Illya stared at his toes, each waggling in time to the soft music coming from the radio. One hand was behind his head, the fingers of the other toyed with the still shower-damp hair of his partner.

"Are you messing up my hair?" Napoleon's question was lazy, his words slow and measured, as if they were as sated as the man himself. He was stretched out on the couch, his head pillowed on Illya's stomach. His right hand was idly stroking Illya's left thigh, tracing small circles on goose-pimpled skin.

"I am. It isn't often that I get the chance." Illya finger combed the dark strands, letting them fall free. "You should wear your hair like this more often."

"Russian mussed?" Napoleon's hand dipped to the softer skin of Illya's inner thigh and he smiled as the legs shifted slightly apart, accommodating him, encouraging him.

"Free and uncontrolled, I mean. You have very nice hair, Napoleon... very nice hair..."

"I have very nice everything."

"I can think of one or two things of which I am most fond." Illya sighed happily at the recent memory of their shower, locked in an embrace, moving in cadence to an ancient song.

"Again, Mr. Kuryakin?" Napoleon turned his head to kiss the tip of the penis that was shyly peeking from Illya's robe, smiling at the gasp. "And they call me insatiable."

"I think rather they refer to your paramours, not getting as much of you as they want—"

Napoleon moved suddenly, as only an agent or a man in love or both could move, surging forward to trap Illya's mouth with a kiss. Illya's arms were there, supporting and encouraging him. Napoleon eased back a hair's breadth.

"This is nice, a quiet evening at home."

"I don't think we were very quiet... just the opposite. I am glad occupancy in the building is down. Having empty apartments to either side is..." Words faltered as Napoleon's mouth shifted to pay attention to another part of his anatomy. "...freeing."

Napoleon flicked his tongue over velvet soft skin. "Are you free, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Afford..." Illya's sentence ended in a long sigh as Napoleon, with lips, teeth, and tongue, settled down to the delightful business of slowly driving his lover out of his mind.

---

Illya settled his head upon Napoleon's chest and smiled as Napoleon's arms settled around him. "Your heart is racing..."

"At least I have one. I only teased you a little. You nearly made me pop a ventricle."

"I give as good as I get. We need another shower." Neither of them made any pretense of moving.

"We need to go to bed. Tonight might be quiet, but I have a feeling that tomorrow won't be. That's the one thing about the future; you can always count on it to be unpredictable."

"Napoleon?"

"Yes?"

"Do you ever think about the future?"

"You mean the future future, the future of the world, the future of UNCLE?"

"The future of us." Illya rested his chin on Napoleon's breast bone and regarded him, his expression suddenly solemn.

"I have no future without you, merely an existence." Napoleon tucked a hand behind his head and let the smallest of smiles escape from his lips.

"I suppose that sums it up rather succinctly." Sighing, Illya rolled off him and headed for the bedroom. "And, for the record, I agree."

Napoleon got to his feet and stretched, reaching for the ceiling as he worked the kinks out of his back. He glanced down at a magazine that had been knocked over during their sex play and bent to pick it up. The car ad read, One, Everything, Forever. Napoleon listened as Illya began to hum something and nodded.

"He certainly is." And he left to join his lover.