by Jane Terry

Sharing a room was reasonable, but sharing a bed was going a bit above and beyond, Napoleon thought. After all, U.N.C.L.E. was a first class organization and could certainly afford a spacious enough room for two grown men.

But it wasn't really a money issue. Waverly wanted his agents to share rooms whenever possible during assignments for mutual protection. And there were no vacant rooms with more than one bed. At least it was a double bed, he thought grudgingly as he set his suitcase on the luggage rack.

"Do you mind if I use the shower first?" Illya asked.

"No, go ahead."

While his partner showered, Napoleon unpacked his suitcase. He hung up his shirts and brushed the wrinkles out.

In minutes, Illya exited the bathroom clad in a white towel knotted around his hips. He went over to his own suitcase and fished out a pair of blue pajamas. He didn't bother to unpack. Napoleon had known he wouldn't. Napoleon went in to use the bathroom himself.

When he came out, he saw that Illya had shut off all the lights but the one bedside lamp. He was curled up asleep on the double bed.

Napoleon put on his own pajamas. He never wore them at home but it would never do to sleep in the nude while on assignment. And he would have felt awkward sleeping naked next to another man. He climbed into the bed and shut out the light. He settled back with a sigh. It had been a long exhausting day, physically as well as mentally demanding.

He pushed his shoulder into the pillow, an abbreviated stretch of muscles. If they had been anywhere near civilized facilities he would have hunted up a masseuse to knead the knots out and help him relax.

The bed wasn't comfortable. The mattress must have been old. It felt uneven, sagging in spots. Napoleon shifted, trying to find a more comfortable spot.

"Would you just go to sleep?" Kuryakin muttered with his eyes closed.

"Sorry," he said. He shifted once more then lay as still as he could.

Illya seemed to go back into sleep mode. Napoleon listened to the deep regular breathing. How could Illya do it so easily? He had had as rough a day...rougher. Those Thrush goons had really worked him over. Napoleon had seen the bruises when he'd come out from the bathroom before. Along his arms and back. He could probably have used a good massage too.

Napoleon thought of the strong hands of a masseuse working over Illya's body. I could do it, he thought. He flushed at the thought that he wanted to.

He had never actually given Illya a massage; that was one thing they didn't do for each other.

Though there was that time Napoleon's legs had locked up in cramps during the Height West Affair in California last year. The cramps had been so painful he couldn't walk, much less run. Illya had gently and firmly rubbed his calves until he could walk again.

Strange that he would get a sudden urge to return the favor.

Illya sighed deeply in his sleep. Napoleon turned his head to look at his partner. There was enough light sifting in through the window that he could distinguish his partner's muted features. When someone was asleep, unanimated by personality, you could really see what their features looked like.

Napoleon looked away into the darkness of the far wall. He didn't need to look to know what his partner looked like asleep or awake. Staring at Illya's face was a bad idea because if he looked too long he would want to touch, and touching was a bad idea, even if Illya did seem to be sound asleep.

Napoleon closed his eyes and thought about it. Touching his partner. His fingers curled and he ran his thumb across the fingertips, imagining the feel of touching Illya's face. His cheek. His eyebrow. The side of his nose. His lips. Napoleon swallowed hard. Thoughts like these about his partner had surfaced occasionally, but he had tried to dismiss them as inconsequential weirdness.

This was the kind of thing Napoleon worked very hard to avoid thinking. He turned to lie on his back with his head flat on the pillow. Not really his natural way to fall asleep. If he was alone in his bed he would be sprawled out face down. If he were sharing a bed with a woman he would be wrapped around her.

Wrapped around...

Suddenly he couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to be wrapped around the other occupant of the bed.


Stop, he ordered himself. Just stop it!

Just to feel the warmth of Illya's back against his chest. He sighed with longing.

Silly thing to wish for. Such an innocuous thing to want to hug his friend. Why in the world did he want that so much? And why in the world would that be so wrong?

He felt the heat of the other body radiate across the bed. So close. Just inches away. Infinite inches. Forbidden inches. If he were to just turn slightly, shift slightly, they would be touching.

It could happen. He could fall asleep and accidentally move against Illya or instinctively move toward the other body in the bed. After all, it would be an understandable thing to happen in his sleep; he was so used to cuddling with women.

But Napoleon knew that wasn't going to happen. If he had to stay vigilant all night, he wasn't going to relax his guard.

What if Illya moved closer? What if Illya was the one to shift and turn in his sleep and accidentally press up against Napoleon?

It could happen.

What could happen? If he turned one way, his thighs might mesh up against Illya's...belly against belly... Or the other way... Illya's back against Napoleon's chest? Illya's backside curved against Napoleon's groin?

Better not let that happen, Napoleon warned himself, because then Illya would awake with the feel of Napoleon's erection pressed up against...

Oh god!

If there had been any question of where this was leading, Napoleon's now evident tumescent organ was an undeniable answer. He shifted away, taking himself as far as he could to the edge of the bed. Which was a lot closer than it should have been.

Damn. Couldn't they at least have a king-sized bed?

Well, at this rate Napoleon'd probably be on the floor before long. He moved back and turned to his stomach.

He pressed his erection into the mattress. If you stop thinking about it, it will go down, he told himself. You've been horny before and managed to fall asleep.

But not with the person you're horny for lying inches away, he answered back.

He didn't have a good answer for that. Shut up and go to sleep, he told himself. Think of business.

He did try. He thought of their assignment, of what they had been doing in the last few days.

They had been investigating a nightclub that they knew to be a Thrush run operation. Napoleon had come in as a frequent patron; Illya had been hired as one of the musicians in the orchestra, something he had done several times before.

Illya's musical ability really did come in handy, Napoleon reflected. He recalled the time his partner had played the bass cello at a discotheque. And then there was that gig in the off Broadway play where he had demonstrated his versatility in the "Man is a Horn" number. Napoleon grinned into the pillow. The show had been ludicrous, but Illya had pulled it off brilliantly. And he'd looked good in the skin-tight black leotard and tights too. Napoleon's penis twitched at the mental picture of his partner's lithe body in the skin-tight outfit. You're not going to be able to put this out of your mind, are you? he asked himself.

Obviously not. Whether Illya's body was encased in black nylon or baggy cotton pajamas, Napoleon wanted... well, he wanted something.

All right, we'll see what we can do for you, he told his impatient libido.

He got out of bed quietly and didn't bother to turn on the night-table lamp; he really didn't want to wake his partner.

He entered the bathroom and closed the door behind himself, felt around for the light switch and flicked it on.

He peeled out of his pajamas, then ran the water for a shower. Warm? Cold? There was the choice. Would a cold shower be enough to make his libido subside for the night? Probably not. Plus he found the idea of a cold shower extremely unappealing.

Warm then. He smiled. Why fight nature? He adjusted the water temperature and waited till the water was nicely steaming, then climbed in.

He reached for the tiny soap the hotel provided and unwrapped it. He wet the bar and worked up enough lather for his purposes.

His erection had never really gone down. He coated his penis with the lather, got a good grip with his right hand and began to stroke himself.

Ah. This was nice. The warmth of the water on his back, the comfort of his cock enclosed in his fist...and now for the fantasy: Illya, of course, but Illya how? In leotard and tights? No, too silly. In his blue cotton pajamas? No, not when he was going to be lying next to that pair of pjs for the remainder of the night.

Napoleon mentally redressed his partner in black turtleneck. That turtleneck was almost as revealing as the leotard. Napoleon thought about his friend's musculature, clearly defined by the familiar sweater. A sweater he would probably be wearing tomorrow for the flight back. Okay, not a good idea to think about his partner in any way that he was likely to present himself in Napoleon's presence.

Which left...Illya naked. Of course. Napoleon had seen Illya without clothes, but only brief glimpses now and then.

Illya nude. In the shower. Here and now. With me.

What a great fantasy. He'd get to wash that sexy body, run his soapy hands over the smooth swell of Illya's pectorals, down his stomach... Unconsciously, Napoleon was following that same route on his own body. Down, down, between the muscular thighs, into the patch of dark blond curls. He imagined the pink organ growing to meet his hand.

Illya's cock would be long and full.

Napoleon's hand was working its magic on his own pink organ. He felt his orgasm rising quickly. Illya threw back his head in ecstasy.

The sound of a door opening brought the festivities to an abrupt halt. Napoleon's hand froze.

"It's just me," Illya said. "I need to use the facilities. I'll only be a minute."

Napoleon swallowed and regained his voice. Barely. "Okay."

"Thanks." The clank of the seat being lifted, then the sound of a long, long piss. What is he, a horse?

"It's all those colas I had at the club," Illya explained. "I just couldn't wait till you were done with your shower."

"No problem." Napoleon looked at his still tumescent organ. Nervously, he turned toward the wall. Though the beige plastic shower curtain shielded him from Illya's view, Napoleon felt his friend was way too close for comfort. It's only for a minute and then he'll be gone, he told himself reassuringly.

"I thought you'd gone to bed earlier," Illya commented.

"I did," he said. "But I couldn't sleep because I felt a little sweaty, so I got up to wash." Very weak, as he'd taken a shower right before bed. "I didn't wash my hair earlier," he added to his explanation.

"Oh," Illya said. And then, instead of leaving, he put the toilet seat down and sat on it. "What do you think about Chamberlain?" he asked. "Do you think he'll clear up the West Side satrap?"

He wanted to talk? Now? Well, okay.

"Er, he seems pretty competent." Napoleon gave his opinion of the Chicago CEO. "Not flashy, but his men seem to like him."

"I suppose," Illya said. "But he's terribly slow."

"Slow?" Napoleon said with concern. "Have you seen him on the firing range?"

"Oh, I wasn't talking about that. I'm certain his physical reflexes are adequate. He just seems to take so much time to make his moves. Like that storefront on Hanover Street. You would have had us move in on them weeks ago."

Napoleon grinned. "I've spoiled you for anyone else, haven't I? Don't worry, Illya. Chamberlain is just cautious, but he gets the job done."

"Hmm," Illya murmured noncommittally.

Napoleon looked down at his neglected erection with some regret. It looked unlikely that he would have the privacy needed to attend to it tonight. Maybe he could sneak in a session tomorrow morning, but more likely they would awaken at about the same time and Napoleon wouldn't have the opportunity. Oh well, he'd be back in New York tomorrow night and he could replay the fantasy then. Now if Illya would just get out of here, Napoleon could turn off the shower, dry off and slip into his pajamas. By the time he climbed back into bed, the erection would probably be completely gone.

"Here's the shampoo." Illya's hand was reaching around the curtain with one of the miniature bottles the maid had left next to the sink.

"Thanks." Napoleon took it from him. He opened the bottle and poured some into his palm.

"Ernie was disappointed when I told him I was leaving," Illya said, referring to the band leader. "He said they have another job starting next weekend and it pays almost double what we've been getting here."

"I'm sure that tempted you," Napoleon said with a grin. He worked the shampoo into a lather.

"It's always good to have an alternative career path," Illya said. "If Mr. Waverly decides to cut back on personnel."

Napoleon didn't bother to answer. He knew Illya would be one of the last agents Mr. Waverly would cut from the payroll. He turned his head under the spray, rinsing out the shampoo.

The water tickled his nipples. Illya could be tickling his nipples. His penis twitched. No, no, no! "Uh, Illya, what time is our flight leaving tomorrow?" he asked in an attempt to focus on business.

"Ten o'clock. You ordered the tickets yourself."

"Oh. Well, why don't you call the front desk and order a wake up call for 8:30. I don't want to take a chance on missing the flight."

"I already told them," Illya answered.

Darn. He wasn't going to be able to get rid of Illya that easily, and Napoleon was at a loss for any way to get his suddenly sociable partner out of the bathroom. And he was still faced with the dilemma of his cheerfully burgeoning erection which still had the hopes that Illya would join them in the shower. Get down! he ordered it fiercely.

"Why don't you call again just to be on the safe side," he suggested. "Sometimes they forget."

"They won't," Illya said. "And I'm up by seven anyway."

There was a strange intimacy hearing his partner talk while he was still in a state of arousal. If he could just beat off while listening to his partner's voice talking...


Illya had such a sexy voice. "Er...what?"

"You take extremely long showers."

Umm. "It helps the bruises."

"Oh. I would think a soak in a bath would be better," he suggested.

Lying in a warm bath would have been pleasant. Except then he wouldn't have had a reason to draw the shower curtain and Illya would have walked in to observe a supine Napoleon jerking off. His penis gave an enthusiastic jerk at that picture.

He gulped. This was much too close for comfort. That's it! he told his libido. He drew a deep breath and then turned the hot water faucet completely off.

Within seconds, he was being plummeted by a hard icy spray. He flinched back, then gritted his teeth and stoically allowed the cold water to buffet his chest and abdomen.

He glanced down and saw his erection had subsided somewhat, but not completely. Take that! he told it and thrust his groin forward so that it could receive a full dose.

Oh yes, it was down now. Like a deflated balloon.

He took a deep breath again. And stay down! he ordered it.

He turned off the water.

He reached out toward the towel bar, but was met by Illya handing him a towel. He took it with a muttered "thanks."

He pulled open the curtain, confident now that Illya would see no lingering evidence of his fantasy, though he might wonder why Napoleon's skin was tinged a pale blue.

He toweled his hair and body briskly and then knotted the towel around his now innocent-appearing groin.

He stalked out of the bathroom, not looking at his friend as he followed him back into the bedroom.

He went over to the bureau to find a fresh pair of pajamas. Unfortunately, the one he had been wearing earlier was the only clean pair. Hmph, he grunted and went back into the bathroom to locate the pair he had discarded.

He redressed and then climbed into bed beside Illya.

"I hope you'll be able to sleep better now," Illya said sympathetically.

"Umm," Napoleon answered.

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