"Illya, it makes no sense for you to do this." Miraculously Solo managed to keep his voice firm and restrained.

"You have a better idea?" Illya glared, the anger rising in him as he pursed his mouth into a thin hard line.

"As a matter of fact,"

Illya paused and sat back against the desk, his hands flexing tensely in his lap as he watched his partner.

"And that would be?"

Solo frowned as he looked into the open blue eyes, eyes that now glazed with anger as Illya carefully brought the flare under control.

"There are four operatives in this mission Illya, not two."

"And you tell me this because I am incapable of mathematics?"

"It's dangerous," Solo said quietly.

Illya snorted. "In case you had forgotten Napoleon, everything we do, is dangerous."

"Alright then, this is stupid."

Illya clenched his hands again and adopted the most reasonable expression he could, which was several degrees short of actually wanting to kill. "Napoleon, I have survived this long on acts of greater stupidity, ones usually orchestrated by you. If you think to underestimate me now then you are sadly mistaken."

"If, as you say this madman is an active KGB officer and that there is a possibility of an assassination order put out on you, then meeting with the KGB here in London is not only stupid, it's suicidal."

"Continuing this conversation and assignment with no real clues is also suicidal, Napoleon. Let's face it, if we go on the way we have sooner or later you will completely lose trust in me. And that my friend would be fatal on more than one level. So I suggest you stop trying to change my mind and figure out the best way to provide backup."

"You're this certain that what this man, what's his name...?"

"Igor Gregorian"

"Yes, can give you the information we need."

Illya nodded his head, sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "So far we have a man missing, presumed dead. Another in no condition to talk to us at the local hospital, Murphy is nowhere to be found, his wife is hysterical, Bodie and Doyle are at each others throats and without fear of paranoia the most likely cause is due to some unresolved issues between Bodie and I. I do not need you to second guess me now or ever Napoleon, I am a fully trained operative and have survived two very ruthless services."

"That bad?"

Illya nodded slowly.

"Alright, I'll back off then, but Illya don't do something stupid to prove yourself. It's not necessary," Solo warned as he collected his coat.

"I will meet him tomorrow night."

"Oh no, not so fast tovarisch. If you get killed, Mr. Waverly will happily execute his CEA."

"I doubt that."

"What precisely do you have on Igor?"

Illya colored, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Really? You know Illya, innocent never quite sits that well on you. Now fess up, what have you got on Igor?"

"The KGB like to keep secrets Napoleon. Let us say that Igor will not cause me undue problems."

"I still say we can take this through diplomatic channels. Mr. Waverly has connections within the KGB that would assure the passage of correct information."

"Yes he has, but the agency will only have the recent reports and if Pakoslav is not reporting in to the central control section it will only be background. Igor is on the ground here in London, Napoleon. If Paksolav is still an active agent he will have to have backup."

"And a dispensation from the local senior agent who happens to be Igor, yes?"

Illya nodded.

"Then you had better tell Igor that your partner will be backup and that we would like to avoid a diplomatic situation."

Illya smiled as he pulled on his jacket and opened the door, holding it open for his partner to precede him out into the gunmetal corridors.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Ray moaned quietly into his lover's mouth, every fiber of his being begging for release as he fought for control over his body. Bodie's smile was wicked as he ran his hands up the sturdy long frame and Ray shuddered again.

"Bastard," Ray whispered as he tried to manoeuvre them back towards the large bed.

"Raymond, I am wounded. My parents, such as they were, were well and truly married before I was born," Bodie admonished with a waggle of a well-shaped eyebrow as he lifted his partner up against his body.

"Maniac," Ray intoned as he sought to capture the delicious lips with his own.

"Only over you." Bodie set his partner back down on the carpet and stepped back, surveying the beautiful naked body before him. "You realize of course that if you had left me, I would have died."

Ray nodded seriously. "So would I Sunshine."

"Remind me not to be a bastard again?"

"Count on it."

Ray spread his fingers wide and ran them lightly down his own chest stroking in hypnotic rhythm towards his groin. Bodie moaned transfixed by the wanton display of sensuality that swept over him. Ray canted his hips forward slightly and a second hand joined the first rubbing lightly across his own cheek and then down, the long fingers curling into his auburn curls as his head lolled to the side. Green eyes that held the soul of a man flared and slit, the colour turning dark as the scent of arousal spun its web around them and still Bodie could not move. His own cock strained the fabric of his suit, throbbed in time to the desire that built within his chest and cramped his heart.

"You, ah, want some help there?" Bodie managed to croak out as he took a step forward.

Ray smiled, slowly and seductively turned and gracefully made his way to the bed. Laying back, an arm hooked behind his head and his arousal pulsing from a nest of auburn curls.

"Depends." Ray's voice was thick and lazy full of promise.

"On?" Bodie forced his constricting throat to make an attempt at sound as he moved closer to the bed.

"Whether or not you intend to apologize properly."

Bodie smiled as he slowly undressed, his eyes never once leaving those of his lover on their bed.

"For the rest of my life, if necessary."

"I think..." Doyle whispered against the silken throat of his partner as he was enveloped in warm flesh "...that can be arranged."

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

"Where are we going?" Illya asked casually eyeing the unrecognizable street scene.

"Hmm? Oh, I thought we could use a break." Napoleon answered with an equal casualness that immediately put Illya on edge.

"What precisely are you up to?" Illya turned in his seat, his formidable gaze now levelled on his recalcitrant partner.

"Illya, where is your spirit of adventure?" Solo shook his head as he turned down yet another street.

"I lost it when I joined UNCLE," Illya retorted.

"Tsk tsk, I thought we joined UNCLE for the adventure. You know the girls, the drama, the guns, the machismo," Solo chuckled.

"Well now I know why you joined UNCLE." Was the sharp reply, the Russian accent slipping into a deeper native dialect.

"Patience." Solo smiled not taking his eyes off the road as he turned into an underground car park.

"I'm being kidnapped by my partner," was the sober response.

Solo shook his head, "No you've been Nappynapped. Come on tovarishch."

"Would there be any point in saying I am not moving till you tell me where we are?" Illya folded his arms across his chest and sat firm.

Solo brightened, "I'd have to carry you."

"No!" Illya took off the seat belt and held up a restraining hand as he opened the door. "I refuse to let you embarrass me!"

"Ah now that is settled. This way moya dushka."

Illya stopped and stared at the man moving ahead of him, all feline grace as the muscles worked effortlessly under the fine suit. Illya smiled as he bowed his head. The endearment caught him broadside till he remembered his partner's unnatural ability to beguile. He set his jaw in the firm stubborn line and followed in the semi-darkness of the underground, to the lift as Solo punched the button for the fourth floor.

He noted many things in those few moments, the lift was carpeted and well appointed. So, wherever they were it was not a dive. There was no music playing in the lift giving rise to the suspicion that they were in fact in an apartment building of some kind and not a store or hotel.

As the doors of the lift opened Napoleon stepped out into a bright and well-appointed hallway, the thick carpet underfoot muffled the sound of his shoes as he turned to the left and picked up speed. By the time Illya had caught him up a set of keys dangled from his hand as he opened a door.

The apartment was lavish and apparently well stocked as Napoleon walked towards the bar and poured himself a measure of scotch and repeated the action with vodka for his partner.

"Nice," Illya commented dryly as he took the vodka and downed it in one long draught.

"I am glad you approve."

"Who did you kill to get the keys?"

Solo chuckled as he made a cursory sweep of the apartment and satisfied slipped off his coat and sat down in one of the soft leather armchairs in front of the fire. "No one. This is the residence that UNCLE London uses for overseas dignitaries and visitors."

"And we got it how?" Illya asked from the kitchen. A non-too subtle clicking of cupboard and refrigerator doors echoed in the rooms.

"CEA of UNCLE New York has some privileges you know. Besides I thought we could do with some time alone."

"Have you told them yet?" Illya asked as he made his way around the apartment.

So far his journey had netted him the knowledge of a fully stocked kitchen, small entry hall, large informal living area with a marble-worked fireplace, a bathroom that housed a bath large enough for a small army and then the bedroom. Illya stopped and sighed, grateful his partner was in the other room, a large four poster bed draped in a silk canopy of butter cream.

"No, I ah, wanted to make sure you would like to stay first," Solo's voice drawled softly in his ear making Illya jump.

"I think you should call them," Illya said as he padded back out to the kitchen.

"Open Channel D." Solo tapped the base of his pen as he followed back out to the kitchen, an indulgent smile on his face as he watched Illya eagerly open each cupboard in turn and inspect the contents. The kitchen was not only stocked but well-stocked and included a small canister of tea which Illya held reverently, the beautiful cursive Cyrillic letters swirling against the dark amber tin.

"Channel D open. Hello Mr. Solo," said a slightly breathless voice.

"Hello Kate, be a love and put a call in for me through CI5 radio personnel. Operative code is four five."

"Anything for you, sir." Illya cast Solo a glance his eyes twinkling with mischief as the call was transferred.

"Another paramour for your collection Napasha?"

Solo frowned as the communicator answered, "Four Five."

"Ah Ray. Solo here."

"Hello Napoleon." There was humor in the voice. "We were just beginning to get worried about you, not lost are we?"

Illya laughed as he poured hot water onto the tea and set out a gilt-edge tea glass, holding it up for Napoleon. Solo nodded and a second glass was added.

"No, not at all. In fact, something has come up and Illya and I are staying in town this evening."

"Oh yes?" Bodie's sarcasm was not missed and seemed to be very close to Doyle's RT as he answered. Unaccountably Illya blushed and ducked his head.

"Yes, we have a meeting to set up early tomorrow with a contact. We'll meet at CI5 HQ at around ten alright?"

"Ten it is, four five out."

Napoleon recapped his pen and took the hot tea from his partner as Illya scooped a spoonful of jam into the steaming liquid.

"You know, I get the impression, I interrupted something there."

"You might just be right." Illya frowned as he leaned back against the counter savouring the aroma of the hot steam curling up from the glass. "I also get the impression you wanted to talk to me privately." Illya sipped slowly.

"Astute," Solo answered. "Shall we make ourselves comfortable?"

Suddenly weary, Illya nodded a cold hand clawed its way into his belly. He dreaded the talk and for several days now expected and anticipated it. The `brush off', if he remembered Napoleon's colloquialism, where one divested themselves of an unwanted relationship. Drawing on reserves he wasn't sure he had, Illya straightened his back before he re-entered the living room. He stopped dead. Solo was draped in a high back chair by the fire, his tea glass held elegantly in long fingers and for all the world Illya could see him tending court in the Czar's Palace. The shudder that shook him was entirely involuntary.

"You wanted to talk?" the calm cold exterior of a top UNCLE agent was firmly back in place as he took the matching chair opposite his partner.

"Yes. I think there are some things we need to discuss, don't you?"

Reluctant to say the words, to break the spell so carefully woven around an already bleak and battered heart Illya curled back up into the chair as he buried his face in his tea.

"About?" the Russian accent strong and carefully neutral, should there have been a witness to the conversation they may have been forgiven for thinking they were discussing the weather for the lack of emotion the blond showed. But inside, deep inside to that tiny core of humanity that was Illya Kuryakin, withered and cried.

Solo ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward as he began tentatively. "It's about us Illya."

Silence,long, slow deadly silence engulfed the pair.

"If you want an apology Napoleon, it won't be forthcoming." Illya stayed curled in the large chair as the dark head snapped up. "That is what you want isn't it?" The Russian's voice was cold and clear, masking his own hurt and dealing grievously with his partner. "An apology for seducing you, for sullying your pristine hetro-sexual life?" Illya's words were slow and dropped like ice crystals in the room.

"No." Solo stood reigning in his own temper. "I don't want an apology from you Illya."

Perplexed Illya pinched his bottom lip and stared away into the fire. "Then what is it you want?" The cold clear voice was still lost in distance.

"I want?" Solo smiled bitterly. "I want a lot of things, Illya."

"Napoleon unless you tell me I have no idea what you want. Or more to the point as the case may be, what you don't want."

Solo sat down on the floor a charmingly urbane figure as the golden glow of the new fire carefully tended, washed his face like burnished copper.

"Alright then. You think I brought you he to give you the brush off, a thanks but no thanks I can't live my life this way speech. Am I right?"

Illya's cheeks flamed scarlet as he looked down. "It is what I expect."

"Why?"

A small bitter laugh was forced from the Russian as he curled his knees to his chest. "Napoleon, you know I have been dealing with prejudices all my life. Being as I am I expect rejection, it is only a matter of time."

"So you said yes to me and took what you could get, expecting me to eventually tire of you and go back to the faceless ladies you call paramours?"

"Something like that."

"How about being precise, Illya. We can't afford any gray areas here."

"I said yes to you because I love you, I shall always love you, but I don't expect hearts and flowers, or for this to be a lasting thing. I have had the pleasure of watching you all these years flit from one lady to another; unable to accept the commitment they all sought from you. I have far less to offer you, why should I allow myself to want more?"

"But you do, don't you Illya. You want more."

"Yes." The voice was soft and wistful and Solo knew if he turned around the naked emotion on his partner's face would break him.

"Illya, if I could hunt every man down who has hurt you and kill them with my own hands I would. I didn't bring you here to say goodbye to you Illya. I brought you here to make love to you, to ask you to always be mine."

"Napasha?"

Finally Solo turned and crawled across to the base of the chair, there on bended knees he took Illya's hand in his own and looked up. "If I could ask you, you know I would. I can't, the laws, even here are not that liberal. So I do with what I have, Illya. When we get home will you live with me?"

"You're serious?"

"About you...always. I am not the person many think I am and I will admit to many flaws."

"Such as?" Illya reached forward and cupped the warm cheek in his palm.

"Jealousy."

"Jealousy?" Illya arched an eyebrow.

"Yes," Solo bowed his head.

"Bodie?"

"No actually Doyle. When he kissed you in the bar I seriously thought about killing him."

Illya leaned in and kissed the troubled forehead.

"And?"

"And when you were poisoned with Ketamine, I treated you badly Illya. I should have known."

"Known what?" Illya breathed into his ear and trailed a series of small wet kisses across the light stubble of his cheek and down to the dimple that split the proud chin.

"That you could never be that way."

Illya's lips continued down and nuzzled at the bobbing adams apple of Solo's throat. "What way in particular are we discussing Napasha?"

"Wanton."

Illya laughed a deep throaty growl reminiscent of the purr of a large satisfied cat. "Why?"

"What do you mean why? You're the most intensely private man I have ever met Illya." Solo reached a hand up to capture Illya by the shining golden locks as he soothed his tongue down in long sweeps against the proud neck.

"Yes that is true. But then Napasha, you had never seen me before with someone I truly trusted. Or for that matter wanted."

Rational thought became harder to process as Solo rocked back on his knees and brought the Russian crashing down with him.

"I am so afraid I can't protect you, Illya."

"I have never doubted you before or you me, why should we start now?"

Solo wrapped his arms around his lover and whispered into the soft gold hair, "I can't afford to lose you."

"Napoleon, listen to me now." Illya moved out of his lover's grip and pulled the proud chin up so they looked eye to eye. "I have wanted and loved you for a very long time, has my professional performance ever once put us in jeopardy?"

"No."

"And yet I loved you? See Napoleon even then you cared, even then you would have done anything to save me and I you, the dynamic of our relationship does not change simply because we acknowledge what we have."

Solo smiled. "No?"

"No, now you said you brought me here for two reasons."

"To make love to you and to ask you to move in with me," Solo confirmed as he ran his hand along Illya's thigh.

"Da."

"And?"

Illya smiled, teasing and playful. "And what?"

"Brat. Will you live with me?"

"Oh that?" Illya was all innocence and light. Solo was aware of the paradox that this man gave, and that he should be allowed to see what others could not or would not, honored him.

"Perhaps I should just spank you." Solo advanced on his partner.

"If you do I might just enjoy it." Abruptly Illya stood up and took a step back out of reach. "Yes I will come to live with you Napoleon."

"And the condition?"

"None. Now I believe you said you wanted to make love to me." The blue eyes darkened with desire as he took yet another step away.

"Yes, but you seem to be going in the wrong direction." Solo remained passive on the floor, this time the show would be Illya's.

"Napoleon, you still have a problem with my display when I was drugged." It was a statement of fact not a question and the dark eyes looked down filled with despair. "Don't." Illya commanded. "There is much of me you don't know Napasha. Much more than what my file says."

Illya slid the suit coat off his shoulders and hung it simply on the back of the chair. Splaying his fingers slightly he ran them suggestively across his chest, unhooking his holster in the process. He tossed the gun and holster aside and pulled the black turtle neck out of the waistband of his pants.

"It worries you, that you think you took advantage of me," Illya crooned softly, his voice as deep and dark as a gypsy curse. Mesmerized Solo sat back on the carpet, stretching his feet out in front of him; his back propped against the chair.

"Well think again Napasha, as you can see I am neither drugged or drunk, nor do I suspect I am out of my mind." Finally the black wool was peeled away to reveal a pale golden body, the skin smooth except for a small patch of hair curling between the well defined pectorals. He turned and Napoleon's heart leapt to his throat. Illya's body reflected the evidence of their lives, small scars crossed the naked flesh, glowing silver in the firelight. "Well perhaps about you maybe." He added softly pushing his hair back with a work-roughened hand.

Napoleon swallowed hard as he watched Illya, the lust in his partner's eyes, the pure sensuality oozing from his lithe body. A body, which wrapped itself in shadow and light, emphasizing his masculinity, the strength and the lean muscle and whipcord all moulded into the living flesh.

"You see Napasha, I am not shy around the right person." Illya unzipped his fly and dipped his hand inside lightly fondling his balls and cock.

Napoleon's groin tingled and throbbed as he continued to watch as Illya revealed himself. The slacks hanging open around the slender hips and his penis proud and erect stood at right angle from his body and cradled in his palm. He moved his hand experimentally around the tip and threw his head back. Solo moaned as he came to his knees and stripped off his fine linen shirt.

Illya smiled down, his blue eyes slitting against impossibly long lashes, his full lips pursed into a small smile of heat.

Solo reached forward and tugged the restricting pants down Illya's legs, taking the opportunity to kiss his way down each strong thigh in turn.

"Now Napoleon, get on your knees and suck me," Illya commanded low and throaty as he spread his legs wider.

Without hesitation Napoleon swallowed his partner in one smooth stroke, his tongue laving around the underside of the glans and then back down till he felt the head tickling the back of his throat.

"Yes moya dushka, you feel so good, don't stop," Illya commanded watching rapturously at the sight of his lethal partner on his knees before him. The moment couldn't last as Solo picked up speed and worked the muscles of his throat around the gorgeous cock until finally Illya sighed heavily and came without warning into his lovers mouth. Napoleon took each spurt into himself and was reluctant to let go of the softening member despite his own body begging for release.

Illya patted the dark hair and stepped back to resume his position on the large armchair. With casual arrogance Illya spread his legs and draped them over the sides of the chair exposing himself to the man he loved.

Solo did not move instead he waited bringing his body back under control. Illya chuckled lightly as he sucked on the end of his index finger. And when he was sure he had his lover's attention moved the wet digit into the puckered opening of his body. Illya closed his eyes as a sigh was borne from his lips and Napoleon could stand it no longer. In one swift move he covered the Russian's body with his own as his lips eagerly sought those of Illya's below him.

Lips and tongues danced, hearts hammered in unison as Illya finally pushed Napoleon back to look at him from sex-darkened eyes.

"If you think what you saw in the shower was not me, then this cannot be me either can it, Napasha?"

"I never knew, Illya," Solo smiled as he continued the gentle ministrations that Illya himself had started only moments before. The slender blond body arched into the touch as he added a second finger to the first.

"Ah," Illya smiled as he spread his legs wider. "In Russia when everything is taken from you, where everything you do is controlled or denied, you develop - in self preservation, a healthy sense of hedonism. Oh yes..."

Napoleon moved back and surveyed the sprawled erotic form of his lover proudly displayed for his benefit and with self control befitting a god he moved in, impaling the body in a single moment, covering and coveting the firm flesh and tasting the sweet mouth.

Illya wrapped his legs around the strong tanned torso and allowed himself to be guided down onto the floor, impaling himself further, his hands clutched painfully on the strong shoulders as he arched back, his head resting against the soft warm leather of his chair and he panted, crying out his need as his body was filled. Denying himself no longer as Solo gathered him up in a strong and gentle palm and began to match thrust with pull until he felt himself slipping.

The void that opened was bright and wide, and for a second he hesitated at the edge of the precipice and fell headlong into the sensation accompanied with the soft croon of the CEA of UNCLE's voice calling his name.

The world stopped, vanquished and adored in a single instant. He was unaware of the tears that leaked down his face in his rapture and uncaring. Long fingers wiped at the tears and pulled him closer against a wildly beating heart.

"Oh Illya." Napoleon looked down into the relaxed face and stroked back the long strand of hair as he rocked slowly.

Illya for his part had fallen asleep.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

The oubliette had grown quiet; the screams that turned to sobs from the dying boy continued to ring in Murphy's ear, despite the fact he knew the boy had died hours ago.

Alone again and yet not alone, the corpse in time would move and Murphy vomited.

From another room and via closed circuit TV The White Wolf smiled.