They watched the man being escorted from the terminal and Illya Kuryakin sighed. Another happy ending, at least for some of us, he thought watching the Donfields out of the corner of his eye. He had no doubt where they were headed and what they would be doing within the next hour… or less. Mike Donfield was an impulsive man.
"UNCLE thanks you for your service, Mr. Donfield." Napoleon held out a hand to the man, slipping a check into the other hand.
"What?" Donfield seemed almost perplexed, although he had been aware there was a reward for cooperating with them. His mouth worked for a moment and he held the paper back out to Napoleon. "I can't take this."
"Think of it as repayment for the inconvenience we caused you and your wife." Napoleon held his hands up, palms open, to the man. "You will also find your bags packed and a car waiting."
Anne was immediately alerted. "Why? Where are you taking us?"
"To the Plaza. A night out on UNCLE."
Illya watched Napoleon parry and thrust for a moment as he convinced them to take UNCLE's generosity. Outside the plane was taxiing and Illya shook his head slowly. He would not like to be in Kurasov's shoes. Balkan governments didn't take kindly to power grabs. It was almost certain that the man would be either dead or in exile before forty eight hours passed.
More's the pity for crossing UNCLE's line. He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced back.
"Our boy's off?"
"He is and I wonder if he realizes, even now, just how much trouble he's in."
"He's going to scream conspiracy." Napoleon led the way back through the crowds of people milling about. As always, neither his nor his partner's attention stayed very long in one spot. Faces were studied, categorized and dismissed, items scrutinized and acknowledged. They never let a stranger get too close as they passed by, always mindful of an assassin's knife, a deadly needle, a silenced weapon. A cautious agent was one who got to play another day.
"As if that will raise any eyebrows. Conspiracy is the song of the day over there."
"As sung by Benedict Arnold and the Turncoats, no doubt. Come on, partner, I'll give you a lift home."
"So how come they get a night at the Plaza when we did all the work?"
"Luck of the draw and the knowledge that we are the good guys." Napoleon planted a hand over his heart and raised his chin slightly as Illya smirked, then grinned.
Illya chuckled and held out his hand for the keys. "Blockhead… I'll drive."
They ended up at Illya's place and Napoleon looked around the place with interest. While his apartment was well appointed, with ample furniture and trappings, Illya's place was almost Spartan. The place must have come furnished for Napoleon doubted Illya would have chosen the color scheme. Still, it was absolutely the Russian. Illya headed directly for the refrigerator.
"I know monks who own more than you do, partner." He looked around for a coat tree and settled for a chair to drape his top coat on.
"I have what I need." He gestured to a battered end table that held a record player. Piles of books acted as bookends for the numerous records standing nearby. "I have my books, my music." He straightened and held up a bottle of vodka. "Nectar from the fields."
"You've been working different fields than me, son."
"The scotch is over there. "
Napoleon caught the glass Illya tossed him and frowned. "Didn't jelly come in this initially?" He walked to a desk by the fire escape that held several bottles and began to root through them.
"Waste not, want not. I do not care what I drink from, just what I drink." Illya poured a couple of fingers of vodka into his own glass and held it up. "Nostrovia."
"Salute… once I have something to salute with… Illya, you have a visitor." Napoleon pointed to the window sill. A pair of amber eyes looked back at him.
"That's Karenina, would you let her in?"
"You have a cat?" Napoleon got the window open and the cat considered her options.
"No, rather, the cat has me. One must keep a sense of propriety here." Illya opened a can and dumped it out onto a chipped plate. That was enough encouragement. She hurried quickly past Napoleon and went directly to Illya wrapping herself around his ankles. Illya grinned and knelt down to pet her as she ate.
"I'm more of a dog person, I guess." Napoleon poured a goodly portion of scotch into the glass and joined Illya in his micro kitchen. "Ice?"
Illya waved to the refrigerator and Napoleon opened the door. Like his, it was fairly empty, holding just a few days' worth of food at a time. You could never count on how long you would be in one spot with UNCLE. They could well be on a plane winging their way to different corners of the globe within the next few hours, if Waverly had that in his mind.
"You are getting fat, Karenina; the kittens will be here soon, yes?"
"You're going to be a father?" Napoleon dropped a couple of ice cubes into his glass and sloshed the alcohol over them.
"I prefer concerned uncle." Illya stood and shook the fur from his fingers. He retrieved his bottle and glass.
"You would." Napoleon followed Illya back into the main portion of the studio apartment and sat down on the couch, wincing at the lumps. "You need a new sofa."
"You should try sleeping on it. Then Waverly wonders why I never complain about sleeping on the ground." Illya picked a scruffy but comfortable looking armchair. He toed off his shoes and wiggled his feet happily. After a moment, Napoleon did the same, then leaned forward to touch his glass to Illya's.
"Another successful affair."
"Eventually… I wasn't sure there for awhile."
"Neither was… what is that?" Napoleon pointed to something that was haphazardly shoved halfway beneath the chair.
"What? Oh, one of the secretaries gave me that for Christmas. It is a board game?" He leaned forward to drag it out. "I am familiar with chess and a variety of strategy games, but this one confuses me."
"Sex in a box." Napoleon took the box and laughed. "I'll be damned."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Illya, Twister!"
"Napoleon, it's been a long day, during which I was killed, resurrected, and played a strong arm among a dozen other roles. English, please?"
"Illya, this is a devious little game called Twister. When a woman gives you this, she's saying just one thing."
"And that would be."
"The oldest dance of all, my friend. She wants you."
Illya tossed back another glass of vodka and closed his eyes. "One sided, I assure you."
"Come on, I'll show you how it works." Napoleon pulled off his jacket and struggled out of his holster. He spread the plastic sheet down and smoothed it out.
"Where are the playing pieces?"
Napoleon held up his hands and waggled his fingers. "These and those." He pointed to Illya's feet. "You spin the dial and it tells you where to put your hands and feet."
"The point to this game?" Illya didn't shift from the chair.
"To knock your opponent over by off balancing them."
"I still don't –"
"Just trust me and get over here."
Heaving a sigh, Illya got to his feet and walked to the plastic sheet. The cat watched him and he shrugged his shoulders at her. "What do I do? I have a crazy American for a partner."
Napoleon spun the wheel. "Blue, left foot"
Illya obliged, as did Napoleon. "Right hand, yellow." As Illya reached for a yellow dot, Napoleon reached for one nearby, nearly upsetting Illya.
He fought to keep his balance for a moment. "Napoleon!" he scolded. "You almost knocked me over."
"That's the point of the game, Illya, although it's easier when there's a third person to spin for you. You're not supposed to take your hand or foot off the colored circle. Ah, green, left hand."
Illya arched an eyebrow and headed for a green circle, then changed his mind and went for one between Napoleon's splayed feet. There was a momentary flailing for correction and they went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Illya somehow managed to be on the bottom.
"Ow, Napoleon, you weigh a ton," Illya grumbled. "And you're crushing my…"
That was when Napoleon leaned down and kissed him. There was nothing hesitant or subtle in the kiss, nothing coy or teasing. It was a kiss that demanded one thing - reciprocity.
"Napoleon…" He swallowed and took a deep breath, licking his lips. He could taste the scotch and something unfamiliar.
"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that." Napoleon readjusted his thigh's position and moved it. Illya closed his eyes in pleasure.
"Be careful, my friend, you are sailing into uncharted water," Illya murmured, arching his head back.
Napoleon's mouth skimmed along Illya's jaw, working its way back to his mouth. They kissed again, this time more aggressively.
"Not necessarily uncharted as much as just not recently sailed. Trust me - take your shirt off."
Illya obliged, even while a small voice was commenting that having sex with your superior might not be in your best interest. It had been a long time since Illya had scratched that particular itch and if Napoleon was willing… Well, Mrs. Kuryakin had done nothing if not raise an opportunistic son.
Within another minute, Illya realized that Napoleon's reputation as a lover was well founded. He suddenly shoved Napoleon away and sat up.
"What's wrong? Illya, you're not… God, I'm sorry, I thought -"
"Napoleon!" Illya interrupted. "I am. I very much am, but if we continue like that, the resolution will be very quick in coming…"
"No pun intended. Hair trigger, Mr. Kuryakin? I never would have guessed."
"Most sincerely not. I merely need to regain my composure for a moment."
Napoleon looked to the kitchen, frowning. "Would you happen to have something… appropriate we could use?"
"And something more appropriate to use it on. As enthusiastic as I am, I am not willing to get rug burn as a result."
Within a minute, they were stretched out on Illya's bed, the fervor of their early passion quelled if only for the moment.
"Napoleon, I take it that this is not something new for you?"
"Well, it has been awhile."
"Then perhaps it would be wise if I took counterpoint." Napoleon's smile was all Illya needed. "Then roll over on your stomach for me."
"Illya…" Napoleon murmured even as he complied.
"Now I must ask you to trust me, my friend." He run his hands lightly up and down Napoleon's back, fingers just skimming the surface. His mouth followed his fingers and he worked his way down Napoleon's spine, pausing at one scar, then another to give them loving attention. All the while, his hands continued moving.
"Shit, Illya, you were complaining about my technique."
"Not complaining… exactly." Illya rested his forehead against Napoleon's shoulder as he one-handedly opened the tube of petroleum jelly. "This isn't exactly my lubricant of choice, but it will do for now."
"I don't care if you use bear grease and honey, just get on with it."
"Who's in a hurry now?" Truth of the matter was that they were both in desperate need of release and Illya only tarried long enough to make sure he didn't hurt Napoleon.
"You will tell me if it is too much…?"
"I'll tell you what will happen if you don't get a frigging move…" Napoleon's complaint turned into a growl as Illya entered him.
"You were saying?"
"I was talking?"
Illya began to move. He left it to Napoleon to keep up with him and Napoleon proved that he was not one to be left in the dust. His gasp and arching was enough to drive Illya to his own climax, albeit sooner than he'd have preferred.
He rode Napoleon down to the bed and then withdrew, smoothly, even while Napoleon was still panting from his orgasm.
"So that is how you play Twister." There was movement on the bed and Illya looked to see Karenina picking her way carefully through the tangled bedclothes. "You Americans have a peculiar way of merchandising."
"What do you mean?" Napoleon rolled to his side to scratch the cat as she passed. She meowed her thanks prettily and plopped down beside Illya. Napoleon chuckled and draped his arm over Illya's waist.
"Would it not just have been easier to have naked people on the front of the box? Remove all doubts?"
"Where's the fun in that?" Napoleon's hand traveled down Illya's thigh. "Do you? Have doubts?"
"Not since the day I was partnered with you. They became confirmed fears at that point." Illya grunted, chuckling as Napoleon poked him in the ribs, then settled into Napoleon's embrace. "No, no doubts, no regrets. The fact that we may very well be dead tomorrow tends to color one's view of the future. However, I anticipate less boredom with you in my future."
"I can live with that." He nestled his cheek against the blond hair and sighed.
"But for how long?"
"How long you got?"