Author: Kei

Disclaimers/Warnings: see Part 1

Notes: ** indicates thoughts

THE WILDING AFFAIR, Part 6
 
 
 

"Napoleon..."

The name, half plea and half warning, came out as a ragged whisper as  Illya Kuryakin found that even if his partner were of a mind to release his wrist, that he could back off no further as a cold wall suddenly met his back. This was not right. Napoleon...was not right. In the privacy of his thoughts, he had always seen Napoleon Solo as an intensely passionate, sensual man -in his less charitable moods, he would have described him as a rutting tomcat- but he had never considered his partner as one given to the sort of aggression he could now see beginning to burn behind those dark eyes.

There could only be one explanation.

"Napoleon, listen to me. You...are unwell. The virus-" The small Russian broke off in mid-sentence, a slight gasp escaping his mouth as warm silken lips were drawn down the side of his exposed neck, equally warm hands caressing him in a way that made it hard to speak at all. **Dammit, Kuryakin,** he cursed himself. **Concentrate! ** "Napoleon, the...the virus -whatever it is- we have found...oh...we have found that it alters...brain chemistry...makes you do things you would not...would not normally do. This...is not you! You do not want-"

A soft throaty laugh was the only response as Napoleon put a single finger to his partner's lips, his eyes somehow much too
bright. "Ahhh...but that's where you're wrong, lyubov...my mind has never been clearer. I *know* what I want...all this time we've worked together, I've known...and you've known it too, my little flirt. I can see right through you, Illya Kuryakin...right past the ice and steel with which you fool everyone else...but this time, no mindgames, no teasing. We've been through Hell together. We *know* each other." Napoleon's voice lowered to a near-growl. "If anyone has the right to have you, it's me."

"Napoleon..." Illya heard his voice falter even as he silently chastised his treasonous body which he was coming to find was all too eager to respond to his partner's sensuous touch despite the fact that he knew ...he *knew* that Napoleon would never...would never...not...not like  this...if he were in his right mind. To take advantage of a drunken date would have been inexcusable. To allow his just as mentally intoxicated partner to- "Napoleon!" The Russian snapped sharply, willing his voice to remain steady, the chill to return to its tone. "Stop this -*now*!" Dark eyes snapped up to meet eyes of cold
blue, suddenly uncertain. "...please..."

It wasn't as if a switch had been turned off. The passion in Solo's eyes didn't suddenly disappear. But there was a change as though confusion and desire had joined in battle within him...and then... "Oh, God, Illya..." he stammered, releasing his
partner, almost falling over himself as he staggered backwards, bumping and falling into a chair. Napoleon's brow, damp with sweat, creased as though with some supreme internal effort. "I didn't mean to...I would never hurt you..." He shuddered visibly, the pounding in his head beginning to return. "I want...I *need* you...love you...but I won't - I will not force you..."

"ILLYA!" A loud, unexpected voice beyond the locked door interrupted the half-cried confession, accompanied by a frantic hammering at the barrier. "Come on -OPEN UP!" Illya cast a deeply concerned look at his partner, who still sat hunched in his chair gazing distractedly at thoughts only he could see, and unlocked the door. "Mark..."

Slate glanced sharply at Solo, who had begun to grin dreamily to himself, and then at Kuryakin, noting the Russian's slightly
disheveled appearance. "Are you all right?" he asked uncertainly.

"I am fine," Illya responded evenly, allowing the mask of ice and steel to descend over his features once more. "What is it?"

"UNCLE Colorado has been trying to get through to you and when you didn't answer-" Mark bit back the reproachful reply, refusing to ask just what his superiors had been doing that was so distracting that neither man had apparently heard the keening tone of the desk communicator -he suspected that he already knew. "UNCLE Colorado has been conferring with the C.D.C. in Atlanta -they...they've confirmed your findings. The THRUSH virus *is* there, it's real, but it's too damned small to see with conventional microscopes. That why you couldn't actually *see* it."

"And small enough to pass through the barrier of our  equally conventional anticontamination gear!" Illya snapped a little more sharply than he had intended, and then started as he felt large warm hands encircle his waist from behind. So...even when the spirit was willing, the flesh- "Napoleon -please!" he whispered urgently out of the side of his mouth, feeling the fire begin to burn in his cheeks as the insistent hands began to roam a bit -in front of Mark too! "Not now!"

"When then?" came the equally soft, slightly dazed reply.

Forcing himself to ignore his blissfully confused partner, Kuryakin returned the younger agent's questioning stare. "But do they have any idea of a cure!"

"They *think* they might," Slate said grimly.

"*Think*..?"

"You're *not* going to like it."
 

End of Part 6
 
 

C.D.C. : Center for Disease Control (Atlanta)