Dancing

by Nix
(crimsonquills AT gmail DOT com)


When Illya emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in his pajamas, he found Napoleon hovering over his stereo. One last touch and soft music poured from the speakers. Napoleon looked up from the controls, smiled, and held out his hand. "Dance with me."

Illya glanced around the apartment and shook his head. "There isn't enough room in here to dance properly."

Napoleon rolled his eyes. "They just put your arms around me and sway," he said, beckoning with his fingertips.

"This isn't dancing," Illya grumbled, "it's foreplay." But he moved into the circle of his partner's arms.

"What's wrong with a little foreplay?" Napoleon put his arms around Illya's waist and moved in close and took a deep breath, absorbing the comfortable, clean scent of his lover.

For all Illya's voiced reluctance, he returned the embrace comfortably, settling them cheek to cheek as they swayed. Napoleon wanted to dance, and he hadn't even taken a shower yet; he still smelled faintly of gunpowder and women's perfume, remnants of the mission they'd just finished.

"Nothing," Illya said in response to Napoleon's question, "except that we indulged in years of foreplay." He smiled a little, remembering, and gently stroked his hands up Napoleon's back.

Napoleon just murmured wordlessly and relaxed, leaning a little against Illya. There wasn't much swaying going on. It would be generous to say that they were dancing at all. Napoleon had them too tangled up for that, which was odd, since he was the one who'd made the request in the first place.

Belatedly, realization dawned on Illya. He gave his lover a little squeeze. "Napoleon. If you wanted to be held, why didn't you just ask?"

There was a long moment of silence. "I shouldn't need it," Napoleon muttered at last.

"American men," Illya snorted. "Not supposed to hug, or touch during a conversation, or cry, or laugh too much, for that matter."

Napoleon pulled back enough to look Illya in the eye. "And you're the poster child for expressiveness?"

"No," Illya said calmly. "But I should think I'd be comfortable enough with my lover to ask for what I want."

For a long moment Napoleon was silent, absorbing that. "All right," he said at last, and leaned in close again.

--End--