Napoleon Solo was in a pique, a full blown, brooding, washed in self-pity pique. He hid it behind a copy of the local paper and a carefully erected façade.

When Nellie had come to him, tears in her eyes, worried about Illya's health, Napoleon sat up and took notice. He always appreciated the business-like nurse. She was kind, gentle, and caring. Napoleon also knew she had a soft spot for his partner. Of course, it hadn't taken much encouragement on his part to listen. Having one's partner collapse mid-stride and pass out was enough to make anyone stop and take notice. Then she started on about this rare medical condition, how it was robbing him of vital strength.

'Bullshit!' Napoleon set his coffee cup down with a little more force than usual and coffee sloshed over into the saucer. He'd spent several hours last night listening to his partner and his partner's latest nightly companion. Whatever was robbing Illya of vital strength, it wasn't illness. The bungalows, while lush and rich with the trappings of a tropic paradise, lacked sound proofing and it didn't take much effort to hear everything but the softly murmured words. Whatever was wrong with Illya, it most certainly wasn't affecting his libido. The man had been going at it like a rabbit since they'd arrived at Papeete.

Frankly, it had surprised Napoleon at the ease by which he convinced Illya that a couple of weeks away from UNCLE was just the ticket for them. He didn't have to tell Illya that the trip was being partially funded by UNCLE Medical, a last resort to try and get Illya back on the road to recovery. Well, he was certainly pounding that pavement, in a manner of speaking.

Worse than that, Napoleon hadn't even bothered to make any similar connections of his own. The sad truth was that Napoleon Solo was besotted and the object of his affection was too busy working his way through the bar staff at their hotel to even notice.

No, the reason was because listening to his very vocal partner groaning and crying out was only intensifying Napoleon's own hidden, long-held desire to be the one making Illya make those noises. Which had left him with only himself, his imagination and his own hand. Some tropical paradise this was turning out to be.

A sixth sense ticked in his head and Napoleon glanced up just as his partner entered the dining room. There was something odd about the way Illya was carrying himself this morning, a stiffness to his movements that told of a possible pulled muscle or two. Serves him right, Napoleon thought as he caught Illya's eye and nodded to the table. Illya wove his way between the tables, pausing to eye the buffet on his way over.

"Hungry this morning?" Napoleon asked, not bothering to lower his paper. He tried to keep his voice neutral, but annoyance flickered around the edges of it.

"Is that a trick question?" Napoleon knew Illya was always hungry, always ready to eat. He eased himself into the chair, sitting a bit awkwardly.

"Just figured after last night, you'd be needing some extra calories."

"Last night?"

"Thatching and bamboo does not soundproofing make."

It took a moment, but then realization dawned upon Illya and Napoleon smiled at the slight pink the flushed his partner's cheeks. Granted it was nearly impossible to tell due to the tan the man was sporting, but Napoleon had had years of experience studying that face.

"Sorry, didn't know we were...broadcasting. Is this what this act is all about?"

"What act?"

"Napoleon, you're so annoyed you can hardly sit still."

"And you can hardly sit, period." It was a bit early in the game for those kinds of toys, but perhaps the woman was more sophisticated than she let on. Of course, there was one other option, but Napoleon would rather not think about that.

"That's rather my business, I should think." The message Illya was sending came through quite clear to Napoleon and he reined in his temper.

"It doesn't matter. I was the only one within ear shot. You probably scandalized a few fish though." Napoleon poured Illya coffee and he watched the Russian drink the liquid greedily. "So, who was it? That young lady you were talking to at the bar last night? She was pretty. Or was it the one from the night before or the night before that?"

Illya frowned, picking up Napoleon's unspoken admonishment. "I wasn't exactly interested in much of anything above the waist last night."

"Nothing?"

"Well, one or two things," Illya conceded with a slight smile. He finished his coffee and stood. "I'm going to the buffet."

"Leave something for me." Napoleon reached for his coffee cup instead. He shut his eyes and shook his head. 'That was just perfect, Solo. Try to come off as caring and you end up sound like some pissed off pubescent boy who's had his favorite truck taken from him.' Worse than that, now Illya was in a mood and that didn't bode well for the rest of today. Perhaps they'd already spent too much time in each other's company and needed some alone time instead. After all, they weren't attached at the hip, or sadly, any other part of their anatomy.

---

Illya glanced back over his shoulder at his partner and sighed. He truly hadn't meant to put his partner on edge, but he could see Napoleon was practically seething. Just because he'd taken someone home and Napoleon hadn't. He'd seen Napoleon with a series of young ladies, but none of them seemed to get beyond the front door of the neighboring fare. Whatever Napoleon was doing with them, it wasn't sex.

Illya's first encounter hadn't been much more than a few rolls on a deserted beach. He was still finding sand where he didn't care to have sand. The next night, he'd meant to do nothing more than to walk the young lady to her fare, but then she invited him in for a drink and things got very interesting after that.

It had been last night however that had made Illya's nerves, among other things, hum. He'd settled upon a likely candidate and entertained, as Napoleon liked to put it. Only to discover his bed partner was a matu vahine. It was just what he needed to indulge in a little fantasizing. It didn't take much to imagine it was Napoleon's hands on him, fondling and caressing him in the most intimate way possible, and not some stranger's. To feel lips on him and pretend for just a moment it was Napoleon sucking him off, or abruptly rolling and taking him.

It had been a long time since he'd been able to indulge that aspect of his sexuality, a fact making itself very evident this morning. Suntan lotion didn't make the best lube in the world, but at least he didn't have to explain away the coconut scent that lingered. He practically lived in the stuff these days. He'd not been taken like that in quite awhile, but he didn't regret a moment of it. Now he was completely satisfied and ready to get down to the serious business of his partner's mental condition.

Dr. Wallach's assistant, Miss Fields, had warned him about Napoleon's fixation, his mother hen complex that had developed over the past year regarding Illya. It was true that Napoleon had rarely let him out of his sight over the past few weeks, something that was starting to grate on Illya's nerves slightly.

Both previous nights, he'd noted Napoleon's light on as he strolled up the wharf to their over-the-water bungalows. Hoping that Napoleon would get more sleep, he'd brought his next conquest home. Not such a good move apparently. Now Napoleon didn't just look tired, he was downright frustrated and Illya wasn't exactly sure why. It wasn't the first time Napoleon had overheard him, although Illya was usually a bit less vocal. He loaded a plate and headed back to the table, careful to move casually now, loose limbed and relaxed. Perhaps that would put Napoleon's mind to ease. If anything, his partner seemed more tightly wound now than when they'd arrived.

Fields had warned that Napoleon would be overly solicitous and Illya had carefully gone along with Napoleon, agreeing after a bit to join him in Tahiti, thinking the man might have an ulterior motive. If Napoleon wanted to sun bathe, they sunbathed, if he wanted to shop, Illya went along faking an interest in the often tawdry offerings of the Le March. They dined on Napoleon's schedule, drank on it and after three days of it, Illya was ready to come unglued. Sex was about the only thing he was allowed to participate in without Napoleon's presence. The irony was it was the one thing Illya wished for his involvement in. To be in lust with your partner was not something they dealt with in the UNCLE handbook, nor was it something you could ask freely for advice on.

Napoleon had set aside his paper and relaxed slightly. 'Obviously, I've been forgiven for keeping him awake last night.' Illya thought as he set his plate down. Their waitress, Aiata, was already clued into their caffeine habit and had returned with a fresh carafe of coffee. She smiled beguilingly at him and ran an appreciative eye over him

"Tout est bon avec vous ce matin, monsieur? Vous avez dormi bien?" Everything is good with you this morning, sir? You slept well? Those struck Illya as odd questions. It was even stranger that she was eyeing him like a side of beef. She'd never made anything except polite conversation up to this point, but he smiled and nodded.

"Bien sr, pourquoi demandez-vous?" Of course, why do you ask?

"Nahini est ami du mien." A friend. The waitress's interest was starting to make sense to him now.

Obviously Nahini had been talking and just as obviously Aiata was also a practicing member of matu vahine. It struck Illya as ironic that the most beautiful women in these islands weren't actually women and he couldn't help but wonder how Gauguin had felt about that. "Et la mine aussi, merci." And mine also, thank you. It didn't hurt to have someone in reserve.

---

Napoleon watched and listened to the exchange between their usually reticent waitress and his partner. He'd not drawn more than half a dozen words from her in the mornings they dined here and now she was talking to Illya about mutual friends and sounding like she wanted to get to know Illya much more...intimately. It wasn't lost on him that Illya watched her departure with more interest than he had her arrival.

"So what's on the game plan today, my friend?" Napoleon asked, pulling Illya's gaze away from the waitress. "What's your pleasure? Beach, hiking, sightseeing?"

"Swimming." Not Napoleon's favorite past time. He loved the sea, but only when he was dry. "It seems ridiculous that we've been here nearly a week and I haven't even gone for a swim."

"You've been in the pool nearly every day."

"But why swim there when you have that?" Illya gestured to the Pacific Ocean as it stretched out before them.

'Because if something happens to you out there, I can't help.' Napoleon could see a look of determination in Illya's eyes and knew he had little recourse. He couldn't help but wish he'd asked Nellie for a bit more information about this problem that was plaguing his partner.

---

The day was already beyond warm to hot as they walked down to the beach and selected a spot. Napoleon arranged the beach chair so that it looked out onto the expanse of ocean. He was concerned, no, correction, terrified of what would happen if Illya suddenly passed out while swimming. Surely the man was aware of his limitations these days and would keep close to shore.

Illya dropped the towel and bag he'd been carrying and stretched, his tee shirt hitching up. Napoleon abruptly looked away as the motion made Illya's swim trunks dip further down on his hips. Napoleon could already see a dusting of hair trailing down from Illya's navel to disappear into the depths of the nylon trunks. The last thing he wanted was a hard on while there still wasn't a woman in sight. That just sent the wrong message.

Illya peeled off his tee shirt and Napoleon caught his breath. "Illya, are you all right?"

"What?" Illya's gaze dropped to his torso and he smiled, almost shyly. "Oh, things just got a little out of hand last night." He knelt and dug a pair of swim goggles out of the bag.

"A little? What did she do? Beat you with a baseball bat?"

"I don't understand, Napoleon." He slipped the goggles around his neck and took stock of the shore.

"A woman doesn't normally leave marks like that."

"I agree, a woman doesn't...but a man does." And Illya took off, heading into the surf, leaving Napoleon behind, mouth agape at the revelation Illya had made.

---

Illya swam through the waves, putting distance between him and the shore. Because of the very nature of the Society Islands, you could go out as far as five miles and still be in water just barely above your head. As long as you stayed on this side of the protective reef, the only real danger you faced was bumping up against coral or stepping on a black spiny urchin.

Illya was mentally kicking himself now. He never should have said what he said. What in seven hells had possessed him to do that? He laughed, utterly without humor. He'd wanted to find a way to get Napoleon to back off; well, he'd done just that. He'd probably get back on shore to discover Napoleon checking air times and calling Waverly for a new partner...a straight partner. Still, the damage was done.

He adjusted his goggles and dove beneath the surface, coming up only when air became a serious issue. He played hide and seek with the fish, wrestled with a couple of small reef sharks and just enjoyed the feeling of skimming through the water. It loosened tightened muscles and gave him a satisfying workout. When he became too tired to fight the current, he floated on his back, enjoying the sun's warmth. If nothing else, he was coming home from this vacation with a serious tan.

Finally, there was nothing left to do but face the mess he'd left on shore. He headed for the nearest bit of beach, well down from where he'd entered the water. Walking along the surf, Illya picked up a shell or two, returning them to the sea with an easy toss. All the while, he played with words, trying to find a way out of the muddle he'd plunged himself into. Sadly, Illya resolved that there was no gracious way out of this.

As he expected, Napoleon was standing, glaring at him upon his approach. The salt water had dried on his skin, making Illya itchy, but to head back to his fare now would only complicate matters worse. They need to talk this out.

"What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't, that should have been apparent by my earlier appalling lack of judgment."

"What would have happened if you'd gotten into trouble?"

"Napoleon, in spite of what it might have sounded like last night, I was always in control of the situation."

"What? Last night?" Napoleon blinked, as if confused by a change in topic. "I'm talking about here and now, not last night. What you want to do in your recreational free time is for you to decide. I'm talking about that." He pointed to the ocean. "I lost you out there. What would have happened if you'd blacked out again?"

This hit Illya out of left field. He sank to the blanket and uncapped a bottle of soda he'd brought along. He drank and then shook his head. "I'm truly confused now, Napoleon. Why would I have blacked out?"

"I...I know, Illya. Nellie told me." He sat down heavily, as if the world was resting upon his shoulders.

"Told you what?"

"About your medical condition."

"What medical condition? "

"Nellie said you'd be reluctant to talk about it."

"Napoleon, I'm going to have a medical condition if you don't start making more sense. I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. Dr. Saunders gave me a clean bill of health before we left."

"You passed out, Illya!"

"Because I donated blood and forgot to eat beforehand. Plus they took two pints instead of the usual one. I was fine an hour later." Illya paused to empty the bottle, suspicion eating at the back of his mind. "Exactly what did Nellie say to you?"

"That you had a delicate medical condition."

"Napoleon, look at me. Does anything about me appear delicate?"

Napoleon raked Illya with his eyes and shook his head slowly. The intensity of the stare made Illya catch his breath and then he remembered what was driving it.

"Not a word I'd use to describe you, partner of mine."

"That should relieve your mind then. I know you've been concerned, but I am fine. You need to worry about yourself and not me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Napoleon, Wallach's assistant Miss Fields told me that lately you'd been displaying signs of developing altruism and anticipatory coping issues. According to what she told me, you are a hair's breath away from being pulled from the field."

"That's news to me." Napoleon's eyes were studying him so intent that Illya shifted, pressure in his groin making him uneasy. He wondered if Napoleon had any idea the effect those eyes had upon him.

"And did she happen to mention what was causing these...problems?" Napoleon's tone had taken on a suspicious edge to it, as if something was building in his mind.

Illya stared out at the ocean for a long moment. "You had become convinced that I could no longer take care of myself and were putting yourself in harm's way to protect me. She described it as a diathesis-stress hypothesis. The doctor felt that if we were able to spend time with me in a casual, non-threatening setting that the matter might be able to resolve itself. Otherwise, Doc Wallach was going to recommend early field retirement based upon his most recent exam. I'm sorry, Napoleon, that I have failed you."

"Illya, I haven't see Wallach in over six months."

Illya stopped to shake his head, his mind working furiously. There was only one real answer to this and it galled him to think they'd both fallen into the trap so beguilingly. "My friend, I am getting the idea that someone was played us both for fools. Why did you pick Tahiti?"

"UNCLE travel made the arrangements; I had assumed it was something to do with your nonexistent condition."

"And I went along because it was stressed that I not resist your suggestions, lest it make you increasing paranoid." Illya started to chuckle. "And by placing us here, with the lack of regular flights to and from the United Sates, they almost guaranteed that we'd stay put for awhile. I give them credit; they knew exactly what to say to make each of us play right into their little ploy."

Napoleon joined in, his annoyance evaporating with good natured resignation. "Yes, they did. Now about that other little bombshell you dropped."

Illya's laugh died in his throat. "Yes, about that..."

"How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long have you... played both sides of the field?" Napoleon asked quietly. There was no hint of anger in his tone that Illya could detect.

Illya examined the empty bottle in his hands, then gave that up and turned his head to squint down the beach instead. He didn't want to have this conversation, yet it was a relief, in an odd way. "In theory or practice?"

"Illya."

"Fourteen, when I... understood that you limited your playing field otherwise." Memory curled, warm, in his belly. "Practice had to wait quite a while longer."

Napoleon sighed, long and deep. "Always the over-achiever, aren't you?" That brought Illya's head back around only to have his gaze pinned by Napoleon's, every bit as intense as it had been earlier and much, much hotter.

"Nineteen," his partner said, "when I admitted it to myself. But the gap between theory and practice was pretty much nonexistent, so maybe that evens things out."

Air had become an issue once again. "Napoleon?"

Napoleon nodded slowly, and the answers to every question Illya was trying desperately to ask were there in the rueful curve of his partner's smile. "Pretty much since the day we met, I'm afraid. Is there any chance that...?"

"Idiot," Illya managed to say. "Every chance in the world."

"And we call ourselves spies." The bright brown gaze dropped southward, leaving scorching heat in its wake. "Those swimming trunks look a bit...tight."

"And getting tighter by the minute," Illya murmured, his own gaze lowering. "So which fare do you think is closer, yours or mine?"

"Yours, by about ten yards."

"Race you."

---

Illya had barely taken a step inside the small entry way of his fare before Napoleon's lips were on him, his tongue working into Illya's mouth hungrily. Illya returned the kiss enthusiastically, barely suppressing a moan as Napoleon's mouth left his and started down his neck.

"You taste salty," Napoleon murmured.

"I need a shower," Illya admitted, his voice muffled by his own exploration of Napoleon's throat.

"Lead the way."

The one thing to be said for the showers here was that what they lacked in pressure, they made up for in size. The stall easily accommodated two people, something the men now took advantage of. They stripped as they walked, Napoleon scooping up a bottle of coconut oil as he passed it.

Illya let the water run over him, washing the salt from his hair as Napoleon's hands wandered his body. Years of close association had made them familiar with each other's bodies, but not in this new intimate way. Illya's breath hitched as Napoleon's fingers found his nipples and pinched them lightly. In spite of the three nights previous, Illya felt like he hadn't had sex in months and he thrust anxiously against Napoleon, his penis grinding against Napoleon's hip bone.

"Slow down there, Rocket Boy," Napoleon admonished, reaching for the shampoo. He slid his fingers through Illya's tangled hair, working the shampoo into lather and Illya smiled at the sensation. "You remind me of an old joke. These two bulls, one young and one older, are looking down this hill into a herd of cows. 'Let's run down there and grab us a couple of those cows,' the young one said. The older bull just shook his head and replied, 'Let's walk down and take them all.'"

"I don't want a cow, Napoleon, nor am I one." Illya tipped his head back as Napoleon rinsed the lather from his hair. "However, your point is taken."

Napoleon moved slowly, grinding his pelvis into Illya's. "Here or on the bed?" He licked his way his way down Illya's back, nipping and sucking at the tanned skin, claiming Illya as his own. "You taste so good."

"I can't..."

"You can," Napoleon ran his hands down over Illya's ass, clenching and kneading the firm muscles.

"No, I really can't...Napoleon...not like that, not after last night." Illya's voice caught in his throat and he gritted his teeth. "I'm sorry. If I'd known..."

"I can, though," Napoleon said, spinning him abruptly and trapping Illya's mouth in a soul-searing kiss. He moved rhythmically against Illya's groin, penis against penis. With a bit of pressure, he forced the man against the shower wall and dropped to his knees. Suddenly nose to glans, Napoleon grinned and just flicked out his tongue, catching the very tip.

Illya groaned as Napoleon alternated blew and licked gently. Illya settled his hands on Napoleon's shoulders, fingers digging in as he tried to hold onto his control. Oh my God that feels good," Illya muttered in Russian.

"Feels good, does it?" Napoleon teased, swallowing the head.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Napoleon." Illya rocked forward and moaned.

"And don't teach your grandmother how to suck...eggs, Illya." Napoleon pulled back, releasing Illya's penis and stood, turning to glance coyly over his shoulder, and Illya understood the message being conveyed. Illya wrapped his arms around Napoleon, hugging him tightly, letting his hands roam over Napoleon's torso as he let his penis slip between Napoleon's cheeks, teasing as they brushed past. Illya used one hand to cup Napoleon's testicles, as his other hand reached for the oil, thanking whatever manufacturer had created the flip top . Pouring a handful into one palm, he worked it up and down on Napoleon's penis as he rocked gently.

"I'm ready," Napoleon groaned, pushing into the slick tightness of Illya's hand. "I need you now."

"And who were you calling a rocket boy?" Illya swapped hands, applying more oil to his fingers and began to work them against and into Napoleon. "I won't hurt you, no matter how much you want it."

Napoleon's forehead rested against the tile of the shower wall, teeth set against the sensation. Suddenly the fingers were gone, replaced by something thicker, and he pressed back, eyes shut, jaw clamped down against the resulting burn.

The pain was momentary, replaced by a more driving need and he pressed back, encouragingly. That was all Illya need to start moving, first slowly then with increasing urgency. One arm wrapped firmly around Napoleon's waist for support, his hand around Napoleon's penis and for a moment, it was just them, trapped in a moment of perfect harmony of sensation and need, culminating in a pair of explosive climaxes.

Illya leaned his head against Napoleon's back, panting. "We have really got to get those women something very nice. Otherwise, we'd still be back in New York."

"Are you hungry?" Napoleon turned back around, letting the water sluice his ejaculate from his stomach.

"For? You?" Illya shut the water off and smiled, his penis still partially hard. "What do you think?"

"That all those things written on the bathroom wall about you don't come close to the truth." Napoleon kissed him and brushed hair from his face. "But I was talking about paying a visit to the roulettes for lunch, then possibly stopping by a jewelry store."

"Nice, but I have something else in mind first."

---

Illya lay back on the bed, his breath coming in a deep gasps. Napoleon glanced up at him from where he lazed between Illya's thighs.

"Delicate heart condition, my ass," Napoleon murmured as he skimmed up towards the head of the bed.

"Well, part of that statement is true." Illya swallowed. "My ass is still delicate, among other things." Napoleon gently drew his tongue over the still red marks left earlier by the tattoo artist.

"Having a man that close to my genitals with a straight edged razor was a bit...disconcerting," Napoleon admitted, his fingers brushing against his own shaved spot.

"We didn't have much option. I'm not shaving my head for anyone, not even you, Napoleon. Besides when the hair grows back, the tattoos are so small, you won't even be able to see them."

"Something I'm sure Waverly..." Napoleon started as he slid up the bed.

"...will never know." Illya turned his head to capture Napoleon's mouth, his tongue dipping into a heady cocktail of Napoleon and a bit of himself. He settled in for some serious kissing, discovering every aspect of this part of his partner that had been denied him too long. "Mmm, we taste good together."

"I agree." Napoleon fingered the necklace that hung around his partner's neck. "I'm glad you like this."

"He's rather well endowed." Illya glanced down at the tiny Fertility tiki.

"Saw it and thought of you." Napoleon's hand returned to fondle Illya's genitals fondly.

"My ego and I thank you." Illya switched from Napoleon's mouth to his neck, tracing designs with his tongue against sweat slick skin. He started working down Napoleon's body, eager to repay the earlier blow job, desperate to have as much with Napoleon as possible, just in case a return to New York returned them to sensibility. He'd had a taste of his partner and he wanted more. He could only hope that something would be arranged once they left Tahiti.

"Our waitress is going to be disappointed." Napoleon's stomach flexed beneath Illya's tongue. "Your not wanting to play and all."

"Who said I didn't want to play, Napoleon?" He was chest level now, working his way from one nipple to the other. "Unless you plan on keeping me otherwise...occupied."

Napoleon swallow a groan as Illya applied his teeth gently. "You have no idea how occupied you are going to be, my poor sick friend."

"Ah, just what I like, the ramblings of a crazed lunatic. And you know what John Russell says about sanity. It calms, but madness is much more interesting." Then Illya dropped his mouth even further and taught Napoleon a whole new meaning to the phrase, 'all fucked up.'

---

Glossary

Tahiti Here Here Nui—(he-ray, he-ray new -ie ) roughly new Tahitian romance
Fare—(far-ray) hut or house
Matu Vahine—(Mah-two, Vah-hee-nay)—the third sex. A man who chooses at a young age to live his life as a woman