The Look of Lovethe Seduction of Napoleon Solo Act III      The Look of
Lovethe Seduction of Napoleon Solo Act III by Spikesgirl58  
 

Napoleon Solo walked down the hallway, whistling and feeling his step
lighten just a little as he drew closer to his office. It wasn't that the
weather outside was especially pleasantjust the opposite. The wind whipped
and the rain alternated between droves and torrents. It was cold and
miserable, but Napoleon refused to let the weather dictate his mood this
day. 

Likewise, he refused to get upset just because he'd been splashed by a
careless taxi driver and then ignored by the receptionist, who was still
in a pique about their spectacularly horrible date. No, Napoleon wouldn't
even be shaken from his mood by the stacks of files and paperwork that
awaited him. 

For today, Illya was back from vacation. Napoleon had returned from a solo
mission to discover his partner had put in for and received two weeks of
vacation and promptly dropped out of sight. Certainly Waverly knew where
the Russian was holed up, but the Old Man wasn't talking. Napoleon had
wheeled, dealed, and even pleaded with the Powers That Be and come away
empty handed. 

Napoleon was somewhat stunned that Illya would vanish like that without a
word to him. He was even more stunned at the hole left in his life by the
man's temporary absence. It wasn't like they lived in each other's pocket,
but Napoleon had found himself seeking out his partner's time more and
more these days. Whether it was for meals, a drink or even just kibitzing
after work, Napoleon just enjoyed the time spent together. He'd been led
to believe Illya did too...well, at least, until now. Now he wasn't quite
sure what to believe. 

He walked into the office he shared with his partner and, sure enough, the
man's jacket was draped over the back of his chair, papers had been
shuffled, but the blond was nowhere in sight. 

Probably headed for the cafeteria, Napoleon decided and he turned on his
heel. He could use a fresh cup of coffee himself. 

But no Illya. Nor had he reported to Waverly or any of the other Sections
heads. Napoleon had even tried the labs, but to no avail. It wasn't until
he walked past the gym that Napoleon grinned and stopped just short of
slapping himself in the head. After two weeks of taking it easy, of course
the Russian would head for the gym. It was a chance to beat muscles back
into shape and shake off the vacation lethargy. 

Napoleon let the doors slide aside for him and surveyed the large room.
There were a dozen or so agents working with weights, boxing, polishing
their martial art moves, running, or pursuing a dozen other activities,
but Napoleon couldn't pick out the familiar form of Illya among them.
Vaguely annoyed, he walked over to the log book and flipped it around. 

"You looking for Kuryakin?" Brian Docket, one of the assistant trainers,
asked as Napoleon ran a finger down the list. 

Napoleon flicked his eyes up to him for a moment and then back down to the
book. "Yes, I am Brian. Have you seen him?" 

"Broke a couple of my guys on the mats and then just left for the showers.
What is it about vacations that make you agents so frigging aggressive
when you get back?" 

Napoleon grinned. "I have no idea. Thanks for the lead, Brian." 

Sure enough, Napoleon heard a shower running when he entered. Finally,
he's tracked down the elusive agent. He hadn't made CEO on good looks
alone, Napoleon Solo was nothing if not persistent. 

He glanced around the door frame into the showers, spotting Illya easily.
All the other stalls were empty and he was standing under a needle fine
spray, rolling his shoulders and working his head side-to-side. Napoleon
used the moment to let his attention slide down the man's trim body. He
had always loved watching the muscles and sinews work in that compact
frame, although he'd not admit it under pain of torture. 

Then he stopped and his mouth gaped. There were bruises all over Illya's
body, some obviously newer than others. The ones that troubled Napoleon
the most were the ones on Illya's hips, four evenly spaced dots, on each
side, one opposite that, almost as if someone had delivered a crushing
grip to the skin there. 

Napoleon thought for a moment and frowned, unconsciously splaying the
fingers of one hand and setting them on his hips in a similar pattern.
Illya happened to glance over at the moment and grinned. "Hello, Napoleon,
fancy running into you here." he ducked under the spray for a moment and
reached for soap. "You're looking well." 

"I'd say likewise, but it looks like someone went at you with a ball peen
hammer." 

Unselfconsciously, Illya glanced down and ran a hand over his stomach.
"You know what they say about working hard and playing hard. Paying the
piper is not always pleasant, but necessary." 

Napoleon was thankful that Illya didn't know exactly how well that applied
to him lately, especially the hard part. Lately Napoleon's thoughts were
drifting more and more down a path that, while not completely untraveled,
had been rarely visited prior to now. 

"Obviously. So your playmate got a name?" Napoleon tried to keep his tone
neutral, but inside he was seething. How dare someone take such liberties
with his partner? Worse, how dare Illya for permitting them to when he
wouldn't even let Napoleon kiss him...again. 

"Things just got a little out of hand." Illya turned back to the spray and
Napoleon's frown deepened. There were other marks, marks that he knew,
from personal experience, usually only came from one thing. 

Napoleon couldn't help himself. He wanted to think that his partner had
been ambushed in an alley, forced into something unwilling. But the
thought of Illya seeking out someone else made him crazy. He'd been
sending messages to Illya for months now, but receiving conflicting
information back. It seemed at times the Russian was very interested and
at others in nothing more than a working relationship. 

Napoleon had started to increase his dating, but more times than not, they
ended with a bit of kissing and casual groping before parting ways.
Napoleon Solo was developing a serious taste for something more Russian in
nature. The thought of someone else doing the tasting made him more than a
little annoyed. 

"Napoleon, is there something wrong?" Illya's voice broke him from his
thoughts. His partner was standing beside him, towel wrapped low around
his hips. "You looked a million miles away." 

"Have you been to Medical?" 

"What for?" Illya's hand brushed across a mark on his chest. "These?" 

"Were you raped?" Napoleon kept his voice low. Even though there was no
one else in the locker room, he didn't want to take the chance of being
overheard. 

"Excuse me?" Illya's voice dropped to match Napoleon's. "What?" 

"Those marksyou can only get them a couple of ways. Were you raped or was
it consensual?" 

"And what concern is that of yours? I know you're my partner, but what I
do in my private time off is my business." 

"Wrong. You're an enforcement agent, I'm your CEO. You have no private
time. And you haven't answered my question." 

"Nor do I intend to, Napoleon," Illya said firmly, heading for his locker.
"I'm sorry, but that's my business, not yours." 

We'll see about that. Napoleon thought, turning on his heel and walking
quickly from the room. 

Had he paused and turned back, he would have seen the smile on Illya's
lips. Instead, Napoleon headed for the nearest phone and made a quick
call. 

Overheard, Illya heard the loudspeaker crackle to life, asking that he
report to Medical. He rapidly dressed and, begrudgingly, headed off to do
battle with Medical. Still, he went with a smile; everything was working
out perfectly, all according to plan. Now he'd just be lucky if Napoleon
didn't kill him when he found out. Yet, it wasn't his fault that Napoleon
forgot how easily Illya bruised and his propensity for deep tissue
massages....  


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