The Reading Room - The Patchwork Quilt Affair by YumYumPM

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

I was delighted to see this story in AO3 this morning as I set about to search for a story. This is a story my friends.  It's long, it's interesting and whimsical in a perfectly MFU way.
Here's a little teaser:

llya straightened imperceptibly in his seat and a blond brow rose questioningly. As a rule, complaints against Napoleon were generally the other way around. Napoleon was studiously ignoring him, his eyes cast upon his hands. Napoleon eventually made eye contact with his partner, a slight shake of his dark head pleading ‘not now’. Thoroughly puzzled, Illya merely nodded, acknowledging receipt of the message. The two had learned long ago how to hold entire conversations without saying a word.

I hope you'll make time to read this frolicking adventure by yumyumpm

The Patchwork Quilt Affair on AO3

Mythbusters

[rosewit.livejournal.com]

Uh-oh...UNCLE's on the internet...see "Precedent" at the Map Room to see why IK's miffed at me....

Mythbusters


I was unaware of his scowl. I was asleep in my bed, in my room, in Toledo. He was as stealthy as his reputation, and I would never had known of his presence looming over me, until he decided to make himself known.

“Ms. Light...”

Ooooh, That Voice. Surely it was part of my dream. I curled into my pillow and smiled.

“Ahem. Rose Light.” Now the voice was cold and demanding.

His partner was becoming impatient. “Like this,” Solo said as he pushed the blond out of the way. He leaned over and his words tickled my ear. “Rose...Rose, it’s spring...time to bloom...”

I brushed the vibration away like a mosquito.

The men looked at each other, gave twin shrugs and shook me awake.

“Oomm...um-ah...huh?...” I am not at my most articulate before my tea. “Wait...what, who?...Hey!” I bolted up defensively, clutching at my flannel sheets and pouffy rose print comforter.

“Agents Solo and Kuryakin,” Napoleon crooned, reached for my hand to kiss it. What the heck. I let him.

The Russian crowded Solo over and glared at me menacingly. “I am here to discuss your authorship.”

“Not me,” Napoleon piped up. “He promised me coffee.”

“I—I don’t understand--”

“Premium coffee,” Solo explained. “There’s a Dunkin Donuts on Alexis Road.”

“Later...” hissed his friend. “Now, about your literary aspirations....”

“My fanfic?”

“Wait—Napoleon, did you search the whole house? Are you certain she’s alone?”

“She is unalterably, significantly, utterly, indubitably and inconsolably alone.” He liked to report thoroughly, since he would not be doing the typing-up.

Illya hmfed. “Well, that could explain some things...”

“I need tea...” I pleaded.

“Your fiction...and it is fiction...is becoming much too personal. I am referring, specifically, to the
increasingly indiscreet ...ah...intimacies you publish.”

I had ceased yawning and was working at comprehending his displeasure. “But I always paint you in an honorable light. “

“Ah...”

“Almost always. I allow you to slip off the reins of your culture and stoic nature. I would think you’d appreciate the opportunity.” I assumed Kuryakin had not spoken to many fanfic writers. The first rule is, never give a writer a chance to discuss or defend her work. She will engage you in a dramatic reading of her stories, all her stories, chapter and verse, plus inventory all her interpretations of plot and character.

“I preferred your earlier stories,” he admitted. “You staged The Big Kiss and then tiptoed discreetly out of the room and shut the door. The next paragraph, I was alone in an airplane or an elevator or an office or a cell.”

“I was pretty inhibited in the beginning,” I confessed. “If you knew how long I lingered over the keyboard, trying to justify to myself that I could type you and “naked" in the same sentence...”

“And now you are inventing cutesy little expressions like...” he hesitated, “ ‘the secretaries all dreamed of enjoying a Russian rump in the afternoon,’ ” he nearly choked on the indignity.

“Oh, No! That’s clearly a misprint. It’s a ‘Russian romp. R-o-m-p. Romp.”

Solo, who standing behind his partner, let his gaze slide southward. “No, I think he’s right; it's rump."

“Fine.” Illya snapped. “You are the not the one with ‘USDA Prime” stamped across your backside.”

“That was April imagining your tattoo.” Somehow my explanation did not mollify him.

“I am weary of being objectified by a bunch of ...senior swingers and horny housewives and wretched, rejected romance writers.”

“Not me,” Solo reminded us he was in the room. “I’m the Energizer Bunny. You’ve always portrayed me fairly, my fair lady. You even credited me with depth I didn’t realize I had.”

“Was it better when we were teenagers?” I shot back. “Giggling little girls with no experience, limited imaginations and misspelled vocabulary? We wrote then, too, yknow. Look,” I softened, “we LOLs (little old ladies) find your endowments...engaging and endearing.”

Now we were both blushing as red as the Soviet flag.

“Who’s for decaff?” the dark haired spy asked, taking orders for the Dunkin drive-thru.

“Oh, give me a minute,” I groused. “At least let me get dressed.”

“Sorry, Dear, you can’t tag along on this mission,” he lay me back down and tucked the blanket decisively under my chinny chin chin. “Too dangerous.”

“What!!” I began to sputter reasons at them.

Solo insisted. “I’m driving, and I can’t trust you in the backseat with this one,” he pointed at his partner. “I’ve read your stuff, too.” He redirected his attention to Illya. “Chocolate frosted? Cinnamon twist? Or vanilla cream-filled?” his pen poised over the paper.

I imagined them covered in billows of soft sweet whipped cream. My tummy growled. I grabbed for a spoon....but settled for my pen.

finis

Precedent

[rosewit.livejournal.com]

read IK's reaction to my stories @ section 7 "Mythbusters"

Precedent

Their reason for being in the cabin did not matter. It was irrelevant whether they had been chased there, sought shelter, or planned a rustic rendezvous. The man was there, starting a fire. The woman was there, gathering blankets. The rain was outside, and steady.

She fashioned a couple of blankets to cover the floor in front of the flames. Fire was both destructive and seductive. She knelt as before an alter.

He settled back, quiet, satisfied with his contribution.

“It’s all very...primitive...” said the woman. Her words did not break the silence; they massaged it.
“Imagine, a thousand years ago, a couple alone with nothing but what they could create with their own hands. Huddled together for warmth, for protection. Alone in the dark, cold world.” She made eye contact and measured the depths of his eyes. “There’s precedent, you see.” Her whisper cut through the popping and snapping of the sparks.

“And permission...?” he leaned in.

“And passion....”

His eyes closed. Gently, he caressed her cheek with his own. “Pleasure?”

“Think of all the nights in your life, row after row of them. Can you not be generous and share one with me?”

But unspoken between them: no Promise was offered.

She kissed his eyes, braille’d his lips, keened into his shoulder, nipped at him like a kitten but soft, oh,so soft her skin.

Last night their gentle exploration merged into an urgency, a great explosive joy of fireworks and crashing waves.

She remembered, and giggled. Feeling playful, she attempted to kick him awake. He lunged, grabbed her naked foot with both hands. He toggled each toe with his tongue. He lay kisses on her instep. He gnawed at her heel. “Chubby little things.”

“They take me where I need to go.” His detailed attention had made every part of her alive and desirable. But her next words were inevitable, if unbidden. “So...where do I need to go?”

He could not think. He was tingling. His breathing was still fast and shallow. If the World ended this very second, it would be all right with him. If only the whole world could experience this euphoria, there would be no more power-hungry madmen to fight. No more armies of evil. Maybe the hippies were right...world-wide love-in...? All was feeling. He did not want to think.

His breathing steadied out, but did not stop. As far as he could tell, the earth was still on its axis. Evil, and his work to thwart it, continued.

Damn.

He was enthralled by this woman, and no matter what her intentions, it was dangerous. He hesitated.

“I have a small flat in the village.” It was as close to an offer as he could give her. “No fireplace, but sometimes, it rains.”

finis