And yet another MFU blurb

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII.

Summary: Takes place post-retirement.  In which Napoleon takes “Dance like no one is watching” to heart–not realizing that Illya is watching.

Notes:
There are two versions of this piece.  This is the light slash
version (also cross-posted to AO3).  There is a gen version on my
dreamwidth if you’d prefer reading that.
The two blurbs are around 95% similar.

Life in retirement from U.N.C.L.E. meant a lot of time on
Illya’s hands.  A lot of it was spent
traveling on adventures with Napoleon and their cat, Baba Yaga, for
globetrotting was an indulgence they could never get enough of.  But a lot of the time was also spent at their
Hawaiian bungalow, watching time go by.

It was always a stark contrast to the fast-pace life they
used to know; there were times that it felt very foreign, even as time went
on.  Illya still yearned for the rush of
adrenaline and the flirting with danger—he could tell that Napoleon did, too,
in spite of how at home he seemed here in the tropics.

Illya had been watching TV with Baba Yaga one morning when
the he decided that it was time for snack; Baba Yaga let off an offended meow as
he stopped petting her and got up, and grumpily followed him to the kitchen,
bumping into his leg as Illya suddenly stopped short in the doorway.

Illya had stopped upon seeing a most unusual sight in the
kitchen.  Napoleon was preparing a stew
that smelled like it would be another culinary masterpiece for lunch—but
Napoleon himself, wearing an apron decked with tropical flowers and lush green
leaves, was dancing to the music on the radio as he worked on the stew.

It was “September,” by Earth, Wind & Fire—and Napoleon
was very clearly into the music, stirring the stew in time to the music.  He did a pirouette, which allowed him to grab
a pinch of spices from the cabinet and then gracefully toss it into the stew.

Illya watched in utter fascination as Napoleon now sampled
the stew, and then used the spoon as an impromptu microphone as he continued to
dance, seemingly without a care in the world.

It took Napoleon another pirouette to notice that he was
being watched; he stopped in mid-twirl, blushing bright red and looking rather
embarrassed as he noticed Illya watching in fascination and Baba Yaga watching
in utter confusion.

“Er…” Napoleon said, indicating the radio.  “I was just…
I mean, ah…  Lunch will be ready
in about five minutes.”

“The song will be over by then,” Illya noted.  He walked into the kitchen, smiling.  “Shall we dance until then?”

Napoleon blinked in surprise; dancing wasn’t something that
Illya did often—and certainly not to this kind of music.  Waltzes and the foxtrot, yes—on rare
occasions, the tango…  But… disco?

And yet, he extended his hand to Napoleon, who smiled and
took it; the two of them danced together there in their little kitchen.  Baba Yaga stared incredulously at the both of
them for a moment before deciding to dismiss the whole thing and give her
attention to her scratching post instead.

But Napoleon and
Illya continued to dance together, enjoying one of many cherished moments
together—moments that they had fought for so long and so hard over many years
of dedicated service.  Yes, it was
different from the adrenaline-filled life they had known before, but that
didn’t make it any less enjoyable—especially when they still had each other,
after all this time, still full of happiness and joy—and full of the same love
they had felt for each other even then.
That was one thing that had never changed—and something that they knew
never would, no matter how much time had passed.

And as they looked into each other’s eyes, stealing kisses
as they danced across the kitchen floor, they had to agree, it had been worth
it all just for this—the promise of a happy future together.