It's over, thank God it's over. That sentence kept repeating in Napoleon's head like a mantra. This had been an affair to remember. Somehow, both he and Illya had managed to come through it unscathed, taken down the bad guys and saved the world...again.

He glanced over at his partner, amazed that the blond was awake enough to drive the car. Two hours of sleep and a couple short of cat naps in the last forty-eight hours was catching up with both of them. They were dirty, hungry, but, Napoleon decided, mostly incredibly tired. Illya was in worse shape than he was. The area around his eyes was stained purple from lack of sleep and the eyes themselves were blood shot. Yup, they both needed some serious sleep.

All Napoleon could think of was getting back to their room at the inn and crawling into bed. When he'd first seen it, he'd been shocked at the size of the room or lack thereof. He had a closet in the hallway of his apartment that was bigger. And the cubbyhole of a bathroom was worse, but now the room was as appealing as a suite at the Ritz Carlton. With few words exchanged between them, they navigated back to that tiny room, homing in on it like a beacon in a storm.

By the time Napoleon had managed to brush his teeth and take a whiz, his partner was already in bed and nearly asleep. Illya had just stripped and crawled in between the threadbare sheets, too tired to worry about niceties. However, Napoleon noted there was a chair jammed beneath the knob of the room's only door—an ineffective way to stop an intruder, but at least it would make enough noise to wake them and give them a chance to go for their guns if necessary. The only window was painted shut, so there was no fear there.

Napoleon began to undress and let his mind wander. He was still assessing his new partner, even though they'd been paired for a few months now. He'd discovered the Russian was a good man to have in a tight spot, resourceful, cunning and tenacious to an extreme. After some initial bumps, they'd settled down into a comfortable working relationship and Napoleon had to agree with the Old Man. It was a good match. And he liked Illya. He wasn't overly chatty, but smart and quick witted. Many people interpreted his quietness for shyness, but Napoleon had soon learned it was simply a ruse until Illya had gauged a person. And he had a dangerous sense of humor. Napoleon liked that in a co-worker.

Napoleon pulled off his trousers, folding them carefully to assure the crease stayed sharp. Illya's, on the other hand, were carelessly tossed over a chair. One thing you also had to say about Kuryakin, he wasn't a fashion plate...or, apparently, shy, Napoleon noted as he climbed into bed. Illya was naked and already dead to the world. Well, the truth be known, Illya had been closer to sixty hours without any sleep. Napoleon wasn't sure how he'd managed to hold on as long as he did.

What woke him was uncertain, but Napoleon slid effortlessly into a semi alert state, happily cuddled up against a soft and warm body. His nose was nuzzled into silky soft hair and he smiled, his arm snaking around a slender waist to cup...male genitals—what the hell? That should have stopped him right there, but his sleep muddled brain couldn't quite get the message to his gently massaging hand. That it wasn't his own genitals he was fondling, it was...oh my God! He froze at Illya's voice.

"I appreciate the gesture, Napoleon," his partner's sleep-drunk voice mumbled, "But I think perhaps you've forgotten who you're sleeping with. May I have my dick back, please?"

"Oh my God, Illya, I'm so sorry." Napoleon immediately put as much distance between them as the narrow bed allotted.

A soft chuckle followed. "It's all right, Napoleon, forget it. I'm just too tired right now. Go back to sleep." It was obvious the Russian already was well on his way back to Slumberland.

Napoleon couldn't just forget it, nor did his aching penis want to. He lay still until he was sure Illya had fully succumbed to sleep and eased his way out of the bed. He walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

As he reached for his erection, Napoleon thought of something and raised his other hand to his nose and inhaled deeply. The smell was pure Illya, masculine and tangy. And he thought back at just how good, how right it had felt to have his hand...and what was it Illya said? I'm just too tired—right now?—what the hell did he mean by that?

Thusly occupied, Napoleon proceeded to jack off, remembering at the last second to grab a towel to muffle his cry as he came in an explosion of pleasure. He braced himself up against the wall and tried to still his heaving chest. It had been years since he'd had such a...satisfactory climax from a mere hand job. Wow, that had been...just wow...and his mind kept drifting back to the blond in his bed.

He moved quietly back to bed, delighted to see that Illya hadn't even moved an inch from when he'd left him. Illya sprawled out, bedclothes, thankfully, pooled at his waist, his normally cautious features relaxed and even more youthful in sleep, if that was possible.

When Napoleon awoke the next time, again, he discovered himself spooned up against his partner, arm draped over his waist, nose buried in the long blond hair at the nape of Illya's neck. This time, however, his arm had snaked up not down and he'd pinning the hard muscular body against him, his hand cupping the man's chest and he realized with a shock, his nipple. Napoleon started to move away and Illya stirred.

"You're finally awake then. I was giving you another five minutes." Illya's voice was still rough and he was out of the bed and to the bathroom before Napoleon could even form cognitive thought. He lay there, listening first to the unmistakable sounds of urination, then flushing and water running. A moment later, Illya returned to the bed and settled back down between the sheets.

"This isn't going to work, Illya. I'm sorry. I'm just not used to sleeping with another man, not like this."

"That is obvious, Napoleon, but I did mean what I said earlier. I grew up with five brothers and sisters and we shared a bed not much bigger than this until I left for school. It took me a long time to used get to sleeping alone. This was a nice change."

"Yes, but groping you..."

"In spite of what rumors might have otherwise assert, believe me, there is no virginal groping territory left on me." Illya ran a hand through his hair and scratched his head, not bothering to conceal his yawn. "You have a choice, you can go back to sleep and we will both accept that you are a closet cuddler, you can sleep on the floor and suffer the consequences of a bad back or you can try to bully the owner into another room. I am going to pursue the first." Illya punched his pillow and let his head drop onto it.

After a moment, Napoleon relaxed alongside him, scrunching around for a moment before getting comfortable against his partner's side. Then, as if driven by forces of entirely its own choosing, one arm slipped around the narrow waist.

Had Napoleon been able to see the man's face, he would have notice a small, sly smile form on Illya's lips. The seduction of Napoleon Solo had begun.