Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my story. And I'm only writing it because people *insisted*. People like Illya
and Napoleon, for instance.

Slash: Napoleon Solo /Illya Kuryakin ( Modern time,  non-Yesterday continuity. Possible continuity for Old Man Vanya.)

Rated: NC-17 ( but mild)

Archive: Same as Chapter One (If they want.)

Desire won. With a quiet gasp Illya Kuryakin flung himself into  his partners arms.

Napoleon Solo caught him, and for the next several minutes  there was no sound but the whisper of uniform twill rubbing
against parka nylon, and the occasional soft gasp as one man  or the other had to surface for air.

"You have time?" Illya murmured between kisses.

"Enough." Napoleon answered, his words muffled by  silver-blond hair as his lips burrowed deeper into the space
behind Illya's ear.

"Good." Illya pulled his partner towards the tent's sole bed, and  iron-framed military cot  half- buried under extra blankets. Hardly  what they were used to, he acknowledged, smiling slightly at the  happier memories. But no matter. They had also shared worse.  And if it was narrow? They way they fit, two bodies would take up  little more space then one.

Napoleon ripped of down the zipper on his parka and tossed the  heavy garment over the nearby chair. It was cold, he conceded,  even with the propane heater hissing almost imperceptibly in the  corner. No matter. Two bodies were always warmer then one.  And for the special warmth he sought? Any clothing at all would  make life very cold indeed.

There were more kisses as they sat on the bed, saving comfort  for the break that must come when Napoleon would have to
move away slightly to unlace his boots. A  harsh deprivation, Illya  decided, but one that could be endured, Especially when it was  so brief, and the reward of  having those warm toes again brush  against his so great. He used the empty moment to shed his  own layers and burrow into the waiting blankets.

Napoleon followed quickly, shivering a bit as he slid under the  sheet Illya held so invitingly open. The mountains of Nizhniy
Pyandzh were cold in October. Cold and gray. Not a problem.  Just Illya's blue eyes could make the Arctic tundra seem like
spring. Illya warm and naked against him? Illya rolling above  him? Illya snuggling into him like the dream of every teddy bear
every child ever imagined? That made it not merely spring, but  paradise.

Illya ran his hands greedily over the wide chest below him. Steel  under silk. And lower? Steen under velvet. Years at a desk hadn't  softened Napoleon Solo - in any sense.

He scooted up the chest, one hand fumbling for the shaving kit at  the night stand. He had not packed for this , but surely...

Napoleon stopped the movement with a firm hug around Illya's  waist.

"I've got it", he murmured, reaching over and picking a familiar  tube from the pocket of his discarded shirt.

Oh. Of course, Illya thought. Napoleon would have known he was  coming here - even if he *did* chose to keep that knowledge  from his far-to -trusting partner. The partner Napoleon should  have *believed* when told said partner was in Moscow. They  would have to have to discuss that matter of trust later. Illya  moaned a bit as knowing fingers traced their way down his  spine. Make that much later.

Another wide-fingered hand reached for his cock. Circled it.  Stroked it. Illya shuddered.

Napoleon pulled his partner down, claiming those surprisingly  soft lips, swallowing his pants of pleasure inside the warm
cavern of that sweet mouth. Their tongues dueled, taunting in  imitation of the true bliss still to be enacted.

Illya spread his legs, pulling his knees up to grip the wide sides  of his lovers chest. Strong fingers entered him, opened him,
There was a brief sting as the muscle resisted, the yielded  under Illya's determined command. He was tight, he knew. Too  long away from familiar pleasures. In other times they might take  hours to came back to his point. To play. To tease. To entice   every nerve until only pleasure remained. Other times, Illya  decided, pressing himself firmly against the stiffened flesh so  temptingly raised below him. Other times they could play. He  was hungry *now*.

Gathering the blankets tighter around them, Illya sat up and  reached back to claim his partners cock. Hot and slippery
already, its own fluid already weeping in anticipation. Illya added  more from the little tube, smiling as every stoke drew a wave of  pleasure from the heated body below him. A pleasure which in  turn transferred back to it's giver as Napoleon's fingers tightened  responsively around Illya's shaft. Later, Illya decided, he would  reacquaint himself with those responses in detail. For now? Illya  positioned himself and eased down.

There was a flare of fire as the wide head of Napoleon's cock  was pressed past the protective ring. More shock then true pain.  Shock forgotten quickly in the warm rush of filling flesh entering  his tight passage and the thrilling knowledge that Napoleon's  sudden gasp was caused by that mutual heat.

Napoleon thrust up, lost in bliss. This was what he needed, what  had driven him across half a planet to reclaim. This pleasure of  flesh that went beyond the flesh. This union of  more-then-bodies. He rolled his hands around his partners
cock, savoring the little quivers he could feel in unison with his  own joys, both brought by the heated encirclement of his own
cock by the tight ass that had so confidently claimed it.

Illya set a quick, confident rhythm that - combined with the  frustrations of a months unfamiliar celibacy - brought them both
to a quick, hard climax. He felt his partner splash within him even  as his own seed gushed over the clever fingers that milked him.  Stunned by the twin pleasures he collapsed forward into  the  warmth of strong arms.

*brrrrring*

Illya looked automatically towards the desk.

"Mine," Napoleon sighed, holding Illya in place with one hand as  he reached down and unfolded his cell phone with the other.

"Solo." he snapped. "Yes..... Understood" he pulled Illya tighter  over him, and the blankets tighter over Illya. "Who holds the
road?.....How far?...... If that's the best you can do, but I was  promised air." Napoleon eased his other hand out from the bedding and checked his watch. "I'll be on site by dawn..... No,  tell him to wait. We don't move without that report..... Later."
Giving a last glare at the speaker, the American flipped the  phone shut.

"Do not tell me," Illya growled, elbows braced on either side of  his lover's  chest, "that you are going inland with the operations."

Napoleon gave Illya his most innocent look. "Is that don't *tell*  you, or don't..."

"Napoleon Anthony Solo!" the growl grew deeper.

"Pax!" The American agent held up his hands in mock surrender.  "Homeland Security. They seconded me to Kazakhstan,
overseeing the relief operations.  Napoleon rolled onto his side  and eased back, making a space for Illya to rest beside him. I  am going to be safe and snug in Almaty. Which, while it is not as  palatial as your very impressive office in Moscow, Mr.
Just-An-Advisor...."

Illya cut him off. "You were at my office?"

The innocent look morphed into something more like a smirk.  "How do you think I discovered that you *weren't*, oh
Fashion-Designer-to-the-Stars?"

"Ivan confessed?"

"Not even under torture. Which I *did* consider." Napoleon pulled  the blond Russian closer and kissed his forehead. "He didn't tell  me directly. So you don't have to drum him out of the Old Spies  Network. But when I walked into your office, and there was Illya's  secretary and Illya's briefcase and Illya's coat - but no  Illya?" He  chuckled slightly - more felt then heard. "Well, I've know you a  very long time, my my dear Completely-Retired-Admiral."

Illya briefly considered pointing out that - as an Admiral - he  *was* completely retired. And that it was not *his* fault if so many  of their mutual acquaintances failed to ask about any *other*  careers he might have had.  And that in any case Mr. Software-  Venture -Capitalist Solo was in no position to point out the little  white lies of others. Or the red ones. Whatever. He considered it,  but decided that in this case it would only allow his  far-to-clever-spoken partner to wiggle out of the more important  discussion.

"If you know me, "Illya said, "Then you know I would not be here if  it were not necessary." He allowed himself to rest a bit closer,  drawing strength from his lovers warmth. "Between tribal  stupidity and  cupidity and just plain ignorance, the intel I was  receiving was more of a fairy tale then" - Illya searched for an apt  analogy - "your expense accounts."

"I know the problem." Napoleon pulled Illya closer. "That was my  own ignorant idiot on the phone. But that doesn't mean I'm not  upset at finding you this far forward."

"I am CCDI," Illya answered. "I have a need to be here. But you,  Mr. Care-America - Relief -Worker, you have not explained what  *you* are here for."

"Maybe some relief?" Napoleon tried again for innocent, but  slipped into snickers under Illya's blatantly  unconvinced gaze.
"Christ, Illya." He hugged his partner tighter. "I am getting to  damn old to go without you."

"So you volunteered to go into a war zone?"

"Not just for you," Napoleon leaned back, uncertain. "Although  you *would* be worth it. But I look at the camps and the refugee  towns, and...Christ., Illya. I just don't *understand*! Those are  their *own* people. Children. How the *hell* can those  bastards...." He shuddered a bit. "And all we can to is *drop*  crap, like damn pellets in a fish tank."

"Hush." Illya reached up to stroke the few lines of silver in the  still-dark hair." You are shocked because you have never lived
with war."

"I was.." Napoleon began.

"In Korea," Illya finished. "I know that. But that was a strange  place. Not your home. Not often any ones home, that deep
infield. And you were a soldier."

"That makes it better?

"That makes it easier. A soldier can *win*, Napasha. All a civilian  can do is pray to survive." Illya pulled his over closer. "Do what  you must do. Without guilt, Napasha. Because there is a  difference." Illya took his beloved's face in both hands. " Trust me   on this. When I was a child? The German's dropped many things on our village, Napoleon, but... none of them were food."

*buuuuzzzz*

A shrill noise cut through the moment.

"That would be mine, Napasha." Illya held out his hand and  Napoleon passed him the gray military radio.

"Yes?" Illya cupped his palm over the speaker, muffling the  words  "I'll ask...Honored, of course... Twenty minutes....Thank
you."

"That was General Palikian, the area commander." Illya  explained, handing the radio back to Napoleon, who in turn
placed it back on the side table. " We are invited to dinner as  soon as I am finished with your briefing. I told him you were..."

"Honored, of course. That much I got." Napoleon raised his head  for one last kiss before allowing the blond man to slide from the  bed. "But only twenty minutes?" Napoleon tossed Illya a blanket  to dress under, the wrapped another around his own shoulders.  "I had hoped you would spend more time in my briefs then  *that*."

Illya shrugged into his gray thermal undershirt. "You will need  him if you want a decent supply line into Kandoz and Feyzabad."

"Any chance of a decent supper?" Napoleon snagged his own  long underwear, and - with a few extra bumps - wiggled into
them under the covers.

"Of course not." Illya handed Napoleon his thermal top. "This is  the Russian Army. Vodka and potatoes, is that not what you
always said? "He pulled on his long johns, then heavy field  pants. "Although for an important visitor we might managed a
few stale cabbages."

"Very funny."Napoleon slipped into his trousers, then bent down  to lace up his hunters boots. Which regretfully did take his eyes   away from Illya - at least for a moment - but the room was cold.  He cane back up to see Illya pulling on his own boots. "I have to  be in Termiz by dawn, but I'll try to make it back as...

"Don't."

The word hung in the air.

"Illya?"

Illya hurried over and kissed his suddenly- uncertain lover. "It is  not that I do not long for you." he explained quickly, reinforcing   his opinion with additional kisses. "The roads are to dangerous,  and" Illya let his hands roam again over that broad back he had  so missed. "Relief workers do not have the same guards as spy  masters." With a last hard kiss he stepped back. "I go down to  Dushanbe at least once a week for the better satellite data. I can  shift that to Almaty. Or we could meet in Tashkent." Illya pulled on  his military jacket, buttoning it to the collar. "Now ."He handed  over Napoleon's shirt and heavy sweater. "Dress. This is a very  conservative Islamic country, and beautiful bodies are not  supposed to be on display."

"I think that's only women." Napoleon quipped, obeying."And  maybe sometimes little boys."

"I was not raised a sexist." Illya finished dressing, and went back  for one more last kiss. "And you get more handsome with every year."

*brrrrring*

"Yours."

"Mine."

The words covered each other as Illya handed Napoleon back  his cell phone.

"Yes?... Navy has a intel source in Nizhniy Pyandzh?...From the  Russians?....Kuryakin?" Illya covered a chuckle as Napoleon
pronounced the name back with meticulous care. "

Yes, I'll remember the name." Napoleon swallowed hard, clearly  covering a laugh, but his voice was steady.

"Goes inland regularly, does he?... Really? Three rebel  commanders?.... Very interesting." The faint chuckle vanished,
and Napoleon very carefully did *not* look at the man standing  beside him. "I will be *certain* to have a word with him. Tell Mike  thanks, and that dinner is on me... and tell Ivan that I will  *absolutely* look him up next time I'm in Moscow."

Napoleon looked over at Illya, who was working hard at keeping  his expression totally blank.

"Well?" Napoleon slipped the phone back in his pocket. "Since  all we're going to do here is answer calls?" He held open the
tent flap as Illya stepped through. "Lets go eat."

The End.