The First Aid Affair

by nickovetch

"Did you have to blow up the entire building, Illya?" Napoleon Solo grumbled at his dust-covered partner. He was similarly encased in dirt and severely unhappy at the present condition of his new suit.

"You know Mr. Waverly expects us to be thorough, Napoleon," he answered brusquely, a trace of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, but I'd hate to see the expense report this quarter from the demolitions section. Crazy Russian," he jibed.

Illya offered a long-suffering sigh, and said, "One less THRUSH satrap to worry about, in any event."

"I just want to know one thing."

"Yes, Napoleon?"

"Who's going to pay for my dry cleaning?"

Kuryakin rolled his eyes and muttered, "I'll add it to the expense report under 'collateral damage'" he quipped, moving past Solo to walk back to the car. Napoleon sighed dramatically and followed his partner.

"One of these days, I'll get smart and wear cheap suits. Ugly, cheap suits, mind you. The kind that I'd be glad to get soot, dirt, or blood on just so I could burn them later."

Illya snorted and looked sideways at Solo. "Now that I'd like to see. The sartorial Solo splendor reduced to such depths. Why, the blackmail potential alone would be staggering." He keyed the ignition and winced, but hid it well. Not well enough that his partner missed the byplay, however. Napoleon reached over and gently grasped his arm. Illya's sleeve was a sodden red mess, and he jerked it back from Solo's grip.

"It's nothing," he hissed.

"It's always 'nothing' with you, have you noticed?" Solo teased, but he inspected his friend's arm anyway. There was a large angry gash running from the heel of his hand past his wrist, and Napoleon shook his head. He pulled out a handkerchief and bandaged the wrist expertly. "That 'nothing' looks like it needs stitches, partner," he replied. "Too bad you're not left handed." Napoleon started to exit the car and Illya gave him a withering look.

"Where are you going? Your tailor's?" he quipped.

"I'm driving."

"Like hell you are," Kuryakin retorted, punching the accelerator and rocketing the car into play. Napoleon's door slammed shut from the sudden motion and he glared at Kuryakin.

"I may be bleeding, but I would like to arrive at headquarters in one piece," Illya explained. "Your driving could best be described as 'murderous.'"

"And just what would you call your demo work back there, my friend?" Solo inquired.

Illya thought for a moment. He grinned at Solo and said, "Inspired."

Napoleon laughed, and his normally reserved partner joined him.

"Home, James," he ordered haughtily, waving his hand at Illya dismissively. Illya stomped on the gas pedal and Napoleon began to worry about who would need medical attention first.

They arrived at Del Floria's, and Napoleon raised an index finger to his eyebrow by way of greeting. The proprietor operated the steam press twice and watched as the two agents disappeared into the changing booth. Once inside UNCLE-HQ the men visibly relaxed and allowed the receptionist to log them in. Solo leaned close to the woman on duty and allowed her graceful fingers to linger longer than necessary on his lapel. She grimaced when her fingertips came away coated with grime.

"Have a spot of trouble today, Napoleon?" she purred, her eyes roaming over the delicious form in front of her. Solo reached for his handkerchief, and belatedly remembered its current location.

"I, ah, seem to be out of hankies at the moment, my dear. I do apologize for the inconvenience."

Kuryakin scowled behind him, impatiently waiting for the badinage to stop. He reached for the badge the Solo-struck woman proffered in her other hand and clipped it to his pocket.

"I'll be in my office when you decide to return to duty," he told his partner icily.

"You'll be in Medical, Illya, and I'll be by shortly to make sure you didn't get lost on the way." Kuryakin opened his mouth to protest, but Solo cut him off

"That was not a suggestion, Agent Kuryakin." The dour Russian frowned at his partner but trudged down the corridor in the direction of the clinic. Napoleon grinned behind him and turned his attention back to the lovely at the desk.

"Now, where were we?" he asked smoothly.

Ten minutes later Solo caught up with his friend in the medical section treatment bay. A very grumpy and impatient Illya sat on a cot while the doctor on duty sutured his arm. Kuryakin glared at Napoleon and said, "Don't say a word." Solo swallowed the witticism about to escape him and merely looked innocently at his partner. Dr. Hanson looked from Illya to Napoleon and smiled to himself. He knew first hand his current patient's aversion to all things hospital. He kept quiet and finished placing the last two stitches.

Placing a sterile bandage on Kuryakin's wrist, he gave him a stern look and said, "Keep it clean, dry and come back in two days to have this changed. And take all the antibiotics this time, will you? My efficiency rating goes down every time I have you as a patient," he teased the poor agent. "Mr. Solo, you will ensure he complies with my orders?" he asked of the man hovering at his elbow.

"Absolutely. When you have Illya as a partner, you get good at being a nurse." He grinned at Kuryakin, who gave them both a withering look and slid off the exam table.

"If you will excuse me, I actually work here and have business to attend." He stalked across the floor and left the room in a huff. Solo looked at the doctor innocently and raised his eyebrows.

"Did I say something remiss?"

Illya was in the lab running diagnostics when Solo met up with him. Kuryakin merely glanced up at Napoleon and concentrated on his calibrations. He was still sulking, and no one knew how to sulk better than Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin. Solo tried to break the ice by asking, "How's the arm?"

"It was fine before, and it's fine now. That little trip to the witch doctor was unnecessary."

Napoleon sighed. Sometimes Illya could be such a pain in the neck. He tried a different tack. "You know, Illya, it's not a sign of weakness to admit when you're hurt. Let other people take care of you once in a while without biting their heads off."

"I've been taking care of myself since I was seven, Napoleon. I see no reason to change now." Illya put down the sensor he was working on and folded his arms across his chest, glaring at Solo. His partner was quiet, and that was enough to alarm the Russian.

Solo gazed at the stoic form in front of him and moved a step closer to him. He knew he was invading Illya's personal boundaries, but also knew a good opportunity when he saw it. He routinely pushed the limits of Illya's patience in an attempt to shake him up and rattle him just a bit. Since they had been paired, he had seen Illya change from a closed off, tight-lipped recluse to the warm and caring partner he knew better than anyone else. Casual acquaintances may not have seen those qualities at first glance, but Napoleon knew where to dig to uncover them. He decided a little more excavation was in order today.

He stepped closer to Illya, practically touching, and gently took the injured wrist in his hands. He felt his friend stiffen but Illya did not pull away. He felt Kuryakin's pulse quicken at the touch, and everything clicked into place. Napoleon grinned evilly at his partner and watched as Illya licked his lips and cleared his throat.

"Napoleon, what are you doing?" he squeaked out, appalled at the sound of his voice.

"Something I should have done a long time ago, Illya. Besides, I promised the doc I'd take care of you, didn't I?" He began to rub the bandage sensually, watching the pulse in Illya's neck beat furiously. He'd long suspected Kuryakin was attracted to him, but had only just recently realized his feelings for the blonde man as well.

The last few missions had been grueling, and he'd come to rely on Illya more than he cared to admit. And more surprisingly, he found that he missed Illya when they were apart and kept finding reasons to draw them together in their free time. Illya had never complained about their pairing off so much, and Solo knew he was secretly glad to be away from his solitary apartment.

The American placed his lips against the bandaged wrist ever so gently and began to travel up the slender arm with his mouth. He heard a gasp from Illya, but kept his attention on the trembling arm underneath his lips. Kuryakin was panting now and tremors began to shake the thin body. He was looking at his partner as if he had suddenly grown another head but did nothing to stop the intimate caresses. When Solo reached his shoulder he moaned, and closing his eyes, tilted his head back, exposing the graceful neck. At the first touch of flesh on heated flesh, Illya cried out and stood up, placing his body flush against his partner's. Napoleon's lips were teasing, burying themselves into the soft skin above Illya's collar. Solo moved the few inches necessary to reach those full lips, and moaned himself when Illya turned and captured his mouth in a burning, needful kiss.

Wrapping his arms around the smaller agent, Napoleon pulled him close and deepened the kiss, feeling Illya's tongue meeting his and tangling deliciously. After a bit, he released the stunned agent and pulled back just enough to look in his eyes. The dazzling blue color was glazed a bit, and he could hear Illya's breath catch in his throat.

"Is it better now, Illya?" he asked coyly, watching awareness bleed back into the beautiful face.

"Uhm, is what better, Napoleon?" Kuryakin asked dazedly.

"Why, your wrist of course. What else did you think I was talking about?" Solo smirked at the way his partner was totally rattled by the turn of events, certainly not something that happened very often to his cool, collected partner.

"My...my wrist is fine, Napoleon. Thank you for being concerned." Illya shook his head and pulled away from Solo's embrace, slumping in the chair as if his legs were jelly. He looked at Solo and allowed a small, shocked smile to trace his lips.

The dark haired man smiled back and said, "I'll be coming over tonight to check up on you. Can't be too careful, you know."

Illya thought about the large four-poster bed in Solo's bedroom and of his own uncomfortable one before swallowing hard and answering.

"I believe the...first aid supplies at my place are sorely lacking, Napoleon. Perhaps I should meet you at your apartment instead?" He held his breath, hoping Solo would understand.

Napoleon's face lit up with a thousand watt grin and he slapped Illya on the back. "I'll stop by the pharmacy and make sure we have what we need in the way of...first aid supplies. What kind of partner would I be if I wasn't prepared?"

Solo turned and made his way out of the lab, turning to wink at his blushing partner. "You seem to be flushed, Illya. Maybe you're coming down with a fever. Perhaps you should return to the clinic?"

The automatic door mechanism was the only thing that saved him as his reserved, stoic, unemotional partner threw a beaker at him as his answer.

Outside the door, Napoleon began to think he really would need a first aid kit. "This could get...interesting," he mused, stuffed his hands in his pockets and whistled his way to his office.

Napoleon Solo stepped out of the shower and dried his hard-toned body off briskly. He had been humming a lot today and caught his reflection in the mirror, wondering why the dapper man he saw there was wearing a decidedly self-satisfied grin. He was used to the anticipatory thrill of an impending date jacking up his nervous system, but tonight it was multiplied a hundred-fold. A certain gorgeous blond was on the way over to what could prove to be a memorable evening. A very memorable evening if he played his cards right.

Solo chuckled at the memory of the shocked expression on that particular blond's face as he had moved in for the kill. He had been chipping away at the defenses of that target for a very long time, and was as surprised as any at how quickly his game had come to fruition. He suddenly realized all the teasing and prodding he'd subjected Illya to had been his way of flirting with him, seducing him Solo-style. That realization rocked him, and he wondered how long Illya had known what he himself had just figured out. He shook himself mentally and attempted to calm down and allow the evening to proceed at its own pace. It wouldn't do to frighten his quarry away now that it was so near.

He dressed quickly, picking a casual polo shirt and khaki pants that brought out the color of his eyes. Stepping into loafers, he decided against cologne, allowing his natural scent to create an allure all its own. He brushed his thick hair, smoothing the forelock that never fully submitted to his ministrations. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he decided that he was ready for his date.

Walking to the kitchen Solo took out the bottle of champagne and set it in the ice bucket. The frozen lasagna he had picked up at Scarpone's was bubbling deliciously in the oven and he set the garlic bread next to the stove for later. He had almost rethought the garlic bread, but then decided he was being too cautious and kept it on the menu. He brought out two champagne goblets and set them on the counter top. Glancing around the apartment, he nodded his head at the preparations. As Napoleon moved to the living room, the doorbell rang once.

Smiling, he thought it strange that his paramour hadn't used the spare key, knowing exactly where it was carefully hidden. Turning off the elaborate alarm system, Solo opened the door with a flourish and greeted the slender form at his door.

"Perfect timing, as usual," he grinned and ushered his guest into the apartment.

"Did you expect anything less?" Illya Kuryakin countered as he walked into the room. He took in Solo's comfortable clothes, freshly shaved face and the aroma of dinner and felt mildly annoyed that he had come straight from the office. He was beginning to think he should have prepared better for this particular evening; like coming armed with more than just his UNCLE Special.

In the time he had been Solo's partner, he had watched Napoleon's romantic escapades from a distance with more than a little awe at the prodigious volume of such encounters. To be on the receiving end of that passionate attention was more than a little disconcerting. However, Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin was nothing if not brave in the face of danger, and he willed himself to relax. This was Napoleon, after all and not a THRUSH minion.

Illya walked to the couch and sat down with a sigh. It had been a very long, very perplexing day. He heard Napoleon come up behind the couch and tensed as he felt strong fingers knead his taut shoulders.

"Relax, I'm not going to bite you."

"Could I get that in writing?" Illya retorted, and Napoleon laughed at his friend's quick wit. Most people weren't on the receiving end of Illya's humor and would be surprised to know he could be quite funny. They'd be surprised at a lot of things about him thought Solo, and continued to massage Illya into submission.

Kuryakin dropped his head forward and allowed Solo to work the kinks out of his neck. He was not at all surprised to feel Napoleon's lips begin to caress where his hands had been. He moaned and leaned back into the couch as all cohesive thought fled him. Solo continued his assault until he felt his own resolve slipping. A quick shake of his head and he stopped, moving to the kitchen to get the champagne. He wanted this evening to last, and had to remind himself to slow down. He was the seducer here, and enjoyed the part he played too well to rush headlong into the romantic fray.

Illya's eyes followed him taking in the masculine stride of his partner, watching the graceful moves he knew so well. He shivered and was glad Napoleon's back was to him so he wouldn't see how much this night was affecting him. He tried breathing again and chastised himself for acting like a love-struck teenager. He fixed his eyes on a spot on the wall and tried to look nonchalant.

Napoleon, likewise, took a deep breath before taking the wine to the couch. He offered Illya a glass and worked the bottle open. Both men jumped when the cork popped out and they grinned at each other. Solo poured and then sat down next to Illya and clinked glasses with him.

"To partners," he toasted, and Illya looked into his eyes before replying.

"To partners." They drank deeply and Illya's eyebrows rose at the taste of the expensive champagne.

"Like it?" the American asked.

"I am used to vodka; but, yes, it is very good." His accent had thickened and Solo pretended not to notice. He knew that only happened when Illya was stressed or emotional, and he took it as a good sign. He leaned over and plucked the glass from Illya, setting them both down on the table.

"I know something that tastes even better," he murmured and pressed into Illya's lips for a tender kiss. Seducing a man was no different than seducing a woman, and Solo had years of practice. He moved his hand around to Illya's nape and pulled him closer, deepening the embrace and feeling the Russian relax into it. Napoleon nuzzled the soft lips and stroked them with his tongue. He pulled back, giving Illya breathing room and rested his forehead against the other man's.

Illya was panting slightly, trying to keep control of his emotions. Solo gave him time, not wishing to push him too far. He was enormously pleased when Illya leaned into him and captured his lips in an answering kiss. The agent parted Napoleon's lips with his own and slid his tongue tentatively into his mouth. His partner groaned and opened his lips accepting Illya fully. They stroked each other, discovering the architecture of their bodies in better detail. Breaking only to breathe they tangled together for long, sensuous moments. Illya finally pushed Napoleon back and took a deep breath.

"If we are going to have dinner, we'd better do it now. My appetite has suddenly become undeniable." Illya was sweating and removed his jacket and holster. His shirt was beginning to stick to him and he knew he had to slow down or he would be lost. He looked at his lover and smiled shyly.

Napoleon melted at that look and stood up to get things ready in the kitchen.

"Yes, Illya. Let's eat. I am so looking forward to dessert."

His partner blushed furiously and joined him as they walked to the table.

The small eat-in kitchen was cozy and the agents traded shoptalk as they enjoyed their meal. Illya tucked away the lasagna like a longshoreman, and Napoleon smiled at the thought. His partner was always just this side of skinny and Solo always tried to get him to eat more. He told Illya it was the Italian in him, and that three meals a day were requisite when he was growing up.

Illya looked wistful and Solo asked what he was thinking. "Just that I can count on my hands how many times I had three meals a day when I was young." He looked at the table, embarrassed that he had revealed something so personal.

Napoleon reached for his hand and looked Illya in the eyes. "I'm sorry, tovarishch. I didn't mean to bring up unpleasant memories."

"No, Napoleon, it is I who am sorry. This night is for new memories, not old ones." His eyes were bright and Solo smiled.

"We can make many new memories, Illyusha. All of them good." He pushed away from the table and knelt down by Illya's chair. Pulling his head down, Napoleon kissed his eyes, nose, and placed feather soft kisses on his cheeks. A tear ran down Illya's cheek and Solo took a breath and wiped it away with his lips.

"Illya. Look at me," he ordered and the smaller man complied. His eyes were misted over and Napoleon was pierced by the love held there. "We don't have to rush anything tonight, love. I want you to understand how much you mean to me. I've waited this long, maybe too long, my friend. But, Illya..." he stopped and looked into the blue eyes so close to his own and sighed gently. "You are worth waiting a lifetime for."

Illya broke then, his emotions spilling over from his heart to the man he loved with all his soul. His whole life had been spent in aching solitude, and this closeness was something he'd never thought he could capture, and the one person he'd never dared to hope he would find it with. Napoleon hugged him, rocking the slight body until Illya stilled in his arms.

The Russian seemed to make a decision and stood up, taking the taller man in an embrace and whispering in his ear.

"I am still waiting for dessert, Polya. You know how cranky I get when I have to wait." He purred into Napoleon's ear and placed kisses against the skin of his neck.

Napoleon stopped him and pulled back to look into the blue eyes. "Are you sure, Illyusha? I meant what I said about waiting."

"When have you ever known me to be a patient man, Napoleon?" He punctuated his statement by pressing his body hard against Napoleon's. He felt Illya's desire against his own and grunted.

"Bedroom?"

"Bedroom." Illya agreed.

Solo took his hand and pulled him toward the bed. His heart was racing and he had never wanted anyone as much as this man. He knew Illya felt the same and that made it even more exciting. He began to strip his partner and Illya stilled, allowing the senior agent to take the lead. The normally unflappable Chief Enforcement Agent's hands shook as he slowly unbuttoned his partner's shirt. There was no t-shirt underneath and his hands ached to caress the pale flesh revealed to him. The bandaged wrist stood out in white relief against the translucence of Illya's skin. Napoleon closed his eyes to still the assault on his senses as he placed warm fingers on the waistband of Illya's slacks. The Russian groaned as Napoleon's hands brushed against his fly, then slowly slid down the zipper and wordlessly pulled off the pants and boxers in one movement. He pulled the naked form against him and reveled in the feel of the pliant skin beneath his questing hands. He had seen his partner naked before, but never in this glorious way. The pale skin was flushed and his stomach muscles quivered at his touch. The proud erection was thrusting upwards and his first caress of it brought a strangled gasp from Illya.

"Polya. You are wearing much too much. Please." Illya tugged at his lover's shirt and he allowed him to pull it over his head. Napoleon couldn't restrain himself and jerked the smaller man against his chest, feeling their flesh meet for the first time. Both agents moaned at the warmth of the contact and Illya methodically removed the rest of his friend's clothing.

Naked and thoroughly aroused, Napoleon gently pushed Illya onto the bed. He began to love him, raining kisses on the neck, chest and abdomen of his lover, driving Illya out of his mind with desire. Illya flipped Solo over and began his own assault of the dark body. Licking his way down his torso, Illya stopped along the way to tease the hard nipples and nibble across the tight abdominals before reaching his ultimate target. Napoleon was hot and hard beneath him and Illya wasted no time going down on him. He knew Napoleon wouldn't be able to last and secretly longed to see him at the moment of release. Illya bent his head to the waiting cock, lapping up the fluid collecting at the tip. Napoleon gasped at the contact and willed himself not to come immediately. He thought of Mother Fear, Miss Diketon, and any other THRUSH crone he could think of to slow down his release. Illya was giving him head masterfully and Napoleon wanted it to go on and on. He yelped out loud when Illya deep throated him and sobbed as he felt him start to hum.

"No... fair, Illya," he rasped, rapidly losing the ability to think with his other head.

Illya grinned around his mouthful and redoubled his effort to make Solo come. A few more seconds of attention was all it took. Napoleon surged upwards, burying himself even deeper in his lover, and pulsed out into his incredible warmth. His partner swallowed, again and again, lost in the flavor and powerful feel of his love's orgasm. He heard Napoleon groaning and smiled, knowing he had been the reason for this rapture. The rapidly softening cock pulled out of his mouth and he licked the head clean of the last drop of semen. Napoleon moaned deeper this time and didn't have the energy to even lift his head. He waited for the earth to right itself again and felt Illya moving up his sweaty body to lie against him. Illya ran warm fingers across his chest, stroking the soft hair there. He looked incredibly smug at having so satisfied his partner.

Napoleon gradually became aware of his extremities again and looked down at the ridiculously pleased expression on Illya's face.

"I'll get you for that, Illya," he threatened weakly.

"Could I get that in writing?" Illya deadpanned and they both laughed at the running joke.

"No, but you can take it out in flesh instead," Solo countered and began to work his way down Illya's body, determined to give as good as he got.