Sex in High Places
“How do you do, Mr. Deputy Prime Minister? My name is Napoleon Solo. On behalf of U.N.C.L.E., I would like to welcome you to New York City.”
The diplomat’s attention was drawn from surveying the amenities of the suite to the man at his side. “A pleasure, Mr. Solo,” he said, shaking Solo’s hand. The man was tall and slim with a ramrod posture. His pencil thin mustache was neatly trimmed, his nails impeccably manicured, and Solo suspected his clothes were Savile Row. His demeanor was pleasant but, according to his dossier, he was accustomed to getting what he wanted, whether it was over the negotiating table or under it.
“May I introduce my associates?” Solo said, gesturing to the other agents. “This is Illya Kuryakin and Mark Slate. One of us will be at your service round the clock.”
The Deputy nodded to the other two U.N.C.L.E. agents but did not extend his hand. “Gentlemen, this is my staff.” He signaled to the two striking women a few feet behind him and they came forward. “My personal secretary, Mlle. Ivona Prazak, and my translator, Mlle. Madeleine Fournier.”
The three agents had taken note of the attractive assistants as soon as the women entered the room. They were both statuesque brunettes, impeccably groomed and cosmopolitan. They smiled and nodded but did not speak. The type of women, thought Solo, who realized that mystery was part of their allure.
The Deputy continued and Solo’s attention snapped back to him. “If I am in negotiations,” he said, “you may speak with me through the mademoiselles, and, conversely, you should consider their instructions my instructions.” The women simultaneously stepped back from the group again as if on cue, and each took a chair at an elegant French Provincial table in the center of the sitting room.
The unofficial delegation had just been installed in The Plaza’s most luxurious accommodations. The hotel had spared no expense in decorating the suite, from the pink marble fireplace to the fine art in elaborate gilded frames to the silk damask upholstery. Three bellmen moved about, delivering luggage to the appropriate rooms and placing flowers and fruit baskets around the suite.
The Deputy glanced about at the activity. “I was gratified to see that our beloved Moruvian flag was not displayed above the marquee of the hotel.”
“We know that you and the ambassador want these negotiations to remain low profile,” Solo said.
“Low profile is an understatement, Mr. Solo,” the Deputy said. “As far as my fellow countrymen are concerned, I am here to attend the trade convention at Madison Square Garden. That is why our talks will take place here at the hotel, without any meddling from the United States or the UN.”
“Alexander Waverly is aware of your needs,” Solo said, “and the threat to your safety if certain factions in Moruvia learn of your meetings.” He glanced sideways to see Kuryakin tipping the bellmen and securing the door behind them. “Each of the three of us will take an eight-hour shift here in this room, and ten more agents will be in the vicinity of this suite at all times, dressed as elevator operators, room service waiters, other guests.”
“Thank you, Mr. Solo,” the diplomat said. “You’ve given me great peace of mind. Please extend my thanks to your Mr. Waverly. And now if you will excuse me, I intend to freshen up before I meet the ambassador for a late supper.”
“Of course.” Solo bowed slightly as the ambassador retreated to one bedroom and his assistants to the opposite one, then turned to huddle with Kuryakin and Slate.
“When they said ‘small’ delegation,” Slate said in a hushed tone, “they weren’t kidding.”
“Quite wise,” Kuryakin said. “No one will suspect high level negotiations to take place with such a small staff. And a female staff at that.”
“Women can be very astute at manipulating a conversation, partner,” Solo said. “Never underestimate them.”
“When it comes to knowing birds, Napoleon, we must bow to your expertise,” Slate said, receiving a glance from Kuryakin.
Solo ignored the comment. “Ah, Mark, why don’t you go down the hall and catch a few winks before your shift. I’ll stay here with Illya until the ambassador leaves after supper.”
“Right, guv,” Slate said as he stepped to the door. “See you in the wee hours, Illya.”
Kuryakin saw him out, looked up and down the hallway, then secured the door again. The sitting room was suddenly quiet as he and Solo were alone.
“Are you going to taste the food, or am I?” Illya said.
“Guess,” Napoleon said with a twinkle in his eye.
Illya carried the joke further. “Is an ambulance standing by downstairs?”
Napoleon glanced left and right at the closed bedroom doors, then put his arm around his friend's shoulders. “Only the best for you.”
Solo slid between the fine sheets and sighed. Not as comfortable as his own bed, but it was a cut above most hotels in the world. He closed his eyes. In another two hours Illya would be back.
As highest-ranking agent, Solo was entitled to a room to himself. But since only he, Kuryakin and Slate were sleeping at the hotel and Waverly had budgeted just two rooms, the CEA had decided that he and Illya would share. He was used to his partner by his side. Handy should an emergency arise, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.
He was startled awake some time later. “Napoleon!” It was a harsh whisper, uttered by the only agent in all of U.N.C.L.E. who had the right to speak to Solo in that tone.
Solo twisted onto his back in a flash and propped himself up on his elbows. He came nose to nose with Illya leaning over him in the semi-darkness. “What?”
“Our guests!” Illya hissed, keeping his voice down but his irritation obvious.
Napoleon realized that security was not the problem. “What's the matter?”
Illya turned on the lamp, and Napoleon could see his disgust as he plopped down on the edge of the other bed. “Outrageous,” he said, simmering.
Napoleon sat up and moved back on the bed so he was sitting comfortably. “Illya, it’s too late for twenty questions,” he said, squinting from the light.
“I was in the sitting room after everyone had gone to bed, reading the newspaper—”
“Did Mark relieve you?” Napoleon interrupted, looking at the clock.
“Yes, he’s there. I wouldn’t leave them unguarded, no matter how much they deserve it.”
Napoleon was puzzled. “Go ahead.”
“Everything was quiet. I was reading the newspaper, when I heard a scream from the women’s bedroom.” He had Napoleon’s full attention. “I rushed in, but there was no intruder, only the two of them standing on the bed, squealing ‘une souris, une souris!’“
Napoleon frowned. “A mouse? At The Plaza?”
“Did you shoot it?”
Illya glared at him. “I told them their eyes must have been playing tricks on them, but they insisted that I look around, so I did.”
Illya huffed. “And then the shenanigans started.”
“Ahhh, the shenanigans,” Napoleon said, nodding, then spread his hands in bewilderment.
“They asked me to help them down from the bed.”
Napoleon snorted a chuckle. “Damsels in distress, huh?”
“Hardly,” Illya said. “The two of them grabbed me, flipped me onto my back, and were on top of me in an instant!”
Napoleon’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “What were they wearing?”
Illya stopped to think. “These little nightie things with big flowers in strategic places,” he said, motioning to his chest, then looked at Napoleon again. “What does it matter what they were wearing, except that it was not much!”
“That’s the pertinent detail,” Napoleon said, satisfied. “Then what happened?”
“They were pawing at me and trying to remove my clothes,” Illya said, seething.
Napoleon looked him up and down. “Where’s your tie?”
“It’s over there,” Illya said calmly, gesturing. “I just took it off.” He became indignant again. “My neck wasn’t what they were after.”
Napoleon thought for a minute. “Maybe I should trade shifts with Mark.”
“Napoleon!” It was that sandpaper whisper again.
Solo looked at his partner. “So did they accomplish their objective?”
The formerly talkative Illya clammed up.
Napoleon decided to torture his reserved partner. "Did they manage to...womanhandle you?"
“What was I supposed to do??” Illya said, his voice an octave higher. “I couldn’t knock them out, and they were both bigger than me.”
Napoleon chuckled. “Well, come on, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“The Deputy walked in.”
“Oh, boy,” Napoleon said, slumping and losing his humor. “Waverly’s going to have our heads on platters.” He looked at Illya again. “I suppose he threatened to have you strung up by your thumbs.”
Illya took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “No.”
Napoleon nodded. “He must be familiar with his girls’ antics.”
Illya looked levelly at Napoleon. “He’s not only familiar with them, he orders them.”
“His assistants facilitate more for him than diplomatic negotiations.”
Napoleon stared at him with stubborn incomprehension.
Illya spelled it out. “Napoleon, the ladies weren’t the ones who wanted me.”
Napoleon stared, mouth agape, until his brain finally accepted the idea. “What did he, uh...?”
“He touched me,” Illya said, a flush coming to his face, “while the girls held me down.”
Napoleon frowned. “Touched you?”
“He fondled me. Isn’t that clear enough?” Illya said defiantly.
“You mean through your pants.”
“No!” Illya said, losing his patience.
Napoleon struggled with an odd combination of emotions. He was beginning to share Illya’s outrage. On the other hand, nobody was physically hurt, so it might be wise to turn a blind eye and forget about it for the sake of the negotiations. But, a man had put his hands on his partner, on his—
Napoleon drew his knees up.
“There was nothing I could do,” Illya said, “without injuring them or raising an alarm that would bring the entire security force down on us.”
“Uh, how far did it go?”
“I managed to squirm out of it after Blozinski realized I was not going to go down willingly.”
Napoleon looked at him with alarm. “Go down?”
Illya frowned and that whisper was back again. “A figure of speech,” he spat at Napoleon.
“Oh. Did you warn Mark?”
“I gave him a brief account of what had happened— enough so he won’t be caught off guard,” Illya said.
“Do you want me say something to Blozinski?” Napoleon said. “It would be my place.”
“No.” Illya shrugged it off, as Napoleon knew he would. “I’m sure the deputy’s ardor has been dampened.” He stood and went to the desk where two airline bottles of vodka were on ice. “I’m going to have a drink and go to bed. Do you want one?” he said, glancing back.
Napoleon was lost in thought, his eyes following his partner. “Uh, no.” He lay down again, pulled the covers up to his chest and watched Illya’s back as the Russian took off his jacket and downed his beloved vodka.
Illya removed his trousers, then unbuttoned his white shirt and tossed it over the back of a chair. He turned off the lamp and was suddenly outlined by the city lights coming through the sheer curtains. Napoleon watched him pull his t-shirt over his head, his hair fluffing up with static, then pull his shorts down, stepping out of them with one foot and lifting them up with the other, his balls silhouetted between his legs. He turned to collect his pajamas from where he’d laid them on his bed, the profile of his penis distinct against the window light. Napoleon pictured the Deputy grinning down at his partner, touching him there, and his gut twisted.
“Good morning, Mr. Solo,” the deputy said as he entered the sitting room, beaming with spit and polish.
“Morning,” Napoleon clipped.
“Ahhh, what a delicious array,” the deputy observed as he chose a pastry from the conspicuous spread of delicacies on the sideboard. Napoleon couldn't help but think of another array the deputy had feasted his eyes upon, but vowed to remain civil to the man.
“I trust you slept well, Mr. Deputy,” he said, standing attentively with his hands behind his back.
“Excellent,” the man said. “I felt quite safe with your men at hand.”
Napoleon couldn’t tell if the phrasing had been intentionally provocative. “I understand that one of them was more at hand than the other,” Solo said, and waited for a reaction.
“I beg your pardon?” the Deputy said innocently. He strolled toward Napoleon and stood face to face with him. “Is there a problem?”
Napoleon looked him in the eye. “I sincerely hope there isn’t.”
The Deputy didn’t flinch, but smiled coolly, looking Napoleon up and down. “Surely, Mr. Solo, you are a man of the world.”
“I’m afraid I don’t grasp the relevance,” Napoleon said, holding his gaze steady.
The deputy snorted. “I understood your agents were at my service.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that preposterous comment, Mr. Deputy,” Napoleon said, his tone deepening, his eyes almost threatening. “My men are not here to amuse you.”
The deputy backed down, returning to his breakfast table. “But you must have noticed that your Mr. Kuryakin has...exceptional appeal.”
“I’ve said all I intend to say about the matter. And I don’t expect to discuss it again.”
“Ah. Yes,” the deputy said. He did not appear to be the least bit embarrassed. “Back to business then. You will be with me all day?”
“Officially from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m., but I will come and go all evening as well.”
“You will accompany me to the trade show this morning?”
“Yes, and six other agents will be following us.”
“And you’ll be here for the negotiations this afternoon?”
“Very good,” the deputy said. “We will accomplish much today.”
The deputy’s statement was prophetic. The afternoon talks showed great progress. Napoleon watched from across the room as the ambassador talked animatedly, giving and receiving concessions from Blozinski. Illya arrived discreetly at 4 p.m. and took a seat on the couch close to Napoleon so they could talk quietly.
“How was your day?” Illya asked as he kept his eyes on the two delegations seated around the table.
“Uneventful,” Napoleon said.
Illya glanced at him. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”
“Not a word.”
Solo wasn’t asleep and reached to turn on the lamp. “What now?” he said, his ire already rising.
Illya sat on the edge of the other bed, two feet from Napoleon’s. He’d already taken off his jacket and holster and was slipping off his shoes. “Tonight he was more direct.”
Napoleon moved to the edge of his own bed and sat knees to knees with Illya. “How could he be more direct than last night?”
“Well, I should say he formally propositioned me.”
“To do what???”
“He thought I—” Illya hesitated. “He realized I preferred women, so he offered the two young ladies to me.”
Napoleon looked at him.
Illya continued, “He said they would do anything I wanted them to do.”
Napoleon kept staring, and Illya got up from the bed to get a drink, falling into silence.
Napoleon followed him. “Such as?”
“He gave me a range of choices,” Illya said, blushing slightly. “All kinds of perverse things.”
At any other time Napoleon would have asked him for specifics, but he was wondering about something else now. “And you weren't tempted?”
“I was on duty, in case you’re forgetting.”
Napoleon nodded. “And, uh, what was the deputy going to be doing while all this was going on?”
“Watching, I believe.”
Napoleon snorted with disgust. “Okay.” He started for the closet and his clothes.
“What are you going to do?” Illya said, grabbing his arm as he passed.
“The dishonorable deputy and I are going to have a little talk.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Illya said, his grip firm. “They’ll be leaving in thirty-six hours. It’s not worth causing an incident.”
Napoleon frowned at him. “You don’t seem to think it’s so trivial every night when you come back here.”
“I’m just getting it off my chest,” Illya said. “And you’re the agent in charge; you’re supposed to be informed of every detail.”
Napoleon’s arm relaxed in Illya’s hold. “Then I’ll talk to him in the morning.”
“No, you won’t,” Illya argued. “He might complain to Mr. Waverly, and our chief has more important things to do.”
“All right, all right,” Napoleon said, giving in for the moment.
Illya let go of Napoleon’s arm and sat on the bed, relieved, swallowing the last of his vodka. “This silliness will all be over the day after tomorrow.”
Napoleon sat down next to Illya and slid his hand to his partner’s far shoulder, massaging an old injury that bothered the Russian occasionally. “What we do for U.N.C.L.E., huh?” he said.
“Indeed,” Illya said, enjoying the fingers kneading his shoulder. He smiled at Napoleon. “I am fortunate that you are my partner as well as my superior.”
“Why is that?” Napoleon said warmly, expecting an intimate expression of their friendship.
“I can complain much more openly,” Illya said, observing a deflated expression creep onto Napoleon’s face.
Napoleon removed his arm from around Illya’s shoulder. “I love you, too.”
Illya grinned at him. He got up and gathered his pajamas from his suitcase and went into the bathroom.
Napoleon got back into bed and listened to Illya showering. He’d taken pains to end their conversation with a casual air, but inside he was seething. A man like Illya should not have to take such disrespect. His partner wasn’t a toy to be played with by powerful people.
Napoleon knew that prudence would win, that he would do his job and guard the deputy and his staff with his life. But he didn’t have to like it, or them. He heard the shower stop and the jangle of the curtain rings as they slid along the rod. He imagined Illya stepping out of the tub, drying his chest, his back, his legs, stepping into his pajamas, sliding them up over his groin, fastening them just under his navel.
He wanted to take a swing at somebody.
The two women gave Napoleon their best come hither looks as they walked by him. His eyes followed them across the room, watching them pause at the breakfast buffet on the sideboard. One of them looked over her shoulder at him and seductively bit into a ripe strawberry. Normally he would have been quite pleased at the attention, on duty or off, but he had other matters on his mind this morning. The women sensed his mood, gathered some fruit and croissants and retreated to their bedroom.
The deputy found Solo alone when he entered. He hesitated at the agent’s stern expression, then his usual personality asserted itself. “Good morning, Mr. Solo.”
Blozinski went to the window. “A beautiful day,” he said and turned toward the sideboard. He sneaked a look at Solo as he poured a cup of tea from a silver pot. “You’re a man of few words this morning.”
“You don’t want to hear what I'm thinking,” Solo said, cold and steady.
The deputy sat on the couch. “You may speak freely.”
Napoleon took a breath. “I would expect a man in your position to possess a sense of propriety.”
“Life is too short, Mr. Solo,” Blozinski said, amused. “In public, propriety is required of me. In private, I go after what I want.”
“And you want my partner.”
Blozinski showed some surprise. “Mr. Kuryakin is your partner? I was not aware of that.” He waved his hand. “Not that it would have made any difference.”
“He was right about you,” Napoleon said coolly. “You are outrageous.”
“He said that?” The deputy grinned with delight, then sobered when he saw Napoleon’s glare. “Mr. Kuryakin is a grown man. Surely he can take care of himself without your help.”
“You’re preventing him from carrying out his assignment, and I am in charge of that assignment.”
“I did not wish to relieve him of his gun,” the deputy said innocently. “In fact, I thought him more appealing with it on.”
Napoleon sighed. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “Mr. Deputy, I must insist—”
“Why don’t you simply replace him if you’re so concerned?”
“Because I know my partner, and it would be a matter of pride with him that he fulfill his duty.”
The deputy thought for a moment. “You know your partner well, hmm?”
“We’ve been together for a number of years,” Napoleon said.
The deputy stood and faced him, his expression curious. “Together?”
“As partners,” Napoleon said, blinking.
Blozinski came closer, eyes narrowing, studying Solo. “So what you’re really saying is...” The deputy paused, a smile forming on his face. “He’s yours, isn’t he?”
Napoleon’s brow furrowed only slightly. “What?”
“He belongs to you,” the deputy said. “That’s what this is all about.”
“Your insinuations are out of bounds,” Napoleon said calmly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Blozinski believed he’d hit a nerve. “He’s your lover.”
Napoleon’s pulse quickened but his demeanor remained unflappable. “Don’t be absurd.”
“If he’s not, Mr. Solo,” the deputy said with a wave of his hand, “then perhaps you are the one who is not going after what he wants.”
The man sat down on the couch again, reaching for the appointment book on the coffee table. Napoleon waited, forcing a casual stance, an unconcerned expression while his heart beat fast. Blozinski looked up at him and smiled. “Shall we go over our schedule for the day?”
Napoleon’s eyes met his, and a silent truce was agreed upon. “Of course.”
Illya unlocked the door to their room and found the light on and Napoleon sitting up in bed. Their eyes met and he hesitated, holding his jacket over his shoulder by one finger, then closed the door quietly behind him. He walked to the closet, swinging his jacket free on the way, and hung it up.
“Well...” Illya seemed reluctant to say more.
Napoleon frowned. “Again?”
Illya loosened his tie and nodded. “Again.”
Napoleon didn’t hide his disgust. “I gave you permission to deck him. Did you do it?”
Illya smiled down at him condescendingly. “Napoleon, I told you earlier, even U.N.C.L.E.’s CEA cannot give one permission to ‘deck’ a diplomat.”
Napoleon leaned forward, wondering why Illya wasn’t as angry as he’d been the last two nights. “So what happened?”
Illya sat down next to his partner on the edge of Napoleon’s bed while he unbuttoned his shirt. “This time he took a romantic approach.”
Napoleon watched the long fingers work down the front of the shirt. “Romantic?”
“There were candles, flowers, champagne on ice.”
“I didn’t see all that when I left.”
“No,” Illya said, “it was all in his bedroom.”
Napoleon leaned back on the headboard, watching Illya pull his shirttail out of his pants. He was feeling the same instinct for self-preservation he felt when bullets were whizzing by him. Only this time, his closest comrade seemed to be doing the shooting. “You went into his bedroom?” he said softly.
“He said he merely wanted to talk to me,” Illya said with a shrug, “and he seemed apologetic.”
Napoleon’s heart sank. “You're very forgiving all of a sudden.”
“Haven’t you ever heard that expression, ‘it’s lonely at the top’?”
“He said that? And you fell for it?”
Illya toed off his shoes, crossed his leg and removed one of his socks. “Don’t talk to me like I was born yesterday,” he said, and Napoleon winced at the criticism. “I just gave him the benefit of the doubt.”
“And once you walked into his little web...?”
Illya looked off into space as he took off his other sock. “He offered me some champagne. I said I couldn’t drink on duty. He asked if I minded if he did. I said—”
“Will you cut to the chase?” Napoleon said, not bothering to hide his impatience.
Illya eased sideways up the bed, crowding Napoleon. “After we’d talked for a while, I ended up sitting on the bed, in the same position you are now...”
“On the bed?”
"...and he was sitting in this position, like I am.”
“This close?” Napoleon said in a timid voice.
“This close,” Illya said. “Then he looked at me.” Illya’s gaze traveled down Napoleon’s body under the sheet, lingering on his groin.
Napoleon cleared his throat. “Uh...”
Illya planted his hands on the top of the headboard on each side of Napoleon's head, drawing very close and staring into his eyes. "Then he leaned toward me. Like this.”
“And he kissed me,” Illya whispered, staring at Napoleon’s mouth, angling his head. “Like this.”
The kiss was long and soft, tender and promising. Illya finally withdrew, raising his gaze into Napoleon’s eyes, so close that neither could focus.
Napoleon hadn’t breathed in the last minute. “You...” He forgot what he was going to say for a second. “You let him kiss you?”
Illya smiled at him affectionately. “Of course not.” He backed off just enough to see Napoleon clearly. “We merely had a little talk.”
Napoleon stared into Illya’s eyes, trying to grasp what he was saying. “Huh?”
“We talked,” Illya said, his blue eyes moving left and right, searching Napoleon’s. “The deputy is quite sure that you’re in love with me.”
Napoleon struggled to regain his composure with Illya still so close to him. “And, uh, how would he know that?”
“Is he mistaken?” Illya asked, his breath caressing Napoleon’s face.
Napoleon swallowed, his hands lying limp at his sides. He had to make a decision. He was good at making decisions. That’s why he was Chief Enforcement Agent. That’s why—
“Perhaps you love me as a friend or a brother,” Illya said. “Or is it something more?”
“I suppose. More, I mean.”
Illya leaned in to kiss his partner again, but this time he kissed him deeply, sensuously, and caressed the nape of Napoleon’s neck while he did, then asked, “Do you like that?”
Napoleon nodded, speechless.
Illya frowned with concern. “Are you really Napoleon Solo? He is usually more articulate.”
“Sorry,” Napoleon said. “My bedroom skills seem to have escaped me for the moment.”
“I don’t want those practiced moves,” Illya said firmly. “I want a Napoleon that’s mine alone.”
Napoleon relaxed then and smiled, the permission to explore new territory by trial and error magnificently liberating. This was Illya, after all. His Illya. There were few things they hadn’t shared, and now there would be nothing. He took Illya’s shoulders decisively and pulled him in for another kiss, a kiss in which both mouths, both bodies, fully participated.
When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse with desire. “I want you, too.”
Illya smiled, drugged from the kiss, and dragged his undershirt over his head.
Napoleon’s desire restored his confidence. He pulled at Illya’s clothes as they were loosened, discarding them on the floor, anxious to see his partner's body. He disposed of his own pajamas just as quickly, and they found themselves on their knees in the bed, sitting back on their heels, taking in the sight of each other.
Napoleon stared at Illya with some self-consciousness. “Very nice.”
Illya looked down at Napoleon. “Indeed.” He made the first move and bent to Napoleon’s erection. He held it in one hand and kissed it, bathing it with his tongue, then rested his head on Napoleon’s leg, nuzzling his groin.
Napoleon looked down at Illya’s nose and lips probing intimate territory. It was startling seeing his partner do this to him, and even more startling to realize how excited he was by it. He petted the mop of blond hair in his lap, then ran both hands down Illya’s spine to his hips, bending to cover his body with his own. His lips rested on the dimples in the small of Illya’s back; his hands reached up and around to lightly rake the skin of Illya’s ass with his fingernails.
Illya shivered at the erotic touch, his back rising and falling with fevered breaths. Napoleon embraced him for a moment, then knelt up again and pulled Illya up with him. He bent to return the gesture, kissing and tasting and sucking, feeling Illya bent over him now, Illya’s chest warming his back. Napoleon was delighted at how quickly he was adapting to sex with a man, at how secure and protected he felt while covered with Illya’s body.
Illya sat up and released him, and Napoleon pulled him close, all doubt gone. He felt Illya’s arms around him, the muscles of his back move under his hands as Illya climbed further onto him. They wrapped their legs around each other, their cocks pressed close. Napoleon withdrew enough for them to kiss again and again, until Illya’s hand wedged between them and encircled both cocks with his long fingers. Napoleon tightened his grip around Illya’s shoulders while their tongues and bodies rocked in time with Illya’s stroking hand.
Napoleon gasped away from the ongoing kiss as he came, his seed spilling over the tip of Illya’s cock once, twice as his partner milked him. Illya looked down and orgasmed at the sight, his head collapsing on Napoleon’s shoulder. His hand slowed as he gradually descended from the peak, until it stilled, wrapped loosely around them.
“Why didn’t you tell me you felt this way?” Illya gasped against Napoleon’s neck.
Napoleon breathed hard. “I didn’t know. I swear.” His hands moved up and down Illya’s smooth back, his body exhausted but unwilling to part from him.
“This is...quite a development,” Illya said.
Illya looked up at Napoleon. “That’s not something I expected you to say.”
Napoleon met his eyes. “You have to admit, being in love with each other presents some problems.”
“You’re right,” Illya said, worry clouding his face. “And we’re terribly unaccustomed to problems.”
Napoleon grinned and squeezed Illya tight, tilting them so they fell sideways to the bed where they rolled and laughed.
“How many years have we been sharing a room, sharing a bed?” Napoleon said. “And I didn’t realize...”
“Who would have thought you were my type?” Illya said, giving him a smile. It was a smile Napoleon had seen countless times before, except this time he knew the feelings behind it.
Napoleon bathed in its warmth. “Yes, I’m sure I love you,” he said. "Son of a gun."
Illya grinned and climbed onto Napoleon. “I suppose I’m better off with you than with the deputy,” he said while he toyed with Napoleon’s hair.
“Don’t tell me he’s your type.”
“No. He’s much too...tall. Unlike you.”
Napoleon scowled at him, but couldn’t repress another grin for long. “We’ve got a few hours before we can bid good riddance to his tallness, so let’s use them wisely, hmm?”
“We could use one of them in the bath.”
Napoleon’s eyes lit up. “Now I know why you’re my partner. You can read my mind.”
“I’m your partner because I’m the only agent at U.N.C.L.E. who knows how to handle you.”
"I can't argue with the way you handle me," Napoleon said, his right hand gliding to squeeze Illya's ass.
Illya flinched. "You know, it's actually quite fortuitous that we were assigned to guard the deputy. Perhaps we should not think too unkindly of him."
Napoleon's hands continued to explore as he nuzzled Illya's neck. "I'm not thinking of him at all. Why are you?"
Illya raised an eyebrow. "Because you're fondling me just the way he did that first night."
Napoleon frowned, feeling Illya's cock grow more solid in his hand. "With the same results??"
"You do it much better."
Napoleon pulled back to look at Illya. "And I intend to do it for a very long time, exclusively, with no room for negotiation."
Illya smiled at him. "I believe I can accept those terms."