ext_120019 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
georgiesmith.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2009-08-30 11:04 am
georgiesmith.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2009-08-30 11:04 am
Entry tags:
Comfort and Joy by Elijahwildchild (NC-17)
Fandom: THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E.
Pairing: Napoleon Solo / Illya Kuryakin
Length: 88k
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elijahwildchild
Author Website: None that I'm aware of, but her stories can be found at The Chrome and Gunmetal Madhouse
Why this must be read: For my last rec of the month I'm sharing a story from one of my favorite fan fiction authors. Her stories are intricate and never lack an emotional powerhouse of a punch. Her characterizations of the boys is spot on. The sex scenes sizzle. In this tale, Illya has gone to London alone on a mission, with Napoleon heading off to Mexico on a mission of his own. Napoleon had a bad feeling all along about Illya's European affair and after they part on somewhat awkward terms, the feelings of unease increase. Oh the angst! Oh the hurt and, best of all, the comfort! It's yet another scrumptious story by a terrific author that you'll find yourself reading more than once.
Thanks for coming along for the ride with me this month. I hope you've enjoyed the stories I've recommended. I know there will be even more marvelous ones coming our way in September.
Hampstead Heath, London - December 5th
In the gathering dusk the man was just visible in the distance, about a hundred yards away, moving slowly towards him along the snowy path. In the shadows of the woodland bisected by the broad path, Illya cursed under his breath. Against the brightness of the landscape the dark shadow stood out in sharp relief. A floodlight couldn't make you more obvious, my friend, he thought angrily. Idiot!
He stood from his crouched position near the base of an oak. As he rose he gathered a handful of snow and moulded it into a snowball. The distance closed to fifty and then twenty-five yards. As the man drew level Illya drew back his arm and tossed the snowball softly into the newcomer's path. The man gasped and shrank back in shock. He turned a white and petrified face to Illya and took a hesitant step towards him.
And then his head exploded.
Illya's P38 was clear of its holster before the body hit the ground and he was running and sliding between the tree trunks as he scrambled away from the path deeper into the trees. A chunk of beech wood smacked into his shoulder as part of the trunk next to him exploded. Gavno! High-powered rifle; maybe five hundred yards away to his right. He jinked to the left amongst the sparse trees, aiming for the denser woodland thirty yards away. Twenty. Fifteen.
A massive impact suddenly spun him round and he fell to his knees. It felt as though he'd been hit by a truck. He struggled to rise but found himself instead on his face in the snow. He couldn't seem to catch his breath. Stupid, he thought. Have you forgotten how to breathe, Illya Nikolaievich? He tried to take a deep breath and was wracked by a spasm of coughing. He felt as though he was choking, drowning. It was getting hard to think somehow.
He struggled to push himself up with trembling arms but collapsed at the searing pain in his left side. He noted the snow by his face was splashed with scarlet, as he tasted copper. As his senses began to shut down he was dimly aware of approaching footsteps creaking through the snow. His last thought as darkness claimed him was that he'd been unbelievably stupid.
I'm sorry Napoleon...
Comfort and Joy
Pairing: Napoleon Solo / Illya Kuryakin
Length: 88k
Author on LJ:
elijahwildchild Author Website: None that I'm aware of, but her stories can be found at The Chrome and Gunmetal Madhouse
Why this must be read: For my last rec of the month I'm sharing a story from one of my favorite fan fiction authors. Her stories are intricate and never lack an emotional powerhouse of a punch. Her characterizations of the boys is spot on. The sex scenes sizzle. In this tale, Illya has gone to London alone on a mission, with Napoleon heading off to Mexico on a mission of his own. Napoleon had a bad feeling all along about Illya's European affair and after they part on somewhat awkward terms, the feelings of unease increase. Oh the angst! Oh the hurt and, best of all, the comfort! It's yet another scrumptious story by a terrific author that you'll find yourself reading more than once.
Thanks for coming along for the ride with me this month. I hope you've enjoyed the stories I've recommended. I know there will be even more marvelous ones coming our way in September.
Hampstead Heath, London - December 5th
In the gathering dusk the man was just visible in the distance, about a hundred yards away, moving slowly towards him along the snowy path. In the shadows of the woodland bisected by the broad path, Illya cursed under his breath. Against the brightness of the landscape the dark shadow stood out in sharp relief. A floodlight couldn't make you more obvious, my friend, he thought angrily. Idiot!
He stood from his crouched position near the base of an oak. As he rose he gathered a handful of snow and moulded it into a snowball. The distance closed to fifty and then twenty-five yards. As the man drew level Illya drew back his arm and tossed the snowball softly into the newcomer's path. The man gasped and shrank back in shock. He turned a white and petrified face to Illya and took a hesitant step towards him.
And then his head exploded.
Illya's P38 was clear of its holster before the body hit the ground and he was running and sliding between the tree trunks as he scrambled away from the path deeper into the trees. A chunk of beech wood smacked into his shoulder as part of the trunk next to him exploded. Gavno! High-powered rifle; maybe five hundred yards away to his right. He jinked to the left amongst the sparse trees, aiming for the denser woodland thirty yards away. Twenty. Fifteen.
A massive impact suddenly spun him round and he fell to his knees. It felt as though he'd been hit by a truck. He struggled to rise but found himself instead on his face in the snow. He couldn't seem to catch his breath. Stupid, he thought. Have you forgotten how to breathe, Illya Nikolaievich? He tried to take a deep breath and was wracked by a spasm of coughing. He felt as though he was choking, drowning. It was getting hard to think somehow.
He struggled to push himself up with trembling arms but collapsed at the searing pain in his left side. He noted the snow by his face was splashed with scarlet, as he tasted copper. As his senses began to shut down he was dimly aware of approaching footsteps creaking through the snow. His last thought as darkness claimed him was that he'd been unbelievably stupid.
I'm sorry Napoleon...
Comfort and Joy