Pitch and Yaw

by nickovetch






"Is this what you meant by brushing up on my weapon's training, Napoleon?" Illya asked, thrusting forward into the warmth of his partner's body.

Solo moaned and drove his body back into Illya with a conspicuous lack of restraint. "Ahh, Illya, I think your aim is first rate," he exclaimed as the Russian pulled out enough to give him room to ram forward again. His hand was enveloping Napoleon's shaft, and he was pumping both body parts relentlessly.

"Yes, well, being a scientist does have its rewards; trajectory, thrust, and payload all being important parts of the equation I know well, da, Napoleon?"

'Ungh," was Solo's only reply as he was driven out of his mind by the blond pile driver behind him. He lost himself in the feel of the pressure in his ass, and the ache building in his groin. He arched backwards, desperate to feel Illya's warm skin against his back, and rejoiced when the strong arms tightened against his chest, pulling him flush along the lean and tensed body of his lover. The thrusting slowed, and then stopped as the change in the angle made completion difficult. Napoleon panted at the loss, and felt Illya urge him down on the bed, lying on his side next to Solo. He spooned up against his torso and Napoleon felt the hard cock searching for the home it had recently left. One sharp thrust and Illya was buried to the root. They both moaned at the heat generated between their bodies and resumed the rhythm they had begun earlier.

Illya grunted as he played with Solo's cock, feeling the wetness at the tip becoming more copious as he sped up his tempo. "Remind me to pay better attention at the next qualification exercise, Dushka," he teased. "I may pick up some pointers."

"Anything more than this would kill me," he said, but the way he pushed back to meet his lover's thrusts belied his words.

"Isn't that the objective of all ballistic weapons, Polya?" Illya lectured, starting to lose his composure as he loomed near to orgasm.

Rattled past cohesive thought, Napoleon merely grunted, "Huh?" and sobbed as Kuryakin's fist pulled harder on his sensitive head.

Illya chuckled, and said, "To kill, Napoleon, to kill. But we are only interested in la petite morte tonight, yes, my love?"

"Anything you say, partner." He felt Illya drive forward with abandon and stiffen as he nearly split Napoleon in two with the force of his passion. The feel of the cock inside him expanding and spurting warmly was all Solo needed to come. He jerked his hips forward into Illya's hand and spasmed into it, releasing jets of white ejaculate as he cried aloud in ecstasy. A hoarse grunt answered his release as Illya's orgasm subsided and the smaller man grew limp beside him. Both men were panting and sweat-soaked, their coupling almost as violent as their lives. But Napoleon felt gentle arms pulling him close and soft lips kissing the back of his neck and shoulders.

"I believe...we hit the target, Napoleon," Illya said wearily.

Napoleon smiled and pulled Illya's hand to his lips.

"Bulls-eye, partner. Bulls-eye."




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