Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin

Category: slash

Rating: R

Word Count: 1647

Summary: A last minute change of plans

Table/Prompt: Pounce!Porn Table Prompt: There’s Something on Your Face

 

 

 

 

“Aunt Amy isn’t going to make it back to town today so we’re on our own tonight.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Napoleon, I know you were looking forward to this evening.”

“The weather can’t be helped, better she stay safely upstate than venture out in it.”

“Shall I see about some reservations then?”

Napoleon raised a brow at his partner. “Ah, not necessarily, a night in would be fine.”

Illya didn’t look up from his own paperwork. “Not even at Mama’s?”

“Mama Tonia does take out. I already have wine.”

“That’s settled then, I’ll bring dinner.”

***

Several hours later he was in the lab when Illya realized that he forgot about a cake. He let out a string of words in several languages that he knew his assistant didn’t understand but his tone was clear as could be. Cheryl looked up from her own workbench expecting to see holes melted in Illya’s tabletop, at the least, after that unintelligible outburst.

“Illya?”

“My apologies. I just remembered something rather important and,” he shrugged, “unless you know of a bakery that delivers nights, there may be no saving my plans.”

Cheryl looked at the clock and back to Illya. “I think you might be sunk, Illya. It’s almost five now. And I don’t know of anywhere that will deliver on this short a notice.” At his expression, Cheryl spoke again, “Do you need to feed a dozen or do you just need something simple?”

“A birthday cake.” Illya added very quietly, “For two.”

“Simple, then! Make one.”

Illya’s look was no happier than it had been since the conversation started. “I am not a baker.”

“You don’t need to be. I guess since you aren’t going to order dessert at a restaurant you are dining in with your mystery birthday guest?”

“Yes.” Illya folded his arms. “I’m picking up dinner but the menu doesn’t go as far as cake. And I would like to present my,” his pause was imperceptible, “friend with an actual birthday cake.”

Cheryl started talking even as she was taking a note pad and pencil from her worktable drawer, “Just imagine that this is a chemistry experiment. Follow these instructions exactly and you will have a perfect cake for two.” She bent over the paper and started writing.

She continued to write as Illya cleared away his own work and took off his lab coat, exchanging it for his suit jacket. He walked over to her table and looked over her shoulder as she finished.

“Everything you need should already be in your kitchen, no milk or eggs needed. You do have a cake pan, correct?”

Illya’s kitchen was a standard issue UNCLE furnished one, he remembered in the back of a cupboard seeing square and oblong pans. “Yes.”

“Ok, here then.” She handed him the paper she had written on, “You probably don’t have a sifter, don’t worry about that, just stir the stuffing out of it with a fork and you’ll be fine. Follow along just as it says here on the recipe and you will have the very best cake ever. And don’t worry about frosting, you won’t need it.”

Illya folded the paper into his pocket and thanked her. He went on his way never seeing the grin Cheryl flashed his back as he left.

***

When he got to Mama Tonia’s, Mama herself was seating customers. She greeted him warmly and then looked to the door, “Napoleon is on his way, yes?”

“Not tonight Mama, we’re staying in. I’m getting dinner to go and we’re staying out of the snow.”

“Ah, it is good you do not have far to go. You want your usual then?”

“Yes, and I’d like to come back to get it in an hour or so, I have some things to do first.” He wasn’t about to admit that he was going home to bake a cake.

“You do not need to come back out in this! I will have little Vinnie bring it over, it isn’t far.”

“I can’t ask you or Vinnie…”

Mama cut him off with a laugh, “Vinnie, he likes to drive his truck, he thinks that delivery is fun, he thinks we should offer this always. Let us indulge him, yes?”

There was no arguing with Mama, as usual, so Illya allowed her to dictate his order to a waitress and he handed over cash and a generous tip for the eager delivery boy, Vinnie.

“I will send him in an hour. He will talk to the doorman, yes?”

“That will be fine. Mr. Chalmers will be expecting him.”

***

Illya read through the recipe again, checked his counter top and made sure that every ingredient was present and accounted for, that his measuring cups and spoons were ready and that the pan he had unearthed from the back of a low cupboard was dry after his washing of it. He rolled up his sleeves and wished he had brought his lab coat home.

He measured the dry ingredients just as Cheryl’s instructions said, then stirred them thoroughly since, as she had said, he didn’t have a sifter. Then he made three impressions in the dry mix and poured in the oil and vanilla and when he poured the vinegar he understood her note in parentheses that said “(it’s supposed to do that Illya, enjoy! Now pour the water.)” The vinegar and soda reacted dramatically and he laughed out loud, pouring the water and stirring again, then carefully sitting the pan in his oven, already heated and ready to go.

He thought about a quick shower but was afraid to leave the kitchen in case something went awry, so instead he sat at the table, watching the cake in the oven as it rose into a dark beautiful perfection. The timer he set went off as his phone rang in a pattern he knew was the doorman calling. He grabbed the phone as he was opening the oven.

“I’ll be right down, Mr. Chalmers, thank you for ringing me.” He did as the instructions said, poking a toothpick into the center of the cake, pulling it out and finding it had nothing sticking to it, the recipe said that meant it was done. He set the cake on the counter and grabbed his keys on his way to collect Napoleon’s birthday dinner from the lobby.

***

Napoleon opened his door to find Illya and dinner, a lovelier combination he’d rarely seen, he decided. It had been a long day full of paperwork and boring meetings and discouraging weather reports. He was ready for a relaxing evening.

Illya carried his still warm burden to the kitchen and started to unpack containers, the cake he hid behind the paper bag that the dinner had arrived in. He looked up to see Napoleon watching him with an odd expression.

“Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.” Napoleon still had a bemused look.

Illya looked a question at him. Napoleon merely shook his head and moved toward the counter, picking up containers and transferring them to the table, already set for dinner.

Illya removed his coat and gloves, walking to the hall closet to put them away and when he returned to the kitchen it was to find Napoleon waiting for him in the doorway.

“You have something, just there, on your cheek.” Napoleon leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Illya’s lips, moving on before Illya could respond, kissing his way across Illya’s cheek, then pulling back, licking his lips. “Mmm, chocolate. What have you been up to, tovarisch?”

Illya tried briefly for indignation, failed, then merely sighed and led Napoleon to the counter. He moved the sack and showed Napoleon the little cake. “It’s not Aunt Amy’s Poppyseed Cake, I’m sorry to say.”

Napoleon turned to Illya, still standing close. “You made me a birthday cake?”

“I didn’t think to order one, your Aunt Amy usually takes care of that sort of thing.”

“You made me a cake?”

“Yes, Napoleon, I did,” the indignation stuck that time, making Illya bristle under Napoleon’s gaze.

“Nobody but my Aunt Amy has ever baked me a cake for my birthday. And you did.” Napoleon’s voice was happier than Illya had heard it all week.

“It’s just chemistry, Napoleon.” Now the indignation turned to embarrassment. And then Napoleon’s words registered. “Nobody but Aunt Amy bakes you birthday cakes?” Surely some of the many women Napoleon squired around must have baked and cooked for him.

“That’s right. Until now. Thank you, Illya. It is a wonderful cake.”

“You haven’t even tried it. It might be horrible.”

“It’s the thought, Illya, that counts. I think we should try it though, to be sure, right?”

Napoleon was already taking a knife from the drawer and cutting two small square bites out of the pan, holding one out to Illya as he put one in his own mouth. It was still warm from the oven, moist and chocolate and delicious.

After Illya had swallowed his bite of cake and agreed that it had turned out acceptable for consumption, Napoleon kissed him again, this time with more intent.

The lingering taste of chocolate mingled in their mouths as they kissed, tongues dancing as hands found buttons and zippers and Napoleon led Illya toward the couch, kissing him all the while, hands stroking jackets and holsters and the rest of their clothing away and devouring each other with a fierce want, teasing and demanding in turns until it no longer mattered who had the upper hand, only that their hands were full of each other and their low voiced commands were requesting the same fulfillment.

***

“You realize that I can heat that up, don’t you?”

“I like cold pasta, Napoleon.”

Napoleon shrugged, “Have it your way.”

“I usually do.”

Napoleon’s grin was satisfied as he watched his lover smirk at him.

***

Wacky Cake

1 1/2 Cups flour
1 Cup sugar
3 Tablespoons cocoa
1 teaspoon soda
dash of salt
Sift these into an ungreased square pan.

Make three wells in the dry ingredients with a spoon.

In the first well put 1 teaspoon vanilla
In the second put 6 Tablespoons cooking oil
In the last well put 1 Tablespoon vinegar
Pour 1 Cup water over the whole thing

Mix with a fork until there are no lumps

Bake at 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes.