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Death’s Door

Formerly ‘Angelique Said What!?’

By YumYum

Originally written in 2005 revised 2009

 

Special thanks go to Donna for all her help

 

Act 1:  Dying Thoughts.

 

He knew he was dying and if he had only one real regret, it was that Illya was unaware of how much he’d come to mean to him.  It had snuck up on him over the years and he had Angelique to thank for the revelation.  Illya would hate that, he thought and he smiled as his world suddenly went black.

 

The assignment had seemed simple enough on the surface.  Illya would retrieve the plans, while he caused a distraction.  Well, he’d done that all right.  The only problem had been how to get rid of the Thrush guards once he had their attention.  He’d thought he’d lost them, only to find someone waiting ahead of him.  His shot hit its mark, but not before the answering shot entered his chest.  Somehow he managed to retreat to a small, enclosed space and hoped they wouldn’t find him.

 

His first thought had been, as he glanced down at his suit, that Mr. Waverly was going to kill him for ruining yet another suit.  The next thought was that he was glad Illya wasn’t there to see him.  He had considered contacting his partner and decided against it.  Illya’s part in this wretched assignment was most crucial and the last thing he needed was for his blasted pen to go off.

 

Although shaky and still bleeding, he painfully regained consciousness.  He didn’t believe in the afterlife, but if he did, he thought he’d like to come back as a stunning brunet and steal his partner’s heart away.  Thinking that turned out to be a big mistake as it caused him to chuckle and blood spurted from his mouth.

 

Reflecting on death, his mind turned to his funeral and who might attend.  He hoped there would be quite a few women.  To help pass the time and take his mind off the pain he decided to try and mentally remember all the women he had known in alphabetical order.  Abigail, red hair, body that didn’t quit; Alicia, Amy, Angelique…  There his thoughts paused.  Angelique, so cool, so deadly, with blonde hair and blue eyes.  That thought brought his mind to another blond with blue eyes - his partner. The world went dark again as he shifted and the pain in his chest deepened.

 

Slowly as consciousness dawned he heard a voice he recognized saying, “-poleon.” 

 

Illya was crouched next to him softly calling his name and that couldn’t possibly be Angelique standing behind him, he must be hallucinating.

 

 “Go… away, I’m…I’m… dying,” he gasped.

 

“How bad is it?”  Illya asked as he pulled away Solo’s jacket to examine the wound.

 

“What part… of …I’m dying… did you not… understand?”  Napoleon wheezed as he pushed Illya’s hands away.  Since this was his hallucination he decided he could do as he wished, so he reached for and grabbed Illya’s tie pulling him forward for a kiss.

 

Illya pulled back, his eyes wide, and asked, “Why?”

 

Napoleon was amazed at how real his hallucination felt.   “Because I … never… chance,” he whispered before the lights went out again.

 

.

Act 2- Medical

 

Voices filtered into his awareness.  “It was touch and go there for awhile, but it looks like he’ll make it.”

 

Opening his eyes, he realized he was in medical, and he wasn’t dead.  Sadly enough he was somewhat disappointed.  It had seemed a perfect solution to the dilemma he was now facing.

 

“How are you feeling, Mr. Solo?”  Mr. Waverly looked down at him with concern.

 

“I- ah,” was all he could manage to get out.

 

“He’ll not be coherent for quite a while yet,” this from a man in a white coat.

 

He glared at the nurse as she turned him so she could give him a shot in his butt.   He noticed his partner, with a smirk on his face, standing at the foot of bed just before he went back to an involuntary sleep.

 

He was walking down the hallway of U.N.C.L.E. headquarters.  It was quiet and there was no sign of anyone else.  Suddenly, Illya appeared at the end of hall dressed in black.  Not his usual turtleneck and slacks though, a black silk shirt and dress trousers.  His blue eyes were smoldering.  Slowly he started unbuttoning the silk shirt, leaving it gaping open invitingly.  Next Illya’s hands went to his zipper and soon the trousers were pooled down on the floor.  Napoleon stood there, his mouth dry, deliberating what had possessed his partner to do a strip tease in the hallways of headquarters. 

 

Waking up and taking in his surroundings in medical, he thought disappointedly it was only a dream

 

Being more out than in lately, he wasn’t sure what day it was.  A nurse would come in whenever he was awake and give him a shot, knocking him out again.  He felt somewhat lightheaded, and assumed it was from the pain medication that he had been given.  He’d had enough of U.N.C.L.E. care and felt that it was time to get out of there.  Getting up was a little difficult since the room seemed to tilt, but he didn’t plan on spending another minute in this room.

 

Act. 3 Home is where the heart is.

 

Somehow he managed to get dressed and make it back to his apartment.   It hadn’t been as easy as it should have been, so he was worn out by the time he got there.   Closing the door and leaning against it, his last conscious thought as he slid down the door to the floor, was that he was grateful to be home.

 

While Napoleon had been recuperating, Illya was sent out on another assignment.  Upon his return he wasn’t surprised to learn that his partner had gone missing.  He was amazed in fact they had managed to contain him for as long as they had.  It amused him to think that with all the intelligence agents at their disposal, no one had thought to check Napoleon’s apartment, but then perhaps they had and he hadn’t been there.

 

He was sure his partner was there, because it is what he himself would have done - gone home.  He arrived at Napoleon’s apartment and used his key, only to find the doorway blocked.  Pushing through the doorway forcefully, he entered to find Napoleon napping on the floor.  Crouching down, he gently shook his partner. “Napoleon, wake up.” 

 

Napoleon opened his eyes and looked into the concerned blue ones of his partner.  Closing his eyes again, he muttered, “Go away.”

 

Illya let out a chuckle. “I had a rather interesting conversation with Angelique.”

 

Napoleon groaned. “Damn Angelique.”

 

“She seems to be under the impression that you fancy me.  Do you fancy me, Napoleon?”  Illya tilted his head to one side as he ran a finger up the inside of Napoleon’s thigh.

 

Angelique said what? Napoleon thought as he opened his eyes with great willpower and said.  “What I fancy right now is a shower.”  Leveraging himself up from the floor and with as much dignity as a bulge in his pants would allow him, he made his way to the bathroom and locked the door.

 

Illya remained crouched there for a moment longer, an amused smile on his face, before turning to watch his partner’s painfully slow retreat.

 

Rising from the floor, Illya walked over to the bathroom door; amused that Napoleon could possible think a locked door capable of keeping him out.  Retrieving his lock pick from its customary location, he bent down to unlocked the door, then carefully replacing the pick when he was finished.  Silently he opened the door.

 

Napoleon stood in front of the full-length mirror next to the shower.  He had managed to remove his shirt, revealing the bandages covering most of his chest area, and was in the process of taking off his pants when he spotted the Russian’s reflection in the mirror.  He froze as he watched his partner come closer. “Look I don’t know what Angelique told you….”

 

“Really, Napoleon, she probably told me the same thing she told you.”

 

“And you believed her?”  Napoleon asked in surprise.

 

“She can be very convincing when she wants to be…besides she had tapes,” Illya said as he came even closer until he was right behind the hurt man.

 

Illya, glancing into the mirror at his partner’s reflected body, saw his straining erection, whispered into his partner’s ear. “Perhaps if you thought of girls, Napoleon?”  He reached around to wrap his hand around Napoleon’s straining cock and began working it.  “Can I give you a hand?”  he teased, his voice filled with amusement.

 

Napoleon did his best not to moan with pleasure at the feelings the competent hands working him evoked.  He closed his eyes. The next thing he knew he was sitting on the toilet, while Illya turned on the water to the shower.  He watched as Illya disrobed, something he’d witness dozens of times before, only this time it seemed… different. 

 

Illya pulled him up and helped him finish undressing before pulling him into the shower.  “I would hate for you to die having any regrets,” he said as he soaped his partner down, managing to keep his touch impersonal.

 

“Would you have any regrets?”  Napoleon asked hesitantly, wanting to know.

 

“Regrets are unproductive, Napoleon.”

 

Napoleon reached up to get the shampoo when the recent lingering pain sharpened.  He gasped as he dropped the shampoo then felt Illya’s arms tighten around him, supporting him. After a few minutes the pain receded and he felt Illya let go long enough to pick up the shampoo and apply it to his hair.  Napoleon let out moans of pleasure as Illya massaged the shampoo into his hair. During this process, he found himself leaning against Illya and could not help but notice that his partner’s body also seemed effected by their closeness.  “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked as he turned his head and looked down.

 

“Oh, you will, Napoleon.”  Illya let out a chuckle. “You will.”

 

Napoleon shivered, whether in anticipation or because he was cold was a matter for debate.

 

Illya slung on a robe he found hanging behind the door, then saw to it that Napoleon was thoroughly dried and re-bandaged.  He helped him into a terrycloth robe and led him into the bedroom making him comfortable in the bed.  It had been a long day for Napoleon.  Illya knew he was too tired for anything strenuous.  As he turned to leave, his erection in sore need of attention, he felt Napoleon’s hand gripping the robe he was wearing.

 

“Napoleon, you are not in any condition…”

 

“You let me be the judge of that,” Napoleon said softly.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“You’ll be doing all the work…I’ll just lie here and enjoy it,” Napoleon said with a twinkle in his eye as he turned his back to his partner.

 

Illya slid onto the bed behind his partner and gently lifted the robe to expose a bare bottom. Unable to resist he located a tube of cream, using it to gently prepare the American before smoothly entering him.  After the first gasp of pain, Napoleon’s moans of pleasure sent him over the edge in short order.   He fell asleep holding Napoleon closely.

 

Napoleon woke up in bed alone, wondering if he had hallucinated all of last night.  Only the slight soreness proved to him he had not.  Listening he heard movement in the kitchen, and stiffly got up to check it out.  Illya had evidently gotten dressed, gone out to get bagels and was now making tea and coffee. 

 

“Good morning,” Napoleon said with a smile.

 

Illya looked at his partner who was leaning against the doorway.  “Shouldn’t you still be in bed?”

 

“I wanted to make sure I hadn’t dreamed it all.”

 

After eating a leisurely breakfast they retired to the living room where Napoleon reclined on the sofa in companionable silence, listening to music.  He watched as Illya got up to look out the window, standing there in his black turtleneck and slacks.

 

Illya turned his head and smiled as his partner got off the sofa and drew nearer.  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

 

Napoleon was so close they were almost touching.  “Do you know how sexy you look in black?”  Getting closer still and whispering in Illya’s ear as his hands roamed his body, “Suppose we were on a stakeout, in a dark alley with you dressed as you are now?  And suppose I pushed you up against a wall …” Napoleon demonstrated as he talked, pulling up the black turtleneck to run his hands over Illya’s chest, causing him to moan.  Leaning in closer for a tender kiss, that quickly turned urgent, he let his hands go up the inside of Illya’s pants leg, feeling the bulge of arousal.  He brought his hands over to the buckle of Illya’s belt before letting the zipper down.  Sliding the pants lower, Napoleon went down on his knees to take the aroused cock into his mouth.

 

Illya looked down at the dark head, marveling at the expert mouth action he was receiving.  He couldn’t help closing his eyes as he thrust into the mouth that was currently siphoning the life out of him.  It was a good thing his back was against a wall, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to remain upright otherwise.

 

Though it had been awhile since Napoleon had done this particular act, he took delight in the vocal sounds that his partner was making.  He continued to suck and swallow until there was nothing left to take in.  He looked up into the flushed face of the Russian and gave him a saucy wink before trying to stand up, planning on ravishing the pouty mouth of his partner.  He never made it as a sharp pain to his chest area caused him to gasp.

 

Illya hurriedly pulled up his pants before squatting down to hold his partner close, trying to, wanting to, absorb some of the pain.  “Do you have any pain pills?” he asked and wasn’t really surprised when Napoleon shook his head indicating he didn’t.

 

He waited until the body he held stopped shaking and with a sigh gently pulled Napoleon up and guided him into the bedroom and onto the bed.  “What am I going to do with you?” he chided.

 

Napoleon looked up at the blond Russian and tilted his head to one side.  Trying in vain not to smile he said, “You do know they say turnabout is fair play.” 

 

Somehow he managed to get Illya’s pants back off and used the cream to prepare him so he could return the favor. It was a good thing Illya was more than willing, since he could only lie there as the Russian straddled him, their lips meeting in intense desire.  Napoleon was more than ready, just looking at the man with a leg on each side of him made him hard.  He reached for Illya’s hips and pulled him down on his hardened cock, causing a hiss to escape from Illya’s lips.  Napoleon froze and looked up questioning, noting that Illya was biting his lip as he adjusted to the hard, thick, shaft inside him.  The thickness was a factor that Napoleon realized he’d forgotten to take into account. 

 

Nodding, Illya slowly rose up before gently going down again, trying his hardest not to cause pain either to himself or his partner.  Soon it became apparent that gentleness would not suffice as Napoleon’s grip on his hips caused him to come down even harder and more urgent unable to control himself.

 

Too soon Napoleon shuddered as he thrust one last time into the body of his partner.  He wanted to hold Illya in place, wanting to keep him there forever.  Illya, however, had other ideas and rolled off him, his eyes filled with concern.  Napoleon gave him a wane smile before closing his eyes and going to sleep.

 

Act 4 Doctors Orders

 

The doorbell rang and Illya went to answer it.  There stood Dr. Hurtz from medical, his medical bag in hand. 

 

“You could have saved us a lot of trouble if you’d just called when you located him,” he said gruffly. ”Where is he?”

 

Illya merely pointed to the bedroom, where Napoleon lay tired out by the morning’s exertions.  The doctor headed for the bedroom, sniffing as he went.  The bedroom reeked of sex.

 

“Okay, Solo, let’s see that chest.”  As Napoleon sat up he carefully unwound the bandage.  Examining the wound, he nodded to himself before making a note in his pad.  “Now turn over.”

 

Napoleon exchanged glances with Illya. “Is that really necessary?”

 

“You can either turn over here …or … we can go back to the medical section at headquarters.” 

 

After examining Napoleon and making more notes, he turned to Illya.  “Now it’s your turn.”

 

Realizing there was no getting around it, Illya reluctantly pulled down his slacks.  Hurtz looked around the room and pointed toward the dresser indicating that it would be suitable for the Russian to bend over.

 

Illya felt the position would be a little awkward, but it would be better than stretching out on the bed.  Placing his hands wide for support and spreading his legs, he dropped his head and closed his eyes distancing himself from this invasion of not only his privacy but his body.

 

The doctor hmmm’d, then pushed his glasses up on his nose and sighed.  “It’s a good thing Solo is in a weakened state, otherwise it could have been a lot worse.”

 

Napoleon blanched.  “Illya, I didn’t …?”  Had he damaged Illya?

 

Illya just waved Napoleon’s concern away. “I suppose you’ll tell Mr. Waverly?” he asked the doctor quietly.

 

The doctor was busy writing out two prescriptions, the first he handed to Napoleon.  “This is for some pain pills, take them three times a day or you’ll find yourself back in medical.  This one…” he handed the other prescription to Illya. “is for an antibiotic cream, also to be used three times a day.  Haven’t you guys ever heard it’s better to give then to receive?”

 

Both agents looked at him in open mouth amazement. “I’m not sure we understand…”  Napoleon started to say as he looked to his partner only to find an equally puzzled expression there.

 

Dr. Hurtz was packing up his medical bag.   “When two people work as closely together as you two do, this sort of thing is bound to happen.  You two aren’t the first, and without a doubt won’t be the last.  In fact I’m a bit surprised it’s taken you two as long to realize it as it did.”  Heading for the door, he stopped and pulled a card from his pocket.  “U.N.C.L.E. is fully aware that these sorts of things happen and they have safe havens, as it were, in various locations around the world.  It was deemed necessary when a couple of agents were caught with their pants down literally and killed.”

 

“Anyone we know?” asked Illya absently as he took the card.

 

“Patient client confidentiality prevents me from saying, the same that applies to any information about you two,” the doctor replied before leaving the apartment. “By the way, they are code named “Liebenest”

 

Napoleon took the card from Illya noting the address on it.  “Liebenest?”

 

Illya smiled at the joke. “Yes, love nest.”

 

The END

 

 

Authors love feedback: YumYumPM @aol.com

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