Call Me Sweetheart
It had happened again.
The blasted budget cuts had caused this, forcing agents to spare every cent they could when they were on assignment. Everything from their choice of meals to travel plans to their hotel rooms was affected. Hotel rooms being his problem at this moment in the far too early morning.
Once again, he and Napoleon had been forced to share a double bed. And once again, he had awoken to his nose pressed firmly against the wall, while Napoleon enjoyed an unfair 90 percent of the bed space behind him. How was it, he wondered irritably, that Napoleon ever managed to share his bed with his flock of lady admirers? Every time they had shared a bed, by three am Napoleon had seemingly expanded in size until he possessed most of the bed and generally the entire allotment of blankets. At least this bed was against the wall. On more than one occasion, Illya had had a somewhat more abrupt wakening when he'd fallen on the floor.
Illya managed to wedge his hands against the wall and pushed as hard as he could. The warm bulk of Napoleon against his back grunted in complaint but finally rolled over enough that Illya could end his unseemly embrace with the wall. He flopped on his back and breathed in deeply the air of the free.
"What are you doing?" Napoleon had been awakened by his efforts and was leaning up on an elbow, peering at him through the darkness.
"Reclaiming what is rightfully mine," Illya said dryly. He yanked his pillow from where it was tucked under Napoleon's head, ignoring his partner's startled squawk as he crammed it back beneath his own. "Why is it that you cannot sleep like a normal person?" Illya groused. "I have slept in a bed smaller than this one with five other people and still had more room to breathe."
"If it bothers you so much, you could always do what the other people who sleep with me do," Napoleon yawned.
"Dare I ask?" Illya mused aloud. "Very well, what exactly is the magic trick I must do that will allow you to actually share this bed?"
"Cuddle me close and call me sweetheart." Illya didn't have to see Napoleon's cheeky grin to hear it in his voice. Blasted annoying bedhogging American, he cursed silently, and threw in an extra curse for the Accounting department that didn't seem to realize that agents could survive without gourmet meals but sleep should be as necessary as exploding buttons.
Napoleon had rolled back over, apparently deciding that he was not about to live without his quota of sleep, and Illya was forced to glare at his back. So he thought his nighttime antics were amusing, did he?
"Very well," Illya said evenly, and he slid in behind Napoleon, snuggling himself against his back. It was decadently warm beneath the blankets, his arm around Napoleon's waist holding him close. Napoleon seemed frozen, too shocked to even protest and Illya allowed himself a smug smile. Let Napoleon reap the rewards of his asinine behavior.
Only, Napoleon didn't seem shocked as he had first imagined. Rather, he gave a contented murmur and snuggled even closer, resting his hand over Illya's on his belly. "Mmmmm," he sighed, not seeming to notice Illya's sudden stillness. "You're warm.
This could not be happening, Illya thought faintly, their closeness buzzing through his bloodstream in a way he hadn't anticipated. Napoleon's backside was tantalizingly close to Illya's crotch, brushing, oh, so lightly every time his partner inhaled. One soft touch after another and he was getting hard, his own hips arching into every little movement, and this was really not what he'd had in mind, had never even considered this...
He could hear Napoleon's breathing, faster, heavier, and his fingers laced themselves into Illya's, pressing both their hands against his belly.
"Illya," Napoleon breathed, and this time he ground back against Illya, dragging a startled gasp from him and, Illya couldn't help a moan, the press of his ass seemed to scorch him even through the layers of their shorts. "Illya," Napoleon repeated, barely louder, and Illya could hear the heavy want underlying his words. "Do you want to fuck me?"
Illya had to close his eyes against that, biting his lip because yes, oh, yes, Hell, yes, he wanted that, wanted bare flesh and the soap-soft touch of skin against his own, but this was not wise, this would have consequences, terrible ones. Napoleon made a sound between a groan and a whimper, deep in his throat and he pushed Illya's hand lower, cupping it around his cock through the thin material of his shorts. The fabric around the tip was damp and Illya fondled it without thinking, his own cock throbbing in sympathy at Napoleon's soft cry.
"Yes," Illya gasped, "Yes, I want you." He thrust his hips against Napoleon's ass as though he could push inside him right now, through fabric and just sink into flesh. There was a moment of awkwardness, of pushing aside clothing and rearranging blankets, and then Napoleon was naked against him, keening softly as Illya slid a single finger inside him, feeling muscles contract eagerly around it, and they couldn't do this, they had nothing for lubricant, nothing to ease the way.
"Illya, please!" Napoleon begged, his voice breaking, and Illya cursed aloud, pulling out his finger and lining up, and so be it then, if Napoleon wanted it, then he would get it. Still, he couldn't help but try to be gentle as he started pushing inside, too dry and far too tight, and he had never, never felt anything so close to pure bliss in his life as he did in the tight clasp of Napoleon's body.
"Fuck...me..." Napoleon groaned, more an exclamation than a request, something like pain tightening his voice, and Illya hesitated, couldn't bear to hurt him like this. "Don't stop!" he hissed, squirming and pushing backwards, trying to force movement and Illya carefully obeyed. Edging his way in, prying past resistance and he found himself mouthing the soft skin just beneath Napoleon's chin, triumphing in the hard shudder racking his partner. "Jesus, Illya...don't stop."
He couldn't, even if he had wanted to, and this was far, far too easy, slowly fucking his partner with leisurely little thrusts, tasting the sweat-slippery skin beneath his mouth. Napoleon's cock was hot in his hand, his own hand forcing Illya's to move, using him to stroke just how he liked, and that was just perfect, a little touch of selfishness, of getting his own that Illya could appreciate.
The incredible blinding heat of it, simply brilliant, and Illya would have happily fucked him into forever, the harsh, desperate sounds that Napoleon was making deep in his throat, sounds that spoke of pleasure and need, and Illya couldn't help thrusting hard with each little moan, the dry friction finally easing around him. He pushed in as deeply as he could, deep enough he swore he could feel the flutter of Napoleon's pulse and the moans turned into a garbled shriek, the clench of Napoleon's body around him tottering on the edge between heaven and agony.
"Ahhhh, GOD!" Napoleon's voice was strangled, his hand brutal over Illya's and he felt warm pulses against his palm, the sudden slippery weight easing his grip, the unexpected feel of it, unbearably arousing, and Illya couldn't hold back, short, stilted thrusts driving him on.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh," he whimpered against Napoleon's shoulder, biting his lip as he came and he choked out a single, mangled groan at the molten pleasure of it, so much better than he ever might have dreamed.
For long moments, it was all he could do to breathe, his heart jittering in his chest like a windup toy. He came back to himself in the middle of what was left of the bed, the sheets soaked through with sweat and semen, and Napoleon was panting next to him, trembling and looking so touchingly vulnerable that Illya reached out to him, touched his cheek softly.
He blinked, meeting Illya's eyes with silent wariness. Illya chewed the inside of his lip for a long moment before offering a faint smile, trying to say without words that it was all right, please, let things be all right.
Napoleon's answering smile was everything he could have wished for, utterly brilliant and Illya knew, in that moment, that he fell just a little, falling predictably in love with his own partner. Hadn't he always known that no one could resist Napoleon for long?
Not even him.
For now, all he wanted was a little more sleep, despite the graying darkness that spoke of the coming dawn. Hesitantly, oddly so considering what they had just done, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against Napoleon's lips, pulling back hastily before Napoleon could respond. There was no need to tip his hand this early in the game; let Napoleon wait, for once.
"Now, could we please get some sleep?" he growled, biting back a smile at Napoleon's weary laugh.
"Sounds good to me." Napoleon twisted a little in Illya's arms until his head was tucked under Illya's chin. Twined together, sticky and too-hot, and Illya thought he might be able to sleep for a week.
"Good," he murmured. "Good night, sweetheart." The softest chuff of laughter drifted up to him and then he slipped into sleep, his last distant thought was a silent thank you to the Accounting department. Perhaps they did have their uses, after all.