Kuryakin looked at his watch again, only after having checked the time less than five minutes ago. His patience was wearing thin with his partner.
"Napoleon you and your over active libido," he growled. Shifting his position in leather high back chair he was seated in, in the lobby of his hotel; Illya was angry at having to spend the time dozing off there instead sleeping comfortably in his bed.
It was now two in the morning and he so desperately wanted to sleep. Somehow he just knew this was going to happen when he saw his partner zero in on a shapely blonde in the hotel bar.
After a few drinks and some flirty banter, Napoleon and the woman left, but not before he gave Kuryakin the high sign. That signal was a wink and a thumbs up, indicating the American was taking his lady friend for the evening up to the hotel room.
Napoleon had a reputation for being quite the lover so that meant this session would go on for hours, if not longer.
"Come on!" Illya snarled after looking at his watch again.
After successfully completing their task of locating the antidote to yet another THRUSH drug Illya was worn out both physically and mentally. He'd been roughed up by one of the goons at the satrapy, though roughed up was putting it mildly.
The man stood nearly seven feet tall, and tossed the Russian around like a ragdoll during their encounter, smashing Kuryakin against the wall and demolishing wooden crates across his back.
Granted Solo saved the day by sleep darting the Thrushie, using several them on him before the giant came tumbling down, right on top of Illya.
Solo heard his partner's muffled yells for help as he extricated the Russian from the man's dead weight.
That multifaceted rescue did not soften the way Illya felt now as he rose from the chair and headed to the elevator. Taking it to the second floor, he exited to the silent hallway.
He listened at the door before inserting his key, not surprised at all to find Napoleon entwined in mauve bed covers with the girl; though Solo was pointing his gun straight at him.
"Oh it's you," Napoleon quickly tucked the weapon under the pillow. "You forgot to knock."
"Forgive my faux pas but I am tired Napoleon. I want to go to sleep."
His bedmate seemed nonplussed by it all, and waved her hello to the Russian. Napoleon pulled the sheet up about his companion.
"Illya this is Monique, Monique this is my partner Illya."
"Is 'e a spy too?" She giggled.
"Yes I am, though it is Napoleon who prefers undercover work at the moment." That went right over Monique's head.
"Now if you do not mind Mademoiselle Monique, could you please extricate yourself from Napoleon's arms and go back to wherever it is you came from; it is late and I would like to go to sleep."
"Awww ma cher, you tired? Why do you not join us, I will wager I can get you to rise to the occasion.!"
Napoleon's face flushed pink at that remark "No Monique, that's not my friend's style...I guess you better do as he asks."
"Well why can 'e not just go to my room? My friend is gone for the night to some fancy party." She reached to the nightstand, letting the sheet slip to give the Russian a glimpse of what he was missing.
Grabbing her hotel key, she tossed it to him. "Right down the hall Monsieur Illya, dormez bien."
He caught the key in his right hand without blinking an eye.
"Merci Mademoiselle Monique, I will sleep well at last." Illya gave his partner a cautionary look before he left.
Kuryakin disappeared out the door, finding the suite was one down and just across the hall. Unlocking the door, he turned on the lights, holding his gun out in front of himself just in case, ready to fire if need be.
When he deemed it safe, Illya went over to one of the two large beds, both undisturbed and tidy, there he sat down with a heavy sigh.
It only took him a few minutes to strip down and crawl under the covers, leaving his clothing scattered on the floor; he could have cared less about it at the moment.
The only thing he kept with him was his Special, and that he tucked under one of the soft white pillows.
Just as he was dozing off, his eyes opened wide at the sound of a key being inserted into the lock. Illya quickly sat up in bed, his gun in hand and ready to move if he had to.
The light clicked on and there stood a blonde woman is a shimmering gown, a fur stole draped over her shoulder.
She raised a white-gloved hand to her mouth, before she spoke in French.
"Oh, am I in the wrong room?" She seemed rather calm for finding a naked man in what she thought was her bed.
"I apologize Mademoiselle, Monique gave me her key as she and my friend are umm...occupied in my hotel room just two doors down. I am desperately tired and need to sleep."
"Oh you poor dear! Of course you can stay here, and you can put that gun away, I won't bite you! Any friend of Monique's is a friend of mine...say you're kind of cute.
"So I have been told." He was a bit surprised she reacted in the same relaxed manner that Monique had handled Napoleon drawing his gun.
He did as requested, while introducing himself. "You will pardon me if I do not get up. My name is Illya."
"Russian? I just adore Russians. My name Monsieur, is Giselle."
Kuryakin eyes brightened, and he felt a twinge upon hearing that; Giselle happened to be his favorite French names and this woman who bore it was quite alluring.
She saw that look and knew instantly what to do. After all, she was a modern liberated woman, and it was the age of free love.
"Illya...may I join you?" She smiled as she undid the straps to her gown, letting it fall to her feet. Stepping out of it, she climbed into bed as he lifted the covers, inviting her in.
Illya canted his head to the side, bemused.
So much for sleep...