It had been a struggle to keep their hands to themselves on the cab ride home. Napoleon wanted nothing more than to feel his partner's lean frame grinding against his in the most intimate and aggressive way possible. Illya, for his part, looked just this side of a caged animal, eyes wide and dilated, need rolling off his body in waves, his breathing fast and shallow.

They'd been having a perfectly innocent drink at the club, just talking about work when the paradigm shifted and suddenly Napoleon could think of nothing more than wanting Illya. True to form, his partner immediately picked up on this and within the space of a few minutes, they'd gone from calm bonhomie to desperate bone homme.

Anyone else in the bar probably would have headed for the restroom for a fast blow job, but Napoleon and Illya were not just anyone else. Part of their pledge to Waverly had been to keep this aspect of their life together out of the public eye. At headquarters, they were as they had always been, partners, friends, each other's best companion, and always professional. There were a few bars they had checked out on the sly and were assured of being fairly free of observation. Even then, they refrained from extensive personal contact.

And that's what had started Napoleon down this path to his current state. He wanted Illya so badly at the moment that he would have rushed past the President, the Queen, probably even God to get into the safe haven of their shared apartment. Napoleon was close enough to feel the heat rolling off Illya's body and still Napoleon couldn't touch. It was killing him.

Even the ride up in the elevator was sheer hell. They'd discovered this to be one of the most likely spots in the apartment building to be caught doing something. They'd come close to having to invent a reasonable explanation more than once.

Then the front door was opened, closed, locked, and Napoleon waited no longer. His fingers tore at Illya's clothes as well as his own. The time for gentle love making was in the past or the future. Now, this moment demanded something with more fire, more passion, and the taste of Illya's skin only made it worse. Napoleon felt as if he was dying of hunger and being offered a platter of neverending food, delectable and satisfying, if he could stop long enough to savor it. But he couldn't. His need was such that nothing mattered except his release.

Then they were down on the tile of the entryway, mouths on each other's bodies, biting, sucking, devouring whatever they could get their lips, tongues and teeth on. Napoleon groaned as Illya found his penis, swallowing him, fingers bruising as they fought for a hold on his sweat-slicked body. He wanted to have conscious thought, wanted to repay the favor, but all of that was ripped from him as was his orgasm.

It left him wrung out, limp, so much so that he could do little more than register that he was being shifted around. He felt Illya's fingers, wet and slick, slip into him stretching and preparing him; he gasped when the fingers were replaced by something much larger, hot and demanding, pumping into him with a desperation that demanded Napoleon merely tolerate and not resist. Frequently, their love making was slow and gentle, letting their passions flow equally with infinite care and compassion and yet, Napoleon found he anticipated these moments much more. When both he and Illya acknowledged the violence and aggression that was part of them and their lives, Napoleon found those climaxes to be more soul satisfying, more cleansing.

He could feel his own orgasm building again and began to move, taking what he needed, not bothering to ask before he took. He felt Illya start to shudder and then cry out; he followed a moment later, flooding Illya's fist with thick viscous semen. Then, boneless, he dropped to the floor, no longer willing to bear Illya's or even his own, weight for the moment.

The tile was cool against his skin now.

"What the hell was that all about?" Illya muttered, chest still heaving.

"No idea... but it was exactly what I wanted. Thank you." Small aches started to creep in now. Knees began to protest, whisker- abraded skin burned, and he didn't even want to think about what his ass felt like. Instead, Napoleon reached for Illya's hand and entwined their fingers.

Not that long ago, he remembered Illya in a similar mood, furious for release, demanding more from Napoleon than any sane person would have permitted, but, Napoleon thought as he smiled in retrospection, no one could ever argue that he and his partner were exactly sane. He'd given all that Illya had begged for, any fear of hurting the man pushed into the far recesses of his subconsciousness. Napoleon couldn't explain it and really didn't want to; it was simply the way it was between them.

"Bed?" Napoleon asked, unwilling to do anything more than turn his head.

"Please, before I lack both the will and ability to move." Somehow, Illya got to his hands and knees and pulled Napoleon up with him. Staggering, more from exhaustion than drink, they headed to the bedroom.

---

Illya woke up and winced. Not from the pain that had resulted from their lightning fast bout of sex in the hallway or from the more extended lovemaking they'd engaged in afterwards. No, his pain was a gnawing in the pit of his stomach. He was hungry. And Illya didn't like being hungry. He'd had too much of it growing up to suffer it needlessly now.

He sat up and glanced to his left. Napoleon was sprawled out, deeply asleep, his face resting against his fist and Illya wondered if his partner had been a thumb sucker as a child. He certainly had an affinity for sucking things now. Illya grinned in remembrance, but his penis remained uninterested. That fire had been successfully put out earlier.

Illya shook his way clear of the bed sheets and walked naked through the apartment towards the kitchen. He would be glad when they moved into the new apartment in a few days. The kitchen was much closer to the master bedroom and he liked the thought of them having their own place, something they had picked out and made decisions about together. Living here, Illya always felt as if he was a guest instead of a resident.

While they were rarely in New York for more than a few days at a stretch, Illya made sure they kept a supply of non-perishables on hand. He rummaged around in the cupboard and found some cereal. He opened up the box, sampled the contents and decided it wasn't so stale as to be inedible. He set the box on the counter, found a bowl and spoon and pulled a milk carton from the refrigerator. He sniffed it, took a swig and nodded. He was halfway back across the living room when the hall door opened and a figure slipped in.

Illya froze, but when it was apparent that he was unseen, he relaxed. While he would have preferred to be holding his pistol and not a cereal box, this was hardly the worst situation he'd found himself in. Instead, he moved quickly and quietly to the dining room table, set his armful down and reached for the light switch.

The lights momentarily blinded the intruder and Illya used the opportunity to retrieve a spare gun from the dish cabinet there. The figure spun and Illya shook his head slowly.

"Hello, Angelique; funny meeting you here."

The THRUSH agent was obviously stunned, but determined not to let it get the best of her. She tucked her fur stole back up on her shoulders and adopted a pompous, 'butter wouldn't melt in her mouth' look.

"Mr. Kuryakin."

"Yes."

"And you're naked." She raked her eyes up and down his lean frame with a thinly-veiled disgust. "How awkward."

"Yes."

"What are you doing?"

"Since I'm standing here with a bowl of cereal, I would think the obvious would occur to even a THRUSH of your caliber."

"You're standing naked in another man's apartment. Forgive me if the dots don't immediately connect for me."

"I would think more to the point, what are you doing here?"

"Napoleon invited me to spend the night."

"Try again."

"What makes you so sure he didn't?"

"Because I'm here and while Napoleon may be a bit of a libertine when it comes to sex, he doesn't often agree to ménage à troisand I'm pretty sure he would have mentioned it to me earlier."

"What?"

With his weapon out of view behind the cereal box, Illya took the opportunity to spoon some of the cereal into his mouth and chew while the THRUSH agent struggled to avoid the obvious conclusion.

"I don't believe it," she sputtered. "Not Napoleon Solo. Not my debonair and gifted lover."

"I don't very much care whether you believe it or not, Angelique, the problem remains, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for Napoleon and not a skinny..." Her eyes dipped down. "...little boy."

Illya took another mouthful. "Try again."

She leveled her weapon, a trim Luger, at him. "I don't think you are in a position to argue."

"Possibly not, but I would suggest that you not underestimate me. You tripped a silent alarm when you came in. Reinforcements should be arriving any minute now."

"I don't believe you, pet." She laughed and shook her blonde hair.

"And why's that?"

"Why would you risk having your dirty little secret revealed to Uncle Alex?"

"What makes you think we'd even consider engaging in this without his knowledge and approval? We're not fools, Angelique."

"He knows you're a nasty little faggot?"

"Correction, a nasty little faggot with a gun." Illya set the bowl down and traded it for the Walther. "The way I see it, you have three alternatives. One, you can leave the way you came, which means you'll probably run into some well-meaning, but trigger happy Section Three agents on your way out. Two, I can kill you, and personally that really is the option I'm hoping for."

"And three?"

Illya pointed toward the balcony. "You show me just how much of a THRUSH you really are. Take a flying leap or spend the night hoping Napoleon will let you come in in the morning. I don't really care very much either way."

"It's below freezing out there, darling. I'd be dead by morning."

"As I said, I don't really have very much interest vested in any of the options, but I must remind you. My cereal is getting soggy and my lover is cooling off, neither of which meets with my overall approval at the moment. Make your decision quickly."

"Napoleon!" Angelique called out and smiled nastily at him. "We'll see what he has to say about all of this."

"If you'd actually ever spent the night with Napoleon before, you know that he tends to sleep very soundly after sex." Illya held up his Walther, leveling it with her chest. "Stand still and I'll try to make it a clean shot. I'm still half asleep, so I'm not guaranteeing anything, though, I might just wing you the first couple of times."

Angelique took another step towards the bedroom and Illya cocked the weapon. "Good bye, Angelique; you've been a thorn in my side for far too long."

She raised her own weapon, smiling grimly. "I'm armed as well, darling."

"Take a good look at me, Angelique. Many... many people before you have tried to kill me, all unsuccessfully. You pull that trigger and you're as good as dead. Leave now and you stand a reasonable chance of staying alive. Your choice."

Her smile faded and she glanced once more towards the bedroom and then to the front door. "Wait!"

"You've electing Option One?" She nodded hesitantly and Illya walked to the front door, opening it. "Then you should take it while I'm still feeling magnanimous enough to allow you to."

After a brief hesitation she wrapped her mink stole closer and hurried out. He shut and locked the door behind her and searched around for his jacket. He found it flung over an umbrella stand. He pulled the communicator from the breast pocket and opened it.

"Channel R please."

"Channel R is open."

"THRUSH is headed your way. She's a slippery one. I suggest you shoot first and ask questions later."

"Have her in sight. Have a good night, Illya."

"I will now, Malcolm. You do the same. Channel R out."

Illya drank the rest of the milk from the bowl and carried everything back to the kitchen, replacing the milk carton, but leaving everything else on the counter.

As he was crawling back into bed, he heard Napoleon stir.

"Illya..." Napoleon's voice was sleep laced, thick and almost inaudible. "I just had the strangest dream..."

Illya slipped between the sheets and settled down beside the agent. "Tell me."

"I thought I heard Angelique..."

"Hmm, why dream of her when you have me?" He ran a finger down Napoleon's bare arm and the man shivered in response. "I can assure you my intentions are much more... honest."

"Like I said, a strange dream." Napoleon draped an arm across Illya's waist and pulled him close. Illya smiled at the erection he felt grinding against his stomach and he languidly thrust back against Napoleon. "Christ, Illya, you too?"

"Me too. I can't help it; this is what you do to me. I just happen to find tonight rather stimulating..." Illya wrapped his arms around Napoleon's neck and they began yet another climb together.

Tomorrow Illya would decide what to do with Angelique; tonight he had but one thing and one person on his mind and he intended to keep it that way. And, keeping beat with an ancient song, he and his partner danced.