Honey Trap - 'Short Affair' - April 6th

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Prompts – Vice/Red
Word Count (approx.) – 797

Esme McCarthy was a woman with many vices; the main one being her adoration of pretty young men. It didn’t matter that they were all twenty or thirty years her junior, because the money she received from THRUSH for the use of her nightclub, was more than enough to buy a little company. She was still an attractive and sensual woman. Looking out from the window of her office, which overlooked the dance floor, Esme had already picked out her entertainment for the evening.

In the middle of the group of energetic young dancers, one particular blond stood out. With his tight leather trousers, and red shirt, the blue eyed beauty had the attention of more than just Esme. She was mesmerised by the swaying and gyrating of his slim, lithe body as he moved in synch to the rhythms. She watched, with growing excitement, as the man effortlessly switched his style to match the tempo of each song; dancing with whichever girl happened to cross his path. Not that he needed anyone to dance with. The man was content to dance alone and let the music take him where it wanted. Oh yes, that was the man for her.

Illya Kuryakin was giving every impression of being entirely lost in the music. In reality, he was fully aware of what was going on around him, and he knew he’d caught the eye of his target. U.N.C.L.E. had received information that the club was front for a THRUSH regional office. The minute Waverly had mentioned the club owner’s predilections, Illya knew, with a sinking heart, what his side of the assignment would entail. Ordinarily, it would be Napoleon’s job to distract any women they needed to, so it made for a disconcerting change for the Russian. He wasn’t at all comfortable at being the honey trap.

Solo himself was also in the club, waiting for Illya to spring his trap so that he could go and search Miss McCarthy’s office. He watched in shocked admiration as is partner worked the dance floor with the skill of a professional. Anyone who knew the quiet and serious agent couldn’t fail to be amazed by his transformation. Napoleon knew he shouldn’t be surprised. The Russian was a consummate actor, and besides, the man had a musical soul. It made sense that he would be able to dance.

Without making it too obvious, Illya ‘accidently’ made eye contact Esme. He held her gaze before smiling shyly and turning away. As much as he hated it, Kuryakin was all too aware of what his crooked little half-smile did to women, and he was a man who would use every weapon in his arsenal. Sure enough, his bait worked, and within a matter of minutes, Miss McCarthy was by his side. She led him from the dance floor, to one of the tables around the edge, and sat uncomfortably close to him. Taking his cue, Napoleon headed off to do his job.

“So, my sweet, what do they call you?”

Illya tried not to flinch away as Esme ran a hand up his leather clad thigh.

“My name is Illya, ma’am,” he blurted, with genuine nervousness in his voice.

“Now, now, sweetness,” she purred. “There’s no need to be so formal. Call me Esme.”

“Esme,” Illya echoed. “May I get you a drink?”

Miss McCarthy leaned closer, and brought her lips close to his ear.

“This is my club, Illya,” she whispered. “Drinks are free for you tonight, and I’m guessing with a name like yours, you would prefer vodka.”

Beckoning over one of the many hostesses, Esme requested a bottle of vodka and two glasses.

In the office, Napoleon found and photographed the files he needed, and was making sure not to get to close to the window. Before leaving, he allowed himself a quick glance at his partner. He could see Illya’s discomfort, as Miss McCarthy traced a line down his torso with a red fingernail, and smiled a little.

“Better rescue him, I suppose,” he murmured to himself.

Making his way out of the back entrance, Napoleon quickly ran around to the front and re-entered. He made a big show of appearing to look for someone, and then dashed over to Illya.

“There you are, Illya!” he panted. “You have to come with me. Your Uncle Alex needs you.”

Illya looked to Esme and offered her an apologetic hug. “Will you take a rain check?”

The older woman took Illya’s face in her hands and gave him a peck on the lips.

“Of course, my sweet,” she replied sadly. “I shall keep my eye out for you.”

Illya was forgotten almost as soon as he had gone. Esme McCarthy already had her sights set on another pretty young thing.



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Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Thank you :-)

he is beautiful in that picture. As soon as I saw it, I knew it would fit the prompts.