Naturally Driven
by Charlie Kirby

Maeve Donovan was not the sort of women you would look twice at. She wasn't particularly attractive, she wasn't particularly sociable, she wasn't particularly anything and that's what made her so good at her job. No one would look at her and suspect that she was part of a highly trained, very select group of people who worked for UNCLE.

Part of Section Three, they were frequently overlooked or even pointedly ignored. She was a driver, responsible for taking people from Point A to Point B, efficiently, professionally and, most of all, safely.

Maeve had always loved to drive. Her father would allow her to sit on his lap and steer as he worked the pedals of their Oldsmobile. She got her driving permit the second she was allowed to and her license the moment the opportunity allowed. She started driving and never stopped.

Of course, she'd always planned to make a career out of driving, but had thought it would be driving a bus or a taxi, and then the opportunity to join UNCLE presented itself. She grabbed it and excelled, rising through the ranks until she held one of the top, prestigious spots as a driver for UNCLE's elite. She'd driven kings, queens, a sheik or two and she never worried about her abilities. That she saved for when she was told she was driving Mr. Waverly some place.

That always gave her a queasy stomach and today was no exception. She was giving the car a final wipe down when her Section Head walked up to her, looking like someone had shoved a poker up where the sun didn't shine... When Jennings walked like that, she knew it was trouble. Just because she was the best, it didn't mean there weren't hard feelings. Most men didn't appreciate the fact that she could out drive them. Most men figured driving to be something only they could do well and when she not only showed them up, but proved her own abilities time and time again, well, it rubbed.

"Donovan, you're up!" Jennings snapped and Maeve was immediately all attention. "You have a very important package to deliver today." And her stomach knotted. That meant Waverly. "You are going to be one of four drivers, three will be carrying a Waverly look alike, and you will have the live bundle. You'll be third up. Take him out and report back here."

"I understand."

"Solo and Kuryakin will be with you. The rest will be Section Threes." She resisted the impulse to groan out loud. It wasn't bad enough to have Waverly, but also UNCLE's two Golden Boys. Solo was a double whammy. She would practically orgasm when he smiled at her, but the Russian too? The man was a picture of sexuality, whether he knew it or not. The two of them in the same car with her and she'd be lucky if she could remember the brake from the clutch.

Still, she was professional enough to let none of that show when Waverly arrived half an hour later, his two body guards one on either side of him. Both men looked like normal working guys, a banker in Solo's case... Kuryakin, well, he was harder to place. She knew that even here in the relative security of the UNCLE parking garage, they were alert and vigilant.

Once Waverly was safely tucked away, she waited; letting two of the other armored sedans precede her.

"Your destination is the United Nations," Solo said from the back seat. Kuryakin was up front with her and it was all Maeve could do to keep her eyes on the traffic, watching and cataloging all that she saw. After the dark green car made a third turn as she did, one through a red light, she sighed.

"We've got a tail," she said, softly and Kuryakin nodded.

"So I've noticed. Speed up a little." Kuryakin half turned in his seat. "Napoleon, we have company."

"Nothing like a little excitement to start the week out right," Solo quipped, but Maeve watched him pull his weapon from his holster.

Twin on/off beeps filled the car, but Kuryakin was the quicker. "Kuryakin here."

"We just got word that Car One is gone. They're thinking missile."

Maeve felt her stomach clench. Sammy was driving Car One... Sammy, he had a brand new baby boy, a son that would now grow up without a father... Tears started to blur her vision and she blinked madly. Then she felt a hand on her arm and she glanced over at Kuryakin.

"Mourning comes later, now we have a job to do. Lose them."

Maeve nodded and set her game face. She used every trick, every maneuver that she'd learned in driving class and a few of her own, but that tail stuck to her like glue. She was about to ask for suggestions when the car rocked and it felt like the entirety of the air inside the vehicle imploded. There was a scream and for a moment she feared it was her own. Then she glanced in her rearview mirror and nearly vomited.

Bright red was splashed everywhere and Solo was thrashing in pain. Waverly was desperately looking from his CEA to Kuryakin. The Russian tore off his jacket and passed it back, watching grim faced as Waverly attempted to staunch the blood from Solo's wounded shoulder.

Kuryakin opened the car window and leaned out, trying to get a bead on their tail, but the car swerved, keeping out of his range.

She didn't know what he was saying, it was Russian she figured, but she could tell he was swearing a blue streak.

Maeve glanced once again into the review mirror and came to a decision. She reached out and grabbed Kuryakin by the belt and yanked him back, then cranked the wheel as hard as she could one handed. The sedan spun, slamming the agent against the door and as he turned to snap off a comment, her motivation became apparent. They were heading straight for the THRUSH car. Kuryakin leaned out the window again and started firing. The car was about thirty feet from them when it exploded.

Maeve started to shake and felt something jerk the steering wheel. It was Kuryakin.

"Hospital! Now!"

And she did what she was told. She got Solo and Kuryakin to the hospital post haste and Waverly delivered safely to the United Nations, then promptly went off duty, drove straight home and spent the next half hour alternately crying and vomiting.

She'd climbed into her old comfy robe and was wrapped in a quilt, but the shaking wouldn't stop. She felt silly, but nothing could relieve this feeling she had, the smell of burning flesh and blood that clung to her like a lost child, the sound of Solo taking the round meant for his boss, or the look of terror in Kuryakin's eyes as he watched his partner being wheeled away on a gurney.

The knock, when it came, was so soft at first she didn't even think she'd actually heard it. She got up off the couch, tossed the quilt aside and walked quietly to the door. After a moment, she peeked out and saw Kuryakin standing there. He'd obviously found time to return to his own apartment for he was wearing different clothes than he had this afternoon, clothes that weren't soaked with his partner's blood. His hair was still damp from a shower, as was hers. It had just seemed common sense to try and wash the incident from her body.

Immediately, she said. "Just a minute, please." She re-belted the robe, making sure it was securely fastened and then undid the locks. "Hi."

"Hi." He smiled gently at her. "How are you doing?"

"I'd be lying if I said fine. How is your partner?"

"He will live to fight another day." His voice, even though attempting to sound light, was still tight. "I wanted to make sure you were all right. I suspect that was your first gun battle."

"Yes, it was pretty... intense. I was terrified the whole time."

"If you hadn't spun the car as you did, the outcome could have been much worse."

"Thank you." She leaned her head against the door frame and sighed. "So why can't I stop shaking?"

"It takes time, but it will pass."

"I'm glad... oh, where are my manners? Would you like to come in?" Maeve stood aside and Illya entered, looking around the apartment.

"I...ah... I was having a drink, would you like something?" Maeve gestured to a bottle of wine. It had been a gift from her parents. For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse, but then he came further into the room and approached the couch while she dug another wine glass out of the cupboard. She rinsed and dried it.

She offered it to him and that's when she saw his hands trembling just a little as he poured. She reached out and touched his hand. "You too?"

"Me too." He smiled a little sheepishly. "It's worse when Napoleon is hurt." He set the glass down and settled back in the sofa.

"So what do you do? I mean, you must have some tricks to make this feeling stop."

"That feeling is left over adrenaline and it will pass through your system whether or not you do anything. As for the relief, there are different courses. Drinking helps." He lifted the glass to her and drank half of it down. "Sometimes... other times, something more... physical." He finished the glass and set it back down.

"You mean exercising?"

"Of a fashion." Illya stared straight ahead and Maeve thought for a long moment and then the light bulb came on.

"You meant sex, didn't you...?"

"Not always. I believe you Americans call it... rough housing?"

"Play fighting?" She poured him more wine.

"It can be equally beneficial."

"But not as much fun."

"No." Illya took another swallow of wine. "Thank you for your hospitality." He stood and started to walk to the door and Maeve made a split second decision. It was perhaps the perfect, and almost certainly her only opportunity to see how the man was wired.

She got up and walked rapidly, positioning herself in front of the door. Illya paused, studying her and smiling slightly.

"I have a feeling that you didn't come all the way over here, just to ask me how I was doing though... not when there's that little thing called a phone."

"I didn't have your number."

"Headquarters does, they would have given it to you." She moved closer, edging into his personal space. He didn't seem to mind.

"I wasn't sure if you'd still be up..." Illya tried again and this time paused as Maeve pressed against him.

"But you are... up, I mean." She could feel his arousal through the pants he wore. Maeve wanted to rub her hand against his crotch, but she wasn't sure of the reception. Or rather she wasn't until she found herself pressed back against the wall, her arms full of Russian delight, Illya's mouth on hers.

She slid her arms around him, almost gasping when she caught his holster. He was armed and for some reason that made their intimacy even more exciting, more perilous.

She didn't even realize that Illya had un-done her robe's belt until she felt his hands on her skin, rough, warm, and strong. They roamed her back as they kissed and Maeve felt a little bubble of something growing in the pit of her stomach. And it was just like Illya's hands, warm and strong and threatening to overwhelm her. And still they kissed.

Maeve could feel Illya's belt buckle grinding into her stomach and she worked her hands between their bodies, unbuttoning, unhooking, unzipping anything she could get her fingers on. She got his shirt and pants open, groaning at the feeling of his skin on hers. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling his chest expand and contact as he worked his mouth over hers.

Illya broke the kiss and stared into her eyes, his own nearly dilated black. "Bedroom?" he murmured.

She nodded and suddenly she was airborne. She'd never been picked up before and she found the feeling rather giddy. No man had ever shown her this sort of passionate aggression and she was quite enjoying the attention.

She slipped the robe off, spreading it beneath her and watched Illya strip off his shirt and holster. The Walther he set carefully on the night stand and then tugged off his pants.

Maeve's breath caught with her first view of the now very naked agent. She needed to say something, anything. "That's quite the impressive drive shaft you've got there."

"Excuse me?" Illya didn't honestly seem to understand and she giggled.

"Sorry, a euphemism. I was commenting on how well endowed you are." She was glad that twilight had brought shadows to her bedroom so he couldn't see her blush.

Illya stretched out beside her, trailing his fingers over her stomach. "It has always served my needs adequately."

"And your bed partners?" She almost chastised herself for her bluntness.

"Thus far there have been no complaints." He was at her lips again, tongue probing gently, encouraging hers to explore as well. She could taste the wine they'd shared earlier and something else, but it was too new to be defined. Instead, she didn't waste time, but eagerly rose to meet him.

For a long moment, they simply lay there, kissing, then one of Illya's hands reached for her breast and she sighed as he began to massage it, pinching the nipple gently between his forefingers. A second later his mouth followed, hot and so very wet. She arched off the bed as he increased the suction slightly and flicked his tongue over the hardening nipple.

What made Maeve do it, she wasn't sure, but she reached down and found one of Illya's, tweaking it not as gently and smiled at the gasp. Illya moved back to her mouth, his kiss more demanding now. For just an instant, Maeve panicked. She'd heard horror stories from some of the girls at work about bedding Section Two agents. Granted none had mentioned names, but these were agents; they were aggressive, highly charged and used to violence.

At her movement, Illya pulled back. "Are you all right with this?" He continued to run his hand over her body. "I won't hurt you, Maeve, I swear."

And she smiled and nodded. "I know." And she pulled his head down to her throat, tipping her head to one side encouragingly.

Illya's fingers found the soft skin of her inner thigh and she could feel goose bumps rise in the wake of his stroking. She could stand it no more and reached down, guiding his hand to her clit, achingly hard and slick. She held it in place and then dipped her own finger beneath, stroking herself the way she preferred.

She felt Illya shift and realized his face, his mouth was just inches from her clit. She could feel his breath tickle her pubic hair. He was watching her intently, then she felt the flick of his tongue, slipping through her lips to rest on the finger she was masturbating herself with. He sucked her finger into his mouth and slid one of his fingers just inside her, just up to the first knuckle, massaging the super sensitive flesh there.

She pulled her finger from his mouth and reached to slide into her body, past his, finding her G spot. His was right behind hers and once it rested beside hers, she pulled hers back.

Again Illya caught her finger and sucked it clean, then returned to her clit, tonguing it, carefully abusing it. All the while, his fingers, for now there were two inside her, probed and stroked her encouragingly.

Maeve wanted it to last forever and yet she wanted to climax so badly she could taste it. Illya seemed to sense this and varied his pattern, slow and languid, then faster and then slow again until Maeve was ready to come out of her skin, quite literally. She gripped the terry cloth of her robe, holding on with all her strength as Illya drove her closer and closer to the edge.

She cried, panted and groaned her way through her climax, feeling her muscles convulse around Illya's fingers. They slid out of her and she suddenly felt cold, abandoned. Opening her eyes, she watched Illya, on his back, his fingers on his penis, applying pressure.

Sated, she watched, curious at the frown of concentration on his face, a scowl that she could only describe as pained. He took a deep breath and rolled his head back towards her, smiling.

"I'm not ready yet," he explained and gave a half moan as she reached down to touch him.

"You look pretty ready to me." Maeve shifted her position to rest her head on Illya's thigh, studying his penis, his testicles, fingertips gently exploring. There were half a dozen small dots that decorated his genitals and finally she could resist no longer. "What are these, Illya?"

"Cigarette burns," he murmured. "THRUSH uses all the tricks to try and make us talk."

"Oh my God... someone burned you with..." Maeve trailed off. Another lesson in sleeping with an agent, she realized. Don't ask about things you really don't want to hear the answer to.

She felt Illya's fingers tangle in her hair and looked up at him, fearful, but his eyes were calm.

"It was a long time ago."

Maeve felt a bubble well up in her throat and she pushed herself from her spot to kiss him, with as much passion and fervor as she could muster, determined to make him know what his quiet acceptance of his past meant to her.

She felt Illya respond to both her kiss and to the hand she wrapped around his penis, squeezing it. She started to move her hand up and down, then just as she had done for Illya, now he showed her. He covered her hand with his, adjusting her grip, the position of her fingers, and the speed.

Maeve had never really studied a man's face during this most intimate of moments, not the way she now watched Illya's, listening to his quickening breaths, the way he frowned, eyes closed, head forward, mouth open in a silent scream as he climaxed. She'd never actually seen a man ejaculate before and was fascinated.

She brought one of her semen-covered fingers to her mouth and touched her tongue to it -bitter and sort of salty. "Is this how I taste to you?"

"No," Illya murmured, still enjoying the afterglow of his climax. "Everyone tastes a little different or so my experience has shown."

"You're still hard." She returned her hand to his penis to stroke it, but Illya stayed her hand.

"The flesh is willing, but the spirit requires a moment," he explained, rolling to his side and staring into her face. He stroked her hair gently, letting the strands fall through his fingers. "You have lovely hair."

"So do you." She giggled. "Sorry, I'm not very good at making small talk." He leaned down over her, kissing her deeply and she sighed into his mouth.

"I think you handle it just fine and there are more ways to talk at a moment like this than with just speech alone." He settled on top of her and she smiled.

"Do tell?"

"Perhaps a demonstration would be more fitting at the moment." It took him a moment to procure a condom from his pants, but she didn't care. She'd have waited all night for the moment when he slid into her. She caught her breath as he filled her.

"Wow..." she breathed. "Yes, quite adequate with the serving, thank you."

"As I said," he began to move slowly, just rocking his hips in a languid roll. "No complaints thus far."

Then she had no more time to bother with words, she wanted his mouth on hers, his hands on her body, and together they moved, clutching and panting, each making tiny encouraging sounds to the other.

Her breath was coming in short panting gasps, her body actually trembling as she hit her climax. She cried out, digging her fingers into Illya's sweat slicked skin. He didn't stop thrusting into her, even as her vagina muscles clenched and spasmed around his penis.

Then his eyes opened wide, his voice caught and he gave one last thrust, his body shaking as he ejaculated.

Spent, they remained entwined as their hearts gradually calmed and their breathing evened out. Maeve smiled sleepily. She was sticky from sweat and their combined lovemaking efforts. She was exhausted from the tip of her head to the bottoms of her feet. And finally, she was free of the tremors, the sense of dread that the earlier attack had created.

"Better?" Illya asked, tracing her jaw line with his forefinger.

"Much, thank you." She stretched and sighed. "I can see how this could become habit forming."

"It's a sad cycle I'm afraid." Suddenly there was a familiar on/off blat and Illya grunted as he sat up. It took him nearly a full minute to find his communicator.

"Kuryakin."

"Hey, partner." Napoleon voice was tired but recognizable even to her. "The doctors say I can go home if I have someone to spring me."

Illya grinned and glanced over at Maeve, hunching his shoulders. "Give me few minutes and I'll be there."

"Didn't interrupt anything, did I?"

"I was merely offering some comfort to a fellow agent." Illya winked at her and she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep and conceal her giggling. She failed miserably, but Illya merely smiled.

"Hmmm, I don't know many agents who giggle like that. Give her a little comfort for me while you're at it and take your time. I'm not going anywhere. Solo out."

Illya flopped back on the bed, seemingly unwilling to leave it. "He really does have lousy timing."

"Hmm, I don't know, at least he waited until after the main course was served." She sat up and offered him her hand. "Time for a shower?"

Illya's smile was sly and devilish as he took her hand. "Why not? For me, a meal's not complete until after dessert..."