhang. They had managed to unload the last of the supplies without getting too wet.
Knowing this would be the last of it, they had set to work, eager to complete their chore and settle in. Now, a fire happily burned in the kitchen stove, giving the place a, dare he say it, romantic atmosphere.
He could certainly use the help. He still hadn’t been able to find the words, or maybe make that courage, to tell Illya how he felt and what he felt. Maybe because he didn’t want to destroy the perfectly good time they were having. The work wasn’t terribly hard, the scenery was beautiful and they were alone together in a way they rarely ever were: no threats hanging over their heads, no chance of being called out on a mission to destroy the peace between them. Perfect.
“Why are you staring?” Illya’s words broke Napoleon’s reverie.
“I’m not staring,” Napoleon retorted.
“Yes, you are and you’ve been doing it for the last three days. So either stop it or tell me what’s bothering you.”
Napoleon picked up one of the cans on the table and passed it from one hand to the other. “There’s nothing bothering me...exactly.”
Illya stopped what he was doing and focused on Napoleon. “Then there is something?”
Napoleon hesitated. “I...I was wondering about the comment you made the other day.”
“And what comment was that?”
“The one about your teacher.”
A look, half regret, half disgust, flitted across Illya face. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything about that. But I was foolish enough to think it wouldn’t make a difference.”
“Then there was more than admiration for the man.”
Napoleon’s dawning joy was totally lost on Illya. “And if there was? Tell me, Napoleon, have you spent the last three days trying to think of a way to talk Waverly into partnering you with someone else?”
“Of course not!”
“No? You’re just curious, are you, wanting to know all the gory details?”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Napoleon protested, torn between elation and annoyance. “Did I say anything about it bothering me?”
Illya scowled at him. “You didn’t have to. Why else would you be thinking about it so much? I can just imagine what’s being going on in that devious mind of yours all this time.”
Napoleon put down the can he’d been toying with and stood up. He strode around the table to Illya’s side and grabbed his partner by his shoulders. “This is what I’ve been thinking about for the last three days.” And with that, he hauled Illya against him and soundly kissed him.
Napoleon hadn’t meant for it to be a long kiss. He’d only been trying to stave off his partner’s diatribe. But when Illya’s lips touched his, no power on earth could have pulled him away. Especially once Illya got over his shock and enthusiastically joined in.
How long they stood there, locked in each other’s embrace, Napoleon would never be able to tell. Nor would he quite remember how they contrived to make it to the bed, much less how they managed to shed their clothes without breaking contact. That they did manage it said a lot to Napoleon. Apparently, Illya had wanted him as long, or maybe even longer, than he had wanted Illya.
In any event, when they were finally under the covers, their naked bodies touching, joined together, as in tune with each other as their temperaments had long been, Napoleon set about making sure Illya would never question that the wanting was, indeed, mutual.
~
Illya woke before dawn. He lifted his head from Napoleon’s chest and reached over to push aside the curtain that covered the small window above the bed. There were the beginnings of color filtering into the eastern sky. They would have to be up and on their way in only a couple of hours.
Though still dark outside, the embers from the stove gave off enough light for him to see his lover’s face. His lover. Illya felt a swell of joy at that thought. Napoleon was his. He could touch him when he wanted; do whatever fulfilled his need for Napoleon and Napoleon’s need for him. He decided there was no time like the present. He brought his hand to Napoleon’s brow and gently brushed back the lock of hair.
Napoleon’s eyes opened instantly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Liar.” Napoleon looked rather pleased with himself. “You know you want me.”
Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure of what Napoleon wanted. It wasn’t as if they had actually done any talking the night before. Yes, he wanted Napoleon but what, other than his body, did Napoleon want from him? He looked away, returning to the view outside the window. “It will be light soon. Perhaps we should be up and on our way.”
“Hey,” Napoleon brought his hand up to caress the side of Illya’s face. “We don’t have to leave right away, do we?”
“They are expecting us back today. There would be no reason for being gone longer than anticipated.”
“Is that what you want?”
Illya shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Doesn’t it? I thought, well, I hoped I wasn’t alone in this.”
“In what? What exactly is ‘this,’ Napoleon? What exactly are we?”
Napoleon maneuvered his arms around Illya’s body and locked his hands behind Illya’s back. He pulled him even closer. “I don’t know about you, but I’m happy.” He laughed, a light and singularly joyous sound. “More happy than I’ve been in a very long time.” Tilting his head, he scrutinized Illya though long, dark lashes. “Please tell me that you are, too.”
“I want to be, more than you could possibly know. But—”
“You’re afraid, aren’t you? Of what?” Dismay filled the expressive eyes. “Of me? You’re afraid of me?”
Illya gave a hesitant nod. “If this doesn’t work out, I...I don’t know what it would do to me.”
“I love you, Illya. I would never hurt you, not in a million years.” Pain flitted across his partner’s features. “You believe me, don’t you?”
“I believe you. I know you would never intentionally hurt me. But nothing is guaranteed, not even love. If your feelings, or mine,” he added, seeing the beginnings of denial from Napoleon, “should change, it could destroy what we already have.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” Napoleon brought his head up and lightly touched his lips to Illya’s, staying only a few seconds before settling back against his pillow. “You’re right, nothing is for sure, hell, not even our lives. And feelings do change. As much as I’d love to be able to vow that my feelings will never change, as much as I feel they never will, I can’t. But however long this does last, a day, a year, fifty years, I can’t imagine ever being sorry that it happened, even if I’m the one who ends up paying the price you’re so afraid one of us will have to pay. Right now, I’m happy. You make me happy. Please, can’t that be enough for you?”
Illya searched Napoleon’s face, looking for what, he wasn’t sure. Once having known it, could he stay by this man’s side if love was withdrawn? Could he do so now, having already tasted it? No, he knew himself well enough to know that he would forever crave what they had at this very moment.
“Illya?” Napoleon uttered his name. Worry, impatience—and hope, were all expressed in that single word.
Pulling himself over to fully blanket Napoleon’s body, Illya lowered his head. He needed no words for what he wished to convey; his lips came down on his partner’s, imparting his message until no doubt remained.
Soon Napoleon’s hands were in his hair, running down his back and over his ass and back up again, as if his lover couldn’t decide what he wished to touch the most. But every touch was the same for Illya, an electric charge of arousal so strong that he thought he could die of it, or die at its lack.
He pulled his mouth away from Napoleon’s, who gasped and arched his back as Illya moved down and sucked in one nipple. He teased the bud with tongue and teeth until it hardened in his mouth. He flicked his tongue back and forth over the pebbled surface, while at the same time pinching its mate into the same state. Under him Napoleon bucked and moaned and spread his legs so that Illya’s body settled naturally between them.
As he moved further down, Napoleon finally settled his hands in Illya’s hair as if to hold his head where it was but Illya had other plans. Pushing the hands away, he lowered himself even further and came up on his knees. His lover’s cock stood hard and erect before him. He tucked his hands under Napoleon’s hips and lowered his head to take the organ’s length into his mouth.
Napoleon cried out, the sound dying down to a prolonged groan as Illya began sucking and licking. He held fast, his fingers digging into the muscles of Napoleon’s ass, savoring the feel and taste of the hot and heavy bulk moving in and out of his mouth. He glanced up to see Napoleon’s head thrown back and his hands fisted into the sheet.
He’d dreamed of seeing Napoleon like this, lost in a haze of passion that Illya had brought him to, that, Illya vowed, only he would bring him to from this day forward. He sucked harder and was rewarded with an inarticulate wail from the man beneath him.
Napoleon had bent his knees and planted his feet flat on the bed, the extra leverage allowing him to lift his hips and push his cock deeper into Illya’s mouth. Illya reciprocated by relaxing the muscles of his throat and taking the organ completely in. The wet strands of pubic hair tickled his nose as he buried his face against Napoleon’s groin.
He knew Napoleon was close. Coating a finger with the saliva that had dripped down between Napoleon’s ass cheeks, he swirled the digit around his lover’s puckered opening and then pushed it in.
Napoleon gave a strangled gasp and suddenly his hands were once again in Illya’s hair. He held Illya in place as his hips bucked up and down, shoving down onto the finger buried inside him, then up, pushing his cock even deeper into Illya’s mouth.
Illya managed to push a second finger into his lover’s body. With a prolonged groan, Napoleon came hard into Illya’s mouth. Illya swallowed each pulse of hot liquid, savoring the flavor. Finally, the spasms died down. He gave the softening organ one last suckle, then released it and levered himself up.
He froze, struck by the look on Napoleon’s face. He’d seen his partner look at many women in lust or passion; sometimes, even affection. But never like this, never with such deep and abiding love, writ so large that there was no denying the depth of Napoleon’s devotion. It left him at a loss for words so that all he could do was utter his lover’s name.
“Napoleon?”
Napoleon smiled. “Come here.”
Illya began to lie down but was stopped by Napoleon’s hand on his chest. “No, not that way.” He dropped his hands and wrapped one around each of Illya’s upper thighs. “Spread your knees and get up here.”
Illya awkwardly advanced on his knees until he was straddling Napoleon’s chest. He leaned forward to balance himself with one hand. His cock dangled in front of Napoleon’s face, still hard and in need.
Fascinated, he watched as Napoleon raised his head and took it into his mouth, his gaze never leaving Illya’s.
Illya moaned, his eyes closing against his will. It was too much at once, to see Napoleon doing this to him while being inundated by the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of Napoleon’s mouth. It was too much.
His hips began a slow undulation as Napoleon took more of him in with each push forward. His lover’s fingers slid gently up and down one ass cheek while almost leisurely sucking the life out of him.
He could feel the tension building within his body, demanding release.
“Napoleon, please.”
Somehow Napoleon managed to work his body up to wrap his arms around Illya’s waist, his mouth avid and hungry as he returned to his suckling. Illya began pumping his hips in earnest, driving his cock in and out of the welcoming orifice.
The sound of the squeaking bed filled the room; it sounded as if it would break at any moment. Illya didn’t care. The hot moistness of Napoleon’s mouth, the smell and feel of his lover was overpowering his senses. He squeezed his eyes shut and let go.
Afterwards, after the last tremors had shook his body, Illya looked down.
Napoleon raised his head and returned his gaze. He had managed to swallow most of Illya’s come; the only evidence of what he had just done was a drop of liquid that slowly dripped down his chin. Illya shakily brought his hand down and, using his thumb, wiped it away.
Neither spoke as they resettled on the bed, Napoleon on his back, Illya resting at his side. Drawing the covers over them, Illya leaned forward and they shared a long kiss, one that spoke of all their yesterdays and all their tomorrows. Then he burrowed down against his lover to steal the last minutes of the night.
~
“It looks like more rain is on its way,” Napoleon noted as he climbed onto the truck’s passenger seat. Clouds were fast building to the east and the winds were beginning to pick up.
“It is the height of the rainy season.” Illya glanced into the rearview window before putting the vehicle into gear and slowly accelerating away from the shack. “Van Riebeck did say they’ve been getting more rain than usual, even for this time of year.”
They followed the road back the way they had come, less than a mile along making the turn that would lead them back to the ranch house. Their route had been a circuitous one, taking the back roads off the main path that led to each shack, then doubling back and traveling on. Like a big lasso, the main road looped through Van Riebeck’s holding, ultimately returning home.
Napoleon leaned back in his seat, enjoying the quiet serenity of the bush. A silence had settled between them as the truck ate up the miles, unbroken save for a murmured comment from one or the other. But they had never needed words to communicate with each other; now, even less so. All he had to do was glance over at his partner and see the contentment that Illya wore like a comfortable coat to know that his friend shared his happiness. He smiled and settled further in his seat.
The quiet and the motion of the truck lulled him into a half-sleep as the miles slipped by. He superficially noted the darkening sky and the cooler breezes that were blowing through his open window. Soon, he was noting nothing at all.
“Napoleon, roll up your window.” Illya gently nudged his side.
He straightened and looked out. The clouds had closed in and a few splashes of rain pattered against the windshield. He cranked his window closed. “Is the rain going to be a problem?”
“It shouldn’t. But if it gets too bad, we can always go back and spend another night at the line shack.” Illya winked. “Not exactly what you would call a problem is it?”
Napoleon grinned. “Oh, I think I could manage that.” He gave the sky another look and his grin was replaced with a frown. “Looks nasty.”
Illya glanced up. “Yes.”
For the next few miles, Napoleon kept a nervous eye on the weather. Though not much past noon, it was dark enough to pass for late evening. And with each mile the rain seemed to intensify, so that by the time they reached the river it was a veritable deluge.
The river was no longer a gentle flow, staying lazily within its banks. The bridge was still there but the water now lapped over its surface and each end sat in a muddy bog that smudged the water’s edges into the surrounding grassland.
Illya stopped the truck and studied the way ahead. “I think we can make it.”
“You better more than think we can, partner mine. Van Riebeck probably won’t appreciate you losing his truck.”
“Not to mention our skins.”
“Yes, I happen to be very attached to my skin at the moment. Yours, too,” Napoleon added roughly.
Napoleon would never forget the look of surprised pleasure on Illya’s face before he revved the engine, threw Napoleon a wicked grin and started across the bridge.
~
The sky was fully dark by the time they pulled up in front of the ranch house. What men were about were wet wraiths appearing in and out of the rain. From off the porch, Tully approached the driver’s side of the truck, water running down from the brim of his hat onto his slicker.
Illya rolled his window down a few inches. “Where’s Van Riebeck?”
“He took some men out to move one of the herds closer in. A couple of the creeks have overflowed their banks and the fields next to them are being flooded.” He was practically shouting. He glanced from Illya to Napoleon. “You have any trouble coming in?”
“You could say,” Napoleon quipped.
“We almost didn’t make it back across the river,” Illya added. “I’m not sure how much longer the bridge is going to hold up.”
Now, that was an understatement if he’d ever heard one, Napoleon thought. At one point the truck had started sliding, the wheels moving precariously close to the edge of the bridge. He had sat, white-knuckled, unable to help in any way, as Illya had wrestled with the steering wheel, finally managing to pull the vehicle away from the brink. Inch by slow inch, they’d crawled forward, fighting for purchase all the way. At last, the truck had lumbered off the bridge and onto the muddy road.
“Won’t be the first time we’ve lost a bridge. Seems every time we have a downpour one of them gets washed away. Right now that’s the least of our worries.” Tully glanced back at the house. “Teela’s having a fit because there’s a leak in the kitchen, we’re down three men who just up and left a couple of days ago and if this damn rain don’t let up we’re all going to need webbed feet to get around. Anyway,” he continued, running his hand over his face in a vain attempt to wipe away the rain, “I’m really glad you’re back, David. This being the boss is no fun.”
Illya laughed. “I’m surprised Van Riebeck left you in charge.”
“Didn’t have much choice, now did he?” With a nod toward the house, Tully stepped away from the truck. “I was just going in to see what I can do about the leak when you two drove up. The boss is probably going to need you in the morning, David, so you both might want to call it an early night. There should still be some hot grub at the bunk house.”
“We’ll do that.” Illya rolled up his window and pulled the truck back enough to start a slow turn away from the house. Even here, the mud sucked at the tires, threatening them with being stuck in the quagmire. It was with a sigh of relief that Illya approached the huge barn where the trucks were all garaged.
Napoleon pushed open his door. “I’ll get it.” He hurried up to the barn door, trying to keep his feet from sliding out from under him at the same time. At first the door wouldn’t budge, but finally, the rollers loudly squealing, Napoleon managed to get it moving along its track. Illya quickly drove the truck through and into the darkened interior.
Standing just inside the doorway, Napoleon waited while Illya got down from the truck and walked over to the rack hanging on the wall off to his right. Keys of all shapes and sizes hung from hooks screwed into the large slab of wood. Placing the truck’s key ring on its designated hook, Illya moved to Napoleon’s side. They both turned to gaze out into the rain.
“We don’t even have raincoats,” Napoleon lamented.
Illya looked back into the barn, his gaze moving from place to place, searching. Finally, he made his way over to a table shoved against the far wall. He returned with a couple of pieces of burlap. He handed one to Napoleon. “They won’t keep the rain off for long but they’re better than nothing.”
With a grimace, Napoleon took the proffered protection. As one they hustled the door closed then made a mad dash for the bunkhouse.
Maybe it was the very ridiculousness of their situation, or maybe because he was so damn happy, but Napoleon found himself laughing as he splashed alongside Illya.
They pushed and shoved each other, pretending to fight for supremacy, though Napoleon knew, at least for himself, that it was merely an excuse to touch his partner. From the look on Illya face, he was pretty sure his partner’s reason was the same. By the time they made it to the bunkhouse door they were soaking wet, muddy up to their knees and practically holding each other up.
“Wait, don’t go in yet,” Illya shouted above the downpour. “Let the rain wash the mud off first.”
Napoleon couldn’t argue with that; at this point, they couldn’t get any wetter, anyway. He gingerly raised one and then the other leg so that the water pouring down from the overhang washed his pants clean. Illya did the same and then the two of them entered the bunkhouse.
“Davy!”
Napoleon frowned as his partner was practically bowled over by the exuberant Benjamin.
“You’re going to get wet,” Illya protested, all the while trying to extricate himself from the arms of the young boy.
Benjamin pulled back just far enough to look up into Illya’s face. “You gave us a bit of a skrik; couple of bridges are out and the main road’s a bloody mess. And the bakkie you took is probably older than me.”
Illya smiled down at the boy as he stepped away. “The truck held up admirably, so there was no reason to fear for our safety. But what’s this about the road?”
“Road coming in from Pietersburg is out,” one of the hands sitting at the nearest table offered.
Napoleon vaguely recalled the man’s name as Nelson. “That’s the one from Pretoria, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, which is why we won’t be gettin’ any new men for at least a week.”
Illya glanced over at Napoleon before responding. “And why is that?”
“Because the regular bus run’s been canceled. Tully was in here just a bit ago to let us know,” Benjamin piped up, pulling at Illya’s arm as he spoke. “Come on, Davy, you should put something dry on before you catch a chill.”
Napoleon put his head down to hide his smile. The kid had it bad, but it was a good idea. “Yes, Davy, why don’t we? I could do with some dry clothes, myself.”
Illya gave him a look, but then followed him over to their bunks with Benjamin trailing close behind.
“I’ll get your clothes out, Davy,” Benjamin eagerly volunteered. He was pulling open the drawer before Illya had time to protest. He exchanged glances with Napoleon, who merely shrugged before starting to remove his own clothes. With an economy of motion they removed their shoes, socks and shirts. The tight denim that encased their legs was another matter.
Glancing around as he balanced on one foot, the pant leg stubbornly refusing to come off, Napoleon noted that the other men in the bunkhouse had gone back to their own concerns. It was late, and most were either preparing for or already in bed. Yet he couldn’t help but notice the way Benjamin’s gaze lingered on Illya’s bare skin longer than would be considered polite, how his Adam’s apple bobbed with each deep swallow the boy took. He hadn’t worried about the boy’s preoccupation with his partner before, not really; he did now.
Finally managing to remove the offending item, Napoleon picked up two of the towels that had magically appeared, Benjamin’s work, he was sure. “Here, put this around yourself.” He threw one of the towels at Illya, using the other to start drying himself.
Illya gave him a startled look but took the towel, anyway. He carelessly swiped the moisture from his body, his attention riveted on Napoleon.
He managed to ignore his partner’s studied attention until they were both safely tucked into their respective beds. Turning his head toward his partner, he let his gaze lock with Illya’s. “Sorry,” he mouthed.
Illya only smiled, then pulled his blanket up and turned to face the wall. Minutes later, the lights were turned out. Napoleon let his eyes drift closed.
~
Napoleon felt the hand on his shoulder, then a wisp of hair across his cheek.
“Follow me,” Illya whispered into his ear.
He sat up, scanning the darkened room as he quickly donned the clothes placed at the foot of his bed. In bare feet, he followed Illya to the back of the bunkhouse and through the door set in its far corner, then down the long hall that connected the living quarters to the bathhouse. The glow from the pole light in the back filtered through the windows set high in the wall and kept them from walking into each other. They cautiously continued past the bath house entrance and on to a third door tucked at the end of the hallway.
Illya quietly opened the door and they both ducked inside.
Napoleon squinted as the bare bulb came to life. “You could have warned me.”
“Did you think we were going to stand here in the dark?”
“Wouldn’t it be safer?” Napoleon asked as he took in their surroundings. They were at the back of the washhouse, it’s grainy floor damp beneath his feet. Toward the front, well-used washing machines lined each side of the narrow room; the back half of the space was taken up with large folding tables.
“It would if I hadn’t brought an excuse for us being here,” Illya remarked somewhat sarcastically as he handed over half of the items he’d been carrying. “Here, hang these over one of the lines.”
Taking the clothes, which turned out to be his own, Napoleon followed Illya’s gaze. Off to his left, nestled between the row of machines and the tables, several clotheslines sagged between two poles. He walked over and proceeded to carefully hang his clothes. “I take it we’re here to decide what we’re going to do tomorrow.”
“I don’t believe we have much of a choice. We can either try our luck walking out of here and hope we manage to catch a ride back to the nearest airport or we stay here and wait it out.”
Napoleon finished hanging the last of his clothes and turned to contemplate his partner. Illya’s movements were fitful, not at all in keeping with his usual graceful motion. “You really don’t want to leave, do you?”
“I’m sure Mr. Waverly won’t be interested in what I want or don’t want. Besides, I’m sure you’d like to be out of here as soon as possible.”
“This isn’t about what I want. I know what I want. And you’re not answering my question.”
“What do you want me to say, Napoleon?”
Napoleon shook his head. Sometimes getting Illya to talk about his feelings was like pulling teeth. “I want you to tell me what it is you want to do. If you want to stay, you need to tell me so. If you want to leave—”
Illya stilled, his hands still resting on the line. “I think it would feel almost like a betrayal.”
“To Van Riebeck?” Napoleon walked over to Illya’s side, close but not touching. “Or to yourself?”
“Both, I suppose.” Illya looked up at him with a hint of a smile. “You know me much too well, my friend.”
“Yes, I do, but that’s not why I know what you’re thinking. At least, that’s not all of it. Did you actually believe I wouldn’t agree with you? That I would be okay with leaving these people in the fix they’re in when it’s in our power to help, if only a little? Just how well do you know me?” Until he’d spoken the words, Napoleon hadn’t realized just how much it hurt, the idea that Illya would think so little of him.
It was Illya who instigated the touch, lifting one hand and bringing it over to rest against Napoleon’s cheek. “Well enough to know you would stay as long as possible, do whatever was needed to be done. No, Napoleon, this was not because I don’t know you. I think it was because, now, I know you too well.”
“I don’t understand.”
Illya rubbed his thumb along Napoleon’s lower lip and his body leaned toward Napoleon’s. “Yes, you do. You’re my boss, for lack of a better word, and now you’re also my lover. I’m afraid of mixing up the two, of demanding something from you as your lover I have no right to demand from you as your,” he hesitated, tilting his head in bemusement, “well, I won’t say inferior.”
“You don’t know me as well as you thought if you thought I’d let you get away with it. You let me worry about the job, tovarisch, you just worry about keeping me happy, okay?”
“Is that my new job description?”
Napoleon caught the teasing note in his partner’s voice and relaxed. They had gotten over that hurdle, the first of many he was sure. But he was also sure they would manage the rest. “You’re damn right it is.”
“Then I shall start immediately.” And he did, leaning forward to place a kiss on the lips he had just been caressing.
Napoleon returned the kiss at first; he couldn’t help himself. But then sanity prevailed and he pulled back. “As much as I hate saying this, I think perhaps we should wait to continue this some other time, say, when we’re off duty.”
Illya nodded, yet Napoleon could see the deep regret in his eyes. It shadowed his own.
They quickly slipped out the door, turning off the light as they went. They let their eyes adjust before retracing their steps down the hall, making their way back to the bunkhouse entrance. Napoleon placed his hand on Illya’s arm just as his partner was opening the door.
“Did you hear something?” he whispered, straining to see into the semi-darkness behind them.
Illya stilled, his head cocked as if to catch any sounds. After a minute or so, he shook his head. “I don’t hear anything. Do you want to go back and check?”
Napoleon continued to peer down the hall. Finally he shook his head. “No, it was probably nothing. Come on,” he motioned for Illya to open the door, “my feet are freezing.”
With a speaking look, Illya pulled the door open and the two men hurried through as quietly as they could and made their way back to their bunks.
~
“Yes, sir, they don’t expect the road to be open for at least two more days.” Napoleon glanced around as he spoke into his communicator. He’d picked this spot behind the bunkhouse because it was away from the ranch’s general traffic and he’d be able to see anyone coming long before they saw him. Still, it paid to remain vigilant.
“That’s very disappointing. You and your partner are desperately needed on another affair. Surely, there’s more than one way in or out of that part of the country. Two young men like yourself, a walk to the nearest city should be no trouble at all.”
Napoleon grimaced at the instrument. Leave it to his boss to see a thirty mile trek through the bush as a ‘walk.’ “Several bridges are also out, or so we’ve been told, so walking isn’t an option. We’re basically stuck here.”
That morning’s news hadn’t been good. With the road closed and the bridges out, not only could they not get out but no new hands could get in. Van Riebeck had called for Illya first thing and his partner had been sequestered with the ranch’s owner ever since.
“I must say, I’m surprised at your lack of initiative in this matter, Mr. Solo, very surprised. I believe another round at the Survival School might do you and Mr. Kuryakin a world of good.”
“We are trying, sir.”
“Very well, let me know if there’s any change in your status. Hold on a moment, Mr. Solo.” Waverly’s voice was muffled, as if he was covering the mike. After several seconds of this he turned his attention back to Napoleon. “I’ve been informed that the weather is expected to clear within the next forty-eight hours. I’ll have a helicopter there to pick you up at that time. Waverly out.”
The line went dead. Napoleon closed off his communicator and started off to where he’d agreed to meet up with Illya, whom he hoped would be free by now. As he turned the corner of the bunkhouse, he could see where all the other men were milling around in front of the barn where all the trucks were housed. Illya was nowhere in sight.
Thinking of his partner, Napoleon brought his hand up and lightly brushed his fingers over his lips. They’d have to do a better job of controlling themselves. Last night, no matter how wonderful the kiss, couldn’t be repeated, not until they were home and in the safety of their own apartments. Even here, and thinking about the men he worked with maybe even especially here, it was too dangerous.
He saw Tully lift his hand in greeting and he waved back. He worked his way through the throng of men until he was at Tully’s side. “Where’s David?”
“Should be out pretty soon. It’s not like we’re going to be doing much more than moving herds to higher ground.” Tully glanced up and gave the sky a disgusted look. “‘Course, at this rate we’re going to need an ark to do that.”
“Isn’t the rain supposed to be letting up?”
Tully gave a snort of skepticism. “I’ve heard that one before.”
Napoleon only shrugged. If Mr. Waverly had anything to do with it, and Napoleon often felt the old man could do just about anything he set his mind to, the rains would be over in two days. But he couldn’t very well tell Tully that.
With nothing else to do but wait, Napoleon casually looked over the other men. It was something he’d fallen into the habit of doing years ago. More than once, it had saved his life.
Most were in there thirties and early forties, with a smattering of young boys probably right out of school. He’d gotten to know very few of them during his time here and probably wouldn’t get to know them much better in his time left. It was the way it was for him.
He came to Benjamin and his eyes widened slightly in surprise. The boy was staring at him with more hate in his eyes than Napoleon had seen directed at him in a long time. Even THRUSH agents rarely looked at him with such venom. He felt his side nudged and reluctantly pulled his attention back to the man next to him.
“Here he comes.”
Illya and Van Riebeck had just exited the house and were making their way over to the men. Napoleon took one look at their faces and felt his spirits sink. It wasn’t hard to figure that they were all in for a long, hard day.
~
“Hold on to ’im!”
Napoleon tried. He had his arms wrapped around the yearling’s throat, trying to get it away from the river and back toward the rest of the herd. The animal wasn’t cooperating. Neither was the weather. Napoleon was wet, ankle deep in mud and bone tired.
A shock of agony lanced up his left leg and almost took his breath away. It did break his hold on the animal that burst out of his arms, kicking wildly as it finally rejoined its brethren. Napoleon’s legs gave way and he fell on his ass in the mud. He didn’t care. With both hands wrapped around his throbbing shin, it was all he could do to keep from crying out in pain.
God, it hurt! His entire body was shaking, his breath coming in sharp gasps that sounded uncomfortably close to sobs. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to bring his body back under control.
“You stupid kak! Are you dof or something?”
Napoleon looked up through a haze of pain. Benjamin glowered down at him, spitting venom with each word; Napoleon only wished he knew what he was saying.
“You’re so useless, you can’t even handle a yearling. I don’t know why Van Riebeck even keeps you around.”
“Leave him alone, lightey.” Nelson had approached the two and now squatted down next to Napoleon. He tried prying Napoleon’s hands away from his leg. “Let me see.”
Though initially suspicious of Napoleon, Nelson’s attitude had changed after he’d seen the effort Napoleon had made to keep up with the rest of the men and their relationship had improved, something Napoleon was heartily thankful for as the man gently pulled his pant leg up to expose the injured area.
Napoleon sucked in his breath, still fighting the pain, and stared stupidly at his wound. Blood was freely flowing from the gash that ran at least six inches down his shin. The wound itself was ragged and ugly looking and the skin around it was already starting to bruise.
Nelson pulled out a kerchief from his pocket and then began to gingerly wrap it around Napoleon’s leg. “I know it must hurt like hell, but you were lucky. The animal could have broken your leg.”
“It feels like he did,” Napoleon responded through clenched teeth.
Nelson tied off the kerchief, then turned to Benjamin who was still standing nearby. “Go get David. We’re going to need something to carry him out on.”
“Stupid, moffie, getting himself skopped like a—”
“Boy, I’m not telling you twice. Now, get.”
Benjamin finally retreated back to where he’d tied up his horse. With a last look of disgust, he mounted and rode off.
“He doesn’t like you much, does he?” Nelson asked.
Napoleon gave a shaky laugh. Big black dots were forming before his eyes and he knew he was about to pass out. “Now, what makes you say that?” he managed to quip before being enveloped by the welcoming darkness.
~
Napoleon watched with a certain drugged detachment as the doctor gently bandaged his lower leg. Propped on a couple of pillows, it lay outside the covers that blanketed most of the rest of his body.
The ride to the ranch house was a blank, but he’d woken up, his leg on fire as Illya and two other men had pulled him from the truck’s passenger seat and carried him into Van Riebeck’s house.
Somehow they’d managed to remove his wet and muddy clothes and bundle him into bed. A towel had been placed under his leg, which was still bleeding profusely, and a call sent out for a doctor. Napoleon wasn’t sure how long he’d had to wait; it seemed an eternity though probably not more than ten minutes. However long, Illya had sat at his side, a look of quiet concern on his face. His partner had only given up his spot with the doctor’s appearance.
The pain was a little more than a dull throb now, thanks largely to the shot the man had given him before he’d begun cleaning the wound.
“You were very lucky, son,” the doctor commented as he tore the end of the bandage down the center to tie off the two strips.
“So I’ve been told.” Napoleon looked past the man, hoping for a glimpse of Illya who had disappeared into the rest of the house.
The man gently pulled the end of the blanket and tented it over the injured leg. “Well, don’t doubt it for a moment. More than one man has almost lost a limb to one of those animals, and a couple have. Those brutes are dumb but they can be mighty vicious.”
Napoleon shivered and pulled the sheet over his exposed left arm. “Considering what’s in store for them, I suppose you can’t blame them.”
With a laugh, the doctor stood up and grabbed his bag from the floor. “You’re probably right. Anyway, I’ve left you some medication to take. It’s there on the nightstand. Try to keep off the leg for at least twenty-four hours, though if you’re like the rest you have every intention of ignoring that advise.”
“I’m not making any promises, Doctor, but I’ll do my best.”
The man shook his head and then walked out. Illya, who had evidently been waiting right outside the door, replaced him.
“I can’t leave you for a minute, can I?” Illya grumbled as he pulled up a nearby chair and seated himself next to the bed.
“I didn’t do this on purpose you know,” Napoleon responded, though it was more out of habit than any real feeling that Illya was serious. He’d seen the look on his partner’s face as they waited for the doctor. If he hadn’t already known what Illya felt for him, he certainly would have now.
What surprised him a bit was that he’d never noticed it before. Well, he had noticed, but never made the connection. How could he have missed the affection, the love Illya had for him? More importantly, how had everyone else?
Illya sighed, resting his arms on his thighs as he leaned forward. “No, I know you didn’t. It’s just that it’s more difficult than I thought it would be.”
“What is?”
“Seeing you, like this.” Illya didn’t look at Napoleon as he spoke. Rather, his attention seemed to be on a spot on the far wall. “Not that it hasn’t been hard for a very long time. But somehow this...change has made it worse.”
“Did you think it wouldn’t? And don’t you know that the reverse is true, too?”
Illya grimaced. “I’m not stupid, Napoleon. Nor blind. I suppose it’s that the reality of it turned out to be far worse than anything in theory. I wonder—”
“What?” Napoleon shook his head, trying to clear the fog that was settling even more over his brain. “What do you wonder? About us?”
Illya finally turned to look at Napoleon. “Don’t be absurd. I’m merely speculating on how we will manage to deal with it.” He sat up and slipped his hand underneath the covers to take Napoleon’s. “Though, if nothing else, I wonder about you sometimes. No, you will not get rid of me so easily.”
The warmth of Illya’s hand brought a comfort Napoleon was fast becoming addicted to. “That’s good to hear.” He settled back into the pillows, the drug in his system taking hold and making it difficult to keep awake. “And with any luck, we’ll be back in New York by tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t count on that. We may be out of it but according to the radio, the storm has settled over Pietersburg. There won’t be any helicopters flying out of there and the next closest city is Pretoria. We could be here a few more days.”
Napoleon’s response was lost in a yawn.
“I should let you rest.” Illya’s hand slipped from his as his partner moved forward to place one knee on the bed. “I will be back tomorrow. Sleep well, my friend,” Illya whispered, placing his lips against Napoleon’s brow for a moment. More a benediction than a kiss, it warmed Napoleon even as Illya left the room and he was pulled toward sleep.
~
On to Part 3
