Gen story in regular type, slash story in italics. It really is a matter of perspective...

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Napoleon Solo watched as his partner climbed the ladder ahead of him. 'Agile little monkey,' he thought as he groaned at the task ahead of him. He hated ladders almost as much as water, and there always seemed to be an over-abundance of both in his opinion. He watched as Kuryakin breached the top of the roof and swung his body over the edge.

The blond head peered over the gutter and looked down at Solo. Illya smirked evilly at the American and said quietly, "Are you coming? Or do I need to call the fire brigade?"

"There isn't a roof-top swimming pool up there, by any chance?" he groused.

Illya snorted, and ducked back out of sight.

"I'm getting too old for this crap,' Solo thought as he pulled himself hand over hand to the top of the building. Rolling across the ledge, he came face to face with his partner, who was sitting cross-legged on the tarpaper.

"I was beginning to wonder of you were going to join the party."

"What, and miss all the fun? Certainly not." He grinned at the Russian agent and shrugged out of his backpack. Illya followed suit and they began to set up the parabolic dish that would be disguised as an air conditioner.

Napoleon Solo watched his partner climb the ladder with apparent ease. 'This is the best part,' he grinned to himself. He held back to admire the view just ahead of him. He did so love to watch his little monkey of a partner at work, especially when it involved ladders, ropes or any other gymnastic equipment. Illya swung his lower body over the edge with effortless grace and disappeared from view. 'Show's over,' Napoleon sighed sadly.

The bright blond head of his lover stuck over the gutter and he leered at Napoleon. "Are you coming?"

Napoleon smiled wickedly and replied, "Not quite yet, Illya."

Kuryakin snorted and disappeared.

Napoleon clambered up the ladder trying to think about the mission and not what he'd rather be doing with his partner on this warm night. He reached the top and cleared the edge, jumping down beside Illya.

"Nice of you to drop in, Polya."

"Wouldn't miss it, old chum." He wriggled out of his backpack and saw Illya do the same. They began assembling the parabolic dish quietly and efficiently as always.

"I think that's got it, Napoleon," Illya said. He calibrated the monitor and checked the readout. He grinned and gave Napoleon a thumbs up. He passed the headphones to his partner and Solo listened for a minute. The highly sensitive dish was picking up several distinctly different conversations. Solo nodded at Kuryakin and removed the headgear.

"Perfect. Let's get back to the van and see what we can pick up there."

They packed up the detritus from the assembly and removed the small traces of activity from the roof. Illya ran a last sweep and grunted his approval. Solo was already halfway down the ladder and Illya followed close behind.

Once at street level, the men walked two blocks to the monitoring van disguised as a pimpmobile. Hiding in plain sight made sense in this neighborhood. The pink and red vehicle had tinted windows and mag wheels, and Illya thought it was the most decadently ugly thing he had ever seen in his Soviet life.

"Get in, quickly, Napoleon. This thing gives me a headache."

Napoleon laughed quietly. "You know it's even uglier inside, don't you, IK?"

"Yes, but at least no one can see me inside this beast."

"Logical as always, partner." He pulled open the side door and both men climbed inside. Switching on the interior dome and warming up the monitors took mere moments. Seated in pink captain's chairs with maroon fringe on the edges, Solo decided it was going to be a long night.

"Well, what should we do to pass the time, Illya?"

"It's your watch first. I plan on sleeping." He kicked back in the chair and closed his eyes.

"Hey, come on, Illya. It's still early. No fair sleeping."

Illya smiled. Napoleon bored so easily. "All right. U," he began.

Solo grinned. "That's the spirit," he said. "L, after."

Kuryakin added, "T, before."

Solo thought for a moment. "E, before," he added, not sure where this was going.

The Russian smirked, "P, before."

Napoleon strung the letters together in his head. "P-E-T-U-L...hey!" he remarked as Illya tried not to laugh out loud.

"Good night, Napoleon," Illya said as he settled in for the shift.

"Smart Russian, " Solo sneered, and put the headphones on.

Napoleon snapped the cover in place while Illya checked the readouts. Words weren't necessary as they seemed to read each other's minds and the task was completed quickly. They policed the area for signs of their activity and, satisfied, worked their way back down to the street. Napoleon watched as Illya led the way, appreciating how good his partner looked in black. Illya caught him staring and blushed, and even in the darkness Napoleon could see the rosy hue of his pale skin.

He drew even with Illya and leaned in close to his ear. "Do you know what you do to me in those tight jeans, Illya?"

The Russian tried not to grin and attempted a stern look. "Really, Napoleon, we are on assignment. Behave yourself."

"When have I ever behaved myself, on or off assignment, lyubovnik?"

Illya reached the U.N.C.L.E. van first and repressed a shudder at the sheer audacity of its camouflage. He had to admit, although somewhat ruefully, it actually worked in this environment. He pulled open the side door and waved his hand gallantly. "After you, Mr. Solo."

Napoleon was sure he was up to something, but got in anyway. He sat in one of the hideous swivel chairs and started up the monitors. Illya sat next to him and held the headphone against one ear. He nodded approvingly. He started the recorder and leaned back in his chair.

Napoleon licked his lips and leered at his partner. "We have a great deal of time to kill, Illya. Whatever shall we do?" He got up from his chair and sank down to his knees in front of Kuryakin.

Illya was panting slightly, the allure of Solo's proximity and the privacy of the van combining to break down his reticence. He looked at Napoleon and hazarded a reply.

"Botticelli?"

Solo shook his head and leaned close to his lover's neck.

"Crossword puzzle?"

The American ran his hands up under Illya's turtleneck and caressed the warm silky skin.

"Ah, Travel Bingo?"

Illya's litany of games became background as Napoleon drew his shirt over his head and began licking his chest and skimming his fingers underneath the stiff jeans. When Solo grasped his stiffening cock, Illya surged up from the chair and pushed Napoleon down onto the blood red shag carpeting. He stripped his partner quickly and removed the rest of his clothes as well. Leaning over, Illya locked the sliding door and stretched out atop Solo's sweating body.

"This van may be ugly, but it was designed well for sex, wasn't it, my Napoleon?"

Solo sighed as Illya palmed his erection and ran his fingers up and down the steely shaft.

"I believe maroon is currently my favorite color, " he said and gasped as he felt Illya's mouth close around him.

Napoleon tried to ignore the soft snoring of his partner while he eavesdropped on the business in the THRUSH building two blocks away. Every fifteen minutes he would monitor for five and mark the tape when anything useful was disclosed. The assignment was boring and mundane, but very necessary for the security of the Command. This particular satrapy was a little too close for comfort and marked for eradication. The information they gathered would make the extermination all that much easier.

He glanced at his watch and realized his shift had been over for twenty minutes. Reaching over to Illya, he shook his shoulder once and said, "Wake up, partner. Your turn to mind the store."

Illya blinked sleepily at him and yawned hugely. Solo poured him a cup of coffee and passed it to him. He nodded but didn't speak. Illya was not a morning person.

Giving him a moment to get his bearings, Solo jotted some notes in the duty log. "Four more hours and we can close up, Illya. I think we've gotten a good idea of their schedule with this run."

Kuryakin nodded. He was fully awake now, but not fully sociable. He picked up the headphones as Napoleon stretched out on the bench seat in the back of the van.

"Try not to snore too loudly, Napoleon. I'd hate to submit the tape to Mr. Waverly with you buzz-sawing in the background."

"Just wait 'til you rewind the first four hours, Illya. I got you in hi-fidelity, stereophonic clarity. And unless you want it played at the Christmas party, you'd better be more respectful of your C.E.A."

Illya snorted. "I never go to the Christmas party, Napoleon, ah, Mr. Solo, sir. So that doesn't hold much of a threat."

"Yes, well, I'm sure Sandy in Communications can help me come up with a decidedly embarrassing use for my pirated copy, Mr. Kuryakin." He grinned and rolled on his side, trying not to think of the numerous ways the couch he was reclining on had been put to use in the past. He was asleep in minutes.

'This carpet is starting to itch,' Napoleon thought as he felt the weight of his partner pressing down on him. A moment later he was unable to think at all as his golden lover breached his body with a slick finger. He writhed on the rug, wanting to feel that spark of fire burn into him and blaze out of control. He pushed back against Illya's hand and blatantly requested more.

Illya pushed his knees up to his chest and settled between Solo's thighs with an impatient groan of desire. He positioned Napoleon's legs on his shoulders and thrust home in a quick and impaling plunge. The van rocked slightly with the motion and Napoleon had to grin at the thought of anyone passing by just then. 'Just keeping up appearances' he thought.

"What are you smiling at, Napoleon?" Illya asked as he pulled back and thrust forward again.

"Ungh, just keeping in character, Illyusha."

"Not...a ...bad assignment, eh, Polya?"

He pulled Illya's head down to his lips and kissed him senseless. Illya kept up the rhythm until they were both groaning in tandem. The blond placed his hand around Napoleon's cock and began an answering cadence to his thrusts. Napoleon pushed back against him and knew he wouldn't last much longer. Running his thumb over the head of his lover's stiffness Illya plunged his tongue into Solo's mouth and mimicked what his cock was doing below. Napoleon worked his mouth around the slick invader and used his lips to suck the tongue as he would an erection.

Both men were moaning now and the van was steadily rocking on its wheels. Illya had little control left and began ramming into Napoleon's body with abandon. The double assault was more than Solo could stand and he grunted into Illya's mouth as he came. Thick white spurts splashed between them as Illya milked him dry. The sight of his lover coming in his hand threw Illya over the edge, and he broke contact with Napoleon's mouth long enough to groan out his name. He felt the clench of spasming muscles around him and nearly wept.

The only sounds in the vehicle were the beeps of the monitors and the gasping breaths of the still forms. Sweat trickled down Illya onto Napoleon, and they groaned as one as Illya slipped out of his lover's body. He gently stretched Napoleon's legs to a more comfortable position and lay down at his side.

"Whoever said that stake-outs were boring, anyway?" Illya sighed complacently.

Napoleon barely had the strength to reply. "Not me, partner. Not me..."

'Napoleon really should check out the sleep clinic' Illya thought as he changed reels on the spool of tape. His shift was almost over and he longed to be out of the cacophony of color that was the surveillance van. He wouldn't miss his partner's ear rattling snores, either. He was surprised that Solo had slept the entire time, as he usually had difficulty sleeping in strange environs. Illya was the one who could drop off with a moment's notice. He smiled as he remembered the good-natured ribbing that Napoleon frequently pelted him with concerning his sleeping habits. Perhaps last night's conquest had taken more out of Napoleon than he would like to admit. He wasn't twenty-five anymore.

'Neither am I,' Illya admitted and grimaced as he stretched out a kink in his back. Stakeouts were generally his least favorite assignment. He needed the thrill of the chase and the adrenaline rush of the hunt. Sitting on his backside in a whoremobile wasn't his first choice for a mission.

He heard Napoleon stirring and checked his watch. It was time to get the tapes back to headquarters. Illya shut down the equipment and glanced over at his partner. Napoleon was watching him bleary-eyed.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," he said.

"Haven't you ever heard the expression 'Let sleeping Solos lie?'" Napoleon complained.

"And let you miss the opportunity to drive this lovely conveyance?" Illya smirked. "I believe the horn plays 'Gimme Gimme Some Lovin' when you honk it."

"You're just too embarrassed to be seen driving it into the U.N.C.L.E. garage," Solo yawned.

"Damn straight." Illya settled the discussion by plopping himself in the purple velvet passenger seat.

Napoleon sat on the driver's side and leaned conspiratorially next to Illya. "You know, Illya, it would be a shame to waste this love nest on the mechanic section. I know a couple of girls I could call and we could make a night of it." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the Russian.

"It's six in the morning, Napoleon."

Solo thought for a moment. "Well, they did say I could call anytime..."

Illya had the sudden thought that off duty hours were much more dangerous than on where Napoleon was involved. He sighed dramatically as Solo turned onto the street, pointedly going in the opposite direction of the garage.

Whoever said stakeouts were boring?