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nakeisha
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Alphabet Meme. Napoleon/Illya (The Man From U.N.C.L.E.)
TITLE: The Sound Of Silence
AUTHOR: Ashleigh Anpilova
FANDOM: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
PAIRING: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin
GENRE: Slash
SUB-GENRE: First Time. Angst
SUMMARY: Illya is in Russia.
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 500
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for riverotter1951: Q - 'Quiet'
DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, nor am I making any money from them. I merely borrow them from time to time.



RUSSIA

He stands in the vast emptiness, listening to the deafening sound of silence. No birds sing, nothing is there, nothing moves, except a constant sheet of snow falling from the sky.

It falls onto the already thick-with-snow ground. It falls onto his shoulders, onto his overcoat, onto the hat he wears - he is not foolish enough to go out into a Russian winter without hat, gloves, scarf, heavy coat, and boots.

He has always known the day would come when he would be ordered back to Russia. His years with U.N.C.L.E. have made him an even greater prize.

Suddenly he hears a noise, it is only a slight one, but it breaks the heavy silence. He spins around, already in a defensive stance, staring through the heavily falling snow. But he can see no one. And once again the silence descends.

He is uneasy. Are the KGB watching him? Is someone else out there in the falling snow, hidden somewhere, out of sight, just watching him? Suddenly the quiet, so comforting before, is no longer restful. It is time he went hom- it is time he returned to where he is living. He will never go home again.

He turns and almost gasps aloud as he sees the figure standing a foot from him. He shakes his head and rubs his hand over his eyes. He cannot see what he thinks he is seeing. It is an illusion. He cannot be there.

But then the figure begins to walk towards him, his hands held out slightly from his body, as if letting Illya see he means him no harm.

"Napoleon?" Illya whispers the word, as the man he thought he would never see again stops in front of him.

"Yes, Illya, it's me."

"But what are you doing here? How did you get here?"

"How does one normally get from the States to Russia?" It has to be Napoleon; no one else can be as infuriating.

"Napoleon!"

"I've come to take you home." Napoleon smiles and puts his glove covered hand onto Illya's shoulder, brushing away some of the snow.

"Home?"

Napoleon nods. "To the States. To U.N.C.L.E. To me. To my apartment. To my bed." He says the last word so softly; had it not been for the otherwise absolute silence, Illya would not have heard.

"But . . . How . . . ?"

"Ah, well that, partner mine, is something even I don't know. Our esteemed Uncle Alex has contacts in high places. You're free to return with me. The KGB don't want you."

"They do not?"

"No. And don't sound so disappointed."

"I am not. I just -" Illya breaks off and shakes his head; of what is he thinking. "Thank you, my friend," he says, putting his hand on Napoleon's arm.

THE UNITED STATES

Warm, sated, tired out from the long lovemaking session, Illya snuggles into the depths of Napoleon's bed.

When he'd asked Napoleon 'why now?' his partner had simply kissed him and told him the time was right: he couldn't stay silent any longer.





TITLE: Questions To Be Answered
AUTHOR: Ashleigh Anpilova
FANDOM: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
PAIRING: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin
GENRE: Slash
SUB-GENRE: Pre-Slash. Angst
SUMMARY: Napoleon asks Illya a question.
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 500
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for birggitt: Y - 'Yet unanswered'
DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, nor am I making any money from them. I merely borrow them from time to time.



He stands in his dark apartment, a glass of Russian vodka in one hand, the other resting against the window, listening to the thunder as it vibrates around, watching the lightning splitting the sky, and seeing the rain pouring down.

Except he does not hear the thunder or see the lightening or the rain; just as he does not taste the vodka or feel the cold from the window begin to seep into his hand. He sees, feels, hears and tastes nothing, because his mind is spinning.

His mind is going over and over what Napoleon said to him an hour ago. Was it really so short a time? Was it really that long ago? Had Napoleon really said what he had heard?

Part of him is almost convinced he had a verbal hallucination. He struggles to believe Napoleon had said what he had said. And yet, he knows he did hear it. He knows Napoleon did tell him he loved him; did tell him he was in love with him; did ask him if he wished to move from friends to lovers.

It is what he has wanted since the moment he set eyes on Napoleon. It is what he has dreamed about, thought about, even on a rare occasion dared to fantasize about. And yet he had not answered Napoleon. He had not replied. He had not told him how he felt. He had not answered his question.

He had wanted to. He had wanted to so badly. But he had not done so. He had left Napoleon's question unanswered. There was only one answer he could give, only one answer he wanted to give, but he had not done so.

Instead he had escaped to his apartment and the vodka bottle. He had walked away from the man he loved to stand in the dark listening to thunder he could not hear, watching lightning and rain he could not see, drinking vodka he could not taste. And for what reason?

Because he could not let Napoleon take him as a lover, only to discard him a short time later, and he could not bring himself to ask Napoleon if what he had suggested was more than a 'fling'.

He shakes his head. He, Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin, who could kill, maim, keep cool and calm while detonating bombs, face certain death, survive truth serums, and beatings, and not be afraid, could not ask his partner a simple question?

Suddenly he pushes away from the window leaving the thunder, lightning and rain behind him, drains the glass of cold vodka, pours another one, drains that - this time tasting the clear liquid - and strides towards the door.

He takes the stairs up the four flights and walks along the corridor until he reaches Napoleon's door. He knocks and waits.

When Napoleon opens the door, Illya speaks, not giving his partner a chance to. "I have come to answer your question, Napoleon. But first there is something I must ask you."

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Current Mood: satisfied satisfied

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Comments
birggitt From: birggitt Date: 25th August 2009 14:08 (UTC) (Link)
Oh, I love mine! I love that Illya image: standing in the dark, hand on the window, head down and a little to the side (you didn't tell that, but I'm sure!) and so deep into his thought he's not aware of anything else.
And I understand his fear. It's easier to face a TRUSH assisine, because, they only can take his life. But Napoleon? Napoleon can take his soul.
And yet, he's brave enough to do that, too. :)
Beautiful!

And I really like 'The Sound of Silence', too. And Napoleon going all the way to Russia to get his partner back. There are things you need to do face to face :)
And home, real home for Illya is not Russia or the States. Illya's home is Napoleon, even if neither of them is aware of that.

Wonderful stories!!
nakeisha From: nakeisha Date: 25th August 2009 14:51 (UTC) (Link)
Thank you so much. I'm delighted you love yours and can easily visualise Illya standing there, oh, yes, that's how his head would be, like that, lost in thoughts.

I'm glad you can understand his fear too - it is indeed, very much so. He can. He is. Thank you.

Oh, good. I'm pleased you liked the other one too. But of course he would. Oh, yes, home is where his partner is.

Thank you, my friend.
lgvu From: lgvu Date: 25th August 2009 16:39 (UTC) (Link)
I loved these, but especially Questions to be Answered - the first two paragraphs really set Illya's mood - the rain, thunder, how he couldn't take in any of the sensations. Just wonderful!
nakeisha From: nakeisha Date: 25th August 2009 16:53 (UTC) (Link)
Thank you very much indeed.

I'm really pleased you enjoyed both of these. And I'm so glad the opening paragraphs of Questions To Be Answered really appealed to you and set the scene for Illya's mood. Thank you for letting me know.
periwinkle27 From: periwinkle27 Date: 25th August 2009 22:04 (UTC) (Link)
I had to laugh at one line because I've been accused of sending Illya to the vodka bottle regularly. :)

These are lovely. I really like this one line:It is time he went hom- it is time he returned to where he is living. He will never go home again., although I might have stopped at "ho." It looked like a typo to me when I first saw it. But it's a great line.

I wrote my slashthedrabble piece before I saw these. As usual, we are on the same track again - I called it "Friends in High Places"
nakeisha From: nakeisha Date: 26th August 2009 11:24 (UTC) (Link)
Ah, have you.

Thank you very much. I'm glad you liked them. It looked even more wrong with just ho (I spent quite a bit of time over it, but with the). I'm pleased to hear you liked the line.

So I saw. Indeed we are.
periwinkle27 From: periwinkle27 Date: 31st August 2009 16:06 (UTC) (Link)
Actually, now that I think about it, "ho" is a slang term for "prostitute" so "hom-" is definitely better.
nakeisha From: nakeisha Date: 31st August 2009 16:11 (UTC) (Link)
It is? Ah, yes, it's an American usage, I see. I think it was better, yes *g*

Now, I associate it more with the 'ho, hum' type of thing.

periwinkle27 From: periwinkle27 Date: 31st August 2009 16:22 (UTC) (Link)
Land ho!

Yes, it's African American Vernacular English, alteration of whore.
nakeisha From: nakeisha Date: 31st August 2009 17:04 (UTC) (Link)
:-)

I'm fairly sure I hadn't come across it in that context. Hobo, I'd come across.
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