dusty (dustandroses) wrote in dustyrydersrecs, @ 2005-10-27 21:14:00 |
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Current mood: | cranky |
Current music: | Couldn't Stand The Weather - Stevie Ray Vaughn |
Entry tags: | angst, author: ardent/ardent muses, established relationship, fandom: man from uncle, napoleon/illya, nc17, slash |
The Man from UNCLE
Fandom: The Man from UNCLE
Title: Pretender
Author: Ardent (ardent_muses)
Genre: Slash, Angst
Pairing: Napoleon/Illya
Rating: NC17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Notes: Napoleon has a nice
arrangement with his partner. He's comfortable with the level of
commitment, or lack thereof, but at the same time, he wants more from
Illya. But Illya is not happy with things the way they are, and
he sends Napoleon packing, to find his "comfort" elsewhere. But
is that really what Napoleon wants?
Poor Napoleon...he just
doesn't know what he wants. It's a simple story,
straight-forward, and I find myself coming back to it time and
again. It's short enough to almost call it Smut. But
there's a lot of emotion and a rather large chunk of self-discovery
going on here in this small fic, so it's not at all what it first
seems.
Excerpt:
He'd started it in a hotel room just as shabby as this one, only it had a
double bed. It had been a sweltering Honduran night and they had been reading
-- Napoleon sprawled in his boxers across the foot of the bed with a newspaper
and Illya propped up against the pillows speed-reading one of the cheap
paperback mysteries he loved, this one in Spanish.
Illya's thin cotton bathrobe had shifted, exposing one golden thigh, and the
fair hairs had glinted in the lamplight. It had been . . . distracting.
Napoleon had tried to focus on his newspaper, but all he saw was Illya. He
could almost feel Illya's tanned skin under his fingertips, still damp from the
shower. He told himself he felt grateful to the man who had once again saved
his
skin. That was all. He felt loyal. Like partners felt. Partners who were both
men.
Only . . . the reckless voice in his head told him to pursue something that was
decidedly different from a collegial pat on the back.
Napoleon had put the newspaper down and reached out. Caressed Illya's calf.
Illya had jumped at the touch and put down his book, frowning, but Napoleon
didn't draw back.
"Napoleon?" Quiet, although the walls were not particularly thin. Not
angry. Just . . . puzzled.
Napoleon had moved his hand up to Illya's knee. And beyond. Hot smooth skin
over hard muscle and bone.
Without looking at Illya's face, Napoleon had continued to slide his hand up
the thigh, feeling the heat and a slight trembling. "Let me?" he'd
whispered.
I rate this fic: Pretty Dann Good