yumyumpm: Napoleon and Illya (Man from UNCLE)
 Dark Secrets

Originally written in 2004 revised 2009
(Everyone has secrets)

By YumYumPM

 

Napoleon Solo pulled up in front of Del Floria’s Tailor Shop with a feeling of unease.  He had stopped, as was his practice, to pick up his partner for the drive to work when he was in town.  This had been a regular routine for years ever since they had become permanent partners.  This morning Illya had not been waiting.  It wasn’t the first time, but Solo felt uneasy about it.

 

Napoleon wasn’t sure when it had all started.  When it was that he’d first became aware that he could tune into Illya’s mind.  Sometimes he could sense the Russian’s emotions; sometime he felt he could even pick up on his thoughts, though for the most part he was sure Illya was unaware of it. 

 

When they’d gotten back from their last assignment, Illya thoughts had been somehow …different.  Their parting that day had been somewhat strained.  Now alone at headquarters Napoleon was worried.  He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, trying to establish the link he had with Illya.  Finally he managed to locate him, his mind seeing the location through his partner’s eyes and he wondered why his Russian partner was in such a dowdy and cheap motel.  Something was definitely wrong, Napoleon could feel the pang of loneliness radiating from Illya, the wanting of something he knew he couldn’t have and it pained him.  Suddenly it hit him, what Illya needed or thought he needed, causing Napoleon to rush to where Illya was at that moment, in the hopes of forestalling the inevitable.

 

Napoleon stood in the hallway of the dingy hotel knowing that something was intensely wrong.  Illya wasn’t just his partner, he was his friend.  After a minutes hesitation he knocked.

 

“How did you find me?”  Illya opened the door and asked in resignation; his eyes red from too much drink.  Napoleon knew he had come here to take care of his ‘problem’, his need for physical contact, but had turned to vodka instead.

 

“It’s what I do,” Napoleon responded lightly,  pushing the door open and slipping inside, then he looked around the small room, wrinkling his nose in distaste.  It certainly wasn’t the Ritz.

 

“Go away,” Illya growled and turned away as he plopped down on the creaky bed.

 

“Sure, I’ll go, as long as you come with me.” 

 

“It will do no good. You can not give me what I want.”  Illya closed his eyes wearily.

 

“Illya, what is it you want?” Napoleon’s heart skipped a beat and he decided to take a risk.  “Is it love or just sex?” he asked his curiosity getting the better of him.  He thought he knew but he wasn’t sure, couldn’t be sure until Illya confirmed it.

 

“Is there a difference?” Illya asked; his voice dull.

 

“Yes.  Sex is…. fleeting, merely a few minutes of pleasure. I should know.” Solo thought to himself with a sigh. He really hated seeing Illya like this.  “Love on the other hand… I’m not sure I know what love is. Maybe love is nothing more than pain.”

 

 “Perhaps sex is all I need,” Illya said moodily, his eyes hidden behind the one arm he’d thrown over his face.

 

“No…it’s not all you need,” Napoleon said as he knelt beside the bed.  “I may not be able to love – but I do care.”  Napoleon got up to walk to the window unable able to look at his partner.    I care enough that I don’t want to hurt you, physically or emotionally.  You are important to me, maybe too important.  Sometimes that scares me.”

 

“Napoleon, you don’t know what it is that I want, what I need.”

 

That wasn’t true.  Napoleon glanced at his partner, now he knew exactly what Illya wanted – needed.  He knew because he felt the same way.  Sometimes he yearned to cover Illya’ lips with his, to hold him in his arms, but he didn’t want to have to hide how he felt.

 

“Illya, this isn’t really what you want,” Napoleon responded sadly.  I could give in now.  I want to give in, to possess you, and have you possess me.  But it wouldn’t mean anything, not to you.  It would be fleeting at best.

 

“What if I do want it and want it now?”  Illya insisted as he got off the bed to confront his partner.

 

“Sometimes we shouldn’t have things just because we want them.”  Napoleon paused as he tried to think of a way to get his meaning across.  “My Mother used to make the best chocolate cake in the whole world.  So good I would want to eat the whole thing at one time.  But she knew I could get sick if I ate it all, so for my own good she wouldn’t let me.  This is the same, for your own good.”

 

“Perhaps you wouldn’t have gotten sick?”

 

“Oh, but I did.  Even though she said not to I ate the whole thing and she was right.” Napoleon laughed mirthlessly.  “I can’t stomach eating that cake now.”  He watched his partner, could feel the need eating away in him. He found he couldn’t take it anymore and he had to do something. 

 

Napoleon grabbed Illya and pushed him against the wall.  “Look I know this is just… a stop gap if you will,” he said hoarsely as he got down on his knees and rubbed the area that bulged through Illya’s pants.  As he pulled the hard erection out he paused to savor it before taking it into his mouth and sucking slowly, gradually increasing the suction until the stream of hot semen gushed into his mouth.  It has been so long and you feel so good he thought as he licked the now lax penis clean and put it back were it belonged.  Illya leaned against the wall that he’d been braced against barely able to stand as Napoleon got up and walked out the door without looking back.

 

Napoleon got home and leaned against the door trying to slow down his heart rate.  God it took everything I had to keep from turning Illya around and taking him …fucking him.  He felt guilty about just the thought and of how much he would have enjoyed doing exactly what Illya wanted.  He found he couldn’t sleep, so he went in search of a drink.  Sitting in his chair he drank and wondered. What do I do now?

 

There was a knock at the door; one glance at the clock told him that it was three in the morning.  He knew who it was without having to check.  Illya stood there disheveled and bleary eyed and he pushed past Napoleon to enter. 

 

“Who is it that hurt you so badly?”  Illya demanded.

 

Napoleon wasn’t about to tell him, he’d sworn to himself that he would never to tell.  Not even U.N.C.L.E. knew.  It was something he planned to carry to his grave.  He closed his eyes. In spite of all his promises to himself he heard himself say in a voice that sounded dreamy and far off, “Did I ever tell you I took tennis lessons when I was young?” 

 

Illya raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

 

“I started when I was six.” He smiled as he remembered. “My mother thought it would be good for me.  You know how mothers can be.    I wasn’t big enough for football and baseball scared her.  I wasn’t very good at it, but the coach kept telling my mother I had potential and that private lessons would help.”  He knew he shouldn’t tell the rest, but for some reason he couldn’t stop, after all it had been bottled up inside him for so long.  “I was ten the first time.”

 

“The first time?  Napoleon, I’m not sure I understand,” Illya said softly.

 

“The first time he touched me… that way.”  He closed his eyes. “The worst part is not that he…touched me.”  His voice went down to a whisper.  “The worst part was that I enjoyed it.” 

 

Illya came closer offering his nearness as support.

 

“He made me promise not to tell.”  Napoleons voice got stronger. “He said my mother would hate me if I told.”

 

“He was wrong.”  Illya’s chin had come up defiantly.

 

Napoleon refused to turn and look into Illya’s eyes. “No, he was right ….because , you see when I was fourteen, I gathered up my courage and told.” He laughed and paused to wipe away a tear that threatened to fall.  “You know what, he was right.  No one believed me.”  Clearing his throat he continued, “I always felt it was my fault.  That I could have stopped it somehow; that I shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much.”

 

Illya pulled him close in a tight embrace.  “You are wrong,” he whispered into his friend’s ear.  “It was no more you’re fault…then my wanting you is mine.” 

 

Napoleon let himself be held.  The shame was still there, but somehow it didn’t hurt so much. 

 

Illya took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom, removing his clothing he got into the bed with his partner.  “You were right you know, about me.  But perhaps if we take this slowly, one step at a time, we can find satisfaction for both of us.”  He pulled Napoleon close.  “Tonight we sleep and tomorrow…who knows.”

 

The End.

 

 

yumyumpm: Napoleon and Illya (Man from UNCLE)
Courting Disaster

 By YumYumPM

(Illya decides he's had enough and Napoleon is given the job of wooing him back into the fold.  Could he be courting disaster?)

Originally published in Relative Secrecy 10

2007

 

 

 

“I’m leaving.”

 

The brusque statement filtered through and brought Napoleon’s attention away from the dull monthly reports he was working on.  His mind quickly reviewed the current roster, searching for an assignment that his partner might have been needed for and coming up blank even as his mouth asked, “Where to?”

 

Illya plopped down in the nearest chair, one leg stretched out straight.  “I’ve had it.  I’m sick and tired of being used.”  He scowled.  “I want to go home.”

 

Napoleon looked at his watch.  “It’s almost five, you have my permission.”

 

Illya scowled deeper.  “That’s not what I meant.  I’m leaving U.N.C.L.E.” He paused for a moment as if considering.  “Perhaps I will return to my homeland.”

 

“You can’t do that,” Napoleon said in astonishment.

 

 “Watch me.”  Illya pulled himself up with difficulty and left while Napoleon just sat there, his mouth wide opened.

 

Illya must be in a really lousy mood. He’ll get over it.

 

Napoleon thought no more of it until he dropped into Alexander Waverly’s office with the completed reports.  In the act of setting them down on the table before sitting, he was caught by surprise when the table revolved and came to a stop in front of him.

 

"What do you know about this?"  Waverly demanded.

 

Napoleon picked up the paper and read it.  It was short and to the point.

 

I quit

 

Illya N. Kuryakin

 

The message slowly sank in as Napoleon lowered himself to his chair.  "He mentioned something about it this afternoon, but I didn't take it serious.  You're not accepting this I hope?"

 

"In spite of what you might think, this is still a free country," Waverly said dryly, doing his best to light his pipe.  His hand shook slightly showing his agitation as he tossed the match angrily into the ashtray.

 

It was slowly seeping in that Illya had indeed been serious about leaving U.N.C.L.E.  It didn't make any sense.  Their assignments of late had not been any more dangerous then usual.  Napoleon made a mental note to check up on Illya's last few missions, just to update his memory.  So engrossed was he with his thoughts that Napoleon only caught the last part of Waverly's speech.  "...seduce him."

 

"I beg your pardon, sir!"

 

"Mr. Solo, do please pay attention.  I repeat… Mr. Kuryakin is too valuable an operative to just let this go without taking steps to talk him out of it.  Surely there is someway you can charm him into staying with U.N.C.L.E.  Better health coverage, more money.  Something he wants or needs that you can use to seduce him.

 

Napoleon let out a sigh of relief.  For a moment there he'd thought Mr. Waverly was asking him to...   No, that was too far fetched.  He schooled his face to normalcy before promising that he'd do what he could and left for his office.

 

***

 

The door to his office slid open just as Napoleon hung up the phone, having requested the last few reports that his Russian partner had filed.  Illya limped over to his desk and slapped a file folder down on it.

 

"Ummm.  What's this?" Napoleon asked as he reached for it.

 

"It's the official form you requested, Sir."  The last was Illya at his most sarcastic.

 

"Why don't you have a seat?"  To the best of his knowledge Napoleon had made no such request.   His eyebrows drew upward as he studied the form, a formal request for dismissal.  More of Waverly's doings no doubt.

 

Illya hesitated before he ungraciously plopped down in one of the two chairs in front of Napoleon’s desk.

 

“Can we talk about this?”  Napoleon asked tapping the report.

 

“There is nothing to talk about.”  Illya scowled, scrunched down lower in his seat, and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“I think there is.  How about over a meal?  My treat?”  Food was usually a good bet for enticing Illya.

 

Illya looked at him through the fringe of his bangs.  “Anywhere?”

 

Napoleon hesitated.  While he was more than willing to pay, his cash supply was somewhat limited at the moment and the last thing he wanted was to ask Illya for a loan. 

 

“How about we order take-out and eat at my place?” 

 

Illya looked up at the ceiling and sighed.  “Sure, why not?”

 

Napoleon was proud of his solution.  He had accounts with the local takeout places, plus it would afford them more privacy for a real heart-to-heart talk.

 

Watching Illya get up and head for the door, Napoleon decided he was going to look into how his Russian partner had gotten the limp. 

 

***

 

“You don’t believe in knocking?”  Napoleon asked, putting away his gun.

 

“What would be the point?  You knew I was coming.”  Illya shrugged and went directly to the refrigerator to put away the bottle of vodka he’d brought with him. 

 

“You needn’t have brought anything.  I have everything we need.”  Napoleon used a serving spoon to point to his freezer before going back to arranging their meal on plates. 

 

“Ah…and just how long have you been keeping this a secret?” 

 

Napoleon glanced up to see what the Russian was drooling over.  “Oh, that.  Picked it up the last time I was over there.” 

 

The casualness of his reply belied the truth of it.  The assignment would have gone much easier had Illya been along for the fun.  The price of the best vodka Russia offered had been steep, but Napoleon deemed it the least he could do to make Illya feel a little guilty.  After all he wasn’t above blackmail.

 

They ate their meal on the coffee table without chit chat.  In spite of all Napoleon’s encouragement, Illya was proving extremely uncommunicative.  Doing his best to curb his desire to rush things, Napoleon tried another tactic and began plying Illya with the vodka.  Illya’s tongue was loosened only after two-third of the bottle was gone.

 

“For what purpose is our job?”

 

Napoleon leaned back in his char and cocked an enquiring eyebrow.  He opened his mouth to answer, but Illya held up his hand. 

 

“I know, I know.  To make the world save, so everyone can have…relationships and be happy.  But what about us?  Don’t…don’t we deserve to be happy?”

 

“And you’re not?”  Napoleon asked quietly.  That Illya could possibly be unhappy had never occurred to him.  Illya rarely showed feelings one way or the other.

 

“No!”  Illya slammed his hand down on the coffee table, causing Napoleon as well as the dishes to jump.  “How can anyone have a…a relationship with someone, when at any time that relationship could be used against them?”

 

Napoleon couldn’t bring himself to look Illya in the eye.  He didn’t have an answer to that one. 

 

Illya dropped his head onto his hands and sighed.  “I’m sorry, Napoleon.  I didn’t mean to rant.  I’m just tired and have had too much to drink.”

 

Napoleon brightened.  “Then you’re not leaving?”

 

“No, I am,” Illya said firmly.  “There is nothing and no one to keep me here.  I think I will go back to my apartment now.” He swayed as he got to his feet.

 

“Damn it, Illya.  We’ve got to talk.”

 

“Don’t want to.”  Illya’s eyes were drowsy, defiant, and beseeching all at the same time and like a fool Napoleon acceded to their request.

 

“At least stay the night in the spare room,” he ordered gruffly.  “You’re in no condition to navigate.”

 

“Is that an order?”  Illya asked stiffly.

 

Napoleon noticed that Illya’s mouth twitched slightly, indicating that he wasn’t as angry as he sounded.  “Yeah.”

 

Napoleon guided his partner toward the spare room, cursing the fact the he found those blue eyes sexy.  Leaving Illya to make use of the bath, Napoleon retrieved a pair of pajamas, leaving them where Illya could find them, then returned to the living room to clear up the remains of their meal.  

 

Napoleon had never taken Illya’s small flirtations seriously, knowing there was nothing more to it than Illya’s penchant for teasing.  Now, listening to the water in the bath run and knowing that, if Illya did leave, he’d never know what might have been, Napoleon became more determined then ever to find some way to keep Illya with him. 

 

Turning out the lights, Napoleon asked himself a few questions.  It wasn’t that Napoleon didn’t commiserate with his partner about having someone special in his life, someone you didn’t have to play a part for.  He did.  It was just that the Russian had never expressed the desire before.  Why now?

 

Stopping at the doorway to the spare room, he watched as Illya slipped into the small bed, resisting the urge to tuck him in.   Though Illya was not that much shorter then he, the pajamas virtually hung on his lean frame, leaving the impression that he was much less competent than he actually was.  He looked so adorable tousled.  Napoleon turned away in disgust.  Why was he having such thoughts now?  He just had to find some way to keep the pesky little Russian around.

 

***

 

By morning Napoleon had formulated his strategy for keeping Illya in U.N.C.L.E.   Now all he needed to do was implement it. 

 

Phase One

 

“Napoleon, someone’s stolen my---” Illya stormed into Napoleon’s office, jerking to a stop when he caught Napoleon supervising the workmen shoving Illya’s desk into position. 

 

“Maintenance had to do some work on the office.  Since you are leaving soon and my office is big enough, I thought we’d just move you in here.  Is that going to be a problem?”

 

“No…  I suppose not,” Illya answered hesitantly.  “We never did talk about when I was leaving.”

 

“We can talk about that later,” Napoleon said absently, his attention was on the workmen.  He tilted his head and nodded his approval, before turning to Illya.  “Tell you what, let’s get something to eat.”

 

Perhaps it was time to move on to Phase Two, he thought with a smile.  It might be a little unorthodox, but he’d never know until he tried.  The next step was to get Illya out of the office. 

 

Phase Two

 

Napoleon was sitting at his desk, looking deliberately benign, when Illya walked back into the office.  Sitting in the middle of Illya’s desk was a crystal vase holding a dozen long stem roses. 

 

“Where did these come from?”  Illya asked suspiciously.

 

“Umm, they were here when I arrived.”  The lie rolled smoothly off Napoleon’s tongue. 

 

Illya examined the card: he turned it over, looking at the other side. “No name.” He sneezed, gathered the roses, and dumped them in his waste basket.

 

Napoleon’s phone rang.  He reached to pick it up, never taking his eyes off the expensive roses the little imp had just trashed.

 

“Mr. Solo.  Have you made any progress?”

 

Damn, Waverly would choose now for a progress report.

 

“Not yet, sir.”

“Then get with it.”

 

Waverly hung up with a loud click.  Napoleon put the headset down, a sigh of bitter disappointment caught in his lungs.  So much for Phase Two.

 

Phase Three

 

Chocolates were the key, Napoleon was sure.  His partner had a fondness for them, light chocolate, dark chocolate, it didn’t matter.  Napoleon had always found that chocolates had a way of sweetening the most reluctant female’s disposition.  It should work on one stubborn Russian. 

 

Early the next morning, Napoleon, with an eye for precision, set an enormous box, complete with bow on his partner’s desk.  Smiling with satisfaction, Napoleon decided that slipping off for a cup of coffee would probably be a wise move.  He didn’t want to be around to answer any awkward questions.

 

When Napoleon finally returned, he found his partner squatting on the floor, staring suspiciously at the box.  He stood dumb-founded and watched as Illya very gingerly undid one end of the package and then the other.

 

“What are you doing?”


“Some one left this on my desk,” Illya explained as he carefully pulled the box from the wrapper.  He cautiously picked up the top and peeked in.  “Chocolates!”

 

“So?”

 

“They could be poisoned.  Remember Marion Raven?”  Illya picked up the box and held it at arms length.

 

“Poison?  Don’t be silly.  Who would possibly try to poison you in headquarters?”

 

“I’m not taking any chances.  I’m taking them to the lab to be analyzed.” 

 

Napoleon stood gaping as Illya walked out the room.  He rubbed his face in disgust.  How could something so simple have gone so horribly wrong? 

 

***

 

Later that day, Napoleon sat at his desk and scowled openly as he perused certain classified reports, while Illya sat at his desk going over his expense account after having returned with the verdict:  “Chocolates.”

 

According to the files, Illya’s last half-dozen assignments had been back-to-back.  Most had lacked rudimentary precautions such as backup and there had been almost no rest in between assignments.

What really bothered Napoleon was that while it was Waverly’s prerogative to assign his top enforcement agents to any mission at his whim, and though Napoleon wasn’t always notified of each and every assignment, he usually had some idea what Illya was up to.  It was no wonder that Illya was tired.  Not to mention limping.

 

It didn’t make sense, considering how badly Waverly seemed to want to keep Illya working for U.N.C.L.E. – why was he assigning him back-to-back missions?

 

“I’m going for some coffee.  You want some?”

 

Illya’s question cut through Napoleon’s concentration and he looked up to find Illya standing inside the doorway waiting for his answer.  A curt nod and he was back at his reading, growing more irritated as he read.

 

He heard the door swish open and shut, then shortly afterward swish open again.  He looked up, wondering why Illya was returning so soon, to find one of the secretaries placing a file on Illya’s desk.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“I believe it’s a new assignment.”  The secretary fluttered her eyelashes and gave him a bright smile, her hips swaying as she left the room.

 

Napoleon waited until the door swished closed behind her before moving to the other desk and picking up the folder.  He frowned as he leafed through the skimpy pages.  It seemed yet another assignment had bypassed his desk.  The two of them had received assignments with as little information, but this one didn’t even allow for backup.

 

He snapped the folder shut and slapped it against his palm.  Never before had he felt such rage.  Gripping the folder tightly, he set out to get an explanation one way or another.

 

It wasn’t long before he was sweeping past Lisa Rogers, ignoring her protests of, “Mr. Solo, you can’t go in there.”

 

Storming into the room, not waiting for Waverly to acknowledge his presence, he tossed the folder down on the table, sending it spinning until it landed in front of his boss.

 

Mr. Waverly narrowed his eyes and looked down at the folder, then up at his top enforcement agent.  “What’s the meaning of this?”

 

“Read it.”

 

Mr. Waverly shot Napoleon a glare, then opened the folder, examining the papers within as he puffed on his pipe.  When he was finished, he leaned back in his chair.  “According to this, Mr. Kuryakin is the best man for the job.”

 

“Of course he’s the best man for the job.  Illya is the best.”  Napoleon did his best to reign in his anger.  He leaned forward with both hands flat on the revolving table.  “Get someone else.”

“Mr. Solo, watch yourself!  You presume too much!”

 

Napoleon closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  He remembered the only time he’d gone up against Waverly.  At that time Illya and Pia Monteri were trapped on an island ear-marked to be blown to smithereens.  He’d backed down then; he wasn’t going to back down now. 

 

“Look, you’ve had him on back-to-back assignments with little or no detailed information over the last couple of months.  If he goes out again you’ll lose him for good.”  Then he threw in what he hoped was the clincher.  “Not only him, but me as well.  I won’t stand for it.”

 

Waverly stood up and glared, nearly biting through the stem of his pipe. “Is that a threat?” 

 

Waverly’s eyes were cold and Napoleon didn’t trust himself enough to answer.  He straightened to his full height and walked out of the office.  In spite of all his bluster, Napoleon was well aware that Waverly could still send Illya off if he thought it would benefit U.N.C.L.E.

 

His anger had not lessened one wit when he quite literally bumped into his partner.

 

“Watch it.  Just where have you been?” Illya asked crankily as he wiped the spilt coffee from the front of his jacket with a napkin.  “Forget I asked.  In three days it will no longer matter.”

 

Just what he needed, a reminder that if he didn’t do something soon he’d soon be partnerless.

 

***

 

That night Napoleon had removed his watch, setting it on his bedside table.  Losing his temper had been a waste of time.  Okay, so Waverly had ordered him to do everything in his power to keep Illya from resigning.  Why?  Waverly had to be aware of Illya’s reasons for wanting to leave.  Or was he?  Was Waverly so focused on winning the war that he’d lost sight of what it could mean to his men?  In either case, Napoleon doubted that his current course of action was what Waverly had in mind. 

 

He liked to think his actions were motivated by the thought of U.N.C.L.E. losing one of their best agents.  Unfortunately he knew that was only part of it.  His main motivation was not to lose his best friend; someone he cared for more than was good for him. 

 

His failure to woo his partner into staying with flowers and candy had been weighing on his mind and resulted in his canceling of a date he had been looking forward to all week.  In recent years it had become increasingly obvious that he did his best work with his partner.  And said partner had become more important to him then the mission at times. 

 

The thought of seducing his partner sexually normally would never have occurred to him and he wondered why he was seriously thinking of it now.

 

Sliding between the sheets, Napoleon went to sleep with strange dreams. His dreams started with images of Illya, his shy, modest smile rarely seen of late.   The look of intense concentration as Illya studied some particular problem, his blue eyes hidden behind dark glasses.  His flirtatious fluttering of eyelashes, demonstrating his amusement at Napoleon’s lack of luck with a female innocent.  How many times over the years had Illya proclaimed, “We still have each other,” or  “I’d love to hear your stories… anytime”?  It was all a game to him.

 

He wasn’t sure why his dream took him back to his childhood days and the friend from his school days, whose name he no longer remembered.  All these years he’d managed to delude himself that it was just normal curiosity about another’s body.  Each recognizing in the other the same needs and wants. 

 

Napoleon moaned in his sleep, remembering the furtive glances and even more furtive touches.  The fear of being found out, as his friend eventually was, being laughed at and ridiculed, had forced Napoleon to hide who and what he was.  He’d pushed all that behind him, convincing himself it was just a youthful indiscretion. 

 

The intensity of the dream woke him, his heart beating fast enough to scare him.  He could no longer hide from the truth.

 

Phase Four

 

The next day, Napoleon was forced to concede that Illya was indeed serious in his intentions, especially when a notice, including the last date of employment, appeared on his desk.  It was with a heavy heart that he signed it.  He looked into his partner’s determined face.  “I suppose a farewell meal is out of the question?” he asked.

 

“That depends on who’s paying,” Illya responded, one blond brow raised questioningly.

 

Napoleon came around his desk, smiling.  “I’ll pay.  But only if you wear something a bit nicer.”  He fingered the roll of Illya’s black turtleneck. 

 

Illya looked down at the finger flicking the roll of his sweater, humphed once before turning around and limping off.

 

***

 

Napoleon adjusted his cuffs and shot a glance at his soon-to-be ex-partner, pleased to see that Illya was at least wearing a suit and tie and not his usual black turtleneck.

 

Opening the door, he ushered Illya in.  Leading the way, Napoleon paused partway down the carpeted stairway that led into the restaurant proper and admired the old-world charm that lay below.  He was looking forward to an evening of good food, fine wine and a chance to remind his partner of all the good times.  On the landing, he could see the maître′d waiting expectantly.

 

“Ah, Mr. Solo.  How nice to see you again.” 

 

“Good evening, Carlos.  A table for two, please.”

 

A look of puzzlement appeared Carlos’ face as he looked over Napoleon’s shoulder.  “The young lady?  She is …?”

 

It took Napoleon a moment to figure out what Carlos was talking about.  When he finally did, he shook his head.  “No, you don’t understand.  I’m here with an associate.”  He turned toward Illya and found him retracing their steps upward, patrons coming down the staircase parting in his wake.  “At least I thought I was,” he muttered and hurried after his partner. 

 

There was an understanding smile on Carlo’s face as he turned to welcome the new arrivals.

 

Napoleon grabbed Illya by the arm before he got to the doorway.  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

 

“I refuse to eat here.  It’s too… too… romantic,” Illya practically spat.

 

Napoleon turned and went down the stairs and looked over the stairwell.  The maître d' reached for the menus once again. 

 

Napoleon smiled graciously and studied the room. What was Illya going on about? 

 

Napoleon smiled graciously and studied the room that stretched out below them.  What was Illya going on about?  Okay, so there was a couple holding hands, and two booths away a couple cuddling.  Nothing he hadn’t done himself a time or two.  And over in the corner booth, the private one…  His eyes widened.  Was that two guys kissing?

 

Napoleon’s mouth gaped open and he looked upward at Illya.

 

Illya looked down at him, his arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised as if to say, ‘Now do you believe me?’

 

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders.  “What can I say, the food here is terrific.”

 

Illya shook his head, a look of disgust on his face, before turning and making his way out of the restaurant.  Napoleon gave another shrug to the maître d’ before hurrying to follow.

 

When they reached the car, Illya asked, “Was that charade for my benefit?”

 

“What charade?  Okay, where do you want to go?”

 

Illya’s face brightened and he moved to the driver’s side of the car and held up his hand.  With a sigh of resignation, Napoleon tossed the keys over before sliding into the passenger side.  

 

The smug smile on Illya’s face should have made him suspicious, but it didn’t.  When Illya pulled up to a shabby building with an expression of excitement on his face, Napoleon decided to suck it up, grin, and bear it.  At least it would be cheap.

 

Loud music greeted them as Illya led the way down a darkened stairway and Napoleon’s senses went on alert.  He expected to be attacked at any moment.  They reached the bottom and entered a smoke-filled room. 

 

“Illya!”  A young girl, dressed in black from the top of her beret to the bottom of her stockinged feet, flashed a smile and ushered them to a small table, a candle the only illumination. 

 

Napoleon squinted as he tried to make out shapes around the room.  Two cups were set in front of them just as a bright light sprung up from somewhere and three long-haired individuals jumped up on stage.  Napoleon was unable to tell whether they were male or female.   

 

Without thinking, Napoleon picked up the cup and took a swallow and almost gagged.  This was supposed to be coffee? 

 

The moment the music started, he cringed.  The horn was just short of ear splitting, the bass player’s strumming sounding like a cat in heat, and the pianist was pounding loudly on the keys.  If there was a tune, it escaped Napoleon. 

 

From what he could see of Illya’s face, he seemed to be enjoying it.  Either that or he was enjoying Napoleon’s discomfort. 

 

After a while, Napoleon’s stomach rumbled.  He leaned closer to Illya and asked, “Where’s the menu?”

 

“There is none.  You eat what you are served,” Illya answered without looking at him, his fingers drumming on the table in time with the beat.

 

Napoleon plastered a fake smile on his face and pretended everything was fine.

 

 

*****

 

Napoleon grimaced as he eased the door to Illya’s apartment shut, his hand covering his stomach.  The food had turned out to be just as greasy as the coffee and Napoleon was regretting letting Illya talk him out of staying at his favorite restaurant. 

 

Illya had already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button.  “Want something to drink?”

 

 “I’d rather have an anti-acid.”

 

“You know where it is.”  Illya jerked his head toward the bathroom and draped his jacket over an armchair.

 

Napoleon wove his way through the half-filled boxes that littered the two rooms.  In spite of Illya’s claim that he wasn’t particularly materialistic, there were quite a few boxes.

 

“Music will be the one thing I’ll miss when I go back.” Napoleon heard Illya saying as music drifted into the bathroom. 

 

Napoleon looked into the mirror; his face held a sour expression to match the feeling of his stomach.  Had Illya just intimated that he wouldn’t miss him?  He opened the medicine cabinet to find it bare except for the essentials.  Finding the pills he needed, Napoleon let the music sweep over him, relaxing him.

 

“Don’t they have music in Russia?” Napoleon called out, more to irritate Illya then anything else.  It worked.

 

 “Of course we have music,” Illya said, slightly affronted.  He was standing in the doorway, two glasses in his hands.  “Just not live jazz.”

 

“That was jazz?” Napoleon asked as he took one of the glasses and slipped past Illya to wander around the apartment, sipping his drink and peeking into the various boxes.  Books, albums, clothing, and a few trinkets.  He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but seeing the boxes brought it home like nothing else that Illya was indeed serious about leaving.

 

The sudden chuckle behind him let him know that Illya’s choice of restaurant had been a deliberate attempt on his part to annoy Napoleon.

 

Heaving a heavy sigh, Napoleon wondered what it was he’d done to get on Illya’s bad side.  One of the open boxes caught his eye and he couldn’t resist investigating.

 

“Do you mind?” Illya asked, snatching a record from Napoleon’s hands. 

 

Things had not gone as he’d planned: no good food, no excellent wine.  Hell this was the first liquor to pass his lips all evening.  And forget about talking, that had been all but impossible.   Napoleon resisted the urge to pout; after all Illya did it so much better.

 

“What will you do?” Napoleon asked, more to get his mind off the thought of Illya’s lips pouting.  In a way he was shocked at himself.  Thoughts like these had never occurred to him in all the years he and Illya had worked together.

 

“Not sure.  I have options.  I have my doctorate.  I could teach or do research.”  Illya looked up from straightening the contents in the box.  A smile quirked one side of his mouth.  “I could even become a fashion designer.”

 

Napoleon snorted at the idea.  “And I could work with computers.  Where do you plan to go?”  Napoleon looked down into his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl.  “Back to Russia?”

 

“No!”  Illya’s response was firm.  “I considered it, but…”  His face took on a dreamy look.  “Think I might move to England, perhaps somewhere in the countryside outside of Edinburgh.  It’s nice and quiet there.”  He took a deep swallow of his drink and looked slightly embarrassed.  “Foolish isn’t it.  To want to live someplace serene?”

 

Napoleon swallowed most of his drink in one gulp.  Then he studied Illya, really looked at him.  For the first time in their partnership, he realized that he didn’t really know what made his partner tick and he very much wanted to.  He shook his head, his words so soft he wasn’t sure Illya heard them.  “No.  Not foolish at all.”

 

Illya limped over to his sofa and sat down.  He laughed and it struck Napoleon as being a bit bitter.

 

“There have been some good times, surely?”  Napoleon went to pour himself another drink.

 

“Name one.”  Illya held out his glass for a refill.

 

Napoleon cast his mind back. 

 

“Aha, you can’t think of any.”

 

“What about the time we worked together on that case in the garment district?  Remember Ramona and Jerry?  Or the time we shared a house in suburbia?  Oh, and let’s not forget the assignment Waverly gave us to bring down that Laslo Kurasovmat.  We did a great job on that one and you got to come back from the dead, my dear Colonel Mikalovech Dohnyev.”

 

 “Sure.  Three out of how many?

 

Napoleon could only hope that Illya wasn’t thinking of all the times that things had gone wrong and one of them had been in danger or hurt.

 

“Do you normally frequent restaurants that cater to pediks?” Illya asked, out of the blue, taking Napoleon’s mind away from his gloomy thoughts.

 

“Huh?  Pediks?”  Napoleon’s Russian wasn’t quite up to it.

 

“Homosexuals,” Illya translated.

 

“Huh?” Napoleon repeated.  “You’re making that up.”

 

Illya shook his head and said cryptically.  “It pays to know the dangers around us.”

 

“You have something against homosexuals?”

 

“Not at all.  Some of my best friends are homosexual.”  Napoleon held in a deep breath.  Was he imagining it, or did Illya know? 

 

Illya chuckled.  “Considering you’re as straight as they come, it’s extremely amusing to think that you take your dates to a place like that.”

 

Napoleon didn’t comment; he was too busy staring down at the patterned rug, his foot tracing the pattern.

 

“Napoleon?”

 

Napoleon looked up through the dark curl hanging down upon his forehead.  His eyes immediately returned to the floor.

 

“I don’t suppose I should be surprised.”

 

Napoleon’s eyes quickly came up to stare at Illya, who had paused and was taking a sip of his drink.

 

“You always were a bit of a dandy.”  There was a glint of amusement in Illya’s eyes and Napoleon breathed a sigh of relief.  Illya was taking this much better than he expected.

 

Illya started as if a sudden idea had occurred to him.  “The flowers, the candy.  That was you?  Why?” 

 

That was a good question.  “Ah, Mr. Waverly suggested…”

 

“Napoleon, there is no way you could convince me that Waverly sanctioned this… this…” 

 

“Seduction?” Napoleon suggested.  “Well, not in so many words.”

 

Illya stepped closer, poking Napoleon with a finger, but Napoleon was unable to make out what he was saying.  Blood was rushing through his ears and other parts of him, blocking everything, including sound, as feelings kept at bay for over twenty years swept over him.

 

Without thinking, Napoleon grabbed Illya by his shirt front, pulling him close until their lips met.  Napoleon’s first thought, when he finally was able to think, was that it should have felt strange, but didn’t.  Illya’s hands had slipped down, holding lightly to Napoleon’s hips and Napoleon let go of Illya’s shirt and wrapped his arms around him. 

 

When Illya finally backed away, Napoleon just stood there, his fingers touching his lips.  He didn’t know what he was more shocked at.  That he’d actually kissed his partner or that Illya had kissed him back.

 

Napoleon followed as Illya backed away from him, Illya’s eyes drawing him like a magnet.   They crossed into the bedroom, only stopping when Illya’s knees hit the bed, his eyes lowering, breaking contact.

 

He held his breath, afraid of what Illya might say, and was surprised when, in a tone Napoleon had never heard the Russian use, Illya commanded, “Strip.”

 

“Huh?”  Napoleon’s speech was lacking to say the least.

 

Illya raised his eyes, blue splinters of ice.  “You heard me.  Do you want to me to stay or not?”

 

Napoleon bent down and began untying his shoelaces.  His body wanted this desperately, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that Illya was toying with him. 

 

He looked up automatically when Illya, now reclining on his side, his head propped on his fist, asked in a purely conversational tone, “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

 

Napoleon felt his face redden as he continued unlacing his shoes.  He didn’t have the nerve to look Illya in the eye and answer him with the truth. 

 

Standing back up, he toed off the shoes.  Off came his jacket, then his tie.  He unbuttoned his shirt with trembling fingers, realizing how patently ridiculous this all was.  He gathered his courage and raised his head, looking Illya in the eye as he undid his belt, flicked open the button, unzipped his trousers, and pushed them downward, letting them slide to the floor.  Shirt and t-shirt quickly followed, landing in a heap on the floor.  He stepped out of the trousers and began hopping first on one leg then the other to remove his socks.  Illya’s laughter at his antics distracted him.  Standing there wearing nothing but his boxers, it occurred to him that if Illya was trying to humiliate him, he was succeeding admirably. 

 

“You just going to lie there fully clothed?” 

 

Illya hesitated before moving to the edge of the bed and slowly unbuttoning his shirt.  As the shirt slid off his shoulders, Napoleon let out a gasp of surprise.  He was on the bed in an instant, gently slipping the shirt the rest of the way off Illya’s upper body, exposing the fading bruises that covered most of his chest.  He’d known of the injuries, just not how badly.

 

“My God.  How did you get those?” Napoleon breathed.

 

“You should know,” Illya accused.

 

Napoleon’s mouth hung open.  His eyes closed as he remembered the last file, the one he hadn’t gotten a chance to read because of his curiosity about the file left on Illya’s desk.   “I swear to God, I didn’t know.”

 

Illya’s looked doubtful.  All Napoleon wanted to do was take that look away. 

 

“If you didn’t, then who…?” 

 

Napoleon brushed the hair back off Illya’s forehead.  “I don’t know for sure.  But when I find out…”

 

He didn’t get a chance to finish. 

 

When he was finally able to get his breath back, Napoleon began removing the rest of Illya’s clothing.  His hands touched lightly on a myriad of other bruises that Illya’s clothing had managed to cover-up. 

 

He had never paid much attention to Illya’s body.  Illya’s chest was lightly covered with a smattering of pale hair that narrowed as it trailed down his body.  With trembling hands, Napoleon nervously set out to rid Illya of his pants and boxers, revealing what lay beneath.  Once it was uncovered he couldn’t help but sigh.  Illya had been the aggressor, he should at least be showing signs of arousal.

 

“Something wrong?” Illya asked, looking downward at his own body.

 

“No…  No.  It’s just I was hoping for a little more show of… ah… excitement.”

 

“You don’t appear very… er… excited either,” Illya said dryly, nodding at Napoleon’s boxers.

 

Napoleon checked out his own condition.  Illya was right.   He covered himself self-consciously.  “I can’t help that.  It’s my first time.”

 

A look of disbelief appeared on Illya’s face as he scooted until his back was against the headboard.  He drew his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them, and peered quizzically at Napoleon.  “Let’s get this straight.  You are… er… queer?”

 

Sifting his weight to one leg, Napoleon winced at the unfortunate label. 

 

“Aren’t you sure?”  Illya’s eyes were full of mischief and he looked as if he were trying not to smile.

 

An embarrassing question to be sure.  As a young boy, Napoleon had always preferred looking at men and boys over girls.  That wasn’t so bad, most boys at that age didn’t like girls either.  It was the wanting to touch other boys that set him apart.  He’d been rather proud of his body and loved displaying it until it was impressed upon him, by means of a severe spanking dealt out by his father, that this was unacceptable behavior.

 

When he was a little older he’d been elated to find someone else who, like he, preferred males.  But the hurt and ridicule his friend suffered caused him to try to change how he felt.  To live a lie until he believed the part.   Not showing the world his true face, lest what happened to his friend happen to him. 

 

“At school, because I was quiet and retiring, it was assumed by some that I was also… homosexual,” Illya said, stretching out seductively.  “One thing I learned is you can’t always tell a book by its cover.  I was propositioned by the most unlikely people.”

 

“Are you… you know?”  Napoleon couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

 

Illya looked at his feet, his face taking on a thoughtful expression.  “I don’t really know.  Men, women… it depends on the individual.”

 

It occurred to Napoleon that Illya was taking this all remarkably well.  That instead of lying there so seductively posed, Illya could be shouting and screaming the same obscenities his school friend had been forced to endure, in any one of the many languages he knew.

 

In the meantime, Illya was pushing the covers down and slipping in between the sheets.  There was a twinkle in his eyes that had long been missing.  “Are you planning to stand there in your underwear or are you planning to join me?”

 

Leaving his inhibitions, as well as his boxers, behind, Napoleon dove beneath the covers that were held so invitingly open.

 

 

*****

 

 

Napoleon’s nose twitched at the odor of sex.  Hair tickled his nose and Napoleon breathed in deeply.  The scent of Illya replaced the strong scent of sex.  One hand rested on bare flesh.   Beneath his palm, the bare skin wasn’t soft and silky like he was used to, but more muscular.  His hand glided upward and encountered hair where no woman would have any and he couldn’t help smiling.

 

For Napoleon, last night had been liberating.  Illya had taken the lead, but Napoleon’s natural instincts soon kicked in and he managed, with little effort, to drive the Russian wild. 

 

His ears picked up Illya’s even breathing and he knew the Russian was still sleeping.  It should have felt strange holding another man so close, but it didn’t.  In fact, it felt more natural than all the nights he’d spent with women. 

 

His thumb moved over a hardened nipple and he couldn’t resist tweaking it.  A slight tremor and an intake of breath let him know that Illya was awake.

 

“Want to do it again?” Napoleon asked, his voice husky with desire, while he nuzzled Illya’s neck. 

 

Illya turned into his arms with a muffled chuckle.  “I see I’ve created a monster.”

 

Napoleon blew a raspberry in response.  An urgent need to answer nature’s call distracted him and he slipped out of the bed with a muttered, “I’ll be back.” 

 

With an immodesty that surprised even him, he scurried to the bathroom.  As he relieved himself he wondered, if now that he knew the joy one could experience with another man, he could ever again resist temptation.

 

Then it hit him.  Christ, he’d spent last night having sex with his partner.  What must Illya think of him? 

 

“What are you thinking about?” Illya asked as Napoleon shook the last drops off his flaccid penis and moved to the sink to wash his hands. 

 

He turned his head and saw Illya was leaning casually against the doorjamb, absentmindedly toying with his morning erection.  In all the years they had worked together and shared assignments, he’d never seen Illya so uninhibited.

 

He pretended to check his reflection in the mirror, feeling the bristles on his face.  His eyes were on Illya, blond hair in disarray, his face, too, covered in bristles.  It struck him that not wanting Illya to leave had had a lot to do with enjoying his company, their working well together, and needing his friendship.  The sex they’d shared was a bonus.

 

The question had certainly caught Napoleon off guard.  He waved his hands about, looking for a towel while he tried to think up a sensible response.  “I don’t usually do things like this…”

 

 “With a man?”  Illya’s blue eyes, inscrutable as usual, slowly moved upward until they engaged Napoleon’s reflection.  He pulled out a hand towel and tossed it over on his way past to take care of business, not an easy thing to do given his condition. “Yes, we’ve gone over this before.  Consider our little tryst a farewell gift.”

 

Napoleon tossed the towel aside and returned to the bedroom, sitting on the side of the bed, his thoughts in turmoil.  Here he had finally accepted who he was and Illya was pulling the rug out from under him.  When he considered all the men he knew, Napoleon couldn’t picture doing with any of them what he had just done with Illya. 

 

Shit.  This wasn’t supposed to be about him.  He was supposed to be talking Illya into staying, not taking sexual advantage.  But hadn’t that been at the back of his mind ever since he thought it was what Waverly was suggesting?

 

“You look distressed, my friend.”  Illya stood before him, the bruises covering his body a blend of pale yellow and green in the morning light.

 

“Am I?  Your friend, I mean?  I should have seen what was happening, not waited until you were about to leave me to do something.  And I certainly shouldn’t have had sex with you.  It was unfair.”

 

  “Napoleon, everything about you is sex and I can’t say I didn’t enjoy last night.”  Illya sat on the bed next to Napoleon, leaning close in a supportive gesture.

 

Napoleon took that as encouragement enough to ask, “Enough to stay?” 

 

“No.”  Illya pushed himself off the bed and grabbed a robe to wrap himself in. 

 

Napoleon gathered the rumpled sheet around himself to cover his own nakedness.  He went to the window and pushed back the curtain to look out.  Illya’s firm response had hit a sore spot and he needed the time to come up with an alternative plan.  “What if I insist that you not be sent out on any more assignments without me?”

 

Illya surprised him, coming up behind him, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head on Napoleon’s shoulder. “I can see Mr. Waverly going for that,” he said dryly. 

 

Relaxing into the embrace, Napoleon spoke with more confidence then he felt.  “He’s not going to have a choice.  Mr. Waverly’s going to find out what it’s like to go up against his Chief Enforcement Agent.”

 

Illya squeezed him tightly and shook his head.  “If that were the only problem…”

 

Napoleon turned a questioning look over his shoulder.

 

“You haven’t been listening.  I could take the constant injuries.  They go hand and glove with the job.  What I want… need… is someone to… I don’t know….”

 

“I think I know what you mean.”  One could wish for a normal relationship with someone, but in their line of work it wasn’t really feasible.  Even though he dated often, getting closely involved was not in the cards.  It was much too dangerous.  Yes, he not only understood, he was tempted to join Illya.

 

“Now can you understand why I must leave?” Illya whispered in Napoleon’s ear.

 

As much as it hurt him, Napoleon knew he had no right to ask Illya to stay.  Waverly be damned.  He wanted Illya to stay for his own selfish reasons.  Even now, his body was telling him that he was the one who needed Illya, and not just at work.  He realized he hadn’t been courting Illya so much for U.N.C.L.E. as for himself.   He couldn’t think with Illya’s arms around him.  He pulled away.

 

“If it’s companionship you want, you’ll always have me.  You can move into my place, or we could get a place, a retreat in the country… Connecticut perhaps?”  The more Napoleon thought about, it the better he liked it.  He could see them sharing a cottage in the country, sharing a bed, expanding their love lives.  Last night had only been a tantalizing glimpse of what they could enjoy.

 

Illya laughed and shook his head.  It was obvious he could follow Napoleon’s thought processes.   “And I suppose we could do this in relative secrecy?”  There was an amused quality in his tone.  “Napoleon, my friend, you are living a pipe dream. It won’t work.” 

 

Napoleon let out an exaggerated sigh.  Illya was probably right.  Damn U.N.C.L.E.  But Napoleon was nothing if not determined. 

 

He decided it was time to play dirty.  “I need you, Illya.”  He dropped the sheet he was wearing, letting his need show.  There was a doubtful look on Illya’s face, so he decided to up the ante.  “Who else could save me from all the female Thrush agents in the world?”

 

Illya’s laughter followed him as Napoleon took his bare self to the bath, doing his best to keep his dignity in place.

 

Napoleon had just started sudsing his body when the shower curtain was pulled aside.  “Decided to join me?”

 

Illya stepped into the tub and drew the curtain back into place.  “I just want to reiterate — Waverly would never, ever let us get away with it.”

 

“Why not?  There’s nothing in the bylaws that says we can’t have a private life.”  Napoleon was treading on thin ice here; he’d never actual read the U.N.C.L.E. bylaws, just skimmed through them when he first joined.  “Besides what can Waverly do?”

 

From the look on Illya’s face, he thought Waverly could do quite a lot.  Napoleon frowned.  Maybe Waverly had already done something.  Maybe that was why Illya was getting those strange assignments.

 

“Illya?  You don’t suppose Waverly thinks we are already… involved?”

 

Illya mulled it over as he soaped Napoleon’s back.  “It would explain a lot if he does.”

 

That didn’t seem fair.  Here Illya was being punished for something they hadn’t done.  Something tickled at the back of Napoleon’s mind.  He had to work hard to concentrate and ignore what Illya’s hands were doing to his body. 

 

It was something Waverly had done — no said.  “According to this, Mr. Kuryakin is the best man for the job.”  Napoleon blinked.  He’d been so angry he hadn’t notice Waverly had known no more about the assignment than he had. 

 

That meant there was someone else who was trying to drive Illya away.  Should he bring it to Illya’s attention?  But if he knew, would Illya just use it as one more excuse to leave?  Napoleon jumped when Illya’s hand made contact with his genitals.  He looked down at the hand fondling him, then up into mischievous blue eyes.  Now was not the time to bring it up.  Later.  Much later.

 

“I intend to have a nice little talk with Mr. Waverly.  If you promise to stay, he may be willing to overlook it.”

 

“And if he doesn’t?”

 

Napoleon thought it through and gave a shrug.  “There’s still the cottage outside Edinburgh.  I’ll even join you.”

 

Illya snorted.  “Can you promise me more sha-co-lats?”  A teasing grin joined the laughter in his eyes.

 

Napoleon reached for his partner.  Perhaps courting the Russian hadn’t been such a disaster after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

yumyumpm: Napoleon and Illya (Man from UNCLE)
 Beware of What You Wish For

BY YumYumPM

Originally published in YumYum Collected

Revised 6/10/09

When the two agents find themselves hanging Napoleon makes a, for him, unusual wish.  Then an experiment conducted by a mad scientist while on assignment leaves him with an strange talent and he learns some interesting things about Illya.  Things begin to get interesting and could change their partnership in ways they never thought of.

 

The two agents hung facing each other, eye-to-eye, their bodies less than two feet apart, their bodies swaying slightly.  As usual they were bickering.

 

“Look this isn’t my fault,” Solo insisted.

 

“You picked the restaurant.  You made the reservation,” Illya flung back.

 

Napoleon Solo, the darker of the two, sighed as he looked into the unreadable blue eyes of his Russian partner and wished for the hundredth time that he could read his mind.  The two agents hadn’t even been working when they had exited the restaurant, only to be overpowered and dragged to the vacant warehouse where they currently found themselves strung up.  He was lost as to who the men that had taken them captive were and more important – why?  They hadn’t asked a single question, just strung them up with chains and left them, laughing about the bomb that was planted, waiting to go off.

 

“You wouldn’t by any chance have any, ah…?” Solo arched one brow as he asked.

 

“No.  Do you?” the Russian replied, scowling, his chin coming up defiantly.

 

With a smug smile, the American replied nonchalantly, “As a matter of fact…”

 

“You do.  Where?” Incredulity lit the Russian’s face.

 

“Ah, you’ll have to come closer,” Napoleon said with a twinkle in his eye.

 

“How close?” was Illya’s wary response.  Considering their current predicament, amusement was not what he expected.

 

“Very,” Napoleon purred.

 

Shaking his head, the Russian’s cool blue eyes locked onto Solo’s as he tried to gauge whether he should believe him or not.  Deciding he had nothing to lose, he got a grip on the chain, then the pole, before he carefully managed to inch his way closer toward the darker man.  It was not easy and he was panting with the exertion when he finally stopped within inches of his goal.  He tilted his head to one side and asked, “So, where is it?”

 

“In the tag at the back of my shirt,” Solo replied as he tried to keep a smug smile off his face.

 

“Napoleon!”  The ridiculousness of the placement made Illya tetchy.

 

“Look.  It wasn’t my idea,” Napoleon responded with a shrug, as well as he could despite the fact that his hands were chained above his head.  

 

Illya maneuvered closer to try and reach the lock pick that someone from armory had decided to hide in the tag at the back of Napoleon’s collar.  Why the tag, why not his belt-buckle or the collar itself, he thought?   It made no sense.  However, it was the only thing he had to work with, so he did his best to reach it.

 

Napoleon could feel Illya’s harsh breath on his neck and he closed his eyes as his body started to react strangely to the closeness of his partner.  He breathed in the scent of the Russian as fire started to course through his veins and tremors of desire swept over him while Illya tried desperately to reach the lock pick.  Unusual as it was Illya, and not some gorgeous woman, who was generating these reactions. 

 

In order for Illya to reach the tag, he would have to more or less plaster himself to his partner.  When their bodies came into contact, it felt so good that Napoleon had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning.  Only his professionalism allowed him to mask his reaction to the closeness of his partner.  He blinked and wondered if the Russian had any idea of the effect he was having on Napoleon.

 

As close as they were, Illya still could not reach the back of Napoleon’s shirt and with a growl of frustration, he pulled away.  Looking intently into warm brown eyes, Illya asked, “Do you trust me?”

 

Napoleon nodded, not trusting his voice.

 

Nudging Napoleon’s chin up with the top of his head and using his teeth, Illya proceeded to loosen Napoleon’s tie.   Then he pulled off the top button of Napoleon’s shirt with his teeth.

 

“Careful.  It explodes,” Napoleon murmured with studied casualness.

 

Illya rolled his eyes and with a mischievous glint, flicked his blond head, letting the button fly across the room toward the door of their cell.

 

Napoleon flinched as the bomb exploded, shaking the room and leaving the door in pieces.  He glanced at the Russian’s smug face as Illya again moved close to him to gain access to the lock pick.  He couldn’t help it as his breathing got ragged and his body started to shudder.

 

“Hold still,” Illya hissed into his ear and Napoleon’s eyes popped as Illya brought a leg up and around him to hold him steady enough so he could retrieve the lock pick.  Napoleon bent his head forward to allow Illya greater access to the tag, surprised by how good it felt having him this close.  A strange desire to place his lips against that neck stretched next to his swept over him as Illya finally got his teeth on the lock pick.

 

“Boost me up,” Illya muttered around the lock pick once he had backed away from Solo.

 

“What?  How?” Solo was having trouble focusing and found to his chagrin that his thought processes were lagging.

 

Illya glared at him and hissed, “Think of something.  I need to reach my hands.”

 

Napoleon looked up at the hands hanging from the pipe.  In his effort to reach them, Illya had gotten a hold on the chain and pulled himself up.  Even then, he was still short of reaching his goal.  With a mental sigh, Napoleon considered his options and then did the only thing he could.  Trying to keep from swinging too much, he brought one knee up between Illya’s legs, giving him the boost he needed.   This however, caused an unfortunate reaction in the area of his groin.   Looking down he muttered, “Down, boy.”

 

“I can’t.  Not until…I reach…my hands,” Illya replied, unaware that he was not the one for whom the command had been intended.

 

Seconds later, he easily managed to reach his hands.  “You can remove your knee now,” Illya said sarcastically as he reached up to unlock his cuffs before dropping gracefully to the ground and rubbing his sore wrists.  With amusement, he looked up at his partner and said speculatively, “I suppose I could leave you up there.”

 

Napoleon glared down at him and growled.

 

Illya relented with a grin and reached up to let his partner loose.  “Why did you bother to ask if I had anything on me if you had a lock pick on you all the time?”

 

Napoleon, his feet now back on the floor, shrugged as he adjusted his cuffs.  “It seemed like the polite thing to do at the time.”

 

Shaking his head Illya suggested, “Perhaps now would be a good time to vacate the premises.”

 

While racing through the building, Napoleon struggles to banish his recent reaction to his partner.   Once outside the building, they dove for cover, Napoleon protecting Illya with his body, savoring the feeling of the lithe body under his, just seconds before the bomb went off.

 

Once Napoleon shifted away from Illya’s body they found that ‘Solo’s luck’ had stood them in good stead, and only Napoleon’s suit sustained any damage.  As they inspected the damage, Illya said, “Perhaps I should have been the one on top.”

 

Napoleon tapped him on the chest and teased, “There’s not enough of you to protect anyone.” 

 

Illya made a face that clearly said what he thought of that statement.

 

Patting his pockets, Napoleon asked, “Have you got a nickel?”  They needed to get in touch with headquarters and their captors had taken everything of value away from them, everything except the lock pick.

 

Illya turned his pockets inside out.  “Afraid not.  Looks like we will have to call collect.”

 

“Mr. Waverly’s going to love that,” Napoleon muttered, as the two men went in search of a payphone.  With stern effort, he managed to relegate to the back of his mind the feelings Illya’s closeness had provoked.


Not too long after, early in 1965, the two agents once again found themselves captured, guests of a mad scientist whom U.N.C.L.E. had long suspected of conducting extremely unethical research in the area of brain transference.  His delight in having two new subjects to use for experimental purposes was incomprehensible. 

 

Why does this always seem to happen to us?  Illya thought, as the two agents found themselves lying on tables side by side. He turned to look at his partner and remarked.  “I can understand why he’d want to transfer my brain, but why yours?”

 

Napoleon just snorted at the sarcastic remark.  Illya’s smug superiority was beginning to grate.  The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he glanced nervously at the scientist and watched him pull the lever, sending an electrical shock through his body and causing him to arch in pain.  The last thing he clearly remembered before oblivion took over was the sound of Illya’s voice shouting his name.  He was dead to the world in more ways than one when April Dancer and Mark Slate arrived; effecting what they thought was a timely rescue. 

 

When Napoleon woke in the hospital, following this incident, he knew instantly that his partner was nearby even before he opened his eyes.  This shouldn’t have been surprising except for the fact that he also knew that Illya was clearly agitated, though you wouldn’t have known it from looking at him. 

 

“Hi,” Napoleon said groggily

 

“Welcome back,” Illya responded from the chair next to the bed.  “For awhile there, I wasn’t sure you would wake up.”

 

“You miss me?”  Napoleon asked in spite of knowing with sudden clarity that Illya had. 

 

“Of course not,” Illya lied. 

 

“What are you doing?” Napoleon asked.

 

“Writing up our report,” Illya said as his gaze returned to the clipboard on his lap. 

 

It was obvious to Napoleon, though he wasn’t sure how, that Illya did not want to write that report - that Illya had never liked writing reports.  “You don’t have to write it.  I’ll take care of it.”

 

“Napoleon, I’ve already done the part you were conscious for and you don’t even know what happened next.”

 

“So you could tell me.”  Napoleon reached over and pulled the clipboard from Illya’s hands.  “Okay, let’s see.  Oh yes, Dr. Klyber pulled the switch and…?”

 

You almost died… you were dead…..you had stopped breathing. 

 

Napoleon looked up, surprised at the aggrieved tone in which the words had been uttered.  The obstinate Russian never voiced his concern, why was he doing so now?  Somehow, Napoleon knew in an instant that Illya had not actually said what he’d just heard.

 

“I’m not dead,” Napoleon stated quietly.

 

“Of course not,” Illya repeated gruffly in his usual manner.   Thank God.

 

Somehow, the thought that his partner cared made Napoleon feel good.  He had felt the worry emanate off his partner with an insight he had never had realized before.  He remembered wishing he could read his partner’s mind and now it looked as if he could.  Napoleon knew better than to let on about this to his partner.   He knew number one, Illya would probably kill him and two, U.N.C.L.E. medical would have a field day if they found out.  That was something he was not looking forward to, so he kept his silence. 

 

When he was finally released from medical, he noticed he could perceive thoughts emulating from the stoic Russian when they were in close proximity and the closer they were the better the reception.  Entering Illya’s office shortly afterward, he was surprised to learn that Illya really, really did not like doing paper work.  It wasn’t anything the Russian said, but Napoleon had the distinct impression that he only did it because it was his duty.

 

Over time he gradually learned other things he hadn’t known about his partner.  Odd little things kept popping up, like the realization that Illya enjoyed reading poetry.  Napoleon had been sitting at his desk when lines from a piece of poetry kept popping into his head. 

 

 

Because I could not stop for Death,

He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

 

He vaguely recalled reading this particular poem when he was younger and was wondering why he was thinking about it now, when Illya wandered in, a book in his hand.

 

“What are you reading?” Napoleon asked.

 

“Oh nothing,” Illya said as he tried to hide the title from view. 

 

Napoleon looked at him. “Poetry?”

 

Illya looked embarrassed.  “How did you know?”

 

“Lucky guess.”  It wouldn’t do to tell Illya that he could recite word for word the poem he’d been reading.


 

It was surprising to find that the impervious Russian had a romantic streak and Napoleon couldn’t help but wonder how his partner felt about being kissed.  Why it was important to know that about his partner he wasn’t sure.  The answer came as he happened upon Illya, who was receiving a thank you kiss from one of the secretaries for helping her with a problem she had been having with her computer.  At least, Napoleon had picked up the feeling that Illya had enjoyed the kiss; however, he was not prepared to test the kissing theory, in case this was only wishful thinking on his part.  It puzzled him how much his thoughts of Illya in a sexual way were occurring.  He realized that as head of Section Two, thinking about kissing his partner was somewhat inappropriate, especially when it led to his thinking about doing other things to the stoic Russian.   It got to the point that he even gave serious consideration to resigning as head of Section Two until he realized Illya would be his replacement, which put him right back at square one.

 

Napoleon gradually got used to having Illya in his head. In fact, there were times when it came in downright handy. 

The See Paris and Die Affair


It was while on assignment in Paris that he also learned that when Illya was extremely angry, his thoughts reverted to Russian, almost impossible to read, and at the moment Illya was angry now. 

 
“And you told him.”

 

“Now, Illya, you wouldn’t want me to lie to Mr. Waverly, would you.”

 

“You…..you…blockhead,” Illya sputtered

 

To make matters worse, Solo whirled away with Mary Pilgrim, the innocent they had manipulated during this affair, as he called back to his angry partner.  “Dance with the lady, pussycat.”  The look Illya sent Solo needed no translation.

 

One way or another, Napoleon somehow managed to get back to the room they were sharing before his partner.  He felt a little guilty about the trick he’d played on his partner, but the Russian rarely made a mistake, so he hadn’t been able to resist.  He was just getting ready to slide into bed when the door flew open and an extremely irate Russian entered the room.

 

“You left me alone with that…that…”  Illya stammered as he slammed the door behind him.

 

Napoleon regarded his partner in shock before starting to back away.  Illya was so furious that he was thinking in Russian and Ukrainian and Napoleon couldn’t make out a word of it.

 

“Damn you, Napoleon.”  There was murder in the Russian’s eyes as he advanced on the American with intent to do major bodily damage.

 

Solo used to a certain cool, collected Russian, knew what he had done was irritating yet he was unable to understand the reason behind all this… anger.  Sure, he’d baited Illya, but he’d done that before many a time and never managed to get Illya this mad.  Unfortunately, Illya evidently didn’t see it that way.  In his opinion, this was the last in a long line of grievances he had against his partner.

 

The two men circled the room, Napoleon being somewhat hampered by the fact that he didn’t want to hurt Illya.  Illya, on the other hand, seemed under no such restraint. The small room ended up taking the brunt of the damage as Napoleon pushed objects in the way, which Illya violently sent crashing to the side.   Illya finally managed to manhandle his partner onto one of the beds before he leaped on him to thwart any idea Solo might have of escaping his punishment.  Illya was out of control and Napoleon had no idea what he planned to do, furthermore, he realized that there was nothing he could do to stop him. 

 

“Illya, I realize you’re mad,” Napoleon said desperately as he sought to placate the deranged Russian.

 

“Mad?   Mad is not the word for what I am.”  The normally icy blue eyes blazed with fire.

 

Illya’s thought patterns were so loud that they were beginning to give Napoleon a headache.  Napoleon grabbed his head as the pain intensified and managed to gasp out.  “Not so loud… in English… in English.   I can’t understand you.”  Napoleon, after he managed to open the eyes that he hadn’t known he’d shut; found himself looking into his partner’s glacial eyes.  He watched with relief as they changed from anger to questioning.  He knew that Illya had no idea what he was talking about, since Illya hadn’t actually said anything.   His head was pounding unmercifully and he covered his eyes with the palms of his hands trying to lessen the throbbing.  “Why… are you so… mad?”

 

Illya’s breathing slowed as he abruptly moved back to the foot of the bed.  As he sought to gain control of his temper, he asked himself, Why am I so angry?

 

Napoleon lay panting on the bed, his arm covering his face.  “That’s better… what do you mean you have no idea why you’re so angry?”

 

Illya’s eyes became suspicious slits as he pondered that statement.   “How did you know what I was thinking?” he asked aloud.

 

“Umm, Illya, there’s something I should have told you,” Napoleon said reluctantly.

 

“And what would that be?”  Illya was willing to listen now that he had control over his emotions.

 

Napoleon cleared his throat and sat up to look his partner in the face.  “Remember that deranged scientist six months ago?”

 

Illya nodded.

 

“Evidently the experiment wasn’t a complete failure,” Napoleon stated flatly.

 

Illya blinked. “Exactly what does not a complete failure mean?” he asked apprehensively, his mind racing through the possibilities.

 

“Could you please slow down,” Napoleon gasped, gripping his head.  “I’m having a little trouble taking it all in.”

 

“You can read my mind?”  Illya backed further away in shock before asking indignantly.  “How long have you been in my head?”

 

“Hey, it’s you that have been in my head, tovarish.  It’s not like I have any control over it,” Napoleon responded with a glare.

 

“Don’t tovarish me.  How long?”

 

“About six months now,” Napoleon admitted and taking a deep breath, went on.  “And there’s something else I need to tell you.”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“Well, Illya, it’s like this,” Napoleon said hesitantly.  He wasn’t sure how Illya was going to take this.  “For some time now… I’ve found myself… harboring certain…ummm…feelings.”  He paused.  “Toward you.”

 

“What kind of feelings?”  Illya asked apprehensively.

 

Napoleon massaged his forehead with one hand.  “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

 

A stunned Illya looked away.  His mind went over the implications and coming to a decision, he pushed Napoleon back down on the bed and straddled him, his face inches from his partner’s.  “Read my mind now, Napoleon,” he dared him.

 

Solo concentrated before breaking out into a delighted grin.  “Why you devious Russian.” Napoleon looked at his partner in surprise - he’d finally caught it.  “I didn’t know,” he said positively elated, then he looked away puzzled.  “Why didn’t I know?”  

 

“If you had known, I assumed you would have wanted a new partner,” Illya said, despondently.

 

“No.  If I’d have known, I would have done this,” Napoleon said as he grabbed the delectable blond by his tie and pulled him close to claim his lips in a slow and tantalizing kiss.  As the kiss grew deeper and more lustful, Napoleon virtually ripped the clothing from the willing Russian, before covering the slighter body with his own.  The pajamas Napoleon was wearing vanished as if by magic and the two men ground their bodies together, creating a friction that all too soon drove them both over the edge, as they tried to muffle their moans of pleasure.

 

Napoleon turned to his side, breathing heavily, as his hand skimming ever so gently down the body of the man beside him.

 

“I cannot believe…”  Illya gasped in disbelief.

 

“That this just happened,” Napoleon finished as he pulled Illya back down and first used his hands and his mouth to soothe the trembling in his partner before changing it to a more sensual touch that brought shivers to the body beneath him.  No words were spoken as the voice in his head told him which ways were best to please his partner.  A touch here, a touch there soon had Illya moaning with pleasure. Once having gotten to that point, Napoleon relinquished control.

 

Napoleon sighed when they had finished for the second time. He gently turned toward Illya and lifted the other man’s chin with one finger.  Napoleon leaned forward, preparing to renew the sensations once again when he chanced to look at the clock on the bedside table.  “Damn, we have planes to catch,” he said regretfully as he leaped out of the bed to get ready.  

The Children's Day Affair 

One year later, they were on a train together heading back to the Geneva office after doing a security check for an important conference of U.N.C.L.E. heads.   Napoleon was somewhat relieved that, over time, the connection between them had faded.  Now as far as sex was concerned, the two agents approach to it was as different as night and day.  Kuryakin viewed sex the same way as one would an itch, if it bothered him enough he took care of it, if not he ignored it.  Solo, on the other hand, viewed sex in the same manner as he viewed a good wine or a good meal, an experience to be savored and enjoyed.  It had at times proven most embarrassing when Illya would finally relieve his ‘itch’ at the same time Napoleon was savoring his ‘wine’.”

 

During this last mission, Illya had been brutally whipped by a sadistic woman who called herself Mother Fear, his back a mass of bloody stripes when Napoleon had found him.  In spite of all that, they had managed to escape and stop her and Dennis Jenks, the head master of a nearby boys’ school, from assassinating the top level U.N.C.L.E. heads.

 

It had been a long day and Waverly decided they should spend the night at the lodge before heading back to New York.  Napoleon sat looked out the train window, trying to get comfortable, as he reflected on how much things had changed over the last year.  After Paris, the two agents had decided to play it by ear, with Solo never actively initiating their encounters, preferring to leave the when and where to his partner.  He could still count on one hand the number of times they had gotten together and enjoyed each other.  Take last night for instance.  When Illya normally initiated anything, he did more or less apologetic- last night he had been… demanding.


 

Napoleon had been unable to sleep because of all the tossing and turning Illya was doing in the other bed, evidently unable to find a less painful position.  Finally, Napoleon sighed and asked quietly.  “Does it hurt?”

 

“No,” had come the sharp reply.

 

“Don’t lie to me, Illya.”

 

There had been a pause of minutes before Illya replied reluctantly.  “It is merely… uncomfortable.”

 

Napoleon had turned and propped himself up on one elbow, asked, “Did you take the pain medication?”

 

“Yes.”  Illya snapped.

 

Napoleon had gotten up out of his bed and reached over for the jar of cream the doctor had prescribed. He had gone to the other bed and sat next to Illya who was currently lying on his stomach.  “Why don’t we apply some of this to your back?  It might help.”

 

Illya turned and looked at his partner.  He grabbed the jar from him and slammed it back down on the nightstand.  “No.  I don’t need that.”

 

“What is it you need then?”  Napoleon had asked, more than a little exasperated.

 

The next thing Napoleon had known, his slight partner had turned and pounced on him, driving him down on the bed and ruthlessly taking possession of his mouth.  There was no gentleness, just an urgent hunger and he felt like his tonsils were being sucked out of his throat.  The younger man’s mouth trailed down Napoleon’s neck, sharp nips and kisses down to his chest.  He had let up just long enough to rip open Napoleon’s pajama top, sending button’s flying.  

 

Napoleon was breathing hard as Illya ran his hand over his broad chest, tweaking the nubs of his breast before running his tongue over one than biting down – hard.  Napoleon had arched off the bed and panted.  “Illya, you’re killing me here.”

 

Illya had then backed away, his eyes burning with need and Napoleon had no problem discerning what.  Illya’s body had been trembling and he demanded, “Napoleon…”

 

 “Oh no, no, no, no,” Napoleon had said, shaking his head.  Of all the ways they had come together, that was one they had not done.

 

“Napoleon, please?”  Illya had begged.  The two men stared at each other for what seemed like ages.

 

“Damn…did you have to say please?”  Napoleon had sighed as he sat up and started removing the rest of his pajamas.  “How do you want me?” 

 

Illya hurriedly removed his own clothing, a wolfish grin on his face, before he had turned a reluctant Napoleon over on his stomach and positioned several pillows under his hips.  Then he had reached over for the jar of cream, not planning to employ it for its intended use.

 

Napoleon had buried his head in his arms and felt his rear cheeks parted and a finger piercing him, the sensation decidedly unusual, though not unpleasant.  He couldn’t help squirming as the finger was joined by others stretching and massaging his inner passage before hitting a spot that sent waves of pleasure up his spine.

 

Illya had removed his fingers and slapped Napoleon sharply on his ass, growling, “Be still.”

 

His erection was hard as a rock and it had been all Illya could do to hold back enough to carefully prepare Napoleon.  Hurriedly coating his straining erection, he slid into the body of his partner’s body with one swift thrust, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.

 

For Napoleon, the merging of their two bodies was more electrifying as he felt not only himself being entered, but the urgency and pain of Illya’s need centered in his mind.  The sharp pain of being entered had quickly been replaced with pleasure…pleasure doubled since it was not just his own, but Illya’s as well.  It had not been a gentle possession either, what with Illya slamming into him, hitting the right spot on every stroke.

 

Somehow both men had managed to keep their moans and growls of pleasure to a minimum and when Illya made his final thrust, they both managed to swallow the loud cries that wanted to escape.

 

Illya had collapsed across Napoleon’s back and muttered, “Are you all right?”

 

“Yeah,” he’d mumbled in reply.  Though in fact, Napoleon wasn’t sure if he was all right.  He was trying to sort through all the sensations he had experienced.

 

“Good,” Illya had said just before falling asleep.

 

The next morning Napoleon had woken, a sleeping Russian still plastered to his back, and the phone ringing. Total contentment radiated from the slumbering Russian.  Napoleon reached over to grab the phone, trying not to disturb him.  “Solo,” he’d muttered.

 

“Good morning, gentlemen.  Be prepared to leave in exactly one hour,” Alexander Waverly had announced before hanging up the phone on his end.

 

Napoleon had hung the phone up with a groan.  Nudging the man on his back, he said, “Wake up, sleepy head.  We have one hour to get to the train.”

 

“Don’t wanna,” the drowsy man had muttered.  It’s comfortable here, he thought.

 

“I know you’re comfortable, but we have to get ready to leave,” Napoleon had urged.

 

Illya had considered that statement and moved just enough so he could see Napoleon’s face.  “Is there something I should be aware of?” he’d asked apprehensively.

 

Napoleon waited a moment, debating on Illya’s state of mind.  “Possibly.  Let me sort it out first…okay?” 

 

“Damn, you’re reading my mind again.”

 

Napoleon hadn’t denied it.  “Will you just get off me?  We don’t have time for this.”

 

They had somehow managed to meet Waverly at the station in time.



Illya, at the back of the train, watched Napoleon squirm in his seat and moved to sit down across from him.
  “Does it hurt?” he asked.

 

“No,” was the sharp reply.

 

“Napoleon, don’t lie to me,” Illya said sternly, trying hard not to smile.

 

“It is merely…uncomfortable.”  Napoleon turned his gaze to his partner, unable to resist repeating Illya’s comment from last night.

 

Napoleon could clearly hear the laughter that Illya was generating, even though his face showed no signs of it.

 

“Napoleon, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to…” Illya said quietly with a sigh.

 

“Don’t…” He didn’t want an apology.  “I was looking forward to a repeat performance,” Napoleon answered as he gazed affectionately at his partner.

 

Illya moved to sit next to his friend.  “Perhaps tonight we can see just how much you retained of last nights’ activity.”

 

Napoleon turned a worried glance to his friend.  “Are you sure?”

 

Illya shrugged as he leaned closer to his friend and whispered, “After all you have an advantage.  You can read my mind.”

 

Glancing at the blond Russian sitting next to him, Napoleon couldn’t help but notice a glint of mischievousness in Illya’s eyes.  Hopefully, that look meant what he thought it meant and surprised himself by again wishing that his partner could read his mind.  Illya tilted his head to one side and winked, causing Napoleon to think Ohhhh boy, as his features slowly changed to a heartwarming smile.   Maybe one need not beware of what they wished for after all.

 

Fini.

 

yumyumpm: Napoleon and Illya (Man from UNCLE)
 

Anything for Illya

 

Formerly titled: The My Way or No Way Affair

By YumYumPM

 

It had been a grueling assignment not for him personally, but for his partner, Illya.  They had pumped so many truth drugs into him he didn’t know which way was up.  But he hadn’t told them what they wanted to know, of that Napoleon was certain.  He’d been there at the end and heard everything said. Even the part about Illya wanting him.  Exactly what that meant he wasn’t sure but he planned to find out. 

 

The THRUSH interrogator had been standing over him.  Then he had squatted down to Illya’s level and placed his hands on Illya’s thighs.  “Who is it you want so badly?”  His eyes glazed and licking his lips, Illya struggled not to say anything, but finally blurted out, “Napoleon.”

 

With a gleam in his eye the THRUSH agent had risen and whispered to his self, “Solo.”  He started to laugh a totally demented laugh, but he stopped laughing when he heard someone clear their throat.  Turning his eyes wide in astonishment, he barely felt the bullet as it entered his chest.

 

“Napoleon?”  Illya tried to focus his face going from surprise to delight to trepidation.

 

“Come on, Tovarish,” Napoleon said as he cut the straps holding his partner in place.  “Let’s get you out of here.”

 

They quickly left the building and were hiding in some trees on their way to Napoleon’s car.  Illya was still woozy and Napoleon had to hold him up.  “What was that all about, Tovarish?”

 

“Can’t tell…secret.  Napoleon,…why is it you call me Tovarish.  That should be…droog. or better yet…”  and promptly fell to the ground and was sick.

 

Droog, Tovarish, what’s the difference?  Droog sounds so harsh while Tovarish just sort of trips on the tongue.”  Napoleon reached over and pulled his friend up into a fireman’s hold and carted him to the car.

 

Back at headquarters what with one thing and another, the two men didn’t see each other for days.  When Napoleon finally caught sight of Illya going down the hall he rushed to catch up with him.  “No thanks are necessary you know?”

 

“Thanks for what?”

 

“For pulling you out of that predicament, you ungrateful Russian.”

 

“Oh, that.”

 

“By the way, what exactly did you mean about wanting me?”

 

Illya stopped in the middle of the hallway and went white. “What exactly are you talking about?”

 

“Well when I rescued you, you were telling them that you wanted me and they seem pleased.  Did you mean you wanted me to rescue you or…” looking at Illya as if a sudden idea had occurred to him.  “Illya, are you gay?”

 

Swiftly looking around to make sure they were alone and turning very red.  “Why don’t you just shout it out then everyone will know.”

 

Napoleon stood still with shock as his partner started to walk back the way they had come.   He caught up with him again and grabbed his arm to stop him.  “Come on, Illya.  I’m sorry but it just wasn’t something I was aware of.”  Looking into those blue and, at the moment, angry eyes.  “So you really want me, huh?”

 

Illya looked at him with suspicion. “It does not bother you?”

 

“I don’t know yet.  There are possibilities; I’ve never been with a man.”  He noticed Illya starting to back away and shake his head no.  “Look at it this way we could work on mutual enjoyment and you wouldn’t have to worry so much about my…”

 

Illya thought about it.  “Maybe” 

 

Gleefully Napoleon ordered, “Okay, meet me at my apartment at eight o’clock.”

 

“Why your apartment?”

 

“I want to enjoy this.  And I don’t think that would be possible at yours.”

 

“Is that an order?”

 

“No, merely a suggestion.”

 

 

As he exited the shower, he went to the sink to shave.  When he was finished he reached for the after-shave lotion, but decided that Illya would probably prefer him without it.  He stared at himself in the mirror and couldn’t believe he was actually going through with this.  He wouldn’t do this for anyone, anyone except Illya of course. 

 

Going into the bedroom he went through his closet deciding on what to wear.  Maybe he would just dress as he would for an encounter with Angelique or Serena, he thought with a smile.   After all there wasn’t that much difference, just a matter of different plumbing.  With that he pulled out and put on the red satin boxers Rachel had given him, the white silk pajama bottoms Monica had given him, and the royal blue silk dressing gown from Cheryl.  He added an ascot to the ensemble since he had been told it made him look dashing.  As he debated on wearing slippers he decided barefoot would be good enough.  Checking himself out in a mirror, he wondered what Illya would think if he answered the door buck-naked, which caused him to grin at his reflection 

 

Entering the living room he made sure the liquor was ready and the vodka chilled to Illya’s liking.  Next he went to the stereo and looked through the records that always worked with his female paramours.  There was that Russian piece with the cannons at the end-no better not, at least not on a first date. Where was that coming from, this was not a date, this was not a date.  Maybe if he thought it enough times he’d actually believe it.   After all these things had worked with females, why shouldn’t they work with males?  He was dimming the lights and lighting candles when the doorbell rang.  On his way to the door it he turned on the stereo.

 

Answering the door Illya came in looking as if he was on his way to a funeral. His eyebrows went up as he saw the way Napoleon had dressed for this encounter.  Seeing the dim lights and hearing the music.  “Really, Napoleon?”

 

Napoleon had turned to the bar and was preparing drinks. “What?”

 

“I am a man after all.”

 

“So I’ve noticed.” Handing Illya his drink Napoleon sat down on the sofa to sip his and patted the seat next to him suggesting that Illya sit down with him.  Since he had never done anything like this before he decided to try the techniques he that always worked with his female conquest and placing an arm around his partner and his hand behind Illya’s neck pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

 

Illya promptly pulled away.  “I am not one of your paramours.”

 

“I’m sorry but this is the only way I know about doing this, and I figured that since I’m the one you, ah, desire we could do this my way.”  Noticing the disgusted look on Illya’s face and hoping to appease him, he pointed to a tray of finger sandwiches on the bar.  “There is a little something for you to nibble on in the meantime.”

 

That was not what Illya wanted to nibble on, gulping down his drink in one swallow he decided to take the bull by the horn.  He pulled off the ascot around Napoleon’s neck; he slung it over his shoulder and followed this by opening the dressing gown. “You have too much on,” Illya insisted, he noticed that Napoleon was not wearing a pajama top, just the bottom.  Pushing Napoleon back to a reclining position, he swiftly pulled them down along with the red boxers.  Odd color scheme he thought.  What he saw once he had Napoleon disrobed actually made his mouth water.  Napoleon was a big boy.

 

Napoleon was a little nervous as his partner suddenly took his cock in his mouth and began sucking away.  This had never been done to him before by a male partner and he couldn’t believe that Illya was doing this to him now, but boy, oh boy, oh boy, it felt so good, that he couldn’t help but moan with pleasure.  Much too soon he exploded in his partners mouth, and lay unmoving as Illya swallowed every drop.  He looked up into the amused eyes of his partner and “Wow!” was all he could say.

 

“We aim to please,” Illya said as he got up to leave.

 

Napoleon sat up straight on the sofa. “Whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

 

“We have had our enjoyment and I am now going home.”

 

“Home? Oh, no you’re not.  This is supposed to be mutual enjoyment and I haven’t seen the mutual yet.”  He couldn’t believe he was saying this as he took Illya by the arm.  “By the way you have too much on also.” Getting up with his pajama bottoms around his ankles he proceeded to take off Illya’s jacket and toss it on a chair.  He couldn’t help but notice the gun and shoulder holster his partner was wearing. “I see you came prepared.”

 

Illya looked down. “Well, you never know when it might come in handy.”

 


Napoleon removed the gun and set it on the side table and took off the holster tossed it after the jacket.  He began by pulling off Illya’s tie and then went on to unbutton his shirt thinking that it wasn’t that much different from undressing a woman.  He couldn’t help but notice Illya was wearing a tee shirt and decided to leave it on. Strange how just doing this was turning him on.  He unbuttoned Illya’s trousers and noticed that he wasn’t wearing any underwear at all.  His breath caught and he found himself pushing Illya back down on a nearby chair.  Pulling up his legs and grabbed the ends if the trousers he pulled them off tossing them to join the other clothing.  He stood there taking in the sight of his partner slumped in the chair his erection hard and his legs splayed, dressed only in his tee shirt and socks.  His breath was taken away; he had never realized just how erotic Illya looked. Going down between those legs he pulled Illya to him for a soul-searching kiss.  Thinking this might be a time to try Solo Technique number three, he put his hands under Illya’s ass cheeks to pull him up to carry him… when he fell over and Illya came to rest on his chest.

 

 “Did you know you were heavy,” Napoleon gasped looking into Illya’s amused face.  “Since evidently my way isn’t working, why don’t we try yours.”


 

Illya just sat there with his cock pointing in Napoleon’s direction and grinned.  He could feel Napoleon’s erection nudging at his backside and came to a decision.  “What do you use to wet yourself for your female paramours?” he asked breathing hard.

 

Gasping for breath Napoleon responded, “I use a lubricated condom.” 

 

“Where?”

 

“Wallet.” Was all he could say as he pointed towards the bedroom.

 

Illya got up with difficulty and went to the bedroom.  He located Napoleon’s wallet on the dresser and removed one of the condoms.  On his way back he stopped at the bar for another drink swallowing it in one gulp.  Settling himself on Napoleon’s legs he opened the condom and with shaking hands put it on Napoleon’s large dick. 

 

“Illya, I’m not so sure…” Napoleon was unable to finish.

 

“What?” asked Illya as he impaled himself on the throbbing cock.

 

“Nothing?” he gasped, this was not too unlike having a woman, except Illya was so much tighter and looked so very sexy sitting on him in nothing but his tee shirt. As Illya started to ride him, Napoleon couldn’t help but stare at the cock directly in front of him and lick his lips.  Illya had sucked him so how hard could it be, but how to reach it.  In between breathing hard and trying to concentrate he requested, “Illya could you throw the pillows off the chair to me?” 

 

Illya slowed down, his eyes glazed, and he just managed to reach over for the cushions and toss them to Napoleon who promptly put them behind his head bringing him up enough that as Illya started riding him again his cock entered Napoleon’s mouth.  Ecstasy took over as Illya was both taken back and fore, Napoleon’s groin rising to meet each downward thrust.  Too soon it was over for both of them.  Both men climaxed at the same time and though Napoleon tried to swallow all that Illya had to offer he wasn’t able to, so some splattered on his chest.  They lay there for some time, and as Illya rolled off Napoleon suggested a shower.  Illya carefully got up and helped Napoleon up, started for the bathroom.  Napoleon following removed the condom and threw it away as Illya started the shower. 

 

Entering the shower, Napoleon quickly washed himself down than turned to lather up Illya.  “I can do this myself” was the indignant response he got.  But he was insistent and as he gently soaped up and started with the front going down to the genitalia, causing Illya to moan in gratification.  When he went to the back and into the crack in the Illya’s cheeks he was gratified when Illya let out a gasp of pleasure.   Working his way down the legs he got Illya to lift his feet so he could lather them and received a, “that tickles.” 

 

Hummm, time for Solo Technique number five, looking over at his shaving kit he removed his new shaving gel and applying some to his finger came up behind Illya and gently worked it up his ass.  Reaching around he started rubbing Illya nipples.  Even though there was no comparison with a female breast, what worked on a female evidently worked very well on a male.  As Illya moaned and groan while he worked more fingers into the anal opening gently going in and out.

 

“What are you using?” came the breathless voice.

 

“Some new gel shaving crème I got the other day.”  Napoleon was a bit breathless himself even more excited than if Illya had been a woman.

 


“You’re using shaving crème on me?”  Suddenly with a growl, Illya removed himself from the shower toweled himself off.  Taking the gel crème with him, he grabbed Napoleon and pulled him into the bedroom throwing him on the bed.  Taking the crème and pushing Napoleon’s legs to his chest he thrust his finger into the opening.  Napoleon squirmed. “Illya?” not sure he was ready for this.

 

“What?”  Illya looked evilly into his face as he positioned himself.

 

“Couldn’t we talk about this?” he gasped.

 

“Time for talking is over, you tease.”  Illya swiftly entered the man under him

 

Ahh, Napoleon was so tight and so delicious that he knew he wouldn’t last long.  Napoleon on the other hand was wondering if this was what it felt like for a woman when he entered them.  Watching Illya’s face and seeing how turned on he was, was exciting in itself, he lay back and relaxed, letting himself go.  Soon he was thrusting up to meet Illya as he went in and out of the ever so tight sheath.  He had never felt anything so erotic before, not even with Serena or Angelique.  Soon he felt a hot gushing of liquid in his anus and both men went limp.  After some time Illya gently pulled out and Napoleon’s legs fell over the side of the bed.  Illya went into the bath to get a cloth to wipe up Napoleon and the mess he had made on the comforter.

 

This comforter is ruined thought Napoleon, oh well,  I can always buy a new one.  Than maybe not, this would be a reminder of a wonderful eventful and painful night.  He knew he would be sore for days.  Illya got up to leave and Napoleon tried to stop him, but his legs gave way and he fell to the floor.  However he managed to grab Illya before he got too far and pull him down. “No way, this is no Wham, Bam, thank you M’am.”

 

“What?” Illya looked at him puzzled

 

“I mean this is not going to be love ‘em and leave ‘em.  Here, help me pull this comforter off.”  As the comforter was removed he grabbed Illya and pulled him onto the bed covering him with his body.  “Stay.”

 

“Napoleon, fun time is over, you are much too sore for anything else.”

 

“Oh yes, I’ll probably be sore for some time to come.  But I want you to stay and when the soreness is gone I want to us to try this frontwards, backwards, sideways, and every way there is.”  Looking into the astonished blue eyes of his now lover.  He pulled him into a firm embrace, and covering them up, they both fell asleep.

 

The end.

yumyumpm: Napoleon and Illya (Man from UNCLE)
 After the Fifteen Years After Affair

By YumYumPM@aol.com

2005

 

 

Illya Kuryakin sat at the bar in the Russian Café, fingering the rim of his glass and wondering why he was here to once again bid farewell to his former partner.  In his mind he was certain it was the wisest course of action.  The safest course.  The only course.

 

They had just successfully completed an assignment after a fifteen year separation.  It had been exhilarating, but perhaps they were too old for this, he thought as he brought his drink to his lips.

 

Fifteen years.  It was a long time to go without keeping in touch; but in a city the size of New York City, perfectly understandable.  Considering their former profession, it had been the only option.  Each had gone their own way, he to successfully found Vanya’s, a world renowned fashion house.  Napoleon Solo to start his own computer company.  Illya shook his head.  Computers, who would have thought.  It made him wonder about all the times Solo had finagled him into doing the research for their assignments, insinuating that Illya’s computer skills were better.

 

It would seem that ‘those times were over’ as Illya had once mentioned, and while he’d taken care of Janus, something he didn’t want to think about, it hadn’t salved his wounded pride.   The assignment was just a one time deal as far as Illya was concerned.  He had a business to run.  A highly successful and lucrative business. 

 

Neither man had managed to find time during this affair to discuss their reasons for leaving U.N.C.L.E.   There were still a lot of unanswered questions.  What had Napoleon been up to all these years? 

 

Fifteen years earlier, after having put Sepheran away and virtually wiping out Thrush, Napoleon Solo had decided he’d had enough, or so he said.  It had been at a time when retirement from the field was his only option.  He could have moved up into the policy section, yet he had decided not to.  Why had he opted to leave U.N.C.L.E. and more or less vanish?  Illya sat there, not wanting to think about his own reasons for leaving the world of espionage behind.  He’d sworn he would never go back to U.N.C.L.E, but all it had taken was “I need you, Illya” from Napoleon and suddenly he was back in the game, he thought in disgust as he drained the last of his drink and poured another.

 

The one thing he’d missed over the years was the camaraderie the two had shared.  During the last few years of their partnership before Napoleon’s departure, the two former agents had often ended up working the same case from different angles.  This mission had been no different.  Except for a few cryptic messages over their communicators, the two had not really had a chance to sit down and talk.

 

Illya sensed Napoleon’s return before he actually saw him.  Spying him from the corner of his eye, Illya called out to the bartender in Russian.

 

As the American slid into his seat, Illya asked.  “Did you say goodbye to Andrea for me?”

 

 “What do you think I’ve been doing for the last five minutes?”  Napoleon responded as the bartender surreptitiously slid a glass in front of him.

 

Illya’s “I appreciate it” was almost lost as Napoleon reached for the bottle, sneaking a peek at the label.

 

Illya’s curiosity got the better of him and as he watched Solo pour himself a drink from the bottle he asked, “By the way what did happen with Sepheran?” 

 

“He disappeared,” Napoleon reported as he picked up his glass and sniffed his drink. “But I’m certain Sir John will be hearing from our Thrush again.”

 

“And the ransom?”  Illya persisted.  He watched in fascination as Napoleon sniffed at his drink yet again, still not taking a sip.

 

“Converted back to cash and returned to the banks.”


“Pity.  Three hundred and fifty million in jewels would be nice to hold in your hand...just for a moment.”  Illya couldn’t resist the tone of naked greed that crept into his voice as he imagined the possibility.

 

Napoleon made a face after finally taking a small sip of his drink and cautiously asked, “Did you settle your account with Janus?”

 

Illya looked down at his drink. 

 

“I settled it,” he responded curtly, not wanting to go into detail.

 

Napoleon must have sensed his reluctance because he quickly changed the subject. “How about young Pennington-Smythe?”

 

“His performance out of town was very good.”  Illya smiled in remembrance, then he paused for just a second before venturing, doing his best to sound casual.  “Enjoying the computer business?’

 

Napoleon seemed uncomfortable, drumming his fingers on the countertop.  “Hmmm,” he said, distracted.  “Oh yes.  Great.”  It struck Illya that his friend didn’t really mean it.  “Truly fascinating,” Napoleon continued, fingering the rim of his glass. “However I’m finding it increasingly more difficult to have a meaningful relationship with a machine.”  

 

The two chuckled and Illya wandered if it was it possible that Napoleon had missed their partnership as much as he had. 

 

“You enjoying the frock business?” Napoleon threw out, almost as an afterthought.

 

“It’s wonderful.  I make a great deal of money,” Illya answered, his eyes going upward, his response less then totally honest.  “But there are a few…weird people in it.  At least when someone is shooting at you, you know where you are,” he finished ruefully, taking a gulp of his drink.

 

Someone had turned up the sound up on the TV behind the bar, catching their attention. “There is still no further word on the disappearance of Air Force One carrying the Secretary of State to the Paris oil conference.  We will interrupt this program with an update.”  Both men were listening attentively when a two-tone beep of a communicator sounded as the announcer continued. “We will now return you to your regular program.”

 

Napoleon glanced around before pulling the noisy communicator from his inside pocket and activating it.  “Open Channel D.”

 

“Mr. Solo?”  Sir John’s voice sounded hesitant over the speaker.

 

“Yes, Sir John.”

 

“Is Mr. Kuryakin still with you?”

 

Napoleon looked questioningly at Illya, who gave a confirming nod.  “He is.”

 

“I was wondering if the two of you are doing anything for the next few days.”

 

Illya, who had every intention of refusing, found himself shrugging along with his partner instead.

 

mfu

 

Two weeks later found Illya Kuryakin, dressed in khaki battle fatigues, standing on tarmac in remote Iceland, watching as Napoleon Solo and Benjamin Kowalski received kudos for a job well done.  Once again the two men had allowed U.N.C.L.E. to lure them into another job.  Once again they had separated.  He had headed out, alone to the other side of the Atlantic, while Napoleon and Kowalski worked the case from their side.  True, he had better connections in France, thanks to Vanya’s, and Kowalski with his brash manners would not have been of any help in getting the information that led to U.N.C.L.E.’s  locating Air Force One and safely returning the Secretary of State.  But still it, not exactly infuriated, more like irritated him that his partner preferred working with the younger man, or so it seemed to him.

 

Illya had better things he could be doing.  Like preparing his new fall line.  It was time he returned home.   He turned away, heading for the taxi standing nearby no more then ten steps away.   He was surprised to find a hand on his arm, holding him back as he moved to step into the cab. 

 

“Where do you think you’re going?”  Napoleon asked.

 

“Home.  You don’t need me,” Illya stated flatly.  He jutted out his chin in Kowalski’s direction.  “You have him.”

 

Napoleon’s hand was still firm on Illya’s arm, he nervously glanced back to where everyone stood.  “Have him…?  Not need you?  That’s ridiculous.  Who was it that got us the information we needed?  ” Napoleon rubbed his forehead with his free hand.  “Look, we need to talk, but not here.”  He patted Illya’s arm.  “Wait for me.  I’ll only be a moment.” 

 

Illya stood in the doorway of the waiting taxi and watched as Napoleon walked back to Kowalski and spoke to him.  Kowalski looked his way, shrugged then gave a curt nod before turning back to the many reporters who were congratulating him on the success of the mission.  Illya slipped into the taxi as Napoleon strolled back and climbed in after him.

 

As the cab took off, Illya gazed out the side window before turning to address his former partner. “There is nothing to talk about, Napoleon.”

 

“Not now.  When we reach the hotel,” Napoleon responded tersely.  The two lapsed into silence as their ride continued.

 

Illya entered his room, found his empty suitcase and tossed it on the bed, wondering why he had even bothered to unpack.  He opened it and angrily started throwing his clothing inside.

 

“Did you ever wonder why I left U.N.C.L.E.?” Napoleon asked calmly.

 

Illya glanced over to where Napoleon was leaning nonchalantly against the door jamb, and then he went to the dresser to pull clothing from it.  He continued to irritably toss items into his suitcase.  “If I remember correctly, you gave me some cock and bull story of the job being too much,” he answered with some resentment, before heading toward the bathroom to gather his shaving kit.

 

“And you didn’t believe me for a minute, did you?  Didn’t you wonder why during our last year as partners, we spent more time working assignments apart then together?”  Napoleon’s voice called after him.

 

Illya paused as he gathered up his toothbrush and toothpaste and put them in his shaving kit along with the sample shampoo and lotion.  Of course he had wandered why, he thought as he returned and tossed his kit into his bag.  “I was too busy being shot at.  Besides I assumed that was the way you wanted it.”  Illya slammed the lid down on his suitcase and locked it, unaware of the sadness that lurked in Napoleon’s eyes.

 

“No,” Napoleon voiced quietly.  “It was the way Waverly wanted it.”

 

“Waverly?  Why?”  Illya looked at him in astonishment.  Napoleon was looking pensive, rubbing his forehead and unable to meet Illya’s eyes.

 

“Because Waverly felt I was getting too dependent on you,” Napoleon finally confessed.

 

Illya sat down heavily on the bed next to his suitcase.  He shook his head in disbelief.   “That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed.

 

“No…no it wasn’t,” Napoleon said weakly.  “I was – did depend on you too much…more then I should have.”  He was pacing the small room, rubbing his hands over his face.  He stopped and faced the astonished Russian.  “Not only that but he somehow got the idea we were more than friends.”  He was taken aback as Illya fell back across the bed laughing hysterically.   “It’s not funny,” Napoleon scowled, sending gales of laughter through his partner once again.

 

“Of course it is.  You can’t be serious,” Illya choked.   He paused to wipe the tears from his eyes, his anger dissipating.  He noted the serious expression on the other man’s face.  “But you are, aren’t you,” Illya said softly.  Then more strongly. “I never thought of you in that way and I’m fairly certain you did not think of me that way either.”

 

Napoleon tilted his head, first to one side then another as if reluctant to respond.  “Not before then.”

 

“What!”  Illya sat up, astonishment widening his eyes as he took that admittance in.  “Was it something I said or did?”

 

“No,” Napoleon assured him.  “It’s just that Waverly always thought you were a little queer.”

 

“Queer?”  Illya’s voice squeaked.  “You mean as in…gay?  I always thought he meant I was a little strange.”

 

“That too.”  Napoleon couldn’t help but smile before proceeding more seriously. “You were right.  I never considered us…and then once he mentioned it I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  I started obsessing and it was affecting my performance.  That’s why I left.”

 

“Performance?  Job or sexual?”  Illya’s eyes glinted with amusement.

 

“Both,” Napoleon admitted reluctantly.   “Working with you was increasingly difficult.  In retrospect I see that I should have stayed, then whatever happened in Yugoslavia might never have occurred.”

 

“No.  If what you say is true…about Waverly, then nothing would have changed.  If you are feeling guilty, there is no reason,” Illya hastened to reassure his old friend.  Then on consideration he felt constrained to ask, “Is that why you are working with Kowalski?”

 

“Not at all.  That’s a matter of self-preservation.  Yours,” Napoleon answered frankly.  “I’d hate to have to inform Sir John of Kowalski’s demise, should he tick you off.”

 

“Perish the thought.  You’ve ticked me off many a time and I never tried to kill you.  Well, almost never.”  Illya couldn’t help but remember the time he’d been programmed to kill Solo and had almost succeeded.   “You have given me much to think about.” He picked up his suitcase and headed toward the door.   Opening it, he paused to ask, “I will see you back in New York, yes?”

 

The American stood there, his expression wistful.  “We’re still friends?”

 

How could Napoleon doubt it?  Would he have entered into this venture if they were not?

 

“Yes.  Still friends,” Illya assured him as he walked out the room.

 

mfu

 

Several weeks later in the main workroom at Vanya’s the sound was deafening, but Illya was use to it.   Models in various stages of dress swirled around him.  His assistant ran to and fro.  The makeup person chased after someone, trying to finish the job of alteration.   His shirtsleeves rolled up, Illya grabbed a dress off the rack, looked at it, frowned and shook his head.  This one wouldn’t do, he thought as he tossed it aside and grabbed yet another.

 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Ah, Illya?”

 

He smiled as he recognized the familiar voice.   “Napoleon!”  Pleasure welled through him. “So glad you could make it.”

 

Napoleon looked uncomfortable, his eyes covered to avoid the half-dressed females that moved around the two men.    Napoleon was not nearly the sex maniac most people thought him.  “You, ah, wanted to see me?”

 

Illya looked around at the pandemonium going on around them, seeing it with new eyes.  He’d never really paid much attention to it before. 

 

“Come,” he insisted, leading his old friend away. The two men wove their way through the crowd, until the sounds receded and passed through an outer office to reach Illya’s inner sanctum.  “Hold all calls,” Illya ordered his secretary.  “I do not wish to be disturbed.”

 

Illya watched in amusement as Napoleon took in the contrast between his inner sanctum and the outer office.  The outer office looked like an office, with its large desk and comfortable chairs.  Illya’s inner office was more his work space.  A large drafting table lined one wall, with several large sheets of paper showing his latest designs scattered across it.  Hanging on the wall above it were various fabric swatches, hanging here and there.  Along another wall underneath a hideous picture was a credenza, fine crystal and various bottles on it.

 

“So what was it you wanted to see me about?”  Napoleon asked, after he had finished his appraisal.

 

Illya’s mouth went dry, now that he had Napoleon here; he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.  “Why don’t we have something to drink first,” he suggested, moving nervously toward the credenza.

 

Napoleon stood there waiting, overdressed in his three piece suit and tie a sharp contrast to Illya with his white shirt, open at the neck, and his sleeves rolled up to the elbow.  Several weeks had passed since their last encounter following their returning of Air Force One.  They had talked over the phone several times since then, but with their busy schedules neither had time to actually get together.

 

Illya handed Napoleon his drink and walked past him, his back to his former partner.  “I’ve been thinking a lot about what we discussed in Iceland.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes, and I think I would like to try it.”

 

“Try what?”  Napoleon was truly puzzled.

 

Illya turned back to face his friend.  “You know.  Our having sex together.”

 

“What!”  Napoleon’s mouth dropped opened in surprise.  Not his most attractive look.

 

“You know, we could be…what do you Americans call it…fuck buddies?  That is the term, yes?”

 

“Illya!” Napoleon said, shocked.  “Why?”

 

How could Illya explain it?  The loneliness he felt, even surrounded as he was by employees and associates.  Ever since Napoleon had brought the subject up, it had somehow festered in his mind.  Somehow after hearing Waverly's mistaken belief of their relationship, Illya realized that as he got older he longed for someone to care for, to hold, to touch…to get off with.  So far no one he had met had fit the bill, he was forever alone.  Unable to put these thoughts into words, Illya merely shrugged.

 

“But…but you have all these beautiful women you work with,” Napoleon reasoned, flustered, “You’re surrounded with half-naked women on a daily basis.  Most of who would be more than willing I’m sure, to take you to their bed.”

 

Illya began to grow irritated.  Sure, if you looked at it that way, he had lots of opportunities and not only with women.  After all there were a lot of weird people in the industry and he’d had his share of offers.  But the morning afters were what worried him.  What would happen if he did take action on his desires and it didn’t work out?  He felt sure that with Napoleon there would not be that problem.  With Napoleon he could write it off as a bad experiment if it didn’t work out and go on.  With one of his models or associates, there would be bitterness and jealousy. 

 

“Illya?”  Napoleon called out, bringing his attention back.

 

“You are right of course, but for some reason they do not ‘turn me on’,” Illya said, realizing it was true.

 

“And I do?”  Napoleon sounded intrigued.

 

“Oddly enough, yes.  I would not have believed it before our talk,” Illya mused.  “I’ve felt for quite awhile that something was missing in my life.  I didn’t know what until now,” he admitted.  “Sometimes I find the garment business to be more stressful then being a spy.”

 

Napoleon drained his drink in one swallow.  Stress was something he could relate to.  When he’d been in the field he had used sex as a great stress reliever.  He wasn’t really adverse to having sex with Illya, after all those thoughts were what had led to his leaving U.N.C.L.E. in the first place, but that was fifteen years ago.  They’d been younger then.  “You really think that at this stage of our lives we could…”

 

The telephone rang just then and Illya snatched it up, snapping, “I thought I told you I was not to be disturbed?”  He paused listening.  “Very well, I will see him for a few minutes.”  He slammed the receiver down and turned apologetically to Napoleon.  “This will just take a minute.” 

 

Napoleon watched as Illya went to the door and let a young man in.  The young man, a clipboard in his hand, was standing close to his blond friend.  Too close in Napoleon’s opinion.  He appeared to be in his early twenties, with dark hair and dark eyes that were looking worshipfully at his old friend.  Illya, as usually, seemed oblivious to the young man as he flipped through the papers on the clipboard, marking here and there.  A flash of jealousy hit Napoleon as Illya handed the clipboard back, flashed his rare smile and pushed the boy from the room.

 

“Where were we?”  Illya turned back as if nothing untoward had happened.  “Ah yes.” He moved toward the credenza and pulled on the picture over it to reveal a safe. “I have been doing some research.”  He opened it, pulling out a bundle wrapped in plain brown paper and dumped out a stack of videos over his workspace.

 

Napoleon set his drink down and rifled through the videos.  “Porn videos!” he said, shocked.  “Where did you get these?” he asked as he looked at the photos on the covers.  Photo’s of men having sex with each other. 

 

“Actually, from your company,” Illya replied with amusement.

 

Napoleon dropped the video he held in his hand, his eyes wide with shock. “What!”

 

“See,” Illya said pulling a slip of paper from under the videos and handing it to his old friend.  “You did not know?”

 

Napoleon grabbed the paper and studied it.  It was an invoice, the logo of his computer company.  Reeling with shock he looked at the name on the invoice.  “Buddington Smith?”

 

“Well you did not expect me to use my name did you?”  Illya responded reasonably.  “I have a catalog if you would care to look.”

 

“Yes.  Yes, I think I might,” Napoleon said, holding in his temper.  His company supplied a lot of software, but to the best of his knowledge porn videos were not one of them.  He would definitely have to investigate this.

 

“This one I found of particular interest,” Illya said wickedly as he pulled one from the stack.

 

Napoleon was beyond being shocked by now or so he thought.  The picture on the video bore a striking resemblance to himself.  His jaw tightened with anger.

 

“Napoleon?” Illya’s hand was on his arm, his eyes worried.  “I did not mean to make you angry.”

 

Napoleon patted Illya’s hand, finding that he enjoyed the contact and wanted more.  “It’s not you I’m angry at,” he assured him, with a sigh.  “Are you sure?  About our having sex?”

 

Illya smiled uncertainly.  “Not really.  Have you got anything better to do?”

 

Napoleon gazed fondly at the Russian, an unusual thought coming into his mind.  “Mr. Waverly was right.  You are queer…strange,” he teased.

 

Illya shrugged. “I prefer to think of myself as a pragmatist.”

 

“We wouldn’t have even considered this fifteen years ago.  Why should we now?”  Napoleon asked thoughtfully.

 

“Because I want to.”  Illya replied as if that said it all.

 

 

mfu

 

Illya passed the Alexandria Park Hotel plaque and continued to the door.  Napoleon’s call had caught him at meeting with a prospective client.

 

“Can I help you, sir?”  The deep voice brought him up short.  His eyes traveled up the broad body to the doorman’s dark face.

 

“I’m here to see Mr. Solo,” Illya said politely.

 

Dark eyes looked him up and down.  The doorman turned to the phone on the wall and dialed.  He nodded and hung up.  With great courtesy he opened the door and bowed.  “Elevator to the penthouse is on your left.”

 

He rested his hand on the elevator wall and looked down at the floor as it slowly inched upward to the penthouse.  He wasn’t sure what to expect once he got there.

 

The door slid open and he looked up to find Napoleon standing inside his doorway.

 

“Welcome,” Napoleon said with a smile, then he turned and led the way inside.

 

This was the first time in years that he’d stepped into what had once been Napoleon’s Aunt Amy’s apartment.  The changes were subtle, Amy had very good taste.  The only thing he recognized from Napoleon’s previous home was the global bar in the corner.  A relic from the sixties.

 

Illya didn’t have a chance to linger as he was led into a formal dining area.  The dining table was set with china, crystal, and lit candles.  Napoleon moved to the iced champagne bucket and popped the cork.  Flowing liquid poured over the sides as Napoleon poured the bubbly into two elegant crystal flutes.

 

“I see you didn’t make many changes,” Illya commented as he took one of the glasses.

 

“Why change perfection,” Napoleon stated as he raised his glass in salute.  “To the good old days.”

 

Illya did likewise.  “To better days to come.”

 

Napoleon’s set his glass down and pulled out one of the chairs, waving Illya to sit.

 

Illya glared back, making it clear he would not be treated like a woman.  He deliberately moved to the only other chair with a place setting.  He snapped his napkin and placed it across his lap.  “You do know that you don’t have to feed me.”

 

Napoleon raised an eyebrow.  “You never turned down a meal in the old days.”

 

Illya couldn’t disagree.  A half-smile crossed his face as he attacked the food on his plate.  The meal was excellent and he had every intention of enjoying it.

 

Halfway through the meal Illya asked, “So what happened about the video’s?”

 

“I settled it,” Napoleon responded shortly.  He didn’t want to talk about finding the person, someone whom he trusted and had held a responsible position in his company.  He’d been floored when he did the responsible thing and fired the man, only to be threatened with a lawsuit.

 

“You are only doing this because I’m gay and you’re not!”

 

That had shocked Napoleon, up until that time he never would have believed it.  The man had a wife and kids.  It had taken him a few minutes to gather himself together.  “Whether you are or not is none of my business.  What is my business IS this company and the unethical use you made of it.  It is for that and that alone that I’m forced to let you go.  Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

 

The man visibly shrunk after that.  Napoleon wasn’t cruel; he gave him a month’s severance, two weeks' vacation pay and a reference. 

 

Illya began to fidget; maybe this wasn’t a good idea.  Napoleon’s eyes were hard in a way that Illya had only seen on the job.  He wiped his mouth on his napkin and rose from his chair.  “Perhaps I should leave.”

 

“No!” Napoleon leaped from his chair.  “Please don’t go.  I’m sorry; it just wasn’t a very pleasant experience.”  He shook his head trying to rid himself of the memory. 

 

Illya looked at him leery.

 

“Besides, you can’t leave now, there is chocolate for desert,” Napoleon cajoled.  He must have done a good enough job, because Illya returned to his chair. 

 

Napoleon disappeared and returned with a crystal goblet which he set before Illya.  A goblet of chocolate mousse.

 

Illya licked his lips.  Even after all their years apart Napoleon still remembered his weaknesses.  He looked up.  Napoleon was leaning back in his chair, trying to hide a small smile with one hand.

 

“Aren’t you going to have some?”  Illya asked as he brought a spoonful to his lip.

 

“No, I don’t think so.  I have to watch my girlish figure.” Napoleon grinned.

 

Illya raised an eyebrow and swallowed a spoonful of mousse, then for good measure he stuck his tongue out and slowly licked seductively around the spoon.   He smiled inwardly as he heard Napoleon suck in a deep breath.

 

“Why did you agree to this?” Illya asked waving his spoon around.

 

Napoleon leaned forward and looked down at the tabletop, almost as if embarrassed.  “It’s not that I’ve done without, you know.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve slept with a woman.  It’s just that at night…when I get home?  There’s nobody here.”

 

Illya nodded.  He knew exactly how Napoleon felt.

 

“It’s hard to explain…the loneliness.  Then there’s the fact that I’ve never been with a man before.”   Napoleon’s eyes slip upward to watch Illya’s reaction. 

 

“And you think I have?”  Illya voiced his indignation.

 

“No, no,” Napoleon hurriedly tried to placate him.  “But you have to admit with being in the fashion industry you’ve had more chances…”

 

“That’s it!”  Illya flung down his napkin.  “I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

 

“Sit down.” Napoleon took in a deep breath.  “It’s just I’m new to this and I thought we’d take it slow.”

 

“By slow do you mean dinner and dancing?” 

 

“Dinner – yes.  Dancing - no.  I thought maybe…a little cuddling?”

 

The two men stared at each other incredulously, then burst out laughing.

 

By the time the meal ended, however, Illya had given up on anything at all happening.  He got up from the table with the intention of helping clear it.  He wasn’t expecting two hands to grip his upper arms and every so gently turn him so that he was face to face with Napoleon.  One of Napoleon’s arms moved to cradle Illya’s neck while the other wrapped around him embracing him firmly.  At first the kiss was just two lips pressed together, but Illya soon warmed up to it.  His eyes closed as he wrapping his arms around Napoleon’s neck and melted into the kiss all the while opening his mouth so Napoleon’s tongue could do some exploring.

 

He began to feel lightheaded, then he heard Napoleon speak softly.  “I’ve missed you.”

 

The walls he’d erected around his heart came crashing down.  This was no longer about getting off or staving off the loneliness that he’d felt for years. 

 

The next thing Illya knew, he was being maneuvered into the living room and his jacket was sent flying towards one of the chairs.  His necktie followed suit and the buttons on his shirt were undone one by one.  He knew that Napoleon was a passionate man, his one fear was that Napoleon would follow his past experience and give him a wonderful night before moving on to someone else. 

 

Napoleon was looking at him, that smile that had always infuriated him on his face.  The smile that said ‘Trust me; I know what I’m doing’.  Illya’s pride flared.  He wanted to be the aggressor. 

 

He grabbed Napoleon by the lapel, closed his eyes, and pulled Napoleon to him.  He wasn’t exactly sure what would happen next, but he was going to give it one hell of a try.  Their lips came together roughly, but Napoleon pulled away slightly, gentling it, for which Illya was truly grateful.  Napoleon had his hands on his butt and they were grinding away to a primitive rhythm.

 

Suddenly Illya saw stars, and the next thing he knew, Napoleon let him slide down upon the sofa and then back away.  He appeared to be looking pensively down at his expensively made trousers.

 

“I appear to have made a mess.”   His brown eyes crinkled with amusement and he seemed to be holding back a smile.  “So have you.”  There was that grin.

 

Illya could feel the stickiness in his trousers.  Just the thought of what they’d done started him chortling and soon Napoleon slipped down next to Illya and was laughing hysterically too.    Soon they both had tears running down their faces. Neither Illya nor Napoleon could remember when they’d laughed this hard.

 

Napoleon got up first, still chuckling, and took Illya by the hand.  “We’d best clean up.”

 

The bathroom was big enough for two.  It consisted of soaker tub, huge shower, separate water closet, full length mirror as well as the usual sink.  The dark woods giving it a masculine feel.  Illya quickly stripped off his clothing while Napoleon started the shower water and got them clean towels and robes.

 

Napoleon’s jaw dropped along with the towels.  It had been over fifteen years, but Illya’s physique wasn’t that much different from what Napoleon remembered.   A few more pounds…maybe?  But those abdominal muscles?  “How do you keep in such good shape?”

 

“Exercise.”  Illya answered impishly.  “And you?”

 

Napoleon’s sigh held a bit of distress.  He’d put on a bit of weight, not a lot, but he’d never fit into a forty-two tux again.  “I travel a lot.”

 

Illya helped Napoleon off with his clothing.  “Hummm,” he said as he spied Napoleon’s cock.   Is it possible that his penis had grown over the intervening years?  He blushed remembering that he’d never seen it fully erect before.

 

Napoleon’s eyes followed his gaze.  “Touch me,” he ordered hoarsely.

 

Illya licked his lips and did just that, shocked when it twitched at the touch of his fingers.  Boldly he wrapped his hand around it, feeling it pulse against his palm.  Napoleon let out a gasp. 

 

Damn, Illya, if you don’t stop now, we’ll never get cleaned.

 

He pushed Illya away, not because he wanted to, but they were supposed to be cleaning up.

Surely they could manage this.

 

Illya pulled away with disappointment, but Napoleon used one finger to pull his chin up so that they were eye to eye.   “It’s not that I don’t want it.  I want it too much.  Why don’t we start fresh, after all we have all night?  You where planning to stay the night?”

 

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Illya said, though the twinkle in his eye said otherwise. 

 

Napoleon smiled a truly happy smile, one he hadn’t used in years.  He decided he didn’t want to rush this phase, so he shut off the shower and opened the faucets to the soaker tub then added some bath oil.

 

“After you, Alphonse,” Napoleon waved Illya in first.  Illya shook his head and slipped into the tub.  Napoleon tossed in a couple of wash clothes and slipped in behind him. 

 

Bathing took a sensuous turn, the likes of which Illya had never experienced.  The tub was big enough to maneuver in as they explored each other’s body from top to bottom.

 

The water was cold by the time they felt clean enough to get out.  Words were unnecessary when drying off turned into another new experience as their lips caressed skin made soft by the oils. 

 

By mutual consent the two decide to take this slowly, learning as they went along.  The large bed made for some interesting experiments, trying positions that men of their age shouldn’t try.  They ended up laughing hysterically and feeling young again.  As it turned out it was almost dawn when they finally fell asleep. 

 

Napoleon kept his eyes shut and stretched, feeling better than he had any right to considering all the gymnastics they’d participated in during the night.  He reached over to pull Illya closer and closed in on…nothing?  Then the scent of freshly brewed coffee floated nearer.

 

“Did you think I had second thoughts?”  Illya demanded to know as he set a tray down on the end table.  Wearing one of Napoleon’s old robes, that pretty much engulfed him, he bounced on the bed with the grace of a man much younger.  “Have you even thought about how much we do not have in common?”

 

Napoleon reached across him to pick up his grass of coffee. “I thought we might move in together?  I’ve just found you again and I’m certainly not going to lose you.”

 

“And just how had you thought that we would make this work.”

 

“Let me get this straight you just though we would have some fun?’

 

“I’m not saying it wasn’t fun. There is just more to this then I want.”

Napoleon pulled up the sheet to cover his naked body and sipped on his coffee.  “Do you even know what I want?”

 

“Great sex?”

 

An irritated frown passed across Napoleon’s face.  This was something that he had thought a great deal about this since their parting in the Russian Café two years previously.  “I want…” Napoleon said slowly, wanting Illya to understand that this wasn’t a whim.  “My partner back.  Someone to come home to, to share my life with.”

 

Illya looked doubtful.

 

“To argue with if need be.  I’ve missed US.  The sex is just a bonus.”

 

“Napoleon, I am not the easiest man to get along with.”  Illya shook his head and looked away.  “My business takes me away…a lot.”

 

“So does mine.”  Napoleon reached out and put a hand on Illya’s knee.  “There has got to be a compromise in there somewhere.”

 

Illya shook his head.

 

“I’ve been thinking of retiring.  Not totally, just pulling back, letting others take up the slack.”

 

Looking thoughtful Illya nodded.  “There is a lot that I could delegate that I’ve been putting off.”

 

Napoleon cleared his throat.  “As much as I like Aunt Amy’s penthouse, it has always been hers.  I’ve been actively looking at other properties.”

 

Illya’s eyes narrowed.

 

“There are a couple of places I was hoping you’d be willing to look at with me.”

 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

 

“Yeah, Partner Mine.  Twenty Years after our partnership went kapoot, I’m asking you to be my partner to have and to hold and live together for rest of our lives.”

 

 



yumyumpm: Napoleon and Illya (Man from UNCLE)
 

A Moment of Madness

Originally posted File 40 2004-revised

YumYumPM

Napoleon discovers feelings for his partner that could lead to madness.

 

Napoleon Solo stood by the window, his hands in his pocket and tie undone, wondering how the hell he’d managed to get himself in the fix he was in.  He was the top agent for U.N.C.L.E. New York.  Ruthless, merciless, and heartless, okay, maybe not heartless; and here he was acting like a lovesick fool.  Not that anyone would know to look at him, but deep on the inside he knew.  He sighed.

 

“Napoleon, Na-po-leon!”

 

“What, Illya?” he asked, his voice tired.

 

“You have been a million miles away.  What’s wrong?” his irritated partner asked.

 

What’s wrong?  I’m having definitely indecent feelings for you and you ask what’s wrong?  “Nothing,” was all he said.

 

It wasn’t even as if Illya had done anything to encourage these feelings.  Hell, he’d probably kill him if he ever knew.  Well, maybe not kill, but seriously maim would be closer to the point.  If only he knew why he was having these feeling?  He sighed again.

 

He turned away and left the room saying, “I’m going to go get some air.” 

 

“Say hello to her for me.”  He heard Illya call after him.

 

Instead of using the elevator he went over to the stairwell, down three steps and stopped.  Sitting down he wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin on them as well.  Her?  There was no her, every time he tried to think about anyone of the female persuasion, Illya got in the way.  He would see himself kissing a beautiful red head and suddenly it would be Illya.  He’d imagine himself with a naked blonde and suddenly it would be a naked Russian. When had he gotten so obsessed?  He wasn’t into men, though half of U.N.C.L.E. probably thought he was.  His reputation was going to be the death of him yet.

 

Illya headed for the elevator intent on getting something to eat when he glanced into the stairwell and saw his partner just sitting there.  He changed direction and walked down to sit beside his friend. 

 

“Napoleon, something is obviously wrong?  Tell me what is bothering you.”

 

Solo would not look at him. 

 

“Is it something I’ve done?”

 

Solo shook his head no.

 

“Is it something you’ve done?”

 

Solo hesitated before shaking his head no again.

 

Twenty questions was not Illya’s favorite game.  “Is it something you want to do?”

 

Napoleon lifted his head and looked intensely at the blond Russian.

 

Illya held his breath; there was no mistaking that look.  Surely, Napoleon could not be serious.  Napoleon turned his head and hid his face.  Damn. 

 

“Napoleon...” he started.

 

“Would you please just go away?” Napoleon muttered into his hands. “Please before I do something we’ll both regret?”

 

Illya slowly got up and left.  Napoleon stretched out his legs and leaned back against the stairs.  After a while he got up and headed back for their room.  He opened the door to find Illya spread out naked on the bed.  He stood there, the key still in the lock, in a state of shock.

 

“Close the door,” Illya commanded. “This is what you want isn’t it?”

 

Napoleon closed the door and went and sat down on the other bed.  “What on earth… Illya, what I want and what I get are two totally different things.”  He pulled the blanket from across the foot of his bed and threw it at Illya to cover him up.  “I’m having problems, but that’s no reason…”

 

Illya took the blanket and wrapped himself up in it.  “Napoleon, if you have problems, we have problems. I thought this was what you wanted.”

 

“I do…I don’t…I don’t know what I want.”  Napoleon realized he wasn’t making any sense.  The two men just looked at each other for the longest time, neither saying anything.  Napoleon finally broke the silence.  “I’m sorry; my imagination is getting the best of me.  If we actually acted on it we’d both regret it.”  He frowned.  “At least I think we’d both regret it.  Maybe only you’d regret it.”

 

“I’m willing to take the chance,” Illya offered.

 

“But I’m not.”  Napoleon was adamant. “I care for and respect you too much, and that’s the problem.”  Illya looked at him puzzled.  “It’s not even as if I were in love with you,” he said thoughtfully.  “Though, maybe I’m in lust with you.  I can control it….I think.”

 

“Napoleon, you are not making any sense.”

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

“Why don’t we just take this one step at a time?  From the beginning,” Illya suggested.

 

Napoleon looked at him questioningly.

 

“When did all this start?”

 

Napoleon tried to think back. “I’m not sure.”

 

“That’s reassuring,” Illya said sarcastically.  “When did you realize you wanted to fuck me?”

 

Napoleon winced. “I’m not sure I’ve gotten that far yet.  Mostly it’s a very strong desire to kiss you.”

 

“Is that all?”  Illya asked in surprise.  “I have no problems with that, in Russia men kiss all the time.”

 

Napoleon glared at him. “Not the way I want to kiss you.  Besides what happens if I get the strong desire to…ah…you know?”

 

“The word is fuck, Napoleon,” Illya said exasperatedly.  “We could take it one step at a time.”

 

Napoleon considered the offer, it sounded like a good solution.  But he still wasn’t prepared to act on it.

 

“Why don’t you just fulfill the fantasy of kissing me, maybe you won’t like it,” Illya whispered.

 

Napoleon debated with himself mentally, surely one kiss wouldn’t hurt.  He got up from the bed and sat next to the Russian, wrapped up in a blanket, and looked him in the eye before taking Illya’s face with his hands and pulling his mouth upward for what he’d plan to be a quick kiss.  Unfortunately it didn’t work out that way. The softness of the mouth and the sweetness of the kiss was so intoxicating that it stretched on endlessly.  Soon they were both breathing hard.  Napoleon forcefully broke himself away. “This is not going to work.”

 

Illya, the blanket dropping from his shoulders, reached out and grabbed Napoleon by the base of his neck. “Who cares,” he said before initiating another breathtaking kiss.  He lay back on the bed pulling Napoleon down with him, their mouths never leaving the other.

 

Napoleon finally gave in and uncovered the body beneath him as if unwrapping a Christmas present.  He let his passion take him as he reached for the face of his associate and started kissing first the forehead, the eyelids, then the nose, on to the mouth.  From there he went to the neck, causing Illya to arch his head, followed by the chest, his tongue making patterns on the body beneath him.  He moved back up to nip at first one nipple than the other and listened to the moans of pleasure his partner was making.  It was obvious that the attention he was receiving was arousing him, so Napoleon worked even harder to arouse him more.  His hands were everywhere, his mouth was everywhere and soon, much too soon, Illya arched and climaxed forcefully.

 

Trying to get his breath back, he lay there completely sated.  Napoleon moved over to one side and lay next to him, his head resting on his hand looking smug.  Illya tried to get up but found he didn’t have the strength.  “So, now what?”

 

Napoleon’s hand went down to the flat abdomen and lightly stroked it.  “I think, that if you let me do this ever so often, I just might be all right,” he whispered.

 

“And what about you?  Do you not wish for me…?”  Illya queried.

 

“Nope, I think it was all about needing to please you.  Which pleases me.  If I need anything more, I can find it elsewhere.  I have no intentions of burdening …” Napoleon was unable to finish due to Illya’s fingers on his lips.

 

“What if I said it was no burden?”  Illya asked. “What if I need…?”

 

“Illya, whatever you want, whenever you want it,” Napoleon replied.  “But now, you need to rest.”   He gently covered his partner with the blanket and pulled him close.

 

Illya closed his eyes, blissfully aware of the change in their partnership, and oddly enough welcoming it.  Sleepily he muttered, “I’ll protect your back, if you protect mine.”

 

The End.

 

 

 

yumyumpm: Napoleon and Illya (Man from UNCLE)

Originally in YumYumPM Collected Zine

2004

Revised

(Inspired by two of Suzan Lovett’s Beautiful Drawings)

A simple courier assignment turns into more than Solo bargains for.  While personal issues don’t effect his handling this assignment it definitely results in changes in his relationship with his partner.

 

Napoleon Solo bit down on his bottom lip as he searched for signs of his partner’s blond head in the room below.  Room…what a laugh… it was more intimate alcoves than anything else.  True the room did have a richly colored Mahogany bar.  The large mirror behind it was lined with glass shelves that held every type of liquor one could want.  The whole room was that way, opulent, with an old world charm, dark paneling, intimate niches… a place to take that special someone.  It was increasingly obvious that the old man knew what he was letting them in for.  But something about the room below felt wrong - off.  His stomach tightened as he considered what his partner could be doing down there on the main floor and with whom.  

 

Twenty-four hours previously their boss, Alexander Waverly, had briefed them.

 

“Gentlemen, this next assignment is unusual in nature,” Waverly said dourly.

 

“In what way, sir?”  Kuryakin taking the lead kept his tone all business.

“I’d rather not say.” Waverly paused to light his pipe, and then took a couple of puffs on it before continuing.  “I would like the two of you to fly to New Orleans.  Sometime within the next three days between the hours of 10:30 p.m. and 12:30 a.m. you will be contacted and given a roll of film at the…” he reached for a paper lying in the folder that was open in front of him. “…the Cafe Lafitte in Exile.”

 

Illya Kuryakin looked across the table at his superior, his blue eyes hidden behind tinted glasses. “That is rather scant information, Sir.”

 

“I’m afraid it’s all we have to go on at the present time,” Waverly said as he continued to puff on his pipe.   He closed the folder with finality and sent it around to land in front of his senior agents.  He leaned forward as Kuryakin picked it up and examined the few papers it contained.  “The information you bring back could be of earth shattering importance.  You must use any means at your disposal to obtain it.” His tone reflected the seriousness of the assignment.  “You best be off, your plane leaves in two hours and you have much to do.”

 

He turned his chair away, summarily dismissing the two agents as they left the room. 

 

Napoleon had been uncharacteristically silent during the entire briefing.  Something about this assignment seemed to be bothering him, bringing back memories long since forgotten.

 

Kuryakin rifled through the few papers in the folder as they walked down the hallway of U.N.C.L.E.  “There is nothing here.  Just our tickets, along with a single sheet of paper containing dates and times.”  He frowned at the scantiness of information, then stared intensely at his partner.  “You have been awfully quiet.  Is something wrong?”

 

Solo took in a deep breath. “I just have a bad feeling about this one.  I’m sure I’ve heard that name before…the café.”

 

“Lafitte?  It’s a common enough name for that New Orleans.”  Illya glanced at his watch.  “And right now we don’t have time to investigate it more thoroughly.  Besides, Napoleon, what can possibly go wrong?  This is just a simple pickup.  Maybe we will even have some time to listen to some jazz,” Illya said cheerfully in an effort to dispel his friend’s morose mood.

 

 “You and your Jazz,” Napoleon muttered as he shook his head.  The two chuckled as the two continued walking down the hall, never realizing it might be the last time they were to do so for some while.

 

Upon their arrival the two agents checked into the Creole House Hotel, which was located two blocks from Bourbon St. in the French Quarter, after which they contacted the local U.N.C.L.E. office.  Their lack of information was even more puzzling.  Down in the lobby Illya was checking a discretely place rack with brochures of local tourist attractions.

“Hey, Napoleon.  Look.”  Illya handed him one of the brochures.

 

Napoleon took one look at the slip of paper.  ‘Oh hell’ he thought; now he knew why the name was familiar. 

“Isn’t this....?”  Illya asked.

“Ohhh, yes,” Napoleon confirmed.   This was indeed a brochure about the 'Cafe Lafitte in Exile' blatantly proclaiming quite clearly the type of cafe it was.  Very, very odd.

That night they had made their way to this obscure club located on a corner in the French Quarter.  Solo, as was his custom, had worn a tuxedo, while his partner had dressed down for this assignment.  Black turtleneck, dark slacks, and charcoal grey jacket.  Napoleon deliberately had trouble finding the place making them late and they split up on arrival.  

“You are looking distinctly uncomfortable, my friend,” came the softly accented voice from behind him.

 

Solo’s body relaxed.  He hadn’t realized how tense he was. 

 

“And you’re not?” he countered giving the slender young man next to him a quick glance before turning his gaze back to the room below.

 

“I am KGB trained after all,” Kuryakin reminded him, keeping his face bland, although his eyes danced with amusement or was it devilment. He moved to stand next to Napoleon, his hands placed wide on the wrought iron railing that encircled the room and looked down as well.

 

“I forgot,” Napoleon admitted absently.  He sometimes forgot that Illya had a life before joining U.N.C.L.E., before they had been paired as partners.  Or perhaps he just chose not to remember.

 

Illya sent a quick glance his way and shook his head aware of his partner’s uneasiness.  “Perhaps we should contact Mr. Waverly and inform him that you are unable to complete this assignment?”  

 

“I can do the assignment,” Napoleon snapped as he continued to search below for signs of their contact.  “It’s just been awhile since…” His voice reflected his uncertainty.

 

Kuryakin pressed his lips tightly together, more to keep from laughing than anything. His eyes roamed around the room below - searching.  He didn’t believe his partner for a moment.  He couldn’t help pointing out the obvious. “You’re usual seduction techniques will not work here, Napoleon.  Most homosexuals that frequent clubs such as this are seeking instant gratification not prolonged foreplay.”

 

Solo turned his back to the room and leaned against the railing.  He checked his watch, it was almost one a.m.; their contact was not going to make an appearance tonight.  “He’s not going to show.  We might as well leave.” 

 

Their walk back to the hotel had been in silence.

 

∞∞∞

 

Kuryakin entered the room first.  Once again, due to budgetary constraints, the two agents were forced to share a room with two double beds.   As they went through the routine of checking and verifying that the room was clean, Illya thought now was as good a chance to pull Napoleon’s leg just a little. 

 

“Perhaps it would be wise to hold a run through-that is the correct wording, is it not, so that you would know what to expect tomorrow night,” he suggested. 

 

He fully expected Napoleon to decline and was surprised when Napoleon replied, “How do you suggest we proceed?”

 

Illya opened his mouth, intending to inform his partner that he was only joking when he caught the glint in Solo’s eyes and considered the amount of teasing he would receive once this assignment was over and they were back in New York.  Snapping his mouth shut, he put on his most unrevealing face and said, “I suggest we remove our clothing.”  He still half expected Napoleon to demur and was shocked when he nodded agreement.

 

He watched as Napoleon undid his tie and slowly pulled it from beneath his collar, setting it down on the chair next to the bed before slipping out of his tuxedo jacket and moving his hands to unbutton his waistcoat.  Unable to see any way out of it, Illya removed his own jacket and holster before gripping the bottom of his turtleneck and pulling it off over his head.  Soon both men stood there without a stitch of clothing on.

 

“So what now?”  Napoleon asked conversationally.

 

Illya moved closer, deciding to give as good as he got, thrust his chin forward and said, “Well, I could take you against the wall… or we could use the bed.”

 

“Bed.”  Napoleon’s eyes were hooded; Illya was unable to read them.

 

Kuryakin stretched out on the bed, his weight on his elbows, his legs crossed at the ankles. He tilted his blond head to one side and teasingly asked, “See something you like?”

 

Solo stood to the side of the bed, his eyes feasting on the lean torso, the rock hard abdomen, the, at the moment, lax genitalia, a pity that, and the pale but firm thighs.  “Don’t get so cocky, Kuryakin,” he said mockingly as he sat down beside his partner and faced him. His cock had already started rising to the occasion.

 

“Is that what it’s called?”  Illya murmured as his gaze shifted from Napoleon’s face down toward his partner’s groin.

 

Napoleon ran one hand sensuously down Illya’s arm, feeling him tremble slightly.  He brought his hand up to run through the blond tresses, brushing them back, only to have the Illya’s head move beyond his reach.  Without taking his eyes off his partner’s face, that same hand gently trailed down Illya’s cheek, under his firm chin before running his thumb over the lush lower lip.  “It’s a shame you know, such a luscious mouth – wasted,” he murmured.

 

Illya’s eyebrows arched questioningly.

 

“You said my usual seduction techniques would not work - no extensive foreplay?”  Napoleon was on unfamiliar ground here, however a little experimenting couldn’t hurt.

 

“You’re always welcome to try,” Illya challenged with a shrug.

 

Accepting the dare, Napoleon slipped onto the bed facing his partner, his hip aligned with Illya’s as he brought his legs up onto the bed.  His dark eyes looked with intensity into the cool blue ones of his partner.  Illya was obviously playing hard to get, but Solo was confident in his abilities. He reached pulling the Russian close, cradling him to his chest. 

 

Using his immense skills as a master seducer he lowered his head, first a gentle touching before invading the warm depths of his partner’s mouth, marveling at how well their lips melted together, almost as if they were made for each other.  Illya’s mouth tasted deliciously spicy.   He felt the Russian melt into his arms and was aware of Illya’s arms coming around him, embracing him, amazed that his normally prickly partner was acquiescing so easily.

 

Needing to explore the man in his arms, Napoleon regretfully withdrew from Illya’s mouth to look down upon the face of his partner as he lay in the crook of his arm.  Heated blue eyes were slowly closing behind long lashes.

 

God, he’d never realized just how beautiful the man was, he thought as he returned his lips to lay a trail of kisses down the strong jaw, his hand trailing gently down Illya’s back, and a low moan vibrated the air between their two open mouths, not leaving a clue as to who issued the passionate sound. 

 

Queido,” he whispered softly while one hand ran through the thick blond tresses.

 

Napoleon’s lips soon found the area on the Russian’s neck where he could feel his partner’s heart beating through the vein.  As he lapped at the site, Illya stretched his neck moving his head to one side, exposing his throat for Napoleon’s attention.  A growl issued from Napoleon’s throat as he started to suckle and nip at the area with his teeth, leaving a slightly red area that would darken over time.  Lifting his head, Napoleon viewed the mark he had made, pleased with the result. His mark….no one else’s. 

 

Bello,” he said softly.   Slowly his lips trailed down the succulent neck as he continued to whisper endearments. “Innamorato.”  As the words issued in the language of Love from his mouth, Napoleon couldn’t help but wonder what had come over him; never had he used these words to anyone before. 

 

 

Napoleon’s fingers ghosted down the side of Illya’s body, skimming over the naked flesh of his partner’s hip.  Illya shifted his hip and bent his right leg slightly into a more comfortable position.  Napoleon’s bent leg was currently supporting the Russian’s upper body, holding him close.  Illya’s eyes were still closed as Napoleon slowly leaned back, lowering himself beside the captivating blond, and Illya’s head was gently lowered to rest on the older agent’s firm abdomen.  He let out a sigh of contentment and heard an answering sigh from his partner. 

 
The need for more had Napoleon turning his face to view Illya’s now fully exposed genitals.  The hard slender staff nestled in soft curls begged for attention.  A single glistering tear from the hard cock awoke the need within Napoleon to taste his partner.  Napoleon firmly gripped the Russian’s bent leg, using it as leverage to encourage his partner to turn slightly more toward him, giving him full access to the hard cock and balls of his partner.  The moans issuing from his stoic partner were music to Napoleon’s ears and he planned to do his best to incite more delectable groans.   Gently, Napoleon stroked one lean thigh down to the bent knee, his lips retracing a path up it.  Feeling the muscles as they trembled beneath his lips, Napoleon let his mouth move down to gently suck on one of Illya’s balls.  He brought the hand that had stopped to rest on Illya’s knee back down, sliding it into the crevice, his thumb massaging the area before gently rubbing the puckered hole.  Napoleon let out a sigh before regretfully moving on. 

 

Lying as they were, facing each other’s groin, Napoleon’s arousal was evident.  Illya’s hand had moved to claim his partner’s hard cock and Napoleon stilled it, moving the hand to his abdomen, pressing upon it with his hand, silently asking him to keep it there.  It felt comforting and soothing resting there.  It amused him to think that Illya thought him ignorant as to the pleasuring of another man.  How wrong he was.  Releasing the sac from his mouth, he licked his way up Illya’s aroused organ, determined to show the Russian just how wrong.  His tongue reached out to capture the dew from its head as Napoleon closed his eyes to savor the taste. The slender staff swelled even more as Napoleon brought it into his mouth engulfing it totally.

 

Illya was taken somewhat by surprise by the expertise of Napoleon’s kisses, not to mention what his mouth was currently doing to his aching cock.  Was this what lovemaking all about?  He felt himself sinking into the spell of seduction that his partner was weaving around him.  The firm embrace was comforting and he was unable to keep his moaning from his lips as the Napoleon’s skillful hands and mouth explored his more than willing body.  Illya could hear the endearments that Napoleon spoke so passionately in Italian, surprised that the other man would feel it necessary to use such words on him. This was not the frantic resorting to find pleasure that was often the norm between two people of the same sex, but a slow, erotic, sensual experience.   It wasn’t until a warm, wet mouth covered his hard cock that he regained his senses.

 

“Napoleon, no!”  He sat up suddenly, pulling away from his partner’s warm wet mouth.  “We shouldn’t…this is sheer madness.” Illya quickly scrambled off the bed and pulled on his clothing, rushing blindly out the door, unaware that he was leaving a disappointed partner behind.  He took the stairways two at a time, hurrying through the hotel lobby and out the door, ignoring the stunned looks of the hotel staff and other guest.

 

In his mad dash to escape, he narrowly missed being hit by a car as he crossed a street that even at this early hour of the morning was busy, not stopping until he got to a rail that bordered the banks of the Mississippi.  Exhausted, Illya leaned against the railing and waited for his heart to resume its normal rate.   His labored breathing gradually slowed to an acceptable rate and he brought his head down to rest on his arm.  It was many long moments before he felt steady enough to examine what had almost occurred between him and his partner.   It was insane; he had gone mad, crazy, barmy.  They had almost crossed the line, gone from mere partners to something more. Ever the pragmatic Russian, the closeness and intimacy they had almost shared scared him deeply. His cock was still hard and he reluctantly admitted to himself that he had enjoyed the attention Napoleon had bestowed on him.  Much too much.

 

Getting a grip on himself, he straightened and prepared to head back to their room.  Hopefully Napoleon would be willing to put this all behind them and continue their partnership.

 

Getting his bearings, he slowly made his way back, not sure of the path he had taken to get where he had ended.  Finally exiting the elevator and heading down the hall to their room, he paused to take in a deep breath before unlocking the door. Should he tell Napoleon why he hadn’t been able to go through with it?  “Napoleon, I can explain …” He stopped.  The room was empty. 

 

∞∞∞

 

Illya searched, finding not only Napoleon gone, but his luggage as well. Sitting on the edge of one bed, his head drooped, his soul empty, he pulled out his communicator.  “Open channel L, Napoleon, come in.”  His communicator bleep sounded for long seconds before “Solo,” was heard in response.

 

“Where are you?”

 

Silence.

 

“The floor above yours.” 

 

Illya automatically looked up at the ceiling.  Before he could ask why, a sigh sounded over the communicator.  “I…need some distance right now,” there was a sad chuckle. “I’ve really blown it this time haven’t I?  I just can’t be in the same room with you…not now.” 

 

The communicator went silent. 

 

Illya stretched out on the bed, fully clothed.  There was nothing more he could do tonight, but sleep would not come.  What had he done?

 

∞∞∞

 

The beeping of his communicator interrupted what little sleep Illya had managed to get.  Reaching out and activating his communicator, he croaked, “Kuryakin.”

 

“Illya?”

 

“Umm.”

 

“I’ve been in touch with the old man.  There is nothing we can do until tonight.  Why don’t you play tourist today?  I’ll see you tonight.”

 

“Napoleon…” It was too late; the American had already rung off.

 

As the morning light filtered through the windows, Illya sought to examine his reaction to what had occurred the night before.  Was it the use of endearments that Napoleon probably used with every woman he had been with?  Or was it the gentle touches that were, even now, arousing him?  Or that it was not a stranger, but his partner with whom he worked so closely?  Illya hadn’t been prepared for the intense feeling of arousal Napoleon’s touches had fired in him, nor for his own subsequent flight.

 

Giving up on trying to figure it out, he got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom to shower and shave.

 

∞∞∞

 

Solo, his eyes adjusting to the dimness stood to one side of the stairway before heading down into the smoke filled room.  Wearing a faultless white dinner jacket, he placed his hands in his pocket, his gaze wandering around the room below.  His thoughts went to his youth, and how he’d come by his knowledge.  Even on the GI bill, money had been scarce.  During his college years he had found an easy way to make money.  It had been easy at first to keep it all from being personal and the proceeds had been used to squire various and sundry girls around town and more often into the backseat of his car.  However, he’d found out that by his senior year, at which time he had been contact by U.N.C.L.E., that he was beginning to enjoy his part time job a little too much.  It had taken amazing willpower to resist continuing but he had managed…until last night.

 

“Hey, cheri`.  You looking for a good time maybe?” a soft baritone with a Cajun accent said from off to one side.  Solo turned, his eyes wandering from the curly blond hair to the purple shirt unbuttoned to the waist past the hip hugger pants and back up to the green eyes.  In his present mood the man looked delectable. He was just debating what answer he should give when he felt a hand on his arm and a gruff Russian voice said, “He’s already taken.”  He noticed with grim amusement the two men facing and measuring each other up.  Illya’s stance enough to cause the newcomer, with regret, to back down and turn away.

 

“Where have you been?”  Kuryakin hissed grimly as his grip on Napoleon’s arm tightened.

 

“Oh here and there.”  Napoleon looked down at the hand gripping his arm. “Feeling a little possessive are we? You go that way and I’ll go this,” he suggested abruptly, unable to stand being this close, before he brushed past Kuryakin heading down the stairs. 

 

Illya stood there, frustration radiating from every pore.  The Cajun-accented voice behind him said, “Lovers’ spat, non?  Perhaps I can help you feel better, heh, cheri`?”  The irritation was so much that it was all Illya could do to keep from throwing the man over the railing.

 

Napoleon, once down on the main level, kept all his senses were on alert as he casually moved about the room. 

 

 “Ah, Mr. Solo.  Such a pleasure to meet you again,” A deep and melodious voice called from one of the many private alcoves that ran around the large room.  A voice he recognized instantly.

 

“Victor Marton.”  Napoleon turned leisurely toward the alcove to discover the continentally dressed gentleman seated at a table, cigarette in one hand and a brandy snifter in the other.  Marton was a top level Thrush agent, which meant the information he and Illya were to retrieve must indeed be important.  “I’m surprised to see you here.” 

 

 “And where is your charming blond associate…. Kuryakin, wasn’t it?”  Marton asked as he flicked the ashes from his cigarette into an astray before running a finger over his elegant mustache.

 

Napoleon debated telling Marton that he had left Illya in New York and decided it would probably make matters worse.  “Oh, he’s around…. somewhere.”  Napoleon inclined his head toward the rest of the club.  “Not your usual sort of meeting place.”

 

Marton got up out of his chair and shrugged. “We all have our little weaknesses.”  He moved closer to Napoleon, close enough that his brandy-laced breath was evident.  “Alexander assured me he was sending someone experienced.  It never occurred to me that it would be you.”  He paused before continuing, “You do know why you are here?”  His French accented voice seductive.  He moved closer to cup Napoleon’s crotch.  If Napoleon had not been sure before, he was sure now.  “Follow me.  I think we will need more…privacy,” Marton suggested as he moved toward the red velvet curtains that ran around the inside of the alcove.

 

Napoleon took the time to glance around the club before following Marton through the parted curtain into a room beyond.  He was relieved to see that the room did not contain a bed, merely a chaise lounge, along with a comfortable leather chair and ottoman.  There was also a table on which a crystal decanter lay.  Now fully inside the room, two henchmen grabbed him roughly from behind while Marton drew close enough to effectively remove his gun and his communicator from his jacket. Much to his chagrin, he soon found his hands cuffed behind his back, restricting him the use of his hands. 

 

“I assure you this is merely a precaution measure and I don’t believe you will need these,” Marton said as he placed the items in the table’s draw before pouring a glass of brandy from the decanter.  “I’d offer you some…but that is not why you are here,” he said as he sipped his drink.  He set the glass down and pulled Napoleon closer, bringing their lips together.  Disappointed with the lack of response he was receiving from Solo, he backed away and called to his henchman.  “Go… see if you can find Kuryakin.  Perhaps he will prove to be more….agreeable.”  It pleased him to note that Solo stiffened at the order.

 

“You want we should rough him up?” the henchman asked.

 

“No, Otto.  While I have a distinct dislike for that young man, I would not wish any harm to come to him.  I may have a use of him if things do not work out to my satisfaction.  Just hold him outside.  Quietly,” Marton ordered, not taking his eyes off Napoleon’s face.  “Good help is so hard to find,” he apologized as he undid Solo’s tie and unbuttoned his white shirt.  Running his manicured hands over the strong chest, he leaned in for another kiss, pleased that this time Solo’s lips parted to admit his probing tongue.  Backing away reluctantly, he pushed Napoleon to sit on the ottoman.  “Alexander promised that whoever he sent would be talented.  Are you talented, Mr. Solo?”  Marton asked, as he pulled down his zipper to release his burgeoning erection. 

 

 

Illya had stayed at the top of the stairway, his eyes following Napoleon.  He knew that he too should be searching for their elusive contact, but some unknown sense told him it would be better to keep an eye on his partner.  He watched as Napoleon stopped, his body rigid, and turned toward a curtained alcove.  From this vantage point, he could not make out to whom Solo was talking.  While Napoleon glanced furtively around the room, Illya was already halfway down the stairs, feeling an urgent need to act as back-up for his partner.  Hands grabbed at him as he pushed his way through the crowd, and precious minutes were lost as someone pulled him in an embrace, taking possession of his mouth.  He pulled away and was almost at the alcove when more hands caught him from behind and relieved him of his gun and communicator.  A piece of tape was placed over his mouth and he was pushed into a chair, a gun pointed to his head, while another man pulled the curtains, closing off the alcove to the rest of the room.  He remained still; realizing that struggling would only get him killed and wouldn’t help Solo as all.

 

Napoleon regarded the erect cock staring him in the face and contemplated his next move.  Touching him had obviously made Marton excited, and if he worked it right, it shouldn’t take long to finish this.  Wiggling his fingers behind his back, he looked up into Marton’s face and offered suggestively, “If my hands were free I could ….”

 

Marton chuckled.  “It’s not that I don’t trust you.”  Then his face froze, all amusement gone.  “But I don’t.”

 

Napoleon sighed, and then leaned forward, taking the jutting erection into his mouth, and working it with all the talent at his disposal, which was considerable.  Soon he had Marton moaning, much to his satisfaction.  He was surprised, however, when Marton took hold of his head, pushing him away. 

 

Marton got a grip on Napoleon’s jacket, hauling him to a standing position.  “Alexander was correct.  You are very talented, however…” Marton efficiently unzipped Solo’s trousers and pushed them down the agent’s thighs.  He then turned the U.N.C.L.E. agent around, arranging him face down across the table.  Unable to resist, he stoked the bare ass, so beautifully invitingly, just the way he liked it.  He paused to ask in the politely snide tone he used on a number of occasions, “Perhaps we should get your Russian friend to join us?”

 

Napoleon struggled to rise.  Illya being put in this position was the last thing he wanted. 

 

“No!” he cried out involuntarily, wondering where this unwarranted protectiveness of his partner came from. The wind was knocked out of him as he hit the hard surface of the tabletop when Marton callously pushed him back down again.  Napoleon hadn’t counted on this happening when Waverly assigned this task to him and Illya and now there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. 

 

 “As you wish,” Marton replied as he dipped his fingers into his glass of brandy, taunting the semi-naked U.N.C.L.E. agent.  “Brandy has many uses …don’t you agree?  Other internal uses,” he said with amusement as he thrust the fingers into Solo’s tight hole, ignoring the hissing sound issuing from the man under his control, produced no doubt by the volatile liquid he was using.  “It might have been interesting for your friend to watch.”   Marton worked his fingers, stretching the passage while he continued his humiliation of Solo. “You are extremely tight.  I would have thought your Russian associate would have managed to remedy that by now.”  Coating his eager erection, Marton lined his swollen cock up with the dark-haired agent’s stretched passageway before pushing in with a single thrust, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from Solo.

 

Grunting Marton began thrusting back and forth with his hips, lost in a world of his own pleasure, not paying the least bit of attention to the words streaming from Solo’s mouth.  The tightness and the brandy were causing an exquisite burning sensation, heating him and his cock up to greater heights. Moving one hand to fondle his tightening balls, it wasn’t long before Marton’s swollen cock was ready to explode.  With a sigh of satisfaction, Marton made a final thrust before releasing his load of semen into the hot tight channel.  With extreme reluctance, the THRUSH agent pulled out of the nice haven his cock had found before using his handkerchief to clean himself.  Once clean, Marton tucked himself away, zipping up his pants as he maliciously remarked, “I really must commend you to Alexander the next time I see him.”

 

“Don’t bother,” Napoleon answered, careful to keep his tone free of emotion, especially sarcasm, as Marton pulled him back to a standing position and uncuffed his hands.  Rubbing them to get the circulation back, Napoleon moved to pull up his pants and zip them back up, grateful that the brandy used in his anal passage had left a burning sensation that kept his erection laxed, and avoided looking in Marton’s direction.

 

“As you wish.”  Marton went to the drawer and removed the gun and communicator, handing them back along with a roll of film.  “This is what you came for – it is worth much more than the payment extracted.”   He settled rather limply on the chaise lounge and lit a cigarette, his expression one of complete contentment.  Raising his voice he ordered, “Otto, you can let Kuryakin go now.”

 

Kuryakin had no choice but to sit there, unable to block out the sounds coming from behind the curtain.  He heard the sounds of passion, then silence as a zipper was being pulled and recognized Marton’s voice.  He could only imagine what had been going on when he heard the grunt of pain that issued from Napoleon.

 

His head dropped as sounds of Marton’s pleasure being taken could be clearly heard.  He feared that Napoleon would respond to what was happening with the same Italian endearments that he had used the night before.  He was relieved to hear not Italian, but Russian – Napoleon was running through every Russian curse that Illya had ever taught him, plus some that he hadn’t even known Solo knew.  He tried to block out the sounds after that and was surprised when rough hands removed the tape from his mouth and his hands were uncuffed, his gun and communicator left on the table.  Reaching for his gun, he watched as his captor disappeared.  Before he could do anything, another curtain to the side was pushed open and Napoleon appeared.  His usually immaculate appearance gone, his tie undone and chest still exposed bore testament to what had occurred.  Illya stepped forward. “Napoleon…” Only to be met by a stony gaze.

 

“This is what we came for,” Solo said, his voice grim as he thrust the film into Kuryakin’s hand.  Not bothering to wait for a response, he continued moving, leaving his partner behind.

 

Illya looked down at the roll of film left in his hand, hoping it was worth the price paid.  When he looked back up, Napoleon was gone.

 

∞∞∞

 

Kuryakin contacted New York, and was told to take the next available flight back.  He tried contacting Solo with no success, but left a message with the local office just in case.  He didn’t bother to pick up his luggage, leaving it to the local office to pack and send to him.  Worry about his friend had made him careless and arriving at the airport parking lot, he found himself accosted by a man with a gun and ordered to hand over the film.  Before he could do so, however, the man fell to the ground.  Illya bent over the body to find a sleep dart buried in his neck.  Suddenly Solo was at his side.

 

“Why didn’t you answer my call earlier?”  Illya demanded as he stood up, feeling relief: evidently Solo was watching his back.

 

With a look of surprise, Napoleon reached into his jacket and withdrew his communicator.  Twisting the activator, he muttered, “Damn.” when no sound ventured out.  “They’re obviously on to us.  You go ahead and I’ll catch up.  Maybe they’ll follow me,” and he was off again.

 

What was Solo playing at, Illya wondered.  With more caution, he made his way inside the terminal and picked up two tickets to New York.  He waited until the last call for boarding for Napoleon, but he never showed.  He contacted Mr. Waverly, who showed no concern and ordered him to board the plane.  The flight was one of the longest and loneliest he had ever taken.

 

When he arrived at his destination, he was met by two fellow agents from Section Two and escorted directly to Waverly’s office from the airport.  He was surprised by Waverly’s appearance as he made his verbal report and handed over the film.  The man looked like he had not slept since Illya had last seen him. 

 

“I will get started on my written report.”

 

“There is to be no written report,” Waverly ordered uncomfortably, before continuing more quietly. “Mr. Kuryakin…Illya, I regret the position I placed you in.  Unfortunately there was no choice.  I suggest you take some time off…to recuperate.”

 

Illya left the office puzzled.  Evidently Waverly thought it was he, not Solo, who had gotten the information, and he was evidently more than aware of how.  His mind was elsewhere as he walked back to his office, more than a little worried about Napoleon, when he met Mark Slate coming out of the elevator.  Mark took one look at Illya’s face and remarked, “That mission must have really been rough.  Napoleon looked like death warmed over too.”

 

“You’ve seen Napoleon?”  Illya asked anxiously, grabbing Mark’s arm.

 

“Sure, not more than half an hour ago,” Mark replied sounding puzzled.

 

Illya let go of Mark’s arm and raced to the exit.  “Is Napoleon still here?”

 

“He left right before you got here,” the receptionist informed him.

 

“Did he say where he was going?”

 

“I’m afraid not.  Was it important?”  The receptionist replied.

 

“It could be,” Illya said absently as he turned in his badge.  How had Napoleon managed to get back to New York before him, and more important, where was he now?

 

He fell back on the basics.  If Napoleon wasn’t at work, he’d check his apartment.

 

∞∞∞

 

Solo, having let his partner into his apartment, said not a word as he headed back toward his bedroom where he was packing a duffle bag.  Closing the door behind him, Kuryakin followed him into the bedroom, unable to keep from noticing that the living area was a complete shamble.  Furniture had been thrown around and tables knocked over.

 

As if nothing was unusual, Illya asked politely, “Going somewhere?”

 

“I thought I’d take out the Pursang,” Napoleon responded, not looking up from his task.  It had been stupid of him not to realize his communicator was damaged.  He had been a little, no make that quite a bit, distracted after his meeting with Marton and as unprofessional as that may have been, he knew Illya would make the necessary arrangements for getting them to New York.  Besides, he had felt it necessary to keep contact with Kuryakin to a minimum at the time. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t stayed close, just in case he was needed.  Just far enough away that his feelings couldn’t get in the way of the assignment.  In the end he’d had to take another flight, leading THRUSH away from Illya and somehow managing to reach New York before him.

 

His previous experience with men had not prepared him for the sensuality he had experienced with his partner. Remembering the feelings that holding his partner had engendered, the eroticism of it all, he realized he had needed some quiet time to come to terms with it.  He still felt that way.  That was why he was taking out the Pursang.

 

“Alone?”

 

“I’ve sailed alone before,” Napoleon answered indignantly.

 

Not exactly sure how to broach the subject, Illya let out a sigh. “I can understand your being upset about Marton.”

 

Napoleon stiffened and shot a hard look at his friend.  “Marton…now why would I be upset about him? He was nothing more than an assignment.   It could have been worse.”

 

“How?”

 

“It could have been you,” Napoleon whispered.

 

Illya plopped down on the bed next to the duffle bag.  “It was supposed to have been me.”

 

“What makes you say that?”  Napoleon demanded to know.

 

“Mr. Waverly intimated as much when I turned in the film,” Illya admitted reluctantly.

 

“Waverly actually said you were supposed to have sex with Marton!  Why?”

 

“Not in so many words, but yes.  After all, you had never had sex with a man.”

 

“And how the hell do you know that?”  There was that indignation again.

 

“Have you had sex with a man?’

 

“No.  Yes.  Well, not exactly. But that’s beside the point.” Napoleon sat down hard on the bed.  While he had gone down on many men, until now he’d never actually…been fucked before.  He frowned, his mind in a whirl trying to put it all together.  “Let me get this straight.  Do you mean to say I was supposed to say ‘Hey Victor, wait a minute, you’re supposed to fuck my partner’?  Get real.”

 

Illya got off the bed and went to lean against the door-jam, his arms folded across his chest.  “That is real.  I’ve had experience and you haven’t.”

 

“If you’ve had experience…why did you run?”  Napoleon tried to keep the hurt out of his voice.

 

“Is that what this is all about?”  Illya asked, waving his hand at the ransacked living area.  “You’re angry because I didn’t stay?”

 

“Okay...so I was a little…upset.”  Napoleon picked up a hairbrush to pack in his bag and ended up snapping it in two as he glared at his partner.

 

“A little!  Look at this place.”  Illya waved his arm toward the living area.

 

“You had me hot and you ran,” Napoleon accused.

 

“I had to.”  Illya’s voice was adamant.

 

“Why?”

 

“It was all too…” Illya wasn’t sure how to say it.

 

“Too what?” 

 

“Too…gentle.”  There he’d said it.

 

“Huh…What did you expect me to do?  Rape you?”

 

Illya winced. “It would have been more...familiar,” he admitted.

 

Napoleon was shocked. 

 

“My God, Illya.”  He hadn’t been aware that violence was part of Illya’s experience with male sex. Up until that night, he’d never even really thought much about having sex with another man, much less Illya’s perception of what it was like.  There was a slight pause.  “So what do we do now?”

 

Illya bit his lip.  “We could continue were we left off?”

 

Napoleon shook his head.  “Being rough with you is not an option.”

 

Illya had a wicked thought.  “Allow me to demonstrate.”  He walked over to Napoleon and grabbed him by his shirtfront, turning him around and pushing him forcefully against the wall.  “Assume the position,” he commanded.

 

“Huh?”

 

“You heard me.  Hands on the wall, feet apart,” Illya ordered as he placed his hands on Napoleon’s hips, pulling the American’s body away from the wall and against his own.  Efficiently, Illya kicked Solo’s legs apart in the classic police search position.  “Keep those hands on the wall,” he ordered again as Solo’s hands started to leave it with the intention of turning to look at Illya. 

 

Taking a firmer grip on Napoleon’s hips and using one hand on the back of his neck, the Russian encouraged his partner to lean forward so his partner’s face rested against the wall.  This permitted Illya to quickly pull Napoleon’s shirt free, allowing one hand to slide under it to stroke his partner’s powerful chest.  The blond smiled as he quickly found one of Napoleon’s nipples, teasing it until it was hard, before gently tugging and rolling the aroused flesh between his fingers.  All of it letting Solo know who was in charge of giving pleasure this time. Pressing himself more firmly against his partner, Illya nuzzled on Napoleon’s earlobe before giving it a sharp nip.  He could hear Napoleon’s erratic breathing as he snaked his hand down to unbuttoned and unzipped his partner’s trousers before running his hand across the hair at the base of the brunet’s groin.  The Russian’s hand slowly made its way down to cup and then to roll the heavy sacs below Napoleon’s arousal, while he continued to nip and suck at his partner’s neck, leaving his own set of claim marks for everyone else to see.

 

Napoleon lowered his head.  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”  A low moan escaped his lips.  “God…I could get used to rough.”

 

Illya chuckled into Napoleon’s neck, pleased with the response, as one hand continued to tweak the hard nub of Napoleon’s nipple while his other hand firmly surrounded his partner’s erection, stroking it to rock hardness.  As he continued to stroke Napoleon, Illya moved his free hand down and under his partner’s waistband to stroke the smooth globes of his ass.

 

It was as if he’d been hit with ice water, Napoleon’s erection collapsed as his body stiffened.  “No!”

 

Illya quickly backed away, unsure as to the cause of the outburst.

 

Solo slowly pulled up his pants before he turned around, leaning his back against the wall, his breathing ragged.  He looked at his friend, seeing the other’s intense stare, rigid body, hands curled into tight fists, and the distinctive bulge in the blond’s pants.  “I’m sorry.”

 

Angered at being balked, Illya accused, “Is this your way of getting back at me for New Orleans?”

 

He opened his mouth; did Illya really think him that petty?  His legs were shaking and he found he couldn’t remain standing.  Sliding down the wall, he finally managed a shake of his head.  “I’m just not sure I’m ready to….go all the way,” he muttered.

 

The tension left Kuryakin’s body; he moved to the wall next to his partner and slid down it.  “Marton?” he asked softly.

 

“No. That’s not it.  I understand the necessity of what I did and accept responsibility for it,” his voice was only slightly stronger.

 

“Then what?”

 

“I’m not really sure,” he said contemplatively.

 

Illya’s erection was making him feel uncomfortable and he had to get up.  “When you are sure, let me know.”

 

“Hold on here.”  Napoleon grabbed him by the ankle, pulling him down.  “Where do you think you’re going?”

 

Illya who had fallen on his face, quickly rolled over.

 

Napoleon pounced, covering the Russian’s body with his own and quickly trapping his hands above his head.  In the instant that Illya had tried to leave, Napoleon came to a decision.  It didn’t matter what had happened or not happened before – only what was happening now.  Rough or not, he’d been enjoying it.  He looked down into the Russian’s mystified face, trying to decide how to explain it.  Explanations could wait, he decided.   Lowering his mouth, he confidently laid claim to Illya’s lips. 

 

Illya’s eyes opened wide with surprise at this sudden change of attitude.  They quickly change to acquisition, when Napoleon, loosened his hold on the trapped hands, began to unbutton, unzip and pull Illya’s slacks down, just enough to free the burgeoning staff. 

 

“What have we here?  Feeling neglected are we?”  Napoleon murmured as he brought his finger to the slit and recovered the seepage that escaped, bringing it to his lips.  This he knew, this – this he understood.  His eyes closed as he savored the taste, then the scent of Illya before engulfing the organ and sucking away.  He knew all the tricks and used them.

 

Illya lay there, having been taken by surprise.   As his trousers made their way down, he had lifted his hips to help in their removal.  He had thought he was hard, until he watched as his partner licked the semen off his finger, ever so erotic.  Running his hands through the dark hair, he moaned, his hands tightening on the thick hair, as the lips engulfing him finally brought him to a swift release.  Too swiftly he thought, wishing it had lasted longer.  Limp and sated, he wanted to ask what that had been all about, but fell asleep.

 

That was it, Napoleon realized as he let go of the limp organ.  That was his fear, not the fear of the act itself, but this losing of himself in the enjoyment of the physical pleasures that were definitely illegal in most states.  He looked up to share his sudden insight with his friend and found him fast asleep.  Oh well, it had been a long day – he lay his head back on the taut stomach and soon he too was asleep.

 

Illya woke up the next morning with an aching back, surprised to find his pants still down and his partner napping on his stomach.  He groaned.  Napoleon’s head lifted from its resting place.  “Good morning,” he said with a smile before letting his head fall back to its comfortable position.

 

“I’m glad you think so,” Illya muttered.  “Get off, my back aches and I have to go,” he said louder as he pushed Napoleon off of him and went in search of the bathroom, Napoleon’s laughter floating behind him.  When he came out, Napoleon was no longer lying where he’d left him.  He found him in the living area straightening it up and decided to join him.

 

Napoleon didn’t look up from where he was replacing an upturned chair to its rightful position. “Do you know how frustrating it is to crave something and not realize you crave it?  I’ve been wanting… carnal pleasure…with someone for some time and didn’t realize it.”

 

“Ah.  And Marton?” Illya asked as he went to the far side of the room to pick up papers that had been scattered around.

 

“Doesn’t count.”  Napoleon paused before continuing.  “Besides in our line of work … an addiction like this could be fatal.”  The coffee table was now back in place.

 

“Hmmmm.”  What Napoleon was saying was quite true, Illya thought.  Even he was susceptible to this type of addiction.

 

“So you were right,” Napoleon stated as he straightened a picture on the wall.

 

“I was?  About what?”  Illya looked up in surprise from setting an end-table upright.

 

“Running away,” Napoleon admitted, turning to look directly at Illya.

 

“Wait a minute…thought we decided last night we weren’t running.”  Illya moved to come opposite Napoleon.

 

“You’re right again.”  Napoleon nodded.

 

 A puzzled Russian asked. “So?”

 

“This is not just a one-time deal.  Right?”  Napoleon reached out and pulled his blond partner into his arms.

 

“I hadn’t planned on it being one time.  After all, I too have cravings.”  Illya pulled back to gather the bottom of Napoleon’s polo shirt and pull it up over his head, tossing it aside.

 

“Always doing it here could pose a problem.  We don’t want to arouse suspicion,” Napoleon counseled as he returned the favor, removing Illya’s jacket, holster and shirt, leaving the tie in place.

 

“That’s true,” Illya said, between nibbles on Napoleon’s neck. “How about whenever we’re in New Orleans?”

 

Napoleon’s eyes were closed and he brought his head up to allow Illya access to his throat before asking breathlessly. “San Francisco?”

 

“Paris?”  Illya suggested, moving on to an earlobe.

 

Napoleon not to be outdone ran his fingers through the soft pale blond hair.  “Toronto?” he whispered.

 

“The map room?”  Even Illya knew he’d gone too far with that suggestion.

 

Napoleon gripped Illya’s tie and pulled him close as he took Illya’s face between his two hands and looked intensely into the laughing blue eyes.  “Let’s be serious here, okay?  I want you…badly.  And furthermore I want you to want me.”

 

“Oh I do.”  The laughter had gone from the blue eyes as he returned the deep look in the dark eyes.  “However, there is a problem.  You seem to have way too much clothing on.”

 

Napoleon had just been on the cusp of claiming that luscious mouth and was forced to pull back.  “I do?  Well there is something I can do about that.”

 

“Ummm, could you possibly do it in the bedroom?  My back is still hurting from the floor,” Illya complained.

 

Reluctantly letting go, Napoleon walked to the bedroom with Illya not far behind.  Shoes, trousers and underwear went flying across the room.  Soon two very naked men were staring at each other.

 

Déjà vu,” Napoleon said nervously.

 

“Only this time – I’m not running,” Illya consoled him.

 

“Illya?”  Napoleon asked hesitantly, “I don’t think I can be as rough as you want.  After all I’m basically not a violent person.”

 

Illya laughed.  Napoleon could be very violent when he needed to be.  Then seriously, “I didn’t say I wanted it….only that it was what I was used to.”

 

Relief spread though Napoleon’s body.  He wanted to look, he wanted to touch, he wanted to…  Reigning in his desires, he backed into the bathroom, leaving a frustrated Russian looking puzzled.  Soon however he was back with a jar of lotion.

 

Understanding dawned in Illya’s eyes.  “Are you sure?”

 

“Not really,” Napoleon admitted.  “But New Orleans left a bad taste in my mouth…as well as in other regions.”

 

“Then perhaps we shouldn’t?”

 

“This time will be different.  I’m not under duress, and my hands aren’t chained behind my back,” Napoleon assured him.

 

“Your hands were behind you?”  Illya asked in surprise; he hadn’t been aware of that fact.  “Kinky.”

 

Napoleon laughed.  “Only if you do it.  I think I really need this,” he said seriously as he handed over the lotion and lay face down upon the bed.

 

Illya sat down beside him and turned him over face up.  “I wish I could have spared you that.” 

 

Napoleon looked up at him and brought his hand to Illya’s face.  “Why do you think I did it?  To spare you.”

 

As Illya lowered his face down to Napoleon’s, he murmured, “Stupid American.”  After several intense moments, he pulled away and opened the jar of cream.  “I want you to see that it is me loving you… not Marton,” Illya stated softly as he brought his cream coated fingers between Napoleon’s thighs.  Gently preparing the tight channel, he kept a close watch on Napoleon’s face.  After the first grimace as the finger slipped in, Napoleon closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation, amazed at the difference.  His hips moved, savoring the movement of that one finger.  One finger was joined by more, massaging the inside of the channel as it stretched it, preparing it. The wonderful feeling as one finger stroked his prostate caused Napoleon to push up, his body demanding more.  He even whimpered a little as the fingers were removed.

 

“Napoleon, open your eyes,” Illya commanded gently as he placed pillows under Napoleon’s hips and spread his thighs apart, pushing his knees toward his chest opening him up.

 

“Ah, Illya.   Isn’t there some other way?  I mean this seems like it would be uncomfortable.”

 

“No, this is the only way for me to be sure you know it is me,” Illya stated, not looking directly at Napoleon as he coated his engorged erection.  Positioning himself, he looked deeply into Solo’s eyes.  “Don’t be afraid.”

 

“Who’s afraid?”  Napoleon responded, his voice trembling as his body was entered in one smooth stroke.  After the first moment of pain he opened his eyes, not realizing he’d closed them.  “Stop.  Don’t move.”

 

Illya froze. 

 

Napoleon’s senses were in overload as he felt the cock within him growing, and he couldn’t resist squeezing the muscles surrounding it, taking in the shape and angle of penetration.  He wiggled his body, eliciting a moan of frustration from Illya.  It felt…good… right.  And he wanted more.  Nodding he signaled continuation and was rewarded as Illya withdrew slowly before thrusting in again.  He found himself pushing up to meet Illya’s thrust.  Gasping, he commanded, “Harder.  Faster.” and was gratified when Illya honored his request.  His own cock was hard, and the friction against Illya’s rock hard stomach was immensely pleasing.

 

 Illya’s arms were to each side of Napoleon, supporting his weight, as he plunged into his partner’s body.  The tightness was incredible and he knew he wouldn’t last long, which was good, for Napoleon’s sake.   Three more delicious strokes and he felt Napoleon shudder under him as he came, his hot sperm coating the inside of Napoleon’s anal cavity.  Collapsing on top of Napoleon, Illya was surprised by the dampness that met him.  Napoleon’s arms surrounded him, holding him in place.  After a few minutes Illya moved to the side, his cock reluctantly leaving its safe haven.  One hand came up to brush dark damp hair from Napoleon’s face, a face that radiated contentment.

 

“That was nice,” Napoleon said sleepily.

 

“Yes, it was,” Illya said his voice tight with amazement.

 

“You sound surprised.”  Napoleon chuckled as he pulled Illya’s head down to his shoulder.  “I think we must find an excuse to return to New Orleans,” he said to Illya drowsily, only to find Illya already asleep once again.

 

The End.

 

 

 

 

yumyumpm: Napoleon and Illya (Man from UNCLE)
 Originally posted 12/16/03 Raven’s Lair-Revised

 

Napoleon Solo can date any female he wants, then one night he realizes that who he wants isn't female. Just that thought alone could be the death of him.

 

Act I:  The Catalyst For a Date Gone Wrong

 

Napoleon Solo sat staring down into the amber liquid as he awaited the arrival of his date.  A beautiful redhead, Vanessa was the independent type that Napoleon felt drawn to of late.  This one liked to make a grand entrance, all eyes on her, depriving of the gallantry of picking her up and walking in with her on his arm, hence the reason he was seated alone, waiting.  His thoughts drifted as he thought of the wonderful evening ahead.

 

 “Are you ready to order, sir?”

 

 Napoleon returned from his musing to look up at the waiter standing by his side, motioning toward the chair across from his.  “The lady appears to be running a little late.” 

 

With a slight nod, the waiter left, his presence soon replaced by that of the hostess.  Giving her his most charming smile as she handed him a folded note, his smile vanished as he read that his date would not be able to make it after all.  With a sigh, he folded the note then slipped it into his vest pocket, then picked up his glass and finished it off.  He had never liked dining alone so he decided to have one last drink at the bar before leaving.

 

“Once more, Bobby,” he requested as he sat down on a stool.  In reality he wasn’t really that disappointed that Vanessa had failed to show.  Sure she was gorgeous and talented in bed, but she lacked personality. In effect she was a dumb blonde, without being blonde.  He was so very tired of dating women of low intellect.  His drink arrived and he smiled, his thoughts drifting in another direction-to his partner.  Now there was a conversationalist, someone who could talk about almost any subject.  He might not chat much, but once on a topic he really had an interest in there was no stopping him. 

 

Napoleon smiled into his drink.  Illya wasn’t bad looking either…he frowned…just where had that thought coming from.  He’d never thought of his partner in that way before, and he was damn sure Illya never had such thoughts either.  Besides with his partner’s various skills, he wasn’t ready to die in one of a hundred different ways.  Finishing his second drink he didn’t remember ordering the third or the fourth or…

 

 

Illya Kuryakin was ensconced in a comfortable chair catching up on one of the many technical journals he had not had time to read.  Suddenly his communicator emitted a piercing beep.   He absentmindedly reached over to pick it up off the side table, barely missing the remains of pizza that he had ordered earlier. 

 

“Kuryakin here.”

 

“Mr. Kuryakin…Illya?”  Illya looked at his communicator in surprise.  Mr. Waverly’s confidential assistant rarely used his first name.

 

“Yes?”

 

“We’ve just received a call from the Oak Room.” 

 

The Oak Room, ah yes, Napoleon was meeting his current love interest there for a romantic supper. 

 

“They requested we send someone over to pick up Mr. Solo.”

 

His eyebrows rose to the top of his forehead.  “Did they say why?”

 

“Evidently he’s had too much to drink.”

 

Illya frowned.   That was very unlike his partner.  “Does Mr. Waverly know?”

 

“I didn’t feel it necessary to inform him.”

 

Thank goodness for small favors.

 

“I’ll leave now. Kuryakin out.”  He hurriedly walked into his shoes and reached for his gun.  Grabbing his coat, Illya wondered what could have caused Napoleon to lose such control that someone had to be called to cart him home.

 

As he entered the posh restaurant, Illya noticed the looks of distain cast his way for his casual attire.  He did not let this bother him as he searched the dimly lit room for Napoleon.

 

“Mr. Kuryakin.”  It was the familiar sexy voice of the hostess. “He’s gone to the men’s room.  We’ve never seen Mr. Solo like this before and thought it best to call,” she said softly.

 

“Do you know why?”  Kuryakin questioned.

 

The hostess shrugged. “He got a message from his date canceling?”

 

Nodding he turned toward the men’s room in time to see his partner making his unsteady way back to the bar.  Behind him trailed an anxious looking waiter.  Solo was a regular here and a big tipper, which meant he was treated very well.

 

Illya’s eyebrows rose as he saw his partner weaving over toward a stool, and try to sit down almost missing it.  Making his way over to Napoleon, Illya gave a grateful nod to the waiter who looked relieved that someone had arrived.

 

Napoleon catching sight of him hailed him.  “Hiya, Hiya, Hiya,…if it isn’t my…good friend …Ill…Illya…hick…what brings you here?”

 

“I’ve come to take you home.”

 

“Don’t wanna go.”  Napoleon shook his head vigorously, managing at the same time to signal for another drink.

 

“I realize that having the spectacular Valerie cancel…”

 

“Pfzzzz!  Her name’s not Valerie… it’s…it’s…” Napoleon frowned unable to remember.  “It dos’n matter… don’t care….she lacks intell….intelly…brains.” 

 

“Really?”  Illya asked curiously.  He would have thought that little distinction would not matter and was more curious as to what had brought about Napoleon’s inebriated state.  “Never mind, just answer me this.  Why are you so discombobulated?”

 

“What?”  Napoleon looked at his partner unsteadily and seemingly surprised.  “Is that a word?”

 

Illya pointed to the many glasses set in front of him.  “Why are you drinking so much?”

 

Giggling Napoleon looked fondly at his friend.  He winked and put a finger to his lip. “Can’t tell.  You…urp…wouldn’t understand.”  He frowned and muttered to himself.  “Hell , even I don’t understand.” Blinking he looked closer and saw that there were two Illya’s.  “Though, he might.”  He pointed to a blank space just to the left of Illya.

 

Illya looked to the side and let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head he reached for his partner. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

 

With as much dignity as he could muster, Napoleon stood up tall. “I…I’m purfactly cupble of walking by myself.”

 

With a slight smile, Illya moved back and waved him forward. With a confident cockeyed grin Napoleon took three steps forward before passing out.  Fortunately Illya managed to catch him before he hit the floor.  Bringing one of Napoleon’s arms over his shoulder, Illya proceeded to cart him out of the restaurant amid stares from the other patrons.

 

Arriving at the door to Solo’s apartment, Illya propped him against a wall and reached into his pocket for his keys.  Unfortunately while he turned the key in the lock Napoleon started to slide down the wall.  Gathering him by the front of his jacket, Illya quickly pulled him back up and held him in place while he opened the door, dragging him inside.  Somehow Napoleon managed to get away from him and staggered toward the sofa where he promptly fell, face down over the arm. 

 

Shaking his head with amusement, Illya moved around the sofa, enjoying the ridiculous spectacle Napoleon made with his legs hanging over the edge of the sofa arm.  Squatting down to Napoleon’s level, Illya lifted Napoleon’s eyelid to check to see if he was okay.  He fell backwards as Napoleon quickly came off the sofa, surprising Illya, and made swiftly his way to the bathroom.   Illya started to follow, paused upon hearing sounds of retching and decided the better course would be not to.  Soon Napoleon, his tie undone, staggered back out into the living room looking much the worse for wear.

 

“Are you feeling better now?”  Illya couldn’t remember ever seeing this side of his partner, he usually held his liquor better than this.

 

Napoleon stood holding onto the door jam and nodded.  Suddenly turning a sickening shade of green he turned back around and headed back into the bathroom, this time Illya followed him.  He found his friend kneeling in front of the porcelain bowl, his head lying against the rim.

 

“Didn’t you eat anything?”

 

Napoleon just shook his head no, not having the strength to do anything else.

 

Illya went to the sink, filled a glass with mouthwash, and offered it to Napoleon.  After he used it to rinse his mouth, Illya carted him into the bedroom and dropped him across the bed.  He went back into the bathroom, wet a washcloth and proceeded to place it on Napoleon’s head.  Turning on the light on the bedside table, he managed to remove Napoleon’s jacket and holster, removing the clip from the gun he set them on the dresser within easy reach.

 

Next he removed Napoleon’s shoes and lifted his feet up onto the bed, reached for the blanket to pull over the now comatose man.  At least that’s what he thought until he turned to leave and a hand grabbed the sleeve of his jacket.   He looked down, seeing a petulant little boy pout on Napoleon’s face. “Don’t go.”

 

Turning back, Illya settled with his back against the headboard and sighed.  “I won’t,” he promised as the hand changed from a grip of his jacket to a grip on his wrist.  Illya leaned back having decided it best not to leave Napoleon alone.

 

 

Illya opened his eyes the next morning and remembered the reason for his being in Napoleon’s bed.  He looked down at his partner who had at least released his grip sometime during the night and looked a lot more peaceful.  Carefully so as not to disturb Napoleon, he got up and headed for the kitchen to make some coffee.

 

He was pouring a cup when Napoleon appeared at the door, looking better than he had the night before.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Illya asked as he handed him a filled cup.

 

Shaking his head ‘no’ Napoleon took a couple of sips from the steaming cup.  “Thank you.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For looking out for me.”

 

“It was nothing.  You would do the same for me.”

 

Napoleon’s lips twitched upward.  A queasy look came over his face and suddenly he dropped the cup, covered his mouth, rushed to the sink as the coffee hit his stomach and came back up.  Straightening up Napoleon turned to assure Illya that he was all right when he started to convulse and dropped to the floor.  Illya rushed over and squatted down to check his vital signs even as he pulled out his pen communicator to contacted U.N.C.L.E. Headquarter.

 

“Channel D.  Emergency, Agent down this location.”  He threw the pen down when he noticed Napoleon was no longer breathing and began giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

 

Act II: Death Comes Knocking

 

The medical team rushed the gurney down the hall, with Kuryakin racing behind.  As Napoleon was lifted onto a table, Illya found himself being pushed into a corner while the doctors hurried over to examine his partner.

 

They no sooner started his examination when Napoleon started to convulse again.  Suddenly nurses were everywhere, the doctors were shouting orders and Illya found himself pushed outside the room. 

 

He was still standing there, staring at the closed curtain when Mr. Waverly arrived.  “Mr. Kuryakin, what’s the status on Mr. Solo?”

 

Before Illya could answer one of the doctors came wearily out from behind the curtain.  He slowly shook his head.  “I’m sorry…”

 

Sorry?  Illya was suddenly paralyzed with fear.  It wasn’t possible…he couldn’t mean…no!

 

“Are you positive?” Mr. Waverly’s demeanor was one of agitation. “And the cause?”

 

“We won’t know until the autopsy is performed.  I’m afraid it will have to be later today.”

 

Nodding, Mr. Waverly turned to look at the younger man.  He started to say something then changed his mind.  With a deep sigh of regret at the loss of his top agent Alexander Waverly turned to go back to his office.  Arrangements would have to be made.

 

Illya’s mind was a complete blank; he couldn’t quite take it all in.  The doctor had left him alone with his grief and he had to lean against the wall for support.  Slowly he slid down, and buried his face against his knees.  This could not be happening.

 

 

He was still in that position when Lisa Rogers arrived.  Mr. Waverly had sent her to…she wasn’t sure why…to comfort him perhaps?  Stooping down to his level she placed a hand on his arm and suggested, “Mr. Kuryakin, Illya, you need to go home.  We’ll call you once arrangements have been completed.”

 

Illya looked up, his eyes stony.  Just then a gurney was wheeled out of the room with a sheet covered body and one toe hanging out along with a tag denoting time of death.  Illya got up, nodded to Lisa, and followed the gurney down the hall.

 

 

He sat in the sterile room, his face in his hands.  The only other thing in the room was the gurney holding Napoleon’s body.  Napoleon was an agent.   Agents come and go, some die.  He should not let this death affect him so much.  But this wasn’t just some agent; this was his partner, his friend, the CEA of U.N.C.L.E.

 

Suddenly there was a sound, a gasping of breath as if that of a drowning man.  Illya looked up in shock to see his partner’s supposedly dead body sitting up. 

 

Napoleon sat up gasping for breath, trying to slow down his breathing.  He felt his partner beside him and reached out to clutch him, grounding him to the here and now.  “I had the most horrible dream.  I dreamt that I’d died…”  He stopped in shock, noting the fact that he was covered by only a sheet and that there was a tag attached to his toe.

 

“I will go get the doctor,” Illya informed him, alarmed yet relieved that Napoleon was not dead.

 

Napoleon grabbed at him before he could move away.

 

“No.  No.   Please don’t do that,” he begged.

 

Illya looked at him questioningly.

 

“Get me out of here, Illya, I can’t explain why yet.  But I need to be away from here…to sort this all out.”

 

“At least let me contact Mr. Waverly.”

 

“No!”  Napoleon shook his head vehemently. “No one, please.”

 

Sighing, Illya agreed.  “Well, you can’t go anywhere dressed, or should I say not dressed like that.  I’ll go find you some clothing.”

 

As he turned to leave he glanced back at his partner who was lying back down to await his return.  Getting Napoleon out undetected could pose a problem.  But Illya wasn’t Number Two Section Two for nothing.  There were a few tricks he knew of that might work.

 

Act III: The Truth Comes Out

 

They made it to Illya’s apartment.   Sitting on the couch, running his hand through his dark hair, Napoleon Solo did not look his usual dapper self, dressed as he was wearing the sweat suit Illya had managed to retrieve from his locker.

 

Illya went into the kitchen to fix some coffee, and then thought better of it remembering what happened the last time, bringing Napoleon some water instead.

 

“Thank you,” Napoleon said as he took the glass. 

 

Staring at his partner with piercing blue eyes, Illya asked, “Why did you not want me to call medical?”

 

How could he explain even to Illya that his reason was so thin, that there were no facts to back them up?  Looking into the worried eyes of his partner, Napoleon ventured the only excuse he could come up with, “I’d already been pronounced dead once, I didn’t want it to happen again.”

 

Illya’s eyes widened at that and he had a sudden thought.  “What exactly do you remember?”

 

Leaning back against the cushion Napoleon thought. “The Oak Room….you…my apartment…” his heart started beating faster. “You,” his voice sank to a mere whisper and he started to convulse again.

 

Illya jumped up from his chair and pulled Napoleon down to the floor.  Laying him flat, he checked Napoleon’s airway and decided to give him mouth-to-mouth again.  As he went to work, his mind raced with plans of what to do if this didn’t work, suddenly Napoleon let out a gasp trying to pull in fresh air.  Illya pulled Napoleon to a sitting position against his chest, holding him for dear life.  Willing him not to die again.

 

Napoleon came back to conscience only to find his upper body pressed against Illya’s, feeling his arms holding him in place.  He put his hands over those arms to keep them there.  Taking a deep breath, he twisted his head to look Illya in the eye. “Would you mind doing that again?”

 

“Napoleon!”  Illya scowled down at the dark head in front of him.  “Let me call medical.” To which Napoleon violently shook his head. “At least let me call Mr. Waverly.”  He’d already lost his friend once and didn’t want to chance losing him again.

 

Napoleon just looked at him with those warm brown eyes and brought his arm up and around Illya’s head, pressing his lips to Illya’s own. The kiss was soft and gentle and he was grateful that Illya didn’t resist.  In fact Illya seemed to be getting into the spirit of it when…his communicator went off.

 

Pulling away from Napoleon, Illya reached into his pocket for his communicator.  Clearing his throat first, he said with just a slight breathlessness, “Kuryakin here.”

 

“Mr. Kuryakin, where exactly is here?” came the grumpy voice of his superior.

 

“My apartment, Sir.”  Napoleon was still leaning against his chest and he felt no desire to remove him.

 

A sigh came over his pen. “I’m sorry to have to inform you of this, but it appears Mr. Solo’s body has disappeared.  You wouldn’t by any chance know anything about that would you?”  Waverly’s voice made it plain that he suspected something of the kind.

 

Napoleon took hold of the hand containing the communicator and pulled it to him. “I’m here, Sir.”

 

There was a pause on the line and Napoleon wished that he could see Mr. Waverly’s expression.  “I take it you’re not dead,” Mr. Waverly responded dryly. Napoleon considered those words. Waverly’s reaction had not been to say you’re alive, but you’re not dead.  “I’ll have someone from medical over there in twenty minutes.”

 

Illya took back the pen. “Sir, Napoleon refused to see anyone from medical.”

 

“Hummph.”  Mr. Waverly considered the fact that Napoleon had arrived in medical and been pronounced dead and countered it with the fact that he was most definitely alive now.  “I see your point.  Perhaps it would be best if you stayed were you are now, in Mr. Kuryakin’s capable hands.  I’ll contact a doctor I know…not U.N.C.L.E…and get back to you.  Waverly out.”

 

Napoleon turned in Illya’s arms and looked up at him with a wide smile. “You heard the man.”  He reached up to pull Illya’s head down for another kiss. 

 

When they finally broke for air Illya shook his head.  “We shouldn’t be doing this. What would Mr. Waverly say?”

 

“I know,” Napoleon murmured softly as he drew Illya’s lips down once again to claim them.  “We could always say we are working on Russian-American relations.”

 

“Napoleon!!”  Illya pushed him away and tried not to smile.  He was beginning to fill a little cramped, sitting on the floor. “This position is not very comfortable; I suggest that we adjourn to my bedroom?”

 

They entered Illya’s rather stark bedroom and Napoleon looked around, his facial expression one of distaste.

 

Illya shook his head.  “Napoleon, I realize this is not the Ritz, but I hadn’t really planned that we…”

 

“I know,” Napoleon’s voice was one of regret.  “It’s just that some silk sheets, a couple of fluffy pillows would be nice.”

 

Napoleon’s criticism was met by Illya throwing his partner on the bed and stripping him of all his clothing.  Holding Napoleon’s arms down above his head he said menacingly, “Decadent American.  Remember this could be a dark and dingy THRUSH cell.”

 

Napoleon tried very hard not to smile. “Sounds interesting, remind me the next time we’re trapped in a THRUSH cell.” With a twist he managed to maneuver his partner underneath him intent on returning the favor.  Soon they were both out of breath and breathing hard.

 

Napoleon broke away reluctantly.  “We need something…do you have any lubricant?” he asked breathlessly.

 

Illya looked at him indignantly. “No, why would I need…”

 

Napoleon just made a growling sound and scooted off the bed heading into the bathroom to raid Illya’s medicine cabinet.  Toothpaste, deodorant, aspirin, baby oil…baby oil?  With triumphant he grabbed the bottle and headed back to the bed.  Illya was lying on his side, his head propped up on his hand watching Napoleon’s approach with a soft smile.

 

* Beep*

 

Not now, Napoleon thought with total frustration, as Illya leaped from the bed in search of his pen.  Finally managing to locate it he activated it. “Kuryakin, here.”

 

“Mr. Kuryakin, it took you long enough.  I was beginning to worry, I hope nothing is wrong?”

 

“No, sir.”  Illya glanced at Napoleon and saw him mouth the words, “not yet.”

 

Waverly continued, unaware of what he had unintentionally interrupted.  “I’ve manage to get Mr. Solo an appointment with an old friend of mine for nine o’clock tomorrow morning.  Here is the address…”

 

Illya tried to write the information down, but Napoleon was standing behind him, nuzzling his neck, making it difficult to concentrate.  Illya tried to swat him away, finally managing to push him toward the bed.  “I have it, sir.”

 

“Very well, Mr. Kuryakin, carry on.  Waverly out.”

 

Napoleon relaxed on the bed looking smug. “You heard the man, Kuryakin, carry on,” he said with a lascivious grin.

 

With a chuckle Illya climbed back onto the bed and took the bottle of oil from Napoleon’s hand.  “Yes, but you are not well and should not exert yourself.” He proceeded to play Napoleon’s body like a musical instrument.  Napoleon lay back enjoying the sensation of someone else taking the lead.

 

Eventually he turned Napoleon over on his stomach and put both pillows beneath him.  Opening the baby oil, Illya coated his fingers.  He gently massaged the muscles of Napoleon’s rear cheeks, than parting them, slid one finger into the puckered hole.  Napoleon was extremely tight.  Leaning closer to him, Illya whispered. “Napoleon, you need to relax.”

 

Relax?….the man wants him to relax…how? And suddenly he let his imagination take over.

 

Before long Illya could feel Napoleon relaxing against his fingers.  He positioned himself before entering him and looked down at Napoleon’s face.  Napoleon had a dreamy look on his face and as Illya took him, he had to ask, “Napoleon, what are you thinking of?”

 

“Augh.”  His muscles tightened for just a minute as he was pierced, then relaxed again. “Floating on a blue ocean…with a bright blue sky…the color of your eyes.”  Illya was pumping into him gently.  “A white sandy beach…and you…you remove your trunks.”

 

Illya froze. “In front of all those people?” he asked, shocked at the thought.

 

Napoleon chuckled.  “No, it’s a private beach.  I come out of the water toward you…in a suit no less and…” About that time both of them lost all coherent thought as the passion of the moment claimed them both.

 

Napoleon slowly came back to awareness and turned over to look at his partner.  Then his nose twitched as he noticed the wet and sticky spot he was currently lying in.  Getting out of bed he gingerly made his way to the bathroom.  What he needed was a nice warm bath.  He filled the tub wishing Illya had some bubble bath, and lay back sort of floating away on the memories of what they had just done.

 

Illya came into the bathroom and threw the dirty sheets in a corner.  Going over, he sat on the edge of the tub watching his friend, whose eyes were closed, looking totally relaxed.  He couldn’t help himself, he had to know. “What are you thinking about now?” he asked softly.

 

Napoleon opened one eye and then closed it again.  “Um a big tub…lots of bubbles…”  He opened his eye again.  “You.  Care to join me?”

 

“That tub is much too small, and I fear if I join you we’ll be very late for your doctor’s appointment.  I too need to clean up you know.”

 

So with a grunt Napoleon pulled the plug and got out of the tub. “Groan.”

 

Illya grabbed hold of him to help. “Does it hurt?” he asked anxiously.

 

“A little, but this hurt is the kind I could grow to love.”

 

Illya smirked.

 

Napoleon toweled himself dry and put on the only clothes he had, the sweat suit from yesterday.  Illya soon emerged from the bathroom, his hair still damp, and dressed in his usual black.  “We do not have much time.”

 

They drove in silence on the way to see the doctor Mr. Waverly had recommended.

 

 Act IV:  Diagnosis

 

Illya was doing the driving since he didn’t dare trust Napoleon not to have another attack while behind the wheel.  After all they still did not know what had caused the reaction.  What had followed would change everything.  Perhaps, if they were very, very discrete.  He spared a glance at his partner.  Napoleon was staring out the window.  “Napoleon?”

 

“Yes, Illya?” Napoleon responded calmly.

 

Illya sighed.  “You’re not going to make this easy are you.”

 

Napoleon turned to look at him, the ends of his mouth twitching.  “No.”

 

Trying to be reasonable Illya continued, “We’re playing with fire here.”

 

“Come on, Illya, have a little faith in the Solo luck.”  Napoleon reached over to caress Illya’s thigh.

 

Illya had to clamp his jaw shut to keep back a moan. “Napoleon, I’m trying to drive here.”

 

Taking his hand away Napoleon just smiled.

 

 

 

They had been shown into an examination room and Napoleon was asked to undress and put on a skimpy gown.  The nurse had tried to get Illya to wait in the waiting room, but hadn’t been successful.  When Napoleon had changed, she came back in to do the preliminary checkup, making notes on a chart before leaving.

 

Sometime later the doctor came into the room, reading the chart and ignoring his patient.  He was tall and thin, with dark hair going grey on the sides.  Looking over his glasses he assessed the situation.  What he saw was a dark-haired young man sitting on the examination table and a smaller blond man fidgeting in a chair in the corner.  So this was the hot-shot agent Alex was always talking about.

 

 “I’m Dr. Benjamin Pierce.  Alex asked me to check you over.  Care to tell me what happened?”

 

Solo stared at him and said simply, “I died.”

 

Smartass, Dr. Pierce thought. “I see, would you care to elaborate on that a just a tiny bit more?”

 

“Not really,” was the stony reply.

 

Illya broke in, coming to the rescue, giving a complete and concise account of what had occurred.

 

Dr. Pierce took it all in and asked, “And you are?”

 

“Illya Kuryakin, his partner.”

 

Nodding, Dr. Pierce turned back to Napoleon and asked, “Do you have any idea as to why you suddenly stopped breathing?”

 

Napoleon glanced at his partner then looked down, said softly, “No.”

 

He’s lying, thought Pierce, I wonder why?  But all he said was, “Okay take off the gown and let’s get this examination rolling.”

 

Sometime later he stood there flipping through his chart.  This had been a very thorough examination since he didn’t really know what he was looking for.  Blood pressure was a little high, but that was to be expected.  Respiration was normal, temperature normal, nothing in the urine sample.  Hmmm, that was odd.  He spared a glace over to Kuryakin who seemed a little tense and put two and two together.  “Get dressed and both of you meet me in my office.”

 

 

An hour later, alone in his office, Dr. Pierce picked up the phone and dialed Alexander Waverly’s private number.

 

“Alexander Waverly, please.  This is Dr. Pierce calling” 

 

“Benjamin, how are you?” came the voice over the phone.

 

“Finest kind, Alex, Finest kind.”

 

Mr. Waverly grunted. “So what’s wrong with my top agent?”

 

“Not a thing.”

 

“Not a thing?  The man died!!”

 

“So I hear, I checked him out from top to bottom.   EKG, everything, there is nothing wrong.  The only thing I can figure is, it’s psychosomatic.  Should come in handy in his line of work.”

 

“Hmmph, Benjamin, is it going to be a problem?”

 

“Not really, just keep that little blond guy near him and he’ll be fine.”

 

“How can I thank you, Benjamin?”

 

“Think nothing of it.  Wait until you get my bill.”  A spark of evilness lighted his eyes.

 

Setting the phone back on its cradle, Dr. Pierce leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk.  He went over the talk he had had with the two men right before he made the call.  He smiled as he remembered the twinkle in Solo’s eyes when he had given them the a huge tube of a new lubricant, one that a pharmaceutical representative had left with him, nor the blush that had come over Kuryakin when he had warned them about the necessity of not letting too much time pass between encounters.  He’d gotten a smirk out of Solo with that.  He supposed he could have explained it all to Alexander, but really he didn’t have a need to know, patient confidentiality and all.  Plus they did make a cute couple. 

 

The End

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yumyumpm: Napoleon and Illya (Man from UNCLE)
 A Dark Night in Mexico (1)

Two Stories with the same premise but different endings :which do you prefer?

Eventually published in YumYum Collected

Under the title

Mexican Standoff

Revised

 

It was a hot and dreary night and the two agents were stranded in a dingy motel in a remote area of Mexico.  The mission had gone badly and a young child had paid the price with his life.

 

The lighting in the bar was so dim you could barely see the glass in front of you.  Solo sat alone at a table, chair tipped back and his legs propped upon the table.  He was drinking …God only knew what, the choices being fairly limited.  His suit had lost much of its nattiness and his tie was loosened enough so that the top button of his shirt could be undone.  There was a bottle on the table, along with an ashtray, and he reached for it to refill his glass as he took a puff from his cigarette.

 

His partner was sitting nearby at the bar.  He too was drinking, though not as much as his friend.  He turned to watch as Solo took another drag of his cigarette and slowly blew smoke rings. “Have you ever thought about having children?” he asked.  A strange question you might wonder, but on the heel of their last assignment appropriate.

 

“Once,” Napoleon said darkly, taking another drag on the cigarette.  “…and you?”

 

Illya didn’t reply right away, he had heard that Napoleon had been married early on, but wasn’t aware of the details.  “No, insanity runs in my family, remember.”  An old joke from a previous affair, but it didn’t elicit the chuckle that he had expected.  He pressed on. “Surely with all the women you’ve romanced, there must be at least one little Solo somewhere.”

 

Napoleon gazed up at the ceiling and finished the drink he held in his hand. “No, I took care of that likelihood early on, besides I left that sort of thing to my father,” he said cryptically.

 

Illya’s ears perked up, this was the first time Solo had ever mentioned his family, and his personal life was mostly a mystery to the Russian.

 

Almost as if he had been reading his partners thought’s Napoleon asked, “How long have we know each other?”

 

“Four years, going on five,” Illya answered after a moments thought.  “You know that as well as I do.”

 

“And what do you know about me…” He waved his cigarette.  “personally?”

 

Illya turned back to the bar and thought about it, then spared a small glance at his friend out of the corner of his eye. “One of your grandfathers was an Admiral, the other an Ambassador.  You served in Korea, threw the javelin in college.”  This remark got a small smile from his partner.  “And were once married.”  He held his breath, that last comment more a stab in the dark than anything.

 

Napoleon didn’t deny it. “That’s more than I would have thought and more than I know about you.”

 

Illya’s background was as much if not more of a mystery than Napoleon’s own and he planned on keeping it that way.  Napoleon was being unusually morose this evening; he continued to take drags on his cigarette in between taking sips of his drink.  Illya thought, as they sat there in silence for some time, that usually by this time Napoleon would have found some woman with which to pass the time.

 

Illya, looking down into his drink, decided to ask, “Why don’t you relieve yourself with one of the local beauties.”  He turned in his chair, the better to watch Napoleon’s reaction.

 

Napoleon looked over at the only two females in the place.  One of them had to weigh more than he did, and the other was extremely thin with no bust to speak of and missing teeth to boot.  He shivered slightly in disgust: he wasn’t that desperate.  He then let his gaze pass over to the bartender, a burly and filthy cuss, as a possibility and eliminated him as well.  Then he looked at his partner.

 

Illya, held his breath.

 

Napoleon smiled grimly.  “You don’t have to worry you know, I don’t fuck friends.”

 

Illya’s eyebrows rose.

 

“Unless asked,” Napoleon qualified his last statement.

 

Illya turned back, facing the bar while he mulled this over. “and if I did?” 

 

“You won’t,” Napoleon stated shortly.

 

Getting up from the table, cigarette in his mouth, Napoleon went behind the bar and grabbed a couple of bottles, leaving money on the counter.  Enough to buy the whole place much less two bottles.  He headed for their room.  “Coming?” he asked not bothering to look to see if he was followed.

 

Illya considered it for a moment, and then finishing his drink got off the stool and trailed behind his partner.  After making a cursory security check he turned to find his partner, sans jacket, reclining on the single bed in the room.  He had lit another cigarette and was in the process of pouring another drink, his hands shaking slightly.

 

The room was extremely small with just the one bed and a small table.  The only bath in the whole place was located outside the bar, and Illya considered it fortunate that it wasn’t outside.  He leaned back against the door with his hands in his pocket not sure what to expect.

 

“Did I ever tell you about my sister?”  Napoleon asked.

 

This question was completely out of left field, as section two agents were generally without families, it was considered best not to have anyone to who could be held hostage against them. “I wasn’t aware you had a sister,” he replied.

 

Napoleon was staring at the ceiling a grim look on his face.  “Neither was I…at the time.”  He focused his gaze on Illya. “You can sit on the bed, you know.  It must be pretty uncomfortable just standing there.”

 

Illya thought about it before going to perch at the foot of the bed, his back turned away from his partner, tensed.

 

Napoleon just smirked before continuing, “We met at a football game and started going out.”

 

Illya turned back to look at his partner in surprise, Napoleon dating his sister?

 

“It gets worse,” Napoleon said answering the surprised look.  “We were at the local version of lover’s lane and things had just started to…steam up, when my father showed up and pulled me out of the car.”  He took another gulp of his drink before going on. “He was screaming at me…the jist of it being how dare I try fucking my own sister.  I’d always thought I was an only child.”

 

“You didn’t know…?”  Illya asked, illumination suddenly sinking in.

 

“Hell, no.  I had no idea.  Evidently her mother found out who she was going with and called my father.  He’d been searching all over town.”

 

“Did he get there in time?”  Illya was curious.

 

“Barely.”  Napoleon smiled coldly.  “I later asked if there were anymore surprises I should know about.” Taking another puff from his cigarette.

 

“And?” prodded Illya.

 

“And he said probably…” His laugh was bitter.  There was no humor as he repeated, “probably.”  He stubbed out the cigarette, before turning on his side, back to the center of the bed, ready to go to sleep.

 

Illya finally scooted up on the bed and turned his back to his partner, but he didn’t go to sleep.

 

Two days later, back at headquarters, Illya arrived to find his partner in conversation with several of the female personnel, joking and flirting as usual.  He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.

___________________________________

 

Months later they were back in Mexico, this time the cost of Baja, and other than the loss of everything but the clothes off their backs and their communicators they were fine.  Tired but fine and mission accomplished.  Their contact in UNCLE Mexico had directed them to a local hotel in the nearby resort town of Cabo San Lucas and they had made their way there.  Napoleon checked them in while Illya leaned against the elevator catching up on a little sleep.  If the clerk wondered why two men were checking in at nine o’clock at night without luggage, he didn’t say anything.

 

Waking Illya, Napoleon herded him into the elevator and pressed the button for their floor.  With a great deal of weariness he put the key into the lock and entered the room UNCLE had reserved for them stopping short.  A room with just one double bed, talk about déjà vu.

 

Illya stopped behind Solo and looked over his shoulder, “Humph,” he grunted. “I guess Waverly had been facing budget cuts again,” he muttered as he slid around his partner and began checking the room for bugs, reasoning that the sooner it was done the sooner he would be able to get to bed.


Napoleon walked across the room to the balcony that over looked the beach.  He placed his arms wide on the railing looking down on the beach below. Stretching his neck muscles, he tried to figure out how to ask his question without doing any damage.  He had never been quite sure of what he’d let slip that night.  He’d been hot and tired and rot gut they called alcohol hadn’t helped.

 

“Illya?”

 

Illya looked up from his search. “What?”

 

“What did I say?”

 

Illya considered pretending not to understand. In the end he decided not to. “Don’t you remember?”

 

There was silence.   Could it be that Napoleon really didn’t remember his conversation.  It would explain a lot.  “You mentioned your sister,” he threw out cautiously and heard an intake of breath.

 

Napoleon let his head drop as his gut twisted.  Damn, that was something he’d sworn never to reveal and now Illya knew.  He had to know. “What else?” he asked quietly.

 

Illya walked up behind him and just as quietly said, “You don’t fuck friends.”

 

Napoleon’s eyes widened and he wondered, had he really said that?  He hoped that THRUSH never found out about that Mexican rotgut, it could put the current truth drugs out of business.  He brushed past his partner without looking at him. “I’ve got to go.”

 

Illya watched Napoleon’s receding back as he left the room, and then looked down from the balcony to the beach and the women in their minuscule bikinis.  Typical of Napoleon to spot a bit of fluff with which to spend time with.  He passed it off with a shrug, at least he had first crack at the bathroom and maybe, just maybe, he’d leave some hot water for Napoleon.

 

Napoleon headed purposely down the hall toward the elevator, but once he got there he reconsidered and headed back, his mind in turmoil.  As he paced back and forth down the hall, running his hand though his hair his thoughts turned to the fact that he himself was bisexual, he swung both ways, but Illya…he wasn’t sure if he swung at all.  He could not…would not share this bed with his partner.  His long held in control was fast eroding and he knew that to let his guard down would be the biggest mistake of his life.  Finally he came to a stop and leaned against the wall next to the door to their room and slid down to the floor as exhaustion took over.

 

A freshly cleaned Russian, his hair damp, exited the bathroom as his stomach growled and he realized that he was more hungry than tired.  He reluctantly redressed in the clothing he’d been wearing since he had nothing else.  He drew the line at replacing his underwear, however, wishing that the shops downstairs were still open.  He picked up the room key and was leaving when he tripped over his partner who was still lying outside the door.  “What the…?”  He started to check that Napoleon hadn’t been attacked when he heard snores.  He squatted down to Napoleon’s level just out of reach should he wake up swinging. “Napoleon, what happened?” he teased. “Couldn’t you find anyone to pay with?”

 

Napoleon woke up with a start and rubbed his face with his hands, and saw his friend, eyes laughing, crouched near him.

 

“I’m going to get something to eat.  Do you want to come along or would you rather finish your nap here?”  Illya asked.

 

Eating seemed a safe enough activity but he decided not to risk it.  He let Illya pull him up and open the door to their room, leaving him the key.  His eyes followed Illya to the elevator that would take him to the restaurant downstairs.  Closing the door, he leaned against it, wondering what he was going to do.  Then he headed for the bathroom for a much needed shower.  Leaving the bathroom, he put his slacks back on before collapsing on the bed.

 

________________________

 

Illya found a booth to the back at the restaurant and studied the menu. Should he try a local dish or something safe?  Placing an order for vodka, he decided on going with the local cuisine. 

 

He was almost finished with his meal when he saw her.  She was weaving her way between the tables.  Soon she arrived at his booth and slid in beside him.

 

Buonas noches, Senor,” she said in a sultry voice. “Perhaps you would like some company?”  He looked at her face, he had thought that she might be eighteen, but revised it to more like sixteen on closer inspection.

 

“No, thank you,” he said politely, turning back to his drink.

 

She insinuated herself closer and ran her hand up his thigh.  Her eyes widened with delight as she realized he was not wearing any underwear.

 

He gave her the look that sent fear through everyone…everyone that is except Solo, and pushed her hand away.

 

She gave him a pouty look. “So you are one of those,” she said before reluctantly getting up and leaving.

 

He frowned ‘one of those’ whats?  Her touch had caused an involuntary reaction and it would be a while before he could get it under control.  He was glad it was late and there were so few patrons left in the restaurant.

 

Leaving the elevator and heading for their room, Illya muttered some choice Russian curses to the effect that women couldn’t be trusted even at the best of times.  As he came to the door he reached for the key only to remember that he had left it with Napoleon.  He thought about banging on the door and waking his partner up to let him in.   The possibility of disturbing their neighbors made him decide against it. He reached into his mouth and pulled out the piece of wire he kept there for just such emergencies as this. 

 

Opening the door he spotted Solo lying at the edge of the bed, one leg hanging over the side, oblivious to the fact that someone had just entered the room.  He made a mental note to speak to him about it in the morning.  He studied his partner, his eyes raking over the stretched-out body. The girl in the restaurant had been underage; Napoleon was not. Regretfully he went over to the other side of the bed and removed his shirt and belt and slipped off his shoes before sliding into the bed.

 

________________________

 

 

Napoleon awoke in the early morning hours to find his arms around a warm body.  When he realized whose body it was he froze for a moment before deciding to pull him arm away only to find it held firmly in place.

 

“It’s cold,” the blonde Russian muttered.  It was indeed cold, the climate having turned exceedingly chilly, and Napoleon’s body was very warm.

 

Napoleon bit his lower lip.  “I could get us an extra blanket?” he offered quietly, though he made no move to get one.

 

Illya turned, still in his partner’s arms, to face him.  Sapphire blue eyes met deep brown eyes and Illya was surprised by the guarded look he found there.   He brought his hand lower to feel his partner’s arousal.  

 

“Do you realize I was almost seduced by an underage female last night?”

 

Napoleons eyebrows went up.  Jailbait?  “Ah, you didn’t?”

 

“Of course not, Napoleon,” he said exasperated.  “But…I…am…only…human,” he said pushing down on the mattress to punctuate every word.  Sometimes Napoleon could be so dense.  He looked down at the American expectantly and finally threw up his hands, saying, “Bah,” before moving to sit at the edge of the bed, his back to his partner.  He felt the mattress move as Napoleon got off the bed and turned to see him pull off his slacks and slide back into bed.  He licked his lips unsure as how to proceed.  He knew what his body wanted, no craved and he pulled off his t-shirt and shucked off his slacks before once again straddling his partner. 

 

Illya Kuryakin looked down at the man under him.  Napoleon had not made any movement and his muscles were wound as tight as Illya had ever seen them.  He was sure Napoleon wanted this; the evidence was trapped between their bodies.  Why was he holding back?  He ran his hands lightly down Napoleon’s arms, willing the tight muscles to relax.  When he got to the hands he forced them open and intertwined his fingers with them before pulling them up to either side of Napoleon’s head.  “Should we cut to the chase?” he asked, his head canted to one side, amusement showing in his eyes.

 

 “You’re in charge,” Napoleon replied lightly, deciding to go with the flow.

 

Anticipation caused his breath to come in small gasps, so the slight Russian paused to get control before he swiftly once, twice, thrice gently touched Napoleon’s lips with his.  He was rewarded when Napoleon’s head followed his as he pulled away, trying to recapture his lips.  Mentally he smiled.   His partner was slowly coming around, so he proceeded to mouth the area of Napoleon’s neck as it arched before attacking Napoleon’s mouth with a vengeance. 

 

Napoleon was not inactive.  He looked at the lips he had long coveted as he ran his hands down the Russian’s body.  He moved his legs so that Illya could rest his body more comfortably between them.    Moving so he was stretched out things escalated as their groins thrusting against one another and the pleasure brought about gasps and moans.  Soon needs took over and caution vanished. When he had a free moment he brought his own mouth to Illya’s neck and sucked hard as he came, knowing it would probably leave a bruise for days to come.  It was just after that Illya stiffened and followed him into oblivion.

 

________________________

 

Illya woke to find himself alone.  It had been years since he’d let himself give in to the physical needs he sometimes had.  Dressing quickly he searched the room, before glancing out the window and spying a lone figure standing, his hands in his pockets, at the end of the pier.  He thought to analyze what had happened last night and gave up with a sigh.  In this resort town it was rare to see someone in a suit out on the beach.  But as this was the off-season there were few people to notice.

 

Solo stood there, a light breeze blowing, and watched the sun come up, grateful that there were so few people around to disturb the tranquility.  He had been feeling far from tranquil and a bit more than a little angry with himself.  He should have been able to control his growing need, his desire to….what?…use his partner?  He cared more for him - too much perhaps - to do that.  He heard footsteps coming down the pier behind him and knew who it was without having to look.

 

“Napoleon, we need to talk,” Illya said as he came close and stood behind to him.

 

 

Napoleon closed his eyes and tried to get his feelings under control. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said flatly.  “What happened last night can never happen again.”

 

“Why?”  Illya asked earnestly as he lightly touched the sleeve of Napoleon’s jacket.

 

Napoleon turned his head to look into clear blue eyes and said fiercely, “We’re playing with fire.” Then looking away added, “and if we’re not careful we’ll get burned.”  He pulled out his cigarettes and started to light one only to have it taken away and thrown into the sea.

 

“So, we’ll be careful.” Illya was determined. “You speak as if from experience.”

 

Napoleon’s eyes hardened.   He’d given away one secret and he was damned if he’d give away another.  “Let’s just drop it.”

 

“No!”  Illya said sharply, his eyes were ablaze as he grabbed Napoleon’s arm and turned him towards him.

 

“It’s too dangerous,” Napoleon insisted.

 

“Our line of business is dangerous.  Besides it’s only sex.”  Illya ran his hand through his hair as his mind cast around trying to come up with something, anything that would change Napoleon’s mind. 

 

“I’m surprised at you, Illya.  I wouldn’t have thought you’d want…”  Napoleon started.

 

“Want?”  The Russian answered fiercely as he turned away.  “I realize I do not require…that I’m not as…”

 

“Horny?”  Napoleon supplied.

 

Illya nodded.  It wasn’t the right word but it would do.  “There are times.”  He paused before continuing.  “I cannot trust as you do.  I can’t just hop into bed with anyone like you manage to.  For me that would be dangerous.”

 

Illya, enigma that he was, was surprising him.  “So what are you suggesting?”  Was Illya saying he trusted him enough for this?

 

“We could think of it as another assignment.” Illya insisted. “And possibly use code names.”

 

Napoleon shook his head slowly.  Could it be that simple?  He smiled. “Don’t you mean affairs?”  He frowned.  They shouldn’t be considering this.

 

“You are having second thoughts, my friend?”  Illya asked gently as they both gazed out at the ocean.

 

Napoleon swallowed before answering, “Second, third and fourth.”

 

“Did you not enjoy last night?”  Illya asked turning to look at his partner.

 

 “Yes, may god help my soul, yes.”  Looking to the sky for answers Napoleon sighed as he realized he finally had to tell the truth.

 

“Then I do not see the problem,” Illya said with a shrug. “How long have we known each other?  What do you know about me,” he waved his hand. “personally?”

 

Napoleon bit back a smile.  He remembered uttering the same words six months earlier.  “Code names?” Napoleon asked thoughtfully as the unease about what they were planning faded.

 

Illya nodded. “I was thinking along the line of Emperor and Czar?” They had used those names before and he was confident this could work.  “We could use military time and coordinates.”  He waved his hands to get his point across; sure Napoleon would be able to follow his train of thought.

 

“Coordinates?  Hmmm, and a drop?”  Napoleon nodded actually getting into the spirit of this.

 

Silence reigned as they both thought before saying at the same time, “Map room.”

 

Napoleon looked at Illya one eyebrow raised. “Are you sure…?”

 

“Would I be so…insistent if I were not?”  Illya shrugged.

 

“You’re cute when you beg.”  Napoleon glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

 

Illya glared at him. “I’m not begging.  I’m just saying it could be…fun.”

 

“What if THRUSH were to find out?”  Napoleon asked cautiously.

 

“Never mind THRUSH. What about Waverly?”  Illya responded lightly, feeling almost giddy now that Napoleon was agreeable.

 

“Oh, I don’t think he’d care,” Napoleon assured him.

 

“It’s not like we’ll be doing it on a daily basis,” Illya continued with reason.  “Only when one of us…”

 

“Is horny?”  Napoleon threw out.

 

“Feels the need,” Illya finished.  What was he thinking?  With Napoleon’s sexual appetite it could well be a daily thing. “Forgive me, I forgot who I was talking to,” he said dryly.

 

Napoleon let out a chuckle.  “Don’t worry.  I’ll try to keep it down to a minimum. 

 

“You know, I would never have thought you would be interested in sex just for sex,” Napoleon pointed out.

 

“What can I say, Napoleon, I have worked with you for too long.”

 

Napoleon moved aside the collar of Illya’s shirt to reveal the bruise that was starting to show. “You’re going to need to wear your turtleneck shirts for a while,” he remarked with a smirk. 

 

Illya brushed aside his hand and tightened his tie to cover up the hicky.  “I fully intend to return the favor.”

 

“We’re fools you know.”  Napoleon was still hesitant.

 

“Then we are fools together,” Illya pointed out. “Besides, Napoleon, I have coveted your body for quite a while.”

 

This brought a slow small to Napoleon’s face.

 

Sounds of more footsteps caused both men to tense as they turned.  A young Mexican, immaculately dressed in a white suit, was walking toward them.  As he came to a stop he smiled.  “Buenos días.  I am Manuel Gonzales of U.N.C.L.E. Baja.  Do I have the pleasure of addressing Senors Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin?”

 

Both men nodded as they relaxed their tensed muscles.

 

Gonzales reached into his jacket pocket and brought out two envelopes.  “I have here two tickets for New York.  You are both wanted back ASAP.  I am sorry there is no time for you to get fresh clothing,” he said apologetically. “Your flight leaves in one hour and I have taken the liberty of checking you out.  Buena suerte, gentlemen.”  He turned and walked away.

 

The two agents checked their envelopes for the tickets and cash they contained.  Napoleon slapped his in the palm of his hand and looked at his partner, suppressing a sigh.  It appeared that it was going to be business as usual.

 

 

A Dark Night in Mexico - Alternate ending.

 

It was a dark and dreary night and the two agents were stranded in a dingy motel in a remote area of Mexico.  The mission had gone badly and a young child had paid the price with his life.

 

The lighting in the bar was so dim you could barely see the glass in front of you.  Solo sat at a table, his chair tipped back and his legs propped on the table.  He was drinking God only knew what, the choices being fairly limited.  His suit had lost much of its nattiness and his tie was loosened enough so that the top button of his shirt could be undone.  There was a bottle on the table, along with an ashtray, and he reached for it to refill his glass as he took a puff from his cigarette.

 

His partner was sitting nearby at the bar, he too was drinking, though not as much as his friend.  He turned to watch as Solo took another drag of his cigarette and slowly blew smoke rings. “Have you ever thought about having children?” he asked.  A strange question you might wonder, but on the heel of their last assignment appropriate.

 

“Once,” Napoleon said darkly, taking another drag on the cigarette, “and you?”

 

Illya didn’t reply right away, he had heard that Napoleon had been married early on, but wasn’t aware of the details.  “No, insanity runs in my family, remember.”  An old joke from a previous affair, but it didn’t elicit the chuckle that he had expected.  He pressed on.  “Surely with all the women you’ve romanced, there must be at least one little Solo somewhere.”

 

Napoleon gazed up at the ceiling and finished the drink he held in his hand.  “No, I took care of that likelihood early on, besides I left that sort of thing to my father,” he said cryptically.

 

Illya’s ears perked up, this was the first time Solo had ever mentioned his family, and his personal life was mostly a mystery to the Russian.

 

Almost as if he had been reading his partners thought’s Napoleon asked, “How long have we know each other?”

 

“Four years, going on five,” Illya answered after a moments thought.  “You know that as well as I do.”

 

“And what do you know about me…” he waved his cigarette. “personally?”

 

Illya turned back to the bar and thought about it, looking at his friend out of the corner of his eye. “One of your grandfathers was an Admiral, the other an Ambassador.  You served in Korea, threw the javelin in college. ” This got a small smile from his partner. “And were once married.”  That last more a stab in the dark than anything.

 

Napoleon didn’t deny it. “That’s more than I would have thought and more than I know about you.”

 

Illya’s background was more of a mystery than Napoleon’s own and he planned on keeping it that way.  Napoleon was being unusually morose this evening; he continued to take drags on his cigarette in between taking sips of his drink.  Illya thought, as they sat there in silence for sometime, and that usually by this time Napoleon would have found some woman with which to pass the time.

 

Illya, looking down into his drink, decided to ask, “Why don’t you relieve yourself with one of the local beauties?”  Watching Napoleon’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

 

Napoleon looked over at the only two females in the place.  One of them had to weigh more than he did, and the other was extremely thin with no bust to speak of and missing teeth to boot.  He shivered slightly is disgust, he wasn’t that desperate.  He then let his gaze pass over to the bartender, a burley filthy cuss, as a possibility and eliminated him as well.  Then he looked at his partner.

 

Illya, holding his breath, could feel his gaze on him and turned his head to return it.

 

Napoleon smiled grimly. “You don’t have to worry you know, I don’t fuck friends.”

 

Illya’s eyebrows rose.

 

“Unless asked,” Napoleon qualified his last statement.

 

Illya mulled this over.  “And if I did?”  Keeping his eyes facing the bar.

 

“You won’t,” Napoleon stated shortly.

 

Getting up from the table, cigarette in his mouth, Napoleon went behind the bar and grabbed a couple of bottles, leaving money on the counter.  Enough to buy the whole place much less two bottles.  He headed for their room, “Coming?” he asked not bothering to look to see if he was followed.

 

Illya considered it for a moment, and then finishing his drink got off the stool and trailed behind his partner.  After making a cursory security exam he turned to find his partner, sans jacket, reclining on the single bed in the room.  He had lit another cigarette and was in the process of pouring another drink, his hands shaking slightly.

 

The room was extremely small with just the one bed and a small table.  The only bath in the whole place was outside the bar, and Illya felt lucky it wasn’t outside.  He leaned back against the door with his hands in his pocket not sure what to expect.

 

He focused his gaze on Illya. “You can sit on the bed, you know.  It must be pretty uncomfortable just standing there.”

 

Illya thought about it before going to perch at the foot of the bed, his back tensed to his partner. “Perhaps you’ve had enough to drink?” 

 

Napoleon looked at the bottle in his hand.  “Perhaps you’re right,” he said before throwing the bottle at the door smashing it.  Without another word, he turned his back to his partner and fell into a dejected sleep.

 

Illya finally scooted up on the bed, and looked at the ceiling, his mind in a quandary.

He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have Napoleon’s hands, hands that had killed many a THRUSH agent, touching him.  He felt the bed shake as Napoleon turned over facing him in sleep.  He went back to imagining all the places his partner could be touching, and couldn’t help noticing the slight smile that appeared on Napoleon’s face.

 

He frowned, and decided to run an experiment.  He concentrated hard, imagining all the things he could be doing to Napoleon, and to his amazement Napoleon smile turned into a satisfied grin.  Reaching behind him, he grabbed the thing that passed for a pillow and whacked his partner on the face.

 

Napoleon popped awake muttering, “What the hell.”

 

“How long have you been able to read my mind,” Illya demanded.

 

Turning away Napoleon muttered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Illya leaned over and pinched his partner hard. “How long.”

 

“Ow, don’t do that.”  Napoleon snapped.

 

Illya pinched again.  “How long,” he repeated.

 

“From the beginning,” Napoleon said quietly.

 

“And you can do this with everyone, yes?”  Illya wanted to know.

 

Napoleon turned and looked his partner in the face.  “No, if I could, do you think we’d get captured as much as we do?  Strictly speaking I don’t ‘read’ your mind; I can just sense certain….feelings.”

 

“Oh, and just what are you sensing now?”  Illya asked disgruntled.

 

Napoleon concentrated.  “Anger, which is why I never told you, and…” he reached over and pulled Illya close before covering his mouth with a gentle kiss.

 

Illya took hold of Napoleon’s face with his hands and deepened the kiss. “What am I feeling now?  You said something about, what was it, only if asked.”

 

“Are you asking?”  Napoleon posed softly.

 

“No, Napoleon, I’m telling.” 

 

THE END

 

 

 

 

 

yumyumpm: Napoleon and Illya (Man from UNCLE)

A Bittersweet Christmas

By YumYumPM


Originally Posted 2003
The Christmas Holidays are here and Napoleon decides to show his partner a Christmas he'll never forget.

Four Days Before Christmas

It was four days before Christmas and Napoleon Solo, dressed in his best tux, was enjoying a wonderful evening at a fashionable discothèque. He raised his glass, sighing mentally as he took in the sight of the stunning blonde on his right and the equally taciturn blond on his left. He looked at his date, a tall blonde with china-blue eyes, whose sleek black dress left little to the imagination. It had taken a lot for him to get this particular young lady to agree to go out with him and the evening’s ending promised to be well worth it.

His partner, dressed in his usual black, just sat with his arms folded, his blue eyes glaring at Napoleon. Illya’s date for this evening was a small brunette whose hair was cut even shorter than his own.

In spite of what Illya thought, it was not Napoleon’s fault that Bridgette had insisted that he provide a date for her friend; nor was it his fault that Illya had made a minor mistake on their last mission that Napoleon had no qualms about using to blackmail him into going along on this date. They had finished a good meal, which he had paid for, when the conversation turned to childhood memories from Christmases past. Bridgette and her friend had done most of the talking and Napoleon had mentioned that some of the Christmases he’d enjoyed most were those spent at his Grandparents. Illya had not joined in the conversation at all, causing Napoleon, who had never thought about it before, to wonder what kind of Christmases his partner had memories of.

After the meal, Bridgette had been in the mood for some dancing, which she did with abandon. The music was loud, and for some unknown reason Napoleon’s spirits were at an all time low. Illya's date rose from the table, indicating that she, too, wanted to dance. Illya reluctantly got up and stared daggers at Napoleon, who merely lifted his glass to salute him. This was one highpoint that could prove very amusing, Napoleon thought.

He watched as Illya and his date approached the dance floor. He knew his partner could dance, but he wasn’t prepared for just how well. He watched with astonishment as Illya and his date twirled around the floor as if they had choreographed the moves. Soon other couples on the floor were moving back to watch in admiration.

“They’re really good,” Bridgette remarked.

All of a sudden, Napoleon felt a strange tightness in his chest. It wasn’t as if he were jealous of his partner’s dancing abilities, after all he was an accomplished dancer as well; he just preferred music where you could hold your partner close. He always felt a little silly dancing to disco music. But, Illya was poetry in motion. He frowned realizing that it wasn’t that his partner was good at dancing but the fact that he was good at something with someone else that bothered him. He closed his eyes, his mouth dry, and wondered when he had started to feel so possessive about Illya.

“Napoleon, are you all right?” Bridgette asked, her hand on his arm as she tried to get his attention. Looking into her worried eyes, he opened his mouth to tell her he was fine and found out that he couldn’t. Here he was with a beautiful woman willing to grant his every fantasy or so she had led him to believe and he felt that he would rather be with the blond on the dance floor. Confusion set in and then panic, he stood up and reached for his wallet with the intention of paying whatever bill they might have. The music had stopped and Illya and his date were heading back to the table. Napoleon panicked, he couldn’t take it anymore so he dropped his wallet on the table and walked away. He didn’t see the look of indignation on Bridgette's face nor the look of worry in his partner’s eyes.

,
He wasn’t sure how he managed to make it back to his apartment. His mind had literally shut down and he was working on automatic. He unlocked the door, not bothering with the lights, made his way to the bar were he got a bottle of Haig and poured himself a glass. He took a sip, and then taking the bottle walked to a far corner of the room and slowly slid down to the floor. He closed his eyes wishing he knew what the hell had come over him. He knew he cared for his partner and trusted him with his life, but…

He poured himself another drink and willed himself to think of something else, anything else. Leaning his head against the wall, he thought of Christmas at his grandparents, the Christmas tree loaded with presents, sledding down the hill behind the house, the mouthwatering food. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there drinking when he heard the doorbell ring. He didn’t have the energy to answer it and he prayed that whoever it was would just go away.

Illya stood outside the door waiting for someone to answer. He was worried about Napoleon; his actions were definitely out of character. He and Brenda had returned to the table to see Napoleon walking away. Bridgette had called him to come back but he hadn’t answered, more importantly he had left his wallet behind. It had taken quite some time to calm the girls down and send them home in a cab, using Napoleon’s money, of course, before he could go in search of Napoleon. The car was still where they had left it, so he decided to try Napoleon’s apartment on the off chance that that’s were he had gone. He had debated about contacting U.N.C.L.E. to put a trace on Napoleon, but decided against it.

After a few minutes of knocking and nobody answering, Illya decided to let himself into the apartment. Opening the door, he noticed that the room was in darkness, so he flipped the switch, lighting the room. He spotted Napoleon, his eyes closed, slouched on the floor at the far side of the room, his tuxedo all wrinkled and his tie crooked. He was holding a glass atop one knee and a bottle in his other hand. Slowly so as not to startle his friend he made his way to him, dropping the wallet on the coffee table on the way.

“You forgot your wallet,” he said softly as he squatted down in front of Napoleon. “Are you all right?”

Napoleon opened his eyes and poured himself another drink, unable to look into the blue eyes that belonged to his partner.

Taking the glass from him, Illya said, “Oh no, my friend, you’ve already had enough. Now tell me what is bothering you.”

Napoleon bit his lip; he couldn’t bring himself to do that, so he said the first thing that came into his head. “I wanna go home.”

That amused Illya. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Napoleon, but you are home. Upsy Daisy.” With a grunt, Illya grabbed him under the arms and pulled him up. Placing one arm around his shoulder, he guided Napoleon into his bedroom and watched as he collapsed face down upon the bed. Illya stood back wondering what is was that had Napoleon in such a state. Reaching down he removed Napoleon’s shoes and pulled the covers up. Shaking his head and turning off the light, he left the apartment after first making sure the alarm was set.

Tingaling tingaling tingaling

Three Days Before Christmas

The next morning Illya arrived at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters at his usual time. As he took his badge from the pretty receptionist, he wondered out loud about when Napoleon might arrive.

“Oh, Mr. Solo arrived over an hour ago,” the receptionist informed him, to which he raised an eyebrow. “He’s in a meeting with Mr. Waverly.”

Fingering his badge absentmindedly, Illya nodded and headed toward his office. When he had left his partner the night before, Napoleon had been out like a light. To get to work early was very uncharacteristic of his friend and he wondered what brought it on. He would find out why later, but for now he had a stack of paperwork waiting for him.

He had just started on the paperwork, when Napoleon burst into the office rubbing his hands together gleefully.

“I just got through talking to the old man and we have three days off. If you leave now and pack we can be out of here in two hours.”

Illya just looked at his partner as if he was crazy. “Napoleon, I have got too much paperwork…”

Napoleon just ignored that. “I’ll be by your place shortly to pick you up,” he asserted before leaving the room.

“Napoleon, where...?” Illya called after him as his phone rang but Napoleon was already gone. He picked up the phone. “Kuryakin, here,” he said absently.

“Mr. Kuryakin, have you seen Mr. Solo,” Waverly inquired.

“He just left, Sir.” Illya sat back down to give Mr. Waverly his whole attention.

“I’ve just had a most disturbing conversation with Mr. Solo.” Mr. Waverly sounded indignant. “He demanded three days off for you and himself. Do you know what this is all about?”

Illya looked at the phone in his hand in amazement. “No, sir.”

“Something is obviously wrong. I want you to stick to your partner until you find out,” Mr. Waverly ordered.

“Yes, sir.” Illya didn’t argue as he put the phone down, three days off!! He quickly set his desk straight and left to pack.

Tingaling tingaling tingaling

It was a long drive and Napoleon whistled a Christmas tune while Illya sat next to him napping. He had gotten up that morning with a vague recollection of the events of the night before. Napoleon remembered thinking about the Christmases he had spent with his grandparents and wondering what Illya’s Christmases had been like. Then he’d decided the only thing to do was to show Illya what a good old fashion Christmas was like. Yes, that was it, he would share a Christmas like he’d had with his grandparents with his partner. It had taken a lot of talking, but he’d gotten Mr. Waverly to say yes. Then all he had to do was make a phone call.

“Do you want me to drive for awhile?” Illya asked still not having any idea as to where they were going.

Napoleon stopped whistling and with a brilliant smile replied, “No, it’s not much further.”

Illya checked his watch, it was just getting dark and they had been on the road since ten o’clock that morning. Traffic had been bad and it was starting to snow, but Napoleon had not seemed to mind, that being unusual in itself. He also had refused to tell Illya where they were going. A few minutes later, the car turned down a small winding road and came to a stop.

The two men got out of the car and Illya stretched as he took in an old two-story house with a wraparound front porch, and the lights blazing from every window. An elderly black woman came out of the front door and his partner rushed up to greet her while Illya went to get the suitcases out the trunk.

Waving Illya over, Napoleon said with pride, “Mama Joe, this is my partner Illya Kuryakin. Illya this is Mama Joe, the best cook in the state.”

Mama Joe shook her head at Napoleon. “Oh, Nap-o-leon, you hasn’t changed a bit, just gottin taller,” she said as she ushered them inside.

Illya set his suitcase down and unbuttoned his coat while he looked around. The hallway was long, running through the entire house, with a staircase to one side going to the next floor. The walls were covered with an old fashion wallpaper pattern but it only added to the charm. There were four doors leading off the hall, two on each side. He glanced at his partner to see the American taking everything in with barely concealed excitement.

Mama Joe went to a closet in the hall, took out a coat which she buttoned up, and continued her conversation. “I’s got everythin’ ready, just like you ask. Supper’s on the stove and I’ll be back to make sure Christmas dinner gets done right.”

“Thanks, Mama Joe, I really appreciate this,” Napoleon said with sincerity as he escorted her out to her car. When he returned he found his partner was still standing in the hallway. “Why don’t you go upstairs and pick out a room while I get food on the table?”

Illya picked up his suitcase and started for the stairs. Going up two of the steps, he stopped and turned. “Napoleon, why am I here?”

Napoleon didn’t answer. He just smiled and paused at a door leading to the living room, glanced inside with approval before going on to the kitchen.

There were three bedrooms upstairs. One master bedroom with its own bath, one bedroom with a double bed and rose patterned wallpaper that shared a bathroom with a smaller room that contained twin beds. There was striped wallpaper in that room as well as a pine dresser and armoire. A braided rug lay on the floor making the room inviting, so Illya decided that he would sleep there. He put his suitcase on the bed to unpack and began to pull out some things to put in the dresser. On the dresser was a picture of a young boy whose closed-mouth smile was slightly crooked, and he had just picked it up to look closer when he heard footsteps rushing down the hall.

His curiosity got the better of him. He put the photo down and followed the sounds of the footsteps. They had gone down the hall and up a small stairway at the back of the house. Quietly going up the stairway and reaching the top, he saw bed frames, rockers, lots of boxes, picture frames, and his partner. Napoleon was hanging out an open window at the far side of the attic.

Hearing steps coming toward him, Napoleon turned around, his eyes bright with excitement. “Isn’t this great?” he asked waving his arm toward the window.

Illya looked out, there seemed to be a million stars, and a full moon shown down on hillside at the back of the house.

Napoleon was leaning out the window again. “I used to come up here to get away from everything,” he reminisced. “See that tree? That’s the tree I fell out of when I was ten and broke my arm.” Then realizing that Illya couldn’t possibly care, he laughed. “Come on, supper’s on the table.”

As he followed Napoleon down the stairs Illya inquired, “I take it this is your grandparents’ home.”

Napoleon glanced back, his eyes alight with amusement. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Seeing Illya’s look of indignation, he laughed. “When they died, they left the place to me. I’ve tried to keep it up, but…,” he left the rest unsaid and shrugged.

“It’s very nice, what’s for supper?” Illya asked.

“Stew,” he said as he picked up a lid and leaned over to sniff the wonderful aroma. He reached for the ladle and poured generous helpings into two bowls. “Do you want to eat in here or in the dining room?”

“Here is fine.”

Nodding he took the bowls to the table, and then went back for silverware and the basket of bread that Mama Joe had left. “Is tea okay with you?” he asked, waiting for Illya's nod before he poured two glasses that he also brought back to the table. “Dig in,” he instructed as he picked up his spoon. Then he noticed with amusement that Illya had already started.

“This is very good,” Illya said as he helped himself to some fresh baked bread.

“I told you Mama Joe was the best cook,” Napoleon stated. “My parents traveled a lot when I was growing up, and I spent a lot of time here. Mama Joe practically raised me.”

Illya’s eyebrows went up at this information; Napoleon rarely talked about his childhood.

After they had finished the meal, Napoleon said, “I’ll clean up here, why don’t you go into the living room and fix us some drinks.”

Illya nodded. “I don’t suppose…”

“Try the freezer?” Napoleon suggested trying to keep a smile from breaking out. Illya could be so predictable sometimes.

Illya walked over to the refrigerator and opened the freezer, finding a bottle of vodka. With unconcealed delight, he pulled it out and headed for the living room to fix the drinks. The living room contained comfortable furniture; a lit fireplace was the main attraction along with a Christmas tree, off to one side, waiting to be decorated. He went over to the buffet and poured himself a drink, then finding a bottle of scotch, poured one for Napoleon. Settling into one of the chairs placed in front of the fireplace he stared at the flames.

When Napoleon walked into the room, wiping his hands on a dishtowel, he found his drink waiting for him on the buffet and joined Illya in the other chair by the fireplace. He looked in satisfaction at the tree that stood in front of the window and turned to Illya, planning to ask if he wished to help decorate it just as Illya let out a yawn. Napoleon suggested as he finished off his drink. “Let’s get to bed. It has been a long day.”

Illya merely nodded as he wearily got up and followed his partner up the stairs to the bedrooms. “Goodnight,” he yawned as he watched Napoleon go into the room with the double bed.

“Sleep tight,” Napoleon responded.

Sometime in the early morning hours, Napoleon awoke to answer the call of nature and relieve his bladder. Half asleep he left the bathroom and got back into bed.

Tingaling tingaling tingaling

The Day Before Christmas

Illya woke up in a strange bed and turned over to find Napoleon in the other bed. “Napoleon?”

Napoleon woke up and blinked as he looked around. “Sorry, I had to go to the bathroom last night and I guess my feet forgot where they were supposed to go. This used to be my room when I stayed here,” he apologized. “Tell you what. You clean up and I’ll fix breakfast.”

Illya took a shower and put on his usual black outfit, then went down the stairs and into the kitchen. He found it amusing to catch sight of his partner wearing an apron, his expression one of intense concentration, his tongue sticking out, while mixing some batter in a bowl.

“I hope you know what you’re doing?”

Napoleon looked up only slightly embarrassed and set down the bowl. He picked up a piece of paper that he had been concentrating on. “I’ve got step by step instructions,” he declared.

Much to Illya’s surprise breakfast turned out to be very good. After helping to clean up the kitchen, Napoleon was not a very neat cook; they went to the living room where Napoleon started another fire in the fireplace.

Going over to the tree, he started rummaging through the boxes near it.

“Wanna help?” he asked Illya.

Illya lounged in one of the chairs, his feet on an ottoman, coffee cup in hand replied, “No, I think I’ll just watch.”

Napoleon let out a mental sigh, then reached down and pulled out a string of lights. He started to untangle them and then decided that they needed some music for atmosphere. He moved toward the stereo, but became entangled in the cord. The more he tried to get loose the more wrapped up he got.

“Illya, help me out here!”

Illya got up with a chuckle. “Maybe we should just plug you in.”

The look of consternation on Napoleon’s face was priceless and he methodically worked to unwind him. Napoleon insisted that he help decorate the tree, so he gave in.

It took longer than it should, Napoleon would get nostalgic over some of the ornaments and he started to tell the stories behind them. Illya didn’t mind, it was nice to hear about the good times Napoleon had growing up. They took a break for lunch and then continued decorating the tree.

Napoleon realizing he had done most of the talking asked his Russian partner, “So what was Christmas like when you were growing up?”

Illya paused as he put tinsel on the tree, remembering back. “First off, we don’t celebrate Christmas on December 25th, we celebrate on January 7. We do have Christmas trees, though.”

“With presents?”

“With presents, though it’s not about how much you spend.”

“Oh, you mean it’s the thought that counts?”

“Something like that.” Illya had to agree. “We generally celebrate for six days, with a church service on Christmas Eve and a huge meal on Christmas Day.”

“You went to church?” Napoleon asked surprised.

“It was tradition,” Illya explained. “The food was wonderful, there would be goose or maybe a suckling pig and Babushka would pass out the presents.”

“How do you say ‘Merry Christmas’ in Russian?” Napoleon asked as he got the star to put on top of the tree.

“c Rodzhestvom Krisowom, it means ‘The Birth of Christ’. Christmas is a time for family and friends.”

“Not that much different from ours,” Napoleon said as he put the star on top and stood back to judge the effect. “So what is the memory of your last Christmas with your family?” he asked absently.

Illya caught his breath, the memory was painful, he closed his eyes and softly he said, “The Germans came.”

Napoleon looked at his friend in shock, how could he have been so thoughtless, he reached over to place his hand on his friend's arm and said with anguish, “Illya, I’m sorry.”

Illya placed his hand over Napoleon's. “It is okay, Napoleon, it’s not your fault. It was a long time ago.”

Wishing he could take away his friends pain, Napoleon looked out the window. The snow had stop, and the hill behind the house would be covered in white, he got an idea and beganpulling his partner. “Come on, I’ve got just the thing.”

Following Napoleon to the back of the house, Illya watched as he rummaged through closets and drawers, pulling out jackets, caps, gloves, and boots. “These should fit, put them on.”

Taking the clothing thrust upon him Illya wondered if Napoleon had lost his mind, and after dressing in them, he followed him into the yard anyway. Napoleon went over to a shed and opened the door to a lot of junk, somewhere in that junk he managed to pull out two sleds.

Triumphantly, he motioned Illya to take one.

“Last one down the hill is a rotten egg.”

Illya shook his head, Napoleon had lost his mind, but it had been awhile since he’d been able to take pleasure in sledding, so he shrugged and followed along enjoying the experience again. They spent most of the rest of the afternoon going down the hill and throwing snowballs at each other. It felt good not to have to worry about anything.

Mama Joe showed up to make sure everything was ready for dinner the next day and to fix them a warm supper. She came out the door and shook her head. ‘Children’ she thought. “You better get in here and have something to eat before you freeze,” she called.

Napoleon looked over to see the small black woman, arms wrapped around herself to keep the chill away. “Just on more time?” he pleaded and watched as she turned to go back into the house shaking her head.

“What do you say, partner, one more time? I’ll race you,” Napoleon asked.

Illya nodded and sneakily started down before Napoleon had time to set his sled down on the ground. He heard Napoleon call, “Hey” with indignation and laughed. He was halfway down the hill when the sled hit a bump and he went hurtling into a tree. He lay there not moving as Napoleon, pale with fear, came rushing over.

Gently turning his partner over Napoleon was relieved to find him breathing. There was a big cut over his eye that was bleeding profusely. Scooping him up, he rushed back to the house .

Mama Joe was waiting at the door. “Take him upstairs,” she ordered as she followed him up and went into the bathroom to gather up some medical supplies.

Napoleon laid him on the bed and backed up so Mama Joe could start work on him.

“Lord child, the things you two get up to.” She placed a cloth on top of Illya’s head to help stop the flow of blood and then started to take off the wet clothes that covered him. She looked up to see Napoleon’s pale face. “Youse better go get out of them wet clothes,” she ordered, and when Napoleon appeared reluctant to leave. “I’s been taking care of things like this since before you was born.”

Tingaling tingaling tingaling

Napoleon was downstairs pacing when Mama Joe finally came down wiping her hands on a towel. “He’s gonna be alright, don’t you worry none. He just needs to sleep. I got you some soup and sandwiches in the kitchen and everything is ready for tomorrow. If he wakes up you give him some of that soup, you hear, and get some sleep, you know Santa won’t come ifin you stay awake.” She chuckled as she gathered up her coat and left.

Napoleon crept quietly up to the room to find his partner asleep and tucked in with a bandage covering one eye. He looked just like a little boy and it warmed Napoleon's heart to know he would be okay. Going back downstairs, he put on some music and fixed himself a drink, he wasn’t really hungry.

Later on he decided he would fix some soup to take upstairs when he went to check on Illya. As he started up the stairs, he met Illya on his way down, tying the tie on his robe.

“You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“I’m tired of lying down,” Illya said grumpily as he passed Napoleon and headed for the living room. “Is that supper?”

Napoleon just stood there for a minute and then followed his partner into the room, taking it as a good sign that Illya was grumpy. He set the tray on the coffee table and said, “Just what the doctor ordered, chicken soup.”

He watched fondly as his friend tackled the soup as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

“This is very good. Aren’t you going to eat?” Illya asked when he managed to take a break.

Napoleon shook his head. “I’m not hungry yet. Maybe you should get back to bed, that was quite a lump you took there.”

Illya waved the idea away. “I’ve gotten worse from THRUSH.” He finished eating and leaned back trying to get comfortable.

Napoleon got up from where he was sitting, snatching up pillow and moved to sit next to his friend. He was surprised when Illya took the pillow to lean it up against him and made himself at home. He couldn’t help but put his arms around his little blond partner. Even though Illya had made light of it, Napoleon knew he could have lost him to a freak accident and that thought worried him. When he felt his partner relax and fall back to sleep, instead of going to bed, he stayed there through out the night holding on to him.

Christmas Day

Illya woke up the next morning to find himself asleep on the sofa with a blanket over him. He had a headache and couldn’t remember a whole lot from last night except for a feeling of being safe and protected. He wondered were Napoleon was and got up slowly to search for him, even as his head continued to throb.

He checked the kitchen, no Solo. After a moment, he headed upstairs and checked the bedrooms, his bed was still rumpled from the previous day, but the other beds were still made. Where could Napoleon be? Then he remembered the attic, and that comment Napoleon had made about using it to go to escape. He quietly made his way up the steps. There sat Napoleon on an old rocking horse looking as dejected as Illya had ever seen him. Going over he squatted in front of him trying to make eye contact. “Napoleon, what’s wrong?” he asked softly.

Napoleon lifted his eyes to look into the clear blue eyes of his partner. “You could have died,” he choked out and looked away.

“I could die everyday and so could you, but I didn’t,” Illya asserted.

Napoleon just shook his head and Illya felt like taking him in hand and shaking him, so he did.

“I’m fine,” he said exasperatedly, their mouths just inches apart, when suddenly they heard a door slam. Both men stood up reaching for guns they weren't carrying. Swiftly they ran down the stairs, Illya coming to an abrupt stop as he glanced into the living room. He was still standing there staring when Napoleon came up behind him with a note.

I just stopped by to check on dinner. I also left a few
presents for both of you under the tree.
Mama Joe.
PS. Don’t worry about the cost I charged them to your
account.

Napoleon read aloud, then he noticed that the lights on the tree were lit and there were presents underneath it.

The two exchanged glances, Illya started. “I wasn’t expecting…”

“Neither was I. Let’s go see what we got.” Napoleon true to his word headed toward the tree.

They both squatted in front of the tree with Napoleon sorting thought them. There were six packages in all, three for him and three for Illya. He passed Illya’s over to him and watched with amusement as he sat Indian style on the floor. Gesturing grandiosely, Napoleon offered, “Go ahead, open them.”

Making himself comfortable, one knee up, he watched as his partner gingerly took one of the packages and weighed it in his hands, than shook it, listening. Finally, he tore the paper off to reveal a bottle of his favorite vodka. With a smile of delight, he turned to the next package to repeat the same process, opening it to find a cashmere sweater in the same color blue as his eyes. Napoleon couldn’t help but notice how nice the sweater looked and the look of wonder on Illya’s face as he fingered the soft material. He had to bite his tongue when Illya brought it up to his face and rubbed his cheek. Letting out a sigh of contentment Illya reluctantly set the sweater aside and started on the last present. Napoleon couldn't help but laugh aloud when Illya pulled out a pair of red silk boxers with reindeer on them.

Looking at Napoleon with dismay Illya asked, “Why aren’t you opening yours?”

Napoleon picked up his presents. “Because, I was having fun watching you open yours.” He proceeded to tear the wrappings off his. He wasn’t surprised to find a bottle of his favorite Scotch, and a sweater, his in a warm brown, as well as a pair of green silk boxers with Santa’s on them.

Illya seemed to find the last amusing. “Maybe we should try them on to see if they fit,” he joked.

Napoleon smirked.

Illya moved closer. “Napoleon?” he purred.

Napoleon looked up absently. “What?”

“Have you ever made love under a Christmas Tree?”

Napoleon’s eyes got big. Illya had a devilish small on his face. “Does the time I was ten count?” he asked tentively.

“I don’t think so,” Illya said, as he got closer still, almost on top of his partner.

“Can I plead the fifth?” Napoleon choked.

Illya looked at the bottles on the floor puzzled.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Napoleon said exasperatedly.

“You have still not answered the question.” Illya’s mouth was mere inches away.

“If I say no, do I get to find out now?” Napoleon breathed closing the gap between them and taking Illya’s mouth with his.

When they finally parted, Illya said breathlessly, “You’re very good at that.”

Napoleon smirked. “I’ve had lots of practice.” Grabbing his partner, he pulled him to lie flat on the floor to repeat the process. After awhile he came up for air. “I didn’t know you liked being kissed so much.”

“Neither did I.” He pulled Napoleon’s lips down again. “Napoleon, shouldn’t you be doing something more?”

Napoleon pulled away and looked down at the man he was holding. “Hey, buster, this is an equal opportunity relationship. You can start something too, you know.”

Reaching up to grab his partner’s crotch, Illya responded with amusement, “You mean like this?”

“Ahhh, exactly like that.” Napoleon leaned back down to take more advantage of the situation.

“Napoleon, do you trust me?” Illya asked once they broke for air again.

Napoleon looked deep into the blue eyes and spoke with his heart, “With my life.”


Epilogue

Mama Joe stood in the doorway looking in, shaking her head in disgust she headed toward the kitchen muttering, “It’s a good thing I forgot the pie, the way those two boys are going they’d a burned the dinner.”

The End.






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