Head throbbing, eyes blurry…waking up from a dose of Thrush gas was an agony with which Illya Kuryakin was only too familiar. As he raised his head from the surface on which he lay, a figure began to materialize before him. Dressed in white, the voluptuous outline of a woman became more clearly defined as he blinked once, twice…Serena.

She was smiling at him, her full lips now tantalizingly drawn into an expression that told him she was confidant and in charge of the situation. Her eyes took in the slim agent from his shaggy blond hair down to the boots he wore. Everything in between met her approval as she considered how different he was from her sometimes lover; his partner, Napoleon Solo.

"So, Mr. Kuryakin, it seems we have something in common. I apologize for abducting you in this manner, but I am truly not your enemy…for now".

Illya squinted at the woman, his brow furrowed at the statement she made. His head was still spinning from the gas, but he thought he was hearing her correctly.

"What, exactly, do you want with me, Serena?"

Nothing would ever make him feel at ease with these women from Thrush. He wondered, yet again, that his partner could so easily bed them without fear of their real intentions. Perhaps they were all slightly insane, more than dangerously perverse.

"May I call you Illya? You will notice that you are not tied up in any way, and I am not pointing a gun at you. We are, temporarily, on the same side in this situation. I imagine you know to what I refer".

Her expression was guileless, the words intended to disarm the Russian in the presence of such a beautiful adversary. Serena was a beautiful woman, and Illya realized what she said was true; he was not constrained in any way. Not in any way he could see or feel. He imagined, just briefly, what Napoleon would have done in this situation. He instantly decided to not go that route. It wasn't the nature of his relationship with this woman…couldn't be.

"I suppose you are referring to your agent, Anatoly Putkin. Should I assume that you are attempting to stop me from dealing with him?"

What other reason could there be for waking up here, with her? The room was sumptuous, obviously one of the premiere suites here at the Plaza. Silk draperies hung in lavish folds at the windows that held a view of the city. The furnishings were the stuff of American dreams, and Soviet disdain. He knew he was caught somewhere in the middle; not quite Soviet and not nearly American. His world was not so clearly defined as either of those cultures required. This woman clearly demanded the finer things in life.

"Illya, you must understand our position in this …situation".

Her accent was softly punctuated by her Austrian upbringing. Much like him, her travels and various stops in a variety of countries had produced an accent that was not immediately recognizable. There was something elegantly exotic about her, and he began to wonder what it would be like…

"I think you should educate me about the situation. Putkin is KGB, and he works for Thrush. In the case of the former, we have nothing to do with that. About the latter, he has been implicated in the death of someone related to a Soviet defector. That happened in his role as a Thrush operative, and we intend to stop him, or expose him to his government. I have to assume you wish to stop us, or me, in the pursuit of this".

Serena smiled. She rose up from the chair in which she had been seated and walked to the oversized chaise lounge on which Illya was half reclined, still recovering from the effects of the gas. He watched her as she approached, moving only slightly as she sat down beside him, capturing him between her body and the back of the plush cushion. Her ample breasts were within inches of his face; a sudden impulse to take advantage of that not easily squelched as he remembered that it was not his style or choice to consort with the enemy as his partner was inclined to do. Still, just a little closer…

"Illya, you must understand something…from our point of view. This Putkin has been useful to us, on occasion. However, we do not feel that his prolonged employment is necessary to our needs, or our plans. I am going to give you something to aid your efforts to be rid of him completely".

She smiled again, this time bending her face closer to his. His eyes reluctantly withdrew from the vantage point he held, traveling from the generous décolletage of the cool brunette up to her eyes, deep and brown beneath extravagant lashes. He was almost drawn into them completely, almost reached out to her enticement.

Suddenly, he eased himself away from her and sat up a little straighter. She smiled at that, understanding how close he had come to submitting to her seduction. This one was different, evasive. He was unwilling to be caught until he deemed it was time. She respected that; he was more like her than he would ever admit.

"I have a piece of evidence that will shut the door on agent Putkin. His Soviet superiors will need nothing else to convince them of his actions, his involvement with Thrush. However, I need something from you".

That took Illya by surprise. He hadn't considered that there might be a trade off involved. Something for each side.

"What is it, Serena? It is suspicious enough that you are willing to hand this man over to us. If the price is too high, I will find my own evidence. But, I think you know that".

She shrugged slightly, and the slender strap to her dress fell from her shoulder causing a gap in the fit of her bodice. The curve of her breast was now needing little in the way of imagination, and the man next to her was finding himself less inclined to refuse what she seemed to be offering. For a moment he wondered why it was he so resolutely refused to engage in these little affairs. This woman was intoxicating, and he felt himself reaching towards her to straighten the wayward strap, then without thinking his hand slipped beneath the fabric, stroking a firm nipple as she lowered herself into his body and their mouths caught each other's breath.

This was a mistake, and his mind was racing through the various reasons why he shouldn't take her. She was Thrush, she was dangerous…she was Napoleon's. But it was already too far along for him to be concerned about any of that. She was sucking on his tongue, her hand already setting him free from the constraints of his jeans. Pulsing, sucking…she was manipulating him with a finesse that he now welcomed and his body demanded.

He attempted to sit up, to gain the advantage, but she held him down. Somehow, she was managing to unbutton his shirt, remove his jeans and boots…all of it in a whirl of intoxicating motion and images. Without realizing how, he was naked beneath her, the satin fabric of her dress caressing his thighs while her hand worked him into a state of aching, longing… His brain seemed to not know how to stop any of it, and his body wouldn't allow it in any case.

Her dress had slipped from her body and now she plunged one breast and then the other into his open, hungry mouth. Like a bird waiting to be fed, he lay there and begged for more. His hands traversed her thighs, firm and smooth. His fingers found her and teased, the clitoris already firm with anticipation as he played her like the strings of a guitar. Her own gasps of delight only served to make him harder, the strain of desire causing an intensity that he knew would require release, perhaps very soon.

She sensed his urgency and took his hands in hers, placing them on her breasts as she changed positions and mounted him, ready to take control. She found the spot and eased him inside, eliciting a groan from the recently reluctant Russian. All thoughts of retreat were futile. She began to ride him, her forward motion accentuated by the tightening of her sphincter muscles around his penis until he thought his eyeballs might permanently roll back into his head. Roll and tighten, over and over again.

He began to pinch and roll her nipples between his thumbs and fingers, sending spasms of velvety indulgence through her body, her own pleasure now completely joined to his own. At precisely the right moment he rolled her beneath him, caught her legs up and pulled them over his shoulders while he began to thrust with a vehemence that sent her into a series of shudders and cries so intense that he thought he would come immediately in response to it. He didn't. He held on, thrusting and grinding until she thought she couldn't bear it any longer and then, in an explosion of color and sounds, they both came with an intensity that was borne, not only of the moment, but of the denial he had been subject to for so long.

He collapsed on top of her, unable to move. Her breathing was ragged and deep, and the extravagant fullness of her breasts an invitation to his mouth once more. He licked and then gently sucked on each nipple, easing her into a dreamy, satisfied slumber.

As he turned onto his back, his body slicked with perspiration and the evidence of their intercourse, he gave only a cursory thought to what had just transpired. The irony of the situation was not lost on him in this moment. Karina, to whom he sincerely wished to make love, was out of bounds because she was Soviet. Serena, who was an enemy agent, was fair game in the pursuit of a piece of information.

The world was insane. And so, perhaps, was he.