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keelywolfeShelved
by Keelywolfe
Rated : PG
Pairing: Napoleon/Illya (SLASH)
Disclaimer: I do not own these wonderful characters, because if I did, all their episodes would be on DVD by now...but I digress. I also make no money off of them.
Summary: For the latest challenge on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
muncle
~~*~~
"Who's this?" Napoleon picked up the small drawing that had fallen from the book he'd been studying. Illya's bookshelves were as fascinating as exploring a foreign land; colorful titles in an order that was understood only by their owner, in languages Napoleon had never seen. He was always drawn to them when he was in Illya's apartment but never before had they yielded such a treasure. The paper was creased and yellowed with age, a pretty young woman in ink smiling out at him from the past. She had her hands clasped over her knees, her head tilted so slightly in that sweet, universal sign of innocence.
"Who is who?" Illya asked absently, looking up from his own book. His reaction would have been gratifying if it hadn't been so shocking. His face paled to a color that a ghost would have been proud of, his book clattering to the floor as he scrambled to his feet.
"It's nothing." He tried to snatch it away and Napoleon held it just out of reach over his head, still looking at it. Cruel to use their height differences against his partner when he was obviously upset, but Napoleon was not above a little dirty pool from time to time, especially when he knew if he let Illya have the picture, he'd never have the chance to discover its secrets again.
"Very pretty. An old girlfriend, maybe?" he asked, trying to tease an answer from his friend. Not his best plan; Illya shoved him against the bookshelf, hard enough to knock the breath from him and sent a shower of hardbacks down on them. More than a little dazed, Napoleon let him take the drawing.
"It is none of your business!" Illya snarled, stalking to the other side of the room. Napoleon watched him tremble, his head bowed over the picture.
"Right." There was something strange in Illya's posture, hunched into himself. Something that ached in his own chest, and Napoleon rubbed it in an effort to ease the dull pain, mingled with his guilt for trying to force his partner to give information he obviously would rather keep to himself. He shifted his weight awkwardly, "I'm sorry."
Nothing. Illya stood completely still, staring at the drawing and suddenly Napoleon felt like an intruder, an unaccustomed feeling around Illya. "Well, I'll just see you tomorrow then," he muttered. Illya would get over his pique, he always did, and they could have a drink together another time. He took his jacket from the back of the chair and folded it over his arm, watching as Illya did nothing but blink. Yes, definitely time to leave.
"It's my mother."
Whispered so softly that at first, Napoleon wasn't sure he'd heard it. He let his jacket drop back on the sofa and, hesitantly, stepped closer to his friend. Illya moved, lifting his arm as thought it pained him and touched the picture with shaking fingers. "I thought this had been lost when I moved from London. I...the frame had broken. I always meant to replace it and then, when I came to America, it was missing and I..." He ran a finger down one of the creases in the drawing, one that ruined the pale, perfect line of her hair.
He looked at Napoleon, his eyes deep blue and so oddly vulnerable. "I hardly knew her. I didn't realize how much this one picture meant to me, until it was lost." He shook his head. "I thought I kept it for sentimental reasons."
Hesitantly, Napoleon rested a hand on Illya's shoulder and when it was not rejected, he slid his arm around his friend's shoulders, trying to say without words things that he would never be able to speak aloud anyway. That Illya would turn suddenly, tangling Napoleon's arm around him was not nearly as startling as the light touch of his breath a bare moment before their lips met, overtaking him with nuzzling lips and the fierce sweep of his tongue, his free hand clenching in the thin material of Napoleon's shirt.
He couldn't breathe, the world behind his eyes flaring red and for just one brilliant second everything was warm and dark, Illya's mouth sweet and hot against his own and Illya was his partner, they were supposed to know each other but this was something he hadn't even known about himself, clutching Illya against him with stunned, trembling hands.
Then his hands and his arms were empty and Napoleon was blinking dazedly, swaying on his feet. Illya was smiling at him, still holding the drawing. "Thank you for finding this," Illya said sweetly, and he gently propped the picture up on one of the numerous shelves.
"Right," Napoleon managed belatedly. "Don't...don't lose it again."
"I don't intend to." Settling back into his chair, Illya scooped up his book again and turned back to his page, apparently intending to read while Napoleon was still trying to remember how to stand, swamped with lust and heat pooled between his legs and what the hell was that all about? Sure, Russians tended to be a touchy sort of people but Napoleon was pretty sure it didn't include tongue.
He touched his mouth with his fingertips as if he could still feel the kiss, watching Illya read for long minutes before he shook it away. Well, fine. He was simply partnered with an insane person. There were worse things. He snatched a book of his own from the shelf, checking only that the title was in English, and flopped down into a chair to read. He'd managed to read the first paragraph three times when Illya spoke again, softly.
"Napoleon?"
"What?" he snapped, having had more than his fill of strangeness that day, thank you very much.
"I don't intend to lose you, either."
Napoleon's head snapped up but Illya's eyes hadn't left the book. Definitely insane, but something about that made him smile. "Good," he replied, simply, and with a last glance at the young woman smiling at them from the shelf, he started in on his book for the fourth time.
-finis-
by Keelywolfe
Rated : PG
Pairing: Napoleon/Illya (SLASH)
Disclaimer: I do not own these wonderful characters, because if I did, all their episodes would be on DVD by now...but I digress. I also make no money off of them.
Summary: For the latest challenge on
muncle~~*~~
"Who's this?" Napoleon picked up the small drawing that had fallen from the book he'd been studying. Illya's bookshelves were as fascinating as exploring a foreign land; colorful titles in an order that was understood only by their owner, in languages Napoleon had never seen. He was always drawn to them when he was in Illya's apartment but never before had they yielded such a treasure. The paper was creased and yellowed with age, a pretty young woman in ink smiling out at him from the past. She had her hands clasped over her knees, her head tilted so slightly in that sweet, universal sign of innocence.
"Who is who?" Illya asked absently, looking up from his own book. His reaction would have been gratifying if it hadn't been so shocking. His face paled to a color that a ghost would have been proud of, his book clattering to the floor as he scrambled to his feet.
"It's nothing." He tried to snatch it away and Napoleon held it just out of reach over his head, still looking at it. Cruel to use their height differences against his partner when he was obviously upset, but Napoleon was not above a little dirty pool from time to time, especially when he knew if he let Illya have the picture, he'd never have the chance to discover its secrets again.
"Very pretty. An old girlfriend, maybe?" he asked, trying to tease an answer from his friend. Not his best plan; Illya shoved him against the bookshelf, hard enough to knock the breath from him and sent a shower of hardbacks down on them. More than a little dazed, Napoleon let him take the drawing.
"It is none of your business!" Illya snarled, stalking to the other side of the room. Napoleon watched him tremble, his head bowed over the picture.
"Right." There was something strange in Illya's posture, hunched into himself. Something that ached in his own chest, and Napoleon rubbed it in an effort to ease the dull pain, mingled with his guilt for trying to force his partner to give information he obviously would rather keep to himself. He shifted his weight awkwardly, "I'm sorry."
Nothing. Illya stood completely still, staring at the drawing and suddenly Napoleon felt like an intruder, an unaccustomed feeling around Illya. "Well, I'll just see you tomorrow then," he muttered. Illya would get over his pique, he always did, and they could have a drink together another time. He took his jacket from the back of the chair and folded it over his arm, watching as Illya did nothing but blink. Yes, definitely time to leave.
"It's my mother."
Whispered so softly that at first, Napoleon wasn't sure he'd heard it. He let his jacket drop back on the sofa and, hesitantly, stepped closer to his friend. Illya moved, lifting his arm as thought it pained him and touched the picture with shaking fingers. "I thought this had been lost when I moved from London. I...the frame had broken. I always meant to replace it and then, when I came to America, it was missing and I..." He ran a finger down one of the creases in the drawing, one that ruined the pale, perfect line of her hair.
He looked at Napoleon, his eyes deep blue and so oddly vulnerable. "I hardly knew her. I didn't realize how much this one picture meant to me, until it was lost." He shook his head. "I thought I kept it for sentimental reasons."
Hesitantly, Napoleon rested a hand on Illya's shoulder and when it was not rejected, he slid his arm around his friend's shoulders, trying to say without words things that he would never be able to speak aloud anyway. That Illya would turn suddenly, tangling Napoleon's arm around him was not nearly as startling as the light touch of his breath a bare moment before their lips met, overtaking him with nuzzling lips and the fierce sweep of his tongue, his free hand clenching in the thin material of Napoleon's shirt.
He couldn't breathe, the world behind his eyes flaring red and for just one brilliant second everything was warm and dark, Illya's mouth sweet and hot against his own and Illya was his partner, they were supposed to know each other but this was something he hadn't even known about himself, clutching Illya against him with stunned, trembling hands.
Then his hands and his arms were empty and Napoleon was blinking dazedly, swaying on his feet. Illya was smiling at him, still holding the drawing. "Thank you for finding this," Illya said sweetly, and he gently propped the picture up on one of the numerous shelves.
"Right," Napoleon managed belatedly. "Don't...don't lose it again."
"I don't intend to." Settling back into his chair, Illya scooped up his book again and turned back to his page, apparently intending to read while Napoleon was still trying to remember how to stand, swamped with lust and heat pooled between his legs and what the hell was that all about? Sure, Russians tended to be a touchy sort of people but Napoleon was pretty sure it didn't include tongue.
He touched his mouth with his fingertips as if he could still feel the kiss, watching Illya read for long minutes before he shook it away. Well, fine. He was simply partnered with an insane person. There were worse things. He snatched a book of his own from the shelf, checking only that the title was in English, and flopped down into a chair to read. He'd managed to read the first paragraph three times when Illya spoke again, softly.
"Napoleon?"
"What?" he snapped, having had more than his fill of strangeness that day, thank you very much.
"I don't intend to lose you, either."
Napoleon's head snapped up but Illya's eyes hadn't left the book. Definitely insane, but something about that made him smile. "Good," he replied, simply, and with a last glance at the young woman smiling at them from the shelf, he started in on his book for the fourth time.
-finis-
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no subject
Date: 2003-09-04 08:48 pm (UTC)*Happy sigh*
Date: 2003-09-05 07:58 am (UTC)But I did find something that niggled at my head a bit. his hands clenching in the thin material of Napoleon's shirt.
Where's the picture? After the kiss he puts the picture somewhere safe but it doesn't mention that he'd put it down before kissing Napoleon.
Mmmm, speaking of kisses. *goes back and re-reads*
Mmmm....
Re: *Happy sigh*
Date: 2003-09-05 08:05 am (UTC)Obviously, Illya put that PhD in Quantum Mechanics to good use, knew he'd be kissing Napoleon and sent the picture 30 seconds into the future, that way he'd have both hands free for molesting!
Not buying it, eh? OK, I admit it, I was completely not awake when I wrote this and missed that. Ooooops!
I still think that a degree in Quantum Mechanics is no fun if you can't use it for time travel. I mean, if they can put brain wave devices in barettes...*G*
Re: *Happy sigh*
Date: 2003-09-05 12:09 pm (UTC)I like that. *snort*
I should write to Sith and tell her that next months challenge is the Quantum Mechanics PhD challenge.
TIME TRAVEL FIC!
Just lovely
Date: 2003-09-06 11:06 pm (UTC)And your latest icon just blows me away. :) Gotta love the slash in that show!
Re: Just lovely
Date: 2003-09-08 05:58 am (UTC)And man, I knew I had to make that icon! I mean, could they have made it any more obvious, other than removing clothing? I loved it. *G*
no subject
Date: 2003-09-09 04:48 pm (UTC)After just writing a rant on beginnings, this uses it perfectly. Napolean's limited third-person POV is excellently used. The way that you start right with the action, but don't realise how important it is, with Napolean's teasing manner, but Illya's reaction is just wrong, and suddenly we're plunged deeper, and Illya's reactions create more questions even as we're feeling their emotional intensity, and you've managed to lower our guard for the reverse punch of it being about his mother, and we're knocked flat. And then, just as we're recovering from the blow, we see Illya's other side, which we're not expecting because we're prepared for more aggressive emotion, but, instead, we're smacked down again by him gentleness, by his gratitude, because we are struck again by how important it is to him.
It's amazing to write a 2000 word rant on writing, only to go and read a fic that demonstrates the principles better than I could.
Incredible work.
May I have your babies?
no subject
Date: 2003-09-10 06:12 pm (UTC)Real Person MPREG. Boy, and I always thought there was nothing I wouldn't write once. *G*
Aside from that, I'm blushing like mad. See, I'll convert you to this fandom yet. ;) No one can withstand the draw of Illya! (OK, so I like Napoleon, but he's a slut. *G*)
no subject
Date: 2003-09-11 05:06 pm (UTC)Well, if the kid turns out as well as Xander did...
See, I'll convert you to this fandom yet. ;) No one can withstand the draw of Illya!
Heh, this goes back to your fannish polygymy post. I'm pretty much a monogomist; HP is the only fandom I've ever been in. Which isn't a matter of principle, but rather a matter of practicality. I don't have access to the canon or don't enjoy the canon of any fandoms that my friends are interested in. Fandom, for me, is a communal experience. Without the community, there'd be no point; I would have dropped out of fandom long ago, and just written original fiction.
Of course, you once offered to send me the video of an episode, which would give me access to the canon, and then I could join the M.U.N.C.L.E. fandom. But that'd be a while down the road, because I still currently have three stories on the go in the HP fandom.
But you'll never get this comment anyway, so the entire question is moot. :)
no subject
Date: 2003-09-11 07:36 pm (UTC)Of course, you once offered to send me the video of an episode, which would give me access to the canon, and then I could join the M.U.N.C.L.E. fandom. But that'd be a while down the road, because I still currently have three stories on the go in the HP fandom.
heh, if there is one thing I know about this fandom, it is that there is no rush. It's older than I am! *G* If you ever feel the draw, lemme know and I will hook you up. ^^