"Oh, Napoleon," Illya gasped, his head of flaxen gold thrown back in sensual abandon, his beloved partner's appellation wrenched from his lips as inevitably as folded bills grasped by a pickpocket's nimble digits from the bulging pockets of a tourist so exceptionally stupid as to put his money clip in his outer suit jacket pocket, not that Napoleon would ever do such thing, except maybe that one time, and it was only because certain tourists are wary of putting exploding money clips in their trouser pockets for obvious reason, and really, Illya, will you ever let me hear the end of that?
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winterfish
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Date: 2009-07-09 02:56 am (UTC)