HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
to the wonderful 
stcrispin ! Hopefully, you are far away in San Francisco enjoying yourself (I know I would be!)
Not much, but better, I hope, than a graphic:
He wasn't really surprised when Angelique eased onto the barstool beside him. The bottle of Dom Perignon had arrived just a few minutes before, already opened and with two glasses. Champagne wasn't Illya's style, and Dom Perignon wasn't Mr. Waverly's, so that left a very short list of others willing and able to spend that much on him.
"1955 vintage," he said, lifting his glass to her.
"Not the right year, but as close as I could get," she shrugged. The silk of her emerald green dress whispered with the movement, the material shimmering in the bar's soft light. "They didn't produce it the year you joined the U.N.C.L.E."
He didn't ask how she knew that. Instead, he tilted his head to her and smiled. She smiled back and lifted the bottle, pouring champagne into the second fluted glass. It bubbled, hissing delicately.
"To birthdays," she said, toasting him.
She drank first, closing her eyes in pleasure at the taste before she swallowed. It was good, he observed, letting the flavor roll around in his mouth for a few seconds.
"As a matter of course, I have to remind you that Thrush doesn't have a mandatory retirement age," she said conversationally. "If you find yourself bored with life behind a desk, you have a standing invitation to join us and return to the action."
He shook his head but grinned. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, letting himself appreciate her beauty. She was especially radiant tonight, her white-blond hair drawn up on the back of her head, her make-up artfully applied to look as if she wore very little except around her wide, sparking eyes.
"I'm certain you will," she agreed. "Now, with that out of the way, let us move on to more enjoyable things." She dropped one hand lightly on his arm, her fingertips tracing circles slowly. "I ordered us a late dinner - oysters as an appetizer, pasta prima vera, tiramisu for dessert. Shall we?"
She stood, leaning in close to him.
"Upstairs?" he asked, picking up the bottle. "You have a room?"
She kissed him on the lips, soft and slow, then whispered, "In a little over a hour, it will be your fortieth birthday, Napoleon, and you will be officially retired from field work. Of course I have a room here. Where else would I be to mourn the end of an era?"
Where else indeed. He let her lead him to the elevator, knowing exactly how much he was doing to miss certain aspects of this job.
stcrispin ! Hopefully, you are far away in San Francisco enjoying yourself (I know I would be!)Not much, but better, I hope, than a graphic:
He wasn't really surprised when Angelique eased onto the barstool beside him. The bottle of Dom Perignon had arrived just a few minutes before, already opened and with two glasses. Champagne wasn't Illya's style, and Dom Perignon wasn't Mr. Waverly's, so that left a very short list of others willing and able to spend that much on him.
"1955 vintage," he said, lifting his glass to her.
"Not the right year, but as close as I could get," she shrugged. The silk of her emerald green dress whispered with the movement, the material shimmering in the bar's soft light. "They didn't produce it the year you joined the U.N.C.L.E."
He didn't ask how she knew that. Instead, he tilted his head to her and smiled. She smiled back and lifted the bottle, pouring champagne into the second fluted glass. It bubbled, hissing delicately.
"To birthdays," she said, toasting him.
She drank first, closing her eyes in pleasure at the taste before she swallowed. It was good, he observed, letting the flavor roll around in his mouth for a few seconds.
"As a matter of course, I have to remind you that Thrush doesn't have a mandatory retirement age," she said conversationally. "If you find yourself bored with life behind a desk, you have a standing invitation to join us and return to the action."
He shook his head but grinned. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, letting himself appreciate her beauty. She was especially radiant tonight, her white-blond hair drawn up on the back of her head, her make-up artfully applied to look as if she wore very little except around her wide, sparking eyes.
"I'm certain you will," she agreed. "Now, with that out of the way, let us move on to more enjoyable things." She dropped one hand lightly on his arm, her fingertips tracing circles slowly. "I ordered us a late dinner - oysters as an appetizer, pasta prima vera, tiramisu for dessert. Shall we?"
She stood, leaning in close to him.
"Upstairs?" he asked, picking up the bottle. "You have a room?"
She kissed him on the lips, soft and slow, then whispered, "In a little over a hour, it will be your fortieth birthday, Napoleon, and you will be officially retired from field work. Of course I have a room here. Where else would I be to mourn the end of an era?"
Where else indeed. He let her lead him to the elevator, knowing exactly how much he was doing to miss certain aspects of this job.