MFY (31/54).html Trivia note: As to why Illya did not find 'new bills' in the pack of cash he was given by April Dancer. 'Eurodollars' have not been fully replaced yet. Especially in the Eastern bloc countries, where banks are somewhat low on the distribution list. Also, there is somewhat of a prejudice in favor of the old currency - and April (if offered a choice) would have given them the most desirable forms of currency.

The Man from Yesterday

A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story

by Darklady

Chapter Thirty-One: A Day in the Life of a Lucky Man

Rated: NC-17

************
I finally wake to a perfected world.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and Napoleon Anthony Solo is sleeping in my arms. He is so handsome in the sunlight, with his strong legs tangled in the printed sheets. The dark hairs reflect bronze highlights in the shaft of light that comes through the window and warms the tanned gold that is his skin. The rich mahogany that is his hair. Such soft, thick hair.

The alarm starts, but I end it before the harsh tone can disturb his rest.

Napasha shifts, and I see his cock rise, half full from the dreams of the night. I cannot resist. I ease down until I can place a soft kiss on the blushing peach shaft. Then another. As always, I am amazed by the miracle of that velvet flesh filling and lengthening. A damp stroke of my tongue over the rosy head brings a groan, and his eyelashes flutter. The first drop of fluid is salty and slick on my tongue.

"Lay back, Napasha," I murmur before taking his shaft deep into my throat. It feels so good there. I pull back, running my tongue over the sensitive head, then dive again to claim his full length.

He leans over until he is parallel to me, his cheek leaning against my thigh. I am hard already, and the first touch of his lips brings out a groan. Da. He is so good at that.

I stifle my cries with the nearest thing at hand. His cock.

His lips close on me even as mine seal on him. Taking his cock deep into my throat, I let the sensitive flesh absorb the vibrations wrought by its owners mouth. A mouth which responds with more and stronger licks. Which brings out more moans and whimpers to tease his eager rod. Precious feedback, and all too relished. Within seconds we are both spurting, too frantic with pleasure and haste to be subtle.

"What a nice wakeup call." Napasha smiles up at me. "I'll have to sleep late more often.

"That is the nice thing about a warm climate. Very few blankets."

He places a tender kiss on the back of my knee before getting up from our bed. "One more nice thing about California. Very large showers."

I grin at the invitation in his voice - then I accept it.

**********

"Good morning," David calls from the kitchen. "Breakfast should be here soon."

As I walk across the hall, the doorbell rings.

"That'll be the tamale man now." David looks up from where he is slicing papaya. "Illya? Could you get that? I've left a twenty on the hall table."

I give the man the note, accept in exchange a heavy plastic bag from which the rising steam carries a most appetizing scent. Too hot to touch, I have to hold the foil wrapped package carefully by the hand holds. The delivery man fumbles in his pocket, and after a moment hands me back a bill, which I accept without looking. My error, for when I do... "I'm sorry David, I seem to have received some counterfeit."

"What?" Mark takes the bag and looks over at the oddly misprinted five dollar note I am holding out. "Oh, that's one of the new bills."

"New?"

"Treasury added holographic threads to discourage counterfeiting."

"And to show on the airport detector." David adds. "I tell you, it's a fascist plot."

"David!" Mark's voice takes on a firm tone. "These two guys might take you seriously. Then where would we be?" He turns to me and adds reassuringly, "Relax, Illya. There is no indication whatsoever of fascist infiltration of the treasury department."

Mark takes the bag as David pulls down some plates. "So, which do you want?" he asks. "The chicken or the pork?"

****************

The tamales are excellent. Somewhat unusual for breakfast, but excellent. I mention as much to Mark, who then regales us with stories of David's cooking and their early California days. Apparently Tamale Sunday was a Latino custom Mark did not learn about until *after* they had moved west. Apparently also it is a local sacrament. David's mother could accept an English 'son', but to accept English *cooking*? Some things are just to much to ask!

I consider my recent meals, then drift back a bit to my Cambridge memories. Yes, I conclude. Mrs. Martinez was a very wise woman indeed.

I over-indulge with one of each, while Napoleon makes inroads into the fresh papaya and lime.

We are stacking the plates into the dishwasher when David calls out . "Mark! You had better hurry, or we'll be late for church."

"Be right along,"he shouts back, then turns to us. "Not Episcopalian, right?"

Napoleon shakes his head. I say nothing.

"I'm afraid you chaps are on your own for a bit." Mark says. "Won't be back until well after lunch."

Napoleon grins as David hurries down the stairs with Mark's jacket. "Never knew you were so devout."

"I'd give this Sunday a pass, but I'm on the building committee. High finance, dontcha know."

"That's just because you gave then that window," David snips, looking over at Napoleon. "After the big earthquake took out all the glass, Mark donated a beautiful stained glass window. St. Crispin. Told them that was his grandfather's patron saint."

Napoleon rubs his chin. "St. Crispin, eh?"

"Had quite a nice dedication Mass. Wednesday before Easter. Grandda's birthday, and all that." Mark heads for the door, calling back. "One should always do something to say thanks."

I glance at Napoleon as I reach for my own jacket. "Do you have plans for today?"

"I thought I might go to the library with you," he answers. "There are a few private matters I'd like to look up."

"As long as you promise not to flirt with the college girls."

"Why would I do that? It's so much more fun to flirt with you."

************

I am rereading a paragraph on implied particles when Napoleon drops into the chair beside mine. "Illya."

"What?" I mutter, not taking my eyes from the text in front of me.

"Look at this," he insists. "This is incredible." He holds out a black slab covered with buttons.

"A keyboard?" What is so strange about a keyboard? Although it does look small. So? Many things are miniaturized now.

I start to return to my reading, but Napoleon keeps on. "This is a computer."

"Do not be ridiculous." I look up at the flat plastic, which is now a bright moving display. The box in the center is a list of various capacities. 128K? I shake my head. "That much memory would take up the entire room. No doubt it is linked to a machine in the basement."

He flips it around. "Then why are there no cords?"

What? My eyes scan the glossy black surface.

"Look at it," he insists.

I pick it up...and almost drop it. The whole thing does not weigh ten kilos. I check for a radio transmitter, but there is none. "This is incredible. Where did you get it?"

"From the librarian." Napasha smiles at a young lady sitting behind a long counter. " All the stations were busy, and when I told her that ... she let me borrow hers."

"So.. the charm is back."

"It never left."

"Good."

"And Illya?" Napasha raises one eyebrow. "I thought I had no charm."

I ignore his teasing and focus on the machine in front of me. "Napasha? Where did she get this?"

"From under her desk."

"No." I scroll down the programs and check out the cache size. "Before that."

"I have no idea." Napasha stands up. "Want me to ask?"

I am still inspecting the machine when he returns, waving a scrap of paper.

"What is that? Her phone number?"

"Of course," Napasha preens. " Along with the address of her favorite shop that sells such things. Right on campus."

"Do you think they are open?"

"Why?" Napoleon snatches back the paper. "Did you want to go there?"

"Do not tease!"

"We can head over now," he concedes, "and afterwards you can buy me lunch. Preferably at someplace with a roof."

******

Napoleon stops dead two feet past the doorway. "Look at these phones." He plucks a red one off of the display. "This is smaller then the one April gave you."

"Which you made me leave behind."

"It was probably bugged," he reminds me.

"True."

"Perhaps we should get a pair?"

"Perhaps." I inspect the smallest unit. "How much range do you think they have?"

He snatches it up and punches a quick set of numbers. "Let me try something."

Two short rings and a woman's voice answers.

"Which girlfriend is that?" I ask.

He holds out the unit so I can hear the words. "Date and time. In Fiji."

I nod. "We get two."

A long haired young man in dungarees and a printed undershirt strolls up. "Can I help you dudes?"

"You sell computers?"

"Sure, man. All sorts of electronics. What did you have in mind?"

******************

Four hours later, Napoleon strolls back in , finishing the last bites of his hamburger. I collect my boxes while Napoleon trashes the McDonald's bag. "Happy now?" he asks.

"Very."

"You should be." He picks up half the purchases. "I've had cars that cost less."

I give the glossy black side a little pat."I will take better care of this then you do of your cars."

"True," he chuckles. "But you could say that about everything."

Stroking the black nylon case, I whisper . "This... is beautiful." Then I gather up another stack of brochures and add them to our bags.

"Napasha?"

"Yes, Illyusha?"

"When we get a house... I want a base station, too."

END CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE