"We're going to have this out once and for all," Napoleon said in a low, threatening tone.

Illya was quite sure his partner was glaring, but as said partner had shoved him into a dark closet a mere second prior to this pronouncement, he couldn't be sure. "Have what out?" he retorted sulkily.

"Illya!" Napoleon growled.

Shivering, Illya tried to retreat further, but there was nowhere to go except between two solid filing cabinets. And Illya had a distinct dislike of being trapped.

"You can't wriggle your way out this time, my friend." Napoleon was literally breathing down his neck. Breathing hotly down his neck.

Illya's voice wasn't quite firm when he said, "And what exactly am I supposed to be wriggling my way out of, Napoleon?"

A sigh. "Why do you feel it necessary to sabotage every date I have tried to have for the past... oh, let me see... three weeks?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Napoleon." Illya's pout was plain enough to be heard.

Napoleon almost smiled. But no, he was angry. Or he sure ought to be. "If it's not a sudden emergency at work, it's a last minute appointment I supposedly forgot about. And if none of those, you actually end up asking out my dates before I get around to it."

Illya grinned to himself. "Not my fault you're oblivious, Napoleon."

Napoleon's fingers were clenched around Illya's lapels in an instant. His hot breath was sweeping over a cheek and drifting past the sensitive shell of the Russian's ear. The ear Napoleon all but breathed into now. "The emergencies always turn out to be fake, the appointments set up by you at the last moment, and call me paranoid, Illya, but unless you're suddenly bent on becoming a new Don Juan, your interest in <I>my</I> potential dates can only be pretence." Leaning close enough for his lips to brush ever so slightly against the outer rim of Illya's ear, he added, "And I'd really, really like to know why you go through all this trouble."

"As I said..." Illya struggled for calm, and he was glad it was dark now to hide his closed eyes and inevitable fluster. Not to mention his reaction to Napoleon's closeness and expensive after-shave. "You're oblivious."

Napoleon's hands left his lapels in an instant, and the sudden loss of the man's proximity was like a blast of cold air to Illya's heightened sense of awareness. He couldn't hold back the whimper of disappointment.

But as it turned out, Napoleon hadn't moved back very far at all while pondering his partner's statement. When he spoke again, Illya heard the mere whisper clearly enough. "Not quite so oblivious, partner mine." There was a smile in Napoleon's voice. "I'd call it... gathering evidence."

And before Illya could analyse the words, Napoleon's arms were around him, Napoleon's mouth was on his - hot and hard and passionate - and dictionary definitions, ploys and a deep-rooted unease in complete darkness were only distant memories.