Opportunities Taken

Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin



Word Count: 2045

Summary: Boring meetings should not be scheduled for Friday afternoons

Table/Prompt: Pounce!Porn Table Prompt: All Work and No Play


“This will be a perfect opportunity to try out some new equipment the lab has been working up, Napoleon. We have this new micro-miniature communications equipment…”

“Isn’t micro and miniature a bit of an overkill? If it’s already miniature, isn’t adding micro rather redundant?”

Illya rolled his eyes. “Just take this,” he held out a tiny round thing “and stick it in your ear.”

Napoleon raised a brow at his Security Chief.

“No really, put it in your ear, Napoleon.”

“And you will explain to Medical why they have to extract from my head the newest tech the lab has created?”

“You are such a trial, Napoleon. Here, let me.” Illya took the circular bit of plastic back from his former partner, now employer, and peeled a bit of paper looking stuff from the flat side of the thing. “See, it’s going to stick in place, not swim up your ear canal, barring any enthusiastic tongue gymnastics by over-friendly girls you may encounter.”

Napoleon just frowned. “As if I would…”

“Yes, Napoleon, you are a paragon of virtue and self restraint. Now hold still.”

Napoleon was surprised at how gently Illya fitted the piece onto his ear, and after a moment it felt as if nothing was there at all.

Illya stepped back, “You see, painless. And it does not impede your ability to hear under normal conditions, yes?”

“Quite right.” Oh dear God, he was even starting to sound like Waverly. “Ah, Illya, why are we doing this?”

“Going to the afternoon meeting at the U.N. or inviting the newest Baltic independent states take part in the U.N.C.L.E. charter or…”

“Why are you sticking bits of plastic in my ear?”

“We, you and I, are testing out this new technology under real time conditions. It works much like closed circuit television feeds. This receiver,” Illya gestured toward Napoleon’s head, “and this transmitter,” he held up his wrist where his watch was not his usual exploding model, “are on their own frequency, nothing can intercept or unscramble the signal and record anything transmitted between the two. It is effectively our own communications relay. It’s one way for now, but we have some two way versions finished as well.” Illya took a small box out of his pocket.

“I know that’s an electronic sweeper, what souped up new thing have you taught it to do?”

“This will assure us not only that the interpreter’s room is clean, but it is also able to block all signals in that room but mine.” Illya seemed entirely too pleased with the whole setup.

“So what you are telling me is that you are going to lock yourself in that tiny little communications cubicle and read one of your physics journals completely undisturbed while I sit through an endless afternoon of welcome speeches and grateful thanks to be invited to play with the big boys and you can make all the witty asides to me you want and I am stuck making nice with the new kids in town.”

“Yes, exactly.” Illya’s smile was almost as glowing as the ones he displayed when he blew up an entire THRUSH building.


“Miss Abraham, please tell me I have nothing scheduled for tomorrow morning?” Napoleon stopped at his secretary’s desk as he and Illya were leaving for the UN meeting.

“Mr. Solo?” she looked up from her typewriter. “It’s Friday. If you have something planned for tomorrow, it isn’t here at headquarters.” She opened the appointment book on her desk and turned it for him to see.

“Where does the time go, Deborah?” Not expecting an answer he continued, “I plan to go home after the U.N. meeting, barring any emergencies that need my attention. Why don’t you go ahead and leave early as well. It’s been a very long week.”

She smiled at him and nodded. “I have several things to finish up first, but thank you. I will take you up on that offer. I’ll need your signature on these schedules first though, please?”

Napoleon looked over the papers, signed and then they were off. In the back of the staff car, Illya watched Napoleon rub his temples with thumb and forefinger, palm covering his eyes. His former partner had been working flat out for weeks now, no wonder he had no idea it was almost the weekend, he hadn’t taken a day off in two months, not even a Sunday afternoon.

Napoleon looked out the tinted window as the car drew up before the imposing United Nations building. “Why in God’s name do we drive here, it would have been faster to walk.”

“Because you are a moving target.”

Napoleon just shrugged. “When weren’t we, partner mine?”

Illya just let his knowing look speak for him as he slid out of the car and checked the sidewalk and street before gesturing for Section One Number One New York to exit the car.



Napoleon was startled at how clearly he could hear Illya’s voice, like he was standing right behind him. He tapped his pen on his temple, the prearranged signal they had agreed on as an affirmative.

“Excellent. Put your headphones on, the speaker coming to the podium is from Qatar, you’re not supposed to be able to understand him.”

Napoleon slid the headphones into place. He thought he should have brought his latest paperback novel with him and asked Illya to read it to him during the boring meeting. He was here only as an observer, so no response was expected from him during discussions and he was finding the proceedings dull. He understood now why Alexander had rarely attended these get-togethers. He could do nothing about the squabbles and alliances here, at least not until asked to, and usually it was too late by then. He repressed a sigh.

“The speaker from Qatar is going on about why this or that nation is a bad bet for invitation into the UN, etcetera, and it looks like he has a long diatribe planned,” Illya’s voice was smooth. Napoleon wondered if it really had dropped a register or if that was some trick of the equipment, he would have to ask later, since he couldn’t now with the one way communication limit. Illya was continuing, “You know what I would like much better, Napoleon,” Illya’s voice was softer now, but still clear and oddly intimate in Napoleon’s ear. Napoleon tapped his pen on his chin, the negative signal.

“I would far rather be at home, Napoleon. I’d much rather be home where we can continue what we started this morning in the shower, slick skin on skin and your hands tangled in my hair as we kiss, my hands sliding down your chest and…” Illya went on to describe in excruciating detail the oral sex they hadn’t quite finished in the shower that morning.

Napoleon looked up toward the cubicle he knew Illya to be in, the glass reflecting the lights in the room but showing Illya clearly, his hands folded around the microphone in front of him as if he were speaking into it and not the mic in his watch and blocking his mouth from any lip-readers that may be spying. Napoleon kept his expression neutral even as his flesh was far from it. He could feel his pulse pounding against his eardrums, echoed in the throbbing of his groin and even with the thump of his heartbeat increasing in his ear, he could hear every near whispered word that Illya breathed. On and on Illya’s descriptions went, detail by detail, even as Napoleon’s control was pushed to his limits.

“Ah, Qatar is done. As is the meeting. Aren’t you glad you wore the suit with the longer coat this morning, Napoleon? Now take off the headphones and clap politely. I will meet you at the door, my friend.”

In the car, guaranteed privacy finally, Napoleon turned to his lover, “What in the hell, Illya?”

“You’ve been working entirely too hard, you can’t even remember the weekend anymore. As your Chief of Security it is my job to make sure that you are not overtaxed,” Illya allowed himself the smallest of sphinx smiles.

“Are you sure it’s your job as Security or as my partner?”

“Interchangeable, really.”

Napoleon let out a sigh and leaned back on the seat of the car. He closed his eyes, but still felt the sound of Illya’s voice caressing him as it did in the meeting. “When did we change places, partner mine, I used to be the one always looking to play and you were the workaholic.”

“We didn’t change places, you just caught up to me. I used to be all work and you were all play. Now we are all work all the time.” Illya leaned close. “Let me take the receiver out, Napoleon.”

Napoleon turned his head and Illya pulled the plastic bit from Napoleon’s ear. He took just a second to brush the dark hair from his partner’s forehead and then sat back to put the receiver and transmitting watch in a box that he put away in his briefcase. He looked back to see Napoleon was once again leaning back against the seat, a small smile playing across his features.

Illya paused just a second to wonder what exactly his lover was planning, because that was a planning smile if he’d ever seen one, and he had, once or twice. The car was rolling to a stop and they were at their apartment building and he was all business again, checking the street and sidewalk, nodding to the doorman who had come out to open the car door and greet them. He missed the calculating look that his partner gave him as he slipped from the back of the staff car.


“Don’t you think we’re a bit mmrph…” his question was abruptly canceled by his lover’s tongue in his mouth, lips locked together as hands descended everywhere at once, tugging his tie loose and shirt buttons open, by the time those hands got his belt unfastened and his suit pants opened he was finally with the program to reciprocate the disrobing, but his hands were slapped away as his lover’s mouth started a journey south sucking kisses down his throat and across his chest, placing sharp biting attention on his nipples and then moving on and lower and the muscles in his thighs and belly quivered with the effort to stay still, his head falling back against the wall behind him. Then he looked down to watch as his cock was expertly swallowed and groaned as the sight made him grow impossibly harder, his lover humming around his hard flesh made it all the worse, or better. He reached out one hand to brush the hair away from that proud forehead, caressing his cheek and his lover’s eyes turning up to his held a gleam, a promise.

Napoleon stood and returned his mouth to Illya’s, hands still stroking hard flesh, kissing in rhythm with his caress, pinning his lover to the wall in the entryway just inside the door of his apartment. He took his time on his second journey down, laving kisses and bites and leaving a sucking trail of marks across Illya’s throat and chest and belly and when he arrived again at the hard evidence of Illya’s arousal, he teased his tongue lightly up and down, barely stroking with his fingers and lips until Illya was beyond speech and keening his need, pushing against Napoleon’s restraining hands on his hips and Napoleon took pity on his lover and swallowed him whole and Illya came, hard and fast and with a biting curse or two.

Again Napoleon stood, kissing Illya, letting him taste his own musk mingled on his tongue, and Illya slid his hands into Napoleon’s hair to hold his mouth to his until he had his fill of kissing his lover.

Napoleon kissed his way to Illya’s ear, breathing softly and feeling Illya arch at the sensation, “I’m going to take you,” he said softly, voice low and filled with every ounce of need he had been feeling all afternoon. “And it’s your own fault if we don’t make it to our nice comfortable bed in the other room.”


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