The Pool Boy Affair
**Disclaimer** MGM owns Illya and Napoleon, I just play with them. You should be over 18 and not offended by two boys in love to read this.
"Even the pool repairman was nicer to me than you are," whined Ginger's voice over the small speaker.
Napoleon glared at Illya.
"How much nicer?" His hazel eyes crackled.
"A lot Nicer!" crackled Ginger.
"She's exaggerating," he straddled the other chair in the back of the Neptune Pool Services surveillance van, pouting.
"Uh huh," Napoleon made a notation on his log.
Illya frowned. The air was getting thick in the van. Napoleon fiddled with the controls, making Illya wince. He was not a technician and his fiddling was not helping. Napoleon continued to glare at him while playing with the knob and making notes of Carriago's conversation.
"She was lonely..." Illya explained.
Another scathing look.
"What did you do that was so nice?"
"Napoleon, you heard the whole thing. I didn't do anything."
Illya picked at the too tight, white tee shirt. It distracted Napoleon for a moment. The tight, white shirt and tight, white pants molded extremely well to Illya's taught body, showing off his smoothly muscled shoulders, trim waist and surprisingly sturdy thighs. Very little was left to the imagination.
"So, Miss La Veer was simply charmed by your conversation?" Napoleon's eyes took in the sight before them and they were pleased.
"Napoleon, she was staring at my ass," he huffed, "and you should know that no one is charmed by my conversation."
Napoleon craned his neck to look around Illya and focus on his plump bottom. He could completely understand the girl's delight in it.
"Yes, well, conversation is most definitely not your strong point."
Illya snorted. He moved from the chair and perched on the ledge of the table where the radio equipment was stacked. He stared at his knees and pulled at the t-shirt again. It left a small pucker mark in the center of his chest. He could feel Napoleon's eyes focusing on his fingers. The air got even closer. He ran his hand languidly down his torso until it lay twitching on his thigh, fingers close to the swiftly growing bulge in his tight, white pants. Blazing blue eyes raked up Napoleon's body.
"What would be my strong point, Napoleon?" Illya teased.
Napoleon's clipboard clattered to the ground as he seized his partner and dragged him into his lap. One hand clutched Illya's highly discussed bottom, while the other slithered up his back and gripped his neck in a most possessive manner. His mouth began to attack the area not covered by his hand. Illya's hands clutched at Napoleon's shoulders. He groaned as deft lips found a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. He rolled his hips in Napoleon's lap as his ass was fondled. Their cocks rubbed together making both of them moan.
"Dear God Illya, who dressed you in this?" Napoleon panted, "Remind me to reward them handsomely."
He tossed Illya back onto the table ledge, scrabbling at the blond's zipper. Napoleon grinned and yanked the tight, white shirt out of the tight, white trousers and pulled it up out of his way. He sucked and chewed his way down Illya's hard chest. His tongue flicked teasingly at straining nipples. Illya panted heavily against him.
"Mon Dieu, Napoleon. N'arrtes pas. Plus dur. Plus dur. Ohhhhhh. Je suis dans le besoin de toi. Maintenant!" he pleaded.
Napoleon pulled back and grinned an evil grin. He chewed Illya's soft belly, tongue flicking around his navel.
"English gone already?" he teased.
"Cochon!" he gasped," Tu sais que l'anglais n'est pas ma premiere lange. Tu sais que je ne peux pas penser comme a!"
Napoleon pulled Illya's legs up over his shoulders, getting a yelp of surprise from his suddenly airborne partner. He now had the space to yank those trim trousers from the blond's round behind. He dropped back into his chair and shoved the trousers to Illya's ankles. He ducked between his partner's splayed knees, his hands sliding possessively around muscular thighs. Napoleon's mouth descended onto Illya's stiff cock with no preliminaries.
"Obsd sexuel!" the blond squealed.
Illya's hands had a death grip on the table edge. Napoleon had him precisely balanced. If he let go of the table, he would end up with his head on the floor and his pants around the back of Napoleon's neck. His triceps quivered with the effort of keeping him in place, but Napoleon's hot mouth was burning everything from his mind but the pleasure. Illya moaned and his legs shook with the effort of not crushing his attacker.
"Qu'es-ce que tu fais? Alors!" the blond was growling now.
Napoleon began to hum, intermittently, and at the back of his throat. He picked up the pace when he felt Illya start to shake. One eye travelled up the length of his blond captive. Illya's head was thrown back, his neck a long line, glistening with sweat. He was biting his lip to keep from making any more noise. Napoleon could see darkening marks appearing all over his beautifully muscled torso. He was amused by that sight. Illya would kill him later, if he was lucky. Now to make his darling partner really squirm. His teeth nipped, his tongue flicked and he held tight until the sweet music of labored gasps and mewling greeted his ears.
"Si tu arrtes, je tuerais toi. Comprendres?"
Napoleon sucked slow and hard, with long pauses in between. Illya forgot about trying to keep quiet and moaned pitifully. He slid as his elbows started to give out. His whole body began to shake.
"Finis maintenant, ou alors!!!" Illya heaved.
Napoleon took one last pull, getting a tormented growl to issue from the blond's chest.
"Your wish," he quipped, smiling at his shuddering partner.
Napoleon bent back to his work. His tongue flicked rapidly around the head of his partner's cock in a move guaranteed by long practice to get him off hard. Illya shouted in relief as Napoleon pulled him over the edge. His elbows buckled and his head smacked into the radio. He began to slide off the edge of the table. Napoleon sucked him dry.
"Come here my little pool boy, you're slipping."
Napoleon flipped the blond's wobbly legs over his head and pulled his boneless victim more comfortably into his lap. He nibbled on Illya's ear as one hand stroked a fuzzy, shaking thigh.
"Vraiment mon ami... a... c'est le meilleur... le meilleur rapport depuis..."
"Since when?" Napoleon whispered in the flushed, recently nibbled ear.
"Depuis ce matin," he giggled.
"And I am supposed to be the pig here?"
"Oui," he purred.
Napoleon smiled indulgently and patted Illya's thigh. He moved to speak when his communicator booped.
"Damn," he groaned, fighting with the pen one handed, "Solo here."
"Mr. Solo, please return to headquarters immediately. I want you and Mr. Kuryakin to investigate the movie studio. Mr. Kuryakin, you do know how to handle a 35mm camera with external flash do you not?"
"Oui Sir, Je sais." he burbled.
Napoleon suppressed a snicker as it took Waverly a moment to react.
"Mr. Solo, why is Mr. Kuryakin speaking French?"
"Umm. Was he Sir?" Napoleon swatted at Illya's straying hands.
Waverly harrumphed, "I expect you back here in fifteen minutes."
Napoleon flipped the communicator off and stole a kiss from Illya before tipping him out of his lap and onto his feet.
"Ahh, it seems I must wait." Napoleon tried to sound distressed.
"Pas pour longetemps... Not for long," Illya cleared his throat, "Peut-tre ^ ton office pour quelques-uns minutes... before we go to the studio..."
He waggled his ass in Napoleon's face as he bent over to pull up his trousers. He yelped as his partner smacked him soundly on his round cheeks.
"Beware, my friend. I may take you up on that." Napoleon laughed as he slid into the passenger seat.
"Oh, by the way Napoleon... I picked this out myself..." he said, yanking at the trousers, "What's my handsome reward?"
Illya ducked Napoleon's swipe and slid into the driver's seat with a big grin on his face.