THE SOLITAIRE AFFAIR
Napoleon Solo sat on the sofa in his hotel room,
his stockinged feet propped on a wooden coffee
table. The plane that would take him and his partner, Illya Kuryakin,
back to
"You read?"
Illya had stared at him questioningly the first time he had seen his friend
pull a book from his travel case. It was so uncharacteristic of the
chronic skirt chaser; Illya momentarily wondered where his real partner was and who this imposter before him was.
"Yes, I read,"
Solo had waved him off indignantly.
"You do
know it is a Saturday night..." Illya persisted, still not convinced the
man before him was not a THRUSH Agent. "Do not tell me the Great
Napoleon Solo could not find a female to bed!"
"Maybe the 'Great Napoleon Solo' would
rather spend his evening in the company of the 'Just-as-Great Illya Kuryakin'..." he countered, his seductive
brown eyes challenging, teasing.
Illya scoffed at the idea and had returned to
his own book---while keeping a surreptitious eye on the stranger sharing his
hotel room.
Now, a month later, Illya no longer found it odd
for Napoleon to stay in after a mission---although he did wonder when the other
shoe would drop and Solo would be out sowing his oats again. Leaving
Illya alone, again...
In the meantime, Illya reveled in having his
handsome and charismatic partner to himself. Some nights they read
together in companionable silence, sharing favorite passages. Other
times, they would play cards or a board game, like Chess or Scrabble. On
rare occasions, they would have an early dinner and catch the latest flick at
the movie theatre. However, the evenings Illya treasured most were the
ones where they would sit and talk over chilled wine about anything and
everything.
Yet always in the back of Illya's mind was the
same gnawing question: When will this end? When will Napoleon tire
of his self-imposed celibacy and return to his carefree bachelor ways?
He took a deep breath and let it out in a slow,
slow exhale.
"Something wrong?" Solo asked from the
couch.
Illya made a dismissive gesture with his
shoulder as he set up a new round of Solitaire on the dinner table.
"I'm sorry. That was a little
vague..." Solo laughed.
"No, nothing is wrong," Illya said,
placing a Red 6 on a Black 7. 'Other than I am hopelessly in love with my
very-male partner...'
"Black Jack on the Red Queen," a dark
voice said in his ear and Illya jumped. He hadn't heard Solo walk up
behind him.
"What?" Illya turned his head,
unnerved by how close Napoleon was standing next to him.
"The Black Jack. It goes on the Red
Queen," Solo said, suiting his words to action, resting heavily against
Illya as he reached for the face card.
"Oh...Thank you..." Illya stammered,
waiting for Solo to return to his reading so he could return to his breathing.
"You're welcome. Are you sure nothing is wrong?"
"I---Ah---Yes."
Napoleon gave another laugh as he pulled up a
chair alongside---right alongside---his
friend.
"It doesn't sound to me like you're
sure," he turned over a card and completed the play.
Illya didn't dare speak for he couldn't be
certain what type of sound would come out. True, he had been this close
to Napoleon in the field. In fact, there were many times when their
captor would bind them together if there wasn't sufficient rope available for
two. The difference was they weren't on the battlefield, and there
wasn't a gun-toting henchman forcing Solo to brush his thigh against him---which
the older Agent was presently doing.
Illya cleared his constricted throat.
"Uh...Napoleon, you placed the King of
Diamonds on top of the King of Hearts..."
"Oops. My mistake," Solo
corrected his error.
Illya grinned. "Now you have the Jack
of Hearts on top of the King of Hearts."
"It's more fitting," Solo said,
turning his full gaze onto the blond. "For you are the King of
Hearts...and I am but a Knave, wishing I could be your consort..."
"What did you say...?" Illya
asked. He clearly hadn't heard
him right.
"I said..." Napoleon cupped Illya's
chin and held him steady while he pressed his warm lips to the Russian's cool
ones.
Illya sat back, his blue eyes wide---yet not as
wide as Napoleon's were as he felt the prick of a knife at his side.
"My, aren't you a sneaky little
Russian," Napoleon froze in place. "I didn't know you were
armed."
"Always," Illya said evenly.
"Alright, who are you and where is the real Napoleon Solo?"
Napoleon risked a smile, unsure if his partner
was pulling his leg or not.
"Illya, it's me," he said
reassuringly.
"Enough," the Russian warned him with
a poke of the knife tip. "The real
Napoleon would never have...kissed me," he said, stumbling over the
word. "Are you with THRUSH?"
"Illya...It's me!" Napoleon exasperated. "I admit kissing you is
out of character but I couldn't help myself! You have no idea how badly
I've wanted to do that."
"Why would you want to kiss me...?"
"Because I love you. And I know you
love me..." Solo edged the knife away from his side with his index finger.
"What makes you think I love you?"
Illya allowed the blade's deflection, though he continued to keep the weapon
handy.
"I, um, read your journal..."
"You what!?"
"I didn't mean to!" Napoleon was quick
to explain, his eye on the sharp blade. "I thought you were
dead! I saw you blow up right in front of my eyes!"
"That was a month ago..."
"It seems like yesterday to me..."
Solo said, his voice hollow as he recalled to mind that bleak day.
"Waverly had sent me home. I was a mess and there was no way I could
go on another mission. Not without you. Instead I went to your
apartment to...pack your belongings. I didn't want anyone else touching
your things.
"As I sorted through your writing desk, I
found your journal. I didn't mean to read it except I saw you had written
about me and my curiosity got the best of me..."
"You mean your ego!" Illya snorted.
"That, too," Solo was man enough to
confess his failings. "When I realized you were as in love with me
as I was in love with you...I began to cry over all the time we both
wasted. Over everything I had lost."
"You...cried...?"
"Like a baby!" Napoleon said with a
mirthless smile. "Then, when I found out you were alive...it was
like...being reborn. I was given the most precious gift: a second
chance. I just didn't know how to broach the topic. I didn't know
how to tell you how I felt."
"So that
is why you stopped chasing women..." Illya said to himself, as if finding
a missing puzzle piece. "Or have
you stopped?" his eyes suddenly narrowed.
"Cold turkey," Napoleon crossed his
heart.
Illya closed his eyes, trying to come to grips
with everything Napoleon had said. It was almost too much to process, to
hope for, to believe...
"Illya...?" Napoleon placed his hand
gently over his friend's.
"I do…love you, Napoleon…but can this
work...? What about Mr. Waverly...?"
"We will need to tell him, of course.
And I hope he will give us his
blessing. If not, well, we were looking for a job when we found this
one!" he said half-jokingly.
"Napoleon---"
"Illya, please. We can talk about the
'hows' and the 'what ifs' later. Having tasted
your lips, I'm dying to taste them
once more!"
"If you must," Illya said with a
melodramatic sigh even as he leaned forward.
"Ah!" Solo stopped him. "Do
you suppose you could loose the knife first?"
Illya grinned and, opening his hand, let the
blade fall to the floor.
"You are one dangerous---and
sexy---Russian," Napoleon laughed, drawing the blond into his arms.
"And finally, you're all
mine!" he captured Illya's mouth, as deftly as Illya had captured him...
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