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Doing... Whatever He Has To

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"Should I go and make you a reservation for a room?"

Napoleon turned away from the absolutely stunning woman across the room to look at another blond, one that was dressed much more conservatively. No less attractive, he had to admit with a brief flash of self-conscious annoyance, but certainly more conservative. Seeing that there were still nuts in the small crystal bowl that rested next to their drinks, Napoleon wasn't quite sure what had his partner being so cranky, but he figured he should deal with it before trying to 'handle' the lovely THRUSH agent he'd been silently flirting with.

"What?" because while he knew that the innocent act would never work, it was always amusing.

"The deadly viper across the room," the Russian replied. "The diamonds might as well be drops of venom; she couldn't be any more dangerous that way."

Of course, he'd worked with Illya Kuryakin for several years at this point, so he was familiar with some of the man's odd quirks, but the one which had always confounded him was the strange dislike for the women they tended to deal with. While he was never rude to the innocent people they helped, he tended to be the most standoffish when their mission involved a woman. And female THRUSH agents?

Anyone else, and Napoleon would have said they acted catty.

"I can admire her finer attributes even if we don't share ideologies. And really, what's the harm?"

"The harm?" Illya asked as his glass clanked on the counter with what Napoleon thought was excessive force. "We should shoot her."

"We can use her," he argued.

"She'll use us," the other agent insisted darkly, and Napoleon knew that by 'us', he actually meant 'you'. He was just too polite, or perhaps too subtle, to say as such.

"I don't care what you say, Illya, there is nothing wrong with admiring a pretty lady, whatever her motives."

"And I say it's pointless," the Russian replied as he stood from his stool and pushed it beneath the bar counter, "since it's not as if you're going to--"

Napoleon turned to glance at his partner.

"Not as if I'm going to what?"

"I have to explain these things to you, Napoleon? You've been on any number of affairs, but none of them intimate enough for you to know what I mean?"

Despite his imaginings and whatever plans he might have had, Napoleon found himself smiling wryly and a chuckle rose in his chest, shaking his shoulders.

"It might be fun," he mused, and his eyes drifted back to the beautiful woman with the smoky eyes. Her fingers, gloved like some Hollywood starlet, beckoned from around a smoking cigarette and he was actually stepping to go and talk to her when he felt a hand grab him by the material of his shirt and yank him in the opposite direction.

"Illya..." Napoleon started, asking a dozen questions with just the other agent's name.

Illya, with his usual stoicism, refused to answer any of them as he dragged his partner away.

"Illya." A little more irritated, bordering on annoyed.

His answer was given a moment later in the form or a rough shove that took them out of the main hallway. Napoleon's back thumped against the wall as he took in the small, out of the way alcove that his partner must have known about before; he certainly hadn't been aware of it and the opening was almost indistinguishable from the rest of the wall through a strange trick of wallpapering.

"Illya?"

"Shut up," which Napoleon considered some sort of victory, if a small one in the face of his partner's strange behavior. The command was at least an answer and that was better than he had been getting. The behavior got stranger, however, a moment later as he felt the other man's hand on the waist of his pants. Still, in the world he lived in, there were any number of dangers and you had to trust the people you worked with. Fingers clenching tight in a fist against the wall, he waited to see what was going on as Illya flicked open the top button and pulled down the short zipper.

I have some sort of bug on me, a tracking device. THRUSH did something to the bathrooms in this place and he figured it out before I did. Now, he can't say anything or they'll know we know what they're up to. If I stay quiet, we can use that trick against them and--

Illya's fingers were around his cock.

Napoleon's eyes opened wide as he turned to stare at his partner, hoping to see some explanation, some reason for the other man to have his hand--

His hand.

Kuryakin's grip closed snug around him, squeezing almost gently before sliding back to stroke him again. Napoleon, shaking and still frozen in shock, heard a noise that he could swear was a moan but if it was a moan, it would have had to come from him since they were alone in the little alcove and he wasn't quite able to deal with such an idea.

"Illya, what--"

"If you need this," the other man interrupted, his tone as even and cool as ever, his fist controlled and too hot around him by half, "just ask me. Just tell me."

"Illya--"

Napoleon would have been annoyed if he could be at this moment but the hand around his dick had found just the right rhythm and that capable, calloused hand, a man's hand was almost too rough for him. Almost. The name that would have been a question came out as a groan of need, his hips moving unconsciously to help the Russian in his unexpected work.

"Napoleon," his partner replied with a smile that, any other time, would have annoyed the hell out of him. As if they were discussing something over coffee. As if he should have been prepared for the other agent to press him to a wall and stick his hand down his partner's pants. As if this was normal.

"What do you--"

Illya moved to stand in front of Napoleon, his presence pressing the American against the wall as his other hand pressed a finger to the other man's lips. Those blue eyes, usually so cold, were equal parts amused and smug.

"If you need to be taken care of, Napoleon, you only need to ask. I will do... whatever is asked of me so that our mission is a success. If you want danger, I have given it to you here."

His hands kept moving and his lips curved into a smirk and Napoleon was sure that if he could have hated him at that moment he would have but--

"Oh God."

Illya gave a dark laugh and the pace of his hand increased just enough to make Napoleon wonder if his partner wasn't in the wrong line of work. No matter how many martial arts he knew or how many weapons he could assemble, disassemble, and fire, those hands had other skills that he was really starting to appreciate to their full value only now.

"You are in an extremely conservative country with a man's hand around your хуй," which was when he faltered a little, annoyed that he didn't seem to know the word in English. After all, who would have taught it to him? It wasn't as if it was something that commonly came up in the sort of language courses taught to a government operative. Seeing that Napoleon would be no help there, he moved on.

"If we are found, we will be kicked out of this club, possibly arrested. Possibly we will be beaten by the staff. Or they will try at least." Illya looked more amused than anything at that idea, maybe even excited at the thought of a dust up. "But more than likely, no one will stab you, poison you, gas you, or leave you with a bullet in your brain like that blond сука. Witch."

The hand around him squeezed and Napoleon whimpered, wondering if his knees would keep him up for another minute let alone until this was done. It didn't even occur to him to push Illya away, to try and escape, to end this strange encounter.

A smile twitched on his partner's face at that. "That's right. Good. Yes. Harder? Faster?"

Napoleon would have wondered why Illya thought he could think if he could think enough to wonder. Instead, eyes rolled back and knees locked to keep from sinking to the floor, he urged the Russian on, shuddering as he felt himself nearing the edge of his control. He didn't know how to say that, how to warn the other man and the thought was enough to make him laugh in a short, quick, thankfully quiet, bark of sound.

Illya Kuryakin, UNCLE's blue eyed poster boy for the organization's true neutrality even in the face of overwhelming political tensions, was jacking him off and all he could think of was that it would be terribly rude to the man to come without warning.

The question became moot a moment later, much to Napoleon's chagrin, and he finally thought he could open his mouth and say something coherent about the entire fit of insanity when he saw Illya lift the hand that had until a couple of moments ago been wrapped around him to lick off the evidence of their strange encounter.

There was no pleasure in the act, something Napoleon found to be exceedingly normal and very much to his relief. Illya used his tongue because it was convenient, his featured scrunched in obvious distaste though if it was the taste or the mess that bothered his fastidious partner, he couldn't have said. It did make Napoleon wonder for just half a second what he tasted like, then what his partner might taste like, and he had to very clearly dismiss the thought to finally get a handle on words again.

"Better?" came the question a second later, and like everything else this evening, it threw him.

"I don't--"

"You don't have to say anything," Illya told him bluntly, stepping back to look over his suit. Satisfied that nothing they'd done previously had left it's mark on him, his eyes lifted once more to peer at his partner, waiting to gauge him and see... who knew what he was hoping to see? Napoleon certainly didn't.

"I don't know if I can say anything," he finally got out, sliding along the wall as his hands, his useless, unused hands, moved unconsciously to tuck himself away and straighten the front of his pants.

"Then I've improved matters," which really, he should have seen coming.

"I really don't talk that much Illya, it's just that you talk very little." That felt normal, their usual game of jabs and jokes, snips and snaps. It had nothing to do with rough hands and tugged shirts and twinkling blue eyes that were far too smug for anyone's sanity. Napoleon liked it, even if it did feel a little like the coward's way out.

"I speak when there's something to say," he answered, watching the dark-haired agent like a hawk. He had gambled, thrown the dice. There was no telling where and how they might land just yet, but his stance said that he was confident that he could weather a bad throw or two.

"Otherwise you do?"

Illya simply spread his hands, but the smile was back.

"You won't--"

"Of course not," his partner told him with a short snort as he turned around and patted at his jacket. "We do what we need to, when we need to. And we look out for each other... in all ways that we can."

Napoleon wished he could see Illya's face as he said that, but he satisfied himself by observing the smooth line of his shoulders, the confident turn of his head.

"Are you ready to do our job now?"

Napoleon thought of the blond at the bar, the smooth curves of her figure, the smoky eyes and the deep red lips, the elegantly placed diamonds that only acted to accentuate her natural charms. Illya meant to snatch her. Perhaps interrogate her. Possibly even torture her if they couldn't figure out some way to either trick her into revealing her secrets or turn her away from her allegiance to THRUSH and use her to infiltrate this particular operation.

He looked at the back of his partner's shaggy blond head and felt a grin curling at the ends of his lips.

"I think I am."

Now Illya turned, smiling rather mysteriously. Any other night, it would have gotten under Napoleon's skin, but tonight he found himself returning it in kind.

"Good."