Illya was spending the night at Napoleon's place. It was Saturday afternoon when his partner called and asked if he wanted to come over to watch the televised boxing matches. Illya had agreed and inquired about food.
"Look, Tovarisch, tonight we're eating Saturday night food: beans and franks. Bring beer; I have enough vodka for you," Napoleon had replied.
The Russian arrived around six – thirty and even though the meal wasn't the steak and potatoes he was used to Napoleon preparing, it was very good and plentiful. "This is excellent, Napoleon, when I make beans and franks they do not taste like this."
"You have to doctor the food, Illya. I always add some onions, brown sugar, a little ketchup and mustard to the beans and you'll notice the buns are toasted and warm. I also heated the sauerkraut and mixed in a teaspoon of caraway seeds.
Illya shrugged and kept eating. He was a bit embarrassed that it just never occurred to him add anything to canned food to improve the taste.
They finished their meal and Illya took their plates into the kitchen to place into the sink. He grabbed his bottle of vodka from the freezer along with some ice for Napoleon's glass and returned to the living room where they had eaten off snack tables. When Napoleon went to the TV to change the channel, Illya noticed a photo album on the bottom shelf of the coffee table and decided to peruse it.
He flipped each page to see pictures of his partner as a child, teenager and young man with various family members and friends. He turned one more page and gaped at the photograph before him. He couldn't help it, he began to giggle and when Napoleon looked askance at him, he broke into loud guffaws.
"I am sorry, Napoleon! But seeing this photograph makes me very happy there are no pictures of me at that age!"
Napoleon craned his neck to see what the blond found so funny and frowned. It was one of his prom night pictures; he was standing midway up the stairway of his parents' home wearing a sky-blue tuxedo, white shirt with a dark blue bowtie and matching shoes. "Hey!" he exclaimed, "I loved that tux! I made it look good!"
"You think so?" Illya smirked. He snatched the photo from the album and crowed, "Maybe I should take it to HQ and ask the women in the secretarial pool for their opinion!"
"You sneaky, conniving little Russian!" Napoleon yelped as he jumped across the coffee table and began wrestling with his laughing partner to get the picture back. He had him pinned down when the smaller man groaned and suddenly froze. "What's the matter?" Napoleon said as he got off him. "Is it your back?"
Illya pushed Napoleon onto his butt as he leapt up and ran. "No! It was a big ox on my chest!"
Napoleon caught up with him in the kitchen and finally was able to retrieve the picture by giving his partner an Indian rope burn that caused him to drop it on the floor. When his breathing returned to normal, he said, "One day, Kuryakin, I'm going to find something out embarrassing about you and threaten to spread it all over HQ to see how you like it!
Illya rubbed his abused wrist and then reached into the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. Tossing one to Napoleon he said, "You can certainly try to find something embarrassing; I doubt you will. Come; the televised fights are about to start."
Napoleon followed his partner back to the living room. Oh, Tovarisch, finding something I can hold over your head is now at the top of my To Do list.