At a coded knock, Illya Kuryakin arose from his reading in some confusion. It's Napoleon, the knock effectively said, all's well, and I'm not alone. Illya tried to think what reason his partner might have to bring a guest to his apartment on an afternoon he had off. Hoping it wasn't to borrow something, he peered out the peephole to see Napoleon standing relaxed, talking with a lady section two agent Illya recognized. Still mystified but seeing no danger, Illya cautiously opened the door.

Napoleon smiled and turned at the sound of the latch, and answered his partner's brief questioning look with a shrug that suggested he had questions himself. So Illya turned his attention on Miss Carrie Jenkins in the hallway, offered a hello and hand to shake and ushered her in, letting Napoleon follow and close the door.

"Miss Jenkins, hello. What brings you and Mr. Solo to my abode today? Our fellow agents are treating you well, I trust?"

Miss Jenkins smiled and replied, "Oh things are fine at work, Mr. Kuryakin. The field agrees with me, I think, much better than biting my nails while the boys get in trouble." Carrie Jenkins had been a communications secretary for her first three years with UNCLE, and Illya could well imagine how hard she'd found it to listen in as operations went wrong and friends got hurt. It was little surprise that she'd been in one of the first few classes at Survival School to admit women.

Napoleon spoke up. "Miss Jenkins told me she would like to talk. With both of us."

The lady in question smiled and said. "Yes. Um. It's... a request. Or a proposal." She waved her hands to show the inadequacy of her words. "Of sorts."

The men exchanged a bemused glance, and Illya gestured to the sofa. "Have a seat then, and gather your thoughts." Carrie looked around the apartment as Illya dug around in his refrigerator. The main room was separated by a half-wall into kitchen area and living room, which held little but a sofa, end table and chair. Aside from the front door, there was one other door which she presumed led into a master bedroom. The host's voice rose from the kitchen, "Have you ever tried kvass, Miss Jenkins?"

"No, but I'm game," she replied, adding to herself, for just about anything. She suppressed the thought for now.

Illya returned with a small jug and two glasses. "It's a fermented bread drink, but not exactly to the point of being alcoholic. It tastes somewhat like molasses," he said, poured an inch of it and offered it to Carrie, then gave the other glass and the jug to Napoleon so Illya could take the chair himself. When she made appreciative noises, Napoleon filled her glass and set the jug on the table.

Carrie Jenkins sat for a moment to collect her thoughts, glanced up at the expectant faces of her colleagues, lowered her eyes again and began.

"I really am happy to be in the field now." A sigh belied her words. "I have concrete evidence that I am making a difference, and Marie has proved to be easy to depend on. I know I have the job that I want and I know that I want to stay in it as long as I can."

Napoleon smiled and said "That's good to know," with a tone that asked what she hadn't yet revealed.

Carrie looked up again, with a bit of a swallow. "I am, however, growing more aware of the sacrifices we make to be in the field. And perhaps specifically the ones required of a woman. I don't want to suggest that it's easy being a guy," she amended hurriedly, "but there are certain... comforts that are less available to me than to some." Her eyes slid momentarily toward Napoleon, then down to fervently study her drink.

The corner of Napoleon's mouth twitched as he offered, "Ah, I think I may see where this is going." Illya's mouth tightened a little. "You might," Carrie replied quietly, and their host's mouth tightened a little more.

Illya decided it was his turn. "Well it seems that we all understand at least part of your mind, Miss Jenkins," he said, keeping his voice neutral, "but what I fail to understand is why I need to be part of this... transaction." At that particular choice of word, Carrie shrunk in her seat and Napoleon scowled at his partner, who ignored him and finished, "not to mention why it is taking place at my apartment of all places."

Carrie looked up somewhat pleadingly, "Are you sure you don't understand, Mr. Kuryakin? A young lady is... judged, easily and frequently, by the number and nature of her liasons. As a section two agent, I cannot really have a steady boyfriend, but as a respectable woman I cannot have a long chain of partners, either." She swallowed. "I am not merely asking Mr. Solo."

Illya blinked, and decided that he should cover his blush by getting the vodka out of the freezer.

Napoleon leaned nearer and spoke gently. "Carrie, I'm sure you've given this some thought, but I have to ask whether you're certain you understand the ramifications. Such an arrangement cannot guard you against getting attached."

She sighed, and replied, "Yes I know, Napoleon, and that's not the only issue. But I find you—both of you—attractive, and I'd rather not lie to or mislead a man I intend to bed for my own sake. And I don't want to deal with hurt feelings and petty jealousy." She looked from the man beside her to the one staring measuringly at the bottle in his hand. "You two... seemed like my best bet."

Napoleon gave a short laugh. "I don't know, Illya acts jealous all the time."

Illya emerged from the kitchen, unscrewing the cap from his Stoli. "That is because you exercise poor judgement, show poor taste and fail to play fair. Nobody enjoys being left out in the cold."

Carrie smiled up at him. "But there's no need to compete. Some days would be his, some yours. Nobody has to be left out in the cold."

Napoleon sighed. "Carrie. In things like this... at least one person will be. At some point, someone will be left outside looking in and feeling just a trifle bitter."

She knew she had to concede the point, but part of her resisted. Carrie stood abruptly and started to pace, thinking of the arguments she'd overheard when monitoring Channel D. They generally did involve one of them being left alone while the other was on a date. Yet it hardly seemed important. The boys got on one another's nerves, yes, but for all the sniping none of the women involved had gotten between them. ...And wasn't that a wonderful thought, she considered ruefully.

"Now what could be making you smirk like that, Miss Jenkins," Illya asked, tilting the bottle questioningly towards her while wiping his lips with the back of his other hand.

She took it, raised an eyebrow and replied, "Oh. Nothing." She looked at the bottle, shrugged, and took a swig straight from it, earning a smile from the Russian. "I just thought how much easier this could be if the rumors about you two were true."

"Rumors?"

"Oh you know which rumors I meant."

Illya blinked, and exchanged a surprised—and happy—look with his partner over Carrie's back as she bent over the end table trying to find a coaster. Failing, but unwilling to place it directly on the wood, she started to scowl but smiled when Napoleon quietly said, "I'll take it." She handed the bottle over and stood upright again, only to find Kuryakin quite a bit closer to her than he had been. Carrie was very glad that she didn't yelp in startlement.

Blue eyes studied hers, and one large hand reached up to trace delicately over her temple and around her ear. His voice murmured musically low, "Such a brave move to make so bold a request." The fingers continued down her arm as she stood stock still and gracefully enclosed her hand, lifting it to his lips, which he pressed to the palm at the base of her middle and ring fingers. "I'm afraid, my dear Miss Jenkins, that the rumors about Napoleon and myself are not exactly true." His tongue darted out to flick over the webbing between her fingers. "He and I are not in a relationship. He -" lick "- never buys me flowers."

Suddenly, with her hand still held by Kuryakin, Carrie noticed arms snaking about her waist and heard Solo's voice in her ear. "And if Illya has ever gotten me chocolates, I fear he ate them himself." At that, his lips began to trail kisses slowly down her jaw.

Illya unfastened one of the buttons on her cuff and began to nibble at her wrist, allowing his lips to keep moving against her skin as he said "We are, however, quite comfortable in one another's company."

Carrie felt she ought to say something herself at this point, something clever, but all the words that entered her head were impossibly filthy.

Her head turning with his travels, Napoleon's lips had reached Carrie's chin. Now one of his hands reached up from her waist, the arm brushing her breast as his fingers tilted her head down just enough to place his lips on hers. The kiss was closed mouth, but he gave her lips just a touch of his tongue before he drew back and released her. Illya, too, paused and simply held her hand. Carrie opened eyes she hadn't realized were closed and saw that Illya was speaking.

"This, of course, would hardly protect your reputation as you hoped. But the option is available to you. And again, it's only a partial solution."

Napoleon took over. "You should be very sure, Carrie. Is this really what you need?"

She stepped to the side and looked from one to the other, trying to gather her thoughts. It was truly unfair to just leave her with a taste like that, she thought, but she hadn't even known how much she would want the chance now it was offered to her. In a somewhat choked voice, she answered, "I have to try at least. Please."

Illya nodded. "Then here is the condition. If at any point you change your mind or have regrets, you will come to me and you will tell me. Then neither of us will bother you again."

It made sense. Lose one, lose both. Blame could be placed, but there would be no opening for jealousy. Carrie looked Illya right in the hard blue eyes and nodded very seriously. His gaze softened.

"Well then. We can make this a rare indugence." Illya pulled the hand he held to his shoulder, and with his other slid fingers into the hair at the base of her scalp, gently tightened his grip and kissed her, open mouthed and promising. Other arms slid around her waist again, and other lips touched her hair, murmuring, "Shall we begin?"

Fingers began to toy with the buttons on Carrie's blouse, sliding between to stroke her skin, then releasing one button after another. Other fingers toyed with her collar, sliding gently under the fabric to gently massage at her shoulders and neck. She applied what she liked of these to the shirt in front of her, revealing soft skin and a dusting of hair to her questing hands.

Illya's lips released hers, and though he breathed easily through his nose, Carrie found herself breathing roughly. He leaned forward again to nip at her earlobe, empty of earrings because she had been at work, and turned her to face his partner. Having some minimal mercy on her air supply, Napoleon released the last button on her blouse and kissed the hollow of her throat.

Carrie gasped. Illya pulled her blouse off of her shoulders and pressed his chest against them, playing his hands over her abdomen. Her fingers feeling clumsy, Carrie began to tug at Napoleon's shirt, then gave up and grabbed his belt. He laughed and pulled his head back as she pulled him close, sliding his hand over her hip to rest with his fingers just curling under her ass. As Carrie began to undo the belt in her hands, Napoleon rumbled, "So eager, so quickly." Carrie grumbled in reply, "I just know -" the buckle released, "- what I want."

Illya laughed, and to Carrie's delight, lifted her to wrap her legs around Napoleon's waist, keeping her in place by leaning her back on his own chest. Napoleon unzipped her skirt and worked at his own trousers as gracefully as possible, everyone chuckling a little at the awkwardness as Illya worked her skirt between them and over her head. Illya finally removed her bra and Napoleon kissed what he could reach of her breast. Then Illya's hands were over her breasts and his mouth at her neck, Napoleon was holding her beneath her ass with one hand, tickling her clitoris with the other and his cock was teasing the entrance to her body.

Oh God, she thought, I wasn't planning this today. I was just going to talk to them. I'm not wearing makeup, I taste like vodka... Napoleon entered her and she gave a cry of pleasure. Her last thought for several moments was, Thank God they keep us on the pill.

Illya smiled at the sounds coming from the woman being rocked against his chest, from the throat under his lips. He moved his mouth down to her shoulder, where her collar could hide any marks, and sucked at the skin while he began to release himself from the confinement of the remainder of his clothes.

Carrie, catching her breath, slitted her eyes open again to see a look of intense concentration on Napoleon's face, his lower lip actually between his teeth. Suddenly she wanted to break that concentration if she could. "Let me down, I'd like to taste you."

Napoleon's eyes widened and she could feel him jump inside her, but he held on to control and lifted her off with Illya's help. As her legs dropped to the floor, she felt Illya's erection brush her leg. Wonderful, she thought , and sunk to her knees.

Napoleon realized he was still wearing his shirt and swiftly removed it. He watched the woman he had just been inside lean back and rub her cheek against his partner's erection. Then she focused her eyes on his own and reached out with only her tongue—How can it be that long, Napoleon thought—and held his cock's weight with it as she licked back, finally sucking gently on its tip.

Illya moved closer, and was going to bend down, but Carrie noticed, released Napoleon and turned to take Illya in her mouth. He straightened again and squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again to watch her ministrations. After sucking very carefully for a few moments, she had opened her mouth again and was tapping her tongue against the spot beneath the glans, where the foreskin wouldn't cover it. Illya smiled. Carrie reached back to find Napoleon and tickled her fingers up and down his length. Then arched her neck to look up at him with some mischief.

"And when you lack for other company, can you still be comfortable with one another?"

Illya's eyebrow arched. "I never lack for company."

Carrie was about to tease back that he hadn't answered her question, when Napoleon answered for her by moving around behind Illya's back and nuzzling at his shoulder. Illya's eyes shut and he smiled and Carrie could not suppress a giggle. She turned her attention back to Illya's penis and saw Napoleon's fingers reach through his legs and start to massage his balls. Oh yes, she thought, and took the erection in her mouth again.

Now Illya was making noises, groans and gasps. Carrie looked up and was caught by the image before her. Both men's eyes were closed, Illya's head thrown back on Napoleon's shoulder, his hand grasping Napoleon's free one over Illya's stomach. She froze, then looked away. Maybe I shouldn't be here, she thought with alarm, I'm extraneous.

"Carrie." Illya's voice. She looked up and he looked down at her. The confusion in his eyes was replaced with understanding, and he released Napoleon's hand to crouch before her. "Don't worry," he said, and pulled her up only to press her back against the couch. "Nobody is getting left out in the cold."

"Oh thank God."

His lips pressed hers then he moved down to press apart the lips below. He toyed and sucked long enough to make her wet, then rose again, gazed right into her eyes with a beautiful smile, and slowly, slowly pressed into her. He rocked out, pressed in a little farther, and kept a slow, sweet pace that let her admire his eyes and brush her fingers through his hair.

Carrie noticed Napoleon return, not having realized he had moved away. "Got it," he said, and moved behind Illya, running his fingers down Illya's back. Then Illya stilled for a moment, and Carrie felt one of Napoleon's fingers slickly enter her alongside Illya's still penis and begin to rub. It felt strange, and it felt good, but the massage must have been even better for Illya to judge from the noises he began to make. Then she realized that Napoleon's other hand was busy too.

Napoleon pulled out his fingers, positioned himself and Carrie felt Illya's body stiffen very slightly. Then he relaxed and pressed back a little, pulling slightly out of Carrie, groaned and pressed forward into her again. Napoleon moved in a bit farther, and Illya repeated the act and Carrie felt him jump inside her before pressing in with more force. She and Illya both gasped and Napoleon grinned, a drop of sweat dripping off his forelock. Then it seemed that Napoleon had pushed as far in as he could and he and Illya moved in counterpoint, so Carrie would see Napoleon thrust, hear Illya's voice and then recieve a thrust herself.

Napoleon could not believe his luck as he pumped harder and heard the alternating soprano and baritone cries. Then Illya almost howled and leaned into the girl, and Napoleon felt the muscles around him tighten. It was too much and he moved with abandon, vaguely recognizing Carrie's voice shouting "God yes!" as he followed his partner to completion.

Carrie opened her eyes. Illya's head rested on her collar bone, his hair feathered across her neck and his arms draped over hers. He was making contented little noises every few seconds. Napoleon was sitting back on his heels, catching his breath and softly rubbing Illya's back. Then he looked down and ruefully said, "I'd better clean up." He went to the bathroom and returned with a washcloth. As he passed it over Illya, he smiled at his partner's contented expression and told Carrie, "I think I speak for both of us when I say that the agreement is thoroughly acceptable." Carrie grinned.

And then, to his companions' amused delight, Illya began, very quietly, to giggle.