Come Snow

by Charlie Kirby

It was one of those boring, dull, nothing-ever-happens days in a nothing-ever-happens week in a nothing- ever- happens month... well you get the idea. At first, the thought of working some place like UNCLE was great, but after awhile, the gloss wears off and there you have it, a secretary is a secretary is a secretary. There are, of course, bursts of excitement, like once when one of my coworkers dropped her pencil and Napoleon bent over to pick it up and tore out the seam in his pants. There was a little bit of sugar for you in a 34 regular... Leave it to his partner to notice and whisk him away before we had our fill.

However, those moments are few and far between. Mostly it's just the usual, type this report, take that letter, file this, organize that, and on and on. I don't mind too much. The pay's good and the scenery is very nice. And then something happens that makes you wonder what you did so very right in a former life that you are being so richly rewarded now. Tell you what I mean.

And we're back to the nothing ever happens day, except today, well, something does happen. We get word of a major storm coming down the pike. A nor'easter, they are calling it, one like we haven't seen in a century. Some of the girls, they start getting nervous the first time they see agents coming in with snow on their hats. Me, I don't worry about it. I take the subway back and forth and my apartment is about five minutes from the exit. No matter what, I can get home.

Delores, she starts asking the other girls where they live and what provisions they've made. Most of us are City girls, but some live in boroughs farther away. They get to leave first, then some of the others until there are only a handful of us left.

That's fine with me. I'm in no hurry to have my paycheck docked.

"Nichol, would you take those files down to storage?' Delores isn't assigning anything new now, just clearing up old crap that's been collecting dust for awhile. These files, all carefully sanitized and stripped of everything of interest were headed for dead storage. Why we keep them, I have no idea, but they don't ask me.

I get a hand truck and stack the boxes up on it. Now, if I'd been wearing flats, this would have been a walk in the park, but I wasn't. I'm perched on three inch heels. Not the wisest choice in the winter, but I have galoshes for the walk home. I was also not about to put them on in order to shuffle a bunch of boxes around.

I get into the elevator, but hit the wrong button. I do that sometimes and when the doors open I start out and smack into somebody. And not just anybody, but somebody... the russian, oh yea... note, all lower case letters.

He's okay and everything, don't get me wrong. He's polite, and always has his reports in on time; he never rushes anything, and is always careful to remember our names. In short, a total yawn. Okay, give him points for the blue eyes and blond, definitely not regulation, hair, but still yawnsville to someone like me.

I've watched my fellow secretaries do just about everything to attract his attention, stopping just short of parading around in bikinis in front of him, and nothing. Rumor has it that he walks down a different garden path than the rest of the agents and he might, but frankly, I think eunuch might be a closer answer.

Anyhow, we have a collision worthy of a ticker tape parade and I just lose it. It's late, I'm tired, my feet hurt and I just want to go home, docked paycheck or not.

And he's so apologetic. I love it when guys fall apart because we start to cry. It's a truly devastating weapon and I try to never use it for evil, but I can't help it... I just start sobbing.

The next thing I know he's helping me gather up the files and put them back in their boxes. I don't care if they are even going in the right boxes. No one is ever going to look at them again. Then the fact that he's not wearing a jacket sort of draws my attention and I can't help but admire how the shoulder hostler pinches and pulls at his shirt, drawing it tight across his chest. He does have a nice body and the black of the holster against the white of his shirt makes this funny little staccato ting happen in my chest.

He offers me his handkerchief and I wipe my eyes; the mascara is long gone now and I try to calm down.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" I start to shake my head and that's when I notice he's sort of favoring a shoulder and I want to go into a corner and slap myself silly. No, he didn't hurt me, but I hurt him. Christ, that was going to be ugly. Waverly didn't like his agents hurt by the bad guys; I didn't want to think about what he was going to do if he has one of his finest sidelined by a 5'2" bit of fluff, as Napoleon called me. He means it as a compliment, but I'm not so sure I want to take it that way sometimes.

"No, I'm fine. I just need to take these down to storage."

"Let me help you."

"I couldn't ask... could I?"

"No trouble. I am rather between assignments myself." He wrestles the dolly back in the elevator and hits the sub sub basement button. To be honest, I'm glad of a little company. It's creepy down there at the best of times. It's not like it's haunted or anything, I just don't care for it much.

We got down to the storage room and we get some boxes shifted, when the lights flicker for a minute.

"We should..." Mr. Kuryakin starts, but he never gets to finish. There's a flare of the lights and we are plunged into darkness. A minute later, the emergency lights switch on, painting the room an eerie red.

He goes over to the door and it just sits there. I really hate our doors, have I mentioned that before? Well, I do and I hate them even more right now. If they aren't working, then we are stuck.

"Communicator?" I ask hopefully, but he shakes his head.

"Jacket," he mutters sadly and starts to run a finger along the seam. It's too smooth for him to get his fingers in it, but I have no doubt that if he'd managed it, he'd have pried it apart. He had huge hands and my mind starts to race when I remember all those things we used to talk about, you know, after health science. You know, about how a guy's hands were indicative of...well, you know. I'm not an innocent, but even I can't keep a blush from spilling across my cheeks.

That's the great thing about red light though; he couldn't tell. After a few minutes, he gives up on the door and plops down in a chair, rubbing his shoulder.

"Did I hurt you?"

"What? Oh, no, it's a long story."

I pulled up a chair beside him. "I have a feeling we are going to be here for awhile. If we're running on emergency lights down here, that means the rest of the building is too and emergency procedures state..."

"Yes, I know the emergency procedures." he cuts me off and then offers me a little smile. "I didn't mean to be rude, excuse me. You are... Nichol, yes?"

"I am Nichol, yes." I offer him my hand and try not to yelp as I watch it disappear into his baseball mitt sized hand. Still his grasp is gentle, just enough to reassure, but not enough to hurt me.

We sit there for a moment in awkward silence and then I blurt out, "So what do you think of America?"

He looks at me and smiles slightly, like you would at a backwards child. "It is...confusing, but interesting. I am still learning the customs of course."

That's when I shiver. The room is set to 65 degree and that's just a little cold when dressed in just my blouse and skirt. I wish I'd grabbed my sweater before coming down here. Mr. Kuryakin notices, then looks away suddenly, endearingly embarrassed. That's when I realize that my girls are coming to attention and I hastily cross my arms in front of them to hide the obvious from view.

Still staring at the floor, he says, "In Russia, it is very cold for a very long time."

"So I've heard." I can't help but wonder where he's going with this.

"We have a very tried and proven method for keeping warm. May I show you?"

My funny little staccato is back in my chest and I nod. He offers me his hand and leads me from the chair to the corner, where there's a vent putting out little gasps of warmish air. At first, I begin to wonder if everyone is right and that maybe he's isn't all there... down there, but then he sits and pulls me down to the floor with him. In another second, he's wrapped his arms around me and I'm sitting on his lap, my head resting on his chest.

He is so warm, he's like a thermal blanket, a hot water bottle, and wool socks all thrown together. I also can't help but notice how nicely I fit into his arms and how good he smells. There's a little aftershave left, although I can see just the sparkle of whiskers in the light. And there's something else, he just smells... different. Not like American guys with their love of splashing on aftershave and cologne. There are some days you need an aqua lung just to get through the canteen some days.


"Mmm, much... warmer."

We've been sitting there for a few minutes and that when I notice that my body is sort of getting... well, thoughts. Not necessarily thoughts you'd want to share with your mama or your minister, but late night, private thoughts. And from my position, I can tell that he's more than interested and I can't help but giggle.

"What's wrong?" I can feel his breath on my neck and I sort of shiver, but it's a different sort than before and he knows it.

"I just sort of remember this joke..."

"Tell me."

"It' you know... sort of... dirty," I kinda stammer out and he grins. He has a really nice smile.

"I can assure you that nothing you say will shock me."

"Okay." I mean if he's drawing a line in the sand, I'll step over it. "There's this butcher and one night he comes down stairs and sees his daughter and she' you know... being intimate..."


"Yes, that... with a sausage. The butcher goes back upstairs really quietly and the next morning he's in the shop and this guy comes in to buy a sausage. The butcher says he doesn't have any, but the customer point to the one hanging up right behind him. "What do you call that?" he says and the butcher replies, "That's not a sausage, that's my son-in-law."

After a minute, Illya says, "I don't understand."

"Oh." I forgot that English isn't his first language. "Well, when the butcher saw, that is to say..."

"The joke I understand. It's the frame of reference I'm having difficulty with."

And then I really start to laugh. "That because you're not sitting on what I'm sitting on." And I sort of wiggle my bum a little.


"Most definitely ah." I decide it's time to take the bull by the... horns and I loosen the knot in his tie. "So, tell me, Mr. Kuryakin..."

"Illya." I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"Illya, are there any other ways you like to keep warm back home?"

"Regretfully, not safely."

At first I can't quite figure out what he's on about and then I realize he means he doesn't have any protection with him. He must be the only guy in New York that doesn't carry a condom in his wallet, but it didn't matter. UNCLE was test driving these new pills for the government, birth control pills they were calling them, all strictly hush, hush, of course, but if they worked as well outside the organization as they have inside, womankind is about to take a step into a whole new world.

"It's okay, I'm safe."

"I've heard that before..." He looks at me with conflicted eyes. I know what he wants; it's the same thing I want and, by God, I have had a rotten day, I deserve a little happiness.... Hot penis...I giggled again.

"UNCLE 762," I say and he nods. It figures he'd know of it and he sighs, a little relieved and then his breath catches as I pull his tie off and open the top buttons of his shirt. I can feel the heat of his skin through the cotton fabric and I'm about to scream when he kisses me.

It's pretty chaste at first, but I let him know I'm game for more and he's all for that. I feel his tongue slip in between my lips, teasingly, not like he's going after my tonsils. I really hate guys who think that's the only way to French. Instead, he lets me tell him what I want and I can tell you that's a refreshing change of pace. All the while I can feel his hands moving on me, unbuttoning, unsnapping, and unhooking as they go.

His fingers are rough with calluses as he runs them lightly over my breasts and that, in itself, is as exciting as what his tongue is doing as it leaves my mouth and moves down my neck. I sort of moan a little, I can't help it.

"We still have far too many clothes between us, I think," he murmurs in to my ear and I nod, reluctant to slide off his lap, but I know there's something even nicer waiting for me if I do. I climb off and unzip my skirt. I pull it and my slip off and reach for my garter belt, but he catches my hand and gives me this funny little smile.

"Leave it on." Ah, he's one of those kinds of boys and I nod. My blouse, panties, and bra follow the same path that my skirt had followed and I'm standing, nearly naked as a jaybird, in front of him. It wasn't the first time I'd been naked in front of someone, but it is the first time I don't feel self conscious about it.

He's completely naked as well and I grin like a maniac. So, all those stories after health class were true, I am really amazed, but also a little scared. It's not like I haven't had any experience. I know where everything goes and what to expect... I just wasn't expecting quite so much of it and he picks up on this.

He guides me back down to the floor and we stretch out on our clothes. It's funny cause a few minutes ago I was fully dressed and cold and now I'm naked and burning up from the inside out. All I can think of is how much I want this, but at the same time how terrified I am of what is about to happen.

He starts to kiss me again, soft little kisses on my mouth, my jaw and down my neck. His whiskers sort of grate against my skin, but not in a bad way. It's like they are invigorating all my nerve ends, just what I need, to be even more anxious.

His mouth continues on, lingering over my breasts, pausing at each nipple to tongue them to stiff peaks and I can feel his hand moving lower until his fingers are brushing against my pubic bone and dipping in between my lips. And all the time his mouth is moving lower and lower and I can hear myself moaning as he gets closer and closer. I've never actually had anyone perform oral sex on me before, but the second his tongue hits my clitoris, I see what the attraction is and I nearly wrap myself around his head.

One of his hands presses me back down and his other hand is still exploring and I feel one of his fingers slip inside me.

"Oh," is the only thing I can come up with as a second finger eases itself in. That's when I realize what he's doing, carefully stretching me so that when it comes to the main event, he won't split me stem to stern. He's so gentle, so cautious that it feels like the most natural and wonderful thing in the world.

Instead of thinking about the fact that I'm flat on my back in a storage room in the middle of a black out about to have sex with a man who is just this side of a stranger, I'm happily and gloriously pursuing said sex, building up to a climax that I'm sure is going to be just this side of spectacular.

And my breath catches in my throat as I just explode. I can feel my vaginal muscles clutching his fingers and he holds very still, allowing me the pleasure of riding out the sensations without over driving my nerve endings.

"Holy Toledo," I manage, once my breath comes back. "That was... that was..."

"A first for you, I think," he says with just the hint of a smile as he comes back up to settle against me.

Curious, I kiss him, looking for something, looking for me. His mouth tastes musty, almost earthy and I wonder if that's how he tastes as well. I reach out and run my finger over the tip of his penis and it's wet with something slick and hot, a little like saliva but softer.

I wonder what he's thinking, but I can't tell. His eyes never leave my face, but I don't have the faintest idea of what's going on in his head. To be honest, I don't think anyone does, but when I lift my finger to my mouth, I see something slip for just a second, something so honest, so unguarded, that I wonder if he even knows he did it.

And for the record, he doesn't taste anything like me. I'm game for another taste, but he rolls me onto my back and positions himself and I about come unglued as I feel him nudge into me, just a bit, again, easy and slow until I'm about to scream from frustration. I start to push back and a pain blasts across my belly that takes my breath away. I almost sob from it, but he neither retreats nor advances, but holds rock still.

"Lie still, let me," he whispered and this time I listen and just work on relaxing. He's just so frigging... and then I realize our pubic bones are resting together. And the feeling is so... filling isn't quite the word, but it's how I feel. Filled, complete, the way I'm supposed to be; it's wonderful and nothing like I've ever experienced before.

He starts to move, just a little at first until I gradually get used to the size of him and he picks up the rhythm. My breath is coming in little gasps and I'm sort of moaning, sort of crying, I want to stay like this forever and then he hits something and the world detonates in a mass of lights and sensations and I hear him groan and thrust as I spasm around him . I can feel him throbbing as he tips his head back, his face a mixture of pain and pleasure. It feels like it goes on forever or maybe it's just because I don't want it to stop. But it does and he eases out, still sort of hard, but nothing like what he was. It hurts a little and almost immediately, I can feel something warm oozing from me At first I'm a little scared, thinking I'm bleeding and then I realize it's him, his semen and I can't help it. I have to know.

The smell is far from appealing; it reminds me of this stupid tree that blooms in front of my mother's house. Dad calls it the Come Tree and I always thought it was some joke, but now I realized what he was referring to was not come as in the opposite of go, but... hmm, imagine my dad knowing about sex.

I bring a finger to my mouth and taste. Hmm, tastes nothing like the way it smells, by the way, and then I notice he's watching me again, with this really hungry look. This is driving him insane and so I let my tongue just sort of lick my finger, delicately, like I've got some designer lollipop or something.

This was something I hadn't expected. I thought that after a guy had sex, he just was sort of over. At least that's how all my previous experiences ended. Of course, two of them ended pretty prematurely, from my viewpoint. And I know that nice girls don't, but when am I going to get another chance like this?

Before he can move, I'm over him and I just barely touch the tippy tip of his penis with my tongue and the man is flat on the floor, groaning. Hmm, it's nice having this kind of power, so I give it another go. The skin is so soft, like a baby's belly, and the smell is so alien. There's no way I could even think about what I was doing, I just was doing it, licking, sucking, and using my hand to deal with what my mouth couldn't.

And Illya is helpless, panting and thrashing his head, obviously fighting his desires. He reaches for me, but I keep out of his grasp. I want this to be just for him.

"Stop," he chokes out between breaths. "I can't."

"I can," I whisper and I do and I feel him climax. I sort of choke and swallow reflexively. Not the best tasting thing I've had in my mouth, but not the worst either. I keep sucking, gently now, until he quiets down a little and I stretch out on top of him. He makes a very comfortable, if bony mattress. Now I let him kiss me and I know what he's looking for, same as me earlier on, and I let him.

He has a very contented look on his face and he brushes the hair out of my eyes. "Thank you, I wasn't expecting that."

"I could tell. To be honest, neither was I." I scoot down a little and lay my head on his chest, listening as his heart gradually calms. I blow little breaths over the hair on his chest, drying it, and play with the small medallion he wears.

"I suppose I should unlock the door now."

"What?" I prop myself up on an elbow.

"Routine emergency procedure, lock down for thirty minutes; afterwards, manual override can be applied." He's quoting, I can tell, and I don't know if I should yell or laugh.

"You knew."

"Yes, and if you'd not displayed an interest, I wouldn't have pursued. My mother did teach me to take advantage of opportunities, however." He's playing with my hair, stroking it away from my face. "You have been a delightful opportunity."

"So that's it?" I make it sound as indignant as I can. I just gave this guy a blow job and he's calling me an opportunity?

"If you wish." His voice is butter soft. "We can both dress and pretend that this never occurred. I can meet you in the corridors, look you in the eye and act as if I can't even remember your name."

I can't help it; the word is dangling in the air. "Or?"

"We can continue this in more comfortable surroundings. The floor here isn't really conducive to proper love making."

"I thought you guys were all about loving and leaving." I roll off him and sit up to study him.

"Some of us are, others have a more... protracted nature."

And we didn't get out of bed for two days, well, we did because of needing to eat and do other stuff, but we climbed right back in as soon as we could. I learned more about myself in those two days than I had in an entire lifetime. I learned I liked to be on top and in control, that some positions are more fun than others and that not all guys are wired the same. I felt very well rewarded for something I'd done in a previous life, I just didn't know what.

I still see Illya now and again and it's always great. I think he's relieved that I didn't try to lay any claims to him, but over that weekend, I came to realize that agents are a bit like fire. Let them burn and they burn bright; try to control them and they're snuffed out. If I held onto Illya too tightly, he'd run and I'd never be an opportunity again. Stand back and let him approach me and the opportunities were... damned near endless. And I'm all about exploiting opportunities wherever and whenever they come. Come, I made a funny....

Please post a comment on this story.
Read posted comments.