If anyone has read "The Complete Candy Affair" and "I'm Dreaming of an U.N.C.L.E. Christmas" you will recognize Maureen Horowitz. This is the story where she actually debuted and I liked her so much, I talked Gary into including her in the humor stories we've done together.

No Affair Affair

By paulaH

Chapter 1

After nine months of forced celibacy, Illya was ready to castrate his partner and best friend. With scissors. Dull ones. One way or another, Napoleon had managed to thwart every opportunity for sex Illya had. No matter where he was, Napoleon seemed to find him and any potential bedmate for the night at the most inopportune moments. Illya suspected the American was tracing him! Although Solo always had the tendency to discourage women from showing interest in his partner, it was only recently he had taken to actually stealing them out from under him. Literally. The Russian was able to keep his libido reined in for the most part, but he was no monk. Nine months without sexual release in a way other than using one's hand would make any man . . . what was that term Napoleon bandied about? Spiny? Something like that. And after so long, Illya was very spiny indeed.

This last incident was the proverbial last straw. It had happened during a mission, an affair inappropriately dubbed Foxes and Hounds. (The woman who assigned mission titles had a truly warped sense of humor.) Illya had been about to kiss Mimi Dolittle, his lips mere millimeters from the woman's, when Solo grabbed her, spun her around, and suctioned her mouth into his. Only the fact they were on assignment stopped Illya from punching the infuriating American.

Even now, several days later, Illya was still annoyed and confused by his partner's actions. Yes, he and Napoleon had a friendly competition going, but only when it came to skills as an agent. The Russian never competed with his suave American partner when it came to women. Doing so was an exercise in futility. Whereas Solo could charm the skin off an alligator, Illya would rather face a THRUSH torture session than a social gathering. If Napoleon set his sights on a particular woman, Illya had no chance of talking her into his arms and didn't bother trying. What he couldn't understand was why the over sexed Casanova Solo would suddenly believe their competition extended into sexual conquests.

"Why did you do that?" Illya asked when he reached that part of his report, reminded anew of his ongoing irritation with his partner.

Napoleon looked up from his own paperwork. For some odd reason, he'd taken to bringing his work into Illya's office. Probably so he could conveniently leave some of it for the Russian workhorse to do. Confusion crossed Solo's face. "Do what?"

"In the cell with Mimi."

"What are you . . . oh! That!" He leaned back in his chair as he unwrapped and popped a round, striped peppermint into his mouth.

"Yes. That."

"Oh. Well. I thought it might be more effective if I did it."

Illya rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes! One kiss from the great Napoleon Solo, and a virgin becomes a siren." It was possible his friend truly believed this. If not for the exhibition of similar exasperating behavior over the last nine months, Illya may also have believed it and let the matter drop.

"Something like that," Napoleon said with a smile.

Category: Shark. Napoleon had such a wide range of smiles, Illya had made a game out of categorizing them. Illya hated this particular entry in his partner's repertoire. One of these days, he was going to wipe it off the American's smug face. With a knife. "I may not be the sexual Romeo you are," he groused, "but I can kiss, you know."

"I . . . would assume so." Napoleon's gaze focused on Illya's mouth. The Russian shifted uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny. Did he have something hanging out? He licked his lips in the hopes of dislodging whatever his friend was staring at. Solo emitted a choked cough.

Illya glanced at him in concern, anger dissipating at his partner's distress. "Are you all right?"

Napoleon thumped his chest. "I, uh, just swallowed my peppermint."

"Be careful! I'd hate to risk my life rescuing you on a regular basis just for you to die from sucking on a hard bit of something here in the office."

The American's eyes widened as he went into another coughing fit. Illya quickly crossed to where his friend sat, pushed the dark head down slightly and reached over to rap him on the back. Napoleon gripped the Russian's slim hips and buried his face into Illya's lap, apparently anchoring himself against the chest spasms.

"Napoleon?" Illya muttered once the episode ended, anxious to get his friend's face away from his cock. After nine months even Napoleon was starting to look good, and he didn't want to embarrass himself and his friend with an inappropriate erection.

"Hmm?" came the muffled reply.

"You can let go now. You're bruising me."

The hands abruptly released their hold. "Oh. Sorry."

Illya returned to his desk. "I'll forgive you if you'll buy me lunch."

"Of course. My pleasure."

Illya blinked at the silky purr, wondering why his partner was using that particular tone, one he usually reserved for his paramours. Oh. Of course. He waggled a finger at his friend. "I forgive you for the bruising. Not for showing me up in front of Mimi."

"I didn't know you liked her that much." Napoleon's voice sounded thick. From swallowing the candy, no doubt.

Illya decided not to eat those round, striped peppermints anymore. They were too dangerous. "I don't. It was just the idea that you didn't trust me to deliver a simple kiss."

"It has nothing to do with trusting you."

"Of course it does! It makes me wonder. If you can't trust me to kiss properly, how can you trust me to disarm a bomb?"

Napoleon laughed. "One has nothing to do with the other!"

"It's not the action that's important. It's your lack of faith in my abilities."

The American pushed aside the reports he'd been working on. He stood, placed his hands on the cleared area and leaned towards the Russian. "For what it's worth, I believe you have much more ability than you let on. As for Mimi Dolittle, don't expect to be able to keep your dinner date with her on Friday night. By the time I'm finished with her on Thursday, she won't remember you even exist." He straightened, shot his cuffs, then spun and left. He also left his paperwork.

True to Napoleon's prediction, Mimi canceled her date with Illya. He growled at the memory. He didn't know what was wrong with his partner, but he had a theory. No. A hypothesis. One that he intended to prove. It was time for a little experiment.

Observation

Napoleon Solo goes out of his way to make sure his partner, Illya Kuryakin, has no sex life.

Problem

What happens if a proud man like Napoleon Solo suddenly becomes insecure about his sexual abilities? How would said man react when a woman shows interest in his partner instead of himself?

Hypothesis

Subject has developed an overwhelming need to prove his sexual prowess to himself by diverting women away from his partner.

Experiment I: Carla

"Hello, Carla," Illya said with a slight smile as he leaned on the wall of one of U.N.C.L.E.'s many labs. In his opinion, Carla Barnes was perhaps the most stunningly beautiful woman in U.N.C.L.E.. Long legs and perfectly proportioned body. Full, sensual lips naturally stained a soft pink. Blonde hair that, if allowed to flow freely, would cascade like a shimmering waterfall across milky white shoulders and down her back to touch the firm globes of her derrière. Well, he imagined it would if she didn't always wear it in a severe bun. Bright emerald green eyes that shined . . . whenever she talked of whatever wondrous new chemical compound she was developing. Dr. Carla Barnes, chemist extraordinaire, was even more intelligent than she was beautiful. Easily one of the most brilliant scientists Illya had ever met, which was saying something.

For his present purposes, it wasn't Carla's brain Illya was interested in. It was the fact that Napoleon had no interest in her whatsoever. Partially because she bruised his ego. Dr. Barnes wasn't so much immune to Solo's charm as she was unaware of it. Napoleon could accept being turned down by a beautiful woman. He couldn't deal with being treated as though he didn't exist. The American found her insufferable, intolerable and downright boring. In a word, he loathed her.

Precisely why Illya chose her to participate in his experiment.

She glanced up from her work, returning his smile, albeit a slightly unfocused one. "Oh! Hi, Illya. I don't have it ready."

He paused, searching his memory for anything he'd sent down here recently. Oh. Yes. That new THRUSH powder they'd come across a couple of days ago. He waved away her statement. "I'm not here about that. I have something I thought you might be interested in." He held up a pair of tickets. Her eyes widened as she read the print. Their green depths took on that gleam Illya knew so well. "Interested in attending?"

"Um-hmm," she murmured, licking her luscious lips as she eyed the tickets hungrily.

"I thought we'd have an early dinner, first."

Carla glanced at him. "Huh?"

"Dinner." He wasn't surprised at her reaction. Like himself, Carla didn't date much. A true professional workaholic, she was uninterested in marriage, children and all the trappings that went along with domestic imprisonment. They saw each other periodically outside of work, usually attending scientific functions. So far they had not shared a bed. He was unsure whether that was because of lack of trying on his part or lack of interest on hers. He wouldn't be thinking in those terms at this point if he weren't starting to feel so desperate.

"Oh, uh." She caressed the tickets for a lecture and reception from the country's foremost chemist with her eyes one more time. "Sure."

He didn't tell her she was participating in an experiment. That would skew the data. They confirmed the arrangements and Illya left to search for the experimental subject. "I'm leaving early," Illya informed the CEA when he found him in his office.

"Oh?" Napoleon replied as he leaned back in his office chair enough to raise the front feet a couple of inches off the ground. He toyed with a pencil he was holding. "Big date tonight?" he asked smugly, gracing Illya with his best snake-charming smile.

The snake was not charmed. Illya had seen that look used as a weapon far too many times to ever be taken in by it. He filed it away to write in his notes, however. Solo seldom felt the need to turn that smile on his partner and the fact that he did so this time seemed significant. "Yes."

Solo's smile faltered, obviously not expecting that answer. The pencil snapped. "Cheap pencil," he muttered as he dropped the broken halves of wood onto his desk. He cleared his throat. "So. Which one of U.N.C.L.E.'s lovely young ladies finally thawed you long enough for a date?"

"Carla Barnes."

Napoleon's smile disintegrated completely as the front legs of his chair slammed back to terra firma. His face puckered as though he'd sucked on an extremely sour lemon. "She's boring, Illya."

The Russian grinned slightly. The American's opinion of the chemist hadn't changed recently. Good. "I find her interesting."

"Oh come on! Watching paint peel is more fun than five minutes spent with that iceberg! I swear she pulls that bun so tight it cinches up her pussy."

Illya stifled a grin. "No need to be vulgar, Napoleon. Especially about my date."

Napoleon grimaced. "So where are you taking the, er, her?"

"We're going for an early dinner."

"How early?"

"Sixish."

"Please tell me you're planning to take her dancing afterwards? I hope you're not going to take her to some dive that serves borscht in chipped bowls and then taking her home immediately. Unless, of course, she turns into a pumpkin at midnight, which I wouldn't find surprising."

"Thank you for your confidence in my dating skills. I have tickets . . . ." Illya let the comment hang, allowing for Napoleon's interpretation of what kind of tickets the Russian may hold.

"Oh, good. A show. I'm glad to see you've retained some of what I've taught you."

Illya didn't attempt to clear up his friend's misconception. "And to that end, I was wondering if you might have a suggestion for a good restaurant."

The dark haired agent beamed with apparent pride that his independent friend asked his advice. "La Petite Maison has excellent food and a lovely, romantic atmosphere. Would you like for me to call in a reservation for you? They know me there and I can get you their best table."

Illya covered his surprise at the offer. "Yes. Thank you. I would appreciate that." Napoleon was being very helpful, going out of his way to make sure his partner and friend enjoyed his date. Perhaps he'd been wrong about Solo's recent behavior? It was possible he'd taken a couple of isolated incidents and made more of them than was necessary. He mentally shrugged. If Napoleon showed up and attempted to take Carla for himself, it would be a step towards proving his hypothesis. If he didn't, Illya could look forward to a pleasant evening of dinner, science and, if very lucky, a chance to break a nine month sexual hiatus. A win-win situation.

"My pleasure." The American picked up his phone and dialed the number by memory. He made the reservation, smiling and laughing every few seconds, and then hung up. "Not a problem, old boy," he said, picking up a pencil half and bouncing it on the desktop. "Damn!" He rubbed at his right eye.

"What's the matter?" the blond agent asked, gaze automatically darting around the room in a search for hidden enemies.

"I think I got a piece of wood in my eye."

Illya sighed. If it had been a woman saying such a thing, he would have assumed she was trying the oldest ploy in the book to get close to him. Since it was his partner, his very MALE partner, he stepped up to assist in removing the foreign object. He gently pulled Napoleon's fingers away and lifted the eyelid. He leaned close, his blue eyes focusing intently on the American's hazel one.

Napoleon grabbed Illya at the waist and pulled him closer in order to aid him in his ministrations. Illya could feel his friend's hot breath on his ear. He tried to ignore the tickling sensation. To his horror, he felt an answering tickle in his groin. "I don't see anything," he announced and quickly extracted himself from his partner's embrace. "I'll, um, see you later."

Illya practically ran from the office. Had Napoleon noticed his beginning erection? More importantly, why did he get one at that moment? Well, Napoleon had breathed in his ear, an especially sensitive erogenous zone. And Illya's cock didn't care to distinguish between feminine breath and masculine breath.

He slowed his flight from the building as he realized that was all there was to it. Not because he was sexually interested in his partner. Not that he'd never been aroused by a man before. He'd been trained by the KGB in techniques to entrap a man and had had to use that training four times in the past. Those interludes were pleasant enough to evoke a natural sexual response to a man occasionally. He'd even followed through on it once or twice since coming to America. The infrequent desire for a man notwithstanding, he considered himself a heterosexual.

He felt better by the time he arrived home to get ready for his date with Carla. After a short but soothing shower, he perused his closet. He didn't want to wear a tie but had a feeling a place frequented by Napoleon and called La Petite Maison would require one. He started to reach for one of his suits but hesitated. What would Napoleon say if asked about it? Would he lie in order to make his Russian partner look like a peasant thus making it easier for the suave American to lure the lovely Dr. Barnes away?

One way to find out. He placed a call to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, only to discover his partner had already left for the day. Illya raised an eyebrow. To primp for Illya's date? He contacted him on the communicator, using a seldom used frequency.

"Solo here," came the smooth response.

"Napoleon, what is the dress code at La Petite Maison?"

The communicator remained mute for several long seconds. "You should wear a tie."

Illya sighed in relief. Maybe he was completely wrong about Napoleon.

"Uh, although you don't absolutely have to wear one if you don't want to," Solo added weakly.

Perhaps he was completely right.