Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. But if those who did gave them scripts like this, certain shows would still be in first run. (On cable, after 10, of course!)

Slash : Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin ( sort of)

Rated: NC-17

Archive: CKoS, File 40 & Ravens Lair (If they want.) All others ask please.

Napoleon Solo could feel his eyes blink as he came gently awake. No light. He had expected that.

He took a deep breath. The air was fresh, not at all what he had come to expect over the course of myriad confinements. Most
cells had a bitter tang. A miasma brewed out of mold and hopelessness. Even the cells called `hotel rooms' where lonely, transient people confined themselves. This atmosphere was... clean.

The darkness was not as unpleasant as he had anticipated. He was comfortable enough, resting on the firm mattress, and not at
all nervous.

Strange. He had expected he would be. Even though he *had* volunteered. Despite the chief agent's public persona he was
*not* indifferent to pain. If anything, long familiarity had just intensified his distaste for ... discomforts. Pleasure was rare enough in this world. Often unachievably scarce. He had long since determined that he would take what good there was, when and where offered. If that made him a libertine in the eyes of some of the more puritanical of the brotherhood - so be it.

Pleasure was what this... adventure ... would bring. Supposedly.

Napoleon took another deep breath, centering himself. He had tried this before. Several times. But at best the results had been - disappointing. Even depressing. Just enough to make him hungry for the `real thing'. But this time? Napoleon grinned to
himself. Something told him this time would  be different.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on sensation. Even so, the first brush of fingers against his bare skin managed to startle
him.

"Illya?" Surprise gave it the tone of a question, although in truth it was not. He would recognize that touch anywhere.

There was no answer - at least not in words -  but the touch grew firmer. Bolder. More *real*. Strong, blunt fingered hands spread wide as they combed through the short curls of his chest. Firm lips pressed hot kisses from shoulder to shoulder. Napoleon pressed back, feeling his own warmth reflected off of the muscled chest at his back.

This was wrong, an unwelcome little voice at the back of his conscience whispered. This was unthinkable. But...he was
thinking it. Feeling it.

And he *did* feel. In this silent nest of darkness the message racing down his nerves was stunningly clear.  He felt the length
of the strong body behind him, a body only a little shorter then his own. Felt toes brushing his ankles as one fresh-shaved cheek brushed against his neck. Felt the light tickle of hair brushing hair as he spread his thighs, urged on by the  soft pressure that
rose ever higher until he could feel hard-muscled legs braced inside his thighs. Swimmers legs. Fencers legs. Illya's legs.

A gentle weight - persuasive more then forceful - followed as he pressed his shoulders deeper into the mattress.

Fingers again, strong and steady, as they followed the path of his spine to delve the most hidden spaces at its base. Thumbs,
massaging and finally opening his back cheeks for the coming conqueror. A shaft, slightly damp and unbelievably hot, brushing
above his balls. The brief, flaring shock as insistent pressure triumphed over resistant muscles. Shock that widened his eyes
to peer blankly into the unbroken blackness.

Closing his eyes again, he surrendered to the sensation. He could hear his breath break into shallow pants as each steady
stroke deepened the flame-hot penetration. Stokes which sent him thrusting back, protesting not the advance but the
withdrawal.  Strokes which quickened at his demand, sparking a hard, driving quest for the hidden spot deep within that could
bring him such unconceived pleasure.

He could feel his own cock, hard and aching, claimed by those powerful fingers. Wrapping and stroking, they lured his singing
nerves to a pleasure near the edge of pain. His lungs caught, spasming with his body,as he sought the place past that pain
that promised explosive release.

Buzzzz, five second warning. His time was up.

Napoleon sat up slowly, careful not to disrupt the tangle of wires and pads that connected him to the long black chamber.

"How was it? Convincing?" The blond man in the white jacket inquired eagerly.

"Yes," Solo fought back a blush. While he had been assured the interior experience was impossible to observe,  something
about the scientist made him uneasy. Perhaps, Napoleon thought, Dr. Bloom's general similarity to *another* man of
Napoleon's acquaintance. He gripped the open side of the now-open metal tube. "I was expecting just ... some sort of
movie, but this..." Words failed as he shook his head to clear the last fuzzy edges of fantasy.

"As I told your superiors, Mr. Solo." Dr. Joseph Bloom held out a hand to help the UNCLE agent to his feet. "Our bio-hypnotic chamber can be used to train agents mentally for situations they are unlikely to encounter in normal operations. Situations that they might tell themselves they would *never* encounter - or at least not survive."

Definitely not survive, Napoleon added mentally as he shrugged into his jacket. Fortunately it was cut long in the current British
fashion. That, plus Dr. Bloom's singular focus on the electronic side of his experiments, should see him safely out of here before the `observable' side effects of the experiment could be discovered.

Dr. Bloom stepped back, moving over to the wall of dials and switches. "Here - guided by electronic induction - agents in
training can confront and solve their most perplexing problems - their most hidden fears - all in the safety of their own minds.

"It *was* impressive", Solo acknowledged, straightening his tie. "I almost couldn't tell it from reality."  Well, he added in his
thoughts, perhaps not *reality*. But the Virtual Reality system would be invaluable to the agency once Bloom and Morgan
worked the bugs out. Until then ?

Napoleon smiled at the scientist, who was already fussing busily with his wall full of spinning tape. "I see a real future for
this program, and I will definitely recommend that Mr. Waverly offer our full resources." Yes, he decided, Waverly could be
convinced to fund this project. And as for himself? He would have to find a way to volunteer more often.