THE THIRD WHEEL AFFAIR

 

As the electronic door swept open, Illya Kuryakin entered Napoleon Solo's office with a file in his hands.

            "...chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon; check.  Roses; check.  A pound of the finest chocolates; check."

            "Forgive me, Napoleon," Illya apologized.  "If I knew how busy you were I never would have barged in unannounced."

            "Cute," the CEA made a face at him.  "What did you want?"

            "I finished my report on our last mission.  It is ready for your perusal."

            "Oh, good.  Leave it in my IN box, would you?"

            Illya cocked his head to a side, the better to see what the American was working on.

            "That is quite a list," he said.  "What is the special occasion?"

            "There isn't one.  I just want this evening to be perfect.  I wasn't going to tell you until I was sure, but...I think I've fallen in love."

Illya took the news impassively.  "You are always falling in love, Napoleon," he said with exasperation.

            "Correction, my cynical friend.  I am always falling in 'lust'.  This time...it's the real thing, Illya.  This is a 'till death do us part' love..."

            Illya's eyebrows shot up.

            "Does this mean you are...getting married...?"

            "Well, it's a little premature to talk about marriage!" Solo laughed, ripping his 'to do' list from his notepad.  "You have to learn to walk before you can run!  Now if you'll excuse me, IK, I'm off to make the necessary preparations for tonight."

            "It is only 3:00."

            "Don't remind me!" Napoleon slipped on his suit jacket.  "I have a million things to do!  Wish me luck!" he called over his shoulder as he hastened down the hall.

            Left alone in the too quiet office, Illya stared at the solid steel door.

            "...good luck..." he murmured.

 

<><><><><> 

 

Illya sat in a dazed heap on his living room sofa.  Truth be told, he had no idea how he'd even come to be there.  It was hard for him to think clearly when he kept replaying Napoleon's words over and over in his head:  "I think I've fallen in love...A 'till death do us part' love."

            Naturally, Illya was happy for his partner.  Really he was.  He couldn't be more happy---except he wasn't.

            "It was bound to happen," he said with a bone-weary sigh.  "I knew someday someone would come and take him away from me..."

            Being a realist, Illya knew he could never win Napoleon's heart.  For one thing, he had the wrong plumbing!  Yet it had been enough to know Napoleon loved him as a close friend.  He knew with satisfaction that Napoleon did not go to the movies with any other Agents, nor did he invite any other co-workers onto his sail boat.  And despite all the time they spent together on assignments, Napoleon frequently invited him along on his vacations.

            But no more.  Illya would now be a 'third wheel'.  Not to mention they could no longer work as partners.  Solo would have to retire from the field or risk leaving his wife vulnerable to THRUSH.

            With a heavy heart, he debated whether or not to drag himself out to the local jazz club.  Although he had no desire to go, at least the noise would occupy his thoughts...

            Suddenly the telephone rang, startling him.  Picking up the handset, he was surprised to hear Napoleon's voice on the line.

            "Hey, I'm glad I caught you!" he said.  "I need your help."

            "Sorry, I do not do threesomes," Illya said flatly.

            "Pity!" Solo laughed.  "Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow one or two of your albums?"

            "Which ones?"

            "I don't know.  Something...romantic.  You decide.  I trust your judgment."

            Illya drew his lips in a tight line.  "I will be up shortly."

 

<><><><><> 

 

"Ah, come in!" Napoleon held his door open.

            "Here are the records you asked for," Illya handed them over from the safety of the hallway.

"Come in, Silly!" Napoleon tugged the resistant Russian over the threshold.  "No one's going to torture you!"

            Illya glanced furtively in the living room, expecting to see Napoleon's date.

            His heart sank.

            The living room, already conducive to seduction with its warm shades of brown, was awash in lit candles.  The table was set for two, with red and white rose petals sprinkled on the white silk tablecloth.  A bottle of Dom Pérignon rested in a silver ice bucket.

            "Mmm, this is my favorite!" Napoleon said as he set the needle on an LP of instrumentals.  From hidden speakers came the haunting strains of 'Stranger on the Shore'.

"Yes, well," Illya reached for the door handle.  "Let me get out of the way before your lady-friend shows."

            "There is no 'lady-friend'," Solo said casually, crossing over to open the Dom.

            "She stood you up!?"

            Napoleon smiled enigmatically, pouring out two glasses.

            "Join me?" he said, offering one to the baffled blond who took it absently.

            "Don't you think it's too bright in here?" Solo asked even as he dimmed the lights, leaving them in the candles' soft glow.

            Illya stiffened, his survival instincts kicking in.  Something wasn't right...  "Napoleon, what did you mean when you said there is no lady-friend...?"

            "I meant...I've been waiting here for you..."

            Illya's mouth dropped open, his eyes large as saucers.

            "Allow me," Napoleon took Illya's untouched wine glass and set it aside.  Holding out his hand, he said, "May I have this dance, Mr. Kuryakin...?"

            His mouth still ajar, Illya gave an imperceptible nod as he felt Napoleon's right arm slink around his waist and gently pull him close.

            "God, you feel good..." Napoleon whispered in the blond's ear.  "I've wanted you for so long..."

            "Y-You want...me...?" Illya tripped over the words.

            Solo drew back so he could look directly into Illya's eyes.  "I want you, I need you...and I love you.  'Till death do us part.'  Do you feel the same about me...?  Even a little...?  Or did I read you wrong...?"

            Illya had never seen such doubt and worry on his friend's face.  He vowed he would never be the cause of that doubt ever again.

            "You read me right, Napoleon," he said shyly.  "I do want you, and need you, and love you.  'Till death do us part.'"

            A feeling of immense relief rushed over Solo as he wrapped his friend in a passionate embrace.  After they had kissed once, twice, three times, Illya rested his head lovingly on Napoleon's firm chest.  As they swayed to the music, Illya was thankful of one thing: That he had wished Napoleon 'Good Luck'!

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>