Act Four: All's Well That Ends?

Desiring privacy so they could continue their interrupted conversation, Napoleon hired a private jet to take them back to New
York. Ilya, who'd been in a fog since Napoleon had declared himself, took his seat. He'd tried to reason further with his partner, but hadn't succeeded. The man acted as if he was actually looking forward to committing professional suicide.

Once they'd taken off, Napoleon got himself and his partner a drink. "Talk to me, Ilyusha."

"Napoleon, this can't work. What will people say?"

"Congratulations?"

"Napoleon, please try to concentrate for a minute. What you're proposing is nothing short of impossible."

"Now, why didn't *I* think of that?"

"What?"

"Proposing." Napoleon smiled as Ilya threw up his hands in frustration.

"I'm trying to keep you from ruining your life and you're making jokes."

"You're right. I'm sorry." Napoleon sobered himself. "Listen, I'm grateful that you are putting my interests before your own. Anything else on your part would be positively un-Ilya. But there comes a time in your life when you finally realize what's truly important. All jokes aside, I have been thinking about this. I love you too much, and I'm way too selfish to let you run off without me. I've only been in love once before in my life and I lost him. I don't ever want to have to go through that again."

"I'm not immortal, Napoleon. People die. You'd have to deal with it eventually."

"Probably not. I'm older than you are. I'll probably go first. But that's not what I'm talking about. He didn't want to acknowledge our relationship and his family convinced him to give me up, not that they knew who I was. He's still alive, married, and I hope, fat and miserable. The fact that you could die is not new to me. You can't know the number of times I've sat by your hospital bed, terrified that our enemies may have succeeded in taking you from me. I don't know how I managed to keep my feelings hidden, but I did. I regret that." Napoleon sighed and finished his scotch.

"I was afraid, Ilyusha. Afraid that you couldn't love me. That I'd frighten you into going away. Having you for a partner has been the absolute best and I didn't want to mess that up. Your disgust I could live with. Your pity, I could live with. It's *you* I can't live without. Whatever happens in New York, I'm certain of one thing. It won't matter to me nearly as much as you do. I'd hoped you would feel the same. Do you?" Napoleon braced himself for more of Ilya's logical arguments against their becoming partners in the fullest sense of that word.

"Yes. Yes, I do." Ilya said softly and sighed. "God help me, but the idea of living the rest of my life without being able to be with you is..."

Napoleon reached over and touched Ilya's face. "... all I needed to know. Trust me, things will work out for us."

"You think so?" Ilya had no such hopes.

"I'm certain of it." Napoleon leaned over and kissed him.

When the plane landed, they were met by a car and driver bearing the correct identification and providing the correct passwords. Alexander Waverly was taking no chances. When they reached their destination, for once, Del Florio's dry cleaning establishment actually had a real life customer. The "proprietor" smiled broadly as Napoleon and Ilya entered. "Ahh, gentlemen. The alterations have been made on your wedding tuxedoes." He gestured them into the changing rooms. "Try them on and as soon as I finish here, I'll see how they fit."

Pulling the hook on the wall which triggered the secret door into UNCLE headquarters, Napoleon grinned. "Wedding tuxedoes" it was an omen. It didn't take them long to negotiate the various security check points. One of Napoleon's former "dates" greeted them as they headed to the elevator. "Welcome back, Napoleon." She nodded to Ilya. "Is there any chance we could get together this weekend?"

"I'll have to get back to you on that, Lydia. Uncle Alex may wind up sending us to Timbuktu. Can I call you?"

"Anytime."

When they got onto the elevator, Napoleon quickly explained what had just happened. "Don't go gloomy on me, partner." He'd seen Ilya's sorrowful glance. "Lydia's carrying a serious, as yet unrequited, torch... well actually more of a flame-thrower, for Miss Dancer. We provide cover for each other. I'll give you the details later."

The corridor leading to the office used by Number One, Section One looked like a dead-end. There was nothing in it to provide cover for anything or anyone. The plain walls held a number of sophisticated death-dealing devices which could be activated from a number of remote locations. The end wall slid open and they went in.

"That was quick, gentlemen. You are to be congratulated on your efficiency. "How are you feeling, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Fine, sir."

"Excellent. It seems your latest exploit has engendered some very interesting repercussions.", Alexander Waverly scrutinized his second-best agent from beneath his eyebrows. Ilya's poker face was in place. There was nothing to be observed but an expression of bland interest. We were monitoring communications for that sector and it seems THRUSH is convinced that you two are rather more than working partners, if you take my meaning."

"And?" Napoleon drawled from his perch on the conference table.

"Is it true?"

They glanced at each other. "Yes, sir. Yes it is." Ilya replied almost immediately. He might as well get this over with.

"Thank God for that." Mr. Waverly fished around for his pipe and tobacco.

"Sir?" For the second time, no the third, Ilya was flummoxed by an unforseen reaction to his sexuality.

"Well, if it wasn't true we'd have had no end of trouble trying to convince you to behave as if it were. Gentlemen, several scenarios suggest themselves as ways in which to play along with our avian friends while obtaining valuable information from them." Alexander Waverly began. Napoleon grinned at Ilya, who'd turned the color of borscht.

"Fortunately the installation and Mr. Kuryakin's interrogators were destroyed before any actual proof of this 'rumor', shall we say... was obtained. For the time being, it will become known that I don't believe this canard. You however, will act suitably relieved and continue in your... ahhm... Well, you'll continue until our enemies aquire the proof they need. THRUSH will then make contact, threaten you with exposure and begin issuing requests for information which will give us all manner of valuable insights into the gaps in their intelligence gathering. Needless to say, the answers you give will not provide them with any useful data." Mr. Waverly smiled to himself. The stunned look on Kuryakin's face was priceless.

After a while, we'll leak the information that we knew all along and that your "proof" was staged. Any further accusations on their part will be taken as sour grapes and you two can continue as before, albeit more discreetly. Any questions?"

"No, sir." Napoleon grinned. With any luck, they could supply some "proof" tonight.

"By the way, gentlemen... I can assume that your families know about this?"

Both men nodded, and it was Napoleon's turn to look surprised.

"Good. I'd hate for THRUSH to have actual ammunition they could use against you. I want your reports from East Germany on my desk the day after tomorrow.", Alex Waverly winked while maintaining an otherwise sober expression. "Good day, gentlemen."

Napoleon poured himself a generous shot of Chivas Regal and plopped down on the couch next to Ilya. The Russian's glass of vodka remained untasted.

"Waverly already knew about you." Ilya was still trying to come to grips with the events of the past three days.

"Yep.", Napleon removed his tie and took a sip of the amber liquid. "I think you may have been responsible for him winning a
wager with the 'Grim Reaper' in Weapons.* With my track record, he figured sooner or later you'd succumb to my considerable charm."

"So all of your lady friends date other women?" Ilya ignored Napoleon's obvious joke about a wager; little realizing that it was
true.

"Uh-huh." Napoleon's shoes sailed into a corner. Sighing, he put his feet on the coffee table. "How long have your parents been in the know? I'll admit that surprised me."

"Since I was eighteen." Ilya was finally beginning to believe in miracles.

"What happened to him?"

"What makes you think something happened to him?"

"Ilya, you are the epitome of chivalric honor. You'd still be with the guy unless something happened to him."

"He was arrested because of me. My family thought it best not to inquire too closely at the time. Later, I found out he died in one of the camps."

"I'm sorry." Napoleon set down his glass and took Ilya into his arms.

"Apart from everything else, that's why I didn't want you to know about my feelings. People who love me have a way of dying." Ilya said softly remembering his parents and Fyodor. God only knew what happened to Sergei and Vaska.

"Your parents are still alive..." Napoleon pointed out.

"They're not my real parents. They fostered me. My parents were shot when I was a boy."

"That wasn't in your file."

"I know. Mr. Waverly decided to omit my earliest history. It was safer that way."

"But you told him about it."

"Yes. I had to. You were right, I have bent the rules. Three men murdered my father and mother. I managed to destroy one. One died of cancer, and you killed the third.

"When?"

"When you rescued me. Cyril Markevitch, formerly a Colonel in the OGPU. Thank you Napoleon."

"Good Lord. Were you ever going to tell me any of this?"

"Not unless I didn't have any other option. I don't like being pitied."

"I forgot. You're a rock." Napoleon smiled and rubbed his chin against the soft hair of his lover.

"No. I'm a coward and a fraud. I should have gone into exile with my first lover. *He* would have gone with me. Instead, I listened to my foster-parents, finished my studies and left Russia. He probably died hating me." Ilya's voice roughened.

"You don't know that Ilya. I find it very hard to believe anyone who knows you ever hating you. Just between you me and any birds who may be listening, you're supremely adorable. Besides, if you'd gone into a camp you would have died too. It would have been suicide."

"I survived for two years in the gulag when I was a child. I would have been able to look out for him, like Vaska protected Sergei." Ilya said very softly.

"Who?"

Ilya told his story. From the safety of Napoleon's arms, the memories didn't cut as sharply this time. He never saw the look on Napoleon's face as he listened to the quiet tale of horror. Napoleon reached for his drink and used the movement to wipe his eyes and face. Considering what Ilya had endured, the nicknames given to his partner were not only cruel, they were sadistic. He tightened his grip on the golden treasure in his arms and coughed to clear his voice.

"Ilyusha... Don't ever let me hear you call yourself a coward again. That you managed to survive was one chance in quadrillion. That you managed to remain human and loving is nothing short of a miracle. I don't deserve you. Dear God, when I think of the time I wasted... Can you forgive me?"

"For what, Polya?"

"For not seeing earlier that your poor heart was suffering. For all my stupid wise-cracks about gloomy Russians. It's a wonder you can smile at all."

"If I do, it's because of you." Ilya said simply. That did it. Napoleon cried openly for the first time since his former lover told
him he was going back to his family.

"Now who's being gloomy?" Ilya sat up and smiled at his distraught friend. "Mr. Waverly will be most disappointed if we don't get to work right away."

"What?" Napoleon rubbed his face with his sleeve.

"Providing proof." Ilya stood and held out his hand. "Come on, Polya. We need a bath and something to eat and then...", he startled Napoleon by winking.

"Last man in, has to clean the tub." Napoleon chuckled as his partner pulled him to his feet.

"I was thinking we could skip that step if we showered."

"Thank God, for your intelligence." Napoleon grinned. They raced to the bathroom, shedding clothes as they went.

Napoleon appreciated the benefits provided by hot water to aching muscles. His shower boasted five jets, each with its own temperature controls. Steam soon filled the bathroom. Napoleon removed the last of Ilya's clothing and gazed admiringly. Apart from the birthmark on his rib cage, he was perfect. Flushed with arousal, his skin glowed. Napoleon gently took him into his arms, sighing as he caressed the velvety softness that encased hard muscle.

"Napoleon. I won't break."

Napoleon smiled and continued with his gentle massage. Ilya had other ideas. He covered Napoleon's mouth with his own, his tongue probing every surface. He thought he just might develop a taste for scotch after all. Their lips locked together, they got under the streaming water. Ilya sank to his knees, letting his tongue blaze a trail from his partner's collar bones, making a short detour to tease his left nipple, before continuing on its sensual journey.

When Napoleon felt the soft nibbling at the rim of his navel, he threw his head back, then forward again. The sight of Ilya's scarlet lips and flushed cheeks was breathtaking. The first touch of those lips on his cock almost sent Napoleon into cardiac arrest. In the water, Ilya's fair hair darkened, his lowered lashes formed two crescents on his high cheek bones. Ilya wasted no time, he swiftly took Napoleon into his mouth. His tongue laved and caressed the throbbing organ.

Napoleon reached forward clutching Ilya's shoulders. If he hadn't, it would have been doubtful if he could have remained standing. Ilya's marvellous hands were also busy. With one, he stroked and fondled his partner's ass. The other hand was probing, then stroking Napoleon's perineum. Lightning brought a halt to all concious thought. Napoleon moaned then gasped as the finger went in a little more.

"Ohhh sweet heavens! Ilya, you're killing me. A flash of blue eyes, then the lashes descended once again. Napoleon knew he was losing his mind. Whoever Ilya's first lover was, the man must have been an able teacher. Suddenly, Napoleon's orgasm slammed through him with the force of high explosives. By the simple expedient of humming, Ilya had sent him over the edge. Napoleon stared in fascination as the mouth which had come close to separating his soul from his body slowly withdrew. No trace of semen remained. Ilya sat back on his heels, his tongue neatly lapping the last trace of Napoleon from a corner of his mouth. When Ilya looked up, the expression on his face stopped Napoleon's breath. The only word he could think of
was "angel".

"It was good, no?", Ilya asked shyly, his chest still heaving.

"It was the best I've ever experienced, yes." Napoleon said solemnly. He extended his hand and brought Ilya to his feet. "Now it's my turn. Just remember I'm an old man. I'm not making any promises." Napoleon was delighted when his partner snorted and tossed his head.

"Ridiculous."

Napoleon reached for the soap and worked up a lather. They washed each other by turns then stood in each other's arms as the water sluiced the suds from their bodies. Napoleon stepped out of the shower and picked up a large black bath sheet. He held it open and Ilya stepped into the terry-lined embrace. When his back was dry, he took the outer folds and began to rub Napoleon.

"Bedroom?" Ilya asked. He'd forgotten all about food; an historic first.

"Bedroom."

Ilya watched as Napoleon turned down the king-size bed. Although more muscular, Napoleon's body was in perfect proportion. After years of glimpses stolen here and there, Ilya feasted his eyes on the body that had been the subject of so many of his dreams. Broad shoulders, broader than his own. A well-muscled chest that tapered to slim hips... in short, perfection. He realized that Napoleon was looking at him and blushed to his hairline.

"Well?"

"Your body is wonderful, even better than I imagined."

"You've seen me naked before."

"Yes, but I didn't allow myself to look for long." Ilya admitted. "It would have been embarrassing."

"I can see that." Napoleon observed wryly. Ilya's cock was pointing at his chin. "I'm going to have to do something about this big fellow. He's shivering." Napoleon gently pushed Ilya onto the bed and covered his body with his own. "Do you know how many nights I've dreamed of lying with you like this? Every time we had to share a room, I was nearly driven mad. I'd lie there listening to you breathing and ached to hold you. Sometimes you'd have a nightmare and I'd have to physically restrain myself from kissing you awake and away from the bad dreams. I deeply envied your being able to sleep."

"I had help, Polya. The only way *I* could stand it was to take sleeping tablets." Ilya confessed.

"You poor baby." Napoleon kissed the pulse at the base of Ilya's throat. His lover's responses bespoke a sensitivity that boded well for the future. The "Silent Siberian" was anything but, under these erotic circumstances. Murmured endearments in Russian soon yielded to wordless moans as Napoleon took his time exploring the writhing body beneath him. He'd not been celibate since his first affair, but sex without love could not hold a candle to what occupied him now. He wanted Ilya to enoy it. When Napoleon's tongue made its first contact with Ilya's cock, he got his wish. A Russian expletive shouted towards the ceiling was like gasoline on an open flame.

Napoleon lavishly bathed Ilya with his lips and tongue before pulling back. A pair of blue eyes, darkened by arousal flew open. "I want to be one with you, Ilyusha. May I? If I'm careful?" A blushing nod then a slow smile was his response. Napoleon rolled to his feet and went to fetch the needed supplies. A friendly orderly in the West German hospital had supplied lubricant. Pausing only to pick up a couple of towels, Napoleon almost ran back to the bedroom.

"I'm going to stretch the muscle first with my fingers, okay?"

"Da."

Napoleon applied the clear gel and gently inserted his index finger. Ilya's eyes closed then opened again when one finger became two. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. More, I want you inside me, Polya. Trust me, I'm ready."

"You're sure?" Napoleon found it difficult to imagine this lithe, delicately muscled body could take the full force of his accumulated passion."

"Any more delays, and I'll be forced to get my gun.", was the growled reply.

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Napoleon applied gel to himself and carefully entered. Ilya was having none of this and thrust against him, taking Napoleon's full length. A momentary wince creased his brow then he smiled. "Who knew you were this large, Polya?"

"Only my tailor." Napoleon actually blushed.

"Move inside me, Napoleon. I've wanted this with you for so long..."

Napoleon began to thrust, slowly at first, then he increased the pace. Ilya matched him, their bodies moving together. Napoleon stopped after a while and reached forward gathering Ilya onto himself, into his arms. "I want to hold you when you come, my love. I want to feel it with you."

Ilya wrapped his arms around his lover's shoulders and began to rock his hips insistently. "Finish me, Polya. I'm going mad."

Napoleon dutifully followed orders, using his right hand to stroke Ilya's cock. The mattress protested, but neither of them heard it. As his orgasm drew near, Ilya latched his mouth onto Napleon's. Seconds later, his partner understood why. Ilya's triumphant shout was muffled by the interior of his lover's mouth. Shouting in turn, Napoleon reached a spine-snapping climax of his own. He held Ilya closely as the younger man's quivering subsided.

Ilya threw his head back and laughed; a delightful sound. A stream of Russian followed. Napoleon caught the words "Emperor" and "Moscow". Seeing his friend's puzzled look, Ilya translated. "If the first Emperor Napoleon had used your methods when invading Moscow, I'd be speaking French. Thank you, Polya." The blush had returned with the shy smile.

"It is you that has conquered, my love. I'm yours for the rest of my life."

The End

Afterword

There had never been a communique from THRUSH Central. One month later, when two very contented agents reported no one had contacted them, Alexander Waverly advised them to be patient. It was a virtue he prized above most others. After all, he'd waited nearly five years for the opportunity to reward his best team with the gift that kept on giving. Besides, sooner or later, THRUSH was bound to stumble upon the true state of affairs and the intelligence gathered would make a very nice present for himself. Musing on who should next benefit from his deftly managed employee morale-boosting, Alex Waverly reached for his pipe. Christmas was coming up eventually and Miss Lydia Markham surely wouldn't object to what he had in mind. No, she'd have no objections at all.

Amor Vincit Omnia! KPP