Okay, there aren't many times I will admit to being scared. You are, of course, scared all the time out in the field – you'd be dead or just stupid if you weren't. It's just, at that point you use it to your advantage, let it make the adrenaline pump through you, give you the edge you to need to get the job done. This is different. My hands are sweaty, my knees are knocking and I'm fighting the urge to toss my cookies into the nearest bush.
This is stupid, I yell at myself. It's only Illya. It's just your partner! But you see, there's the rub. I'm not so sure that he is my partner… not anymore.
I'll admit that things have been a little strained lately. When you're looking down the business end of a pistol and it's being wielded by the one person you trust more than life itself, yeah, there's just a little stress there. Worse, he didn't know me. THRUSH had been so good at its job; Illya looked me in the eye and pulled the trigger.
Of course, it wasn't his fault and I didn't blame him for anything. The brainwashing techniques being used on him were considerable and as strong as Illya is, THRUSH was just a bit stronger this time.
Then being used as bait to lure me into a trap, using him like some sort of innocent in a bloody game of cat and mouse. I found him, just barely, but carried a new scar away from the affair, not just the physical, but the mental – the image of Illya held captive in that small glass booth, about to die because of his friendship with me.
I'm sure that's what made his capture all the worse a few months later. Captured, tortured, drugged with the intent of turning him into a rambling vegetable… it was an ugly sight that stays with me even now. He was so far gone, I wasn't sure he'd come back. He didn't know his name, who I was; I had to lead him like a child.
Feeling his hand in mine, warm and strong, I was hopeful, and miraculously he did come around although I know he had nightmares for a week afterwards and spent some quality time with our shrinks, but he got through it, only to be handed the ugliest blow of all.
A look alike and the need to torture me to death; well, not actually to death since I'm standing here, shaking like a little girl… well, a manly little girl. It was a trick, gratis our whiz kids in the labs, but the damage was, never the less, severe. Deliberately and with his own hand, Illya, at least temporarily, killed me. Needless to say, we had separate hotel rooms once we were done saving the world…for the first time in a long time, we needed time away from each other.
And I'm guessing that's what led us to this spot. Waverly had seen and understood. He always saw and understood. He sent me on one assignment, Illya on another and everything went bad. I'd gotten used to Illya being there, always watching, even if it was through a rifle sight – small joke. I was sloppy and got a knife between the ribs for my efforts.
It was hardly the first time I'd been hurt and woken up in Medical, but it was the first time since we'd been partnered that Illya wasn't there. Nowhere… in the following days, people looked at me as if I'd taken leave of my senses. All I wanted was one answer – where is Illya? Even Waverly, the closest thing I've had to a father figure for most of my life, looked at me with puzzlement as if to ask, "Illya who?"
I was like a man possessed until an angel in Travel took pity on me, sent me an interoffice envelope with just the briefest of notes inside.
It was all I needed and here I was. The directions had eventually led to a small safehouse UNCLE maintains on the Maine seacoast – windblown, sea swept; it was Illya, at least as of late - distant, cold and remote. I'd never thought I'd experience what others hinted about, always thought I would be spared Illya's cold side.
So now I stood there on the stone strewn path and stared at the front door. My whole future was on the other side and for a moment, I didn't want to know. I just wanted things to be the way they had been, easy, casual and trusting.
I didn't bother to knock. Illya knew I was there from the moment I stepped onto the path. It was that damn connection we had.
I pushed the door open and just stared for a moment. The hallway was dark and smelled slightly musty, the sign of a building kept closed for long periods of time. It took me only a few moments to locate him. There wasn't really any place to hide except the bedroom or the living room.
He's slumped in an armchair, staring out at the restless Atlantic. A storm was coming, in more than one way. His head never moves, but I know he hears me. He's naked except for a pair of black pants, the wind tossing his uncombed hair. His face hasn't seen a razor in days and I find myself wondering just how long he's been sitting there… waiting for… what? Me? In here, the air is cool, almost cold and fresh, an amazing contract from the hallway just a few steps away.
I take a step and kick something. That's when I see them, half a dozen empty bottles. I don't need to pick one up to know what it is.
"What kept you?" The voice was rusty with disuse.
"Red tape." I tried to make it sound light, tried to recapture the banter that used to be so easy.
"I tried to tell them it wouldn't work."
"That what wouldn't work, Illya?"
"That you'd never leave me alone. That I'd never be free of you unless I made a clean break."
"Is that what you want, Illya? For me to leave you alone?" He was so quiet for so long that I began to suspect his answer.
"I want to sleep." His voice was so wistful. "And not see you, hurt, betrayed, hating me every time I close my eyes."
"I don't hate you, Illya. I could never do that."
"Then I'll kill you if you can't."
My breath caught with that. At first I thought he meant that he would physically hurt me, but then I picked up his meaning. THRUSH had discovered my weakness, my Achilles Heel. In his mind, Illya had come to the conclusion that THRUSH would continue to use him as a weapon against me until the inevitable occurred. It really meant death for both of us – in the career, if not the physical, sense. I would never stay with UNCLE if Illya died because of me and it sounded as if Illya had already made the decision to go. Like I was going to let that happen.
They used him to try and kill me and I didn't care… perhaps I needed some of the inch or so left in the bottle of vodka he was cradling.
"Illya…"
"You need to go. I need… I want to be left alone."
"Not until we've talked this out."
"What part of 'leave me alone' do you have a problem with?"
"Leaving you alone, none of it. Leaving you, there's the problem."
The head bobbed for a moment, then swiveled in my direction. Bloodshot blue eyes studied me for a long moment. I didn't know what to do besides stand there, in the slightly salty smelling cool living room, listening to the waves outside crash, listening to my heart pound.
"Then let me make it easy for you."
He can move lightning fast when he has to or wants to, so fast he scares me at times. Illya's like a cat that way.
Seemingly, within a second, he's on his feet and nose to nose with me, shoving me backwards and I am reminded of what a dangerous commodity my partner is; wonderful in a fight, but not so great when facing off with him.
"I won't fight you, Illya." I struggled to keep my voice even, non-confrontational. Still I brought my hands up – I wouldn't fight him, but I'd be damned if I wouldn't defend myself.
A punch I was expecting, a kiss never. Yet suddenly his lips were on mine, hard, insistent, demanding that I respond. That was the easy part. I'd wanted this for so long that opening my mouth to his was a given. Tasting him, letting him taste me, the greatest pleasure I could think of.
I know what you're thinking – Napoleon Solo the great romancer, the passionate and tireless pursuer of women? Has the world gone mad? Not really. Women are nice, they are convenient and they are socially acceptable. Men like me, we walk a fine line. Waverly tends to look the other way because I'm careful and, oh, so discreet. When my path took me in this direction, it was always with an approved and trustworthy contact. Someone who knew how to keep his mouth shut.
Keeping his mouth shut was not Illya's problem, however, and I reveled in it. For so long I'd daydreamed about this, how he'd feel in my arms, how he'd taste. I was being given a chance here and I wasn't going to let it slip out of my fingers without a fight.
Illya pulled back, conflict in his eyes. He'd expected me to react differently, that was obvious. He'd been ready for my anger, prepared for my disgust, but not my acceptance. He stared at me, his breath coming in short little puffs.
"What are you playing at, Napoleon?"
"Love is the one thing I never play at, Illya."
"That's bullshit, Napoleon. I watch you do the same song and dance with every woman who comes your way."
"That's just sex, Illya, not love. Surely you can see the difference."
"I… I don't."
I closed the space between us, sliding my hands along his arms to his shoulders, letting my fingers knead those muscles. "Then, let me spell it out for you." I dipped in for another kiss, this one more chaste than the first one. "I…" another kiss, "l… o… v… e…" another kiss "y… o… u…." One more kiss and this one I sold, not just with my mouth, but with my soul, my very essence.
I could feel both our bodies responding, some of the reactions involuntary, but others so very telling.
"I can't let you go, Illya." I embraced him harder than I dared to hold a woman, but this wasn't just anyone; this was my partner, strong, able, and, I smiled in delight, very, very capable. His erection was hard against my thigh and I reveled in the feeling. For so long I'd dreamt of having him that to be suddenly facing the moment seemed like a fantasy come true.
"You thought I'd hate you for what, being less of what I considered a man?" I whispered, letting my breath tickle the hair curling about his ear. The head nodded and I let my mouth trail down his neck, licking, and drinking my fill of his taste. "Surprise…" God knows I was. I knew he had been trying to shock me, drive me away by invoking… disgust? Resentment? All I felt was delighted and relief, well perhaps that not exactly the right word considering the restriction my pants were offering certain parts of my anatomy.
"And you as well." Suddenly this body that I thought I knew so well twisted in my arms, taking the offensive. His fingers twisted into my hair, maneuvering my head around so that he could kiss me again. Nothing shy or reticent about this man; he was prepared to take whatever I was prepared to offer.
The fact that he'd probably not slept or eaten in who knew how long should have made me temper my reaction, but I'd waited far too long to be denied now. He made the first move; it wasn't going to end there.
Even as we shared that kiss, I could feel his hands fumbling with my jacket and shirt. I helped him along since he was far ahead of me in the disrobing game. I practically tore my shirt in a frantic attempt to get it off, anxious to feel skin against skin. His was cool to the touch and I warmed it with my hands, my mouth.
When I'd fantasized about this, it had been dreamlike, on a huge bed with lots of pillows and material that flowed around us like clouds. In reality, we were on the floor and our touch almost harsh with need. I worked his fly and was rewarded. It wasn't the first time I'd seen his dick, but it was the first time I'd touched it. Silky smooth skin covered tense flesh. I dipped in and touched my tongue to the tip, tasting his preseminal fluid. Salty, bitter, and so Illya.
He moaned at just this gentlest of touches and I knew he was mine. Sucking in just the head, I nursed it lovingly, then gasped as he captured me in a similar embrace.
Hot, wet, so eager, for several moments we just shared this intimacy, but then I wanted more, needed more. Anal sex would have to wait, I'd not been prepared for this scenario and I wouldn't let it be spoiled by doing something stupid.
Instead I drew him into my mouth, as deeply as I could without choking. I let him move against me, thrusting into my mouth even as his fingers were digging into my thighs as he mirrored my actions. I tried to keep my mind on my main objective, but it was so lovely to just feel my dick sliding in and out, his tongue rolling over my overly sensitive tip. Then I felt a familiar tightening. I tried to call out a warning but at the same time I felt his fingers dig into my muscles, pulling me in even deeper.
He wanted, I craved. I felt him throbbing just a split second before he came, his muscles tense in my grip. He came, nearly choking me in the process. I swallowed because I didn't have any other option, nor did I want one, I wanted him, all of him, as much of him as he'd willing share with me.
For a long second, we were quiet, our heads pillowed on each other's thighs, our thoughts our own as we stretched out on the flesh-warmed wood floor.
"What did we just do, Napoleon?"
"I'd like to think we just took an incredible leap of faith."
"Or made the worst mistake of our lives."
"How could you say that? Is that what if felt like to you, a mistake?"
"Just the opposite." He moved so that we were face to face. "And while it was pleasurable, it has only added to our problem tenfold."
"How's that?"
"How can I permit myself to be placed again and again into situations that might cause you harm, knowing what I know now?"
"I can't see that anything has changed. Yes, we've had a couple of bad affairs lately…"
"A couple? THRUSH is using me as bait now."
"All right, a few, but we're agents. It happens. What about when Partridge snatched you from practically outside of headquarters? He knew even back then that what we shared was something strong, more powerful than what most agents have." I brushed the lank hair from his forehead. "It's like I've just found you all over again, Illya. I don't want to lose that. I want to love that and you, again and properly." I ran my fingers down his face, relishing the feel of his whiskers beneath my fingertips. "I want to see your face when you come, see your love plastered all over your face. Because no matter what you say, no matter what else you want to call it, this is love, my friend."
He sighed, then caught my hand in his own. It nearly dwarfed mine and I shuddered at the thought of what pleasure those hands would be capable of. He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed it, then stood, his readiness already apparent and I couldn't help wondering what he'd be like fed and fully rested.
He had this place for another couple of weeks; I suspected that I would find out. And when we returned to New York, for we would be returning to New York, it would be as more than just partners, more than just friends; we'd be returning as the one thing THRUSH feared more than anything else in the world; we'd be coming back as a team.