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"I'll be on a ski trip this weekend with Wanita. I don't think there will be much skiing," I said to Illya as I sat down at my desk across from his.
He grunted in acknowledgment, and I had just opened my desk drawer to get a pen when my communicator went off. "Napoleon," Frances said, brightly, when I picked up, "I have your assignment in the front office."
"Got to go," I said to Illya, who shook his head, and kept his nose to the grindstone, filling in forms at his desk.
I looked for the address as I came down the street. An old tenement building was right next to the bar, and in between the front stairs of the tenement, and the closest corner of the bar, stood a young woman.
She wore a yellow dress with long sleeves and a short hemline. Her skirt was short, certainly, but it wasn't really that which drew the eye; it was the way her hips moved, very loose and mobile, as she shifted from foot to foot, as though they could move in any direction at all.
But if I wasn't mistaken, she was directly in front of the dead drop I was expected to reach into and retrieve the microfilm. The dead drop was in a brick wall, between two windows a little above my eye level. The closest window to the bar was above a steel door set into the sidewalk, and the second window had a two-steps-down upright door underneath it, leaving very little room to stand between the windows and reach the dead drop. And she was smack dab in the middle of it.
I walked just a little bit past her, towards the bar, and then turned back as though I had just had a thought. "Excuse me, do you have the time?"
"It's uh, 3:45," she said, looking at her wristwatch.
"I was afraid my watch was correct," I said, sighing sadly. "Would you know a coffee place around here that's still open?"
"I'm waiting for my father," she said, her eyes moving towards the bar.
"Your father didn't want you coming in the bar with him? He must be very protective."
"He's protective of a lot of people."
"Sounds important. Who is your father?"
"Who's asking?"
"Napoleon Solo."
"You a Sicilian?" she asked, looking intently at me.
"Not me. My father is a history buff." She relaxed and I took the opportunity to shift half a step closer.
She thought about it for another second, and then said, "I'm Maria Marmo. My father's Antonio Marmo."
Now the Marmos, I had heard of. If I had to guess, I'd say her father was 'being protective' of the bar's nightly take, and I had better get out of here soon.
The important thing was to reach the brick out of the line of her sight, so I leaned my hand against the wall up above her shoulder. I ran my hand back and forth along the wall, all the while saying some sweet nothings or other, until I felt a brick out of line with the rest. I shifted a little, turning it as quietly as I could, and reached into the space in the brick. There was something round and smooth that skittered away a little as I grabbed at it. An egg? A cigar tube? A Christmas light!
Now if I could just get everything back in place without dropping the brick on the girl's head. I worked the brick back into its original spot, and walked my hand back down the wall.
A little misdirection was called for, and I touched the side of her face with my opposite hand, as I brought the lightbulb down into my pocket.
"It was absolutely lovely meeting you, and I hope we'll run into each other again," I said, and departed the way I came.
I sauntered on back from dropping off the Christmas light at Photography, and saw Illya was still in the office. "You know, I met the loveliest young woman today, standing right in front of the dead drop next to the Stonewall Inn."
"Only you, Napoleon, could meet girls by showing up to a gay bar."
"Oh, I could meet girls anywhere," I said, "But this young woman really had the loveliest figure."
"Wonderful. Glad to hear it." He sounded a little more out-of-sorts than usual, but I thought I could get away with needling him a little more.
"And she was one of the Marmos, waiting for her father to do some business at the bar. We had a very interesting conversation."
Illya set his pencil down on the table very evenly and lightly, and I could see that it took some effort not to slap it down. He stood up and walked towards me and as he walked, he got louder and shriller. "I don't want to hear about all the girls you've kissed. I'm sick and tired of you always rubbing my face in it!"
He came to a stop toe-to-toe to me, glaring up angrily into my face. And then he grabbed the sides of my face and kissed me! Only in my wildest dreams could I have pictured this happening. I would have been less surprised if the file cabinet jumped up and kissed me! It was a very hard kiss, and I was shocked, but as soon as I recovered and started to lean into it, he let go and sank down onto the flats of his feet again.
Illya made his face as blank as possible, and leaned away from me, and I followed towards him. Then he leaned back in and kissed me as hard as before. If I could have his mouth on mine like that, I never wanted to breathe again. He was like a whirlwind. I wanted him to tear me to pieces.
I found my hands grasping his muscular hips and pressing his hips to mine. At that moment, he pulled back, and I gasped in a lungful of air. My chest heaved in excitement. His lips were red, and his bright blue eyes were open wide. His blond hair was sticking up every which way. I think he was breathing as hard as I was.
"Stop, stop. We can't do this here," Illya said, panting, his eyes piercing me. His hot breath blew across my chin and I couldn't think what to say. I don't know what we'd been thinking. This was among the worst ideas I'd ever come up with.
"Come to my place," I said.
"Yes. Let's go."
I combed my hair and checked for marks in the mirror. I straightened my collar and jacket and snugged up my tie. Illya belatedly combed his fingers through his hair. There was nothing he could do about that blood blister on his lip, though.
We made our way out of the building past dozens of spies, and out onto the street. The Manhattan traffic was about as congested as you would expect for that time of day, and the slow crawl home was terrible. I kept my eyes forward, not looking at Illya. Every passerby could see us through the car windows, and all I could think of was how I wanted him to hold me down across the front seat. My face must have been turning all sorts of funny colors and my breathing felt difficult to keep in line, but I just kept slowly driving through the stop-and-go traffic of midtown.
We finally parked at my apartment building and the moment I got the door shut and the security system reset, Illya peeled off and started checking for bugs. I scrubbed my hands across my face, but yes, we really had to, even at a time like this. Especially at a time like this.
When every last inch of the damned place was searched, Illya walked into the bedroom behind me and closed the door. I could feel my breathing getting heavy again, in anticipation.
"Can I make marks?" Illya asked, his eyes burning up into mine.
"No one said I have to be mark-free," I said, knowing that was an equivocal answer, and depending on what assignment I had next, there might be very strong objections. He must've known that, too. But if he didn't bite every square inch of me as soon as possible, I might explode.
Illya grabbed me by the shoulders of my jacket, and pushed me forcefully and inevitably up against the door of my bedroom. He never used his strength against me in normal circumstances, but he was using it now. My breathing sped up some more. He kissed the underside of my chin, and I tilted my head back, clunking it against the door.
I could barely stand still. Illya was pushed up against my entire torso, and even the strongest woman was much more lightweight than he was. I had a hold of him by the sides of his shirt just above the belt line, and I was making horrible wrinkles, and his shirt was coming untucked. Illya worked his way around my neck, and I could feel him yanking at my tie as I untucked his shirt some more, and reached a bare patch of skin on his lower back. He was so warm--everywhere, but especially right there where I was touching his skin that he kept hidden, that no one else saw.
Illya got my tie off, finally. It didn't feel like he completely untied it, just left it halfway knotted up as he threw it on the floor, and started unbuttoning my shirt. I slid my hands under the back of his shirt, feeling all that smooth, warm skin, but then he pulled away from me, and pulled off his tie, jacket, and shirt, flinging them to the floor.
"Come on, come on," he hurried me, pulling off my jacket and my now-unbuttoned shirt. I finally got the message and skinned off my undershirt, and Illya was on me again,
He wrapped his arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides. He slid a little lower, and bit the right side of my chest, just above the muscle. It made sort of a crunching noise. I hissed a breath in, and flexed my hips. The front of my pants rubbed across the hard muscles of his abdomen, and I could feel myself getting harder as I pressed against him.
Illya stood up again, and pushed me backwards across the room to the bed. He leaned up and kissed me, and as I tasted his mouth with my eyes closed, I could feel him undoing his belt, and pushing down his pants. My hand smoothed down his back and kept going. He really was all muscle.
Illya unfastened my belt, and then leaned back and looked me up and down before pulling down my pants. I had seen him naked before, but this was so much better. He was in good health, unwounded, and had an absolutely smoldering look in his eyes. He leaned back in, and bit the far end of my right collarbone where it joins up to the shoulder. I closed my eyes and moaned, and found myself on my back on the bed. Illya leaned across and did the same thing on the opposite side, and while I was still panting, pulled my shoes off with my pants.
Never in a million years would I have pictured how Illya nipped me all over with love bites. My entire skin throbbed, burned, sizzled. I gloried in the thought that I wasn't U.N.C.L.E.'s, I wasn't a spy, I was only Illya's.
I came with him lying on top of me, biting my ear lobe. The throaty laugh that I could feel through his chest and through his teeth pinching my ear was almost as good.
We lay on my bed, cooling off, my whole skin burning with little bites all over and Illya's arm thrown across my waist, his loose blond hair brushing my jaw.
I looked down my body at all the little toothmarks and pink spots that would turn dark later. There was a puffy dark spot where he had bitten my chest, and it had made that noise. How long would I still be able to feel that?
Eventually it occurred to me that if I was this chewed up, it would very soon become obvious to Wanita, so I'd have to cancel on her.
Maybe I could get Illya to spend the weekend marking me up some more.