The Steppes of Central Asia Affair: Epilogue
The Steppes of Central Asia Affair
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin; Characters: Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin
Genre: slash, h/c, BDSM, A/U: His Dark Materials Universe
Warnings: none
Rating: Mature/PG 13
Beta:gevr
Epilogue: "...the truth is likely the opposite."
Batu fired up the bath house when they got home and said not a word when the two agents went in together, nor when they came out again over an hour later, steam rising from their bodies as they dashed from the bath house to their guest yurt wrapped only in the local style, silk brocade robes Batu lent them. Their host had placed a pot of tea there for them, as well as a light meal. Perceptive as well as a gracious host, Batu had sensed that the two men needed some time alone after the traumas of this day.
They'd spoken little while they soaked and relaxed in the steaming hot water, letting each other process everything that had happened. Illya had supposed that he would wait for Napoleon to speak first, as his ordeal had clearly been worse, but as they sipped their tea and nibbled on pieces of smoked goat cheese and flatbread, Illya found the words on his tongue before he realized it.
"I was a fool," he said, then silenced himself, but it was too late. Just Napoleon's raised eyebrow was enough to compel the rest. "For thinking that our professional lives and our personal lives could be placed in neat compartments, separated and tidy."
"I'd say you were right," Napoleon said, "but then I'd have to admit that you're in good company. I've thought the same thing myself… and presumed that if things didn't stay in those separate compartments, then the fault was mine."
"Napoleon, nobody can really live like that," Saphina admonished. "Life doesn't let you."
"It most certainly does not," Illya said with a pained grimace. "Especially in our line of work, it would seem."
"And you think it should?" Pasha asked. "Or that life would be easier if you could live like that?"
"No," Illya said, shaking his head. "Which is why I am a fool. I could never have helped you, Napoleon, without… that which is between us. You say that you might have lied about being lovers with April or Mark, but I don't think I could have done what I did with you with April or Mark… or anybody else."
"You asked me to trust you, Illya," Napoleon said. "They both trust you too, with their lives…"
"But not in the same way," Saphina picked up. "Not as… deeply."
There was a time, Illya recalled, that he'd believed allowing such a profound connection with anyone (save for Pasha) constituted a danger.
"You know," Pasha now put in, "that when Thrush tells us clearly, time and again, that they perceive such things, like trust and loyalty…"
"And love," said Saphina softly.
"And love," Pasha confirmed, "as weakness, we ought to take from it that the truth is likely the opposite."
"It does make us stronger," Napoleon confirmed. "But I have to remind myself of that, when it occasionally seems to leave us more vulnerable."
"I feel the same," said Illya, finishing his tea and moving to sit by the door, gazing out at the starry night sky. "And I do not think we are wrong. We are vulnerable, but mainly to each other. After all, if I rely on you to rescue me, as I did when Byrn caught me in the radio shack, I will be in a very bad situation, and probably dead, if you fail to appear -which you never have, but…"
"It certainly looks as if you are quite vulnerable, to someone who doesn't know us," Pasha finished.
"On the other hand, if I weren't used to being vulnerable to you," Napoleon pointed out. "If I weren't prepared to set aside everything I know and believe, just because you told me to, I would never have been able to get past the feeling that my soul was being ripped from my body, on the faith that you told me that I could hold out for just a little longer."
As though he'd felt a chill wind blow in through the door, Illya shuddered inwardly at Napoleon's description of his ordeal. "I imagine the drug helped," he said after a moment.
"Illyushka," said Saphina, standing beside him, then pushing herself into his lap. "You saved us today; you did it, as no one else in the whole world could have."
"The drug sort of made it impossible not to listen to you," Napoleon said. "At the start, anyhow, but the fact that it was you… that was what made everything else possible."
"I had to," Illya said, finally letting his fingers run through Saphina's velvety fur, knowing how the touch on his daemon would affect Napoleon. "I don't know when I've felt so desperate in all my life." Illya buried his face in Saphina's ebony, silken flank and feeling her lick his hand in return.
"My Illyushka, you've never failed me," Napoleon said, coming up behind him to lay a hand over his shoulder. "If it seems at times that we work miracles for each other, it's because of who we have become to each other. It's how we do what we do. Waverly knows that."
Illya reached up to cover Napoleon's hand with his own while Saphina draped herself over his lap and Pasha settled himself on Napoleon's shoulder. "The day may yet come when it's not enough, you know," he said, recalling the long moment when he'd recently been fairly certain that day had come.
Napoleon shrugged, while at the same time drawing Illya a little closer, letting him know that he knew where those dark thoughts had come from. "We're not immortal," he said. "no one is, especially not in our business, but as long as we continue to lend our considerable talents towards The Good Fight, we'll only get better until that day comes."
"Well," said Illya, leaning into Napoleon's side as he looked down at the expanse of black fur over his knees. "I don't know how much more 'miraculous' we can get after what you did today."
Saphina lifted her head to lick a front leg -the gestural equivalent of a shrug. "We all do what needs to be done." she said.
"I think terrifying the horses was the easy part, yes?" commented Pasha, curling his tail around Napoleon's neck as he leaned down to address Saphina. "Telling me to leave and run for help while you were still trapped in that cage… I can't imagine."
Now both Illya and Napoleon turned to gaze at their own daemons. They had not had time yet to discuss what had happened to their daemons while they'd been apart and Illya felt suddenly remiss.
"Saphina, my love, how did you get out?" Napoleon asked.
"The cage was bent and damaged when it fell off the roof of the truck," she explained, with a nonchalance that matched Napoleon's. "A gap opened in one corner which Pasha was able to slip out of. I knew that if I worked at it long enough I would be able to force my way out eventually, and that there was nothing he could do to help by staying."
"She won't say," Illya heard his daemon whisper into Napoleon's ear, "but she was in great pain as well."
Of course, she must have been, Illya thought, just as Napoleon had been. "We all do what we must," she said again, curling herself off Illya's knees and flowing, like liquid running uphill, to climb Napoleon's shoulders and lick his face. Now one of Napoleon's arms was full of Saphina and the other still wrapped around Illya's shoulder so that he began to tilt backwards, dragging Illya down with him.
Napoleon always telegraphed his moves when he was feeling randy, giving Illya a chance to evade if he wished. Strictly speaking, Illya concluded, their mission was complete, and after one so harrowing they could both use the release. He let Napoleon capture him, let Saphina and Pasha drag him by his beautiful silk brocade robe to the sleeping platform, and let Napoleon know, the best way he knew how, that they were both alive and well.
Napoleon reciprocated with all the tenderness and affection he dared show only Illya, so that Illya too knew the joy of being alive and loved by this singular person. This was how, he supposed, the intensity of their experiences, their pains sorrows and fears fueled the intensity of their touches, the depth of their kisses, the power of their lovemaking. The ecstasy of their joining in turn fuelled their strength to endure, to fight The Good Fight, as Napoleon had termed it.
It would all end some day, Illya knew, but until that day he would be more than satisfied with his lot. For that reason, he would not fear that day, as long as all the days leading up to it had him at Napoleon Solo's side.
=FIN=
Closing notes: The Tunguska Meteorite, or Tunguska Event as it is also known, did really happen, in real history, in 1908, rather closer to the town of Tunguska in Siberia. I moved it for the purposes of getting the Ice Bears and Thrush down into Mongol territory. There was a lively theory that the real Tunguska event, which flattened 770 square miles of forest but left no crater, really was a tiny or fragmentary 'quantum black hole', and a number of far better science fiction writers than I have played extensively with this idea.
Today it's considered by most scientists to have been a meteorite which exploded in the atmosphere, much like the one that so many Russian dash-cams caught in Siberia a year or so ago, but much bigger.
- T.D.
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin; Characters: Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin
Genre: slash, h/c, BDSM, A/U: His Dark Materials Universe
Warnings: none
Rating: Mature/PG 13
Beta:gevr
Epilogue: "...the truth is likely the opposite."
Batu fired up the bath house when they got home and said not a word when the two agents went in together, nor when they came out again over an hour later, steam rising from their bodies as they dashed from the bath house to their guest yurt wrapped only in the local style, silk brocade robes Batu lent them. Their host had placed a pot of tea there for them, as well as a light meal. Perceptive as well as a gracious host, Batu had sensed that the two men needed some time alone after the traumas of this day.
They'd spoken little while they soaked and relaxed in the steaming hot water, letting each other process everything that had happened. Illya had supposed that he would wait for Napoleon to speak first, as his ordeal had clearly been worse, but as they sipped their tea and nibbled on pieces of smoked goat cheese and flatbread, Illya found the words on his tongue before he realized it.
"I was a fool," he said, then silenced himself, but it was too late. Just Napoleon's raised eyebrow was enough to compel the rest. "For thinking that our professional lives and our personal lives could be placed in neat compartments, separated and tidy."
"I'd say you were right," Napoleon said, "but then I'd have to admit that you're in good company. I've thought the same thing myself… and presumed that if things didn't stay in those separate compartments, then the fault was mine."
"Napoleon, nobody can really live like that," Saphina admonished. "Life doesn't let you."
"It most certainly does not," Illya said with a pained grimace. "Especially in our line of work, it would seem."
"And you think it should?" Pasha asked. "Or that life would be easier if you could live like that?"
"No," Illya said, shaking his head. "Which is why I am a fool. I could never have helped you, Napoleon, without… that which is between us. You say that you might have lied about being lovers with April or Mark, but I don't think I could have done what I did with you with April or Mark… or anybody else."
"You asked me to trust you, Illya," Napoleon said. "They both trust you too, with their lives…"
"But not in the same way," Saphina picked up. "Not as… deeply."
There was a time, Illya recalled, that he'd believed allowing such a profound connection with anyone (save for Pasha) constituted a danger.
"You know," Pasha now put in, "that when Thrush tells us clearly, time and again, that they perceive such things, like trust and loyalty…"
"And love," said Saphina softly.
"And love," Pasha confirmed, "as weakness, we ought to take from it that the truth is likely the opposite."
"It does make us stronger," Napoleon confirmed. "But I have to remind myself of that, when it occasionally seems to leave us more vulnerable."
"I feel the same," said Illya, finishing his tea and moving to sit by the door, gazing out at the starry night sky. "And I do not think we are wrong. We are vulnerable, but mainly to each other. After all, if I rely on you to rescue me, as I did when Byrn caught me in the radio shack, I will be in a very bad situation, and probably dead, if you fail to appear -which you never have, but…"
"It certainly looks as if you are quite vulnerable, to someone who doesn't know us," Pasha finished.
"On the other hand, if I weren't used to being vulnerable to you," Napoleon pointed out. "If I weren't prepared to set aside everything I know and believe, just because you told me to, I would never have been able to get past the feeling that my soul was being ripped from my body, on the faith that you told me that I could hold out for just a little longer."
As though he'd felt a chill wind blow in through the door, Illya shuddered inwardly at Napoleon's description of his ordeal. "I imagine the drug helped," he said after a moment.
"Illyushka," said Saphina, standing beside him, then pushing herself into his lap. "You saved us today; you did it, as no one else in the whole world could have."
"The drug sort of made it impossible not to listen to you," Napoleon said. "At the start, anyhow, but the fact that it was you… that was what made everything else possible."
"I had to," Illya said, finally letting his fingers run through Saphina's velvety fur, knowing how the touch on his daemon would affect Napoleon. "I don't know when I've felt so desperate in all my life." Illya buried his face in Saphina's ebony, silken flank and feeling her lick his hand in return.
"My Illyushka, you've never failed me," Napoleon said, coming up behind him to lay a hand over his shoulder. "If it seems at times that we work miracles for each other, it's because of who we have become to each other. It's how we do what we do. Waverly knows that."
Illya reached up to cover Napoleon's hand with his own while Saphina draped herself over his lap and Pasha settled himself on Napoleon's shoulder. "The day may yet come when it's not enough, you know," he said, recalling the long moment when he'd recently been fairly certain that day had come.
Napoleon shrugged, while at the same time drawing Illya a little closer, letting him know that he knew where those dark thoughts had come from. "We're not immortal," he said. "no one is, especially not in our business, but as long as we continue to lend our considerable talents towards The Good Fight, we'll only get better until that day comes."
"Well," said Illya, leaning into Napoleon's side as he looked down at the expanse of black fur over his knees. "I don't know how much more 'miraculous' we can get after what you did today."
Saphina lifted her head to lick a front leg -the gestural equivalent of a shrug. "We all do what needs to be done." she said.
"I think terrifying the horses was the easy part, yes?" commented Pasha, curling his tail around Napoleon's neck as he leaned down to address Saphina. "Telling me to leave and run for help while you were still trapped in that cage… I can't imagine."
Now both Illya and Napoleon turned to gaze at their own daemons. They had not had time yet to discuss what had happened to their daemons while they'd been apart and Illya felt suddenly remiss.
"Saphina, my love, how did you get out?" Napoleon asked.
"The cage was bent and damaged when it fell off the roof of the truck," she explained, with a nonchalance that matched Napoleon's. "A gap opened in one corner which Pasha was able to slip out of. I knew that if I worked at it long enough I would be able to force my way out eventually, and that there was nothing he could do to help by staying."
"She won't say," Illya heard his daemon whisper into Napoleon's ear, "but she was in great pain as well."
Of course, she must have been, Illya thought, just as Napoleon had been. "We all do what we must," she said again, curling herself off Illya's knees and flowing, like liquid running uphill, to climb Napoleon's shoulders and lick his face. Now one of Napoleon's arms was full of Saphina and the other still wrapped around Illya's shoulder so that he began to tilt backwards, dragging Illya down with him.
Napoleon always telegraphed his moves when he was feeling randy, giving Illya a chance to evade if he wished. Strictly speaking, Illya concluded, their mission was complete, and after one so harrowing they could both use the release. He let Napoleon capture him, let Saphina and Pasha drag him by his beautiful silk brocade robe to the sleeping platform, and let Napoleon know, the best way he knew how, that they were both alive and well.
Napoleon reciprocated with all the tenderness and affection he dared show only Illya, so that Illya too knew the joy of being alive and loved by this singular person. This was how, he supposed, the intensity of their experiences, their pains sorrows and fears fueled the intensity of their touches, the depth of their kisses, the power of their lovemaking. The ecstasy of their joining in turn fuelled their strength to endure, to fight The Good Fight, as Napoleon had termed it.
It would all end some day, Illya knew, but until that day he would be more than satisfied with his lot. For that reason, he would not fear that day, as long as all the days leading up to it had him at Napoleon Solo's side.
=FIN=
Closing notes: The Tunguska Meteorite, or Tunguska Event as it is also known, did really happen, in real history, in 1908, rather closer to the town of Tunguska in Siberia. I moved it for the purposes of getting the Ice Bears and Thrush down into Mongol territory. There was a lively theory that the real Tunguska event, which flattened 770 square miles of forest but left no crater, really was a tiny or fragmentary 'quantum black hole', and a number of far better science fiction writers than I have played extensively with this idea.
Today it's considered by most scientists to have been a meteorite which exploded in the atmosphere, much like the one that so many Russian dash-cams caught in Siberia a year or so ago, but much bigger.
- T.D.