The Kitten Affair - The Man from U.N.C.L.E (Napoleon Solo)

[Bruyere]

Title: The Kitten Affair
Summary: In which Illya brings home kittens, Napoleon is allergic to them and is considerably less smooth than usual.
Word Count: 5,000
Warnings: Brief mention of potential animal cruelty
Notes: Loosely follows on from The Cat Burglar Affair but you don't need to have read that first for this to make sense.

Napoleon is not clock watching exactly but Illya has been gone longer than he expected.

It has been an exceptionally dull mission so far. They’re hunting diamond smugglers near the docks and U.N.C.L.E. suspects that the diamonds are coming in from the boats and that they’re being used fund weapons sales. Illya has been taking the lead on it as the contact is Russian and Napoleon as second hasn’t even so much as set eyes on a diamond yet. Boredom is starting to eat away at him and he’d been snappish with Illya all evening.

Tired of Illya looming over his shoulder while he fixed dinner, he’d finally sent him out to pick up some bread. It should have been a short errand, just enough time for Napoleon to finish up in peace but Illya’s been gone twenty minutes. Even making allowances for the fact that it started raining a few minutes after Illya had left it shouldn’t have taken him this long. Not that Napoleon’s ever known the rain to slow Illya down.

He turns down the gas under the pot of stew and is just about to start getting ready to go out and look for him when he hears Illya’s solid footsteps on the doorstep and the front door rattles open.

“You were gone a while!” he calls out. “Everything okay? I hope you didn’t get too wet.”

Illya doesn’t answer although he can hear him fussing with something.

“Peril?” he asks and sticks his head out into the corridor. Illya freezes, his back to Napoleon and still doesn’t say anything. Just for a moment Napoleon glances back at the knife on the kitchen counter top. Illya's hands aren't twitching though so Napoleon forces a levity he doesn't really feel into his voice as he repeats, "Peril? Is everything okay?"

Illya nods, back still facing Napoleon and says, "I need to collect some things, I will find somewhere else to stay tonight."

"What's wrong? What happened?" Napoleon says, confused. His mind races as he tries to catch up with whatever's happened to Illya between leaving the flat and returning. He moves into the narrow corridor leading up to the front door and towards Illya.

Illya turns to face him but steps away from an advancing Napoleon until he's nearly cornered against the wall. He's frowning and Napoleon notices his spare hand tapping against his thigh now. Not good. He likes the place they're staying in. He really doesn't want to have to explain to Waverly or Gaby why it's been trashed. And the dinner he's prepared tonight is, if he says so himself, going to be delicious and it would be much nicer if he and Illya could sit down like normal, civilised human beings to eat it rather than scraping it off the wall later. It's only now that Napoleon notices the awkward way Illya is cradling his arm against his chest.

"Are you alright? What happened?" Napoleon has almost closed the gap between them and Illya's scowl has deepened accordingly.

"It is not a good idea to get any closer, Cowboy."

"Illya, for God's sake, what is going on?"

Illya huffs and sticks out his jaw. "He was going to hurt them," he says and glares at Napoleon as though this explains his behaviour.

"Who was going to hurt them? He was going to hurt who?"

Illya shifts, still glaring daggers at Napoleon and carefully unzips the top of his jacket. A tiny little kitten, a mottle of grey with a white dot on its forehead sticks its head out and mews pitifully.

Napoleon blinks, opens his mouth and abruptly closes it, lost for words.

Illya lets out a frustrated noise and then brushes past Napoleon and heads for the kitchen. He collects a dishcloth from one of the drawers then settles on the couch in the main room; carefully he unzips his jacket and reveals four kittens altogether: the mewling grey one, two tortoiseshells and one black as coal with emerald green eyes.

"Ishuhh!" Napoleon doesn’t even have time to raise a hand to cover the sneeze it bursts from him so forcefully. He sniffs sharply then follows Illya into the living room.

"I told you to keep your distance," says Illya as he carefully picks each kitten up, inspecting them and then rubbing them gently with the towel. There is hissing and some noises of discontent but he works so gently that by the time he puts each one of them down they are purring contentedly.

"Are they alright?"

Illya's cradling, and there is no other word for it, cuddling, the smallest tortoiseshell who has a ginger paw resting against Illya’s chest which he is gently stroking; it's an image that Napoleon is going to treasure forever. "They’re fine, a bit damp and cold."

Napoleon nods, sniffs again. "And the other guy?"

Illya's face darkens. "He went for a swim."

"Seems perfectly reasonable." He sniffs again more forcefully and digs his handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping at his nose which is starting to run. "Do they need anything? There's some fish left over from yesterday. Or milk?"

Illya shakes his head. "Water would be better." His eyes widen. "I forgot to pick up the things you asked for," he says and he looks so stricken that Napoleon just laughs.

"I'd already guessed. I expect we can still manage to, uhh, have a, huhh, 'scuse me... ischuhhh! Ischuuhhh!" He blows his nose but the tickle hasn't quite left and he tries not to groan, knowing that he's probably in for a whole evening of this now. "... Have a pleasant evening."

Illya shifts uneasily on the couch and scoops the little black kitten up into a giant hand and rests her against his chest as she threatens to launch herself off the edge of the couch. "I can still find somewhere else to stay tonight."

Napoleon shakes his head. “It's better that they're somewhere warm and dry, isn't it?"

The rain is still lashing against the window and while he doesn't doubt Illya's ability to find somewhere else there's probably already enough cat dander in the place to keep him sneezing for a while anyway. He rubs at his nose which is already starting to prickle with the prospect of further sneezes and  he wonders if he should pack up and find somewhere else for the night. It wouldn’t be too hard to find a warm dry bed. But when he looks at Illya cradling the kitten against his chest he knows he won’t be leaving.

"I'll be fine,” he says with more certainty than he actually feels.

"Are you sure?"

"I picked up some pills after our trip to Nice, just in case. I'll go and take a couple. Anyway, it's going to be far more annoying for you. I'll sneeze all evening and then the damn things knock me out so I'm going to snore like a freight train tonight." Napoleon grins to convince him and is rewarded by Illya settling back against the couch still cuddling the kitten against his chest.

Napoleon finds the bottle of pills at the bottom of his wash bag in the bathroom and knocks a couple of them back with water from the tap. He blows his nose again but the tickle remains, a faint prickling in his sinuses and he's not sure if it's the almost need to sneeze that is making his eyes water or if it's actually being around the kittens. He stands there, willing himself to sneeze for a few moments but never gets closer than a few shaky breaths. He looks up at the dim bulb but the jaundiced yellow light it gives off isn't enough to bring the sneeze to fruition and the needling sensation in his sinuses is soon replaced with congestion as he sniffles helplessly. He grits his teeth against the urge to rub at his eyes and washes his face with a damp flannel instead.

He detours back via the bedroom and pulls out another handkerchief and when he re-enters the main living area Illya has found an old cardboard box and lined it with newspaper and the remaining clean tea towels. He's stripped down to his undershirt and has sacrificed the ugly black rollneck sweater he was wearing earlier which the kittens seem to content to make themselves at home in. Napoleon makes a mental note to burn the thing rather than let Illya keep it after this. There’s a gorgeous cashmere sweater in charcoal grey that would look perfect on Illya in the window of the shop he’s passed each evening on his way home and he resolves to go out and buy it for him tomorrow.

Illya’s put a little saucer of water on the coffee table and scoops each kitten out individually to let them drink. He scratches the grey kitten gently between the ears as it eagerly laps at the water.

“Have you named them yet?” he asks.

“Can’t name them if you’re not going to keep them.”

“About that-” He starts, then breaks off. He really doesn’t need to drive the point home by sneezing now and he squashes a knuckle against his nose in a futile attempt to postpone the inevitable. “What are you… you planning, huhh, huhh, to, uhhhh huhuhchshh! Chhhh! Chhhh! Sorry.” His body pitches forward with the effort of stifling them and he gives his head a shake after trying to dispel the woozy feeling stifling leaves him with.

“Bless you. You’ll give yourself a headache trying to keep them quiet like that.”

Napoleon looks at him with hazy eyes from behind his handkerchief and then sneezes again.

“Eshuhhh!” He blows his nose but that faint prickling feeling is still there, needling away at him. He’s grateful when Illya doesn’t bless him again.

“There was a girl feeding a cat outside the front of the bakery yesterday. Her mother chased it away with a broom, scolded the girl. But when I double backed later on through the alley at the back of the shop, the same girl was there feeding the same cat. She will look after them, find homes for them.”

Napoleon nods, tries not to feel guilty as Illya sighs and swaps one kitten for another at the saucer. “You’re not worried about her mother?”

Illya shrugs. “The girl is good at lying to her mother already. It should not pose a problem for her.”

Napoleon laughs then before he can stop himself asks, “Did you have a cat growing up?” Illya looks so comfortable with the animals that he can’t help but wonder.

Illya shakes his head. “There was a lady down the street, she had a cat. I used to play with it, go in and feed it when she was away at her daughter’s. After my father… It was not a good idea to be seen with me and my mother, so…” He shrugs. “And life in KGB does not exactly allow for pets,” he adds.

“My unit adopted a dog when we were in France, fed him scraps, named him Lucky.”

“And was he?”

Napoleon’s smile tightens. “Luckier for some than others.” God, if he and Illya are going to start swapping depressing war stories then he really needs to have a drink in his hand. He heads into the kitchen and pours himself a large glass of the Bordeaux that he’s had breathing since he started cooking this evening. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he’s really going to regret drinking on top of taking the allergy pills but he’s never been one to live by potential regrets. In that spirit he pours Illya a glass as well before he can object.

He sets dinner out on the table, stew that's hot and heartening and in a generous enough portion to satisfy even Illya's appetite. He's distracted as he does it and keep sneaking glances across at Illya and the way he keeps pulling faces at the kittens as he plays with them. Or perhaps less sneaking and more outright staring.

"Is dinner ready?" Illya asks when he catches him. Napoleon nods and with a small sigh Illya gently scratches the black kitten's head and says, "I will wash up and join you." When the kittens start to protest as Illya leaves, he crouches down next to the box and murmurs some words of reassurance to them. It’s too much, thinks Napoleon as he drains his glass. Gaby’s never going to believe him when he relates it to her.

He places his empty glass back on the table and fumbles for his handkerchief. “Ishuhh! Huh-ishuhh! Eshuhhh! Huhh-itchuhhh!” He blows his nose and rubs at his eyes, then sneezes again for good measure. “Ishuhh!”

“Cowboy-” Illya says hovering by the table, guilt written all over his face.

“Save it,” says Napoleon. “I’ve had worse.”

“Whenever I say that you tell me it is not an excuse.”

“That’s because you say it when you’ve got two broken ribs and pneumonia. Or after you’ve just been stabbed. Or- huhitschuhh!” He buries his head in the crook of his elbow as he sneezes again.

Illya doesn’t say anything but throws Napoleon another sulky, guilty look before sitting down and tucking into dinner.

Napoleon picks at his dinner while Illya polishes off a first serving and then a second. They review the progress they’ve made on the case so far and how Illya’s meeting with his contact might go tomorrow. Illya forgoes the glass of wine that Napoleon’s poured for him and swaps Napoleon’s empty glass for his full one. The next glass of wine helps the meal go down easier although Napoleon’s head feels so heavy that he can’t really taste what he’s eating.  

His nose is blocked but itches in a way that means he knows he’s going to be suffering through at least another couple of sneezing fits before the evening’s over. He rubs the tip of his nose as discreetly as possible but it doesn’t touch the infernal itch. He waits until Illya’s clearing the plates from the table and he pulls the handkerchief out of his pocket and scrubs at the tip of it more vigorously and then pinching it between his thumb and forefinger but it makes no difference and he groans in frustration.

When Illya comes back to clear the glasses away he frowns and says. “Go and lie down if it’s bothering you being around them.”

Napoleon gives an annoyed sniff at being caught off-guard but stubbornly shakes his head and shoves his handkerchief back into his pocket. “I’m fine, just a little congested.”

“Solo-” Illya says and takes a step towards him.

“Ishuhh! Huh-irshuhh!” The sneezes sneak up on him with no warning and it’s all Napoleon can do to throw his hands up in time to shield the table. He gives a couple of shaky inhales, he desperately wants to sneeze again to rid himself of the itchy feeling but nothing else is forthcoming. He glances over at Illya, embarrassed.  

Illya narrows his eyes in concern but doesn’t comment on Napoleon’s health any further. “I’ll wash up and make coffee.”

Napoleon nods. It’s one of the more agreeable things about sharing a living space with Illya. He’s happy to let Napoleon cook and then, even better, he’s happy to wash up afterwards.

Napoleon retreats into the living room still sniffling and rubbing at his nose. He’s spent most of the evenings this week stretched out on the couch and annoying Illya by confining him to the smaller armchair but seeing as the kittens have colonised the couch he settles into the uncomfortable, lumpy armchair.

His nose is still driving him crazy and no amount of rubbing or sniffling is moving the itch. He stares up at the light and tries to let his breath catch and build slowly but it’s no use. His eyes water and he can feel that damned faint prickling in his sinuses but it refuses to go anywhere that might bring him some form of relief.

He glances towards the kitchen where he can still hear Illya dealing with the dishes from dinner and decides that if he’s going to do it, now would be the best moment before Illya can object or before he comes to his senses.

Cautiously he makes his way over to the couch. Almost immediately he feels the tickle in his nose kick up a gear and his eyes start to prickle and when he blinks his eyes are wet with tears. He hesitates for a moment, hopes that’ll be enough but when he’s still left sniffling, his breath still hitching but without the relief of an actual sneeze he hedges a little closer.

Three of the kittens are curled up against each other, a puddle of tails and ears and tiny pink noses. Napoleon is not someone easily swayed by this sort of thing but he can’t help but grin at the sight of them. The grey kitten, the one that first popped its head out of Illya’s jacket mews and squeaks excitedly as Napoleon nears them.

He crouches next to the box and whispers, “Shh, you’ll get us both in trouble.” He tentatively reaches out a hand scratching the kitten gently on the top of its head and is rewarded with a deep appreciative purr. His breath catches immediately and he stifles into his shoulder. “Hkschht!”

He rests, head bent against his shoulder until he’s sure that the urge to sneeze has passed and then wipes away the tears pricking his eyes. His attention is drawn back when the kitten gently nudges his head against Napoleon’s idle hand, protesting the lack of attention.

“Sorry,” he murmurs thickly. “Although it’s probably not gonna be the last time I do- Hehkschh! Urgh, see? - The last time I do that.” The kitten stares at him and then butts his head against Napoleon’s hand again. Napoleon chuckles and resumes petting the kitten who responds with more contented purring. He scrubs his spare hand back and forth under his eyes and tries to blink away the allergic tears forming.

“Is that wise?” Illya asks poking his head out from the kitchen, attention attracted by Napoleon’s sneezing.

Napoleon shrugs. “What doesn’t kill you makes you- ishuhh! - stronger. Ishuhhh!”

“If that were true would it make our work more dangerous or less?” he says.

Napoleon sniffles as Illya returns with coffee and rubs at his nose before sneezing again. “Ishuhh! Huhushuhh! Huh-ishurhhh! Ishurrhh!” He whips the handkerchief out of his pocket and buries his head in it in an attempt to stem the sneezes. Blowing his nose has no effect and he groans as the itch only intensifies. “Huhhh-itschuhh! Itschurrhh! Ishuhrrrh!”

Illya shakes his head and shoos Napoleon back into the chair, away from the kittens and resumes his earlier position on the couch. Napoleon pitches forward again and again, still sneezing, his chest swelling with each desperate hitching breath and his body shaking with each sneeze. Napoleon blows his nose into an increasingly damp handkerchief and sighs as the sneezing slowly draws to a close and hopes he doesn't look as exhausted as he feels by the fit. His handkerchief is barely of any use so he wipes away the tears that have spilled down his cheeks with the heel of his hand still sniffling.

Illya scoops the kitten out of the box, the smallest upturn at the corner of his mouth the only visible sign of how happy he is as the kitten squeaks with excitement crawls up his chest and nuzzles at his jaw.

Napoleon takes a sip of his coffee and tries to remember the last time he saw Illya look this content. He clears his throat which feels rough and sore after the latest fit of sneezing.

“We could keep them another couple of days if you wanted?” He should regret the words as soon as they’re spoken but he doesn’t.

Illya gives him a funny look then says, “No, and anyway they need more attention than we can give them while we’re running a case. It’s not a good idea.”

Napoleon pauses, there’s something in the way that Illya isn’t looking at him. “...Oh god. You’ve done this before, haven’t you? Is this something I’m going to have to watch out for? You adopting every stray that crosses our path?”

Illya huffs and a red flush rises up his neck. “No! Not every stray.” He cuddles the kitten a little more closely against his chest and shrugs. “It was a long mission last time, I was in Tallinn for months. There was a stray dog-”

“I never knew you were such a regular Dr Doolittle!”

Illya frowns, not getting the reference and continues on. “There was a stray dog, skinny thing, flea-bitten. I started feeding her scraps, washed her, got her healthy. There was a lot of empty time during the mission and my handler wasn’t in the city so…”

“It was your way of rebelling. Finding a connection with something while you were doing whatever you had to do.”

Illya rolls his eyes and then looks away. He lifts the kitten off of his knee as she starts to climb down his leg off the couch. “Son of local politician was suspected of harbouring unfavourable ideas. It was my job to find out if he was a threat or not.” The look on his face means Napoleon doesn’t have to ask how the whole thing ended.

“I’m sorry.”

“If it hadn’t been me it would have been somebody else.” Illya shrugs. They're both silent for a long time. “I found the dog a good home in the end.”

Napoleon nods, as though he can really understand what Illya’s been through. He’d take his run as the CIA’s lackey every time over what Illya chose. He’s struck by how young Illya looks sitting there on the couch, his long legs stretched out, his hair drying in soft waves after being out in the rain. Illya catches him staring and cocks his head at him. Napoleon holds his gaze for a moment and then knocks back the rest of his coffee to distract himself.

If Illya’s problems is too much attachment, to Russia, to Gaby, and now to U.N.C.L.E. and Waverly then Napoleon is the other side of the same coin. Ever since he joined the army as nothing more than a kid on a lark to get away from home and see the big wide world he’s refused to be tied down to anything. His whole life up until the CIA caught him had been an attempt to avoid this sort of routine and domesticity. His partnership with Illya and Gaby has led to the very thing he’s spent most of his life trying to avoid, cosy evenings in shared apartments with home-cooked dinners. He is tied to them now and the thing that unsettles him most is that he likes it.

His nose is starting to run and he swipes the damp handkerchief back and forth under it a few times. It’s already starting to feel sore and he’s sure it must be turning cherry red already. He misjudges a movement and the gentle touch to the tip of his nose is enough to stir up a violent itch that shoots straight through his nose.

“Ishurhhh! Ishurhhh! Ishhhh! Huhhh, uhh…. Damnit.” Napoleon rubs at his nose at the tickle abates as suddenly as it had appeared.

Illya tuts. “I thought you took something to help.”

Napoleon chuckles from behind his handkerchief. “Believe me, this is the pretty version.” He clears his throat embarrassed by how rough his voice has become over the course of the evening.

Illya’s eyebrows rise in alarm at this statement. “Perhaps you should-”

“Eshurhh!” Napoleon snaps forward with such violence that he almost tumbles out of the chair. “Huh-eshurrh! Ehsurrh!” He blows his nose again and groans. He’s not sure if it’s just the allergy pills or that he’s combined them with wine or if it’s just the effect of the continual sneezing but the room tilts and he feels woozy. He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes.

“Cowboy?”

“I‘m alright.”

“I think it’s time you turn in.” Napoleon startles at Illya’s hand on his shoulder although the touch is gentle. He blinks up at him blearily and nods before rising, a little unsteadily, to his feet.

“H’gssht! Ishh! Ishhuuh!”

Illya’s grip on his shoulder tightens a little with each sneeze and doesn’t loosen until Napoleon opens his eyes and mumbles with even less conviction this time. “I’m fine.”

Illya squeezes his shoulder again. “I don’t think it is doing you any good being around them.” He looks down at his undershirt which is coated with cat hair. “Or me,” he adds ruefully and takes a step back.

Napoleon stifles another sneeze against his wrist and drags it under his nose, deciding he has stopped caring about appearances for the evening.

“Perhaps you’re- hsccht! - right.” He scrubs a hand over his face but makes no effort to move until Illya gives him a nudge.

He sighs wearily and mumbles goodnight to Illya as he makes his way to his bedroom. He pauses in the doorway and looks back at Illya who is already making himself comfortable on the couch again. One of his legs is dangling over the edge of the couch, they’ve not yet encountered one long enough for him to stretch out on fully, and the grey kitten is curling up on his chest as Illya gently tickles its ears.

Even a few months ago Napoleon would have had almost no qualms about taking Illya at his word at finding somewhere else to stay and letting him leave and it certainly wouldn’t have bothered him to leave in Illya’s place. Instead, he has spent the evening sneezing his head off after choosing to spend the evening with Illya and his four little furballs and if he were given the choice he’d make the same decision to stay all over again.

**

When Napoleon wakes the following morning he feels awful. His head is killing him and it feels like he swallowed the Sahara overnight. He rubs at his eyes which feel gritty and sore. He doesn’t even try to breathe through his nose which is still blocked. He’s tempted to just pull the pillow over his head and sleep for the rest of the day but he’s supposed to be covering Illya when he meets their contact later.

He crawls out of bed and turns the shower on as hot and high as the ancient creaking plumbing will allow. It manages to steam up the tiny bathroom and if Illya’s already up and about he must have had a cold shower this morning to have left Napoleon this much hot water.

The steam soon starts to work on his stuffy sinuses and before long he can feel his head beginning to clear. The only downside to this is that his nose quickly starts to run and from that it’s not long before he starts sneezing. His sneezes echo loudly throughout the tiled room with desperate noisy buildups which he can still hear even over the noise of the antique plumbing.

By the time he’s dressed he feels more human and less like he did the morning after he and Gaby decided it would be a good idea to drink a bottle of Ouzo that night they’d been stuck in Greece. God, Illya had been insufferable that day.

“I was just about to come and see if you were alive,” says Illya putting a fresh pot of coffee on the table as Solo enters. “I made breakfast.”

“So I see.” Napoleon raises an eyebrow at the plates of eggs and sausages and the toast stacked neatly in the rack. Even though he can now breathe through his nose his throat still feels like it’s been sandpapered over and he’d rather just stick to the coffee but this is clearly Illya’s way of making amends for bringing home the kittens last night. He looks around but he can’t see any trace of them. His nose tickles traitorously anyway and he rubs at it gently, finding it still sore from all of the attention yesterday. “Our guests have already left?”

“I spoke with the girl this morning; she will find them good homes.”

Napoleon studies Illya carefully but he seems sanguine about it. “I’m glad,” he says and is rewarded with one of Illya’s rare smiles.

“Eat,” says Illya, loading eggs onto Napoleon’s plate.

Napoleon ducks his head away and shudders with a sneeze he manages to half suppress against his shoulder. “Hchhxt!”

“Bless you,” Illya sounds dismayed. “I thought this would have stopped.”

“Hhhh, hhh-ishuhhh!” Napoleon shakes his head, trying to throw off the lingering need to sneeze and wipes his nose in his handkerchief. “It’s not so bad. I’ll be fine once we’re out of here.”

“You’re not going to be much use if I can hear you sneezing while you’re following me.”

Napoleon coughs into a clenched fist and takes another sip of his coffee. “I’ll be fine. Quiet as a church mouse.”

Illya lapses into silence but Napoleon knows that every cough and sniffle is being monitored as he eats breakfast.

Once he has a meal inside of him he’s surprised at how much better he feels. Illya makes coffee that’s roughly the strength of rocket fuel and it does wonders at throwing off the groggy, fatigued feeling that he’d woken up with.

He must pass scrutiny as Illya doesn’t try to stop him or make any further comments as they prepare for the day.

They check the strength of the tracker signal and once they are both satisfied Illya gets ready to leave. Napoleon will give him a good ten minutes’ head start before he sets off for the same destination where Illya is due to meet their contact.

Illya pauses in the corridor, flat cap in hand and turns back to Napoleon. He has such a serious look on his face that Napoleon wonders if he’s changed his mind and they’re heading for an argument about whether or not Napoleon’s up to the job. Instead Illya nods solemnly and says, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Last night. It can’t have been pleasant for you.”

Napoleon scratches the back of his neck and sighs. There’s no point in denying it. “You’re not going to make a habit of it are you?”

Illya smiles. Gaby’s wicked teasing streak is rubbing off on him. “Would you stop me if I did?”

Napoleon hesitates and Illya’s eyes widen in surprise. “Oh,” he says.

“You’ll be late.” Napoleon shepherds Illya towards the door trying to get him away as quickly as he can.

“Thank you Cowboy,” he says and squeezes Napoleon’s shoulder. “I will see you later this evening. I promise to try not to adopt any more strays along the way.”  He chuckles and waves as he leaves.

 

Edited August 29, 2016 by Bruyere
Added fandom to title

[tma]

**SQUEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

 

OMG- I just LOVED this!!  I cannot even tell you.  Heny Cavil is just...  and thinking about him as Napoleon and all sneezy and yummy.  

The description of Illya with the kittens was just so sweet and I could completely see that.

Oh... and Napoleon with stuck sneezes totally just drove me crazy - in a good way.   Mmmmm....

Thanks so much for that lovely piece of work. 

[darkness-is-the-light]

I haven't watched the movie but I've read most of the fetish stories for it and this is wonderful. Like @tma said, the stuck sneezes were greatly appreciated and I enjoyed his frustration regarding them. You write incredibly well and I'd love to see more from you in the future. Also, kittens are always adorable and I felt warm and fuzzy reading about them. 

[queenie]

Yes. 

[Bruyere]

@tma Thank you so much! I'm so happy that you enjoyed it!

@Sophie83540 Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it!

@queenie Thanks!

[RiversD]

Girl, you know (I hope) I love your MFU stuff, and this is just wonderful. The feel you have for the characters and the details you give of their lives makes me so happy.

I like how the focal point of Solo's grumpiness seems to be that he was promised diamonds and hasn't seen any yet (I exaggerate, but I love the sulky little nit).

I also like how cagey Illya is before actually bringing out the kittens, and how Solo's probably more shocked by their appearance than he would have been by just about anything else Illya could have been hiding from him.

I love how the arrival of the kittens changes the whole atmosphere in the flat. Illya becomes all snuggly and parental, and Napoleon goes from bored and irritated with everyone to bewildered enjoyment of a new side of Illya.

On 16/08/2016 at 2:11 PM, Bruyere said:

Illya's cradling, and there is no other word for it, cuddling, the smallest tortoiseshell who has a ginger paw resting against Illya’s chest which he is gently stroking; it's an image that Napoleon is going to treasure forever.

I too, shall treasure this image. It makes me all warm inside. (Also, I like that even once Solo starts sneezing, he's still more interested in knowing if the kitties are alright. Softie.)

On 16/08/2016 at 2:11 PM, Bruyere said:

He rubs at his nose which is already starting to prickle with the prospect of further sneezes and  he wonders if he should pack up and find somewhere else for the night. It wouldn’t be too hard to find a warm dry bed. But when he looks at Illya cradling the kitten against his chest he knows he won’t be leaving.

This section went from deliciously hot to *too cute* territory in about a heartbeat.

Speaking of things that I cannot handle, that section with Napoleon needing-to-but-not-able-to sneeze in the bathroom? I need to go lie down after that, because dang.

Napoleon mentally re-dressing Illya is brilliant (especially since Illya totally knows his way around fashion and has therefore chosen to wear the ugly sweater).

On 16/08/2016 at 2:11 PM, Bruyere said:

“About that-” He starts, then breaks off. He really doesn’t need to drive the point home by sneezing now and he squashes a knuckle against his nose in a futile attempt to postpone the inevitable. “What are you… you planning, huhh, huhh, to, uhhhh huhuhchshh! Chhhh! Chhhh! Sorry.” His body pitches forward with the effort of stifling them and he gives his head a shake after trying to dispel the woozy feeling stifling leaves him with.

*fans self* I'm not sure I'm going to make it through this fic. 'futile attempt to postpone the inevitable.' was bad enough, but then you give me woozy-after-stifling Napoleon? Unfair. I cannot cope.

On 16/08/2016 at 2:11 PM, Bruyere said:

He’s grateful when Illya doesn’t bless him again.

*squishes own face because awkward roomies* also: the prickling feeling is needling him? *explodes*

Story-sharing, yay!

On 16/08/2016 at 2:11 PM, Bruyere said:

He's distracted as he does it and keep sneaking glances across at Illya and the way he keeps pulling faces at the kittens as he plays with them

On 16/08/2016 at 2:11 PM, Bruyere said:

When the kittens start to protest as Illya leaves, he crouches down next to the box and murmurs some words of reassurance to them. It’s too much, thinks Napoleon as he drains his glass. Gaby’s never going to believe him when he relates it to her.

BE STILL MY HEART. That's adorable. Gaby, you are missing a beautiful thing.

On 16/08/2016 at 2:11 PM, Bruyere said:

“Whenever I say that you tell me it is not an excuse.”

“That’s because you say it when you’ve got two broken ribs and pneumonia."

Not content with bringing the cute, you are also bringing the funny. This was particularly good.

On 16/08/2016 at 2:11 PM, Bruyere said:

 

“Ishuhh! Huh-irshuhh!” The sneezes sneak up on him with no warning and it’s all Napoleon can do to throw his hands up in time to shield the table.

Good grief, that's hot.

On 16/08/2016 at 2:11 PM, Bruyere said:

Illya shakes his head and shoos Napoleon back into the chair, away from the kittens and resumes his earlier position on the couch. Napoleon pitches forward again and again, still sneezing, his chest swelling with each desperate hitching breath and his body shaking with each sneeze. Napoleon blows his nose into an increasingly damp handkerchief and sighs as the sneezing slowly draws to a close and hope he doesn't look as exhausted as he feels by the fit. His handkerchief is barely of any use so he wipes away the tears that have spilled down his cheeks with the heel of his hand still sniffling.

You see that puddle on the floor over there? That's me. Cause of death: this paragraph. Good grief.

Just... argh, the sustained detail you give to Napoleon's allergy torture is amazing.

Love this, love you,

xxx Rivers xxx

 

[marzipan]

I really enjoyed this! I love the film, and the way you write about the characters is terrific. Thanks for writing! I hope you write more MFU fanfiction in the future!