"I thought you were going to hurry?" Illya said grumpily when his partner finally breezed through the door.

"I did. I ran two stoplights, barely missed an old lady, and I believe I may have crippled a dog on the way." He began stripping off his suit and advanced on the grouchy Russian sitting on his couch. "Besides, you don't seem to be in that much of a hurry yourself," Solo complained as he took in his partner's fully clothed state.

Illya looked at him as he trailed clothes from the door to the living room. "What are you talking about?"

"You. You're not naked, spread and waiting in the bedroom for me." Napoleon had picked up a throw pillow in case Illya decided to throw something, at the pillow or at his head.

Kuryakin frowned at his lover, a severe scowl an indication of his supreme displeasure. "You think I'm one of your simpering conquests that you can command with a simple bat of your eyes, Napoleon?" His blue eyes flashed at his partner, a hint of amusement giving him away.

Naked now, Napoleon advanced on the smaller man and practically engulfed his form with his larger body. "Never that, dushka, never that," he soothed as his lips worked their way across the paler face and throat. Small shocks seemed to pass between the men as they traded caresses and endearments, the long day rapidly fading into memories as they began the pleasurable pursuits of night.

Illya wrapped his strong arms around Napoleon, pulling him into even closer contact as he craved more of the talented hands and tongue. He moaned his appreciation into Solo's open mouth and teased his lover with just the tip of his tongue. Aggressively, he rolled Solo over onto the floor, landing on top with a grunt and hearing the air whoosh out of Napoleon's lungs.

Solo eyed him warily and asked, "What was that for?"

Illya was rubbing against him suggestively and said simply, "Not enough room up there for two grown men." He leered evilly at Solo. "And, my, how you've grown, Mr. Solo."

Napoleon chuckled, pleased that Illya was so impatient for him. "I'm glad you noticed, Mr. Kuryakin."

Illya growled, taking Solo's wrists in his hands and pinning them to either side of the dark head. Napoleon closed his eyes and sighed, quite content to let Illya take charge. His little Russian could be very...inventive when he wanted. He felt the wet tongue of his lover start on his earlobe, licking and nipping his way across his Adam's apple and over to the other side. He instinctively reached for him, but pressure on his wrists made him think twice.

"No, no, Napoleon. Mustn't touch. A little self-control can be good for the soul." He punctuated his remark with a swipe at Napoleon's left nipple, watching the beautiful face tense at the eroticism of the touch. Napoleon moaned but did not move.

"Very good, moya dushka." Illya repeated the caress to the other nipple, enjoying the way his lover's body responded to him alone. He released Napoleon's wrists, but waggled a finger in front of his face to admonish him from further freedoms. "Control, Napoleon. Control is the name of this game."

"I thought the name of this particular game was 'Torture Your Partner,'" Solo groaned, jerking his hips upward toward Illya's ass. Illya felt his hard cock pressing against him and smiled.

"Oh, no, pet. That comes later. Thursday, if I remember correctly." He waited until Napoleon stilled, and renewed his tour of the expanse of golden skin. He busied one hand in the sparse chest hair, stroking and petting to his heart's content. The other hand began a slow symphony of movements down the dark line of hair that dipped toward the prize. Solo was panting; sweat popping out on his skin like dew, so mesmerized was he by Illya's command over him. His nerves screamed at him to 'Move, dammit, now!' but he feared the result would be the loss of Illya's rapt attention. He remained still, marshalling every ounce of will he had to obey the rules of the game.

He very nearly conceded defeat when Illya's questing hand gathered his swollen cock and began to stroke him. He kept his eyes shut and concentrated on breathing in and out.

And still he did not move.

Illya chuckled low in his throat, knowing the effect he had on his very sensual partner.

He tickled Napoleon's balls, gathering them in his warm palm before very lightly blowing a stream of air across the velvet skin. A tensing of the tight thighs below him was his only indication of the restraint his lover was showing. The musk of his partner was exciting Illya beyond belief, but he would not let it show. The game was more important than his need tonight.

Illya glanced up to look at Napoleon. Eyes screwed shut, he was lost in the sensations his world had shrunk to. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and he was covered in sweat. Illya nodded his approval and rewarded him with another assault.

Solo's entire body arched off the floor when his shaft was surrounded by wetness. He moaned Illya's name and tried not to thrust. 'No movement,' his brain tried to tell him. He felt the hard, hot suction begin and looked down to see his cock glistening from Illya's saliva. Half of his erection was already engulfed and he felt Illya relax enough to take in more of him. He snapped his eyes shut again and tried not to come. The smooth column of Illya's throat enveloped him and he sobbed with the pleasure radiating from his core. Part of his brain heard a familiar sound but didn't have enough function available to process it.

Illya let him slide out slowly, and Solo groaned when the head of his cock was released with an audible pop. He was wet and unattended for just the barest of moments until he felt warm hands encompass him. He swore he heard Illya chuckle once before he felt himself swallowed again. His brain short-circuited this time as he registered the feel of the coldness...coldness?...surrounding him. He snapped his hips upward, feeling his balls constrict as he felt the ice cube in his lover's mouth melting around his fevered flesh. He lost the game and didn't care when he pumped into Illya. One last thrust and he was shooting into his mouth, babbling incoherently all the while. He vaguely felt the throat muscles working him, swallowing convulsively as he pulsed stream after stream into the cool cavern.

A short time later, his mind working again, he looked down to see the satisfied grin on his lover's face staring back at him. Too stunned to speak, he let his head fall back to the carpet and moaned instead.

Illya crawled across his spent body to lie next to him. He was still fully clothed, and still in control. "Now, what was that you said earlier about me being naked, spread and waiting?" he teased.

Taking a deep breath, Napoleon said weakly, "That comes later. Friday, if I'm not mistaken."