Hello Everyone! I thought I'd join in with some MFU fanfic for fun as well! You'll notice that I tend to focus on adorable Illya...but I certainly love sexy Napoleon Solo and the other regular characters as well. And although I don't write slash (no judgments, tho) I have long-recognized from watching the original series the special bond, or *bromance* relationship, between the two main male characters, and that I do often reflect in my stories.

Rated *T* for some violence, mild language, adult content, and mention of male nudity (but no erotica) - This story is not suitable for younger readers

Category: Drama, Suspense, some Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort

Author's Added Notes: The. story's "O Sweet Revenge" Title Quote is from Titus Andronicus, one of Shakespeare's earliest revenge plays. All Chapter Quotes are also taken from his various works.

For those who might not know or remember, U.N.C.L.E. stands for the Untied Network Command for Law and Enforcement.

What about THRUSH? According to IMDB, in the 60s TV series THRUSH was only referred to by that name. However, in one of the Ace paperbacks released about the series, THRUSH was said to stand for the Technological Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and the Subjugation of Humanity. Sure sounds diabolical!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Man From U.N.C.L.E. series, images, or its original characters. This story is intended to be read and (hopefully) enjoyed solely as a work of fanfiction and is dedicated to the talented actors who portrayed these beloved characters in the two original 1960s television series—Robert Vaughn, David McCallum, Leo G. Carroll, Stefanie Powers, Noel Harrison

Tagline: Illya becomes the scapegoat in a beautiful British THRUSH operative's diabolical plan for revenge against Solo.

This story features Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, with appearances by Alexander Waverly, April Dancer, and Mark Slate.

Prologue

"Shall I be revenged on him? for revenged I will be!" (Merry Wives of Windsor)

**Somewhere On An Estate In Warwickshire, England***

Illya Kuryakin hung from rusty iron wrist shackles affixed to the slimy ceiling of a dank cell that smelled of rot and mold. He was bare-chested and his upper body, front and back, was slashed and bloody. His lips were swollen and bleeding as well, and his left cheekbone sported dark bruising and a raw cut from where the woman's short whip had struck him just before she mercilessly flogged him into unconsciousness. She'd had the riding quirt altered by adding a few tiny studs so it would inflict the most painful type of damage to her victim.

Breathing hard she ceased the whipping and moved back away from him now that her rage was momentarily spent. The bloody quirt with its short braided leather lash now hung loosely in her right hand at her side.

"Lady Ashley…?" a hushed male voice spoke with hesitation from behind her.

Without turning or taking her eyes off the blond man dangling limply in front of her, the woman bit out, "I've not finished, Dawson! What is it?"

The gaunt servant's bulbous hazel eyes glanced past her to the insensible Illya as he replied in a respectful tone, "Your guests have begun arriving for dinner, Milady, and are asking for you."

At his words she irritably snapped the quirt against her thigh and said in a chill tone, "Bloody damn! I forgot about them." Now looking over her shoulder at her butler she said, "Oh, very well then. I'll be up shortly. Tell my guests I've been out riding and will join them as soon as I shower and dress. In the meantime, see to their comfort."

Knowing he'd been dismissed, Dawson nodded and hurriedly left the dungeon, glad to be out of that dreadful place and away from the presence of his mistress when she was in one of her "dark moods". He had no idea who the unfortunate young man was who'd incurred her wrath, but he knew better than to ask or to question her actions.

After he'd gone the woman tossed the whip onto the floor and moved closer to her captive again. Her dark eyes roamed over his body, assessing the damage she'd done to the fair flesh; then she stared up at his pale closed face.

"Not so flawless anymore, my sweet…." she murmured as she stroked his damaged cheek.

She picked up a pair of silver shears which had been laying on the floor atop the remnants of Illya's white turtleneck sweater and reached up and snipped off a thick cluster of his long flaxen hair. This she pressed against oozing wounds on his torso, saturating the hair sample with blood. When she finished collecting the macabre souvenir she wrapped it in a linen handkerchief and then tucked that carefully away back into her jacket pocket.

Cognizant that she had to go and prepare to greet her guests, she rose up on her tiptoes and pressed a hard kiss to the unconscious young U.N.C.L.E. agent's swollen, unresponsive mouth, savoring the taste of his blood on her tongue.

With an elated sense of satisfaction she settled back on her heels and put a hand up to brush the fringe of golden bangs away from his closed eyes, murmuring, "There, that's better. I'll be back after my guests leave, and then we'll play some more." With that she turned away and left the cell.