Napoleon's eyes stayed on Illya as they walked back down the corridor, to the mound of paperwork that no doubt waited on his desk.

"Are you sure you don't want to--"

"No."

"At least go home for the afternoon."

"I'm fine."

"I can finish the reports."

"Yes, you can." Illya nodded. "And you will. For the rest of the week. And next week also. But DeLeon might not believe you if you just *tell* him I'm okay."

"Next week? All of it?"

"You were the one who said I needed to rest and recover."

"It's paperwork. It's not that-- I mean, two weeks, Illya?"

"You didn't have to deal with those children."

Napoleon smiled. "Two weeks, easy."

He held the door for his partner, and they entered to find Mark, April, and another girl. They got quiet very suddenly.

"Hi, Napoleon. Hi, Illya." April waved.

Mark nodded. "We were just feeding your cat."

"Hang on... do we know you? You're not section two?" Napoleon asked the second girl.

"No." Ginger shook her head, wisps of hair coming out of her bun. "I'm in archives. I'm a friend of DeLeon's."

"Miaow."

Illya shrugged, turning to his partner. "I see how it goes. First you, now the cat has better luck with women than I do."

The girls laughed. Mark tried valiantly not to let his expression crack.

"So..." Napoleon shuffled the papers on his desk. "Hey... what--"

"Coffee, sorry." He reddened. "All the girls' fault, they made me spill it."

"Oh, very gentleman-like of you, Slate." Ginger rolled her eyes.

Solo shrugged. "All right. Anyway, as I was saying: So... I noticed a definite renewal in silence when we entered. What were you talking about? Did we miss all the good office gossip?"

"No, no gossip at all!" April said quickly. "We were just--"

"You'll think it's terribly silly, of course." Mark interrupted with a forced laugh, buying his partner some time to come up with a topic.

"New Bond film." Ginger finished. "We were discussing the new Bond film."

The three of them exited, Ginger ruffling DeLeon's fur affectionately in parting.

"Bond." Napoleon snorted. "It's silly, all right. I mean, Mark and April anyway ought to know better. They are section two agents."

"You've been known to read awful spy fiction, yourself."

"No, I read LeCarre's Alec Leamas, which is not awful, nor as far from the truth as some of this other nonsense. What is the newest Bond film, anyway?"

"Well, it came out last year in England, but it's only just gotten to the United States." Illya shrugged. "Called 'From Russia With Love' or something. I've never seen it."

"Oh, well, we'll forget about it, then." He started filing the various bits and pieces of paperwork that had remained piled on his desk, or that had come in while he was away. His eyes fell on the letter. "Illya?"

"Hm?"

"Did you, ah, leave a, ah, a letter on my desk? With my incoming paperwork?"

"I might've, why?"

"And might this letter have been, ah, of explicit content and amourous in nature?"

"Perhaps."

"And Illya?"

"Yes, Napoleon?"

"Might it be a better idea not to leave such, ah, confidential material, lying out in the open?"

"I didn't leave it on top of the stack." Suddenly, his head whipped around. "Why, was it on top?"

Napoleon blushed. "Well, no, but... Well, with the coffee spill on my desk, it was probably a close call. Suppose they had seen this?"

"They wouldn't have read it, Napoleon. You're too high-ranking for the people in here changing the cat box to risk going through your mail." Illya soothed. "If it will make you feel any better, we could arrange a dead drop for any future correspondences."

"How about in an envelope, in my mailbox?"

"Oh, no. That might be too risky." He grinned. "Instead, my next letter will tightly rolled and hidden in the hollow chair leg."

"What hollow chair leg?"

"My chair has a hollow leg. You just remove the cap on the bottom, and... there will be a string, tied around the paper. You pull it, and the letter will come out. Sound like a plan?"

"Suspiciously. And your mail will be... taped to the underside of the desk just doesn't sound as good after yours."

"In the false book on the shelf in my office."

"Which one's the false book?"

"You're a spy. You find out which one."

Napoleon sighed. "You like making me work for it, don't you?"

"Very... very... much..." Illya purred, backing the other man against the edge of the desk. "You work well."

"Ah, thank you..." He swallowed. "Are you sure I shouldn't take you home, Illya?"

"Absolutely certain... so am I to take it you haven't read the letter yet?"

"I, ah, skimmed over it... I haven't, ah, been able to, um... thoroughly enjoy it yet, but, I, ah..."

"You're flustered, Napoleon."

"You have a way of doing that to me."

Illya kissed him, very slowly, leaning forward, pushing Napoleon back, until they were lying on the now-cleared desk.

"Yes, but I must stay in practice if I wish to keep doing it."

"Please do..."

"Your pupils are dilated. One of the signs of arousal, you know... along with the uneven breath, quickening pulse..." He inhaled deeply. "Am I forgetting any?"

"My upper lip is sweating and my vision's fuzzy. Everything but you is out of focus."

"Shame." He stood.

"It, ah, it is?"

"You can't read if the paper is out of focus. Of course, I could read it to you..." His voice dropped down to a low, breathy whisper. "Mine is excellent."

"Ah, actually, Illya, I prefer show to tell..." Napoleon pulled him back down into another burning kiss.

"You wanted to take me home?"

"In the state I'm in? I don't think we could get out of the building."

Illya flashed him a wicked smile. "I can fix that."

"Not in front of the cat, lyubov."

Illya sighed dramatically and put DeLeon out. "I'll explain it to you when you're older." He whispered, closing and locking the door. "We'll get in trouble for letting him wander."

"You'll get in more trouble if you let me wander like this." Napoleon gestured.

"Mm... well, the lesser of two evils, then." Illya returned to their embrace, nuzzling his lover's neck. "Then you can take me home."

"With me."

"With you." He nodded. "But we can't do *this* for the rest of the afternoon. I'm supposed to be resting."

"I promise to keep you in bed."

"We both know..." His hand left Napoleon's shoulder, sliding down between their bodies to undo the other man's belt. "Mm... we both know that it isn't the same thing."

Napoleon unbuttoned Illya's shirt. "Once this is taken care of, my protective instincts will kick in."

"Overprotective, you mean." Illya managed to free his partner's erection with one hand, the other cupping his cheek. "I love you, you know..."

"Love you," Napoleon echoed, nibbling his way across Illya's chest. "I love you so much... you worry me."

"Not now... don't think about it now." Illya stroked his hair, pushing back the forelock that had come down to obscure hazel eyes. "We can talk later..."

"Uh-huhnh..." He nodded, the portion of his brain devoted to higher speech short-circuited by the fact that the wily Russian had just ducked out of his arms to kneel between his legs, and a hot mouth had just enveloped him.

Napoleon's fingers carded through the blond hair, and he focused on not making any sounds that might betray the nature of their activities. Finally, he let go with one hand to bite down on his knuckles, muffling a shout.

Illya stood, pushing his bangs off his face and smiling somewhat smugly. His partner sat up, panting, and tucked himself back into his pants.

"Your turn. Where do you want to...?"

"Here's good." Illya sank into Napoleon's chair, abandoning himself to his lover's continued ministrations. "I-- oh! Napoleon! I hope you-- Where did you learn that?"

"Talk later, remember?" He lifted his head, eyes sparkling, letting his hands take over until his mouth returned.

A low groan rumbled in Illya's throat, and he decided that his advice had been sound, after all. Napoleon lifted his head again, hands resuming the contact seamlessly.

"I think you'll be taking tomorrow off, too. You had a tough time."

"Umm... Napasha, please..." He pulled weakly at the back of Napoleon's neck. "Quickly?"

He obliged, finishing the other man off. Then he re-dressed Illya tenderly and kissed him.

"There. You're as presentable as they could want. How do I look?"

"Wonderful."

"I mean, if I opened that door and went out there, would anyone think anything was amiss?"

"Fix your hair a little." Illy suggested. "Also, kiss me again." His tongue swiped the corner of Napoleon's mouth before being pulled in. "There. You are perfectly presentable.

Napoleon helped Illya to his feet and unlocked the door. DeLeon brushed past their ankles, sniffing the air distrustfully before leaping onto a filing cabinet to survey his kingdom.

"It's a good thing I'm taking you home with me." Napoleon whispered. "You deserve a long, slow evening of passionate lovemaking."

"If I'm not too tired for it." Illya agreed.

"I may take tomorrow off, myself, if you'll agree to let me take care of you."

"I don't need you to."

"I want to. You know, because it's nice sometimes."

"All right. Only because it makes you happy." He smiled.

"You know it's really because you like it, too."

"Does this mean... I'm going to be at your apartment then, too?"

"Well, why wouldn't you be? You-- you're staying, aren't you? For tonight?"

He smiled. "Yes. Yes, I am."

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~FIN~

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