The slash version...
They didn't exchanged a word, exhausted and absorbed in their own meditation for awhile. It was something unexpected, something unusual but something they felt both amazingly comfortable with.
It wasn't just feverishness and lust. It was a deep and warm affection, the pleasure – the need – to be together.
They had already shared beds, slept together, holding each other in a tight embrace...
The had been partners.
They had been friends.
They were still. They would be forever.
Partners, friends and lovers.
"June...", Napoleon hummed softly.
Illya went on, "Won't change my tune..." He paused. "Napoleon? What is this "Chantilly" cloud?"
The gen version...
The dark haired man sighed with amusement as he noticed that his friend was greedily peeping at the very last peach pie portion. How this man could engulf such an amount of food and remain so slim... Napoleon couldn't figure out. He bent forward and held out the plate to him.
"Aunt Amy knew you'd love it..."
Illya Kuryakin chose to ignore his partner's smirk, concentrating himself on the appetizing thing in front of him. He picked up the cake and prepared himself to savor it. Suddenly he frowned and pointed at the sky.
"Napoleon, what is this Chantilly cloud?"