Title: But I Might Be Hoping About This.

Summary: It was no secret the CIA and Sanders made him take point in honeypot missions, and it made perfect sense that Napoleon would do the same now that he was with U.N.C.L.E. - Or, nobody is happy when a honeypot is required in the team's new mission.

Warnings: This fic deals with the issue of honeypot missions, but no actual honeypot mission takes place. Still, there's heavily implied mention of dubious consent related to the same in past missions, none of which is described in detail. Basically, they just talk about it.

Notes: This isn't as dark as the warnings imply, I promise.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Man From U.N.C.L.E. or any of its characters.

...

Napoleon tuned out Waverly as the man continued the mission debriefing and instead turned his attention to the dossier containing all the information on their- his new mark.

He shouldn't be surprised by this development, really. Just because this particular skill of his hadn't been called for in the almost nine months since he joined U.N.C.L.E. (aside from the handful of times Napoleon had freely chosen to use flirting and playful banter as a distraction while he or his partners completed their missions) didn't mean it wasn't just as useful.

It was no secret the CIA and Sanders made him take point in honeypot missions, and it made perfect sense that Napoleon would fulfill the same task now that he was on loan to U.N.C.L.E. He had a hard time picturing Peril seducing someone unless they were partial to the gruff and silent type- which was not an impossibility, but still. It was easier to use someone who could read people and had no problem adapting to his mark's tastes.

At least the mark wasn't totally hideous or ancient, so it shouldn't be too much of a hardship, Napoleon thought as he gave the photo attached a critical look.

"Mr. Solo?"

Napoleon raised his eyes to find not only Waverly, but Illya and Gaby looking at him. It seemed he had gotten lost in thought for a little too long. He hoped he hadn't missed anything too important.

He found it easier to meet Waverly's solemn gaze, so he did. "Yes?"

"We're eagerly awaiting to hear your thoughts about this new mission, Solo."

He closed the file he had been perusing and lifted a shoulder in a smooth shrug. "It should be simple enough."

"That is not quite what I was referring to," Waverly pointed out, his sharp eyes never leaving Napoleon's face. "Your CIA file states you have no problem with this particular type of mission, Solo, but I would like to know if that is accurate."

Napoleon almost blinked in surprise at the question, but years of carefully learned self-control kept his expression neutral. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he said there was a problem. If he told Waverly 'no'. So far, the man had proven to be different from Sanders and the few other CIA handles he had to deal with in the past, but he knew better than to expect too much. Waverly may be a mostly decent person, but he was still in the game, and anyone who stayed in the game for as long as he had had to know how to play it.

This was also the first time Waverly asked something like that. He always gave them a mission and roles to play, but he usually offered them some leeway to accomplish their goals. That was more than he could say about the CIA, of course, even if they almost always agree to go along with his plans in the end. With a few modifications, of course, because they never missed an opportunity to remind him who was in charge.

He ignored the heavy weight of his partners' gazes. "No problem at all."

"Very well," Waverly replied after a moment, hands clasped together atop the desk as he met his gaze. "I realize it is a different approach, but if you have no objections, I believe this is the best way to handle this particular affair with the speed and finesse it requires."

"Of course."

Waverly gave a short nod before turning to include Gaby and Illya in what he was about to say next. "Gents, Miss Teller, I don't believe I need to emphasize it is of the utmost importance to have this matter solved as soon and as discretely as possible. You will be departing briefly, so I suggest you get ready."

Illya was the first out of the conference room the moment they were dismissed, leaving without a word or even a glance at his partners. Waverly gave them a curious look over the rim of his glasses, but he left the room without another word. The Russian was known to have outbursts from time to time, even if they weren't as frequent. Napoleon and Gaby shared a look as soon as Waverly left.

"You will deal with him, yes?" Gaby asked. She didn't give him time to respond before continuing as she walked toward the door. "I need to pack."

Napoleon remained on his seat, looking at the empty chair to his right. He allowed himself only a couple of seconds more before squaring his shoulders, picking the file from the table, and leaving the room with steady and even strides.

The flight to Montreux was uneventful- except for the fact Illya looked out the window the whole time and said no more than two words to his partners.

Napoleon was already dreading this mission, and not exactly due to any outside interference.

Aside from a pointed look early in the flight, Gaby acted like nothing was wrong. She took the empty seat in the middle and they chatted for a bit about things that could be overheard by civilians. Or at least Gaby did. Napoleon mostly listened and made the appropriate noises here and there as he risked a few looks in Illya's direction, attempting without success to catch his gaze.

That was probably for the best. This wasn't a conversation they could have here anyway.

Gaby gave up before too long, and after a couple of drinks pulled out a book from her bag. Her attempt to read lasted all of five minutes before she dozed off, head resting on Napoleon's shoulder and dark bangs covering her face.

Napoleon tried and failed to relax, but he forced himself to remain still for the rest of the flight.

The hotel they would be staying in for the duration of the mission was nothing fancy but it still acceptable, unlike the old and tiny thing they had to endure in Argentina. Illya and Gaby would be posing as a couple one more time and sharing a room on the third floor while Napoleon's room was two floors up. To avoid any suspicion, Illya and Gaby checked in as soon as they landed, and Napoleon and his single suitcase took a little detour to enjoy the sights and the local delicatessen.

With a full stomach and in need of a shower to wash away the sweat and grime of the city, he took a moment to put away his equipment and clothes. He was just about to finish when there was a knock on the door. Napoleon frowned but didn't even bother to wonder how they knew he was already here.

Gaby stood on the other side when he opened the door, brown hair slightly disheveled and an exasperated expression on her face.

"You need to talk to Illya."

Napoleon's smile dimmed slightly. "Right."

"Now," Gaby stated, leaving no room for arguments. She pushed him aside so she could enter his room and then pushed him out- She then closed the door on his face before he even opened his mouth to protest, all while muttering in German about stubborn fools.

He stared at the closed door for a second before begrudgingly accepting she was right. Of course she was, he thought with an eye roll. He and Illya needed to deal with this before the mission truly started. The last thing they needed was to be distracted by personal matters when Waverly had emphasized just hours before how important it was to solve this.

With one last look at the closed door, Napoleon walked toward the stairs.

The door to Gaby and Illya's room was an exact replica of his own, as was the ugly carpet on the corridor leading to it. He raised his hand to knock, and instead found his fingers wrapping around the doorknob and turning it. He would have teased Peril for leaving the door unlocked if he didn't know that was all Gaby.

He found Illya on the far end of the room, his back to Napoleon as he stared out the window with arms crossed and probably one of his famous scowls on his face. The Russian knew he was there, of course. He probably knew before Napoleon even opened the door, and yet, he didn't acknowledge his presence in any way. Not even to tell him to get out.

Of course Peril wasn't going to make this simple. Why would he?

Napoleon entered on silent feet, his eyes making a quick sweep of the room. He would have given almost anything for a drink or five, but the rooms were sadly lacking in that regard. Something Waverly definitely should have considered before putting them here. Or maybe he had.

No wonder Gaby was in a bad mood.

Well. Needs must, as the Brit was ever so fond of saying.

"Nice view, huh?"

There was no response. Napoleon hadn't truly expected one, of course, but still. Even a grunt would have been welcome. Hell, even a change in Illya's breathing pattern would have been good. He resisted the urge to sigh as he stared at the unmovable Russian wall before him. A moment later, Napoleon walked to the armchair a few feet away from Illya and sat down with a sigh.

"What's wrong, Peril?" Only silence followed the question, but there was at least a twitch on Illya's shoulder. Napoleon assumed he wouldn't get a verbal response, so he was taken by surprise when Illya spoke.

"Waverly should not have asked that of you."

So, it was about that, then. Napoleon resisted the urge to sigh again as he leaned back on the armchair. "It's all part of the job, Peril."

Illya turned around, and yep, there was the scowl to go along with the crossed arms. "It is not right."

"Maybe not, but it is what it is," Napoleon replied with an easy shrug. "This isn't the first time I'm ordered to do this, Peril, you know that. In fact, that was the part I played during our first mission together."

There was no response from the Russian, but the frown turned even deeper as he glared at him. Well, better to get this over with.

"Why does it bother you so much now? Is it that you don't like the idea I may have to have sex with someone else now that we've slept together, or is it that now you actually care if I'm being forced to do something against my will?"

This thing between them was new- too new, and far from being defined, but it was more than casual or convenient. Or at least Napoleon hoped it was. That was yet another conversation they probably needed to have at some point.

Illya watched him with sharp blue eyes. "Are you not forced?"

"It's complicated."

"I do not understand," Illya bit out, forever annoyed and frustrated by his own inability to understand anything and everything that happened around him.

Napoleon's usual response to that was a smirk, but with the topic they were discussing his expression remained neutral. He exhaled softly before speaking. "I hate that Sanders, Waverly, or whoever the hell holds my leash at the time has the power to order me to go seduce whoever they need to be seduced, but the act itself is not something I entirely dislike."

Illya's expression turned even darker, his trembling hands curling into fists at his sides.

"I- it's complicated," Napoleon repeated as he searched for the right way to explain something he had never needed to put into words. "I guess a part of me likes the fact I can get whatever I need using nothing but my charm and good looks, and the challenge of doing it. Sometimes it goes better than others- can be a little fun, even, and sometimes I just have to power through."

Napoleon had long ago lost count of the number of times he had forced himself to 'power through' to complete a mission, but he had learned to drown any pesky feelings with booze and even more sex- but with someone of his choosing for a change. It was a complicated mess, and one he wasn't too keen on discussing at length.

He forced himself to meet Illya's eyes. "Are you okay with that, Peril?"

"I do not know," Illya admitted softly, averting his eyes to look at the wall behind Napoleon. "This is- it is not what I expected."

"It's pretty messed up, isn't it?" Napoleon asked with a self-deprecating smile. "That I can enjoy any of it. But, to be fair, the reason the CIA assigned those missions to me was that they knew I was good at it."

"How?"

"The task force they put together to catch me had a long time to learn things about me, and one of these things was the fact I never had trouble getting company wherever I went." Napoleon offered him a shameless grin. "It was always good to have someone to celebrate, or find someone to release some steam before pulling a job. And, of course, there were also a few times when I seduced someone to get close to something I wanted.

"It didn't take them long to decide to use that particular skill of mine for their own gain."

The weight of Illya's sharp gaze was already a familiar one, but it still left Napoleon wishing or a drink one more time. Perhaps he should have stopped by the hotel bar before coming here. Maybe even bring a bottle along.

"That does not mean it is right for Waverly or CIA to order you to do that."

Somehow, telling Illya that whatever the CIA ordered him to do in the last ten years was almost certainly better than prison (especially with all the enemies he had made within the justice system and out of it) didn't seem like the right thing to do. Instead, Napoleon focused on the only positive aspect he could find at the moment.

"Well, at least this is the first time this has come up since we started working for U.N.C.L.E." Illya didn't seem particularly impressed with that little fact. Napoleon held back an eye roll. "You know, we've had more than a few missions that could have been completed faster and easier if I had seduced some people along the way. But Waverly didn't order me to do it, and I didn't even suggest it because I knew there were other ways we could handle things, and we did."

Illya was listening, so Napoleon decided to go all in.

"This is a resource, Peril, and just like every resource we have, it must be used when it is necessary to complete a mission. And when it's not, we can just forget about it and do our jobs the way we always do."

"Mission must come first," Illya said with a solemn nod of his head.

The Russian's words and tone made Napoleon feel unease, but for once he found himself at a loss for words. What could he even say?

"I do not like it," Illya declared once again after a moment of silence. "I understand, but I do not like it." He paused. "But if you are fine with this, I will be too."

'Being fine with it' was a bit of an overstatement, but Napoleon didn't bother to correct him. He understood what Illya meant and appreciated it, so there was no reason to dwell on that. He offered him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "That's good, Peril, and I promise to do my very best to finish this mission as soon as possible."

"You should not think like that, Cowboy," Illya chided, brows furrowed slightly. "You must focus on being safe, not fast."

A smile tugged at the corner of Napoleon's lips. "I can do both, you know. I'm one of the best, after all."

"Da. Except when you forget to deactivate alarm."

Napoleon tried to summon the annoyance that usually came up whenever Illya reminded him of what had not been one of his finest moments, but it didn't come. He was too relieved to see Illya willing to try to leave the issue aside even if it was far from being forgotten or solved.

"Whatever," he dismissed with a tiny shake of his head. "I need a drink. Why don't you go get Gaby while I go find us something to partake of? Perhaps a nice bottle of scotch or some wine."

It made more sense for Napoleon to go back to his room instead of sending Illya there, but he needed a minute or two alone before they had to get to work, and Illya thankfully went along with that.

They moved together, and once they were at the door Napoleon stopped Illya with a hand on his wrist just before the Russian fully opened it. There was nothing but silence as their eyes met for a brief moment before he stood on his tiptoes to plant a quick kiss at the corner of Peril's lips.

"Cowboy," Illya warned, but he didn't pull away.

"See you in a bit, Peril," Napoleon murmured against the other man's skin. He gave Illya's wrist a quick squeeze before sliding out of the door, sending him a wink over his shoulder before walking away.

Napoleon waited until he was out of sight before letting his shoulders drop and his smile slip away. Okay. That hadn't gone as bad as he had feared. Far from it. There were no broken bones or broken furniture and no name-calling, so that was definitely a win in Napoleon's book.

He knew this was an issue that was bound to come up again sooner rather than later -the mission hadn't even started, after all- but the way this first confrontation had gone gave him hope.

Maybe they were going to be alright after all.

...

A/N: So, I was inspired to expand this little idea I started a long time ago into this fic. I know this still feels a bit rough, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Also, since I still have a few other unfinished stories in my drafts I've worked on a bit here and there, I decided to turn this into an one-shot collection. I don't know when I will be posting something else, so be sure keep an eye on this if you're interested.

Title from the song From Eden by Hozier because I had no idea what to call this. It may change.

This is unbetaed and I'm not a native speaker, so please feel free to point out any mistake you may find.