Illya Kuryakin looked out the bus window at the passing scenery and sighed. He'd been a full-fledged UNCLE agent for nearly six months and was still getting stuck with boring courier jobs. It didn't seem fair, he thought. He'd graduated top of his class at Survival School, even staying over an extra month to teach the explosives class. It had been his specialty with the Russian Navy, and he'd enjoyed the practice. So where was he now? Riding some stupid bus to some stupid backwater town to deliver whatever was chained to his wrist while his partner was on the fast track.
It had been exciting at first, thinking he was delivering some top secret papers or a valuable instrument. It wasn't long before he realized that UNCLE left that to the more experienced agents. No telling what was in the briefcase, probably some magazines or someone's dirty laundry. Illya wasn't about to give into curiosity and pick the lock although it would have been easy enough. As far as he knew, this could be part of the training process too, seeing if he could handle even the most boring tasks without question. Besides, Waverly—or even worse, Napoleon Solo—would have his hide if they found out.
He smiled at the thought of Solo. He'd been two years ahead at Survival School and had left behind enough of a reputation as a womanizer and daredevil to make him a hero to some of the trainees. Now, he was the new head of Section 2 although how he got there Illya couldn't even begin to guess. Solo seemed too involved with the ladies to make a first class agent, at least to Illya's way of thinking. It made a man weak and vulnerable, and that was the last thing Illya needed or wanted.
He'd never really had time for romance, being rather single-minded, first about school and then his career. It boiled down to more than that, though; whenever he tried to have sex, he got into trouble. Big Trouble. Regardless of his efforts, events always went south.
His first attempt at intimacy resulted in some interesting scars when his liaison's angry boyfriend found them together and grabbed a nearby pitchfork. The boy made sure Illya carried permanent reminders of why one should not to dally with another man's woman.
The next time, he tried to be more careful; unfortunately, he didn't know the woman was married. At least he escaped injury on that occasion, but he couldn't achieve anything close to an erection for the following two months.
The final—and worst effort—left him in Siberia after getting caught with an admiral's daughter. Nothing happened as he'd been too nervous to perform, but that hardly mattered. The daughter turned up pregnant four months later and named Illya as the father. He knew it wasn't possible, as did the girl, but she was as scared as he. And Illya's world went very wrong at that point.
After all these years, he could still remember the beating Admiral Stolvich gave him and the look on his parents' faces when his sentence was read. He spent the next six months in a barren wasteland, barely surviving. It was only his intellect that saved him, making him more valuable alive than dead to his superiors. Eventually, the girl came clean, and Illya was permitted to return, but not to a hero's welcome. His old friends shunned him, and his family could barely look at him. Thus ended the lesson; no sex, no trouble. Not at school, not even in the eighteen months he spent crammed into a very small sub with willing mates. He just couldn't take the chance.
Unfortunately, women seemed to sense this and worked harder to wear down his resolve. Like the blonde sitting across the aisle. She'd been flirting with him since boarding at their last stop. He sighed and sat up, taking some of the strain off his lower back. Abstinence had also led to some ugly little rumors around headquarters, such as the one that he preferred men to women. If that were only the case, but his track record wasn't much better with men than women. Every time he tried, it just got worse. Let the others take the chance; he didn't dare.
The bus lurched to a stop, and Illya was glad to see the end of his journey. Why Waverly picked such an out-of-the-way little town was beyond him. He tossed his jacket over the handle of the briefcase to hide the handcuffs and stood, nearly colliding with the blonde.
"Excuse me." Illya nodded her ahead.
She smiled back, obviously certain that she had won the first round. "Thank you. Are you just passing through?" She looked pointedly at the briefcase.
"Yes," Thankfully, he added mentally. It would be good to get back to New York. It was too quiet here for his tastes. It reminded him too much of his own small village back home. With that came bad memories, and his lower back twinged, even though the wounds were long healed. He climbed from the bus and waited while the driver unloaded the bags.
"Where are you staying?"
"Ah," he racked his brain, "the Hotel..."
"Lullaby," she finished and laughed at his nod. "We keep trying to forget the name, too. It's just up the street, so you'll have no trouble finding it, Mr...?"
"Kuryakin." And he waited for it.
"Kuryakin? What an unusual name...is it Greek?"
"No, Russian," Illya corrected politely. People had a thing against Russians, not that Illya blamed them. Most didn't understand the USSR, and that scared them. The Red Threat was all too real for them, thanks to the missile crisis. Even Napoleon had said some pretty ugly things when they'd initially been paired up.
She only smiled, "I've never met a Russian before." She paused, looking at his hand as he reached for his luggage. "Is your wife Russian too?" Now her face changed, looking slightly disappointed.
"I am not married," he answered automatically, then cursed. The ring was specially equipped with a garrote hidden inside, but she didn't need to know that.
"But you're wearing a wedding ring."
"In Russia, a married man wears his ring on the right hand. This is my father's."
He started walking towards the hotel, hoping she would get the hint, but she trailed behind. "Why isn't he wearing it then? Doesn't your mother mind?"
"He doesn't have a right hand. He lost it in the war. And one day plowing and once in a card game, another time on a drunk. He was forever losing it, and someone would bring it back to him. Too much vodka made him forgetful." He smiled at the lie, and she looked a little guilty.
"Oh, I'm sorry." That put her off a bit, and he felt bad. "I didn't mean to be so nosy. It's just living here for so long, a body doesn't often get to talk to anyone as exciting as you."
They stopped before a two story building with a sign proclaiming it the Hotel Lullaby, and he turned to her. "It's all right, as a Russian national, I am used to questions." Boy, was he used to it.
"You're just being nice." She even went so far as to blush. "Thank you."
"It was my pleasure, Miss...?"
"You can just call me Tony, everyone does. I hope you have a nice stay, Mr. Kuryakin."
He looked at the rickety porch, the peeling paint, and nodded. "I'm sure it will be wonderful."
As soon as he was safe in his room, he removed the handcuff from his wrist, locked it onto the metal footboard of the bed, and sat down. That accomplished, he pulled his communicator from a suit jacket pocket and tossed the coat onto the bed.
"Open Channel D, please."
"Channel D is open. Is that you, Illya?"
Despite the static, he recognized the voice of Napoleon Solo and grinned. "Yes, it is I. Have you been demoted to communications now? I knew Mr. Waverly would come to his senses sooner or later."
"Very droll, Mr. K. I'm just holding the fort while Melissa takes a break. How is West East Corner?"
"Wonderful." He looked around at the room and sighed. "And very quiet. When do I make the rendezvous?"
"Hamilton will contact you tomorrow. Until then, just rest and take it easy."
Illya nodded as he sought to place the name with the face. "It would be a challenge to do otherwise. Please tell Hamilton to hurry before I waste away from boredom."
"Will do. Channel D out."
Illya tucked the communicator away and flopped back onto the bed. The bus trip had worn him out, probably more due to a lack of activity than anything else. He shut his eyes and drifted off, thinking about the woods around Kiev.
He wasn't sure what woke him. He came awake, moving only his eyes as he'd been taught. The few seconds one could buy with that ruse often made the difference between living and dying. He looked about the room as much as possible but could pick nothing out. Maybe it was nothing, just his nerves, but he wasn't about to take a chance. Not as long as the briefcase was in his possession.
He started to reach for the lamp which turned out to be mistake number one. Someone grabbed him from behind and clamped something over his mouth and nose. He struggled, mistake number two, as he quickly used up all his air and was forced to take a breath or suffocate. He chose the former, mistake number three. His head spun, and that was it. His last conscious thought was that he was turning out to be as good an UNCLE agent as he was a lover.
He woke up some indeterminable time later, muscles cramped and head pounding. Opening his eyes, he immediately understood why he was so uncomfortable. He was trussed up like someone's Christmas goose, a gag tight across his mouth, only a thin mattress separating him from a cold concrete floor. He was still dressed, but from the state of his clothing it was obvious that he'd been very thoroughly searched.
Whatever was in that briefcase must be a lot more important than he thought to have THRUSH resort to this. Of course, not having had much previous experience with THRUSH, he wasn't sure what would happen next. The fact that he was still alive was a positive. At least he was still too low in the organization to do much damage if they did make him talk.
The door to his cell opened, and someone wearing a robe and hood came in. The figure grabbed him and yanked him in to a sitting position. Illya winced as cramped muscles sang out in protest.
"Hello, Mr. Kuryakin." The male voice was muffled. "You are not aware of it, but you are going to have quite an evening tonight." Strong hands loosened his gag.
Illya took the opportunity to wet his dry lips. "Who are you?" he rasped. It seemed a reasonable question to Illya.
"That would be telling, Mr. Kuryakin. We can't have that. You are going to be the guest of honor at a very important party tonight."
Illya looked down at the ropes binding him, "I'm hardly dressed for it."
"But you will be when the time comes. Tonight is the summer solstice, and it's time to pay homage to our gods."
The conversation was taking a fast nosedive. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Everything, my dear boy. For us, absolutely everything." The figure turned as a shorter robed person entered. "Take good care of our visitor. See that no harm comes to him."
"Yes, my lord," responded a feminine voice as her hood nodded in acceptance, and the tall figure left the room, the robe swishing behind him.
"Wait a minute!" Illya yelled after him, straining every muscle in a futile effort to break free from the ropes.
"Please, be quiet and let me explain," whispered the woman. Something in her voice caught his attention, and he relaxed back against the wall. "It's me, Tony." Blonde hair escaped as the hood was pushed back. "Just calm down, and it'll be okay."
"What will be okay?"
"You're going to be offered as a blood sacrifice tonight."
"I'm sorry, but your definition of 'okay' and mine seem to be vastly different." His headache was rapidly increasing as the situation progressed from bad to worse.
"I agree, but trust me and no harm will come to you. I have your weapon."
That startled him, and he gazed deeply into the hazel eyes. "Why?"
"Tonight at the ceremony, there will be a diversion. Your bonds will be loosened, and with any luck you'll be able to get away. Don't go to the chief of police, he's the guy who just left. Just leave town as quickly as you can and don't come back."
"Why? What is your angle in all of this?"
Tony walked to the still open door, peering carefully around the corner. When satisfied, she returned. "You're not a travelling salesman, I know that. You're in law enforcement, aren't you?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Most ordinary people don't carry weapons, especially ones with their initial carved into the butt. I also saw your ID card." She loosened the cord constricting his hands enough for him to move them slightly.
He winced as the blood started to flow back into them. "Very observant. You didn't happen to see where they put my briefcase, did you?"
"Sorry, it's probably still at the hotel. I can try to get it if it's important."
"No, it's not necessary for you to risk your life. I shall retrieve it."
"Not smart. Half the town belongs to the sect. I don't think I'll have any trouble. Besides, what kind of UNCLE agent would I be if I can't get one little briefcase?"
"UNCLE agent?" He looked up sharply. "Hamilton?"
"Antonie Hamilton. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kuryakin. We've heard some pretty hot stuff about you." She grinned, obviously pleased with the success of her ruse.
"I am hardly in a position to accept flattery." He waited for her to undo the rest of the ropes, confused when she didn't. "I'd like to get out of here."
"Unfortunately, you can't. We're too close to busting this cult wide open to have you escape. Sorry, but you're stuck. We need you to stay put, at least for the time being."
Illya sighed and leaned back against the wall, putting on his best helpless puppy dog face. For once, it had no effect. Tony merely headed for the door, pausing to ask over her shoulder, "By the way, you're really not, are you?"
"Not what?"
"A virgin."
Illya's face flushed at the word, and he dropped his gaze to the ground. "It really depends on your definition of the word," he managed after a minute.
"The classic definition. Have you or haven't you?" She returned to his side, hands on her hips.
"Haven't," he got out finally, hoping that the floor would open up and swallow him before the conversation could proceed.
"I don't believe it. A real virgin sacrifice." She locked the door from the inside and sat beside him on the thin mattress, shaking her head. "Some really scary things have happened here. I can't explain them, and I don't think I really want to try. We can't take the chance tonight if you know what I mean?"
Illya wiggled, trying to find a more comfortable position. "Not really. You lost me about halfway through."
"UNCLE sent me here about three years ago to investigate some stories about the paranormal activity in this area. They thought THRUSH was involved."
"Are they?"
"Not as far as I can tell. Anyhow, I joined the Sect and started attending. It was pretty small time, white magic stuff until the chief of police got into the act. Since then, I've seen some stuff that has to be straight out of Hell itself. Whether it's parlor tricks, sleight of hand, or the real thing, I don't know. Tonight's the most sacred of their nights. If we can stop them now, we'll have a chance of putting them out of business permanently. That's why you're here."
"Because I'm the only virgin in UNCLE?" He could see his mother and father getting a letter from Waverly explaining just exactly how and why their son had been killed in the line of duty. His father wouldn't be able to show his face at the local bar for months.
"No, of course not. I don't think Waverly knew that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have let you come...no pun intended."
"What do you propose we do?"
"Well, the best we can, I suppose." She dropped her gaze to his crotch and back.
He suddenly realized where her train of thought was going. "You surely aren't suggesting that in order ... to... " Illya let the sentence trail off.
"We have to be sure. If something happens, if we can't get the ceremony stopped, we can't let them have a real virgin to sacrifice." She licked her lips and sighed. "Do you think you can…um, perform under these circumstances?"
"I suppose masturbating doesn't count." Obviously a last ditch effort.
"Not a chance, sorry." She smiled, shrugging her shoulders.
"You don't look very sorry." At her hurt look, Illya continued, "It's not that I don't find you attractive and I am honestly more than interested, but I have a very poor track record when it actually comes to the main event as it were. I've schooled myself to avoid such things, and now it's being dropped onto my lap in a manner of speaking. I can't help but wonder what the catch is."
"You are able to… get it up, aren't you?"
Illya looked away and sighed.
"Mr. Kuryakin, you are about to be sacrificed to who knows what; how much more trouble can you get into?"
Illya had to admit that she had a point. "Very well, can you at least untie the rest of my bonds? I think I'd have a better chance of performing if I could move my arms and legs."
"Sure, I'm sorry." She fumbled with the ropes, suddenly nervous. The knots gave way, and the ropes fell to the floor.
"There you go." Tony looked up, and Illya cupped her face, pausing just a moment before kissing her. He'd never had any trouble with that, and had, in fact, polished it to a fine art.
The kiss left her breathless, and she swallowed. "I thought you hadn't done this before." Tony let him push her down onto the mattress.
"Trust me, it isn't from a lack of trying, rather the interruption of delivery." Illya fumbled with the hooks that held the robe closed, flushing slightly to discover she was naked beneath it. "Why do I have a feeling I've been set up for this?"
"It's traditional, but a good agent should always be prepared, don't you think?" She'd gotten over her momentary shyness and reached beneath his shirt, raking her fingers lightly over his chest, smiling as she felt goose bumps rise.
"I suppose hope springs eternal." Illya lowered himself against her, kissing her again, then trailing his tongue down her neck to a breast. In spite of the situation, Illya could feel himself responding, his pants suddenly seemed two sizes too small. Tony also noticed, and her hands moved down his body until they reached his waistband.
Illya paused while she worked at the belt, then his fly, smiling at the sensation. Finally she released him from the constricting fabric. She ran her fingers up his penis, a forefinger rubbing against the moist tip. "Mmm, you're a big boy, aren't you?"
"You know what they say about small packages." She wrapped a hand around him, and he thrust gently into her fist, a smile on his lips.
"And you've never taken this out to play?" Tony arched her head back as Illya licked her neck, biting and sucking gently until the blood bloomed against the skin.
"I can show you scars from previous attempts."
"Later, right now I'd say you are just about ready," she murmured as she helped him slide the pants over his buttocks. "Sorry there isn't much time to linger, but I think we need to strike while the iron is hot as it were."
Illya slid his hand between her unresisting legs, his finger coming to rest on a hardened clitoris. "I'd say you're in the same situation." He kissed her again, deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth, while his thumb moved in slow circles against her clitoris, and his finger slid inside her, spreading the slick moisture he found there to his penis.
He positioned himself between her lips, rubbing his glans over her clit and gritted his teeth at the sensation. "О мой бог, это - еще лучше чувства, чем я помню."
"What?"
"It feels… good." She arched up against his hand, and he pulled back, smiling. "Now, if present holds to past, your parents, your husband, or your boyfriend should be arriving any minute."
"Not a chance, my folks are in California, no husband, and no boy…." Her voice caught as he entered her slowly, gently. "Oh, Illya..."
"Hmmm?" His voice was a soft whisper as he began to move against her.
"Nothing." Her hips began to move in cadence with his. She clutched at his back, her fingers digging in, urging him to a faster speed, but Illya held back, part of him still fighting, still a frightened young man awaiting retribution for the act. But each thrust brought him closer to the edge until it no longer mattered. Nothing less than a bullet to the brain was going to stop him, and he pounded into her with an urgency that was nothing short of sheer, raw need.
Suddenly, Tony's head went back, and her hands clamped hard against his buttocks, attempting to hold him still. Her spasming muscles clutched his penis, and it was suddenly too much. One last thrust, a sob, and Illya climaxed with a force he'd never felt before.
They lay there for a long moment, panting, waiting for their heartbeats to slow. Illya looked down at the woman and brushed her hair from her face.
"That was lovely, thank you," she murmured. "You were very… fruitful."
"Now I see what everyone was going on about. Thank you." Illya had a feeling that his resistance to women had just taken a nose dive. "Do you really think they'll go through with it?"
"They're going to try. At least we know you're safe now." She shifted beneath him. "Mmm, you're still hard."
Illya smiled and started to move slowly, easily. "Perhaps we'd better try again, just to be sure."
"Why do I have a feeling that I've released a monster?" Tony ran a finger over his lips, and Illya kissed it before growling in her ear and bending to his task.
Illya propped his crutches against the desk and hopped to his chair, sat down, and then brought his foot up to rest on the wastebasket. Only he could break his ankle jumping off a sacrificial altar. Besides that and the healing scratch from the head priest's knife, he had escaped unscathed. He was damn lucky, considering how close it had been. The doctor assured him the cast would be off in four weeks, and that would just coincide with Tony's first trip to the New York office.
The door swished opened, and a grinning Napoleon Solo walked in, clipboard under one arm, two coffee cups in hand. "And how is our little patient this morning?" He offered one to the Russian.
"Healing, thank you." Illya took the cup and sipped carefully, relieved to discover Solo had remembered not to sugar his this time.
"Excellent. I've just been going over your report. Seems like you got a little bit more than your usual courier job."
"A bit," Illya echoed.
"It'll look good on your record. Might even let you do some real espionage stuff next time." Solo slapped him on the shoulder and turned to go. "By the way, Waverly approved your leave. Why wait four weeks, though? I'd think you'd want to take it now, so you can prop your leg up and spend the day in bed."
"All in good time," Illya smiled slightly and returned his attention to the paperwork on his desk.
"Wouldn't happen to have anything to do with Tony Hamilton coming to town, would it?"
"Of course not." Illya kept his poker face in place. He still had a reputation of aloofness to protect.
"Good," Solo grinned evilly. "I'm planning on taking her out on the town." At Kuryakin's suddenly distressed look, Solo again punched his shoulder. "Gotcha."
It is rumored that Napoleon Solo barely escaped with his life.