| ~~ Prologue
~~ Stroking his hand over the mussed blond hair, Napoleon couldn't resist stealing another kiss from his sated partner. They were lying in Solo's bed, snuggled up together. Not the first bed they'd shared but the first one they'd made love in. Illya's amused, affectionate blue eyes smiled into his own, silently repeating the softly murmured endearments of the previous few hours. "You're so beautiful," Napoleon whispered against lush lips, nipping at the tongue that danced over the tip of his own. "And you're an American sap," his new lover assured him in response. Napoleon grinned, not denying it. "I guess it's been a long time since I last lost my virginity." Blue eyes turned sceptical. "Virginity?" "You're my first man, Illya," he explained patiently. Something in the other man's expression made him think. "But I'm not your first, am I?" "No." It was a definite and confident answer. Napoleon's manner turned serious. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." But Illya's smile widened. He caught his partner's hand and brought the fingers to his lips one by one. "You think it was forced upon me?" "You said...." "I like men, Napoleon. I like women too but I prefer the less soft touch." From the look on the dark face, Illya could tell his partner wasn't getting it. "I've slept with other men. Well, not so much slept. And not for a couple of years admittedly - not of my own personal choice." "So you were... taken, against your will?" "No! I mean...." Illya sighed. "In our line of work, there are usually two ways of going about solving a problem. You do it yourself - you seduce to get what you want. If the mark is attractive to me, I too sometimes prefer to catch my flies with honey." "Even if he's a he?" "You're a he, I didn't hear you complaining." Napoleon curled his damp fingers around Illya's hand, unable to resist drawing his thumb over the kiss-swollen lips. "That's different. We're partners." Illya was infinitely amused. This turn of Solo's usually open-minded character was unexpected. "But why is me having sex with a man to get information any different from you sleeping with a woman?" Napoleon glanced away, into the dim light of the room. "Napasha?" The use of the affectionate nickname for the first time had the desired affect. Napoleon melted back into Illya's touch, into his curious gaze. "I don't like to think of some... strange man taking advantage of you," he admitted, uncomfortably. Illya chuckled softly. "Taking advantage? I wouldn't do it if I didn't enjoy it. And no man ever takes advantage of me without losing a vital part of his anatomy." "But you... pinned down under some sweating...." He never finished. Illya was laughing now. "Napoleon! What is going through that perverse American mind of yours?! Only one man has ever... pinned me down or penetrated me - which is what I think you mean - and he was no mark. He was a friend." "Is he dead?" "No. He's living happily in Paris with a man named Jean. Napoleon... where do you get this notion of my past being so brutal?" Dark chocolate eyes again blinked away. Illya freed his hand and raised it to stroke his lover's stubbled jaw. "I had a rough childhood. But I was well looked after and well trained in my profession by the KGB. And my profession is spying, not prostitution. Rape is an act of violence, one which, I will admit, some of my colleagues employed on a regular basis as a means of demotivation and humiliation against prisoners. But I did not, and they sensibly chose not to practice it on their own men. Training a man to kill and then attempting to take from him that which he does not chose to give often results in a very short life expectancy." Napoleon's lips were turned up in a smile of... pride, Illya thought. And something else. "That Russian mouth of yours has many skills." Solo raised himself onto one elbow, dropping a kiss on his lover's earlobe. "I just don't like the idea of a couple of them being used on other men. Or other women for that matter." "Believe me, Napasha. In recent years it's been me, my hand and...." He bit off his final word. "And?" "Me and my hand." Napoleon nodded imperceptibly, not pushing the issue right now but storing the information for another time. He flicked his tongue over his lover's mouth once more. "You taste incredible." He felt those lush lips part to utter a retort. "I love you, Illya." Any response was lost in his surprise. "What?" "You heard me." "But I...." All that skill was suddenly gone. He didn't know what to say. "It's okay, you don't have to repeat it back. I know you care for me or you wouldn't be here." "I do care for you," the words rushed out as Illya sought needlessly to reassure. "You're... you're the most important person in the world to me." "That's more than enough." Napoleon bent his head for another kiss, a longer, drawn out version that led to them not getting any sleep that night. ~~ 4.20am ~~ They sat in the lounge of the Paris hotel, waiting. "Did Mr Waverly give us a description?" Napoleon asked around the rim of his whiskey glass. Illya smiled. "I knew you weren't listening." "I never listen." "And the general population of the globe, whose lives so often depend on that, are grateful." He ignored Solo's impolite gesture. "All Mr Waverly said was, 'not too tall, dark hair, green eyes, will be wearing a blue carnation'." "Terry... something?" "Terry LaCroque, yes." Napoleon smiled. "Sounds exotic." But his smile faded as the wearer of a blue carnation stepped into the large, airy room and sat at the bar, ordering a scotch. "He's a man." "Well at least you're as observant as ever." But Illya was looking Terry over appreciatively. He made a quick decision. Drowning his vodka in one swallow he reached to put his glass on the table before sitting back and cracking his fingers. "Allow me," he murmured around an indulgent smile. Napoleon didn't have a chance to argue. He watched his lithe partner loosen his tie and rise from the couch. He didn't like Illya's gleeful expression one bit. Illya took the stool next to Terry's and leaned on the bar, sighing softly as he attracted the barman's attention and ordered a second vodka. He got Terry's attention at the same time. "Bad day?" Turning a soft, electric smile on the mark, he nodded once. "You could say that. But it's over, right? Tomorrow can't be as bad?" He took up the glass the barman had set down and swallowed a mouthful of the clear liquid, feeling the glorious burn in his throat. He licked his bottom lip unconsciously. "Enough about me. Have you had a good day?" Terry was hooked. ~~ Illya tucked his black shirt into his black jeans and glanced in the mirror. "I can't believe you have a date." Napoleon was sitting on the edge of one of the beds in their suite. Sulking. "You're just annoyed because Terry didn't turn out to have big breasts and nothing between the ears except for a pretty face." 'And that my partner knows me too well,' but Solo kept the thought to himself. It wasn't the truth anyway. That Terry had turned out to be a man hadn't bothered him in the least. That Illya had gone after him like a very determined cat after a particularly tasty-looking mouse was twisting his guts. "You don't have to do this." Illya stopped combing his hair and regarded his partner through the mirror. "It's a date, nothing more." "Dinner?" "Dinner." He shook his head, uncomprehending. "You know the drill well enough, Napoleon." He did indeed and it was something that was making him feel nauseous. Illya was still staring. "What's wrong?" Solo shook his head, releasing a deep breath as he stood and crossed to the window. "I don't think he's dangerous and if he is... we've been here a thousand times." "Not like this." It was almost a hiss. Illya turned. "Napoleon...." But he was interrupted. "You don't have to prostitute yourself." Incredulous, he dropped the comb to the dresser and took a step closer to his partner, stopping in the middle of the room. "Is that what you think I'm doing?" He worked to keep the anger from his voice. "Isn't it?" "Is that what you do when you sleep with a woman in the line of duty?" "No, but that's different." "Why?" Napoleon spun on his heel, the full force of his own anger reigned in hard. "Because I'm the one in control. I'm the one taking, she's the one giving." "What?" "I'm not the one opening my legs." For a moment the blue eyes flashed with something dangerous. Then they softened. "Is that what you think of me? That I'm some... Russian whore?" "God, no!" Illya was at least satisfied with the horror of the suggestion in his partner's response. "Good." He sat down on the bed and pulled on his shoes. "What's got into you?" When Napoleon didn't answer, he looked up. What he saw on the dark face melted him a little. He rose, crossing the room and reaching to squeeze the other's arms. "It's just sex." "You give a part of yourself...." "Do you?" "No. But it's..." "...different? Yes, Napoleon, it is. It's even less to do with emotion than when you sleep with a female mark. We're men! We'll get our... dicks out - as you American's call them - jerk off and fall asleep. It means nothing if we don't want it to, if I don't want it to." "If you don't want to then don't do it!" Illya could hear the rising hysteria in Solo's voice. He softened his own tone in response. "I didn't say that. It's sex. It's pleasurable, enjoyable." He smiled encouragingly. "You of all people understand that. Stop looking at me as if I'm walking to my own death, sacrificing myself for the good of the world. It's a date, nothing more." He sighed at the expression still on his partner's handsome features. "We don't have this conversation when you take a woman out. Why are we having it now?" Napoleon shook his head, the fight gone. His head was a mess of half-explanations and crazy notions he didn't want Illya to hear. "Promise me something?" he started eventually, when he trusted his voice. "Anything." "Don't fall asleep. Come back here. Whatever time it is... come back to me." Illya smiled and nodded. "I promise." Terry was waiting in the lobby when Illya finally got down there. He was scrutinised nervously and obviously passed muster. "You look great," Terry complimented him. "Thanks. You too." Illya kept his tone light. "Where did you have in mind?" "There's a nice place called Marchini's not too far from here. Do you like Italian food?" "I love it. Come." With an air of pleasurable anticipation, Illya and Terry strolled out of the hotel into the Parisian night. ~~ It was gone three am when he returned to their suite. He opened the door carefully so as not to wake Napoleon. But as he stepped into the living area Illya could see his partner standing by the window, almost as if he hadn't moved since Illya's leaving over eight hours ago. A knot of dread tightened in the Russian's stomach as he kicked off his shoes and dropped his leather jacket to the armchair, walking carefully through into the bedroom. But Napoleon turned and his voice was filled with concern rather than anger. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine," he reassured, smiling. "He didn't hurt you?" "For God's sake, Napoleon...!" Frustrated, Illya grabbed his partner's hand and hauled him down to sit on the bed. "Talk to me! Tell me what's going on in that simple American mind of yours." Napoleon groaned softly, pulling his hand free and pressing both to his head. "Illya... I love you." For once, the meaning behind the three apparently easily-spoken words made itself clear to the Russian. "Oh. Oh, Napasha...." He reached for Napoleon, sliding his arms around the other man's neck as he in turned was reached for. He ended up in his partner's lap, straddling narrow thighs, his face pressed into dark hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't.... No one's ever said that to me before and meant it." Napoleon's arms were tight around him and for a time Illya just held on as he was held, placing chaste kisses in Solo's hair, rubbing his hands over tense shoulders. "I know we can't have this," he heard Napoleon mutter into his neck after a long time. Illya pulled back a little, tipping his partner's head up to look at him. "Can't have what? Can't have each other? Of course we can." "We're UNCLE agents...." "And that's supposed to define every facet of our lives?" "Yes." "No. If that's what they've told you, they're lying. If that's what you believe, you're wrong." Napoleon carded one hand through Illya's soft blond hair. "We have to be free to do what's needed of us." "You mean to seduce marks, to sleep with women and men for information, to gain their trust." He smiled at Napoleon's nod. "It's still work. It might be pleasurable, enjoyable, but it's still work. When there are no marks, we can have each other. Even when there are.... When I was with Terry, I was thinking of you." The unexpected confession brought a chuckle to Napoleon's throat. He couldn't resist it. "You make it sound easy." "It is. We save the world on a weekly basis. Loving you, making love to you, is easy." Napoleon breathed in his partner, sliding his hand down to cup it around the back of the slim neck, fingers still petting the shorter hair there. "Loving me?" "I love you too." Illya leaned into the kiss as Napoleon's mouth opened in anticipation. An hour or so later they lay naked, twisted in the sheets, Illya's slighter form blanketing Napoleon. "Tell me about 'And'." Illya lifted his head with some effort, nibbling his lover's chin for a moment, trying to place the reference. Eventually he gave up. "'And'?" "This first time we were together like this you said that in recent years it had just been you, your hand, and. You never told me what 'and' was." Illya's eyes widened. "You remember that?" "I remember every detail of you." "It was a slip of the tongue." "No it wasn't. For an UNCLE agent - for an ex-KGB member! - you're a terrible liar." Illya sighed, snuggling back, tucking his head under Solo's chin. He muttered something in Russian that Napoleon guessed wasn't a new endearment. "I'll tell you another time. In fact... I'll show you." "When?" "Impatient American. When we are next lying in my bed." "Deal. And don't think I'm going to forget." "Some chance." ~~ The following morning found Napoleon lying in bed watching his partner dress. "I don't like it." Illya shook his head, smiling indulgently. "It's breakfast, Napoleon. I'm not going to fuck him over the eggs." The expletive sounded odd coming from Illya's mouth. Odd, and uniquely erotic. Napoleon grinned. His Russian partner stepped into his shoes and ran his fingers through his shower-damp hair. "I wouldn't worry, I probably still reek of sex and you." "It's a nice musk. It suits you." With a smirk, Illya opened the door. "I'll see you in an hour." In fact, it was twelve hours. ~~ They swung a few feet up, dangling from their manacled wristss linked by chains swung over either end of a long metal bars suspended from a central point in the wall behind them. Like a fulcrum. Only the balance wasn't dependent on them, at least they didn't think so. Neither looked overly concerned by their predicament. They'd only been swinging for a couple of minutes. They were waiting for the echoes of footsteps and manic laughter to fade away before starting a daring escape. "It's typical," Illya murmured softly. "What is?" "You sleep with a mark, she immediately betrays her former life, people and country and inadvertently saves the day, our necks and the world. I sleep with a mark and he turns into a gun-wielding manic with designs on castrating me with an iron rod." Napoleon grinned. "I love you." Illya rolled his eyes and began to move, lifting his body weight onto his wrists and grabbing the chains with his hands. Gracefully, he curled his body up, stretching out his legs so that his ankles hooked over the bar. Using the strength in his legs and arms, he worked his way up the chains and then towards the end of the metal under he was able to pull himself completely up to sit with his legs either side of the narrow bar. Now able to lift his chained hands free he moved towards Napoleon, shifting carefully over the central point and stopping there. "Your turn." Napoleon stared up at him, amazed. "You think I can do what you just did?" "Yes. Come on, it's easy." "Not all of us are Russian gymnasts." "Neither of us are Russian gymnasts." But he'd got the point. "All right. Hang on and get ready to drop." He moved out further along the bar until he reached the chain from which his partner was unceremoniously dangling. His added weight on that side had already started a sharp creaking from the central point, but now he folded his hands one over the other on the metal and lifted himself, dropping back drop with a soft thud, wincing slightly. The central point turned a little, the bar dipped. A couple more times and he was able to work Solo's chain off the metal, dropping Napoleon to the ground. He followed suit. "You wanted to show Terry where he could stick his weapon?" Solo's expression was positively feral. ~~ "You promised to introduce me to 'And'." Illya frowned. They were lying in his apartment, in his moonlight drenched bedroom, in his bed. He cursed his own delaying tactics. He could feel Napoleon's smug grin. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about." "I wouldn't dare." He lay still for another moment before clambering over his lover to lean down over the side of the bed. Napoleon held him while trying to see into the small, wooden box Illya had drawn from under the wrought iron bed frame. "I thought that's where you kept your jazz records." "That was cardboard and it's in the lounge now." Illya was still futzing in the box for another couple of seconds before he dropped the lid and crawled back up to straddle his lover. Kneeling up like that, he lay a long, black plastic object on Napoleon's chest. Solo reached for it with one hand, keeping the other on Illya's left hip. He turned the object, stared at it, then looked up at his angelic lover, sitting innocent over him. "You use this on yourself?" "In the absence of any trustworthy cock, yes." "Do you... like it?" Illya scratched his forehead. "We get enough abuse in our work, Napasha. I don't look for it in my private life too." He smiled. "Yes, I like it." Napoleon tried to imagine his beautiful yet highly dangerous and lethal blond lying on his back with his dick in one hand and the thick, blunt dildo in the other. "Do you... want me to use it on you?" Chuckling, Illya shrugged. "Well, you do have one of your own, and I think I'd prefer you use that. If you don't mind." It was a moment before Napoleon's mind, still struggling with the previous image, wrapped itself around his lover's latest suggestion. He might not have been convinced, but a tug of pleasure from his groin informed him that his dick was most definitely interested. Laughing softly, Illya dropped the dildo to the floor and stretched himself luxuriously over Napoleon's body, trapping their increasingly hard cocks between them. Another sleepless night beckoned tantalisingly. ~~ ~~ Epilogue ~~ Napoleon leaned forward as his partner's head moved on the pillow and blue eyes finally opened to blink at him. "Hi," he murmured softly, stroking Illya's hand. "Welcome back." "Thank you." The Russian's voice was rough, but it was only to be expected. The gas Thrush had knocked him out with had burnt the back of his throat; it would take a couple of days to heal. Still, those intelligent eyes swept the small, clinical room and closed again. "You're in Medical at HQ. You're going to be fine." Illya grunted softly; his partner knew both those things already, Napoleon was sure. He leaned forward another couple of inches. "Listen, Illya," he started carefully, "in the OR, they had to remove something from you." His partner's eyes shot open. "Like what? Did I need it?" Napoleon realised belatedly how his explanation must have sounded. "No, I meant... they took something from inside you. From up... there." Illya stared at him for a second, and then his eyes widened and he tried to sit up. "The capsule! Where is it?" The reaction surprised Solo. "Illya...." "A small, black capsule - where is it?" Solo could feel a stirring of cold dread in the pit of his stomach. "Capsule...?" "Yes. It contains the micro print of the plans of the new Thrush headquarters in Geneve. It's what I was sent in to get. Where is it?" Napoleon sat back. "We thought.... I thought... you'd been.... It was up.... Shit!" Pushing his chair back, he bolted from the room, heading for Surgical Waste Disposal. Behind him, he could hear his lover's agitated voice. "You thought what, Napoleon? That it was travel-sized?!" |