Do Blonds Really Have More Fun?

 by BT

Note: This story first appeared in the zine Homosapien Too.

###

A telephone rang in the heavily-curtained darkness of Dorian's bedroom in a Rome apartment, waking Dorian -- unfortunately alone -- to a morning that was well advanced toward noon. "*Pronto*."

The handset broadcast the determined tones of Major Eberbach. "Eroica. I want you to do me a favor."

"Major?" Dorian's heart leapt, though other portions of his anatomy were still asleep. Last night's party had started at midnight and lasted well into the dawn. "Anything for you, Darling. Will I have to get out of bed?"

The speaker acquired an irritated snap. "Be at the Piazza Vittorio Emmanuele in one hour. On the north side."

"Certainly, Darling. I'll be carrying a red rose in my tee--" But the Major had rung off.

Dorian, more curious than wary, dressed and took himself into the bustle of Rome. The spring weather was brighter and drier than in England, and just to annoy Klaus, he wore bright red. The Major wanted a favor, did he? What Dorian wanted might be described as a favor, but Klaus had yet to give any indication of interest in it. Perhaps they could negotiate.

The Major winced most amusingly when he saw Dorian's outfit, but he ignored it as he introduced a second man. "Mr. Solo, Lord Gloria." Mr. Solo looked Italian and he was a good ten years older than Klaus, but Dorian would have bet that they were in the same profession.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Lord Gloria," said Mr. Solo in Italian was that slightly too Roman, and then, in English, "Do I understand that you're British?" The intonation now was slightly too Whitehall, and Dorian laughed.

"Have you been telling tales about me, Major?"

"Indeed he has," said Mr. Solo. "Shall we go somewhere that's quieter to discuss it?" He led them into a newsstand, nodded at the proprietor, and ushered them around a corner that became, somewhat inexplicably, a closed passageway and then an elevator.

Within seconds they were being whisked through a maze of underground corridors to a small conference room. Mr. Solo, rather than the Major, seemed to be in charge. By the time they'd been seated at a bare circular table with a fourth man, Dorian had several questions ready. "Why," he demanded first, "is my badge white?" The Major had been given a blue one, and the other two men had numbered yellow triangles.

"He's an official visitor," said the new man, a smallish, pale individual with no identifiable quirks to his mid-Atlantic-neutral English. "You're a guest."

"Does that mean I'm *un*official?" asked Dorian, and happily took the opportunity as far as it would go. "Major, Darling, have you taken to selling me to third parties? What are you charging?"

Mr. Solo's eyebrows rose steeply. The fourth man gave Dorian a once-over with a completely neutral expression. The Major scowled and said levelly, "Behave, Eroica. These agents need someone like you on a mission very like those I often direct. I would appreciate your cooperation."

"I adore cooperating with you, Major. What shall we do first?" Dorian tossed his curls and eyed the Major consideringly.

"Eroica!"

"The 'Eroica' that Interpol would like to capture?" queried the unnamed man, with what might have been polite curiosity.

"I have that honor," said Dorian. "It's so exciting, being wanted by the police everywhere. Why do you want me?" He cast a roguish glance around the table.

Mr. Solo coughed. The short blond said, "I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Kuryakin. The agency here is UNCLE, U. N. C. L. E." Dorian had heard of it: a sort of hush-hush civilian international police that might (or, perhaps, might not) be affiliated with the U.N. It wasn't usually interested in art thefts as such -- at least, Dorian had never run afoul of it. Kuryakin was continuing, "We cooperate with the NATO nations' security forces on occasion. That's how we met Major Eberbach."

The Major said, "I am asking you only--"

"'Asking'?" echoed Dorian, in real surprise. It was not Klaus's habit to make requests when he could give orders.

"-- to help these two agents in an operation they will outline for you. It should be within your talents."

"Why?" asked Dorian.

"They will explain the mission."

"No, Major, why are you asking me? What's your stake in it?"

Klaus took on the most frozen of his glacial repertoire of expressions. "That need not concern you."

"Then I needn't join the mission, need I?"

"I should like you to do it," said the Major woodenly, under the eyes of Kuryakin and Solo and, of course, Dorian.

Dorian thought about it. This "request" was so extraordinary that Klaus must be under some kind of pressure. If someone higher up wanted Eroica to help UNCLE, the Major's superiors, or UNCLE by itself, would have approached him. It was unthinkable for the Major to have yielded to any coercion from enemies. From allies, however... "What do you owe them, Major?"

Kuryakin's eyebrows went up before he returned to the neutral face. Klaus's face became even emptier, but after a pause he said, "They saved my life in Romania last summer. You will perhaps recall that N and L were replaced then."

Dorian paid little attention to the rotation among Klaus's alphabet-coded subordinate agents, but he recalled new faces as of last fall. "Oh, dear," he said, numb with retroactive fright. He knew the other two were watching him, so he pulled out his most dazzling smile, the one that should cover anything. "I'm delighted to hear it." He turned the smile towards Solo and Kuryakin. "I am in your debt, gentlemen. How may I repay you?"

Solo and Kuryakin exchanged glances. "Thank you," said Solo, studying Dorian again. "We can excuse Major Eberbach now, before we discuss the operation's details."

The Major looked relieved, or as relieved as a stone wall could look, and began to push his chair back. "A moment," said Kuryakin, and glanced from Dorian to the Major and back. "Will you work with us, without him?"

Dorian shrugged. He had hoped that Klaus would be part of whatever operation it was, but he'd already decided to listen to the UNCLE job regardless. He had not missed the speculation in Kuryakin's eyes and the disbelief Solo now directed at Klaus. And Klaus had asked him to do it. Dorian had had a mission's worth of entertainment already. "I must hear your details before I can be sure, of course, but I hope I can be of some use to you."

The Major rose from the table, his lack of expression absolute. "I'll see you out," offered Mr. Solo, and the Major nodded once. Both of them avoided Dorian's eyes as they left the room without another word.

"Did I say something wrong?" hazarded Dorian, to Kuryakin.

The pale face grinned suddenly, throwing age lines into relief. Kuryakin must be at least ten years older than Dorian. "Not to me."

The unexpected smile woke Dorian's curiosity. "How much does Mr. Solo understand?"

"Less than he thinks," said Kuryakin, "but please don't change your manners on his account. It will do him good."

Dorian looked into pale blue eyes in a habitually still, and now ageless, face. "perhaps it will. And you?"

Kuryakin gave him a look that suggested many things. "I shall enjoy the show immensely," he said, tone as mild as if he were discussing the weather.

Solo returned while they were still staring at each other. "Time to get down to business," he said, his voice now flavored simply of New York. The word games were over, Dorian decided. Time for something else.

"I am at your service," he said, making eye contact and turning his hands up in a gesture that showed off his tinkling charm bracelet.

Solo refused to be baited, although he glanced uneasily at the bracelet before returning Dorian a very challenging gaze. "I'm told you are an expert on private safes, and that in particular you know the house we must investigate. It's a mansion on an estate to the south, outside the ring highway. It's owned by a Signor di Bellati."

Dorian blinked, and then felt a real smile stretch his mouth. "I know Rudi di Bellati's house, true," he said. "Did the Major tell you that?"

"He said you'd be familiar with it and with the security setup there. Does your friendship with di Bellati prevent you from burgling his house?"

"No," said Dorian. "What are you looking for? His private safe?"

Solo studied Dorian, still challenging. "Yes, if that's where he'd store confidential, high-risk documents. I hope you don't break and enter your friends' houses as a regular thing."

Dorian could imagine what Major Eberbach had told him. "Not my friends'," said Dorian sweetly. "May I hope that UNCLE isn't stealing material which is legitimately in Rudi's possession?"

Kuryakin snickered, almost but not quite inaudibly. Solo said, "Ah--"

"No, we're not," said Kuryakin. "I will come with you, in fact, to pick out the documents we're interested in, if they are there. We suspect di Bellati of being one party in a very illicit information exchange deal, no doubt for a substantial fee."

"That sounds like Rudi." Dorian grinned in delight, eyeing Solo. "He keeps his safe in his own bedroom."

"Ah," said Solo, frowning. "And you..."

"I can open it." If Rudi hadn't changed the combination lately, Dorian could open it in twenty seconds.

"Ah," said Solo again. "I see."

"The house security isn't much, either. The only real complication will be if Rudi sees me. He didn't invite me back."

"I've already made arrangements to provide a diversion for him," said Solo with noticeable relief. "He plays tennis."

"He's a fiend for it," agreed Dorian. "Are you going to keep him occupied on some club's court? When?"

"This afternoon," said Solo, and glanced at his watch. "An hour from now. I think I can keep him busy for two hours or more."

Dorian gave him an assessing look, not discreetly. "Perhaps you can, at that. Rudi's really quite good, but he can be put off his game if you flirt with him."

Solo's nostrils flared, but his voice remained even. "Lord Gloria. Thank you for the advice. I am sure it worked well for you."

It wasn't much reaction, but it had broken the calm. Dorian smiled. "Well enough. Two hours will be ample time." He turned back to Kuryakin and saw a flash of emotion as the blue eyes rested on Solo. "Shall we start out? We'll need an hour at least to get through the traffic."

The eyes shifted to Dorian. "Yes," said Kuryakin, quiet as ever. "*Pronto?*"

# # #

The safe's last tumbler clicked and it swung open. Dorian sighed in relief -- for Rudi had changed the combination after all -- and straightened to let his companion look into the shelves and sort through the papers there. "It's what we wanted," said Kuryakin's voice, now lightly accented with a Slavic lilt as he concentrated on the safe's contents. "Good work."

"Thank you." Dorian thought about the Major, and how he would have greeted the same event with no more than an indifferent grunt. Illya Kuryakin had good manners even when he was too preoccupied to maintain his cover accent. He'd also let his eyes linger suggestively on Dorian's body once or twice during the journey here, just as Dorian wished the Major's would. Dorian had enjoyed it.

"I'm done now," announced Kuryakin. "You can close it up." He waved Dorian back to the safe and pulled out his radio link. Dorian checked alarm circuits once again as he heard the order, "Open channel D, please."

Dorian reconnected two wires, removed the two bypass switches he'd put in while opening the safe, and let it ease closed. The lock spun, smooth as running water, just seconds after Kuryakin had concluded his short conversation with Mr. -- no, channel -- D.

As Dorian stood up again, he felt a hand make contact with his red silk trousers, molding to the flesh beneath. The touch was not furtive but deliberate, and the message could not be mistaken. Dorian had wondered when the quiet Mr. Kuryakin would make his move.

"Naughty," Dorian said, for form's sake. Someone had to say something. The real question in his tone was: Do you mean it?

"It's rather nice, I think," returned Kuryakin. "As Mr. Solo says, I am sure it works well for you."

"Mr. Solo," said Dorian acidly, "can go suck himself. What did you have in mind?" Illya did not look at all like Klaus, but he had the same leashed ferality. Dorian wanted to unlock the cage.

"Perhaps he wishes he could." Kuryakin gave a brief chuckle. "I suggest an exchange of views on a subject of mutual interest."

"Isn't this a bit sudden?" asked Dorian, but he felt more charitable than he knew he sounded. Kuryakin's drawbacks consisted entirely of the fact that he was not Major Eberbach. His timing was superb and his reticence intriguing, and the black high-necked sweater and slacks hinted at a lithe body beneath.

"Not at all," said Kuryakin, glancing around. Rudolfo di Bellati's bedroom was luxurious by any standard. "Your information about the layout here was most accurate. How recently was it acquired?"

"I don't really want to discuss the circumstances." Piquant as this operation was, Dorian was sharing his knowledge of the house, not his affairs, with UNCLE. Except when he felt like it.

"You hardly have to," retorted Kuryakin. "Tell me instead how you get along with Major Eberbach. Do you work with him often?" Kuryakin's hand made another meaningful passage over Dorian's near hip and rested there briefly.

Dorian did not pull away, but he did not follow the hand when it was removed. "I'm the last person the Major wants near him," he said, remembering thwarted desire, feeling desire which might not have to be thwarted. "He hates me."

"Even when he asks you to pay his debts?"

"He dislikes working with me because I embarrass him," said Dorian. His mouth curled into a smile despite himself. "Whenever I can. That doesn't stop him from calling on me when he decides I can be useful. The Major doesn't let himself avoid his duty for personal reasons."

"I can see that you might be a very personal reason."

Dorian shrugged, but Illya Kuryakin's interest was a pleasure after the encounter, yet again, with Klaus's indifference today. "He's never considered being... personal, with me. I don't think he has that much imagination."

"He is very admirable," said Kuryakin, "but perhaps he is not as congenial a personality as you would like." He had moved around to face Dorian directly.

Dorian smiled at him. "Weren't we discussing something here and now?" It would be very disappointing if the attractive UNCLE agent had only been curious about NATO Intelligence's methods.

"Pardon me for straying from the subject," said the attractive UNCLE agent, a hand once more caressing Dorian's thigh through red silk, moving gently upward. "It occurs to me that Major Eberbach is missing something very enjoyable. I've noticed how excellent your... work is." His eyes held Dorian's.

Dorian looked back at the neat, pale hair and the slim, square shoulders. This Illya had all the right lines. "I like your taste. Do you think it's safe here while Mr. Solo has Rudi trapped on a tennis court? I happen to know that that bed is quite good." It had been left unmade. Rudi was a late riser.

"You're out of your mind." But there was a fey gleam in the pale eyes.

"I've fiddled the house locks. They won't let anyone in, including Rudi, until we leave. It seemed a simple enough precaution."

"Ah, you're not out of your mind." Illya's hands found Dorian's back, fingering sensitive lines of muscle and nerve under the thin cloth. Dorian laughed and backed toward the bed, taking the smaller man with him.

Six slow steps later, with Dorian starting to pull off the black sweater, Kuryakin spoke once more. "If you call me Klaus, I'll take your balls off."

It was like a dash of cold water -- or truth. "Am I likely to do that?" asked Dorian, feeling ridges of scar tissue on Illya's back.

"I don't know. Are you?" The voice carried that faint Slav accent again.

"Illya." Dorian stood upright for a moment, balancing himself against the other man. He could feel something else that wanted to stand upright pushing eagerly against silk from the inside. That sensation was why he wore silk pants. And why he wanted to take them off now. "I've never called the Major by his name." Well, he never had aloud. "I just hope you like fucking." He tugged at Illya and tumbled them both onto Rudi's already-rumpled bed, heedless of the clothing they still wore.

Illya bounced and arranged himself astride Dorian before he began working on the silk trousers and pants with Dorian's willing help. "Yes, I like fucking. I hope *you* like it." He loomed over Dorian like a conqueror, grinning.

"That," said Dorian, excitement speeding his breath, "is exactly what I meant." He watched with fascination as Illya's slacks were removed, revealing neatly muscled legs and an erection nearly as advanced as his own. Present needs were quite absorbing. "Rudi keeps his stuff in that first compartment in the headboard. I like the oil in the blue decanter."

Illya snorted. "You know your way around." He rolled Dorian over in the big bed and investigated the headboard. "Yes, it's here. *Rose* oil?"

Dorian lay almost comfortably on his belly, flickers of anticipation warming arse and elsewhere. "I like the smell," he said blandly.

"Disgusting fetish," said Illya, but he used the rose-scented oil lavishly, in smooth, tickling, arousing strokes between Dorian's buttocks, relaxing and stretching tight muscle with warm fingers.

"Ohh," moaned Dorian, pushing up onto the hand that played with him. He no longer cared that it wasn't Klaus; he no longer felt tense, or sad, or anything but quiveringly ready for the sensation of someone's bulk and body heat pushing into him. He moaned again as a rose-slick penis entered him and he shuddered around the fullness, willing it to deeper motion. It was like hard fire in his entrails, displacing all thought, displacing everything except immediate desire.

A fist, rose-scented and wetly tight, closed around his erection. Desire became doubly immediate as he was stroked up and down, but it was excruciatingly impossible to act. He could not thrust, pinned by the invading fullness; he could only clench around it and shudder and moan and feel the burning. Fire danced in his veins, shivered over his skin, surged and ebbed and heated him from within. He was being fucked, loving it, wanting every second of the wild heat that burst through him as arse and groin each sought to encompass all his senses at the same time.

The fullness surged deeper, and Dorian welcomed the pressured heat, crying aloud not in pain but in the ecstasy of unstoppable sensation. It didn't matter who it was -- Illya, Rudi... Klaus... The thought of the Major's implacable resistance added itself to sensation and pushed Dorian higher, into another cry and then to a hot, hard climax.

A moment later the fiery presence that was not, after all, part of himself, thrust deep and held him down, panting with effort but otherwise voiceless. Now it hurt, as Dorian had known it would. That was all right: pain was another sensation, sharp spice to the indulgence of being taken, body and soul, through the fire.

Illya's weight came down on Dorian as they both collapsed, but a moment later Illya said something too softly to be heard and the weight pushed itself sideways and off. He gave a hard little breath that might have been a faint laugh. "Do you always scream and fight?"

"I always scream," said Dorian. "I wasn't fighting you."

"Not me, no," agreed Illya, rather dryly. "Do you even know what you shouted?"

"I couldn't remember my own name," said Dorian from prone flaccidity. "Did I say anything, really?"

"You remembered the Major's name." Illya's voice was still completely neutral.

Dorian jerked himself over to face Illya. "I what?" But it could have been true. He counterattacked, quickly: "And who or what were *you* thinking of?"

Illya smiled, ferally. "Nothing I care to discuss." His eyes had softened not at all in the aftermath of lust. "I claim a forfeit, but don't be afraid. It'll be much more interesting if your balls stay attached, I think."

"Oh?" said Dorian with trepidation. "What do you want?"

Lynx-sharp eyes gleamed at him, and Dorian's heart lurched. "You. Again and again, until you're quite sure who it is that's fucking you."

"How long do you think that will take?"

"Quite a while, I may hope," said Illya, completely bland.

"Actually, that doesn't sound too unpleasant. You're good." Dorian showed his own teeth. "Better than..." he stretched the moment, "... Rudi."

"I think I'm insulted."

Dorian smiled at him. "Good. I can make it up to you later." Illya wasn't Klaus, but he had the same exciting fire, and he would share it with Dorian: today, tonight, this spring.

"Don't go to sleep," warned Kuryakin, reaching for his clothes and radio link. "We have to get out of here. This bit of evidence should wrap up di Bellati and lead us to his associates. Let's go see my uncle."

"Oh. I see. And then?"

Illya tossed a bundle of creased red silk at him. "Then, we'll see if you can remember my name."

"*Pronto.*"

# # #