The Moon and the Stars and the Deep Blue Sea Affair


Somewhere inside U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, New York

A small group of women, all dressed in standard female U.N.C.L.E. uniforms with guns apparently velcroed to their pert behinds, were standing in a corridor, whispering and giggling.

"You really did it!" one of them, a blonde bombshell, said admiringly.

A pretty redhead nodded. "I just couldn't stand by and watch anymore. Men can be so slow about these things sometimes! But all they need is a push in the right direction." She smiled, rather self-satisfied.

A pouty brunette pointed out, "Of course, we'll be the ones missing out once they... you know."

Several pairs of eyes stared at her.

A collective sigh passed through the little assembly as realization hit them.


Act I
"Fasten your seat belts. It's going to be a bumpy ride."

Alexander Waverly was leaning back in his chair, studying the decidedly different reactions of his most formidable pair of agents. The assignment he had given them was a little unusual, and it wasn't the kind of thing he demanded too often, but if anyone had it coming to them, it was Mr Solo and Mr Kuryakin.

"Sir, are we to understand that you are ordering us to do this?" Kuryakin asked. His voice was level and his posture relaxed, but something in his eyes showed no small degree of confusion, if not shock.

"Yes, Mr Kuryakin, you are indeed."

Napoleon Solo frowned, but he wasn't entirely able to conceal the grin playing around his lips. "Sir, that is highly unusual," he remarked half-heartedly.

Waverly sighed. "I admit that it is, Mr Solo, but for the good of U.N.C.L.E. as well as yourselves, I'm afraid I must insist."

Illya stood and began to pace the room. "With all due respect, Sir, but I don't think it is within your jurisdiction to order such a thing."

Napoleon had the feeling he should come to his partner's aid, as much as the order appealed to him. "Illya is right, Mr Waverly. This would seem to be far too personal a matter for U.N.C.L.E. to get involved in."

"I can see how that might be your first reaction, Gentlemen, but I shouldn't be surprised if you actually wound up enjoying this particular 'assignment'." Waverly smiled knowingly. The few times prior when he had issued such an order, the agents in question had certainly praised his foresight after the event.

Illya paced frantically. It took a lot to unsettle the Russian, but this was testing his cool veneer. "I don't suppose there's any point in suggesting that Mr Solo and I may be otherwise... engaged?"

Waverly shook his head slowly. "None whatsoever, Mr Kuryakin. As far as both of you are concerned, this is an order like any other order I might issue. And I do not remember either of you ever disobeying a direct order before." While the voice of the man didn't change significantly in any situation, everyone working for him was fully aware when he would not take 'no' for an answer.

Solo watched with fascination as Illya attempted to retain his composure, and failed. Personally, he had no intention whatsoever to disobey this order. It was just the thing he had been trying to stage for a long time now. And Waverly was placing a pretty little golden gift box right in his lap. All he had to do was work out the best way to unwrap it. He smiled, his eyes glinting.

Illya didn't miss his partner's reluctance to come to his aid. He drew up one eyebrow suspiciously. "Napoleon, what about you?"

"What about me, Illya? If Mr Waverly makes this an order, I don't see how we can refuse to do as he says." He put on his pokerface, unwilling to let Illya in on just how pleased he was.

"I'm glad you see it this way, Mr Solo. In fact, I had a feeling you might." Waverly seemed to be chuckling inwardly, to Kuryakin's endless confusion. "As for you, Mr Kuryakin, I think you'll eventually see how sensible it was to obey my order."

"But Sir..." Illya wasn't one to give up easily.

"I don't entirely understand your reluctance. After all, you and Mr Solo have been an excellent team on every other assignment. And if I am not very much mistaken, you have been quite close since the very beginning of your partnership."

Solo quickly turned towards the door. He simply couldn't contain the grin spreading over his face. The look on Illya's face was priceless.

"Mr Waverly, working closely together is still a long way from becoming this closely involved."

Waverly chose to ignore Illya as if he hadn't heard him. "Now if you'll excuse me, Gentlemen, I have an appointment with Mrs Waverly. My good wife has a rather similar assignment planned for me, albeit of necessarily shorter duration and less strenuous nature; it can't very well go ahead without my participation."

Illya's jaw dropped. His eyes darted back and forth between Napoleon and Waverly. One of them was ignoring him in favor of a half-packed briefcase, while the other one was intently studying the wall. Going by the slight tremors shaking Napoleon's body, he appeared to be battling down a laughing fit.

"Enjoy yourselves, Gentlemen, as I'm sure you will. Everything you'll need has been prepared, and you can pick it up from Miss Caine in the Personnel section."

Illya raised his hands in a gesture of desperation. "Personnel know about this?"

"Certainly. In fact, Miss Caine has been kind enough to bring the matter to my attention in the first place." Waverly briefly interrupted his packing to gaze up at the ceiling, recalling the event. "She pointed out to me that the two of you have been working on too many separate cases lately. Not to mention you have both had numerous recent unpleasant experiences with THRUSH. In her opinion - and I'm forced to agree - you are both in urgent need of one another's company as well as some relaxation. She suggested the best way to mix the two." He happily locked up his case and turned to leave.

"I will see you back here once you have achieved the objective and are feeling quite relaxed. And please, take your time. I know I will, but then at my age, one must go about these matters with a little restraint."

Solo all but saluted his superior as he left the office. He turned towards Illya. "Well, it looks like we'll have to cancel our dates for the weekend and who knows for how long afterwards."

Illya picked up his jacket and came to join Solo at the door. "Somehow I think I'd enjoy this more with female companionship."

Solo smiled crookedly. "I'm hurt, Illya."

"Don't take it personally, Napoleon, but having THRUSH tie us up together is one thing. Having Waverly do it is an entirely different story."

"It's not who does the tying up, it's who you're tied to," Solo muttered once Illya had passed him. With a deep sigh, he followed him.

~ ~ ~

Entering the Personnel section, they went straight to a desk occupied by a pretty redhead. She smiled and rose when she saw them.

"So, you're finally going to do it!" Hester Caine was pleased with the old man, as well as with herself.

"Thanks to you, yes," Illya grumbled, picking up the prepared paperwork and stuffing it inside his jacket.

Napoleon took the young woman's arm and drew her aside. Looking to anyone as if he was just being his usual flirtatious self, he whispered in her ear, "Thanks indeed, Honey."

She giggled and punched him playfully in the chest.

Illya shook his head. "Whenever you're ready, Napoleon."

Solo picked up his own papers and glanced at them. "I don't know about you, Illya, but I can think of worse assignments than a vacation on the Côte d'Azur."

~ ~ ~

"Champagne?" A bright and bubbly stewardess batted her eyelashes at Napoleon.

He smiled charmingly. "Certainly."

"What about you, Sir?" She looked Illya over as though she was considering adding him to the first class menu.

To her great disappointment, he replied coolly, "Just a glass of water." He didn't even bother looking at her, instead his eyes were fixed on a point far in the distance above the clouds.

Napoleon Solo ignored his partner's grouchy mood. He removed his tie and stuffed it in the seat pocket in front of him. Then he proceeded to make himself at home with the provided throwrug and a pair of slippers, settling back against his very comfortable seat. "I don't think I remember the last time I traveled somewhere without a stash of identicate pictures and a set of handcuffs in my luggage," he commented.

As soon as the words were out, he regretted having conjured up the imagery of a set of handcuffs on a vacation with Illya. He chuckled at the idea that it might at least make his ever dutiful partner feel a little more like being on a real assignment.

"What's so funny?" Kuryakin looked at him suspiciously, just in time to find the stewardess arriving to pass him the glass of water. He nodded his thanks and once she'd deposited a glass of champagne on Napoleon's tray, she trotted off.

"You are, Illya. Why don't you try and enjoy yourself?" Solo sipped his champagne and sighed. "There are worse fates than an all expenses paid trip to one of the loveliest spots in the world, you know."

"That's not the point, Napoleon. I simply don't like being ordered to go on vacation. Or where to go. Or who to go with."

Solo looked hurt. "Is it really that bad having me around?"

Kuryakin felt guilty. "No, of course not. It's the principle of the thing."

"No one is going after your principles, Illya," Solo lied with a charming smile.

Meanwhile, Kuryakin continued. "And what are we supposed to do there anyway? According to Hester, Waverly doesn't want to see us back for at least a week. We'll be bored out of our minds!" He seemed almost exasperated.

Solo was starting to pay attention now. It was quite unlike his partner to make such a fuss. Just what was he worried about? "Speak for yourself. Personally, I don't intend to get bored." When this garnered no reaction, he added, "My god, Illya, don't you have any idea how to have fun?"

Now it was Kuryakin's turn to look hurt.

Napoleon immediately regretted his remark. "Sorry. It's just that I really don't understand what the problem is." That was certainly the truth.

Muttering, "No, you don't," Illya returned to his silent sulking.

Napoleon Solo sighed into his champagne glass. It would take a lot of doing to relax Illya enough to get him to have some fun. But he'd never shied away from a challenge yet and wasn't about to start.

Stealing a sideways glance at the Russian in his elegant black attire, blue eyes staring icily out the window, lips somehow tight and pouting at the same time, Solo knew that whatever it would take, however long he had to wait, the reward this particular challenge held would be worth it. "Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy ride," he mumbled to himself.

~ ~ ~

"What do you mean, the bed is extra large?" Kuryakin stared threateningly at the receptionist of the Hôtel Séduction, Nice.

"Monsieur, calmez-vous." The clerk placidly pointed to the rack of keys behind him. "We do not 'ave any other rooms. If your Aunt..." He took a peek at his reservation book. "... your Aunt 'ester had not asked for only one suite to be reserved when she made the booking, we may be able to 'elp. But..." He shrugged.

Kuryakin looked perplexed. "My Aunt Hester asked for a shared suite?"

"Oui, Monsieur. As I recall, she especially requested that particular style of suite. I believe she asked for the most 'intimate' one."

Solo busied himself with the guestbook. Things were beginning to look up after all. He'd have to remember to buy Hester a bottle of her favourite French perfume.

"And just when was this little arrangement made?" Illya demanded.

"Approximately one week ago, I believe. As it 'appens, you are lucky to 'ave 'slipped in' at all, so to speak. It is the 'eight of the tourist season." The calm Frenchman looked very pleased.

"Oh yes, how lucky," Illya commented acerbically.

Napoleon Solo grinned. "Do you suppose I should sign us in as Mr and Mrs Solo or Mr and Mrs Kuryakin?" To the American's surprise, his partner blushed deeply - a sight he could not remember ever having had the pleasure of seeing before.

"It's not the bridal suite, Napoleon!" To the receptionist, Illya said with concern, "Is it?"

"Ah non, Monsieur. I'm afraid it is not."

"Thank God for small favours."

Illya followed the porter and their luggage to the elevator, while Solo deposited a huge tip in the hotel clerk's open palm.

"Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Solo!" The man positively glowed.

"Not at all. I'm the grateful one." Solo left the man to work it out and, keeping an eye on the blond shock of hair topping a black turtleneck, he went to catch up with his partner.

"Aunt Hester indeed..." Illya grumbled as the elevator doors shut with a soft whoosh. Solo merely smiled.

~ ~ ~

"What would you like to do?" Napoleon called out cheerfully. He was reclining on the vast bed while his partner had just finished a shower in the adjoining bathroom. Pine and Cedar scented steam was drifting into the bedroom.

"I told you we'd be bored. Already you don't know what to do." Illya exited what could only be called a steamroom. He was clad in a blue terry robe and was busy rubbing his hair dry with a thick matching towel.

Napoleon held his breath. The late afternoon sun shining in through the large balcony doors made every droplet of water on Illya's face and hair glisten. His golden skin was flushed and his eyes even brighter than usually with their color being duplicated in his attire.

"Napoleon." Illya frowned. "Napoleon? Napoleon!"

"Yes?" Solo breathed, his eyes fixed on the fingers of Illya's right hand as they loosely combed back a portion of thick blond hair.

"I said, we're already bored."

Napoleon shook himself like a cat just in from the rain. He forced himself to concentrate on some kind of reply. "Um... no, not bored. I was merely wondering what you felt like doing this evening."

'Heaven knows, you don't want me to tell you what I'd like to do!' he thought, unable to stop his eyes from roaming hungrily over the V-shaped area of skin where the folds of Illya's robe met.

The Russian frowned. What was wrong with Napoleon? Jet lag, probably. "I see... To be honest, I'd just like to get some dinner and go to bed."

Solo was quite unable to argue for a more adventurous evening. He considered suggesting room service in the hope that Illya might not bother getting dressed. Of course he knew his partner well enough to know he'd never go along with such a money-wasting suggestion. Even so, he planned to make the best of the evening.

The American rose and headed to the bathroom, walking as closely past his friend as he could manage without worrying Illya. "Alright," he agreed. "I'll just go and take a shower as well, if you don't mind waiting."

Kuryakin shook his head. "Of course not. I'll unpack in the meantime."

Napoleon smiled lopsidedly and disappeared into the bathroom as fast as he could manage. The Russian's aroma, his aftershave, his soap, his shampoo... they all still filled the steamy air. Solo quickly shut the door and slumped back against it, inhaling deeply.


Act II
"I didn't know you sang in the shower."

Dinner at the Liaison Tendre was quite divine. Napoleon had chosen the restaurant on a recommendation from a friend. As was to be expected on the French Riviera, the food was delicious, the waitresses lovely and the wine rare and exotic. And best of all, the company exceeded all of them. Napoleon sipped from his glass contentedly, enjoying the view over the rim.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Napoleon?" Illya inquired suspiciously.

"Like what?" Solo grinned, trying to hide his embarrassment. He really would have to keep himself in check a little better.

Illya set down his fork and frowned at his Chateaubriand. "I don't know. Intensely."

"Intensely? Oh, Illya!" This usually worked. His friend would stop digging immediately if he ridiculed the whole thing. He'd assume he had gotten the wrong impression and let things be. And that would be the end of that.

"You're doing that a lot, Napoleon. Lately..." Illya looked up to find his partner frozen in the process of inserting a bite of filet into his mouth.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. To Napoleon's great relief, at that same instant a waiter dropped a tray of drinks only a couple of tables away. The commotion that followed diverted Illya's attention long enough for him to come up with a good explanation.

When Illya turned back to him, he seemed to have forgotten all about the 'look'. It almost felt as though he was eager to change the subject himself; he began to chatter about the next day. "Any ideas what we could do tomorrow, Napoleon?"

Solo smiled. "Well, we could roast ourselves on the beach." The idea of spending the day lying next to his partner adorned with nothing but a pair of swimming trunks and suntan lotion was immensely appealing, but the response wasn't unexpected.

"What would be the purpose of that?" Illya's forehead crinkled as his mind ran through options. "I know. Let's rent a car and drive to Monte Carlo. We could take a picnic and stop off at a nice old village on the way."

Solo perked up. "Or we could go in the evening and try our luck at the casino."

"Capitalist!"

Solo laughed. "That's what I like about you, Illya. There you are - dressed in cashmere and silk, sipping expensive wine in an expensive restaurant, awaiting a dish of Cherries Jubilee, and you're complaining about capitalism."

"You invited me for dinner, remember? I would have been content with a snack." He knew of course that still didn't account for his attire. "You do have a point, though." Illya smiled. "All right then. The casino it is. But we'll do the picnic another day!"

"Fine with me. I'm looking forward to it." Napoleon's mind conjured up images of himself and Illya reclining on a blanket spread out by a field of lavender. He saw himself feeding his partner strawberries dipped in cream and licking the juice from his chin. Oh yes, when the time was right...

A foolish grin appeared on Napoleon's face. "So long as we take strawberries and cream," he murmured.

~ ~ ~

He probably should have expected it, but Napoleon found he had an unusually hard time going to sleep that night. It was odd, really, since it wasn't the first time Illya and he were sharing a room or even a bed. But with no distractions and no case to worry about, all his senses were tuned into Illya.

They had automatically, without exchanging words, drifted to their respective sides of the bed. Napoleon always took the side closer to the door because he felt it allowed him to protect his partner, although to Illya he explained it jokingly as wanting to have the easier getaway in case of trouble. Illya preferred the side further from the door. It made him feel cozy and gave him the lovely illusion of being better protected by Napoleon that way, not that he would ever admit it. His explanation was that he wanted to avoid drafts.

So there they were, settled in like an old married couple. Only, they were far from being comfortably bored with each other.

Napoleon was roasting in his own private hell with every soft breath or slight movement of his partner, longing to reach out and touch.

Illya's back was turned to Napoleon, so he couldn't know that his partner's fingers came to within an inch of touching him before being withdrawn hastily when the Russian shifted a little.

And Napoleon was completely unaware that while Illya's even, shallow breathing indicated sleep or at least dozing, his partner was actually counting every single one of his breaths, because it relaxed and comforted him more than even a lullaby ever could.

Exhaustion finally got the better of them, and they fell asleep within minutes of each other. Just like an old married couple.

~ ~ ~

The following day started out peaceful enough. They spent most of it playing tourists around Nice. There were lovely places to go for which they'd never have time on an assignment.

Illya had heard of a Russian church in a lesser known part of the City, and he took Napoleon there just after midday. It was impressively beautiful, and while Solo's mind was mostly on his partner, the splendor of the ornate building wasn't lost on him.

They spent a long time inside.

Illya seemed unusually quiet, but eventually Napoleon was able to draw him out enough to make him talk about similar places in Russia and how it made him feel to be here.

Kuryakin allowed his friend a rare glimpse into his personality, talking about the beauty of Russian architecture and the very special atmosphere it provided.

Napoleon also learned that Illya suffered from no small degree of homesickness. As the Russian related a story about a similar church he had visited with his parents when he had been a small child, Napoleon didn't miss the slight tremble in his voice.

They were standing by the chancel. Illya was leaning back against a wooden pew, relating how at the tender age of five, the overpowering building had scared him at first.

Napoleon felt a surge of affection and dared a light touch, resting his hand on Illya's forearm. "It would be nice to see where you grew up," he said quietly. He hoped his friend wouldn't see it as an intrusion into his privacy. He was so very protective of it.

But before he could apologize for his statement, Illya surprised him with his response. "One day, I will take you there." The Russian turned away quickly and walked down the aisle, heading for the tall doors and the warmth and sunshine outside.

Solo shivered, but it wasn't caused by the cool air or the dark stone walls. It was a feeling of joy. Maybe even hope.

~ ~ ~

They met back outside by the car.

Solo would have liked to ask his friend about visiting Russia with him. He would have loved to know why Illya had let his guard down enough to admit to such sentimentality. But he didn't want to destroy the moment.

"I think we should go back to the hotel and get changed." Naturally assuming his friend's agreement, Illya climbed behind the wheel of the rented Peugeot Convertible.

Solo nodded and joined him.

They drove back to their hotel in silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence; more the kind that allowed very good friends to follow their respective thoughts while enjoying each others' company.

~ ~ ~

Back in their room, Illya began to loosen his tie, shrugging off his shoes at the same time. "Who's first?"

He caught Napoleon off-guard. "First? How do you mean?"

Illya smiled. Napoleon was unusually confused these days. Just as well they weren't on a case. His partner's concentration left a lot to be desired. "The shower, Napoleon! Do you want the first one or the second?"

"Ah." Feeling like an idiot, Solo sat down and began to untie his shoes. "I'll wait for you."

Illya nodded and departed into the bathroom.

As soon as the shower began to run, Napoleon lay back on the bed covers, resting one arm over his eyes. He listened to the water. It sounded like the shower was set on full stream, hailing down on his partner's muscular physique.

Rather unwelcome images came to him - Illya, surrounded by hot steam, soft hair wet and disheveled, drops of water running down over long lashes and dripping down his neck where his hair ended in dark tips. Illya's graceful hands, smoothing back wet tresses and spreading foam all over that delicious body while his face was lifted to meet the onslaught of wet heat, his lips parted to welcome a refreshing mouthful of...

Napoleon groaned. He hoped that Illya wouldn't get suspicious of his obvious preference for the second shower. He could hardly explain that thoughts of his friend standing naked under a stream of hot water put him in desperate need for a rather icy shower of his own. He furthermore hoped he wouldn't have to explain away a serious case of pneumonia once their trip was over.

Right now though, even thoughts of cold showers and being tied to a hospital bed did nothing to relieve him of his growing erection. He fought the need to touch himself, to embellish his fantasy by imagining that he was in there with Illya, running his hands all over that adored body - all steel and velvet. Squinting and arching off the bed, he fought against a vision of himself leaning forward, trapping Illya against the wall, holding his arms prisoner above his head while pulling him forward against himself with his free hand. Licking his own lips, he fought against seeing himself trail a drop of water over Illya's cheek, letting his tongue follow it to the corner of his mouth and finally trapping it with a kiss - a kiss so deep and so hot that the water would hiss on touching their heated bodies like a cold wave.

Cold. Yes, he would have to think of something cold. Something like... a winter's day; icy mandalas on the windows, snow falling outside, wind rattling the doors, chills trapping him under an ineffectual blanket as he sat shivering on his sofa. Then, Illya arriving... lighting a roasting inferno in the fire-place and taking his blanket away to enfold him in an embrace much warmer, much more searing than he would have ever expected from the cool Russian.

"Oh God!" Napoleon moaned, clenching the fabric of his trousers in a fist and pulling up one leg in the hope that it would somehow relieve the tightness in his groin. He couldn't do anything about it now. Illya was right next door. Napoleon's other hand clawed the bedspread while his mind was filled with a wild rush of erotic images.

~ ~ ~

Illya didn't dare breathe. It was obvious that his friend had no idea he was standing in the doorway to the bathroom. Napoleon must have been too distracted to notice the shower stopping a few minutes ago.

And now, Illya was too distracted to notice that it wasn't polite to intrude on his friend's privacy. It was clear that Napoleon would not have wanted him to see him like this - giving himself to what seemed to be a particularly vivid fantasy, becoming flushed and aroused in the process.

Illya was pressed hard against the corner of the wall, just by the door. His teeth were leaving temporary indentations on the side of his hand which was balled into a fist. He was grinding himself against the damp tiles, fighting back what seeing Napoleon like this did to him.

He knew he shouldn't dwell on it, but even his jealousy of whatever female was putting Napoleon in a state like this did nothing to decrease his own level of arousal. Just when had he started to think of his partner this way? Damn Waverly for getting him stuck like this!

He could fight it on assignment. It would be too dangerous to let his longing for Napoleon distract him, but here? They were alone, everything was romantic and beautiful. And every moment, day and night, he would have to be on guard, not allowing himself to let his emotions peek through his practiced cool.

But for heaven's sake! Napoleon didn't make things any easier. How could he lie there like that, writhing and moaning, daring him to throw caution to the wind and pounce on him!

'What would he do?' Illya thought for one insane, reckless moment. 'What would he do if I went over there now? If I climbed onto the bed and crouched over him, trapped him beneath me, let him feel how he excites me. What would he do? More than likely, he would stab me with his communicator pen and then open Channel D and use it to inform Waverly that this holiday hadn't been such a good idea after all. He would tell him that the Mediterranean cuisine hadn't agreed with me, or that I had suffered a sunstroke and turned into a wild beast, and that he'd had to put me out of my misery. And then, he would close Channel D.'

Illya smiled. In another life, he might have tried the direct approach. In this one, he was Illya Kuryakin - ice, not fire.

One last stolen glance at his partner's temptingly parted lips, and Illya forced himself to put Napoleon out of his misery instead.

He stepped back and quietly closed the bathroom door. Then he went to turn on the shower once again and, facing the door, he began to sing very loudly and very badly in Russian. After a minute of that, he turned the shower off and waited just long enough to pretend getting dried. Then, he exited the bathroom. Cautiously.

Napoleon had actually managed to put his facade back together by then. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs carefully positioned to hide his erection while he grinned as sheepishly as a boy scout who got caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

"I didn't know you sang in the shower," Napoleon said, not quite able to suppress a slight huskiness in his voice.

Illya smiled, careful to divert his eyes long enough to allow Napoleon to make it to the bathroom without embarrassing himself. "I don't. But somehow, today I felt like singing."

They exchanged another quick smile before Napoleon exited into the safety and privacy of the bathroom. Illya sighed, left to ponder just what would be going on in there.


Act III
"The Spy who broke the Bank at Monte Carlo"

Less than two hours later, Illya and Napoleon entered the casino, which doubled as the opera house. The lavish 19th century foyer shared by both facilities was reasonably crowded, as was to be expected on a temperate mid-summer evening.

They turned to the left where the gaming tables were located and went through the procedure of converting hard-earned U.N.C.L.E. spending money into luminous plastic chips.

"Where shall we start?" Napoleon was all enthusiasm. If unlucky in love equaled lucky at cards, he suspected he should be heading to the Poker tables, but Illya seemed more interested in the Roulette.

"Follow me," the Russian said with determination.

His partner obliged, smiling. "Anywhere you say."

They joined a group of five people around one of the Roulette wheels. The croupier - a tall, elderly man with very, very serious features - busied himself by aligning bets. "Faites vos jeux, s'il vous plaît!" he commanded, and everyone obeyed.

As soon as all the bets were placed, he droned on, "Rien ne va plus!" Then he spun the wheel and seven pairs of eyes followed the ball as it spun with a clear, metallic sound. The eighth pair of eyes took the opportunity to roam over the form of a certain Russian who looked rather stunning in a black suit and silver-grey bow tie. This time however, the roaming eyes did not belong to Napoleon Solo.

"Dix-neuf, rouge, pair." The ball had found its spot and the croupier proceeded to distribute the winnings. One of the lucky ones was a certain blond. In fact, he won the largest share and made a great show of not letting on how pleased he was.

Napoleon could of course tell. "You do know this means you'll be buying dinner tomorrow."

"Don't be too sure of that, Napoleon. I will probably lose it all on my next bet." But apparently, it was Illya's lucky night. He was on a major winning streak, collecting up most of the bets placed by his fellow players, who retreated in frustration one by one.

"My, I must be a regular good luck charm!" Napoleon declared laughingly after Illya's eighth consecutive win.

The Russian didn't seem so sure. "I don't know, Napoleon. There's something funny about all this."

With a sigh, Solo looked at his friend. "Why do you have to be so suspicious of everything?"

"It comes with our line of work, Napoleon."

"No, it doesn't. It comes with you being... you." Grinning, Solo withstood a rather icy glare.

"I think I should stop."

Illya was about to gather up his winnings and retreat, but his friend held him back. "Are you crazy? You're winning every turn. Keep playing!"

And reluctantly, he did, continuing to win another 4 games.

"This is beginning to spook me," Solo finally admitted.

"I know. Me too." Illya made a decision. "I'm going to cash these chips in, and then I think we should leave."

Solo agreed.

When they went to get the cash, a casino employee asked Illya to follow him to the back-office. His winnings were too substantial to conduct the exchange openly.

"Fine. You'll wait here, won't you, Napoleon?"

"Of course." Solo got comfortable on an ornate velvet-dressed sofa and picked up a local entertainment guide. He read about what was on at the movie theatres, the times one could visit the palace, and where to find the best Bouillabaisse. Eventually, he realized that nearly twenty minutes had passed. Illya still hadn't returned. Something was wrong.

He knocked on the door to the office and a man - not the one who had lead Illya out back earlier - opened up. "Monsieur?" he inquired.

"I'm looking for my companion. He was taken to cash in his chips quite some time ago. Where is he?"

The man grew visibly uncomfortably. "Uh... I don't know, Monsieur, I am sorry. Maybe he is still counting the money?"

The half-baked attempt at an explanation set off every alarm-bell inside Solo. He pulled the gun he carried on him at all times and discreetly poked it into the man's ample stomach, forcing him backwards into the office. "Where is he? And make it quick before I reshape you into a croissant!"

Breaking into sweat, the man stuttered, "I... I do not know. Two men came in earlier and... they threatened me with a gun, too... I 'ad to let your friend win several games so 'e would come into the office, then... they knocked 'im over and drove away. I'm sorry..."

Napoleon lowered the gun. There was no reason not to believe the man. THRUSH... it had to be. They'd be the only ones to recognize an U.N.C.L.E. agent on sight. 'And damn their timing!' he swore under his breath.

"Tell me all you know," he demanded, and the nervous man described the kidnappers as well as he could remember, eager to help now that Napoleon was no longer wielding the gun.

"Did you see the car?" What an extraordinary stroke of luck that would be.

"Yes, Monsieur. They made me open the back door to them." Proudly, the man proceeded to describe the car - a maroon Jaguar with a distinctive long scratch along its left side.

Without thanking the man, because after all, he had delayed him, Solo demanded to be shown to the very same back door. He exited and wound up not far from where his and Illya's rental car was parked.

He jumped in and sped off into the direction the man had indicated - towards the marina. He was praying that Illya wouldn't be taken away on a boat before he made it there. The odds of finding him then would not be good.

Racing down narrow roads at neck-breaking speed, Napoleon finally spotted the Jaguar by the main pier, and without losing time, he pulled his gun and got out of the car.

Almost instantly, gunshots were fired from a boat anchored closeby. Solo ducked, trying to determine where they had come from. A large yacht by the name of "Destin" was being prepared to leave the pier, and it wasn't hard to guess that this was where Illya had been taken.

Solo sprinted across to the port side of the boat and jumped boldly onto it, only to be greeted by a large thug wielding a shotgun. A few punches in the right places later, and Napoleon had incapacitated him. He dodged a few more bullets and had to take out another goon on his way to the main cabin, where he was greeted by a most welcome sight. "Illya!"

His friend was tied up and gagged and lay on his side on a sofa, while another unsavoury character was pointing his gun at the side of his head.

"Mr Solo! I wonder what brought you here?" the stranger mocked. "Would you like to join us on our little trip, perhaps? Your partner and I are on our way to THRUSH headquarters, Mediterranean division. I'm sure we can accommodate you as well."

"How kind, but I'm afraid I must decline. We've made other plans, you see."

"That's a pity for you, but you'll have to change those plans."

Napoleon shook his head, continuing to aim his gun. "Afraid not. You'd have to force me, and I believe you're outnumbered."

"Outnumbered?" The thug was confused. "Excuse me, Mr Solo, but due to your efficiency, there appears to now be one of me and, unless my eyes deceive me, there is only one of yooooooooooo!" He screamed out in pain when Illya's foot met its targets.

Solo smiled, not wasting time in disarming the Thrushie, who was desperately trying to relieve some pain by clutching his crotch. Judging by his luminously green visage, he wasn't overly successful.

As soon as Napoleon had untied Illya and removed his gag, he used the same ropes to strap the man to an ornate beam behind the sofa.

"What took you so long?" the Russian complained.

Solo laughed. "I missed you too."

"Sorry. It's just that I didn't really feel like wasting a perfectly... pleasant vacation with a bunch of Thrushes." Pouting, the Russian continued, "What's more, I didn't actually win any money at all."

"Awww." Solo helped Illya up and patted him on the shoulder. "Think of it this way - you do get to spend the rest of your vacation with me! That should be worth more than any money in the world." Fishing for compliments wasn't usually his way. The things his stubborn partner made him do.

Illya merely smiled, not denying the truth in the statement.

Napoleon was stunned into silence.

"Come on, let's get back to the hotel and go to bed," Illya requested, and Napoleon couldn't be sure, but he thought he detected a hint of a proposition. Wishful thinking, of course.

"What about me?" the Thrushie complained.

The two U.N.C.L.E. agents exchanged glances.

Solo came to a decision. "Considering you almost spoilt our vacation, you're definitely not invited. I think we'll leave you there for a while. Tomorrow, we may send someone."

"What?" The man angrily jerked at his ropes.

Laughing, Illya and Napoleon left the boat. Thank heavens for inefficient THRUSH minions!


Act IV
"If it's excitement you want..."

Illya told Napoleon all about what had happened to him on their way back to the hotel. It was one of their less dangerous brushes with Thrushes in recent history and not enough to spoil the mood, which was getting better all the time.

The night was young, Illya was beautiful and Napoleon was feeling decidedly amorous, wondering whether or not he had been wrong about the implications of Illya's earlier statement.

The Russian talked about the whole incident as if it had simply made his vacation, and Napoleon began to suspect that his partner just couldn't live without a little excitement. Kicking back was not his idea of a good time, that much was obvious.

'All right, if it's excitement you want,' he thought, smiling in the dark.

"What are you grinning about, Napoleon?" Illya inquired. As always, nothing escaped his attention.

"I was just thinking about something."

"Oh." Illya's eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to read Napoleon's thoughts. He looked at his partner sideways, observing how the warm summer wind played with his silky hair as they slowly followed the scenic Upper Corniche back to Nice. Napoleon was taking his time, and that was just fine with Illya. Simply to be cruising along through the night with the moonlight guiding their way home was wonderfully romantic. If only he could tell Napoleon how it made him feel to be in this lovely place with him.

"What are you looking at?" The object of his scrutiny asked, repeating one of Illya's frequent questions.

The Russian tried to quickly think of something which wouldn't either horrify Napoleon or make him burst out laughing. 'I'm admiring what the moon does for your profile,' was right out of the question.

"Illya?" his friend repeated.

"Sorry, I was deep in thought myself. Didn't mean to stare."

Napoleon smiled, briefly glancing over at his partner. "That's alright. I don't mind."

"No, I don't suppose you do." Illya didn't even try to hide his grin.

"What are you implying?" Feigning indignation, Napoleon looked in his direction, before turning his attention back to the road.

"Oh come on, Napoleon. We both know it does your vanity a world of good to be looked over."

"Is that what you were doing?" What fun it was, rarely as it happened, to make Illya fidget with embarrassment.

"Um... no, of course not. But that seems to be what people do, you know, when they... when they look at you." Gritting his teeth, Illya turned to face the road up ahead.

"It is?" Napoleon asked, all innocence.

"Oh!" Illya threw his arms in the air in exasperation, hoping to pick another topic out of mid-air. "Just concentrate on driving."

"As you wish, Sir." Napoleon laughingly saluted.

Combined with his slightly euphoric lightheadedness from his recent adventure, and the flirtatious mood they both seemed to be in, that laugh sent shivers down Illya's spine.

Of course, Napoleon just *had* to notice. "Are you cold?" he asked with concern.

"No!"

"Sure? Because there's a travel rug on the back seat. Wait..." Napoleon reached behind Illya's seat and began to fumble for the blanket.

"What are you doing? Watch the road!" Illya squeaked.

As if to validate his warning, said road suddenly ended.

Napoleon's eyes widened. He jammed down the brakes and turned the steering wheel simultaneously. With a harsh screech, the car came to a halt.

Hardly daring to, yet unable to resist, Illya peeked over the edge of his door and found them parked within inches of a rather steep drop.

"Are we close?" Napoleon asked lightly.

"Yes."

"Sorry, I'll try and remember to put the car in reverse when I start it up again." Napoleon reached back once again and this time, he managed to retrieve the rug. "Here," he said, depositing it on his partner's lap.

Illya gaped at him. "You're crazy, you know that?" But he couldn't help the smile which appeared on his face.

Napoleon smiled back and for a moment, they just looked at each other, happily ignoring the fact that a gust of wind would be enough to send them crashing into the Mediterranean.

"Need help with that?" Napoleon said softly, shaking the rug open and covering the better part of his friend's body with it. 'Damn Russian,' he thought, amused, 'Now he's turning me into a mother hen.'

"Thank you." Illya helped, tugging the woolly blanket into place around himself. When he adjusted it by the passenger door, his hand came in touch with Napoleon's who was trying to tuck it in behind his back.

Finding himself staring into Napoleon's eyes, Illya was intensely aware of his partner's body draped across his own as he was reaching around him. His body, his warmth, and the fact that he didn't withdraw when it became apparent that Illya was doing just fine by himself with the tucking in.

Napoleon found his hand hovering dangerously close to Illya's hip as he helped him get wrapped up. And as if that wasn't distracting enough, he now found those incredible blue eyes looking right at him. He never could escape them, and this time was no different. He just looked into them, drowning in their blue depths, sparing a hazy thought for what a cliché that was, and found he just didn't care. It was a most appropriate description.

"Napoleon," Illya started, at the same moment wondering if it wasn't more prudent to keep quiet so as not to break the spell.

"Are you warmer now?" Napoleon asked huskily, and instead of withdrawing his hand, he allowed it to rest on Illya's hip lightly.

Illya nodded, not trusting his voice at all.

"Warm enough?"

Napoleon's eyes had taken on that soft, sultry look Illya had observed on plenty of occasions when his partner was in the company of an appealing female. As there was no female around, it could only be meant for him. His heart skipped a beat. "Very warm," he finally managed to whisper.

"Not too warm, I hope?" Unable to control himself and high on euphoria induced by adrenalin and Illya, Napoleon just kept going. "Because if you're too warm, you could always loosen that bow-tie of yours." And without waiting for permission, he reached for it with his free hand and began to undo it. The moonlight caught in the silvery fabric and Napoleon watched the effect, meanwhile noticing the gentle pulse beneath his knuckles as he touched his friend's throat ever so lightly.

Illya sat ramrod-straight, allowing whatever was happening to go ahead without his active participation. Napoleon was doing just fine by himself.

Once Napoleon had removed the bow-tie, he hesitated for a moment, wondering whether Illya was maybe simply in shock. He found it hard to believe that the Russian hadn't sent him sailing over the edge of the cliff yet. But when no reprimand was forthcoming, he boldly went for the top button of Illya's shirt collar.

And Illya tried hard, he really did, but the sigh he'd been holding back finally needed to get out. When Napoleon's fingers brushed over the base of his neck, slowly gliding further down as he undid one button at a time, Illya decided, albeit not consciously, that he had to exhale before his head would explode.

Smiling, Napoleon finally stopped, letting his fingers rest in the open folds of his partner's shirt. He could actually feel Illya's heart beating, or rather racing. It was a wonderful feeling. He had never thought it possible to ever get this close to him.

And still, Illya didn't stop him. His beautiful blue eyes were watching him, however, as if he was seeing him for the first time. And that look was something Napoleon had only ever dreamed of - longing and hungry, as if Illya had been waiting desperately for his touch for a very long time.

That possibility had never even occurred to Napoleon, but it was there, right in front of him. It was in those eyes, in those slightly flaring nostrils, in that wildly beating heart, in the slightest shiver on the bare, velvet skin. And it was in the touch of Illya's hand as it took hold of Napoleon's, which was still resting on his hip. Strong, yet trembling fingers closed around his wrist and guided him upwards to Illya's waist and the edge of the blanket.

Swallowing hard, Napoleon finally grasped that he was being encouraged to go further. Never breaking eye contact, he let his hand slide beneath the wool and around his partner's narrow waist until it came to rest in the small of his back.

Illya shifted forward slightly, allowing him better access and moving against him in the process.

That small movement designed to eliminate the distance between them set off dozens of tiny fires in Napoleon's body. Using one leg to turn Illya around and fully into his arms, he took his mouth and ravished it, even as he cradled his head tenderly with one hand.

Astonished by Napoleon's sudden loss of restraint, Illya stiffened briefly. But when a searching tongue found its way inside him, daring him to respond to the violent, hot intrusion, he was lost. The seat and the car and the clifftop on which they were perched precariously all fell away underneath him, leaving him to spin wildly with only Napoleon's arms to stop him from being whirled away and getting lost forever. He clutched his partner close, holding on for dear life as he was forced into losing his head, his mind and his soul. His body he gave freely.

Gasping for breath, Napoleon finally released him, only to shift enough for their cheeks to touch and his lips to caress the soft skin by Illya's ear.

"My God!" the Russian exclaimed, his arms still around his partner.

Smiling against him, Napoleon held him close, letting his fingers roam beneath the thick mass of blond hair to rest against Illya's warm scalp.

"Napoleon..." Illya gasped, for once unable to form coherent sentences or conjure up a single sarcastic remark.

"Shhh." Kissing a soft earlobe, Napoleon silenced him, giving them both a moment to gather themselves. Finally, he moved back just far enough to look into Illya's eyes, which, impossible as it seemed, were even more dazzling than before. Desire had darkened them to a midnight blue, and the sparks of moonlight dancing in them caused a lump in Napoleon's throat. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" he whispered.

Illya laid a finger over his lips to silence him. "You talk too much," he chided softly.

"If there's anything you'd rather have me do, all you need to do is ask."

The blatant offer didn't fail to send a shiver over Illya's entire body as he looked at those incredible lips, imagining the things they could do to him, on him, around him... His already steadily growing arousal twitched in anticipation.

A tiny shred of sensibility in the back of his mind told Napoleon that it would be safer to move the car away from the edge of the cliff, but he simply couldn't tear himself away from Illya for that long. Besides, his partner did seem to thrive on danger.

Now, Illya was reaching for him, even as he was wondering what on Earth they were doing making out in the car like a pair of teenagers.

Napoleon seemed to have no worries about it. He pulled Illya into his arms with a deep sigh. "The things I want to do to you," he whispered suggestively very close to a small, delicate ear.

"Such as?" Illya breathed, not even daring to guess about Napoleon's intentions for fear his head might spin right off.

"Actions speak louder than words, Illyusha."

Touched by the Russian endearment, Illya smiled against Napoleon's neck.

"Let's start with this..." Napoleon said, reaching down to remove the rug from Illya's lap.

Holding his breath, Illya awaited what would happen next. His entire body was trembling, desperate to remain in physical contact with Napoleon's wonderful hands.

Napoleon himself was growing frustrated with the blanket he had only just wrapped around Illya. Finally, he managed to pull it away with a groan of relief, and threw it on the backseat. He pushed Illya back into his seat with his own body, looking deep into his eyes. "Do you want me to make love to you, Illyusha?"

A gasp. "Yes."

Taking the pouty lips in a passionate kiss, Napoleon seemed to melt all over Illya's body.

This time, the Russian wasn't taken by surprise like before, and his response took Napoleon's breath away. He arched against him, allowing his partner's arms to wrap around him and to roam beneath his clothing.

Pulling the crisp white shirt out from inside Illya's trousers, Napoleon was finally able to feel that skin he'd been wanting to touch forever. So warm and soft - a complete contrast to Illya's outward disposition. He smiled. "I knew it," he said softly, cutting off the inevitable question with a kiss.

Illya couldn't believe how Napoleon made him feel with just his kisses. And he wanted more, so much more. "You're severely overdressed," he complained, pulling at his partner's clothing.

Napoleon ignored the remark in favor of continuing to undress Illya. His entire world consisted of Illya - his warm scent, his hard muscles, his soft skin, his bewildered eyes, his open lips, his hardness beneath Napoleon's own.

Finally managing to undo the Russian's trousers, Napoleon paused, enjoying the shiver of anticipation shaking Illya's body. Then, he reached inside, feeling for the solid heat straining against his body.

Illya moaned when excruciatingly tender fingers closed around him, instantly beginning to stroke him at steadily increasing speed. "Slower, Napoleon," he begged. "Please!"

"I can't! I'm sorry." Napoleon gripped him even harder, the resulting gasp nearly pushing him over the edge. "You feel incredible, Illya," he tried to explain, but his voice wasn't quite his own.

Illya gathered all his concentration, muttering, "I love... the way you say my name... while you... oh God!" Napoleon's hand was like a vice, hard and powerful and gentle all at once, and Illya's head was spinning as his orgasm approached like a tidalwave.

"Illya," Napoleon repeated, now that he knew the effect it had. "My Illya... my beautiful, unbelievable Illya!"

With a strangled groan, Illya came, dowsing Napoleon's hand. He was close to losing consciousness, and only Napoleon's soothing voice and gentle touch as his climax subsided kept him from doing so.

The blond head against his chest brought Napoleon back to reality as well. He gathered the exhausted body into a firm embrace, kissing the top of Illya's head. "I love you, you know," he said softly.

Wide eyes looked up at him, stunned. "Napoleon..." Illya was overwhelmed, even more by that admission than by what had come before. He moved forward, pressing his lips to Napoleon's eagerly, until they both had to come up for breath.

~ ~ ~

"Let's go back to the hotel." Illya shifted finally. "I want to find out about those other things you want to do to me."

Napoleon smiled, shakily moving back into his own seat. "Think you can take it?" he teased.

Illya paused in pulling his clothes back into place to quickly kiss his partner on the cheek. "I don't honestly know, but I'm willing to risk it."

~ ~ ~

The slightly cooler Summer day which followed that particularly hot night seemed perfect for the planned picnic.

In a rare display of sentimentality, Napoleon had driven them back to the same spot on top of the cliff. He spread out the rug and they settled in. Napoleon contentedly leaned with his back against the tree. He didn't have to have the field of lavender; Illya smelled delicious enough.

His lover got settled in front of him, leaning back against Napoleon's chest. "Did you bring food or are we forced to feed on each other?" he asked jokingly.

Napoleon laughed. "If you put it that way, I wish I hadn't brought the food."

"Let me guess: strawberries and cream?" Illya thoroughly enjoyed the surprised reaction.

"You remember me saying that?" Napoleon was stunned. He hadn't even thought Illya had been listening at the time.

Instead of a reply, the Russian reached into the picnic basket and fumbled for the small wicker punnet and the container of cream. He dipped a strawberry into it and, turning, guided it to Napoleon's mouth. "In case you didn't know, I love you too," he said by way of an explanation.

Napoleon beamed and was about to kiss him, when his communicator beeped. "We should have left these behind," he complained, but in their line of work, when duty called, one answered without hesitation. "Solo here."

Mr Waverly's voice, as expected, droned, "How is the vacation working out, Mr Solo?"

"Fine, Sir."

"I'm glad to hear it. You're probably wondering why I'm contacting you."

Napoleon frowned. "Well, yes. I suppose so."

Waverly sounded amused. "It appears you and Mr Kuryakin had a little adventure last night."

Both of them paled by a few shades, staring at each other.

"Uh... Sir?" Illya croaked.

"Mr Kuryakin, so you are there as well. Good. I wanted to talk to both of you anyway."

Napoleon shifted uncomfortably. "About our adventure, Sir?"

"Yes." Waverly seemed busy with some papers, going by the rustling sounds in the background. "The two of you have had quite an exciting evening. And a restless night as well, I'm sure."

"But how...?" Illya squeaked in Napoleon's direction.

Napoleon covered the communicator with his hand. "How does he know, you mean? I have no idea."

Waverly meanwhile continued chattering. "... and when the owner of the neighbouring yacht went aboard this morning, alerted by what I believe were some rather colourful shouts for help from a local THRUSH representative, he found the man tied up, claiming that two U.N.C.L.E. agents had attacked and overwhelmed him. I presume he was referring to you, Gentlemen."

Napoleon broke into a grin. Illya took a deep, relieved breath, and inserted a strawberry into his mouth.

"Yes, Sir. That would have been Illya and me. I'm afraid we'd forgotten all about him." He prayed Waverly wouldn't ask for an explanation, but to his relief, the old man chuckled.

"I can't say I blame you. After all, no harm was done, and you are on a well-deserved vacation. It was most inconsiderate of him to intrude."

Illya nodded, his face taking on a decidedly mischievous expression. "Yes, and thank you, Sir, for having insisted on this trip. It turns out we did need it after all."

"I won't say I told you so, Mr Kuryakin. But I am glad to hear it. I trust you will be staying for a little while longer?"

Napoleon was quick to reply. "If you don't mind, yes. Illya does still seem a little tense, and I could do with some more unwinding myself."

"Perfectly alright, Gentlemen. You take your time. Now, unless there should be an emergency, I will leave you to it. Waverly out."

"Good-bye, Sir." Napoleon deposited the communicator back inside his jacket pocket and smiled at Illya. "I don't know about you, but I feel like unwinding a little right now."

Illya moved closer. "Mind if I do the unwinding for you?"

"As if you had to ask." Napoleon leaned back, watching in amazement as Illya went straight for his belt buckle and proceeded to undo it, followed by the zip of his trousers. He was even more surprised when his partner reached back for the bowl of cream.

"I don't really like strawberries," the Russian purred, enjoying the look of excited anticipation on Napoleon's face as he dipped his fingers into the milky froth. "But I do like cream."

THE END

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