It was a mistake. The charade has been intended as a joke, the costume merely a means to an end. April Dancer had invited her Russian friend, her fellow agent, to a party that was hosted by someone she knew ... and trusted. Something was sorely lacking in her professional judgement, and she knew there would be hell to pay for this mistake. Looking across the room at Illya Kuryakin, she hoped he would be the one administering the well-deserved verdict. It would be a small price to pay for him surviving this night.
The party had been promoted as a masquerade ball, a fundraising event for a worthy cause. April had a few connections among some well-heeled individuals and often found herself among some of the city's brightest and best. This event should have been like so many others: full of fun and populated by some wealthy philanthropists who enjoyed a good time like everyone else.
Only this hadn't turned out to be a good time, and the person April had thought was a friend had turned out to be … something else.
"April my love, you really ought to be more considerate of your friends. I don't think your blond friend is going to last much longer if you keep refusing to give me the information I need.'
Devon Pring was seated on a large platform that ran the length of a room about twelve feet by twenty. Hanging from a rafter, clad only in the brown tights that April had provided for him as part of his costume, was the friend in question. Illya had been stripped down to the last garment he was wearing, waterhosed until he was gasping and the sodden tights nearly falling from his slender body.
"I realize you have that UNCLE pledge to uphold, but really darling, the man is going to die if you don't tell me where to find the head of Unicorp Electric. I really must have him without any additional delay. I simply must."
April glared at the pompous twit she had previously considered a friend, or, at the very least, a friendly acquaintance. Now, looking from Illya and back again to Pring, the redheaded agent wondered how she could have been so wrong. Either she was really losing her newly acquired spy abilities, or Pring was an actor worthy of an award.
"Devon, I never figured you for a criminal type. Surely you can find a better way to support your party habit than kidnapping innocent guests and torturing them into giving money to your causes."
It was a bluff and Pring knew it. April had nothing, not even the information the man was demanding. It was Illya who had actually secreted the man out of the country and into a safe house in the Swiss Alps. So, why did Devon Pring think the female UNCLE agent had what he so vehemently demanded?
"April, we do what we must and what I must do is have that information. Now, either you tell me or your friend here gets another tsunami sized wave blasted at him."
Illya was struggling to maintain consciousness, his arms felt like they were being torn from the sockets. The water pressure had been hard enough separate the cartilage from a couple of ribs, and hanging as he was only made the pain more acute. Initially ambushed by two THRUSH goons the size of Godzilla, Illya had tried in vain to protect himself from the attack while April was fending off her own assailants. Neither of them were a match, however, for the sleep darts that were fired; they both fell immediately, only to wake up in this predicament.
April and Illya both knew that if Devon were told the truth of the situation, that it was the Russian who held the information he sought, then the torture would be turned on the woman. Illya preferred taking the punishment to subjecting April to this, and she wasn't about to circumvent whatever her superior had in mind. It pained her to see the blond in this situation, knowing he was injured and probably on the verge of hypothermia. His body was bruised from the force of the water, the tights falling now below the lean Russian's pelvic bones. If it weren't such a dire circumstance, April realized she would probably be in the midst of a serious carnal moment. She was shocked to discover that she found Illya particularly attractive at this very inopportune time; hoped that she could redeem herself by saving him somehow…
Get a grip, Dancer. The man is in pain, he's … wow.
She couldn't concentrate. Devon was talking to her and she needed to listen, to not look at Kuryakin. But, look she did. The water laden tights were heavy, too heavy to stay up. Devon Pring stopped talking when he realized how mesmerized April seemed to be as she continued to stare at Illya.
The tights were lower still, the elasticity in the waist completely gone as the fabric crept down the flat abdomen and neared …
"April!"
"What? Oh, I… I can't tell you anything, Devon. Really darling, I don't know anything. Please, let Illya down and … you've just made a big mistake and if you let us go, I won't say anything to anyone. How's that? We all just go back to the party and pretend that nothing happened."
All of this time Illya had been mostly unconscious. Now he could hear April trying to song and dance her way out of the situation. He needed to find a way…
"I am not going to anymore parties with you, April. I am certainly not having any fun at this one."
Pring approached Illya cautiously, fully aware that the man could still do him harm. The henchman who had accosted the UNCLE agents stood at the door, ready should anything be required of them. April watched the nattily costumed party host as he neared a spot a few feet from where Illya's body hung limp and still dripping water.
Dressed as France's Louie XV, he was a stark contrast to the nearly naked Russian in his withering brown tights. April had thought Illya would make a dashing Arthur to her Guinevere, but with so little left of the king's clothing, the effect was decidedly diminished.
"What do you think, April dear, should I remove these tights and let your friend take the water without any protection whatsoever? I think you might be a little worried that he can be .. um.. damaged."
Pring was practically leering at Illya, his hand moving dangerously close to those parts he was threatening to expose. April held her breath; she had seen something in Illya's eyes and knew that if Devon got close enough she should be ready to move.
The moment Devon Pring got within reach of the dangling Russian, muscled legs whipped around the man's neck and drew him into a deathly grip. April simultaneously ducked away from the aim of the THRUSH goons who were now faced with the imminent demise of their boss.
"Throw down your weapons or my friend will choke Mr. Pring to death. Do it now!"
April sounded every bit the short fused UNCLE agent, and the men obeyed the woman without hesitation. She picked up the weapon that landed closest to her, taking aim at the four guards as she kicked the other guns out of reach. Spotting a row of restrains that were attached to the wall, April motioned to the men that they should attach themselves as well. One by one a wrist was placed within a cuff until all four men were neatly restrained.
Pring, who was quickly succumbing to asphyxiation within Illya's iron clad grip, waived his hands in desperation at the sudden change of circumstances.
"Uh, Illya … you can let him go now."
April thought it best to not have any dead bodies to account for. Even though this wasn't an official UNCLE affair, she felt a certain obligation to doing things according to protocol.
Illya released his grip on the foppish faux king, glad to be rid of him and not entirely certain he could have held on much longer. His energy was literally washed away. April had a pair of cuffs for Pring as soon as he dropped.
"Shoot me down, April. It will be quicker than anything else…"
Without skipping a beat the only female agent in Section II took aim and shot the mechanism holding the Russian, causing him to fall unceremoniously at her feet. Illya was out cold, flat on his back and barely hanging on to those wretched brown tights. With a sigh she wouldn't admit to, April walked to the table where Pring had laid down her communicator and called into headquarters.
"Open Channel D, this is Dancer."
"Ah, Miss Dancer. I do not recall sending you out on anything this evening. What is the nature of your call?"
The voice of Alexander Waverly cut through the dank surroundings like a welcome beam of sunlight.
"Mr. Waverly, sir … uh, Mr. Kuryakin and I ran into a nest of birds that need exterminating. And, Mr. Kuryakin could use some clothes, sir, he … uh… well, he's not been treated very hospitably."
"Oh, I uh… very well, Miss Dancer. A contingency is headed towards the signal your communicator is indicating. I will expect a report, ahh… in the morning will do nicely. Waverly out."
April spent a moment relishing her job before heading back to check on Illya. The blond was coming to, but just barely. April considered the man, slightly built but with everything in just the right place. At the moment there was very little doubt just how well placed everything was.
"Ooohh… Nice shot, Dancer. You might have tried softening my landing, however."
April knelt down next to her date. Things hadn't exactly worked out as she had hoped … or planned. She didn't want to have a relationship with Illya, but she'd been ogling his backside for weeks now, hoping that, just maybe, they might have some fun together.
I'm a woman of the 60's, after all. Why shouldn't I … ?
But here they sat, she dressed as the queen of Camelot and her king stripped down to his tights, and barely that. Fine pair of almost lovers they were.
"Illya darling, I know this isn't the most romantic spot in the world, but would you mind terribly kissing me?"
If the blond could have been any more surprised he wasn't going to show it. April was young and impressionable. No amount of training or field work could replace the romantic impulses of a woman, not even the capable April Dancer. In spite of what Napoleon thought, Illya Kuryakin was a romantic soul, and far be it from him to quell the dreams of a beautiful woman.
He took her hands, kissed each palm before looking into her eyes. The same unblinking stare that sent villains into cold sweats and fast confessions now made April's stomach lurch with an unequalled sense of anticipation. Her heart began to beat a little faster and she found it necessary to lick her lips.
That's when he took her. Suddenly there was no one else in the room, no bad guys and certainly not a rescue squad on the way. Illya kissed April deeply, passionately and without hesitation. His tongue tickled the roof of her mouth before he consumed her lips, causing her to catch her breath as she melted into the kiss. When he pulled away it was hesitant, and April followed, hoping to latch onto that bottom lip she had so long admired.
April opened her eyes again to look into Illya's. Blue even in this dimly lit place, there was a lightness in them that told her things were fine between them. She looked down absently, partly to avoid the look he was giving her and had to laugh at what she saw.
"So, ah … ahemm… Illya. I uh… I see you found a way to keep your tights up."
He wasn't embarrassed, just shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'I can't help it'.
"Perhaps we can keep this between the two of us."
April burst out laughing at that.
"Oh, Illya … darling, just tell me when."
That's when the cavalry arrived, led by none other than Illya's partner, Napoleon Solo.
"So, what on earth has been going on …?'
Illya was sitting in a puddle of water, unable to move just yet. Of all the people to show up and catch them…
"April, Illya… I see you two have been … um... busy. I suppose you'll fill me on things when you're able."
Illya just smirked at his partner. April got up from where she still sat, straightened out her dress and put out a hand to Illya. He took stock of things and slowly stood. The tights nearly fell to his knees but he managed to catch them before that happened. Napoleon was still trying to figure this out, but he'd settle for hearing it later. A late night session with his partner and a bottle of vodka would eventually give him the details he wanted to hear.
"Do you have the clothing April requested? I believe I would like to get out of these."
Illya gestured to the soggy tights as he clutched at them, trying to remain decent. Napoleon turned to one of the agents who produced a pile of black: jeans and turtleneck.
"Thank you, I will just … "
The half naked Russian indicated where he was heading and then walked with as much dignity as one could under the circumstances to a spot where he proceeded to pull off the tights and dress in the black clothing.
April pretended to not look, but she caught sight of the very white backside that she had wondered about. Napoleon had to smile at the coyness of her observation. No matter how hard these women thought they could be, in the end they were still women and … well, the rest of them were men. It was going to be an interesting experiment for all of them.
Illya sauntered back to where Napoleon and April were still standing, obviously much relieved to be fully clothed. He didn't regret kissing April, but he couldn't help wondering if she would want to pursue things. Illya wasn't a prude and he certainly had no objections to bedding a woman purely for the sake of enjoying the moment. Working with that same woman, however…
April was thinking the same thing. She considered herself a fairly liberated woman, but was she really ready to work alongside someone with whom she had shared a sexual experience? Perhaps being a first at something wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
As the clean up continued and Devon and his crew were hauled up and into the waiting van, Illya said something to Napoleon before taking April by the arm and leading her away from the crowd of agents.
"April, you did a fine job on this. I will certainly be giving high marks for your performance tonight under very difficult circumstances. We were both taken completely by surprise and …"
April put a primly manicured finger on those gorgeous lips.
"Illya, darling … it's all right. It was a kiss, I'm over you.'
At the look on his face, April knew that wasn't quite the right thing to say.
"I mean, the kiss was … mmmm… fab. It was wonderful, and you are … oh my … Well, you have no idea how man women take an image of you home with them every night wishing … well, you get the idea."
"We're better off not pursuing this then, we agree?"
April nodded her head. Much as she hated to admit it, letting this go any farther would be a mistake they'd both regret.
"Yes, we agree.'
Illya nodded his head, a wisp of blond hair falling forward as he did so. April took it and brushed it back with her fingers, letting her hand trail down the side of his face. She almost lost her resolve at that moment.
"Very well, Agent Dancer. May I say it was a privilege to kiss you. I envy the man who finally steals your heart."
April reached up and kissed Illya, lingering on those lips just long enough to catch Napoleon's eye, but not long enough to promise.
"Thank you, Agent Kuryakin. I'll treasure our time together, and the image of you in those tights."
Napoleon walked up as April was heading to one of the vans. She had decided it was better to ride back to headquarters with someone other than Illya.
"So, what was all of that about? Are you and April Dancer…?"
Illya smiled and shook his head, somewhat regretfully.
"Just a costume ball, Napoleon. Once again, Arthur has lost his queen.'
A quizzical look on his partner's face made Illya smile even more.
"Drive me home, Napoleon. I think I might be coming down with a cold. I could use a drink and I know you've already decided to ply me with vodka."
Solo had to laugh. The Russian knew him too well.
"Let's go tovarsich, you can tell me all about it."
Maybe not everything, thought the Russian.