MFU Fiction: Treasures
Title: Treasures
Author: Saki101
Genre: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~10K
Written for the 2010 Down the Chimney Challenge (DtC 7) for cosmosmariner and originally posted on muncle. (A video clip which introduces the characters in the film may be viewed here. A photo of Illya, in costume as it were:
Disclaimer: Don't own any of these characters or their universes and no money is being made!
Excerpt:
Napoleon resumed his study of Doctors Kuryakin and Volker who were donning the last of their scuba gear. One of them turned towards the deck as he zipped up his wet suit and smiled at them.
“I can hardly tell them apart,” Napoleon marvelled, and Napoleon was justifiably proud of his observation skills.
Treasures
“Look at them,” Maggie Hanford said and there was a breathless quality to her voice that Napoleon preferred to hear under other circumstances. “They’re identical,” she added softly, then she sneezed.
“Bless you,” Napoleon said.
“Thank you,” Dr Hanford replied, glancing at Napoleon as she pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her nose. “It’s the chlorine.” She turned her attention back to the simulation pool below the observation deck on which she and Napoleon were standing.
Ordinarily, Napoleon would have had to make an effort, in the name of duty, to turn his eyes from his young, blonde, statuesque companion, Dr Hanford of UC Berkeley’s Oceanography Department, but the sight to which she referred was more arresting. Unsettling. Disturbing, in some way Napoleon couldn’t quite put his finger on. Napoleon resumed his study of Doctors Kuryakin and Volker who were donning the last of their scuba gear. One of them turned towards the deck as he zipped up his wet suit and smiled at them.
“I can hardly tell them apart,” Napoleon marvelled, and Napoleon was justifiably proud of his observation skills.
“Nor me, but that was Philip,” Dr Hanford said. “He’s flirting. Or offering a reinforcement stimulus, if you want to be more Skinnerian about it.”
“But psychology isn’t your area, is it?” Napoleon asked, not turning away from the scene below. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Dr Hanford didn’t either.
“No, but it’s one that Philip has explored. He’s used it to train sea mammals. Given an opportunity he has a tendency to share what he’s explored. It’s the teacher in him,” Margaret Hanford responded.
“Could be considered showing off. That’s a way of flirting, too,” Napoleon offered.
“Is psychology your area, Mr Solo?” Dr Hanford asked. “Or just flirting?“ Napoleon could see a dimple coming out on her cheek from the corner of his eye. He could spare that much attention for her.
“Flirting maybe. I suppose I can’t really be the judge,” Napoleon answered, enjoying the banter because it was familiar and easy. It distracted him from the disequilibrium his contemplation of the lithe figures strapping on their oxygen tanks seemed to be causing. They were helping one another tighten the straps and there was something about that that was making his pulse speed up. And that was unfamiliar.
“No. We’d have to collect data from the subjects,” she said, then fell silent, watching the rubber-clad figures bend over to adjust their flippers. “I wasn’t able to tell them apart,” she recalled. “I suppose Dr Kuryakin told you the story.”
Napoleon smiled. “He did. When I asked him how he knew of Dr Volker’s work. I’ve nearly stopped asking Illya about such things. When we first became partners, I always enquired how he seemed to know…almost everything.” Napoleon hadn’t been pleased at the quiet amusement in Illya’s voice as he retold the story either, explained how he had turned around from a drinking fountain during a physics conference at Berkeley and found himself in the arms of an alluring stranger, who had said she was very sorry and kissed him, apparently to demonstrate just how sorry.
“They’re alike in that, too,” Dr Hanford mused. “Curious, brilliant…beautiful…” Her voice trailed off.
Napoleon didn’t like it.
******************
At what point had Illya convinced Dr Hanford that he wasn’t Philip Volker? Napoleon wondered at dinner. Illya had been a bit vague about that. She seemed to be flirting with all three of them. But you’re only being polite with me. Courteously not leaving me out of the game. Napoleon took a sip of his wine. I’ve played more of these games than you have, my dear, he thought. It won’t hurt my feelings to sit out a round or two.
Napoleon let his eyes meander over the two fair faces seated across from him, their matching profiles sharp, their conversation sharper. They had chosen to dine in their hotel suite for security reasons and the talk was more or less a continuation of their instruction about the technology that would be used in the salvage operation. Technology that Volker had mainly invented himself and which Illya, therefore, had to be completely familiar with if he was to convince the THRUSH operatives that he was indeed the Dr Philip Volker, the one they had paid so much for his expertise, and, more importantly, if they were to succeed in their mission.
Napoleon studied Margaret Hanford for a moment. She wouldn’t notice him staring. All her attention was focused now on the two scientists. She broke into their dialogue from time to time when it touched on seismology or marine biology, her specialties, but otherwise just listened and watched. Ardently. What else is going on with her and Illya and Volker? Napoleon thought. Is she trying to make Volker jealous? He seems like the type…maybe. Napoleon leaned back from the dinner table and observed even more carefully.
The other… Napoleon shook his head very slightly. He’d almost thought “the other Illya”. I’ll call the man by name then, Napoleon decided. Volker's more boisterous in his movements, more garrulous than my Illya. Surely Illya is the original and Volker… Napoleon caught himself again. Neither one is the original. They’re just two men who look alike. There is no other connection between them. Yet. Napoleon’s body remained at ease in his chair, but his eyes narrowed.
Their meeting a year or so ago had been an accident caused by Margaret Hanford mistaking Illya for Volker. There it is again. I don’t want to be on a first-name basis. Not feeling that friendly. Why? Napoleon was aware of his own behaviour and was taking his instinctive antipathy towards Volker into account. The man, after all, had contacted UNCLE through Illya to advise them that THRUSH had sought him out, sought out his expertise for an underwater venture, a treasure hunt of sorts except they knew where the treasure was. It wasn’t finding the prize that was the challenge, it was extracting it from the two damaged vessels, a galleon filled with gold from the New World and other booty, sunk over 400 years before and, more importantly, a World War II convoy ship whose safe might still hold secrets that neither the Americans, the British nor the Soviets wanted to fall into unscrupulous hands, or any hands at all. The secrets needed to stay lost or be destroyed. Yet none of the governments could agree to let the other intervene and so they had turned to the UNCLE. The former Allied governments had accepted to match the fee Volker would be forgoing from THRUSH if he helped UNCLE conduct the mission to dispose of any classified material that had survived the sinking of the navy ship. Volker had also negotiated with THRUSH for a 50% share of the value of any salvage. UNCLE had offered Volker 100% of the galleon‘s salvage in exchange for no interference and no questions about what was on the military vessel.
Mercenary was what Napoleon had called Volker after Mr Waverly had outlined the terms. When Illya said that Volker thought it was better to be a rich scientist than a poor one, Napoleon had raised his eyebrows. Illya’s further explanation about Volker preferring to fund his own research whenever possible, so he could be independent of national or commercial agendas, had made Napoleon uneasy. There had been a hint of admiration in Illya’s voice. You don’t care about owning much of anything, Illya. You chide me about my penchant for luxury. How can you admire this egotistical, cut-throat…I’m jealous. I’m jealous, Napoleon realised. He observed how attentively Illya was following every word Volker said. Our lives will depend on Illya absorbing all this information, Napoleon tried to reason with himself. But Illya was enjoying challenging any of Volker’s points that seemed unsupported and appeared to relish the facility with which Volker defended each one. I want Illya’s admiration for myself. Napoleon finished his wine. I’ve heard Illya express esteem for numerous people, scientists, authors, composers…Mr Waverly. Old people, dead people, distant people. Not beautiful young men at the same dinner table. Napoleon reached for his water glass and drank half of it.
They hadn’t dressed for dinner. The men were all in shirtsleeves, Dr Hanford in a pale green, cotton blouse, pleasingly form-fitting. Volker’s shirt was white, rolled up to the elbows and open a few buttons down as though he’d been in too much of a hurry when changing out of his wetsuit to bother buttoning them all. So was Illya’s. They were like mirror images of one another as they sat across from Napoleon, turned in their seats to face one another, so avid was their communication. Volker was gesturing, using a bread roll to illustrate the maneuverability of his underwater vehicle. Then he tore off a piece and ate it. The movement of the jaw under the taut skin was mesmerising. I find Volker attractive, Napoleon admitted.
**************
Napoleon reached for the phone. From the next bed Illya gave an interrogatory grunt.
“The reception desk,” Napoleon answered when he hung up. “Dr Standish is on his way up and breakfast should be right behind him.”
Napoleon pulled on a robe and Illya pulled on his trousers. Guns in hand, they proceeded to the door of the suite. Napoleon left the chain on when he opened the door. Illya stayed behind the door, gun poised. Standish looked like the geologist they were expecting. Shutting the door to undo the chain, Napoleon nodded to Illya before opening it again.
“Good morning to you, too,” Dr Standish said as Napoleon closed and locked the door behind him. “Philip said this project would be a little different. I didn’t realise quite how different until just now,” he added, staring pointedly at Napoleon’s gun. Napoleon dropped it into the pocket of his robe.
Illya stepped forward, switched his gun to his left hand and held out his right to their visitor. Standish redirected his attention. “Illya Kuryakin,” Illya said. “Of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement.”
Standish kept his eyes on Illya’s face as he accepted his hand. “Doug Standish. Stanford, Oceanography Department. Pleasure to meet you. Maggie said the resemblance was uncanny, but that doesn’t cover it.”
“I’ve enjoyed reading your papers,” Illya offered.
“I don’t write as much as I should,” Dr Standish replied, his gaze still fixed. “I prefer to do, rather than write about it. Philip manages both.” Standish let his inspection of Illya range over his whole body and back to his face. “And you dive?” he asked Illya. Illya nodded.
Napoleon coughed. Standish turned to him. “Napoleon Solo, also of the UNCLE. Good to meet you, sir. I gravitate more toward the active side of our endeavours as well,” he explained. Standish smiled. He was a well-built man, casually dressed in khaki trousers and a light blue shirt which brought out the blue in his eyes. He was fair-haired, older than the other scientists by ten or fifteen years, his features weather-worn, a tendency towards affability etched into the lines of his face. From a lot of years in the sun, Napoleon guessed. A confident man, accustomed to people doing what he says, not needing to be heavy-handed about his authority. Napoleon liked him…and watched his gaze drift back to Illya.
“I’ll go get Dr Volker,” Napoleon said.
“Neither Maggie nor Philip are morning people,” Standish observed before asking Illya something about his diving experience that Napoleon didn‘t quite catch.
Napoleon had to rap twice on the door to Philip and Maggie’s room to get an answer. Philip opened the door in a loosely-tied dressing gown, its dark blue cloth setting off his pale skin and piercing blue eyes. Does he know that? Napoleon wondered. Philip smiled sleepily at him, having seen Napoleon’s appraising glance sweep over him. “Dr Standish is here,” Napoleon said.
Volker nodded. “I’ll be right out,” he said, doing something with the knot of the robe which didn’t cover any more of his skin, rather framed the dusting of hair in the centre of his chest. Is he flirting with me? What was it, Dr Hanford had called it? A reinforcement stimulus? Napoleon couldn’t take his eyes off the nimble fingers playing with the dark, silky cloth. The same hands. Broad, capable. “Maggie probably needs to sleep a bit more,” Volker added and there was a smile to his voice as he turned very slightly towards the inside of the room before stepping forward to follow Napoleon to the sitting area.
The slight movement had allowed Napoleon a glimpse of Dr Hanford, stretched out on the rumpled bed, the covers reaching to the middle of her bare back, her tousled hair half covering her sleeping face, the hint of a smile indicating a pleasant dream. Is he proving that she’s his? Napoleon mused as he headed back towards the others. There was another knock on the door. He veered in that direction. Should be room service. Did Volker take Maggie’s perfunctory flirting with me yesterday seriously? Or is he showing off? Demonstrating another of his many skills?
The breakfast trolley safely inside the suite, checked for both bugging devices and poison, the three of them proceeded to begin to brief Dr Standish over scrambled eggs and salmon, toast, marmalade, fruit and coffee. It wasn’t long before Dr Hanford joined them, looking refreshed and relaxed despite the early hour.
Later that morning, they boarded planes to Miami to rendezvous with THRUSH in their various ways.
****************
“Who’s he?” the tall THRUSH agent apparently overseeing their venture asked when Napoleon came aboard the THRUSH vessel behind Illya. Napoleon was lugging a case of equipment just like the others, but something in his bearing, his clothing, had set him apart from the three scientists.
Illya glanced back at Napoleon and then at the THRUSH agent. “Darius is our guard. Any problem with that?” Illya asked, not moving further into the boat and reaching out to touch Maggie‘s arm.
The man reached for Napoleon’s jacket as though to check underneath. Napoleon stepped back, waving his index finger and said, “Uh, uh, uh.” The THRUSH scowled.
“If you have a problem with that, we can leave now,” Illya said. “I was very clear in my stipulations.”
“Stipulations?” the man growled. “What do you think this is anyhow?”
“I think this is a salvage operation and part of the salvage is mine. I want it guarded. If it isn’t, I don’t go. We don‘t go,” Illya stated. He took Dr Hanford’s arm and begin to turn back towards the dock. Napoleon stepped back as well, and Dr Standish behind him.
A shorter man whispered something to the overseer. He nodded and held up his hands. “Right, right. My colleague here has just reminded me that this is a scientific expedition. I’m not so used to scientific expeditions,” he said. “My apologies.” He eyed Napoleon. “To you, too…Darius,” he said. “You can keep your gun. But don’t go shooting any holes in the boat, you know.”
“I’ll be careful about that…I didn’t catch your name,” Napoleon said to the THRUSH agent.
“Silver,” he replied.
Napoleon couldn’t help glancing at Mr Silver’s feet, but they both appeared to be there.
“Pleasure,” Napoleon said and followed Illya.
**************
Although he helped out setting up and monitoring some of the equipment, Napoleon was mainly occupied with keeping an eye on everyone. Once they had gotten underway, the THRUSH agents had busied themselves manning the vessel and not interacted with their merry band much except to provide their meals. Other than Silver, the crew appeared to be low ecshelon THRUSH personnel employed for their sea-faring experience and Silver seemed to be filling the role in which Illya had cast Napoleon, a guard for the spoils. Standish, Napoleon felt, was nothing more sinister than the research scientist he was reputed to be. Napoleon reserved judgement about Hanford and her association with Volker who wasn’t due to join them just yet. She could be his partner in more ways than one. Napoleon kept careful track of her whereabouts.
Napoleon chuckled softly. His usual reason for such attentiveness would have been a little post-mission relaxation with the good doctor, but lovely as she was, her marked preference for Illya’s company would have precluded any designs of that nature, if he had chosen to formulate them. He hadn’t though. No, he was making sure the mission progressed smoothly to a successful conclusion and that Dr Hanford spent as little time alone with Illya as possible during the process.
Standish stopped next to Napoleon on the deck and regarded Maggie’s and Illya’s preparations. They were standing in the aft section of the vessel preparing for a preliminary reconnaissance dive, Illya in swimming trunks and a black tee-shirt, Hanford in a revealing two-piece suit with a very practical utility belt around her waist. Illya’s lay nearby. Dr Hanford knelt next to Illya, securing a rope around his ankle. She checked twice that the fastening was secure. Illya will triple check himself in a moment, Napoleon thought. He was certain of that. Dr Hanford’s hand slid up Illya’s calf. “Tense your leg,” she said. Illya did, his calf bulging, the muscles in his thighs swelling. Dr Hanford tried to slip her index finger between the ankle band and Illya’s leg but could not, she tried again with her little finger and succeeded. “It’s not too tight,” she declared and stood up. In the galley, something fell with a loud thud. Dr Hanford looked back and saw Napoleon watching her. She flushed and moved aside a pace, whispering something to Illya before she resumed staring out over the water.
“It’s confusing,” Standish said.
“What?” Napoleon answered, absently.
“Their resemblance,” Standish clarified. “I find myself treating Illya familiarly, as though I’ve known him for years, as I have Philip. Seems Maggie is having the same reaction.”
Very familiar, Napoleon groused to himself. He had had the opposite reaction.
“Not you though,” Doug Standish continued. “And yet you seem to have a good working relationship with Dr Kuryakin.”
“None better,” Napoleon replied. “Illya’s saved my life more times than I can count. I’d trust him with anything.”
“But not Philip,” Doug pressed.
“Well, I don’t know Philip,” Napoleon started.
“It’s more than that,” Standish interjected. “You’re not the first man to take an instant dislike to Philip Volker.” Standish chuckled. “I get exasperated with him sometimes myself. But he’s true to his vision which is one I support, even if I disagree with his methods occasionally. I’ve even had to overrule him from time to time, when I had that responsibility.”
“But not now?” Napoleon asked. Standish had his full attention.
“It’s not my role. This operation is Philip’s and he asked me to join him, just as I sought out his help on my last project. We respect each other’s abilities and each other.”
“Why?” Napoleon persisted.
“If you get to know Philip better, you’ll see. He’s a pragmatist and he doesn’t trouble to sugarcoat it most of the time,” Standish explained. “Although he’s not above manipulation.” Standish grinned. "He likes to play chess. And he plays a long game."
Who does that remind me of? Napoleon asked himself, smiling.
“He intends to create the most comprehensive, independent research facility in the world,” Standish elaborated. “He’s already established a non-profit organisation for that purpose based in Switzerland and donated the proceeds from several of his inventions to fund it.”
“Why Switzerland?” Napoleon probed.
“Philip’s father is Swiss and his family is in banking there,” Standish replied.
“So he’s got plenty of money already,” Napoleon observed, thinking even less of Volker.
“The cost of scientific research is exorbitant,” Standish responded. “It’s why even the largest universities end up seeking funding from their governments or the biggest of the international corporations.”
“Volker wants to fund something at that level?” Napoleon enquired, his sense that Volker might be attracted to THRUSH’s research budget increasing.
“This is just one of a series of salvage operations Philip has planned and after each one he enhances his equipment, invents a new device to answer some challenge presented by the more treacherous underwater operations,” Standish answered. “And with his family’s banking expertise, the proceeds from each find and each invention can be invested to maximise income.”
“You think he’ll succeed?” Napoleon enquired, amazed.
“I’m sure he will. It’s just a question of how long it will take him. That’s how it is when he sets his mind to something,” Standish affirmed.
“And you’d work with him, for him?” Napoleon asked.
“I’ve already done both,” Standish said, looking Napoleon in the eye. “Yes, I would join him if he asked me. And he will, when his organisation is able to sponsor other scientists full time.” Standish turned back to Maggie and Illya.
Napoleon heard it in Standish’s voice. Saw the wistful expression flit across the rugged face as he looked at Philip’s double. Whatever it would take to be near Philip, Standish would do. Even though he acted the part of the indulgent mentor, Napoleon had noted the body language, the frequent touches to emphasise a point, to get Volker’s attention. Napoleon drew back from taking the next step and comparing Standish and himself.
“Your scientist is summoning you,” Standish said.
Napoleon returned his attention to Illya, who was indeed summoning him, twisting halfway and stretching out his arm to point at him. It probably didn’t show, but Napoleon felt himself jump a bit, startled at the remarkably apt gesture.
Illya was scowling. Nothing was to be taken lightly. This was a matter of millions of dollars after all. The THRUSH would expect it. Unless they knew Volker. He would have been cockier, Napoleon thought, and more obviously excited than Illya. Napoleon snorted softly. That would mean quite cool and professional, since with Illya it was often no more than the merest flash in his eyes which indicated his feelings about their undertakings. Napoleon pushed his ruminations aside and turned to sidle past a coil of rope as he made his way towards Illya, glancing back over his shoulder. Silver was watching from a distance, but he was watching Dr Hanford pull her long, blonde hair over the strap of her goggles. Turning aft again, Napoleon looked down at Illya’s bare legs. He knew how strong they were, how fast they could run or climb, how hard they could kick. They have another appeal though, he thought, his eyes fixed on the nearly hairless skin on the inside of Illya’s thigh. Admit it. You can’t control something if you don’t acknowledge that it’s there. A fundamental rule of espionage. It’s what all the intelligence gathering was about. Rather fundamental law of life, he added. Napoleon wiped his hand on his trouser leg. He understood why Hanford had taken the opportunity to explore Illya's legs a little more than a safety check strictly required. Understood the look he’d seen on Standish’s face. Understood his reactions to Volker a little better.
******************
In the darkness, Napoleon heard Illya making his way to their bunks. He was moving quietly, but Napoleon heard what others would not have, as though he could sense the exact amount of air Illya displaced. Illya stopped alongside the lower bunk instead of hoisting himself up to his. He leaned in over Napoleon. When he’d last seen him, Illya had still had on his swim trunks. Napoleon’s fingers stroked the coverlet on the bunk. He imagined reaching between those strong legs and touching the smooth skin at the top of those muscular thighs. He held his breath. Illya’s finger touched his chest, stroked down and then across the top of the stroke. Then in a circle…slowly, he spelt out: Tonight, 0300, then put his foot on the edge of Napoleon’s bunk and was gone.
For an instant, Napoleon indulged his body. Let the reaction to those practical touches travel in directions other than to his brain. And then he analysed that for a moment longer before returning to the task at hand. That was it, wasn’t it? There was always the mission to distract, to hide behind. He pulled his hand away from where it had strayed, lay it carefully on the mattress by his side. It, too, apparently, needed to be kept under control. Enough. Logistics now.
The dive today had told Illya what they needed to know, although Illya had informed Silver they must anchor the boat a half mile west of their current position for the deeper dives in the morning. There were five THRUSH aboard, the captain, his mate, a deckhand, the cook and Silver. It was Silver’s turn to keep watch on deck. The remaining four would be in the other cabin, almost surely asleep. Illya had paid a visit to the galley in the cook’s absence that afternoon and improved their dinner pudding, but Silver had hardly touched his.
There was a sound on the stairs. Napoleon heard the mattress shift in the bunk above him. His hand closed around the gun under his pillow. The visitor proceeded stealthily into the cabin, his footsteps barely audible above the rhythmic creaking of the boat rising and falling in the water. They didn’t come closer. Silver’s paying Maggie a visit, Napoleon deduced. Very unprofessional of him. He raised his gun and was across the cabin in two strides. He reached up for the intruder’s neck and got his head. It wasn’t Silver. Volker had arrived early. For a little longer than necessary, Napoleon held the man who felt so familiar against him. Both berths creaked. “Shh,” Napoleon said very softly before Dr Hanford asked the obvious question. He thought Volker might voice a protest. Instead he pressed back against Napoleon and for a moment Napoleon stopped thinking and savoured the perfection of the fit, the warmth.
Illya tapped Napoleon on the shoulder, whispered, “Stairs,“ in his ear and moved off. Napoleon let Volker go and followed Illya.
“Philip?” Maggie whispered. Napoleon didn’t hear Volker answer, just the creak of the bunk.
There was another sound on the stairs. They waited. The footsteps descended.
“Any problem down here?” Silver’s voice asked. There was a sharp crack, then a heavy thud.
“Bring a light,” Illya said.
Napoleon unhooked the emergency torch from the wall next to the stairs. When his foot hit a leg, he turned the torch light on the body. Illya grabbed Napoleon’s hand to steady the beam on Silver’s throat. The Special discharged a sleep dart into the side of Silver’s neck. They relieved him of his gun.
“Volker arrived?” Illya whispered.
“Yes,” Napoleon confirmed with a sigh.
“We may as well tie this one up and start early on the others then,” Illya replied.
****************
Illya lowered his satchel gently to the floor by the starboard bunks. He drew out a rope and trussed up the deckhand in the bottom bunk before clambering to the upper berth to deal with the mate. He dropped quietly to the floor after injecting them with another dose of the same tranquiliser he had put in the dessert. It had been a few hours since dinner. He zipped up the pouch with the needles and slipped it back into the satchel.
“Can you lend me a hand?” Napoleon whispered despite the drugged slumber of the THRUSH.
“I’ve already finished with my two,” Illya murmured from behind Napoleon. “What’s the problem?”
“A bit of an entanglement,” Napoleon replied softly. “I’ve sedated one and I don’t want to dose the same fellow twice.”
Illya plucked a torch from the side of his satchel and played the narrow beam over the bottom bunk. “Well, they say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Illya commented and reached up to pull the pallet off the upper berth. He lined it up next to the bottom bunk on the floor. “You take cook’s shoulders and I’ll take his hips,” Illya suggested. They rolled him off the captain onto the pallet and tied them both up.
******************
Early the next afternoon, Napoleon watched Volker cross the galley. He was out of his scuba gear. They must have finished bringing up the galleon‘s treasure. The man looked exhausted, but pleased. He filled a mug, took a long drink of water and refilled it.
“The daily radio check should be in about a half hour,” Volker informed them between gulps. “Maggie said the captain mumbled something about it when he was coming around a few minutes ago. She asked him what time before she injected him again.”
“She didn’t happen to ask him if there was any code, did she?” Napoleon enquired, opening the oven door to see how the latest batch of papers was doing. He avoided looking at Volker.
Volker set the cup down. “She did. It seems they change every day and they’re in the safe in the cabin Silver's been using.”
Napoleon reached into the oven with a pair of tongs, seized several sheets of paper and handed them to Illya who had a small fire going in a large steel bowl on the counter. Volker raised an eyebrow at their enterprise. It was low tech, but effective.
Illya nudged the bowl closer to Napoleon with a knife handle. “I’ll deal with the safe in a moment,” he announced. “Do we know whether it’s the captain who signs in?”
“Seems it’s Silver. In any event, Silver has the combination to the safe, according to the captain anyway. Maggie asked the captain for it. Silver is still out.” Volker added, preempting Napoleon’s next question.
“I could probably do a good imitation of Silver unless they’re using voice recognition equipment on the other end,” Napoleon said.
Illya smiled. “You could do Silver?”
Napoleon rolled his shoulders and said, “Oh, yeah.” He moved two more sheets of crinkled paper to the steel bowl. They caught the small flame in the bottom of the container quickly.
Volker laughed. “You don’t like him either,” he observed. Napoleon looked at Volker. He stepped back. “I don’t want to know what you’re destroying. That was part of my bargain. I intend to abide by it.” He turned to the stairs. “We can head for the rendezvous point with the UNCLE ship after the radio call. We’re ready.”
Illya handed Napoleon a spatula to hold the charred sheets down in the bowl. “I’ll get rid of the ashes as soon as I get back with the code for you, ‘Silver‘,” he said. “And I’ll talk to Volker about the other matter.”
*****************
“Bravo,” Volker said from the doorway of the pilot house when Napoleon had switched off the radio. Napoleon raised a finger to his lips and went to the door. Volker lingered an instant before moving back silently to let Napoleon pass by. Too close. I can feel the warmth. Volker held his gaze and raised a finger to his lips in imitation of Napoleon’s gesture. Napoleon lowered his eyes to watch the finger press against the full lower lip.
Napoleon pulled the door to the cabin shut behind them and leaned forward until his mouth was next to Volker’s ear. “It’s better to be silent. One can never be sure the radio isn’t working both ways,” he whispered. “Did Illya explain what we need to do?” Volker didn’t move away. When he nodded his head, the stubble on his cheek rasped against Napoleon’s. Tiny sparks flew along Napoleon’s nerves.
“Shall we rejoin Illya in the galley then?” Volker breathed and took Napoleon’s arm.
******************
“We can do it with a minimum of explosives if they are properly placed,” Illya said to Maggie Hanford.
“It could still trigger an earthquake, even so,” she replied. “Ideally, you do nearly all of it with just gravity.”
“The galleon isn’t heavy enough to dislodge the navy ship without our at least loosening the rock the ship’s wedged against first,” Illya explained. “It is close to the vent though. Small, well-placed charges and the momentum of the galleon should work and we can set the galleon sliding down the slope towards the ship fairly easily.”
“It is handy having a physicist along,” Standish remarked.
Napoleon kept his eyes on the diagrams on the table.
*****************
The sky was clear, the sea was gently rolling, the THRUSH were quietly sedated and Napoleon felt something wrong in his bones. He lifted the field glasses to his eyes and scanned the sky one more time. A tiny speck on the horizon, getting larger - a helicopter.
Maybe I didn’t do such a convincing job on the radio, Napoleon thought. Or maybe this visit was already planned.
Napoleon set down the field glasses for a moment. “I just hope whoever’s coming doesn’t know Silver personally.”
*************
Napoleon was shielding his eyes even with his sunglasses on to look up at the helicopter hovering over the deck. There seemed to be just two men inside. Napoleon waved. A ladder dropped down to the deck. Napoleon held it helpfully as the passenger descended, briefcase in hand.
Napoleon grabbed the man’s upper arm to steady him as he stepped onto the deck and pressed the sleep dart he was holding between his fingers deep into the arm muscle. Napoleon tugged on the ladder and the pilot began pulling it up. The visitor had looked surprised for a moment and then slumped towards Napoleon. The helicopter rose and banked west. Napoleon let the THRUSH agent slip to the deck and drew his Special. He hit the fuel tank with the first bullet. The explosion was instantaneous. The pilot jumped. The helicopter continued west, listing sideways. Its propellers churned the water before the body of the helicopter hit. Steam rose hissing from the sea and a wave washed over the deck rail. There was a second explosion.
Napoleon picked up the binoculars. The pilot was swimming towards the boat. Napoleon threw him a life ring and palmed a sleep dart. Once the pilot was in the ring, he hauled the rope in.
“What the hell happened?” the pilot spluttered as he climbed over the side. “I checked that bird this morning. There was nothing wrong with it.” He glanced back over his shoulder as he climbed onto the deck. “They’re going to kill me for losing that.”
“Not to worry,” Napoleon said and jabbed him with the sleep dart. “At least there’s plenty of rope to hand,” Napoleon muttered to himself as he lowered the pilot to the deck and began tying the two THRUSH together. Then he went downstairs to retrieve the pouch of sedatives.
****************
The water was getting lighter and lighter. The divers could see the barnacles on the bottom of the boat. The muted boom drew their attention to the glow of the bright orange flames on the far side of the vessel. The shock waves rolled through the water, pushing them away from the boat. They exchanged glances. Illya signalled that he would go up first. He patted the knife and the small harpoon hooked to his belt.
***************
Napoleon was looking anxiously over the side when he saw Illya’s goggles just beneath the surface. He gestured for him to come up.
“Can’t we leave you alone for a minute!” Illya said as soon as he’d yanked out his mouthpiece. “How many?”
“Two. Over there.” Napoleon pointed.
“What’s in the briefcase?” Illya asked, pulling off his goggles and unstrapping his flippers.
“I haven’t had time to check. Been a little busy,” Napoleon replied.
“I’ll get the others,” Illya said. Napoleon raised an eyebrow. “We noticed the explosion. Thought it might be wise for them to stay out of the way.”
Napoleon bent over the briefcase. “Ah, can you do the honours?” Illya glanced back at him. “Locked.”
“Don’t you have any picks in your cuff links?” Illya asked.
Napoleon held up one arm and pointed at his cuff. “I used the garrotte ones today. They go better with this shirt, don’t you think?”
Illya rolled his eyes. “I’ll get the others.”
**************
Standish came up next and headed for the pilot house as soon as he took his flippers off. Volker stopped to give Maggie a hand up.
Illya opened the briefcase. “It looks like they were going to pay you,” he said, surprised.
Volker walked over, shedding equipment as he came. “This wasn’t where we were scheduled to do that.”
“It could be counterfeit, of course,” Illya said, carefully lifting out a couple stacks of bills. He tossed one to Volker. “See if they’re all hundreds.”
Volker fanned the bills. “No just the first few…and the last few.”
“And just two layers worth,” Illya commented, dropping a few other packets of notes onto the deck. “Let’s see what we have underneath.” He snapped the case shut and stood to fling it over the rail. It left a yellow trail of smoke behind it. Illya coughed. “Meant to have been opened in one of the cabins, I would guess. No doubt with you and your colleagues gathered round.” He coughed again. Volker rushed forward and caught Illya as he crumpled.
Napoleon saw Volker grab Illya as he came down the steps from the pilot house. “What happened?” he asked, running towards the two figures.
“The briefcase had gas in it,” Volker explained, lowering Illya to the deck with Napoleon‘s help. Napoleon looked around. “He threw it overboard.” Volker coughed.
“Did it explode in his face?” Napoleon asked.
“No,” Volker answered. “He must have seen something because he slammed it shut and the smoke started coming out as he threw it.” Volker pointed and coughed again.
Napoleon walked to the rail and looked over. The briefcase was still floating and fuming. Napoleon sniffed and turned away. “He should be coming around fairly soon then.” Volker was on his knees next to Illya now. “You, too?” Napoleon asked.
“I hardly got a whiff of it,” Volker said and collapsed across Illya’s chest.
Napoleon walked back to them and looked down. “You’re not as used to it as we are, I suppose,” he said. They had both pulled off their hoods and unzipped their wetsuits. Volker’s hair looked so blond against the black shoulder of Illya's wetsuit. In his hand was a packet of bills.
Maggie came onto the deck and ran to Napoleon. “What happened?”
Napoleon smiled. “THRUSH dropped off a present and Illya disposed of it. Just not quite quickly enough. They‘re going to need something for a headache when they come round.”
Maggie dropped to her knees. “Do you know who’s who?” she asked, her hand hovering in the air.
“The one with the money’s…Philip,” Napoleon said and watched her hand come down on his hair. Napoleon thought about the speed with which Volker had moved to catch Illya when his knees buckled. It had been a reflex. Seems that’s put us on a first-name basis, Philip, Napoleon thought.
*******************
Even with Philip's underwater vehicle in tow, the boat had put an admirable distance between them and the diving site by the time they felt the explosions Illya and the others had set. Illya was coming to. He raised his hand to check his watch. “Just on time,” he said and let his arm drop onto the deck.
They had rolled Philip onto his back and left them side by side on the deck. Out in the fresh air was the best place for them to be. Maggie had put pillows under their heads and left bottles of water for when they woke up. Napoleon had rigged a tarpaulin to shade them and put the headache tablets in his pocket.
He scanned the water for a sign of the UNCLE ship they were scheduled to meet. It should be coming into sight soon. Maggie was in the pilot house with Doug Standish monitoring the sonar equipment. Hopefully, they would be able to verify that the navy ship had slid into the abyss with those of its secrets that were woven right into its fabric. The classified documents he and Illya had incinerated in the galley. He wondered what other state secrets lay on the bottom of the sea for Philip to find with his inventions.
Napoleon turned to look at the two prone figures. Their eyes were closed. No one else was conscious on deck. No one will see, Napoleon thought and walked over to kneel by Illya’s head. He brushed the hair back from his forehead, stroked the back of his fingers down his cheek.
“Water, water all around…” Illya murmured, eyes still closed
“I’ve got drinking water here,” Napoleon answered, still stroking. “Shall I help you sit up?”
“No,” Illya sighed. “Need to stay horizontal a while longer.”
Napoleon pulled the plug out of the bottle, wet his handkerchief with the water and put it to Illya’s lips. He suckled it. “More,” he whispered.
Napoleon kept soaking his handkerchief and running his hand across Illya’s forehead while Illya drew the moisture out of the cloth.
“It was just sleeping gas, Napoleon. I didn’t almost die or anything,” Illya said after a while.
“I’ve got something for the headache. Do you think you can take them yet?” Napoleon lifted his hand.
“Maybe, in a minute,” Illya replied. “I hate that gas. I should have suspected it…don’t stop rubbing. It feels good.” His breathing grew quieter again.
Napoleon leaned over Illya and used both hands to rub circles at Illya’s temples and then up the centre of his forehead to the hairline, down to his nose and under the eyebrows. He didn’t stop until Maggie called from the upper deck that she thought she could see a ship.
Napoleon got up. “Leave the tablets, Napoleon,” Illya said. “I can take them now.”
******************
As he wove his way back from the bar to their table in the hotel dining room, Napoleon took note of several appreciative glances. For an instant, he caught the eye of one of his admirers. She turned back to her dinner companion smiling.
Maggie Hanford and Doug Standish looked up expectantly as he approached. Napoleon circled behind their seats and leaned between them, his hand on the top of Maggie‘s chair, just brushing against her well-tanned shoulder. “They swear that they are on their way down as we speak. Illya said they were at the door when I phoned them.”
“We should have forced them to come with us,” Doug said. “At the rate they were talking, they could have forgotten dinner altogether.”
“Not Illya. He gives food a high priority,” Napoleon declared. He saw Maggie blush as she looked down at her hands. Imagining other appetites, are we? Napoleon thought, but it didn’t trouble him overmuch. The state secrets were safe, the auction at Christie’s had yielded far more than even Philip had estimated and Maggie would be off to California with Philip and Doug the next day, back to their research and seminars, putting a whole continent between Illya and them and their various temptations.
The hum of conversation in the room changed subtly. Napoleon looked up and followed the turned heads to the broad steps leading to the dining room. Illya and Philip were standing side by side on the landing, searching for them. Their tuxedos cast their slim silhouettes in high contrast against the white marble staircase. Illya made some remark to Volker and he smiled. They had spotted the table. “Twins,” Napoleon heard murmured nearby as he moved behind Standish to his chair.
Illya bowed slightly to Maggie as he reached the table. Philip took her hand and brushed his lips across the back of it before sitting next to her. “You see,” Illya said, pulling out his chair. “We were on our way down.”
“About time,” Standish replied. “I’m starving.”
Napoleon studied Illya. Were his cheeks slightly flushed?
The band had begun to play a slow number. The waiter came to clear away the dessert dishes and they ordered coffee and brandy. Maggie leaned forward. “Illya,” she said softly. Illya raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue. “Would you dance with me?”
Illya inclined his head graciously and stood. Maggie whispered something to Philip and held out her hand to Illya when he reached her chair. Philip was smiling.
“What did she say?” Napoleon asked Philip as Maggie and Illya walked away.
Philip moved over to Maggie’s chair and leaned closer to Doug and Napoleon. “She asked me to cut in half way through the dance and make her the envy of the whole room,” he said.
Napoleon glanced around the nearby tables. Several people were taking notice of the handsome couple just embracing on the dance floor. “It will do more than make them envious,” Napoleon remarked.
“I know,” Philip said, arching one eyebrow and raising his wine glass. “Here’s to imagination,” he said and drank deep.
Napoleon and Doug watched the exchange when Philip made his way to the dance floor. Illya was chuckling when he got back to the table. “Psychologically interesting, don’t you think?” he said, turning to glance back at the dance floor. Several people quickly looked away.
Oh, tomorrow can’t come fast enough, Napoleon thought.
*******************
They had three adjoining rooms. Mr Waverly had thought it prudent that Illya and Napoleon see the trio of scientists off at the airport the next afternoon and Philip had asked them to be his guests at the hotel. They had stayed up late talking about different manifestations of international cooperation in the suite that Maggie and Philip shared. Doug had fallen asleep on the couch by the time Napoleon suggested that they call it a night. They agreed to brunch at one o'clock the next afternoon before making their way to the airport.
Illya kept repeating bits of the conversation they had been having as he got undressed. “I’m not sure I agree that research is better conducted independently of teaching. I think they enhance one another,” he said as he draped his tuxedo over the bedside chair. Napoleon hung his in the closet. “The intersection of different viewpoints, different personalities is more likely to yield balanced results,” Illya continued, nodding to himself and dropping his socks into his shoes. He slipped off his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“If you have enough scientists doing research, they can debate with one another,” Napoleon offered, undoing his studs and dropping them into his jacket pocket. He watched Illya pull his tee-shirt up, admired the muscles in his forearms as they crossed in front of his chest and tugged the material over his head. Their eyes met as the cloth pulled free. Napoleon busied himself with a cuff link.
“To a lesser extent, because they’ll continue to work together. The students come and go and therefore are more willing to differ,” Illya countered.
“Aren’t students intimidated by their professors?” Napoleon asked. “They have to get grades and recommendations from them, after all. Wouldn‘t debate be more vigorous among colleagues?” What am I saying? Napoleon thought.
“They‘re likely to develop group think,” Illya said. “The students are always fresh, different.” He started towards the bathroom. Napoleon dropped a cuff link and knelt to retrieve it as Illya approached. Illya’s foot came down over the silver square. Napoleon looked at the curve of the arch. Beneath it the metal gleamed. He reached out and traced the underside of the curve with his index finger and Illya didn’t move. Napoleon kept his eyes low. Against his thigh he could feel his heart hammering. With his fingertip, he followed a pale blue vein up to Illya’s ankle and around the small round bone. His breathing sounded loud in his ears. Napoleon touched the indentation by Illya’s heel. His chest was pressing against his thigh with each breath. Up the back of the shin, his fingertips ventured, two now, side by side, skimming over the curled hair, barely touching. He couldn’t hear Illya breathing. He didn’t look up. At the back of the knee, there was no hair. Lightly, Napoleon pressed the dimple there. He closed his eyes. Felt the pulse in Illya’s vein. He curled his hand around the back of the thigh, up, brushing over the hair. There. He let his fingers rest against the smooth skin. Warm. He didn’t dare open his eyes. Higher. Illya shifted his stance slightly. Apart. Very quietly, Napoleon let out a breath. Higher. He felt the edge of the cloth. Under. Warmer. The blood pounded in his ears. Breathing was difficult. Napoleon rested his forehead against Illya’s thigh. Higher. Soft skin against his fingertips. So soft. He dared not look up.
A hand stroked his hair. Napoleon tilted his head back, let the hand curve around his cheek. He opened his eyes.
“I wasn’t thinking of leaving,” Illya said quietly.
No? Napoleon brought his other hand around Illya’s leg. The muscles were like stone; he gripped them to anchor himself with one hand while his fingertip stroked the tender skin. Napoleon eyes drifted shut. No. His breath came a little easier. No. He sat up and let his mouth find the heat.
**************
Illya whisked the sheet of paper out of the typewriter and signed above his printed name at the bottom. “There,” he said aloud, slipping the page beneath several others and punching double holes through them. “Another mission completed,” he murmured as he lined the holes up with the brass spindles and secured them inside the brown folder labelled “The Abu Simbel Affair”.
His communicator beeped. Illya twisted around to pull it from where his jacket hung over the back of his chair. “Kuryakin, here,” he said.
“Illya, they’re telling me to order you down here,” Napoleon’s voice said. “They seem to think I have some authority over you,” he added softly after a short pause. Illya smiled. Napoleon had probably stepped away from whichever member of the Medical Section was importuning him.
“I’ll be right down,” Illya replied and he knew Napoleon could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve just finished our report. I’ll leave it on your desk to sign.” Illya clicked the communicator closed and slipped his jacket on. The phone rang.
“I’m on my way!” Illya grumbled and took a step towards the door. The phone rang again. Illya gave the irritating instrument a sideways glare and took another step. The first tones of a third ring began. Illya snatched the receiver off the cradle. “I’m on my way,” he said menacingly.
“There’s a call on an outside line for either Mr Solo or yourself,” Angela said. “A Dr Volker. Shall I put him through?” Illya glanced at the wall clock. “Yes, thank you, Angela,” he replied.
“Illya?” a warm voice asked, its timbre low. The tone of persuasion.
“Philip!” Illya responded. “I read that the treasure hunting is going quite well.” There had been an article in The Times after the latest auction at Sotheby’s in London. The British Museum had snapped up several Mayan artifacts, their historical value far exceeding their weight in gold.
“It has. The next salvage operation was even better, but the items won’t come to auction for a few weeks yet. However, the site I’ve just secured may interest your organisation.”
“Oh?” Illya said, leaning his hip against the side of his desk. “Any birds involved?”
“Not as far as I know. None have contacted me openly in any event.”
The door to the office slid open. The last words of Napoleon’s greeting to a member of the support staff floated into the room. Napoleon raised his eyebrows when he saw Illya on the telephone and tapped the face of his wrist watch. The door slid shut behind him.
“Philip,” Illya said. “Napoleon has just gotten back to the office.”
Napoleon moved behind Illya, his head over Illya’s shoulder, near the receiver. He could hear Philip’s voice. Napoleon heard him ask Illya to convey his regards. “Good to hear from you, Philip,” Napoleon replied with practised diplomacy. He leaned towards his desk and pressed the button which locked their office door, then settled against Illya’s back, his arms around Illya’s waist underneath his jacket.
“I’ll be flying into New York tomorrow afternoon to sign some contracts. Doug and I hope to get started on the project next week,” Philip explained.
“Isn’t Maggie joining you?” Napoleon asked, undoing a button and sliding his hand beneath Illya’s white shirt. Illya glanced back at Napoleon with one eyebrow raised high.
“She’s organising a conference this month, so we’re already short,” Philip answered. Napoleon started to smile. “Normally, I’d hire other specialists, but I think UNCLE might prefer to have some of their agents along instead of anyone else,” he continued. Napoleon undid another button and his hand drifted upwards. Illya settled back against him as Napoleon’s fingertip circled slowly and then dragged across the delicate flesh.
“Any specifics we can give Mr Waverly?” Illya asked. Napoleon’s other hand was fumbling at the waistband of Illya’s trousers. Illya reached down and flicked the button open.
“You remember when we were discussing Marlowe and I remarked that I thought that myth was mostly Roman propaganda?” Philip enquired.
“Mm,” Illya replied as Napoleon undid the zipper. He wondered if Philip might have heard that.
“That’s about all I should say until I see you,” Philip responded.
“Where can we reach you?” Illya asked just before Napoleon’s hand eased him out of his trousers.
“I’m boarding a train in a quarter hour. What if I call you back at four o’clock to see what Mr Waverly would like to do?” Philip suggested.
“All right. We’ll speak to him and should have an answer by four.” Napoleon was kissing just behind the ear where the receiver was. “We’ll talk to you at four then,” Illya finished. “Thank you for contacting us.”
Philip laughed. “Wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to get together with my favourite physicist,” Philip said. “And you, too, of course, Napoleon.”
“Talk to you soon, Philip,” Napoleon said and managed to sound brisk despite what his hands were doing. He’d had a lot of practice in that technique. Illya hung up the phone and leaned his head against Napoleon’s shoulder.
“I’m going to be even later for my shots,” Illya said.
Napoleon glanced at the clock. “They’re going on break in a couple minutes. If we’re diligent, you should be able to get down there just as they’re coming back,” he answered and turned Illya towards him. “You can blame it all on your CEA detaining you since they think you obey me,” he added. Napoleon pulled Illya over towards his desk chair and sat down. “Besides we couldn’t send you there in this condition.” Illya looked downwards, nodded his head and placed a hand on each of Napoleon‘s shoulders.
***************
“Off the coast of Carthage, then,” Mr Waverly said when Illya had repeated his conversation with Philip. Mr Waverly puffed on his pipe for a moment before flicking a switch on his desk. “Miss Rogers, could you put me through to whichever Mediterranean specialist is on duty in Research today?”
Illya rubbed his upper arm absently while he waited for Mr Waverly to finish speaking. Napoleon noticed. Illya had been rather late to Medical. They wouldn’t take it out on him though. Despite their complaints about Illya‘s avoiding the Medical Section, there were too many of them down there infatuated with him to ever do anything except treat him with the utmost care. Their view of what the utmost care was, of course, Napoleon qualified to himself.
“Come back at three, gentlemen, and we’ll see what options the Research staff have identified. It’s an area rich in possibilities,” Mr Waverly concluded. Illya and Napoleon stood and made their way out.
***************
Illya winced as Napoleon pulled his shirt sleeve off his arm. Illya probed the area near the tiny scab gently. It was still swollen. “I’ll be careful of it,” Napoleon said and pressed his lips to the top of Illya’s shoulder.
“Why does Philip have this effect on you?” Illya asked, letting Napoleon unbuckle his belt from behind him for the second time in as many days. Napoleon knew Illya was indulging him and took advantage of it. He kissed the back of Illya’s neck as he finished undoing Illya’s trousers.
“What effect is that?” Napoleon murmured against the now rosy skin.
“You’ve always been something of a satyr, but since he called yesterday…” Illya stopped and inhaled sharply. Napoleon had dropped to his knees behind Illya and tugged the trousers and undergarments down with him. Napoleon's lips were on the back of one of Illya's knees, drawing the blood to the surface of the tender skin there, his hands pushing down Illya’s socks. Illya stepped out of his shoes and let Napoleon pull off the clothing bundled around his ankles.
“Since yesterday...?” Napoleon urged, standing and drawing Illya towards his bed, leaving the clothes on the floor.
Illya stretched out on Napoleon’s sheets. Napoleon had already turned the covers back. The sheets were cool and fresh, light blue and new. Illya smiled. Napoleon had flushed slightly when Illya had mentioned them.
Napoleon was kissing down Illya’s back, one hand slightly in advance of his lips, leading the way, promising further pleasures. Illya stretched again. The linen felt soothing against his skin. Napoleon pressed him down against them. “...you’ve been insatiable,” Illya finished.
Napoleon stood. Illya could hear him undressing, he turned his head to see the well-toned body emerge from the camouflage of his clothing. “No, not insatiable,” Napoleon protested. “I’ve been satisfied many times.” Illya watched the muscles move beneath the lightly-tanned skin as Napoleon stretched to click off the overhead light.
“Hmm,” Illya replied when Napoleon eased into the bed over him, warm and rampant.
"And so have you," Napoleon said softly, pressing closer. Illya shifted against the soft sheets and listened to Napoleon's breathing change.
*******************
“Hayati,” Napoleon whispered above Illya’s ear.
“Where’d you learn that?” Illya asked, lifting up slightly against Napoleon. Their skin was slick now. Napoleon pushed back.
“I paid a visit to Translation in preparation for our mission in Tunisia, habibi, ” Napoleon replied, nuzzling Illya’s neck between words.
“For all the ladies you’re planning to seduce?” Illya asked playfully because although Napoleon had been flirting as usual, he hadn’t been sleeping with the ladies since that night he and Philip had danced with Maggie. Illya hadn’t commented, but he’d noticed.
“Nimr,” Napoleon said. Illya smiled. “More to your taste then?” Napoleon asked, stretching up to reach Illya’s cheek and kiss near the edge of his upturned lips.
“Well, if you must practice vocabulary in bed,” Illya replied.
“Shibl,” Napoleon murmured in Illya’s ear.
“I’m not a cub,” Illya stated.
“Laith,” Napoleon amended. “Better?”
“Hmm,” Illya said. “You seem more comfortable with our next mission than I thought you’d be.” Napoleon ran a finger down the inside of Illya’s arm and Illya took a deep breath. “Is it because Maggie isn’t coming?” Illya asked.
Napoleon rubbed his cheek against Illya’s back. “There’s something in the way she looks at the two of you that I find unsettling,” he admitted.
Illya chuckled and Napoleon felt the vibration beneath him. “Because she isn’t looking at you?” he said.
Napoleon stilled. “Maybe…no. No, her reaction to the two of you together is disturbing.”
Illya laughed. The sensation caused Napoleon to hold his breath. “I’m sure the idea of a threesome is not alien to you, Napoleon,” Illya replied.
Napoleon let out his breath. “No. But I don’t want him, I want you,” he finished and slid his hands beneath Illya’s chest. “Kenza,” Napoleon added.
“Treasure?” Illya translated.
“Yes,” Napoleon answered and clasped Illya tighter. “Although meeting him helped me find treasure.”
“There was no need to hunt for it,” Illya replied.
“No,” Napoleon agreed, settling his head between Illya‘s shoulder blades and slipping his feet beneath Illya‘s and pressing their legs together. “I just didn’t know how to look.”
THE END
Glossary:
hayati - my life
habibi - my beloved
nimr - tiger
shibl - lion cub
laith - lion
kenza - treasure
Author: Saki101
Genre: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~10K
Written for the 2010 Down the Chimney Challenge (DtC 7) for cosmosmariner and originally posted on muncle. (A video clip which introduces the characters in the film may be viewed here. A photo of Illya, in costume as it were:
Disclaimer: Don't own any of these characters or their universes and no money is being made!
Excerpt:
Napoleon resumed his study of Doctors Kuryakin and Volker who were donning the last of their scuba gear. One of them turned towards the deck as he zipped up his wet suit and smiled at them.
“I can hardly tell them apart,” Napoleon marvelled, and Napoleon was justifiably proud of his observation skills.
Treasures
“Look at them,” Maggie Hanford said and there was a breathless quality to her voice that Napoleon preferred to hear under other circumstances. “They’re identical,” she added softly, then she sneezed.
“Bless you,” Napoleon said.
“Thank you,” Dr Hanford replied, glancing at Napoleon as she pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her nose. “It’s the chlorine.” She turned her attention back to the simulation pool below the observation deck on which she and Napoleon were standing.
Ordinarily, Napoleon would have had to make an effort, in the name of duty, to turn his eyes from his young, blonde, statuesque companion, Dr Hanford of UC Berkeley’s Oceanography Department, but the sight to which she referred was more arresting. Unsettling. Disturbing, in some way Napoleon couldn’t quite put his finger on. Napoleon resumed his study of Doctors Kuryakin and Volker who were donning the last of their scuba gear. One of them turned towards the deck as he zipped up his wet suit and smiled at them.
“I can hardly tell them apart,” Napoleon marvelled, and Napoleon was justifiably proud of his observation skills.
“Nor me, but that was Philip,” Dr Hanford said. “He’s flirting. Or offering a reinforcement stimulus, if you want to be more Skinnerian about it.”
“But psychology isn’t your area, is it?” Napoleon asked, not turning away from the scene below. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Dr Hanford didn’t either.
“No, but it’s one that Philip has explored. He’s used it to train sea mammals. Given an opportunity he has a tendency to share what he’s explored. It’s the teacher in him,” Margaret Hanford responded.
“Could be considered showing off. That’s a way of flirting, too,” Napoleon offered.
“Is psychology your area, Mr Solo?” Dr Hanford asked. “Or just flirting?“ Napoleon could see a dimple coming out on her cheek from the corner of his eye. He could spare that much attention for her.
“Flirting maybe. I suppose I can’t really be the judge,” Napoleon answered, enjoying the banter because it was familiar and easy. It distracted him from the disequilibrium his contemplation of the lithe figures strapping on their oxygen tanks seemed to be causing. They were helping one another tighten the straps and there was something about that that was making his pulse speed up. And that was unfamiliar.
“No. We’d have to collect data from the subjects,” she said, then fell silent, watching the rubber-clad figures bend over to adjust their flippers. “I wasn’t able to tell them apart,” she recalled. “I suppose Dr Kuryakin told you the story.”
Napoleon smiled. “He did. When I asked him how he knew of Dr Volker’s work. I’ve nearly stopped asking Illya about such things. When we first became partners, I always enquired how he seemed to know…almost everything.” Napoleon hadn’t been pleased at the quiet amusement in Illya’s voice as he retold the story either, explained how he had turned around from a drinking fountain during a physics conference at Berkeley and found himself in the arms of an alluring stranger, who had said she was very sorry and kissed him, apparently to demonstrate just how sorry.
“They’re alike in that, too,” Dr Hanford mused. “Curious, brilliant…beautiful…” Her voice trailed off.
Napoleon didn’t like it.
******************
At what point had Illya convinced Dr Hanford that he wasn’t Philip Volker? Napoleon wondered at dinner. Illya had been a bit vague about that. She seemed to be flirting with all three of them. But you’re only being polite with me. Courteously not leaving me out of the game. Napoleon took a sip of his wine. I’ve played more of these games than you have, my dear, he thought. It won’t hurt my feelings to sit out a round or two.
Napoleon let his eyes meander over the two fair faces seated across from him, their matching profiles sharp, their conversation sharper. They had chosen to dine in their hotel suite for security reasons and the talk was more or less a continuation of their instruction about the technology that would be used in the salvage operation. Technology that Volker had mainly invented himself and which Illya, therefore, had to be completely familiar with if he was to convince the THRUSH operatives that he was indeed the Dr Philip Volker, the one they had paid so much for his expertise, and, more importantly, if they were to succeed in their mission.
Napoleon studied Margaret Hanford for a moment. She wouldn’t notice him staring. All her attention was focused now on the two scientists. She broke into their dialogue from time to time when it touched on seismology or marine biology, her specialties, but otherwise just listened and watched. Ardently. What else is going on with her and Illya and Volker? Napoleon thought. Is she trying to make Volker jealous? He seems like the type…maybe. Napoleon leaned back from the dinner table and observed even more carefully.
The other… Napoleon shook his head very slightly. He’d almost thought “the other Illya”. I’ll call the man by name then, Napoleon decided. Volker's more boisterous in his movements, more garrulous than my Illya. Surely Illya is the original and Volker… Napoleon caught himself again. Neither one is the original. They’re just two men who look alike. There is no other connection between them. Yet. Napoleon’s body remained at ease in his chair, but his eyes narrowed.
Their meeting a year or so ago had been an accident caused by Margaret Hanford mistaking Illya for Volker. There it is again. I don’t want to be on a first-name basis. Not feeling that friendly. Why? Napoleon was aware of his own behaviour and was taking his instinctive antipathy towards Volker into account. The man, after all, had contacted UNCLE through Illya to advise them that THRUSH had sought him out, sought out his expertise for an underwater venture, a treasure hunt of sorts except they knew where the treasure was. It wasn’t finding the prize that was the challenge, it was extracting it from the two damaged vessels, a galleon filled with gold from the New World and other booty, sunk over 400 years before and, more importantly, a World War II convoy ship whose safe might still hold secrets that neither the Americans, the British nor the Soviets wanted to fall into unscrupulous hands, or any hands at all. The secrets needed to stay lost or be destroyed. Yet none of the governments could agree to let the other intervene and so they had turned to the UNCLE. The former Allied governments had accepted to match the fee Volker would be forgoing from THRUSH if he helped UNCLE conduct the mission to dispose of any classified material that had survived the sinking of the navy ship. Volker had also negotiated with THRUSH for a 50% share of the value of any salvage. UNCLE had offered Volker 100% of the galleon‘s salvage in exchange for no interference and no questions about what was on the military vessel.
Mercenary was what Napoleon had called Volker after Mr Waverly had outlined the terms. When Illya said that Volker thought it was better to be a rich scientist than a poor one, Napoleon had raised his eyebrows. Illya’s further explanation about Volker preferring to fund his own research whenever possible, so he could be independent of national or commercial agendas, had made Napoleon uneasy. There had been a hint of admiration in Illya’s voice. You don’t care about owning much of anything, Illya. You chide me about my penchant for luxury. How can you admire this egotistical, cut-throat…I’m jealous. I’m jealous, Napoleon realised. He observed how attentively Illya was following every word Volker said. Our lives will depend on Illya absorbing all this information, Napoleon tried to reason with himself. But Illya was enjoying challenging any of Volker’s points that seemed unsupported and appeared to relish the facility with which Volker defended each one. I want Illya’s admiration for myself. Napoleon finished his wine. I’ve heard Illya express esteem for numerous people, scientists, authors, composers…Mr Waverly. Old people, dead people, distant people. Not beautiful young men at the same dinner table. Napoleon reached for his water glass and drank half of it.
They hadn’t dressed for dinner. The men were all in shirtsleeves, Dr Hanford in a pale green, cotton blouse, pleasingly form-fitting. Volker’s shirt was white, rolled up to the elbows and open a few buttons down as though he’d been in too much of a hurry when changing out of his wetsuit to bother buttoning them all. So was Illya’s. They were like mirror images of one another as they sat across from Napoleon, turned in their seats to face one another, so avid was their communication. Volker was gesturing, using a bread roll to illustrate the maneuverability of his underwater vehicle. Then he tore off a piece and ate it. The movement of the jaw under the taut skin was mesmerising. I find Volker attractive, Napoleon admitted.
**************
Napoleon reached for the phone. From the next bed Illya gave an interrogatory grunt.
“The reception desk,” Napoleon answered when he hung up. “Dr Standish is on his way up and breakfast should be right behind him.”
Napoleon pulled on a robe and Illya pulled on his trousers. Guns in hand, they proceeded to the door of the suite. Napoleon left the chain on when he opened the door. Illya stayed behind the door, gun poised. Standish looked like the geologist they were expecting. Shutting the door to undo the chain, Napoleon nodded to Illya before opening it again.
“Good morning to you, too,” Dr Standish said as Napoleon closed and locked the door behind him. “Philip said this project would be a little different. I didn’t realise quite how different until just now,” he added, staring pointedly at Napoleon’s gun. Napoleon dropped it into the pocket of his robe.
Illya stepped forward, switched his gun to his left hand and held out his right to their visitor. Standish redirected his attention. “Illya Kuryakin,” Illya said. “Of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement.”
Standish kept his eyes on Illya’s face as he accepted his hand. “Doug Standish. Stanford, Oceanography Department. Pleasure to meet you. Maggie said the resemblance was uncanny, but that doesn’t cover it.”
“I’ve enjoyed reading your papers,” Illya offered.
“I don’t write as much as I should,” Dr Standish replied, his gaze still fixed. “I prefer to do, rather than write about it. Philip manages both.” Standish let his inspection of Illya range over his whole body and back to his face. “And you dive?” he asked Illya. Illya nodded.
Napoleon coughed. Standish turned to him. “Napoleon Solo, also of the UNCLE. Good to meet you, sir. I gravitate more toward the active side of our endeavours as well,” he explained. Standish smiled. He was a well-built man, casually dressed in khaki trousers and a light blue shirt which brought out the blue in his eyes. He was fair-haired, older than the other scientists by ten or fifteen years, his features weather-worn, a tendency towards affability etched into the lines of his face. From a lot of years in the sun, Napoleon guessed. A confident man, accustomed to people doing what he says, not needing to be heavy-handed about his authority. Napoleon liked him…and watched his gaze drift back to Illya.
“I’ll go get Dr Volker,” Napoleon said.
“Neither Maggie nor Philip are morning people,” Standish observed before asking Illya something about his diving experience that Napoleon didn‘t quite catch.
Napoleon had to rap twice on the door to Philip and Maggie’s room to get an answer. Philip opened the door in a loosely-tied dressing gown, its dark blue cloth setting off his pale skin and piercing blue eyes. Does he know that? Napoleon wondered. Philip smiled sleepily at him, having seen Napoleon’s appraising glance sweep over him. “Dr Standish is here,” Napoleon said.
Volker nodded. “I’ll be right out,” he said, doing something with the knot of the robe which didn’t cover any more of his skin, rather framed the dusting of hair in the centre of his chest. Is he flirting with me? What was it, Dr Hanford had called it? A reinforcement stimulus? Napoleon couldn’t take his eyes off the nimble fingers playing with the dark, silky cloth. The same hands. Broad, capable. “Maggie probably needs to sleep a bit more,” Volker added and there was a smile to his voice as he turned very slightly towards the inside of the room before stepping forward to follow Napoleon to the sitting area.
The slight movement had allowed Napoleon a glimpse of Dr Hanford, stretched out on the rumpled bed, the covers reaching to the middle of her bare back, her tousled hair half covering her sleeping face, the hint of a smile indicating a pleasant dream. Is he proving that she’s his? Napoleon mused as he headed back towards the others. There was another knock on the door. He veered in that direction. Should be room service. Did Volker take Maggie’s perfunctory flirting with me yesterday seriously? Or is he showing off? Demonstrating another of his many skills?
The breakfast trolley safely inside the suite, checked for both bugging devices and poison, the three of them proceeded to begin to brief Dr Standish over scrambled eggs and salmon, toast, marmalade, fruit and coffee. It wasn’t long before Dr Hanford joined them, looking refreshed and relaxed despite the early hour.
Later that morning, they boarded planes to Miami to rendezvous with THRUSH in their various ways.
****************
“Who’s he?” the tall THRUSH agent apparently overseeing their venture asked when Napoleon came aboard the THRUSH vessel behind Illya. Napoleon was lugging a case of equipment just like the others, but something in his bearing, his clothing, had set him apart from the three scientists.
Illya glanced back at Napoleon and then at the THRUSH agent. “Darius is our guard. Any problem with that?” Illya asked, not moving further into the boat and reaching out to touch Maggie‘s arm.
The man reached for Napoleon’s jacket as though to check underneath. Napoleon stepped back, waving his index finger and said, “Uh, uh, uh.” The THRUSH scowled.
“If you have a problem with that, we can leave now,” Illya said. “I was very clear in my stipulations.”
“Stipulations?” the man growled. “What do you think this is anyhow?”
“I think this is a salvage operation and part of the salvage is mine. I want it guarded. If it isn’t, I don’t go. We don‘t go,” Illya stated. He took Dr Hanford’s arm and begin to turn back towards the dock. Napoleon stepped back as well, and Dr Standish behind him.
A shorter man whispered something to the overseer. He nodded and held up his hands. “Right, right. My colleague here has just reminded me that this is a scientific expedition. I’m not so used to scientific expeditions,” he said. “My apologies.” He eyed Napoleon. “To you, too…Darius,” he said. “You can keep your gun. But don’t go shooting any holes in the boat, you know.”
“I’ll be careful about that…I didn’t catch your name,” Napoleon said to the THRUSH agent.
“Silver,” he replied.
Napoleon couldn’t help glancing at Mr Silver’s feet, but they both appeared to be there.
“Pleasure,” Napoleon said and followed Illya.
**************
Although he helped out setting up and monitoring some of the equipment, Napoleon was mainly occupied with keeping an eye on everyone. Once they had gotten underway, the THRUSH agents had busied themselves manning the vessel and not interacted with their merry band much except to provide their meals. Other than Silver, the crew appeared to be low ecshelon THRUSH personnel employed for their sea-faring experience and Silver seemed to be filling the role in which Illya had cast Napoleon, a guard for the spoils. Standish, Napoleon felt, was nothing more sinister than the research scientist he was reputed to be. Napoleon reserved judgement about Hanford and her association with Volker who wasn’t due to join them just yet. She could be his partner in more ways than one. Napoleon kept careful track of her whereabouts.
Napoleon chuckled softly. His usual reason for such attentiveness would have been a little post-mission relaxation with the good doctor, but lovely as she was, her marked preference for Illya’s company would have precluded any designs of that nature, if he had chosen to formulate them. He hadn’t though. No, he was making sure the mission progressed smoothly to a successful conclusion and that Dr Hanford spent as little time alone with Illya as possible during the process.
Standish stopped next to Napoleon on the deck and regarded Maggie’s and Illya’s preparations. They were standing in the aft section of the vessel preparing for a preliminary reconnaissance dive, Illya in swimming trunks and a black tee-shirt, Hanford in a revealing two-piece suit with a very practical utility belt around her waist. Illya’s lay nearby. Dr Hanford knelt next to Illya, securing a rope around his ankle. She checked twice that the fastening was secure. Illya will triple check himself in a moment, Napoleon thought. He was certain of that. Dr Hanford’s hand slid up Illya’s calf. “Tense your leg,” she said. Illya did, his calf bulging, the muscles in his thighs swelling. Dr Hanford tried to slip her index finger between the ankle band and Illya’s leg but could not, she tried again with her little finger and succeeded. “It’s not too tight,” she declared and stood up. In the galley, something fell with a loud thud. Dr Hanford looked back and saw Napoleon watching her. She flushed and moved aside a pace, whispering something to Illya before she resumed staring out over the water.
“It’s confusing,” Standish said.
“What?” Napoleon answered, absently.
“Their resemblance,” Standish clarified. “I find myself treating Illya familiarly, as though I’ve known him for years, as I have Philip. Seems Maggie is having the same reaction.”
Very familiar, Napoleon groused to himself. He had had the opposite reaction.
“Not you though,” Doug Standish continued. “And yet you seem to have a good working relationship with Dr Kuryakin.”
“None better,” Napoleon replied. “Illya’s saved my life more times than I can count. I’d trust him with anything.”
“But not Philip,” Doug pressed.
“Well, I don’t know Philip,” Napoleon started.
“It’s more than that,” Standish interjected. “You’re not the first man to take an instant dislike to Philip Volker.” Standish chuckled. “I get exasperated with him sometimes myself. But he’s true to his vision which is one I support, even if I disagree with his methods occasionally. I’ve even had to overrule him from time to time, when I had that responsibility.”
“But not now?” Napoleon asked. Standish had his full attention.
“It’s not my role. This operation is Philip’s and he asked me to join him, just as I sought out his help on my last project. We respect each other’s abilities and each other.”
“Why?” Napoleon persisted.
“If you get to know Philip better, you’ll see. He’s a pragmatist and he doesn’t trouble to sugarcoat it most of the time,” Standish explained. “Although he’s not above manipulation.” Standish grinned. "He likes to play chess. And he plays a long game."
Who does that remind me of? Napoleon asked himself, smiling.
“He intends to create the most comprehensive, independent research facility in the world,” Standish elaborated. “He’s already established a non-profit organisation for that purpose based in Switzerland and donated the proceeds from several of his inventions to fund it.”
“Why Switzerland?” Napoleon probed.
“Philip’s father is Swiss and his family is in banking there,” Standish replied.
“So he’s got plenty of money already,” Napoleon observed, thinking even less of Volker.
“The cost of scientific research is exorbitant,” Standish responded. “It’s why even the largest universities end up seeking funding from their governments or the biggest of the international corporations.”
“Volker wants to fund something at that level?” Napoleon enquired, his sense that Volker might be attracted to THRUSH’s research budget increasing.
“This is just one of a series of salvage operations Philip has planned and after each one he enhances his equipment, invents a new device to answer some challenge presented by the more treacherous underwater operations,” Standish answered. “And with his family’s banking expertise, the proceeds from each find and each invention can be invested to maximise income.”
“You think he’ll succeed?” Napoleon enquired, amazed.
“I’m sure he will. It’s just a question of how long it will take him. That’s how it is when he sets his mind to something,” Standish affirmed.
“And you’d work with him, for him?” Napoleon asked.
“I’ve already done both,” Standish said, looking Napoleon in the eye. “Yes, I would join him if he asked me. And he will, when his organisation is able to sponsor other scientists full time.” Standish turned back to Maggie and Illya.
Napoleon heard it in Standish’s voice. Saw the wistful expression flit across the rugged face as he looked at Philip’s double. Whatever it would take to be near Philip, Standish would do. Even though he acted the part of the indulgent mentor, Napoleon had noted the body language, the frequent touches to emphasise a point, to get Volker’s attention. Napoleon drew back from taking the next step and comparing Standish and himself.
“Your scientist is summoning you,” Standish said.
Napoleon returned his attention to Illya, who was indeed summoning him, twisting halfway and stretching out his arm to point at him. It probably didn’t show, but Napoleon felt himself jump a bit, startled at the remarkably apt gesture.
Illya was scowling. Nothing was to be taken lightly. This was a matter of millions of dollars after all. The THRUSH would expect it. Unless they knew Volker. He would have been cockier, Napoleon thought, and more obviously excited than Illya. Napoleon snorted softly. That would mean quite cool and professional, since with Illya it was often no more than the merest flash in his eyes which indicated his feelings about their undertakings. Napoleon pushed his ruminations aside and turned to sidle past a coil of rope as he made his way towards Illya, glancing back over his shoulder. Silver was watching from a distance, but he was watching Dr Hanford pull her long, blonde hair over the strap of her goggles. Turning aft again, Napoleon looked down at Illya’s bare legs. He knew how strong they were, how fast they could run or climb, how hard they could kick. They have another appeal though, he thought, his eyes fixed on the nearly hairless skin on the inside of Illya’s thigh. Admit it. You can’t control something if you don’t acknowledge that it’s there. A fundamental rule of espionage. It’s what all the intelligence gathering was about. Rather fundamental law of life, he added. Napoleon wiped his hand on his trouser leg. He understood why Hanford had taken the opportunity to explore Illya's legs a little more than a safety check strictly required. Understood the look he’d seen on Standish’s face. Understood his reactions to Volker a little better.
******************
In the darkness, Napoleon heard Illya making his way to their bunks. He was moving quietly, but Napoleon heard what others would not have, as though he could sense the exact amount of air Illya displaced. Illya stopped alongside the lower bunk instead of hoisting himself up to his. He leaned in over Napoleon. When he’d last seen him, Illya had still had on his swim trunks. Napoleon’s fingers stroked the coverlet on the bunk. He imagined reaching between those strong legs and touching the smooth skin at the top of those muscular thighs. He held his breath. Illya’s finger touched his chest, stroked down and then across the top of the stroke. Then in a circle…slowly, he spelt out: Tonight, 0300, then put his foot on the edge of Napoleon’s bunk and was gone.
For an instant, Napoleon indulged his body. Let the reaction to those practical touches travel in directions other than to his brain. And then he analysed that for a moment longer before returning to the task at hand. That was it, wasn’t it? There was always the mission to distract, to hide behind. He pulled his hand away from where it had strayed, lay it carefully on the mattress by his side. It, too, apparently, needed to be kept under control. Enough. Logistics now.
The dive today had told Illya what they needed to know, although Illya had informed Silver they must anchor the boat a half mile west of their current position for the deeper dives in the morning. There were five THRUSH aboard, the captain, his mate, a deckhand, the cook and Silver. It was Silver’s turn to keep watch on deck. The remaining four would be in the other cabin, almost surely asleep. Illya had paid a visit to the galley in the cook’s absence that afternoon and improved their dinner pudding, but Silver had hardly touched his.
There was a sound on the stairs. Napoleon heard the mattress shift in the bunk above him. His hand closed around the gun under his pillow. The visitor proceeded stealthily into the cabin, his footsteps barely audible above the rhythmic creaking of the boat rising and falling in the water. They didn’t come closer. Silver’s paying Maggie a visit, Napoleon deduced. Very unprofessional of him. He raised his gun and was across the cabin in two strides. He reached up for the intruder’s neck and got his head. It wasn’t Silver. Volker had arrived early. For a little longer than necessary, Napoleon held the man who felt so familiar against him. Both berths creaked. “Shh,” Napoleon said very softly before Dr Hanford asked the obvious question. He thought Volker might voice a protest. Instead he pressed back against Napoleon and for a moment Napoleon stopped thinking and savoured the perfection of the fit, the warmth.
Illya tapped Napoleon on the shoulder, whispered, “Stairs,“ in his ear and moved off. Napoleon let Volker go and followed Illya.
“Philip?” Maggie whispered. Napoleon didn’t hear Volker answer, just the creak of the bunk.
There was another sound on the stairs. They waited. The footsteps descended.
“Any problem down here?” Silver’s voice asked. There was a sharp crack, then a heavy thud.
“Bring a light,” Illya said.
Napoleon unhooked the emergency torch from the wall next to the stairs. When his foot hit a leg, he turned the torch light on the body. Illya grabbed Napoleon’s hand to steady the beam on Silver’s throat. The Special discharged a sleep dart into the side of Silver’s neck. They relieved him of his gun.
“Volker arrived?” Illya whispered.
“Yes,” Napoleon confirmed with a sigh.
“We may as well tie this one up and start early on the others then,” Illya replied.
****************
Illya lowered his satchel gently to the floor by the starboard bunks. He drew out a rope and trussed up the deckhand in the bottom bunk before clambering to the upper berth to deal with the mate. He dropped quietly to the floor after injecting them with another dose of the same tranquiliser he had put in the dessert. It had been a few hours since dinner. He zipped up the pouch with the needles and slipped it back into the satchel.
“Can you lend me a hand?” Napoleon whispered despite the drugged slumber of the THRUSH.
“I’ve already finished with my two,” Illya murmured from behind Napoleon. “What’s the problem?”
“A bit of an entanglement,” Napoleon replied softly. “I’ve sedated one and I don’t want to dose the same fellow twice.”
Illya plucked a torch from the side of his satchel and played the narrow beam over the bottom bunk. “Well, they say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Illya commented and reached up to pull the pallet off the upper berth. He lined it up next to the bottom bunk on the floor. “You take cook’s shoulders and I’ll take his hips,” Illya suggested. They rolled him off the captain onto the pallet and tied them both up.
******************
Early the next afternoon, Napoleon watched Volker cross the galley. He was out of his scuba gear. They must have finished bringing up the galleon‘s treasure. The man looked exhausted, but pleased. He filled a mug, took a long drink of water and refilled it.
“The daily radio check should be in about a half hour,” Volker informed them between gulps. “Maggie said the captain mumbled something about it when he was coming around a few minutes ago. She asked him what time before she injected him again.”
“She didn’t happen to ask him if there was any code, did she?” Napoleon enquired, opening the oven door to see how the latest batch of papers was doing. He avoided looking at Volker.
Volker set the cup down. “She did. It seems they change every day and they’re in the safe in the cabin Silver's been using.”
Napoleon reached into the oven with a pair of tongs, seized several sheets of paper and handed them to Illya who had a small fire going in a large steel bowl on the counter. Volker raised an eyebrow at their enterprise. It was low tech, but effective.
Illya nudged the bowl closer to Napoleon with a knife handle. “I’ll deal with the safe in a moment,” he announced. “Do we know whether it’s the captain who signs in?”
“Seems it’s Silver. In any event, Silver has the combination to the safe, according to the captain anyway. Maggie asked the captain for it. Silver is still out.” Volker added, preempting Napoleon’s next question.
“I could probably do a good imitation of Silver unless they’re using voice recognition equipment on the other end,” Napoleon said.
Illya smiled. “You could do Silver?”
Napoleon rolled his shoulders and said, “Oh, yeah.” He moved two more sheets of crinkled paper to the steel bowl. They caught the small flame in the bottom of the container quickly.
Volker laughed. “You don’t like him either,” he observed. Napoleon looked at Volker. He stepped back. “I don’t want to know what you’re destroying. That was part of my bargain. I intend to abide by it.” He turned to the stairs. “We can head for the rendezvous point with the UNCLE ship after the radio call. We’re ready.”
Illya handed Napoleon a spatula to hold the charred sheets down in the bowl. “I’ll get rid of the ashes as soon as I get back with the code for you, ‘Silver‘,” he said. “And I’ll talk to Volker about the other matter.”
*****************
“Bravo,” Volker said from the doorway of the pilot house when Napoleon had switched off the radio. Napoleon raised a finger to his lips and went to the door. Volker lingered an instant before moving back silently to let Napoleon pass by. Too close. I can feel the warmth. Volker held his gaze and raised a finger to his lips in imitation of Napoleon’s gesture. Napoleon lowered his eyes to watch the finger press against the full lower lip.
Napoleon pulled the door to the cabin shut behind them and leaned forward until his mouth was next to Volker’s ear. “It’s better to be silent. One can never be sure the radio isn’t working both ways,” he whispered. “Did Illya explain what we need to do?” Volker didn’t move away. When he nodded his head, the stubble on his cheek rasped against Napoleon’s. Tiny sparks flew along Napoleon’s nerves.
“Shall we rejoin Illya in the galley then?” Volker breathed and took Napoleon’s arm.
******************
“We can do it with a minimum of explosives if they are properly placed,” Illya said to Maggie Hanford.
“It could still trigger an earthquake, even so,” she replied. “Ideally, you do nearly all of it with just gravity.”
“The galleon isn’t heavy enough to dislodge the navy ship without our at least loosening the rock the ship’s wedged against first,” Illya explained. “It is close to the vent though. Small, well-placed charges and the momentum of the galleon should work and we can set the galleon sliding down the slope towards the ship fairly easily.”
“It is handy having a physicist along,” Standish remarked.
Napoleon kept his eyes on the diagrams on the table.
*****************
The sky was clear, the sea was gently rolling, the THRUSH were quietly sedated and Napoleon felt something wrong in his bones. He lifted the field glasses to his eyes and scanned the sky one more time. A tiny speck on the horizon, getting larger - a helicopter.
Maybe I didn’t do such a convincing job on the radio, Napoleon thought. Or maybe this visit was already planned.
Napoleon set down the field glasses for a moment. “I just hope whoever’s coming doesn’t know Silver personally.”
*************
Napoleon was shielding his eyes even with his sunglasses on to look up at the helicopter hovering over the deck. There seemed to be just two men inside. Napoleon waved. A ladder dropped down to the deck. Napoleon held it helpfully as the passenger descended, briefcase in hand.
Napoleon grabbed the man’s upper arm to steady him as he stepped onto the deck and pressed the sleep dart he was holding between his fingers deep into the arm muscle. Napoleon tugged on the ladder and the pilot began pulling it up. The visitor had looked surprised for a moment and then slumped towards Napoleon. The helicopter rose and banked west. Napoleon let the THRUSH agent slip to the deck and drew his Special. He hit the fuel tank with the first bullet. The explosion was instantaneous. The pilot jumped. The helicopter continued west, listing sideways. Its propellers churned the water before the body of the helicopter hit. Steam rose hissing from the sea and a wave washed over the deck rail. There was a second explosion.
Napoleon picked up the binoculars. The pilot was swimming towards the boat. Napoleon threw him a life ring and palmed a sleep dart. Once the pilot was in the ring, he hauled the rope in.
“What the hell happened?” the pilot spluttered as he climbed over the side. “I checked that bird this morning. There was nothing wrong with it.” He glanced back over his shoulder as he climbed onto the deck. “They’re going to kill me for losing that.”
“Not to worry,” Napoleon said and jabbed him with the sleep dart. “At least there’s plenty of rope to hand,” Napoleon muttered to himself as he lowered the pilot to the deck and began tying the two THRUSH together. Then he went downstairs to retrieve the pouch of sedatives.
****************
The water was getting lighter and lighter. The divers could see the barnacles on the bottom of the boat. The muted boom drew their attention to the glow of the bright orange flames on the far side of the vessel. The shock waves rolled through the water, pushing them away from the boat. They exchanged glances. Illya signalled that he would go up first. He patted the knife and the small harpoon hooked to his belt.
***************
Napoleon was looking anxiously over the side when he saw Illya’s goggles just beneath the surface. He gestured for him to come up.
“Can’t we leave you alone for a minute!” Illya said as soon as he’d yanked out his mouthpiece. “How many?”
“Two. Over there.” Napoleon pointed.
“What’s in the briefcase?” Illya asked, pulling off his goggles and unstrapping his flippers.
“I haven’t had time to check. Been a little busy,” Napoleon replied.
“I’ll get the others,” Illya said. Napoleon raised an eyebrow. “We noticed the explosion. Thought it might be wise for them to stay out of the way.”
Napoleon bent over the briefcase. “Ah, can you do the honours?” Illya glanced back at him. “Locked.”
“Don’t you have any picks in your cuff links?” Illya asked.
Napoleon held up one arm and pointed at his cuff. “I used the garrotte ones today. They go better with this shirt, don’t you think?”
Illya rolled his eyes. “I’ll get the others.”
**************
Standish came up next and headed for the pilot house as soon as he took his flippers off. Volker stopped to give Maggie a hand up.
Illya opened the briefcase. “It looks like they were going to pay you,” he said, surprised.
Volker walked over, shedding equipment as he came. “This wasn’t where we were scheduled to do that.”
“It could be counterfeit, of course,” Illya said, carefully lifting out a couple stacks of bills. He tossed one to Volker. “See if they’re all hundreds.”
Volker fanned the bills. “No just the first few…and the last few.”
“And just two layers worth,” Illya commented, dropping a few other packets of notes onto the deck. “Let’s see what we have underneath.” He snapped the case shut and stood to fling it over the rail. It left a yellow trail of smoke behind it. Illya coughed. “Meant to have been opened in one of the cabins, I would guess. No doubt with you and your colleagues gathered round.” He coughed again. Volker rushed forward and caught Illya as he crumpled.
Napoleon saw Volker grab Illya as he came down the steps from the pilot house. “What happened?” he asked, running towards the two figures.
“The briefcase had gas in it,” Volker explained, lowering Illya to the deck with Napoleon‘s help. Napoleon looked around. “He threw it overboard.” Volker coughed.
“Did it explode in his face?” Napoleon asked.
“No,” Volker answered. “He must have seen something because he slammed it shut and the smoke started coming out as he threw it.” Volker pointed and coughed again.
Napoleon walked to the rail and looked over. The briefcase was still floating and fuming. Napoleon sniffed and turned away. “He should be coming around fairly soon then.” Volker was on his knees next to Illya now. “You, too?” Napoleon asked.
“I hardly got a whiff of it,” Volker said and collapsed across Illya’s chest.
Napoleon walked back to them and looked down. “You’re not as used to it as we are, I suppose,” he said. They had both pulled off their hoods and unzipped their wetsuits. Volker’s hair looked so blond against the black shoulder of Illya's wetsuit. In his hand was a packet of bills.
Maggie came onto the deck and ran to Napoleon. “What happened?”
Napoleon smiled. “THRUSH dropped off a present and Illya disposed of it. Just not quite quickly enough. They‘re going to need something for a headache when they come round.”
Maggie dropped to her knees. “Do you know who’s who?” she asked, her hand hovering in the air.
“The one with the money’s…Philip,” Napoleon said and watched her hand come down on his hair. Napoleon thought about the speed with which Volker had moved to catch Illya when his knees buckled. It had been a reflex. Seems that’s put us on a first-name basis, Philip, Napoleon thought.
*******************
Even with Philip's underwater vehicle in tow, the boat had put an admirable distance between them and the diving site by the time they felt the explosions Illya and the others had set. Illya was coming to. He raised his hand to check his watch. “Just on time,” he said and let his arm drop onto the deck.
They had rolled Philip onto his back and left them side by side on the deck. Out in the fresh air was the best place for them to be. Maggie had put pillows under their heads and left bottles of water for when they woke up. Napoleon had rigged a tarpaulin to shade them and put the headache tablets in his pocket.
He scanned the water for a sign of the UNCLE ship they were scheduled to meet. It should be coming into sight soon. Maggie was in the pilot house with Doug Standish monitoring the sonar equipment. Hopefully, they would be able to verify that the navy ship had slid into the abyss with those of its secrets that were woven right into its fabric. The classified documents he and Illya had incinerated in the galley. He wondered what other state secrets lay on the bottom of the sea for Philip to find with his inventions.
Napoleon turned to look at the two prone figures. Their eyes were closed. No one else was conscious on deck. No one will see, Napoleon thought and walked over to kneel by Illya’s head. He brushed the hair back from his forehead, stroked the back of his fingers down his cheek.
“Water, water all around…” Illya murmured, eyes still closed
“I’ve got drinking water here,” Napoleon answered, still stroking. “Shall I help you sit up?”
“No,” Illya sighed. “Need to stay horizontal a while longer.”
Napoleon pulled the plug out of the bottle, wet his handkerchief with the water and put it to Illya’s lips. He suckled it. “More,” he whispered.
Napoleon kept soaking his handkerchief and running his hand across Illya’s forehead while Illya drew the moisture out of the cloth.
“It was just sleeping gas, Napoleon. I didn’t almost die or anything,” Illya said after a while.
“I’ve got something for the headache. Do you think you can take them yet?” Napoleon lifted his hand.
“Maybe, in a minute,” Illya replied. “I hate that gas. I should have suspected it…don’t stop rubbing. It feels good.” His breathing grew quieter again.
Napoleon leaned over Illya and used both hands to rub circles at Illya’s temples and then up the centre of his forehead to the hairline, down to his nose and under the eyebrows. He didn’t stop until Maggie called from the upper deck that she thought she could see a ship.
Napoleon got up. “Leave the tablets, Napoleon,” Illya said. “I can take them now.”
******************
As he wove his way back from the bar to their table in the hotel dining room, Napoleon took note of several appreciative glances. For an instant, he caught the eye of one of his admirers. She turned back to her dinner companion smiling.
Maggie Hanford and Doug Standish looked up expectantly as he approached. Napoleon circled behind their seats and leaned between them, his hand on the top of Maggie‘s chair, just brushing against her well-tanned shoulder. “They swear that they are on their way down as we speak. Illya said they were at the door when I phoned them.”
“We should have forced them to come with us,” Doug said. “At the rate they were talking, they could have forgotten dinner altogether.”
“Not Illya. He gives food a high priority,” Napoleon declared. He saw Maggie blush as she looked down at her hands. Imagining other appetites, are we? Napoleon thought, but it didn’t trouble him overmuch. The state secrets were safe, the auction at Christie’s had yielded far more than even Philip had estimated and Maggie would be off to California with Philip and Doug the next day, back to their research and seminars, putting a whole continent between Illya and them and their various temptations.
The hum of conversation in the room changed subtly. Napoleon looked up and followed the turned heads to the broad steps leading to the dining room. Illya and Philip were standing side by side on the landing, searching for them. Their tuxedos cast their slim silhouettes in high contrast against the white marble staircase. Illya made some remark to Volker and he smiled. They had spotted the table. “Twins,” Napoleon heard murmured nearby as he moved behind Standish to his chair.
Illya bowed slightly to Maggie as he reached the table. Philip took her hand and brushed his lips across the back of it before sitting next to her. “You see,” Illya said, pulling out his chair. “We were on our way down.”
“About time,” Standish replied. “I’m starving.”
Napoleon studied Illya. Were his cheeks slightly flushed?
The band had begun to play a slow number. The waiter came to clear away the dessert dishes and they ordered coffee and brandy. Maggie leaned forward. “Illya,” she said softly. Illya raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue. “Would you dance with me?”
Illya inclined his head graciously and stood. Maggie whispered something to Philip and held out her hand to Illya when he reached her chair. Philip was smiling.
“What did she say?” Napoleon asked Philip as Maggie and Illya walked away.
Philip moved over to Maggie’s chair and leaned closer to Doug and Napoleon. “She asked me to cut in half way through the dance and make her the envy of the whole room,” he said.
Napoleon glanced around the nearby tables. Several people were taking notice of the handsome couple just embracing on the dance floor. “It will do more than make them envious,” Napoleon remarked.
“I know,” Philip said, arching one eyebrow and raising his wine glass. “Here’s to imagination,” he said and drank deep.
Napoleon and Doug watched the exchange when Philip made his way to the dance floor. Illya was chuckling when he got back to the table. “Psychologically interesting, don’t you think?” he said, turning to glance back at the dance floor. Several people quickly looked away.
Oh, tomorrow can’t come fast enough, Napoleon thought.
*******************
They had three adjoining rooms. Mr Waverly had thought it prudent that Illya and Napoleon see the trio of scientists off at the airport the next afternoon and Philip had asked them to be his guests at the hotel. They had stayed up late talking about different manifestations of international cooperation in the suite that Maggie and Philip shared. Doug had fallen asleep on the couch by the time Napoleon suggested that they call it a night. They agreed to brunch at one o'clock the next afternoon before making their way to the airport.
Illya kept repeating bits of the conversation they had been having as he got undressed. “I’m not sure I agree that research is better conducted independently of teaching. I think they enhance one another,” he said as he draped his tuxedo over the bedside chair. Napoleon hung his in the closet. “The intersection of different viewpoints, different personalities is more likely to yield balanced results,” Illya continued, nodding to himself and dropping his socks into his shoes. He slipped off his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“If you have enough scientists doing research, they can debate with one another,” Napoleon offered, undoing his studs and dropping them into his jacket pocket. He watched Illya pull his tee-shirt up, admired the muscles in his forearms as they crossed in front of his chest and tugged the material over his head. Their eyes met as the cloth pulled free. Napoleon busied himself with a cuff link.
“To a lesser extent, because they’ll continue to work together. The students come and go and therefore are more willing to differ,” Illya countered.
“Aren’t students intimidated by their professors?” Napoleon asked. “They have to get grades and recommendations from them, after all. Wouldn‘t debate be more vigorous among colleagues?” What am I saying? Napoleon thought.
“They‘re likely to develop group think,” Illya said. “The students are always fresh, different.” He started towards the bathroom. Napoleon dropped a cuff link and knelt to retrieve it as Illya approached. Illya’s foot came down over the silver square. Napoleon looked at the curve of the arch. Beneath it the metal gleamed. He reached out and traced the underside of the curve with his index finger and Illya didn’t move. Napoleon kept his eyes low. Against his thigh he could feel his heart hammering. With his fingertip, he followed a pale blue vein up to Illya’s ankle and around the small round bone. His breathing sounded loud in his ears. Napoleon touched the indentation by Illya’s heel. His chest was pressing against his thigh with each breath. Up the back of the shin, his fingertips ventured, two now, side by side, skimming over the curled hair, barely touching. He couldn’t hear Illya breathing. He didn’t look up. At the back of the knee, there was no hair. Lightly, Napoleon pressed the dimple there. He closed his eyes. Felt the pulse in Illya’s vein. He curled his hand around the back of the thigh, up, brushing over the hair. There. He let his fingers rest against the smooth skin. Warm. He didn’t dare open his eyes. Higher. Illya shifted his stance slightly. Apart. Very quietly, Napoleon let out a breath. Higher. He felt the edge of the cloth. Under. Warmer. The blood pounded in his ears. Breathing was difficult. Napoleon rested his forehead against Illya’s thigh. Higher. Soft skin against his fingertips. So soft. He dared not look up.
A hand stroked his hair. Napoleon tilted his head back, let the hand curve around his cheek. He opened his eyes.
“I wasn’t thinking of leaving,” Illya said quietly.
No? Napoleon brought his other hand around Illya’s leg. The muscles were like stone; he gripped them to anchor himself with one hand while his fingertip stroked the tender skin. Napoleon eyes drifted shut. No. His breath came a little easier. No. He sat up and let his mouth find the heat.
**************
Illya whisked the sheet of paper out of the typewriter and signed above his printed name at the bottom. “There,” he said aloud, slipping the page beneath several others and punching double holes through them. “Another mission completed,” he murmured as he lined the holes up with the brass spindles and secured them inside the brown folder labelled “The Abu Simbel Affair”.
His communicator beeped. Illya twisted around to pull it from where his jacket hung over the back of his chair. “Kuryakin, here,” he said.
“Illya, they’re telling me to order you down here,” Napoleon’s voice said. “They seem to think I have some authority over you,” he added softly after a short pause. Illya smiled. Napoleon had probably stepped away from whichever member of the Medical Section was importuning him.
“I’ll be right down,” Illya replied and he knew Napoleon could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve just finished our report. I’ll leave it on your desk to sign.” Illya clicked the communicator closed and slipped his jacket on. The phone rang.
“I’m on my way!” Illya grumbled and took a step towards the door. The phone rang again. Illya gave the irritating instrument a sideways glare and took another step. The first tones of a third ring began. Illya snatched the receiver off the cradle. “I’m on my way,” he said menacingly.
“There’s a call on an outside line for either Mr Solo or yourself,” Angela said. “A Dr Volker. Shall I put him through?” Illya glanced at the wall clock. “Yes, thank you, Angela,” he replied.
“Illya?” a warm voice asked, its timbre low. The tone of persuasion.
“Philip!” Illya responded. “I read that the treasure hunting is going quite well.” There had been an article in The Times after the latest auction at Sotheby’s in London. The British Museum had snapped up several Mayan artifacts, their historical value far exceeding their weight in gold.
“It has. The next salvage operation was even better, but the items won’t come to auction for a few weeks yet. However, the site I’ve just secured may interest your organisation.”
“Oh?” Illya said, leaning his hip against the side of his desk. “Any birds involved?”
“Not as far as I know. None have contacted me openly in any event.”
The door to the office slid open. The last words of Napoleon’s greeting to a member of the support staff floated into the room. Napoleon raised his eyebrows when he saw Illya on the telephone and tapped the face of his wrist watch. The door slid shut behind him.
“Philip,” Illya said. “Napoleon has just gotten back to the office.”
Napoleon moved behind Illya, his head over Illya’s shoulder, near the receiver. He could hear Philip’s voice. Napoleon heard him ask Illya to convey his regards. “Good to hear from you, Philip,” Napoleon replied with practised diplomacy. He leaned towards his desk and pressed the button which locked their office door, then settled against Illya’s back, his arms around Illya’s waist underneath his jacket.
“I’ll be flying into New York tomorrow afternoon to sign some contracts. Doug and I hope to get started on the project next week,” Philip explained.
“Isn’t Maggie joining you?” Napoleon asked, undoing a button and sliding his hand beneath Illya’s white shirt. Illya glanced back at Napoleon with one eyebrow raised high.
“She’s organising a conference this month, so we’re already short,” Philip answered. Napoleon started to smile. “Normally, I’d hire other specialists, but I think UNCLE might prefer to have some of their agents along instead of anyone else,” he continued. Napoleon undid another button and his hand drifted upwards. Illya settled back against him as Napoleon’s fingertip circled slowly and then dragged across the delicate flesh.
“Any specifics we can give Mr Waverly?” Illya asked. Napoleon’s other hand was fumbling at the waistband of Illya’s trousers. Illya reached down and flicked the button open.
“You remember when we were discussing Marlowe and I remarked that I thought that myth was mostly Roman propaganda?” Philip enquired.
“Mm,” Illya replied as Napoleon undid the zipper. He wondered if Philip might have heard that.
“That’s about all I should say until I see you,” Philip responded.
“Where can we reach you?” Illya asked just before Napoleon’s hand eased him out of his trousers.
“I’m boarding a train in a quarter hour. What if I call you back at four o’clock to see what Mr Waverly would like to do?” Philip suggested.
“All right. We’ll speak to him and should have an answer by four.” Napoleon was kissing just behind the ear where the receiver was. “We’ll talk to you at four then,” Illya finished. “Thank you for contacting us.”
Philip laughed. “Wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to get together with my favourite physicist,” Philip said. “And you, too, of course, Napoleon.”
“Talk to you soon, Philip,” Napoleon said and managed to sound brisk despite what his hands were doing. He’d had a lot of practice in that technique. Illya hung up the phone and leaned his head against Napoleon’s shoulder.
“I’m going to be even later for my shots,” Illya said.
Napoleon glanced at the clock. “They’re going on break in a couple minutes. If we’re diligent, you should be able to get down there just as they’re coming back,” he answered and turned Illya towards him. “You can blame it all on your CEA detaining you since they think you obey me,” he added. Napoleon pulled Illya over towards his desk chair and sat down. “Besides we couldn’t send you there in this condition.” Illya looked downwards, nodded his head and placed a hand on each of Napoleon‘s shoulders.
***************
“Off the coast of Carthage, then,” Mr Waverly said when Illya had repeated his conversation with Philip. Mr Waverly puffed on his pipe for a moment before flicking a switch on his desk. “Miss Rogers, could you put me through to whichever Mediterranean specialist is on duty in Research today?”
Illya rubbed his upper arm absently while he waited for Mr Waverly to finish speaking. Napoleon noticed. Illya had been rather late to Medical. They wouldn’t take it out on him though. Despite their complaints about Illya‘s avoiding the Medical Section, there were too many of them down there infatuated with him to ever do anything except treat him with the utmost care. Their view of what the utmost care was, of course, Napoleon qualified to himself.
“Come back at three, gentlemen, and we’ll see what options the Research staff have identified. It’s an area rich in possibilities,” Mr Waverly concluded. Illya and Napoleon stood and made their way out.
***************
Illya winced as Napoleon pulled his shirt sleeve off his arm. Illya probed the area near the tiny scab gently. It was still swollen. “I’ll be careful of it,” Napoleon said and pressed his lips to the top of Illya’s shoulder.
“Why does Philip have this effect on you?” Illya asked, letting Napoleon unbuckle his belt from behind him for the second time in as many days. Napoleon knew Illya was indulging him and took advantage of it. He kissed the back of Illya’s neck as he finished undoing Illya’s trousers.
“What effect is that?” Napoleon murmured against the now rosy skin.
“You’ve always been something of a satyr, but since he called yesterday…” Illya stopped and inhaled sharply. Napoleon had dropped to his knees behind Illya and tugged the trousers and undergarments down with him. Napoleon's lips were on the back of one of Illya's knees, drawing the blood to the surface of the tender skin there, his hands pushing down Illya’s socks. Illya stepped out of his shoes and let Napoleon pull off the clothing bundled around his ankles.
“Since yesterday...?” Napoleon urged, standing and drawing Illya towards his bed, leaving the clothes on the floor.
Illya stretched out on Napoleon’s sheets. Napoleon had already turned the covers back. The sheets were cool and fresh, light blue and new. Illya smiled. Napoleon had flushed slightly when Illya had mentioned them.
Napoleon was kissing down Illya’s back, one hand slightly in advance of his lips, leading the way, promising further pleasures. Illya stretched again. The linen felt soothing against his skin. Napoleon pressed him down against them. “...you’ve been insatiable,” Illya finished.
Napoleon stood. Illya could hear him undressing, he turned his head to see the well-toned body emerge from the camouflage of his clothing. “No, not insatiable,” Napoleon protested. “I’ve been satisfied many times.” Illya watched the muscles move beneath the lightly-tanned skin as Napoleon stretched to click off the overhead light.
“Hmm,” Illya replied when Napoleon eased into the bed over him, warm and rampant.
"And so have you," Napoleon said softly, pressing closer. Illya shifted against the soft sheets and listened to Napoleon's breathing change.
*******************
“Hayati,” Napoleon whispered above Illya’s ear.
“Where’d you learn that?” Illya asked, lifting up slightly against Napoleon. Their skin was slick now. Napoleon pushed back.
“I paid a visit to Translation in preparation for our mission in Tunisia, habibi, ” Napoleon replied, nuzzling Illya’s neck between words.
“For all the ladies you’re planning to seduce?” Illya asked playfully because although Napoleon had been flirting as usual, he hadn’t been sleeping with the ladies since that night he and Philip had danced with Maggie. Illya hadn’t commented, but he’d noticed.
“Nimr,” Napoleon said. Illya smiled. “More to your taste then?” Napoleon asked, stretching up to reach Illya’s cheek and kiss near the edge of his upturned lips.
“Well, if you must practice vocabulary in bed,” Illya replied.
“Shibl,” Napoleon murmured in Illya’s ear.
“I’m not a cub,” Illya stated.
“Laith,” Napoleon amended. “Better?”
“Hmm,” Illya said. “You seem more comfortable with our next mission than I thought you’d be.” Napoleon ran a finger down the inside of Illya’s arm and Illya took a deep breath. “Is it because Maggie isn’t coming?” Illya asked.
Napoleon rubbed his cheek against Illya’s back. “There’s something in the way she looks at the two of you that I find unsettling,” he admitted.
Illya chuckled and Napoleon felt the vibration beneath him. “Because she isn’t looking at you?” he said.
Napoleon stilled. “Maybe…no. No, her reaction to the two of you together is disturbing.”
Illya laughed. The sensation caused Napoleon to hold his breath. “I’m sure the idea of a threesome is not alien to you, Napoleon,” Illya replied.
Napoleon let out his breath. “No. But I don’t want him, I want you,” he finished and slid his hands beneath Illya’s chest. “Kenza,” Napoleon added.
“Treasure?” Illya translated.
“Yes,” Napoleon answered and clasped Illya tighter. “Although meeting him helped me find treasure.”
“There was no need to hunt for it,” Illya replied.
“No,” Napoleon agreed, settling his head between Illya‘s shoulder blades and slipping his feet beneath Illya‘s and pressing their legs together. “I just didn’t know how to look.”
THE END
Glossary:
hayati - my life
habibi - my beloved
nimr - tiger
shibl - lion cub
laith - lion
kenza - treasure