Title: The Two Men in a Bed Affair - posted November 13, 2008
Author: Lacey McBain
Pairing: none (pre-slash if you want to read it that way)
Word Count: ~2700
Summary: Ten vignettes where Illya and Napoleon share a bed.
Disclaimer: The Man from Uncle belongs to someone other
than me, although I'd be happy to look after the guys for a while.
The Two Men in a Bed Affair
was only after all was said and done that Illya realized he probably
was supposed to have been intimidated by Napoleon Solo. But after being
awake for thirty hours in which he had been shot at, pitched off a
cliff (by Solo, no less), and had to jump from an airplane without a
parachute, all he wanted was some sleep. So when the only available
hotel room in the village came with one somewhat rickety double bed, it
seemed like a fitting end to an entirely unsatisfactory affair. His
first, and probably his last, field assignment, Illya thought with some
He perched tentatively on the left side of the bed, and
quickly decided that he'd slept in far worse places than this. He
kicked off his shoes, stripped down to his shorts, and was under the
covers on the verge of sleep before he remembered that there was some
sort of protocol for situations like this. Solo was the senior agent.
Illya probably should have offered to take the couch.
stepped out of the bathroom, Illya heard a soft chuckle that seemed to
ring with genuine amusement. Then there was a creak and the click of
the light turning off as Solo settled onto his half of the bed.
"Sleep well, Mr. Kuryakin," Solo said almost to himself. "You've earned
Too tired to reply, Illya relaxed into sleep, hopeful that Mr. Solo
would forgive him any breach of protocol this one time.
course, Illya had been sound asleep in his Copenhagen hotel room after
a routine courier run when Mr. Waverly had signalled him that one of
their agents had narrowly escaped from Thrush and was in need of a
safehouse for the night, or at least what was left of it. Illya, still
rubbing sleep from his eyes, had barely set the communicator down when
there were three quick taps at the door and an UNCLE identification
badge being held to the peephole. Illya, gun in hand, opened the door
to admit one slightly rumpled Napoleon Solo and a very battered
briefcase. Solo's face transformed to a smile when he stepped into the
room and closed the door.
"Ah, Mr. Kuryakin. They didn't tell me it would be you."
your service," Illya answered with a nod of his head. He supposed he
could be forgiven for not being more formal given that he was in
pajamas and bare feet. He laid his gun back on the bedside table.
do apologize for the inconvenience," Solo said, already stripping off
his suit jacket and starting to unholster his gun. "I just need a place
to lay my head for a few hours until I can get back to New York with
the information I've appropriated from Thrush."
"Mi casa es su casa, Mr. Solo."
"Much obliged. And please, call me Napoleon."
turned on the bedside lamp and realized that Solo was looking a little
worse for wear after his encounter with Thrush. The man had a black eye
and a cut that had dried to a crust of blood along his jaw line.
"Do you require medical attention?" Illya asked.
Solo laughed. "It's all cuts and bruises, nothing important. Just
another day at the office."
see." Illya averted his eyes to give Solo some privacy as he slipped
out of his shirt. The bruises continued across his back, and Illya
wondered momentarily if this was really the life he wanted–that of a
field agent. "I'll send down for some extra sheets. Please, take the
Solo stopped with his hand on his belt and peered around
the small dimly-lit room. "And where will you sleep? This room doesn't
even have a couch."
"I'll be fine."
"Yes, you will. Just
crawl back in there before you freeze your feet off. I'm going to wash
up." With that, Solo headed for the bathroom, leaving Illya standing
beside the bed wondering what he was supposed to do. They'd managed the
last time, and truthfully, the sharing didn't bother Illya. It was no
different from sharing with his cousin Petr growing up.
was still standing there when Solo exited the bathroom, now clad in a
pair of silk pajama bottoms that must have been in the small briefcase
he'd been carrying. He didn't give Illya another glance before climbing
into the bed and closing his eyes.
"Turn out the light, will you?"
"Of course," Illya murmured. He slid between the sheets and doused the
had flown all night from Paris to New York, and now, without even a
chance to change clothes or grab a sandwich, they were back in the air
on the way to South Africa. Illya rubbed at his eyes.
"I don't know if we're coming or going anymore," he said.
"Going," Napoleon answered.
"How can you tell?"
"It's much less enjoyable."
made a face at Napoleon's innuendo, and settled his head back against
the small pillow the stewardess had brought. He'd opted for the window
seat, knowing that Napoleon was more likely to be restless on such a
flight, more likely to want to stretch his legs, at least as far as the
nearest flight attendant.
Illya wasn't aware he'd dozed off until the light drape of a blanket
settling across his shoulder brought him back to awareness.
back to sleep," Napoleon murmured, and Illya let his eyes fall shut
again, certain there was nothing that needed his attention.
"You might be more comfortable in an empty seat, Mr. Solo," a soft
female voice said.
"This is just fine," Napoleon answered, and Illya could hear the soft
rustling of another blanket and pillow being handed over.
"Are you certain? It's no trouble if you want to move to a–"
"Thank you, but this is fine. Really. We'll be fine."
Illya felt a smile lift the corners of his mouth, although if anyone
had asked, he didn't think he'd be able to explain.
"Well, this is awkward."
"Your affinity for understatement never fails to amaze me, Napoleon."
"Can you move your–?"
"You don't even know what I was going to say!"
"Whatever it was, I'm fairly certain I can't move it without doing
considerable harm to you or myself."
Napoleon, there are times when, however damaging to your pride it might
be, it is simply best to lie still and wait for rescue."
"And this would be one of those times?"
"Tied naked together on a bed of nails? Yes, this would be one of those
Illya came back to consciousness when he felt Napoleon's grip on him
"I'm right here."
blinked through a badly swollen eyelid to see where they had ended up
after the run from Thrush across the Siberian plains. "Here" seemed to
be an old stable, and the smell of livestock and hay filled Illya's
nose. He sneezed.
"You're not allergic to hay, are you?" Napoleon sounded disapproving,
but not surprised.
"Apparently when I'm swaddled in it, I am." Illya sneezed again. "Why
have you stuffed me in a haystack?"
"For warmth. We've got to get some rest, and I prefer neither of us
freeze to death while we're doing it."
"I'm all in favour of that plan."
thought you would be." Napoleon dragged some old horse blankets over to
where Illya was half-buried in the hay. He burrowed in beside him and
wrapped the blankets around them both. "Go to sleep, Illya."
"Did anyone ever tell you you're bossy?"
"Yes. You. All the time." Napoleon pulled Illya closer and rubbed his
hands up and down his partner's back. "We'll make it."
Illya sneezed again. "You take me to the nicest places."
"I'll have you know that a bed of hay and a soft horse blanket is not
the worst thing I could've come up with."
Illya painfully arched an eyebrow in Napoleon's direction even as he
moved closer, seeking Napoleon's warmth.
"Would you have preferred the pig barn a mile back?" Napoleon asked
the thought, Illya's stomach turned and he shook his head burying his
face against Napoleon's broad chest. He could hear the rumble of
laughter rising up within even as Napoleon wrapped his arms tightly
around his shivering partner.
"Rest, Illya. We're not far from the contact point. I'll get us out of
here in the morning."
"Thank you, Napoleon," he murmured, letting his eyes fall closed.
"Don't mention it."
"Illya, could you explain to me in as few words as possible why Senator
Kelvington's widow told me she thought us very brave?"
"Perhaps Waverly mentioned The Heidelberg Affair."
"And why she thought we should be commended for our openness?"
"You can be very open, Napoleon. It's an admirable quality."
"I somehow think she meant something more."
"She also thought it terribly progressive that UNCLE allowed agents like
us to share accommodations with their partners."
Illya turned his face into the pillow, muffling what sounded like a
snort of laughter.
"Anything you'd like to share with me, Illya dear?"
"I think not, Napoleon. Could you get the light?"
"I should knock your lights out for–"
"Did you not enjoy your evening?"
"Would you have enjoyed it more being paraded about like some exotic
pet on the arm of the widow Kelvington?"
"If my love life suffers because of this ..."
"Napoleon, I can't imagine such a thing happening. Besides, some women
will only look on it as a challenge."
"Alright, but don't do that again."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"Illya, wake up."
shook his partner gently. Illya murmured again in his sleep, his body
rolling restlessly, and Napoleon tried to catch some of the words.
you're going to mutter in your sleep, you could at least do it in
English." Napoleon gripped Illya's shoulder, shaking him a little
"Nyet! Nyet!" Illya said,
hands pushing at Napoleon's chest.
"Illya. Dammit, wake up."
was anticipating the blow–startling Illya out of sleep was never
wise–but he'd miscalculated the width of the bed, and as he rolled to
avoid the fist fired in his direction, he found himself rolling
backwards, right off the edge, and onto the hard wooden floor.
"Napoleon? Where are you?"
"On the floor."
"What on earth are you doing on the floor?"
"Oh, nothing. Checking for Thrush agents."
peered over the edge of the bed, and Napoleon could see his expression
even in the dim light, a mixture of amusement, apology, and sadness.
"Shall I toss you a pillow, or will you be returning to bed?"
sighed and sat up, ignoring the crack of joints as he stretched and got
back into bed. Illya's nightmares were infrequent, but often enough
that Napoleon worried for his partner, wondered what haunted his sleep.
In the darkness, Illya's voice was soft, more accented than usual. "Did
I strike you?"
"I'm too fast for you, old friend."
"Da." He paused. "Napoleon?"
"It's a long story. A difficult one."
"We've got time."
Waverly turned over and addressed his two senior agents sternly from
the vast spaciousness of the queen-sized bed he had opted not to share
with anyone: "Gentlemen! Cease and desist your bickering. If I had
wanted to listen to such childishness, Mrs. Waverly and I would've had
"My apologies, sir."
"Thank you, Mr. Kuryakin. Mr. Solo?"
"He started it."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Waverly."
"I sincerely hope the two of you are better behaved than this when
you're on a mission."
tried to ignore the wave of quiet laughter that came from the other
bed. He shook his head, but couldn't suppress a smile. Boys would be
boys–apparently, even when they were well over thirty.
"Take the restraints off him."
"But, Mr. Kuryakin," the nurse started.
Illya thought he was showing considerable control given that he'd left
Napoleon's hospital room for ten minutes to check in with Waverly and
returned to find Napoleon strapped to the bed. Without waiting for the
nurse, Illya began unfastening the restraint at Napoleon's wrist.
"Mr. Kuryakin, he was yelling, thrashing around. We were worried he
might hurt himself." Or someone else
remained unspoken. "It's for his own good," the nurse said, but she
started to undo the other strap. Her reluctance showed in her movements.
will take full responsibility." Illya rescued Napoleon's wrist from the
restraint and rubbed gently. His skin was still clammy, and he moved
restlessly beneath the sheets. Illya quickly flipped the edge of the
covers up just to make sure they hadn't secured Napoleon's feet as
well. Honestly, sometimes he would've sworn the infirmary staff were
just an extension of Thrush.
"I'm right here, Napoleon." Illya slipped his hand into his partner's,
gratified when Napoleon's grip tightened in response.
was pale against the blue infirmary sheets, his body shaking with the
effort of sweating out Thrush's latest drug. It was never easy to see
Napoleon hurting, but this was pure agony. The doctor had assured them
both there was nothing to do but let the drug run its course, but no
one had prepared them for what that meant. Napoleon had already been in
a delirious pain-filled fog for more than six hours, and there appeared
to be no end in sight.
"Illya, where's Illya?" Napoleon's eyes
opened wide, pupils dilated as much as Illya had ever seen, and his
hands started reaching for something Illya couldn't see. The nurse took
a step back, "I told you so" clear on her face, and Illya caught both
Napoleon's hands in his own even as Napoleon continued to struggle.
"Mr. Solo could be dangerous in this condition."
our weapons are secured." Illya didn't think it necessary to point out
that Napoleon, even incapacitated, could kill someone with his bare
hands. "There is no danger."
"If you say so."
nurse just shook her head as she left the room, clearly expecting to
find Illya's rapidly cooling corpse on her next bed check.
thrashed violently, and Illya, tired of watching his partner suffer,
settled himself on the thin edge of the bed and nudged Napoleon gently
with his hip.
"Move over, Napoleon."
The brown eyes
seemed to focus for a moment, and Napoleon shifted slightly, his body
still shaking involuntarily in tiny tremors. Illya stretched out beside
him and reached an arm across Napoleon's chest, gently gripping his
shoulder, lending him some stability through the worst of the shaking.
Napoleon murmured his name, and Illya just nodded, leaning his head
against Napoleon's, trying to give him what strength he could offer.
He'd never been much of a talker, but he knew Napoleon took comfort
from conversation, so he let himself ramble about simple things: the
mission report, what the cafeteria was serving, the abysmal quality of
the coffee in the hospital vending machines. Napoleon responded,
sometimes with incomprehensible phrases, sometimes with a nod of his
head or a flailing hand. It was enough.
Sometime before dawn,
Napoleon's fever broke and he drifted into a still and silent sleep.
Illya, equally exhausted, fell asleep beside him, his arm still draped
protectively across his partner's chest.
the two agents stumbled into the room and headed straight for the bed.
Four shoes hit the floor in a matter of seconds.
"I'm so glad that's over," Illya murmured, one arm across his eyes.
"We saved the world."
"You saved the girl."
"You saved her husband–thank you for that, by the way." Napoleon was
only mildly sarcastic.
"Don't mention it. You disarmed the bomb."
"Only after you'd figured out the code."
"Yes, but you saved me from certain death at the hands of Thrush."
"I did, didn't I?"
"Well, after you rescued me from that locked room."
"It's always a locked room."
"Well, wouldn't do much good to put us in an unlocked room, would it?"
"I suppose not."
Napoleon loosened his tie and yawned. "We saved the world."
"And we'll have to do it again tomorrow."
"That's what I love about you, Illya. That boundless optimism."
"We saved the world today."
"Yeah, we did."
"Sleep well, Illya."
to Cops and Spies Fan Fic Page
to Main Fan Fiction Page