Pairing: Illya/Napoleon
Rating: PG
Summary: Napoleon gets some unwanted email.
Disclaimer: Don't own, wish I did, but I don't, and as I'm making no money--off them or anyone else, please don't sue. Especially not over 500 little words. Not betaed, not proofed, barely awake when I wrote it.


Spam
by Nicole D'Annais
Copyright 2003


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"Increase sexual stamina?"

Illya glanced over the top of the newspaper to where Napoleon was sitting at the computer. "What?"

"These emails. 'Make your lover happier, increase the size of your penis, buy Viagra...'" Napoleon leaned back in the desk chair, his red silk robe blending into the red walls of the penthouse and adding to his look of anger. "Is there any way to trace these?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Illya said, laying back against the arm of the couch as he returned his attention to the paper. "It's called 'spam,' Napoleon, surely you've heard of it."

"But...." A repetitive tapping on the keyboard filled the silence for a moment. "Okay, that does it. There are 25 of them since yesterday. This can't be random. I want to know whose idea of a joke this is."

Illya turned the page. "It is random, and once you get on their list, you cannot get off."

"Then why is it you're never complaining about it?" He heard the suspicion in Napoleon's voice.

"One, it does no good to complain. Simply delete the emails and forget about them. Two," he looked up at Napoleon again, "I change email addresses every three months."

A frown increased the subtle wrinkles on Napoleon's forehead, and Illya forced down a smile. He did so love every last one of those wrinkles. "I wondered about that, but I thought it was just left over paranoia."

"That too." He went back to the paper.

More tapping preceded a sigh that was verging on a growl. "Improve your sex life? Increase your sperm volume?"

With a sigh, Illya put the paper down. "Napoleon, just delete them."

"Oh, no." Napoleon rose and very deliberately shut the lid on the laptop. "We may have retired from the spy business, but you know good and well anyone could have us under observation."

"You think someone is spying on us, and has decided you need help in the bedroom?" Illya raised an eyebrow. "That's absurd."

Napoleon smiled as he prowled towards the couch. "I know that, and you know that. But I'm going to make damn sure anyone watching knows it too." He looked around the room. "Hear that?" he yelled to no one in particular.

"You are quite positively insane."

"Maybe." Napoleon slowly pulled on the tie of his robe, letting the silk glide off his shoulders as he took the last few steps to the couch. "But," he added, as he slid over his lover, "it doesn't hurt to prove a point." He kissed Illya soundly.

"You could be right about that," Illya agreed. "Better safe than sorry, I suppose."

His hand already moving to the waistband of Illya's pants, Napoleon grinned. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"Never let it be said that I kept Napoleon Solo from proving a point." Illya leaned up for another kiss. "As many times as that point needs proving."

"Could take all day," Napoleon reasoned.

"At least," Illya murmured, his lips against Napoleon's. As they kissed again, he stifled a laugh at the thought of the emails. They'd been intended as a joke, but if this was the response they elicited, he was signing Napoleon up for every spam email list he could find from here on out.
___
END


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