The Tell Tale Dream - Part 2
Title: The Tell-Tale Dream
Author: aneuhaus
Rating: NC/17 (but not yet)
Pairings: That would be telling!
Warnings: Slash
“Napoleon? Napoleon. Na-pooo-lee-ooon!” The blond haired Russian was having trouble keeping his partner’s attention.
“What? Huh? Sorry, Illya,” he finally responded, with a conciliatory grin. “I guess I have a lot on my mind.”
Illya reigned in the evidence of his concern and assumed a more relaxed posture, hoping to put his friend at ease. “I have some things on my mind, too; such as that t-bone you’re not eating,” he cajoled.”
Napoleon looked down at his plate as though it had just sprouted there. “Oh, yeah,” he smiled sheepishly and cut into the tender, medium rare steak.
“I haven’t heard about anything of importance at headquarters lately. What is occupying your mind so much?” Illya asked, hoping to draw his very distracted friend out a bit.
“What?” Napoleon, once again, started from a daze and Illya frowned. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. It’s just a personal issue I need to work through.”
Sudden warmth enveloped Napoleon’s right hand, and he glanced down to find it held firmly in Illya’s grasp. Disconcerted, he looked up, directly into glowing blue eyes. Illya’s random bouts of concern for his welfare always flustered Napoleon because they occurred so unexpectedly, making it impossible for him to steel himself against the uneasy stirring it caused in his chest.
“You know, my friend,” Illya said gently, “that if you need someone to talk to, I am always available.”
Their gaze held, and Napoleon was amazed to see the heat in Illya’s eyes increase a few degrees, threatening to become a flame. He instinctively looked away quickly before that flame kindled to permeate the dark recesses of his soul, and stir to life a part of him that had lain dormant for so many years, it was now only a chimera, whose memory was no longer a part of his consciousness.
After dinner, Napoleon begged off early, citing a nonexistent headache. Illya looked at him strangely but, thankfully, left him outside the restaurant without any questions.
As he walked the eight blocks to his apartment, through the balmy Manhattan evening, Napoleon’s mind turned to his discussion with Jason Palmer earlier that day.
The doctor had made a lot of sense; which gave Napoleon confidence that tomorrow, he would finally have some idea what that damned dream actually meant. It had niggled at him, ever since he left Jason’s office, that he hadn’t mentioned that he thought he recognized the glowing man. Now; after having spent the evening with his partner, there was no doubt: the stance, the walk, the slight build and golden hair - it could only be Illya. Why that realization caused his heart to beat wildly and his breath to come in short, sharp gasps, was an undecipherable mystery.
Author: aneuhaus
Rating: NC/17 (but not yet)
Pairings: That would be telling!
Warnings: Slash
“Napoleon? Napoleon. Na-pooo-lee-ooon!” The blond haired Russian was having trouble keeping his partner’s attention.
“What? Huh? Sorry, Illya,” he finally responded, with a conciliatory grin. “I guess I have a lot on my mind.”
Illya reigned in the evidence of his concern and assumed a more relaxed posture, hoping to put his friend at ease. “I have some things on my mind, too; such as that t-bone you’re not eating,” he cajoled.”
Napoleon looked down at his plate as though it had just sprouted there. “Oh, yeah,” he smiled sheepishly and cut into the tender, medium rare steak.
“I haven’t heard about anything of importance at headquarters lately. What is occupying your mind so much?” Illya asked, hoping to draw his very distracted friend out a bit.
“What?” Napoleon, once again, started from a daze and Illya frowned. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. It’s just a personal issue I need to work through.”
Sudden warmth enveloped Napoleon’s right hand, and he glanced down to find it held firmly in Illya’s grasp. Disconcerted, he looked up, directly into glowing blue eyes. Illya’s random bouts of concern for his welfare always flustered Napoleon because they occurred so unexpectedly, making it impossible for him to steel himself against the uneasy stirring it caused in his chest.
“You know, my friend,” Illya said gently, “that if you need someone to talk to, I am always available.”
Their gaze held, and Napoleon was amazed to see the heat in Illya’s eyes increase a few degrees, threatening to become a flame. He instinctively looked away quickly before that flame kindled to permeate the dark recesses of his soul, and stir to life a part of him that had lain dormant for so many years, it was now only a chimera, whose memory was no longer a part of his consciousness.
After dinner, Napoleon begged off early, citing a nonexistent headache. Illya looked at him strangely but, thankfully, left him outside the restaurant without any questions.
As he walked the eight blocks to his apartment, through the balmy Manhattan evening, Napoleon’s mind turned to his discussion with Jason Palmer earlier that day.
The doctor had made a lot of sense; which gave Napoleon confidence that tomorrow, he would finally have some idea what that damned dream actually meant. It had niggled at him, ever since he left Jason’s office, that he hadn’t mentioned that he thought he recognized the glowing man. Now; after having spent the evening with his partner, there was no doubt: the stance, the walk, the slight build and golden hair - it could only be Illya. Why that realization caused his heart to beat wildly and his breath to come in short, sharp gasps, was an undecipherable mystery.