'Unexpected Lesson'

She faced the class, gesturing to the screen.

"Now that Mr. Solo is alone in the cell with his friend, he will undoubtedly try to escape. He will fail, of course, but let us see how thorough he is."

---/-/---

Inside the cell, Napoleon replaced Illya's shirt. "There. I cleaned up most of the blood, but I was worried about reopening a couple of the worse ones."

"Thank you."

"Kak ploho, Illyushka?"

He shrugged. "I'm all right."

"How bad?" Solo pressed.

Illya winced as he tried to move. He decided to remain lying face- down on the cot. "Hurts, but I can bear it."

"Bednaya lyubimaya." Napoleon crooned, pressing a soft kiss against the nape of his partner's neck.

---/-/---

Mother Fear gasped, taking a quick step back from the screen. Could it have been?

The boys continued to watch dispassionately, giving no sign that they had or had not seen the kiss.

---/-/---

"Napasha... if they are watching us... Dejstvitelvno li zto besopasno?"

"Safe." He snorted. The look of scorn was replaced by one of tender longing, and he leaned forward, whispering into Illya's ear.

"Vy hotite kopulyatziya so mnoj?"

"The last time you asked me that, I liked the end results." Napoleon leered.

"Vy nevozmozhny!" He sat, throwing his arms in the air. "You're impossible! Do you never think of anything but--"

"Look, right now, there's not much else we can do." He shrugged.

Illya threw a glare in his partner's direction, but he couldn't help being attracted to the American's highly dubious train of logic.

---/-/---

"What are they doing, Mother Fear?" On boy asked, hand aloft.

"They are speaking in Russian." She answered, feeling herself calm down. Maybe she had only imagined... "It's very clever, you see, because Mr. Solo wishes to plot with his little friend without our understanding."

"Will he try to escape now?" A second boy asked, boredom evident in his voice.

"He will probably try, children. But he will not succeed yet."

---/-/---

After a moment of silence, Illya nodded slightly.

"Yes?"

"Yes. If she is watching... then she will see. It does not matter."

Napoleon drew the smaller man into his arms, kissing him thoroughly. Illya melted against his chest, allowing the kiss to deepen. Napoleon's tongue slipped into his mouth, probing the recesses. He moaned lightly, surging forward.

Napoleon caressed Illya's upper arms ans shoulders, careful to avoid the strap-marks that crossed his back.

Illya worked at the buttons on Napoleon's shirt, nipping at each new expanse of bare skin, eliciting groans. Napoleon lay back on the narrow cot, holding Illya atop him, the lithe blond straddling his thighs.

---/-/---

Finally, she had the presence of mind to turn the screen off. Unbelievable. The great Napoleon Solo, UNCLE's top agent in the sector, in a homosexual relationship with his Russian partner? And instead of trying to make an escape, the first thing they do-- Proceeding to-- to-- to have sex, in her cell? And in front of the children!

"Mother Fear, Mother Fear!" One boy waved his arm in the air.

"What is happening, Mother Fear?" A second demanded.

"Mr. Solo and that man were kissing!" A third shouted. "Mother Fear, why would they do that?"

"Is he a commie pervert?" Another, slightly older boy joined in the barrage of questions which their 'mother' could not answer.

---/-/---

Illya rolled his hips against Napoleon's, a sharp intake of breath accompanying the sensation, though he couldn't say which of them had gasped. He looked down into warm brown lust-filled eyes. Holding each others' gaze, they nodded, quickly divesting themselves of trousers and underwear, thrusting against each other, establishing a familiar rhythm, hands caressing sweat-slick bodies.

Napoleon stiffened beneath Illya, and they rode out a shuddering climax, clinging to each others' arms.

---/-/---

Two of the older students were now arguing over whether or not being a communist and being a pervert were at all related. The one thing they could agree on was that Solo was a pervert at least, and that his partner was both.

Mother Fear slumped behind her desk, unable for the first time to restore order to her classroom. Solo would pay for this.

---/-/---

Illya lifted his head from where it lay pillowed on his lover's chest.

"Hello." He smiled lazily.

"Good morning." Napoleon flashed a brilliant grin of his own. "I mean, as good as any morning spent in a THRUSH cell can be."

"Yes." Illya stood, looking for his pants. They couldn't have gotten far in the small space, which was the one blessing of the cramped cell. "We will have to kill any witnesses, of course. Else, we could get into trouble."

"Right. And we'll have to destroy any evidence."

They kissed, the edge of urgency gone, replaced by an easy familiarity. An almost laconic meeting of tongues ended with a sigh, and they pulled apart somewhat reluctantly to finish dressing. And then they were agents again; cool and consummately professional.

~FIN~

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