Fic Update
It's short, but pivotal.
Title: The Tell-Tale Dream
Author: aneuhaus
Rating: NC/17 (but not yet)
Pairings: That would be telling!
Warnings: Slash
Part Eight
Illya Kuryakin was furious. It was after three o’clock, and where the Hell was his partner? A moment ago he had been on the phone with Lisa Rogers, who called to tell him that the report he had just started on was due in fifteen minutes. Needless to say, she then proceeded to inform him that Mr. Waverly was not happy about the three reports that were already overdue. He picked up the receiver he had just slammed down and dialed the extension for reception.
“Wanda!” he barked.
“Yes, Mr. Kuryakin.” He could hear the eye roll in Wanda’s tone.
He softened his own voice, hoping it would sound like an apology. “Have you seen or heard from Mr. Solo today?”
“I believe he’s in Medical, Mr. Kuryakin,” she replied in a more friendly tone.
“Medical?” His question was laced with concern. “Has he been injured?”
“I don’t think so.” Now she was a little worried. It was unusual for partners not to know these things about each other, especially these partners. “I saw him this morning, when he came in, and he seemed fine; although he was somewhat… um… distracted.”
Illya meant to say something that sounded like thank you, but he just didn’t have the time. If Napoleon was in Medical, and he wasn’t injured…
He refused to carry that thought any further. The possibilities were too ghastly to even consider. Better to use that energy to find Napoleon.
The office door slid open to allow his exit, and who should be standing there, grinning from ear to ear, but his partner.
“Where have you been?” Illya accused, his anxiety edging his tone back toward anger.
Warm, honey colored eyes stared languidly into twin blue blazes, as Napoleon sauntered through the door, forcing Illya to retreat back into the office. Once the door was closed, Napoleon reached back, eyes still focused on his partner, and snapped the lock shut. He was never certain if it was an optical illusion, or if Illya’s eyes grew impossibly bigger as he approached. He did know, however, that the first touch of Illya’s lips confirmed all that Jason Palmer had said. Here, right in front of him, stood his happiness, his life’s fulfillment, and his future.
“Illya,” he murmured, “we need to talk.”
Concern, relief, puzzlement, hope; a hundred expressions crossed the handsome face in the split second before Illya’s lips curled into a soft smile that clearly communicated, ‘Finally’. Deadlines forgotten, he grabbed his coat and followed his partner out the door.
Title: The Tell-Tale Dream
Author: aneuhaus
Rating: NC/17 (but not yet)
Pairings: That would be telling!
Warnings: Slash
Part Eight
Illya Kuryakin was furious. It was after three o’clock, and where the Hell was his partner? A moment ago he had been on the phone with Lisa Rogers, who called to tell him that the report he had just started on was due in fifteen minutes. Needless to say, she then proceeded to inform him that Mr. Waverly was not happy about the three reports that were already overdue. He picked up the receiver he had just slammed down and dialed the extension for reception.
“Wanda!” he barked.
“Yes, Mr. Kuryakin.” He could hear the eye roll in Wanda’s tone.
He softened his own voice, hoping it would sound like an apology. “Have you seen or heard from Mr. Solo today?”
“I believe he’s in Medical, Mr. Kuryakin,” she replied in a more friendly tone.
“Medical?” His question was laced with concern. “Has he been injured?”
“I don’t think so.” Now she was a little worried. It was unusual for partners not to know these things about each other, especially these partners. “I saw him this morning, when he came in, and he seemed fine; although he was somewhat… um… distracted.”
Illya meant to say something that sounded like thank you, but he just didn’t have the time. If Napoleon was in Medical, and he wasn’t injured…
He refused to carry that thought any further. The possibilities were too ghastly to even consider. Better to use that energy to find Napoleon.
The office door slid open to allow his exit, and who should be standing there, grinning from ear to ear, but his partner.
“Where have you been?” Illya accused, his anxiety edging his tone back toward anger.
Warm, honey colored eyes stared languidly into twin blue blazes, as Napoleon sauntered through the door, forcing Illya to retreat back into the office. Once the door was closed, Napoleon reached back, eyes still focused on his partner, and snapped the lock shut. He was never certain if it was an optical illusion, or if Illya’s eyes grew impossibly bigger as he approached. He did know, however, that the first touch of Illya’s lips confirmed all that Jason Palmer had said. Here, right in front of him, stood his happiness, his life’s fulfillment, and his future.
“Illya,” he murmured, “we need to talk.”
Concern, relief, puzzlement, hope; a hundred expressions crossed the handsome face in the split second before Illya’s lips curled into a soft smile that clearly communicated, ‘Finally’. Deadlines forgotten, he grabbed his coat and followed his partner out the door.