Ashleigh Anpilova


Napoleon knows he and Illya are destined to be together.

A pre-slash story.

Written: August 2009. Word count: 200.




He had known from the moment he had met the slim, blond, distrustful, aloof, quiet, deadly Russian, that they would be together until death finally parted them.


He had known from the very first moment, when he had looked down into the cold blue eyes, and had shaken the pale hand that they would start of as partners, begin to tolerate one another, then grow to be friends, and finally one day they would become lovers.


He knew it; just as he knew the sun would rise each morning and set each evening.


It was destined. They were destined. Fate had brought them together; how else could you explain a Russian in America at the height of the Cold War? A Russian with KGB links being employed by U.N.C.L.E.? It was, as his grandmother was fond of saying, 'kismet'.


He didn't know when it would happen. It might be next week, next month, next year, five years, ten, when they retired from field duty. But it would happen. He, Napoleon Solo, would take Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin into his arms, into his bed, and into his heart.

It was not a case of if.


It was simply a case of when.



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