Winding Down

by nickovetch

Illya Kuryakin stood under the spray of hot water and let his mind wander. It had been a grueling mission, not as fraught with danger as some, but mind numbing in its complexity. He and Napoleon Solo had been tagged with providing security for a defecting Soviet scientist whom Illya had known by reputation only.

Getting into East Berlin had been easy; getting out had almost been the death of them. Only by relying on the famous Solo luck and Illya's flair for local dialects had they escaped with the erstwhile Russian doctor in tow. Nerves not being an issue during a mission, both agents always allowed themselves the luxury of collapse in private. Illya's favorite place to fall apart being, of course, the shower.

Napoleon always allowed his partner to go first, knowing how private Illya was and how grumpy he could be when made to wait. Besides, going last gave him all the time he could want without feeling guilty. Illya decided it was a fair trade.

Soaking in the warm stream, he thought to the man they had rescued. He had been nervous to the point of paranoia, and mistrustful of everything and everyone. It was all Kuryakin could do to keep him from bolting at every shadow. Of all people, Illya certainly understood that mind set. That had been him when he first defected, and only the tireless patience and understanding of Alexander Waverly had kept him sane in those first few weeks.

Blast, how had Napoleon stood him at all at first? Surly to the point of arrogance, withdrawn almost pathologically, and looking over his shoulder for the KGB constantly had nearly had his partner tearing his hair out. Napoleon waited him out, though, patiently reassuring his partner that he was there for him, and that Illya had better damn well understand that he was no longer alone in his fight against the world.

Illya smiled at the memory of the early days of their partnership. Who would have known how well their personalities and talents would jell to form the most formidable team U.N.C.L.E. had ever known? Surely not he; he had thought Solo to be arrogant, vain and cocky enough for the entire section. Only by working in the field with him had Illya discovered that he was also brave to a fault, unflaggingly loyal, and incredibly cunning.

Of course, the man's personal habits were a bit much to live with. Illya never ceased to be amazed at the prodigious bevy of beautiful women that Solo paraded around like the true peacock that he was. He snorted at that analogy, appropriate as it was. His own personal habits did not bear close examination, as he really had none in that vein. A sigh crept out of him as he allowed a bit of melancholy to settle on his shoulders. Not that he wouldn't mind a bit of company now and then, but his idea of company was not exactly within the Command's strictures.

Shaking off the loneliness with the last of the water, Illya turned off the taps and emerged into the steamy bath. Drying off with a soft towel, he wrapped a dry one around his hips and walked into the bedroom. Napoleon was sitting on one of the beds, enjoying a large whiskey and water from the cash bar. He had poured Illya a similarly large vodka. He was relaxed and comfortable, and Illya was glad to see the edge taken off of his partner so early. It was often times hard to come down from the high of a hard won mission, and tonight was no exception. Illya crossed to the other double and pulled jeans and a t-shirt from his case and dropped them on the bed.

He felt Napoleon's eyes on his back and he turned to glance at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. I was just thinking how lucky we were today to get a Polish border guard at the checkpoint and to have a partner who speaks Polish fluently. And here I spent weeks polishing up on my German. You really saved the mission, Illya. Again."

Kuryakin blushed at the uncommon praise from his partner. "He was only half-Polish, Napoleon, and had no great love for Russians, so I just as easily could have been a liability this time. At least Dr. Yevgeny knew enough to keep silent."

"Yeah, well, anyway, Illya, you did a good job today. I realized that I don't tell you that enough." Napoleon looked at his socks and fell silent.

After a shocked moment, Illya glanced at the vodka and asked, "Is that for me?"

"Who else?" Napoleon grinned and moved off the bed in the direction of the shower. "Use up all the hot water, again, partner?"

"Of course," Illya replied innocently.

Solo laughed and disappeared into the cooling swirl of steam.

Illya heard the shower start and plopped down on his bed and tossed the vodka back in one gulp. Ice cold, just the way he liked it. Napoleon knew him so well...too well, sometimes.

He thought of the compliment Solo had given him and the rush of emotion he felt when he had heard it. Strange, it wasn't like Napoleon to get emotional like that. Illya tossed the comment off to the weariness both men felt and reached over to get his glasses. He had a physics journal to catch up on and was looking forward to picking out the inaccuracies he always found in such articles. His glasses weren't on the nightstand, and he remembered putting them in his kit bag. Annoyed, he got up to get them from the bathroom and walked into the misty warmth of the steam.

Napoleon never locked the door or even closed it when showering, preferring to keep alert to his surroundings even then. Illya spied the case on the counter top and was reaching for it when a sound froze his hand in mid-air.

A low moan came from the direction of the shower; a very breathy moan. Illya started, and heard Napoleon panting with arousal. The unmistakable sounds of Napoleon pleasuring himself came to his ears and he blushed, wanting to back out the door and give him his privacy. The next thing he heard stopped him cold.

"Illya. Illya, oh, yes. Like that. Like that, don't stop." Napoleon was whispering, his voice low and needy.

Illya was rooted to the floor, incredulous. He didn't want to move, to make a noise that would alert Napoleon to his presence. His heart was pounding, and the reaction his body had to those whispers was alarming. He felt himself grow hard immediately, and the feeling was sweet agony. For once in his life, Illya Kuryakin did not know what to do.

Napoleon, however, seemed to be doing just fine on his own. The moans and groans coming from the shower stall were increasing in frequency and volume. Illya had had as much as he could take and turned to leave. Unfortunately the state of his undress and the urgency of his own need were his undoing. He brushed against the door handle in his retreat and Napoleon's pants fell to the floor, the keys in his pocket clanking loudly on the tile.

Illya froze, blushing from his roots to his toes. He heard the shower curtain slide and couldn't turn to face Napoleon.

"Illya." Napoleon's voice was soft and gentle. "How long have you been standing there?"

He couldn't, wouldn't turn and look him in the eyes.

"Long enough, Napoleon." He spoke almost without sound.

"Illya." It was a command, and Kuryakin had taken enough of those from this man to be unable to refuse it. He turned and lifted his face to look into the eyes of his partner.

Napoleon was flushed, and he was trembling with the need for release. He gazed at Illya and the Russian felt Solo's eyes rake over him to take in the bulge of his own need against the towel. Illya glanced down at Napoleon's manhood and felt lightheaded. This couldn't be happening, he reasoned. Still dazed, he was unable to offer any resistance when Napoleon reached out quickly and captured Illya's wrist in an iron grip. He felt himself being pulled toward the wet body of his partner and only began to struggle when he felt the hot water pour over him.

"Napoleon, no." He shook his head and looked at Napoleon's face. He was gazing gently at the blond, and a small smile was starting at the corners of his lips. He tugged once more and brought Illya's body into contact with his. The gasp of pleasure that was torn from Illya made the grin turn predatory.

"Napoleon. Stop. What are you doing?" Illya asked. He tried to pull back, but Napoleon's arms had wrapped around him somehow, trapping him against the slick skin.

"Something I've longed to do for a long time, Illya." He reached between them and pulled the sodden towel from Illya's hips. Another gasp tore from his throat as Illya felt his erection brush against Napoleon's hip. "And from the sound and feel of...things...I think you have, too, tovarishch." He chuckled and placed his hand under Illya's chin, pulling his head up to meet his gaze.

"Illya, I won't do anything you don't want. Do you want me to stop?" Solo asked quietly.

Illya looked at the desire in those hazel eyes and felt weak in the knees at the blatant expression. He leaned into Napoleon's palm and pulled Solo's head down onto his lips. The first kiss was tender and tentative. The second was needy and searching. By the third, Illya was irrevocably lost in Napoleon's passion and gave up any pretense of rebellion.

He felt Napoleon shift, bringing their erections together and he almost came on the spot. He groaned and felt a soapy hand reach for him. Napoleon started a gentle rhythm that Illya could feel in his heartbeat. He kissed him back, and parted his lips when he felt Napoleon's insistent tongue lapping at him. He felt its slick length take possession of his mouth, and lost himself in the feel of both assaults. His breath was rapid and he was moaning Napoleon's name.

"That's it, Illya," Solo encouraged. "Let it happen. Let me love you."

The sound of his lover's voice spurred him on, and he thrust into the loving hand surrounding him. He reached down and wrapped shaking fingers around Napoleon's thick shaft, and worked the hard flesh in a matching cadence to his own need. Thought was impossible; only the white-hot pulse of desire was worthy of an answer.

"Napoleon," Illya warned, letting him know how far gone he was. Illya felt the familiar tingling sensation begin, and he tightened his grip on Napoleon's sex, hoping to bring them to release at the same time.

"Napoleon, please," he whimpered. "Together, together..." He felt Napoleon stroke faster and kept up with him, the need to share this with him all consuming. He was moaning continually now, all else forgotten but the roar in his blood, and the pressure in his groin.

"Yes, my Illyusha. Yes, my love. Come for me. Come with me."

He heard Napoleon's words from far away and cried out, arching against the hand that held him and felt his release spurt out in pulses into that welcoming warmth. He sobbed at the exquisite wonder of the feeling, knowing it was Napoleon who had brought it in him.

He felt Napoleon stiffen against him and heard him chanting, "Illya, Illya, Illya..." over and over as his own orgasm ripped through him. Illya felt the jets of semen splatter against his abdomen as Solo reached completion. The warm water sluiced away the evidence of their lovemaking, and Illya wondered if this could all be a dream.

Opening his eyes, he saw the look of wonder on Napoleon's face, and realized that it was indeed reality. Illya smiled at the exhausted grin his partner wore, knowing a matching smile must be on his face as well. He traced his fingers across the taut muscles of Napoleon's belly, and laid his head on the strong shoulder. He felt the gentle exhalation of a sigh against his skin.

"How long, Napoleon?" he asked gently. He heard his lover take in a breath and waited for the answer.

"Since forever."

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