The Secret Santa Affair

Napoleon Solo walked down the hall, the right shoulder of his suit jacket bunching. In the halls of U.N.C.L.E. people acknowledged him as they passed, all of them busy with the mandate of getting the world safely to the next day.

As he neared a willowy brunette, Napoleon smiled. "How are you, Rachel?"

"Fine. Busy." She smiled brittlely and was quickly down the hall. Napoleon glanced after her and then headed to Research, his sleeve swinging.

"I'd say you're in no shape for debauching." Matilda turned her head in brief acknowledgment of Napoleon as she monitored the signal relay. Her catseye glasses caught the light momentarily, shuttering her face.

"A will, a way." He picked out Matilda's latest reflective 'decoration'. She had people convinced she had eyes in the back of her head. "I'm concerned about Rachel."

"One that got away." Matilda pivoted her chair and kicked off, sliding several feet. Catching the desk edge she stopped in front of the terminal and tapped Morse responses in the current code. When it went silent she pushed off back to her original spot and looked at Napoleon. "You really want to know?"

He nodded.

"We're short twelve hours. Rachel was looking forward to meeting her fiance's parents. She was supposed to leave this afternoon." Matilda quickly turned back to the relay.

"Twelve hours?" He leaned towards Matilda.

"You know we can't pull more than ten straight without a mandatory four hour rest. Even with everyone chipping in we have nightshift Christmas Eve unfilled and an afternoon block Christmas day."

He quirked the corner of his mouth before sucking his teeth. "Tell her not to miss her flight."

Matilda swung around to look at Napoleon again.

He smiled at her. "You've gotten a new recruit."

A matching smile fought its way to Matilda's face. "Are you sure?"

Napoleon nodded. Field agents depended on Research for their lives and more. "Think of it as a thank you."

At that moment a redhead entered and smiled at Napoleon before going to Matilda. After conferring with her briefly, the redhead took up another station.

Napoleon offered his left hand to Matilda. She looked at it and pulled herself onto her leg. "Don't think I'm letting you take me dancing." She reached over and grabbed her crutches, slipping the cuff of the right one on. She dropped Napoleon's hand and shifted her grip on the left crutch.

"I'd let you lead," Napoleon whispered.

"I doubt that." Matilda stepped back from him, meeting his eyes. "Thank you," she added smiling back, already walking away, her movements smooth.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Napoleon cradled the receiver with a smile, unsurprised and pleased that Aunt Amy had understood the change of plans. Just then the doorbell rang for round two. At the door he paused to identify that it was Illya before opening it. "If you don't mind rearming it," he tossed over his shoulder, walking over to the freezer to pull out a bottle of vodka.

Illya sat down two glasses and looked at the sling. "You're going to need this more than I." He poured the drinks and placed the bottle back into the freezer before heading for Napoleon's couch with the glasses.

Trust Illya to recognize his Christmas present. It had become a tradition, despite them being in the field often as not. THRUSH had hung him from his arm a little early this year. "What were you going to do on the 24th?"

Illya knocked back his glass. "Don't try to be charming."

There were distinct disadvantages to being known well. "You know that Rachel Ferris is engaged. She hasn't met the to-be in-laws."

"Which obligates me to not be in the lab why?"

Napoleon smiled. "You're good with your hands? Most of the time you can read. I'm the one that volunteered; I'd appreciate you as backup."

"I suppose this means no Aunt Amy leftovers."

"Au contraire. We will be making a command appearance to save her from anything so plebeian. You may have to deign to eat from the good china." Napoleon smiled as Illya cocked his eyebrow. "Forgiven?"

"Christmas is an opiate of the masses. Just how do you get us into these fixes?"

"It is the season to care for one's fellow man."

"Rachel is not a man."

"Pedant. The girls do a lot for us."

"Some more than others." Illya stood to return the empty glasses to the kitchen. On the way back he froze and hitched slightly as warm breath hit his neck. Napoleon took his time demonstrating his talent for persuasion: light touches over his back, along his sides, kisses to his jaw.

Illya slapped his hand over his trouser pocket, catching Napoleon's hand and pulling him off balance and into a plundering kiss, cradling the side of Napoleon's head in his right hand.

Napoleon pushed into the kiss, trying first to pull his hand from Illya's pocket and then to shift his grasp. It was of mixed success, in that it didn't free him. Illya drew back for air. "I can be of more use with my hand free."

"Without struggle there is no victory."

"Mao?" Napoleon was pleased with himself as Illya begrudgingly assented. He was less so when he found himself spun and his left arm pinned behind his back. There was, however, a promising development pressed into his buttock. "Illya?"

"Think of it as an opportunity." Illya herded Napoleon into the bedroom.

Napoleon hooked his foot around Illya's leg and threw his weight back, toppling them both onto the bed, scrambling to make good his pin.

"I won't talk."

Napoleon looked at his partner perplexed. Belatedly he got the joke, the realization blooming on his face. "Toe off your shoes, tovarish." He kicked off his own, trying to solve the logistics of stripping Illya one handed. Illya obliged by unbuttoning his own shirt. Napoleon followed the revealed skin, digging his finger into the knot of Illya's tie.

He found himself on his back, smiling as he watched Illya discard his jacket, unfasten his holster and place his gun just so on the nightstand. Illya tossed his shirt and dropped his pants before kneeing onto the bed.

"You're overdressed." He pressed the heel of his hand against Napoleon's confined cock, laughing as Napoleon started on his buttons, Illya quickly undoing his fly and pulling the trousers by the cuffs. "Leave the shirt on."

Napoleon smirked.

"Your sling." Illya quickly ducked and suckled the skin just above Napoleon's knee. Russian imprecations of great creativity if uncertain grammar were his reward. "I know where I am." He continued licking Napoleon's inner thigh drawing him to distraction before surging up and mating their groins together.

Napoleon pulled Illya's head down for a kiss as he bucked, stroking the blond hair. "Illya," he growled.

Illya slipped down Napoleon and sucked him in. Initially he swirled his tongue around the shaft before sliding up and down. Chuckled at the impacts of Napoleon's fist on the bed which just made the impacts faster and harder. He slid Napoleon in and out repeatedly, pulling all the way away to kiss, to mouth the shaft. He went back down. He was careful to keep Napoleon banked, frustrated as he continued sucking. He pulled away.

Napoleon looked to his side, hard and eager. Illya was sprawled, draped, all mouth and flashing eye and flushed skin... "You look like a debauched angel."

"Save the art criticism for later. You still have work to do. Pasha." He took his hand away from a white jar.

Napoleon opened the jar and coated his fingers. He quickly prepared Illya, eyes twinkling as Illya pointedly didn't react to the unwarmed cream. He was less nonchalant when Illya took him in hand. He pumped into Illya's hand, friction bringing heat. Illya's tightening grip redirected his attention, Napoleon balancing on his left arm.

Illya wrapped his legs tight around Napoleon's, shoving up as he pulled Napoleon closer. His lips parted as he was filled.

Napoleon thrust, balanced on his left arm and wishing for a free hand to touch Illya with. He softly mumbled French endearments as he fought for leverage.

"Barbarian." Illya folded himself to support Napoleon.

"Gymnast." Napoleon lapsed into Italian as he took advantage of his increased options for movement. He traced over Illya from his hair, to his neck, down his chest and past his belly.

Illya caught Napoleon's hand. "Nyet." He pushed his tongue into Napoleon's mouth, mimicking Napoleon's actions. He arched against the thrusts, crawled into the hot mouth. Illya followed almost to the brink, halting his orgasm at the last moment. Napoleon went over.

Illya clenched and unclenched, wringing after shudders from his partner. He was too close, balanced on the edge, for these games. Illya relaxed, let them separate, then eased Napoleon to his left. Propping him up from behind, Illya slicked his own cock with the cold cream. He lined himself up and pushed in.

"Hot." Illya strained for control, for a rhythm.

"Illyusha."

It was fast and strong; couldn't last but it didn't need to. Illya angled his strokes, wrenching impassioned grunts from Napoleon. And finally he let go, his completion roaring in his ears.

The shirt was annoying, Illya decided. He unrolled the left cuff and shifted Napoleon, skinning the sleeve off and catching it under the sling strap. He adjusted the fabric until it was smooth and kissed the exposed flesh.

"You never took Rachel out." She was fairly new and hadn't supported any of their hairy missions. It was a matter of time, if she didn't leave U.N.C.L.E. "Why?"

"I owe them. Consider it a moment of solidarity. I couldn't let their rally fail." He'd be back in the field soon and not have this luxury.

Illya considered the answer, the logistics of Research staffing, "How many hours are you taking?"

"Five late Christmas Eve and another four Christmas afternoon." With an extra man Matilda was able to shuffle her girls to cover everything else. He leaned back into Illya.

"Very well." Illya breathed into his partner's ear. "I'll lend you a hand."

"You always do." He locked his fingers with Illya's. "Spasibo."