The music was soft, but still hard hitting, with a beat that spoke to his very soul. When he heard music like that, it was almost as good as sex… almost.

Napoleon stood just a few feet from him and glanced over his shoulder, a sultry, smoldering look that shot right to Illya's groin. He wondered how long his partner had practiced that particular expression or if it was just true-Napoleon.

"A little hot in here, isn't it?" Napoleon started to slide his jacket off, as if hesitant until he saw Illya's nod. The jacket was tossed aside and Napoleon ran a thumb under the black strap of the shoulder holster, pulling it away from his shirt, and Illya swallowed convulsively. He dropped his eyes, hoping beyond hope Napoleon had missed the barely-masked lust in his eyes. It was wrong to want your partner the way he wanted Napoleon and yet it was all he could think of these days.

He looked up and Napoleon had turned to face him, long slender fingers stroking the leather, just the tip of Napoleon's tongue peeking out from his lips. "I'm going to take this off, do you mind?"

"No." The word was so soft, so full of longing that Illya wanted to groan it. Instead, he watched as Napoleon eased himself out of the leather of the holster and set it down carefully on the desk, rolling his shoulders and arching his neck.

"That is so much… better." Napoleon started to work the knot of his tie loose, tugging it down an excruciating fraction of an inch at a time and with each movement, Illya felt his chest growing that much tighter. Another second and breathing would become a serious issue. "I know Waverly is all about decorum, but…" Or perhaps it was simply the music that was pounding in his ears and not his heart.

"I'm… sure he won't… mind." Illya could barely fashion the words now, his eyes transfixed on Napoleon's Adams apple and wondered what it would feel like under his tongue, wondered what his partner's skin would taste like. Salty and sweet, like the expression in the brown eyes?

The tie dangled loosely around his neck and trailed down the white dress shirt. Napoleon smiled, another sultry look. "That's a little better, isn't it?"

"A very little."

Napoleon apparently didn't hear him as he was undoing the cuffs of his sleeves, fingers easing the explosive cufflinks free to be safely tucked away in a jacket pocket. At first, Illya thought Napoleon simply meant to roll up the sleeves, but those clever fingers moved to the thin dress belt, deftly unbuckling it, letting the ends flop loose. Illya's heart took its own opportunity to flop at that moment.

Eyes lowered, then slowly casting up, Napoleon undid the catch of his fly and eased the zipper down. Illya balled his hands so tightly into fists that his fingernails cut into the palms. One corner of Napoleon's mouth tweaked up in a sly smirk as he slipped his shirt free from his trousers.

"Still too warm to be really comfortable, isn't it?"

"Hotter by the moment," Illya breathed the words, unable to tear his attention from the gentle movements of his partner's body as it swayed to the ever present music, the underlying throb matching the one in Illya's very soul.

The shirt was next, sliding free from those very capable arms; arms he'd seen choke the life from a man and yet Illya couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be encompassed by them. Have them wrapped about him as they climaxed together. Just a tee shirt remained behind, white and so virginal looking, standing out against Napoleon's skin.

Illya was so transfixed by the juxtaposition of white cotton against tan flesh that he barely registered that Napoleon's pants were pooled around his ankles and he was stepping free of them. He hadn't even seen Napoleon dispense with shoes and socks, but abruptly Napoleon was standing there, clad in just his shorts and tee shirt.

Illya felt as if he would burst from his skin. His erection was constricted to the point of pain. He just wanted to drop his pants, shake free of the bonds that even now held him back and kept him from telling Napoleon exactly what he wanted. Of exactly how he wanted to be taken.

Napoleon's own erection was tenting the front of his shorts and with a casual flick of his wrist, he set it free, a sight that made Illya's eyes dilate with desire. "See anything you like… Illya? Illya?"

Fingers snapped in front of his nose and Illya sat back sharply. It took him a moment to realize the music was gone, the room was cool and his partner was standing before him, fully clothed, and looking just a bit annoyed.

"Is there anything you care to add, Mr. Kuryakin?" Waverly's voice shared the exasperation in Napoleon's eyes.

"No, sir." Illya was so relieved he was sitting down at the conference table or he'd be in imminent danger of having to explain away something he didn't really want to address. He'd cross his legs, but was honestly afraid that it would set him off.

A bell chimed and Waverly glared over his shoulder at the intercom. He pushed himself to his feet and crossed over to the console, covering the distance in a few easy steps. "Waverly here."

Napoleon had leaned close. "Are you feeling all right, Illya? You were really zoned out there for a minute."

"I'm… fine. Just a little tired," Illya managed to say when all he really wanted to do was drag Napoleon to the ground and make love to him in front of God and everyone. He nearly jumped when a cool hand was clapped to his forehead.

"I don't know, you feel sort of warm." Napoleon casually dropped his gaze downward for just a moment. "Hot… almost." Illya knew he imagined the vision of Napoleon licking his lips longingly. He just wanted to get out of there, disappear to the men's room or some closet and take things to their natural conclusion. Or as natural as he'd be permitted with his very heterosexual partner.

Illya swallowed almost convulsively and then jumped in his seat as Waverly slapped the console. He managed to stay his hand from drawing his gun at the very last second and carried the motion through to rub one of his upper arms.

"That's done it!" Waverly's voice was nearly triumphant and he was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Sir?"

"The lab that you and Mr. Kuryakin were to attend to apparently blew up this morning. They are labeling it as a mishap within the lab, the wrong combination, or right to our way of thinking. The threat has been nullified." Waverly studied them closely and then lifted his pipe to his lips. "It's very satisfying to have things work out in your favor."

Illya snorted silently. He wouldn't know. He'd never know.

Waverly's voice crept back in to his consciousness. "Take your partner home and put him to bed, Mr. Solo. He looks a bit peaky. I believe he's catching that damnable flu that's going around."

Illya ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair and glanced over to where his partner was still trying to catch his breath. The memory of a less-than-exciting drive home had been blasted from his thoughts as he took one step into his apartment and suddenly found himself on the receiving end of the best Napoleon had to offer. The speed at which they progressed from partners that afternoon to lovers that evening had left him just a bit dizzy. They hadn't even gotten undressed, just dropped their pants and collapsed to the floor, arms and legs entwined, groins rocking against each other.

Somehow they managed, barely, to get to Illya's bed before either of them climaxed, but Illya was led to believe it was more happenstance than design. He'd collapsed on the mattress and Napoleon had been on top of him, pounding away with a fire that Illya met and surpassed with each thrust.

Their climaxes, almost simultaneous, had left Illya nearly sobbing in their wake and Napoleon moaning Illya's name again and again.

That had been ten minutes ago and Illya was just starting to get coherent thought back. He'd been taken before, but never like that.

"What exactly happened?" Even his voice still sounded a bit dazed and he rolled just his head to frown at his partner stretched out on the bed beside him. The rest of his body was still too stunned to move.

"You heard Waverly. He told me to take you home and put you to bed." Napoleon leaned in for a kiss and Illya felt his mouth opening to that teasing tongue. "What sort of partner would I be if I didn't leave you with a proper night cap?"

"But how…?" Words were cut off then by Napoleon's mouth and Illya felt his penis starting to stir back to life. Amazing, after what they'd just been through.

"I've made a living of reading people," Napoleon murmured. "I saw what was in your eyes and I knew what was in my heart. I was just hoping I wasn't reading you wrong and that you really weren't just coming down with the flu."

Illya brushed Napoleon's hair back off his forehead and smiled. "I'm coming down with something, but I don't believe it's a virus."

"Excellent, although I've heard you can burn an infection out of a body with profuse and strenuous exercise." Napoleon caught his hand and kissed it. "Just in case you really are sick."

"I'm willing to try if you think you're…" Illya let his eyes dip, "… up to it."

"Very up to it." Napoleon rolled off the bed and walked over to the stereo system, one of the few capitalistic temptations Illya had succumbed to in his first year in America. "Mind if I put on a little music?"

"Of course not." Illya sat up to strip off his shirt and that's when he heard a familiar song. The music was soft, but still hard hitting, with a beat that spoke to his very soul. When he heard music like that, it was almost as good as sex… almost.