Author: Lokemele

              WARNINGS: SLASH

              Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Ilya Kuryakin

              Rating: NC-17

              Archive: Yes, please

              Disclaimers: The Man from U.N.C.L.E. characters are copyright MGM.  No infringement of copywritten
              characters is intended, and no profit is being made.

              Notes: This is in response to Raven's challenge about what the guys would have been if they hadn't become
              spies.  I've moved them into the late '90s; hope nobody minds!!

              "Oh, come on, IIya," his companion said, "it'll be fun.  You need to get out more, loosen up, relax!"

              Ilya Kuryakin was a Professor of Languages at Midtown University, a post he'd held since leaving his
              native Kiev last year.  He had been surprised to receive a full professorship in his acceptance letter until he
              arrived and discovered how small both the school and his salary were.  Still, it was more than he'd made in
              his last post as a teaching assistant, and if he had to work a little harder now he was at least better
              compensated.

              He'd been pulled out of his isolation by Harry Carstairs, one of his fellow faculty members and a Professor
              of Economics.  He'd corralled Ilya and a pair of female professors into a group outing that felt suspiciously
              like a double date.  He knew Harry had been trying to catch Helen Barstowe's eye all year, but she never
              went out without Pat Haley, so Ilya had been "volunteered" as Pat's "date".  The Ukranian sighed; when was
              Harry going to realize his quest for Helen had been doomed from the start?  How could he be so oblivious
              to the way she and Pat held hands and stared at each other?  He was glad he'd picked up on it quickly;
              Helen looked like the protective type.

              Just now they were having after-dinner drinks at "Solo's", a small but popular nightclub a few minutes from
              campus.  Upscale without being pretentious, it was avoided by most students; the clientele was mostly
              lower- to mid-level executives.  Since it was a Monday night, which was always the slowest night of the
              week, the owner had recently instituted "Karaoke Night" to drum up business.

              Harry was attempting to liven things up by getting Ilya to sing.  Never mind he'd never heard him sing a
              single note before and for all he knew his companion sounded like a water buffalo in labor.  He was being
              insistent, and Ilya was finding it harder and harder to refuse.

              "How about this one?" Harry cajoled, pointing to a song in the book they'd been given as they were led to
              their table.

              "I am not singing "Jambalaya" or any other Hank Williams song!" he insisted.  "May I see what songs they
              have so I can make a reasonable choice?"

              Harry passed him the book, and he spent a few minutes perusing it before making his selection and writing
              it down on the small form provided, along with his name and table number.  When the waiter came by to
              check on their drinks, he gave him the form and payment for the song, and was told he'd bring the
              microphone to his table when his turn came.

              "I thought you had to get up on stage to sing," said Harry.

              "The owner prefers to allow the singers to remain at their tables.  He says it encourages participation," the
              waiter replied.

              "So what are you singing?" Helen asked.

              "Wait and see," Ilya replied with an enigmatic smile.

              When the waiter brought the microphone over for his song, Ilya did a quick test as the opening bars played
              and began to sing:

              "Look into my eyes - you will see
               What you mean to me . . . "

              Both women gasped.

              "Bryan Adams!" Helen said.

              "Everything I Do!" Pat echoed as Ilya sang the refrain:

              "You know it's true
               Everything I do - I do it for you."

              Conversation paused as the Ukranian continued to sing, and people searched the tables looking for the
              singer.  Neither the voice nor the searching went unnoticed by the owner.  By the time the song had ended,
              he'd positioned himself.  After the applause ended and Ilya had thanked the crowd, he spoke.

              "You have a marvelous voice," he said.  "Let me buy you another song, compliments of the house."

              "Thank you," Ilya replied, "and you are?"

              "Napoleon Solo," he said with a smile, "And you're very welcome."
 

              Do you want Part 2, or should I stop there? email me at: lokemele@cchono.com