Illya paced the cell, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Napoleon had been sitting on the one bunk, but he stood and came up behind his partner, placing his hands on the Russian's shoulders.

"Calm down... pacing is only going to get you more worked up."

"Napoleon, how could they-- Not only will we-- will we not be together, I won't have so much as a memory of you!"

His arms enfolded the smaller man. "I know... but we'll still be partners. Leamas can't reassign us without risking the wrath of Waverly. That's something, isn't it?"

"After what you were to me? Napoleon, it's almost as though they were splitting us up entirely."

"But they're not sending you away." He said firmly. "That's what's important. You're staying here, where you belong."

"Not where I belong." Illya said dismally. "Never where I belong again."

"We still have a couple of hours before the... the procedure." He tried to force a smile, but it didn't take.

"To do what? We'll be spending the whole time here, under lock and key. Like animals. No way to write myself a note, to know that-- that-- Napoleon, what if they do more than erase our memories? What if-- what if, when this is all over, what if you don't feel the same?"

"I'll feel the same."

"What if you don't?"

"Could they change the way you feel about me?"

Illya didn't say anything, but his shoulders slumped, and he shook his head.

"I'll feel the same."

Illya sighed, breaking away and sinking to the bunk. "I won't remember anything about-- about you, about us. A big part of my life is being taken from me, and there isn't anything I can do!"

Napoleon sat beside him, holding him again. "I won't remember what it feels like to kiss you."

"Napoleon, we are being watched, remember?"

"Oh, so what?" He said scornfully. "They already know, that's why we're here. Why shouldn't I say what I want?"

Illya sagged against his partner. All the strength that had been tightly coiled in each muscle as he paced seemed to vanish. "Maybe. It's still not smart, but-- How much worse could my life get? Leamas won't do anything Waverly would find out about. We'll say whatever we like, then."

"I won't remember what it feels like to hold you."

"To have your hand in mine." Illya whispered.

"I won't remember where you're ticklish."

"I'm not ticklish."

"You are so. Especially this one place on the roof of your mouth..." He kissed Illya, his tongue making a slow exploration of the blond's mouth. When the spot in question was licked, Illya balled up, though it did nothing to protect the target of Napoleon's tongue.

"Mm... Napoleon, we are still being watched." Illya reminded him.

"I won't remember the way it feels to make love to you..."

"Napoleon!"

"What?"

"Well, it's just-- we have no privacy, and-- speaking of such things, it's--"

"They know everything, Illya. And if they're watching..." He bestowed another tender but passionate kiss. "Then they get a free show."

"They might not want... mmf... a free show..."

"Well, they should have thought of that before they bugged my office. Illya, in a couple of hours, I'll wake up and I won't have you. If we can't have our memories, let's live for the moment."

Illya nodded. "I'll try, though the atmosphere is hardly condusive to lovemaking. And they've neglected to leave us with the comforts of home."

This time, Napoleon's smile was genuine. "How could they even wonder why I love you?"

"Because they are small-minded, perhaps. Oh, this is stupid! Even if THRUSH found out about us, and even if they tried to compromise us with the knowledge, we would never betray UNCLE. How could they consider us any more a security risk than--"

"Because I would place you before any innocent, any mission, any crucial information..."

"You always did have an awful tendency to do that. Even before we were lovers, so I don't see why--"

"It doesn't matter." Napoleon interrupted him again, his hand going to Illya's belt buckle. He undid both belt and fly quickly, making sure his body blocked the view of the security camera. "And don't worry-- About this, I mean. We'll do things discreetly."

Illya snorted.

"Well, I can hardly be expected to share this, quite frankly *incredible* view with anyone else, can I? I'm too greedy for that. You are all mine, and I don't share."

He coaxed Illya's hardening manhood from his boxers, bending over it. Hands and mouth continued gentle ministrations, as Illya gripped the edge of the hard bunk and bit his lip. A whimper escaped, fueling Napoleon's attentions, and soon it was all the Russian could do not to try to drive himself further down his lover's throat. Then Napoleon held Illya's hips, swallowing his entire length and making humming vibrations in the back of his throat.

Illya threw his head back, face transformed with pleasure, and he couldn't stifle a small cry as he came, one hand clutching Napoleon's shoulder, the other fisted in his short hair.

Napoleon tucked the othe man back in and raised himself onto the bunk, gathering Illya in his arms. "Good?"

"Very good... Napoleon..." He sobbed against Napoleon's shoulder, the shirt still wrinkled where it had been pulled at. "Napoleon, I-- I love you... I don't want to lose you."

"I love you, too. Illya, we'll still-- we'll still be together, just not-- together-together."

"But I want to be-- like we are now. Well, not *right* now, obviously, but, like we are together. It's bad enough not to have that anymore, but not to remember even the smallest measures of affection? Even the simple pleasure of spending a night in your arms-- not even the lovemaking, but just the lying together-- taken from me? To never remember how good you make me feel, just by being."

"I know. Oh, Illya... You make it so hard to stay strong."

"I'm sorry, Napoleon... I know you're trying..."

"One of us ought to, but... Well, I guess I'd rather be held, I'd rather cry, and-- But we are being watched. And I'm not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry." A shiver ran through him, and he held Illya tighter. "I never thought I'd be saying those words about our own organization..."

Illya kissed him. "No, you didn't. Napasha?"

"Yes, Illyushka?" He managed another smile, but it was tired, and it made him look older than he was.

"I still haven't taken care of you." His hand dropped to Napoleon's lap. "If you would like me to... *I* would like to." He blushed. "In case I-- I mean, without even memory, in case I never taste you again."

Napoleon nodded, feeling a lump risiing in his throat. He was pretty sure it was his heart, physically impossible or no. Illya moved fluidly to kneel between his thighs, deftly undoing belt and trousers.

"You know, he's what got us into this mess in the first place. If I were you, I'd probably be upset with him. Heck, I'm *me* and I'm upset with him."

"Shh..."

"Illya... I'm sorry. If I had--"

Illya cut him off with another hiss and a deft stroke. "Shh. Know I love you."

"Always." He gasped.

"You won't in a little while." Illya said sadly. And then he bent his head forward, tip of his tongue circling the crown of Napoleon's flagging erection, teasing it back to full.

He focused on all the little things he would be forced to forget; the feel of Napoleon's fingers winding through his hair, the heat rolling off his inner thighs and groin, even through the fabric of his trouser. The little noises he made that sounded so far away, and the ocean-like noise of blood pounding through veins, though whose veins he couldn't quite say. The taste and feel of the first drops of pre-cum. The warning spasm that shot through Napoleon's body in the second before he came, and the way said whole body went limp after he was done.

Illya carefully re-closed the fly and joined Napoleon on the bunk, holding him tenderly and brushing back the forelock that had fallen down over one eye. He wondered if he would remember the way that Napoleon's eyes, normally hazel, darkened to a rich chocolate brown with emotion. Yes, primarily these were emotions associated with lovemaking, or at least the heartfelt declarations often leading to lovemaking, but not always. Even anger, or worry, would cause the same deepening of colour, as would wearing just the right suit. So he would at least remember that, wouldn't he?

"Illya..." Napoleon gasped, cupping his lover's cheek in one hand. "Kiss me?"

Wordlessly, Illya complied, kissing Napoleon thoroughly. When the kiss ended, they curled up in each others' arms on the bunk, awaiting the fulfillment of their sentence.

---/-/---

The guard rapped on the bars, drawing their attention. Illya sat up a little straighter, holding Napoleon as close as he could, as though he could somehow shield him from something.

"Time to go. The docs're waiting."

Leamas appeared, along with the same four security guards, and the door to the cell was opened.

Napoleon stood, helping Illya to his feet, and continuing to hold his hand even as their escort approached.

"Mr. Solo, Sir? I have to, um, I have to cuff you."

He swallowed. "Yeah, I know. Can you, ah, could you cuff my hands in front of me?"

Donahue complied, but Leamas interrupted. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Well, I just-- I mean, he asked, and he *is* my superior, and he's not trying anything, they've already submitted to the--" He stuttered, timid nature in stark contrast to his bulky six-four frame.

"Just follow the SOP."

Napoleon shifted, placing his arms behind his back without releasing Illya's hand. The three other agents were currently standing in a semi-circle around the glaring Russian, none of them wanting to be the one to try and place the handcuffs on him.

"He's not going to bit you!" Leamas barked, disgusted. "For crying out loud, there are three of you-- Why are there three men on Kuryakin and only one on Solo?"

"Because, Sir, Mr. Kuryakin is more dangerous than Mr. Solo right now." Johnson, the one who had lost hold of Illya once already that day, answered.

Leamas stepped forward, snapping the cuffs around the man's wrists himself. Illya and Napoleon stood back to back, finding each others' hands again.

"Will you seperate them already?"

Phillips took a step forward, and Illya aimed a kick at his knee, sending him to the floor. Leamas pulled a gun.

"Sleep darts. I will use them if I have to, Mr. Kuryakin, and if I thought I'd have to, I'd use bullets. This behavior will not be tolerated."

Illya's grip on Napoleon's hands tightened. "You don't need to seperate us. In only a few moments, you will be seperating us completely. Forcing us apart is--" He searched for the wording to express just how unfair he felt it was. "--is cruel and unusual!"

Leamas spat on the floor of the cell. "And you think you deserve some-- what? Consideration? Look, back when you joined this organization, I was one of the ones ready to defend you, being a Russkie and all--"

Napoleon almost lunged, but thought better of it at the last second. The gun with the sleep darts was still aimed at his lover.

"I mean, you had no choice about that." Leamas continued. "But you made the decision to engage in an affair you knew to be against all regulations, and you did it with eyes wide open."

Illya took a deep breath. He wouldn't bother trying to explain to this man that he had no choice, that loving Napoleon was like breathing, but he would explain what he could.

"If you were a bigger man, perhaps we would not be having this conversation. If I were a bigger man, perhaps I would pity you for being so small-minded. But I am not a bigger man, Mr. Leamas, no more than you are. And I feel nothing but contempt, disgust, and hatred for you now."

Napoleon squeezed his partner's fingers once and let go. "Look, I'll give up, Leamas. But only if you agree to holster that gun. It's not necessary. And only if you stop insulting us when we're in no position to do anything about it. If you're going to be hostile, then I reserve the right to hold tight onto what I have until I don't have it anymore."

"Fine, for now, the gun goes back in the holster, and I'll stop insulting you. But you've also got to realize that you have no rights. Now step away from your partner."

Illya let out a strangled sob, dropping his head, and Napoleon took two steps away, looking back over his shoulder at the blond's downturned profile.

"All right, let's get moving. We're already behind schedule."

---/-/---

---

This page is an unofficial site that exists only for the fun of it. All characters and situations from the television show "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." are property of Norman Felton and Warner Bros. Nothing ill is intended by this use of any television characters in these amateur efforts. Any fiction linked to these pages is the intellectual property of the amateur author who created it and is not presented here for profit.