spikesgirl58 (spikesgirl58) wrote,

A new Foothills.

Title: Dream World
Genre: Slash
Rating: R

A picnic? Is Napoleon out of his mind? Apparently so. My thanks to Sparky for her beta and to a cousin long since vanished from LJ for the prompt

It was a surprise when he found it. Napoleon had gone into the closet to look for some new vacuum cleaner bags. It was time to give the house a good cleaning and to do that, he needed a new bag.

He clicked on the light and squinted. Even with it on, it was hard to see stuff. They really needed to clean the closet out first. He was on the fifth of one such attempt when he found it stuffed back into a corner.

It was old and dusty, but still in good shape. Napoleon smiled at the memories it brought back, memories of a younger time when life was still so full of promise and joy. He had never suffered heartbreak, painful good byes or hopeless futility. He knew just what to do with it, too.

“But, Illya…”

The tone of Napoleon’s voice made Illya rolled his eyes. “No.”


He had no good answer for that. It was Monday. Taste was closed and outside the day had all the markings of a glorious spring morning. The air was sweet smelling and it was so warm, he’d opened the kitchen doors to encourage it to blow through. The birds were singing, everything was in bloom and he had a mound of paperwork on his desk to get through before dinner.

“I’ve got stuff to do.”

“It’s your day off, so take the day off. Besides, all I’m asking for is a couple of hours. We’ll go someplace close by and have a picnic. We’ll be back before your checking-signing pen cools off.”

Illya sighed. He really didn’t want to stay cooped up in the house today, but there was this stubborn sense of needing to work.

“All work and no play,” Napoleon’s voice broke into his thoughts. “You need to play a little, Amante. You know, a loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou… some secluded spot and just us.”

“You aren’t going to stop, are you?”

Napoleon grinned, sensing victory. “Nope and besides, I’ve already started packing the picnic basket.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

“Of course. I’m a Solo.” He made a gesture with his hands. “Now, you go and do what you need to and I’ll call you when I’m ready to go.”

Despite his initial protests, Illya had to give Napoleon credit. The sandwiches wouldn’t win any awards, but they were fresh and tasty. The fruit and cheese were a good match with the wine Napoleon brought and even went with the cold fried chicken. So much so that one bottle was finished and another opened.

Illya laid on his back beneath the tree and watched the leaves dance against the sky. The meadow they picked was well away from prying eyes and when Napoleon’s face loomed over his, it was without reserve that Illya reached up and pulled him down.

“Aren’t you afraid someone will see?” Napoleon wasn’t worried about his reputation as much as Illya’s.

“Not really.” Their mouths met and Illya’s tongue flicked against Napoleon’s lips for the briefest of seconds before plunging in. Tongues met and caressed each other, familiar and yet desperately missed.

Illya ran his fingers through Napoleon’s hair, making sure that glorious mouth didn’t move away from his as they turned on their side, legs entwined. He knew they couldn’t strip off as much as he’d love to.

With a moan, he pulled away and headed for Napoleon’s crotch. His lover’s penis strained against the fabric and with extreme care, Illya freed it smiling as it sprung free.

“There you are.” He sighed as his own penis claimed its freedom a second before Napoleon’s mouth claimed it. With a groan, he turned his attention to the vision before him. He knew Napoleon adored oral sex more than just about anything and went about making sure he took a good long time before sucking the penis deep into his throat and humming just right. And the truth of the matter was that he was merely a second of a fraction behind his lover in coming.

He continued to lick and suck until he was sure every last drop of semen was gone. Then he plopped back, a smile on his tired lips.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Napoleon murmured from beside him.

“I have a reputation for keeping you on your toes. Is there any wine left?”

With a groan, Napoleon sat up and found the bottle and their glasses. “Bad taste in your mouth?”

“Not at all, but I did work up a mighty thirst.” Illya took a swallow of wine and let it trickle down the back of his throat. “I have to admit, this wasn’t a bad idea at all.” He stretched out on his stomach, eyes closed.

“When have I ever had a bad idea?”

Illya had to concede him that point. For the next half hour, he dozed. Napoleon rested beside him, the only movement the occasional turning of a page. Nothing could disturb the peace he felt, except one thing. It’s started as a niggling itch and Illya ignored it for as long as he could until he was ready to scream.

He got to his feet and looked around.

“What’s wrong? Are you ready to leave already?”

“No, I need to heed the call of nature.”

“Ah, trees are that way.” Napoleon gestured with an open palm. “Make sure you tip the bush on your way out.”

Illya grinned and still half asleep, he stumbled away.

Napoleon took the moment to rearrange things on the blanket, then glanced up at the sun. They would have to be leaving soon anyhow. Dark came quickly these days and he didn’t want to stumble and fall as they made their way back across the meadow. He cleaned up the trash and began to repack their picnic basket.

Napoleon smiled at the memories tied up with that piece of wicker. It had brought him many lunches when he was growing up on the farm. Every lunch, Mom would appear, the basket in hand and he would quickly climb off the tractor, the haying forgotten for an hour.

After that, he would borrow it for a summer date. Or when they went to the fair. When his mother had passed, it was the only thing of hers he wanted.

Suddenly he became aware that a good deal of time had passed, certainly more time than a simple trip to water the lilies, as his mother had referred to it.

“Illya?” he called and waited for the return shout. Nothing. He tried again with the same response. While his partner was still capable to taking care of himself, Napoleon felt a call to arms.

He headed towards the woods, pausing to pick up a sturdy-looking stick on his way. At the edge of the tree line, he called again.


“Over here!”

Napoleon felt a sense of relief, followed quickly by an equal sense of annoyance, wash over him. He followed the sound of the call and looked around. “Where over here?”

“Here!” There was an odd tone to that familiar voice and that’s when he saw Illya down on his knees. Anxiety caught him again and he hurried over.

“Are you hurt?”

“Hurt? Of course not. Why would I be hurt? Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Illya was kneeling in front of a huge patch of something frilly looking.

“What is it?”

“Sparassis radicata.”

“And again I will ask, what is it?”

“It’s called Cauliflower mushrooms.”


“They are. I need something to carry then in.”


“I’m taking them back to the restaurant. These would be a perfect special.” Illya looked back towards their picnic site. “The basket could work.”

“The basket is full.”

“Empty it out”

“What If I bring you the blanket instead?”

“You don’t sound happy.”

“Why would I be? I was hoping to get you out here all to my own and you had to bring Taste along.”

At that, Illya stood up, brushing off the knees of his jeans. “Why, Napoleon Solo, are you jealous of a building?”

“I’m jealous that it’s never out of your thoughts.” Napoleon didn’t mean to sound so petulant.

At that, Illya smiled. “Wrong. You are the only thing that is never out of my thoughts. When I saw these, my first thought was about how I was going to prepare them for you. And what sort of wine you’d recommend. Taste was a distant third.”

“I’d like to believe you.”

Illya drew closer. “What do I need to do? Sell the restaurant? Turn in my knife bag? You know I would for you.”

“Of course not.” Now it was Napoleon smiling and rather sheepishly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll go get the basket.”

“The blanket will be fine. I know the basket is your mother’s.”

“No, I think she would be honored. There’s just one thing.”

“And that would be?”

“You’re sure they’re edible?” Napoleon watched Illya pull one from the ground.

“We’ll find out tonight.” Illya held it up to the sky. “Let the mushroom fest begin.”
Tags: foothills, slash fic
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