It's Been A Long, Long Time—the Seduction of Napoleon Solo Act IV
Napoleon dipped his head back and groaned. Illya merely responded by sucking his dick deeper into his throat and suddenly remembering how to breathe was nearly impossible. Napoleon gritted his teeth and thrashed, but Illya wasn't in a hurry. Instead he teased, he tantalized, and he tortured Napoleon with a talented mixture of lip and tongue action. Napoleon entangled his fingers in blond hair and just held on, eagerly keeping his balance on a delicious tightrope of pleasure. He could feel Illya's breath against his balls, feel the calloused tips of those capable hands roaming his body, finding sensitive and nerve jangling spots.
With a groan and a surge that started at his toes and threatened to tear off the top of his head, Napoleon climaxed. He just held on and rode the waves that crashed through his body, until he dissolved into a limp heap. That was when he realized Illya was licking his lips and watching him with a sly, cat-having-just-eaten-the-canary grin. Napoleon reached for him, eager to kiss that smirk from his mouth.
"Beep," Illya said, lovingly.
"Beep?" Napoleon was confused.
"Beep, beep" and Illya sounded very much like his...Napoleon's eyes flew open even as he was reaching for his communicator.
"I was getting worried about you, Napoleon," the communication tech's voice purred, caressing him with her Southern accent, but all Napoleon could think about was how sticky and unpleasant his pajama bottoms felt at the moment. "Are you okay? Your voice sounds a little funny."
"Sorry, you woke me from a deep...sleep."
"Well, as long as I didn't interrupt anything."
Oh, you have no idea, Napoleon thought as he one handedly stripped off his bottoms. "What can I do for you, Sophie?"
"Mr. Waverly had to move the meeting up an hour. You have about forty-five minutes to get here."
"Have you contacted Mr. Kuryakin?" Napoleon glanced over at the other side of his double bed, half expecting to see the blond lounging there. No such luck.
"Yes, he's on his way in."
"Thank you, Sophie, Solo out." He clicked the pen shut before the woman could prattle on further. He was finding himself more and more impatient these days. And suffering from more and more of the events he'd just barely lived through. He hadn't had a wet dream in years, up until a few weeks ago. Now they were practically a nightly occurrence and definitely starting to take a toll on his sleep pattern.
He untangled himself from the sheets and stumbled towards the bathroom. Right now he needed a quick shower, preferable a cold one to get his emotions back under control.
"Solo, what is wrong with you?" he said out loud and then caught sight of himself in the mirror. Man, he looked like death warmed over poorly served. Oh great, now I'm talking to myself. This really is getting out of hand.
He glanced down at his now flaccid penis. "And why do I have the feeling this is all your fault?" His penis seemed content to ignore him and sleep for the moment. No wonder considering...
Napoleon reached for his razor and started to shave. Of course, it was also his fault as well. After months of getting messages from Illya, they'd stopped practically the moment after Napoleon had sent him to Medical for a full examination. It had turned up nothing aside from the fact that Illya was in perfect health and hadn't been engaging in any untoward activities.
Since that point, Illya had outwardly been the same efficient capable agent, but Napoleon detected coolness towards him now. That had only helped to fuel Napoleon's fire. He was now highly interested, perhaps too much so and Illya had backed off. Where once there had been an easy pattern of catching a meal after work or just having a drink at a nearby bar, now Napoleon found himself alone more and more in the evenings, not interested in the female companionship that had once so delightfully enticed him. In a pure example of human nature, Napoleon wanted the one thing he no longer had access to and it was making him crazy.
Looking more polished than he felt, Napoleon maneuvered through the corridors to Waverly's office. The secretary barely glanced up as he passed and the door slid open upon his approach. It wasn't surprising that his partner was already seated at the circular table, which was buried beneath file folders. Waverly was busy, speaking into a phone at the console as Napoleon slipped into his accustomed seat. He hated these review meetings. It didn't seem quite fair to judge a man's character based on a handful of test results and field observations. Still, it was a process that had worked for him and Illya and Napoleon was hesitant to suggested riding themselves of a tried and true method of agent selection.
Illya glanced at him from over the top of his glasses and immediately set down the paperwork he'd been studying. "Napoleon, are you all right?"
"Sure, never better, why do you ask?" Napoleon murmured back, not bothering to point out that Illya wasn't exactly the poster boy for beaming good health, not after his second bout with the most recent flu virus.
"You look tired."
"I'm inclined to agree with your assessment, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly said, taking a seat. "Are you succumbing to that damnable bug that everyone else seems fit to have caught?" He flicked a look over at Illya. "Some of us twice." Illya returned his attention to the folder.
"No, sir, I can assure you that I'm in perfect health. I just had a late night and an early start." Napoleon let his attention focus upon the stack of folders before him, still aware of Illya's eyes upon him.
"I should counsel you on the dangers of burning a candle at both ends, but I confess that I was once young myself." Mr. Waverly had picked up his pipe and was packing the bowl with tobacco. "Shall we begin?"
For the next two hours, Waverly droned on and Napoleon found his focus wandering as never before. These were upcoming Section Two agents and he knew needed to be alert and cautious. While very little separated Section Two and Section Three agents in training, in temperament, they were miles apart. These were men who would die, if need be, to keep the world safe.
Instead, Napoleon's mind kept drifting back to thoughts of Illya, watching Illya's broad hands shuffling papers, remembering how those hands head felt...rather how Napoleon imagined those hands felt on his body. He watched Illya's face so intently that once the Russian lifted a hand to rub over his mouth, as if checking to see if there was something there.
All the while, Napoleon, apparently, made the appropriate comments and recommendations as the stacks diminished into well-ordered piles, and finally after what seemed the world's longest meeting, the last file was closed, the choices were made and both men were excused.
They walked from Waverly's office side-by-side and the minute the door closed, Illya hesitantly touched Napoleon's arm.
"What's wrong?" Napoleon looked down at the arm and then back into concerned blue eyes.
"That's what I was going to ask you." Illya tugged him toward the elevator bank. "I don't know what's going on with you lately, but there's something wrong, Napoleon. I know you too well to be fooled by pretenses." He hit the elevator's open door button and pushed Napoleon in ahead of him.
Napoleon shook his hand off. "I just had an off-night."
Illya stared at him long and hard. "I'd say last night was just one in a series of many."
"What can I do to help?" The question was earnestly put.
Yes, Napoleon, what could Illya do or rather what would he be willing to do to help out a friend? Just because all you think about these days is doing your partner, feeling his body under yours. It doesn't mean he feels the same way, no matter what messages you think he was broadcasting before.
Suddenly, Napoleon realized that another party had woken up and was beginning to join the party. Oh, no you don't! Back, sit, stay! he mentally ordered his penis. It didn't listen, but then and again, it rarely did. He needed to get out of here before Illya caught on. "You're right; we need to talk, but not now and not here. We've both got work to do."
"Then you name it—when and where?"
"Your place." Napoleon couldn't think of a more uncomfortable spot. That should be enough to hold his ardor in check and it would give him some place to flee from should the conversation take a wrong turn.
"My place? All right, if you'd like. When?"
"After work, I'll bring food." The elevator clanged to a stop and Napoleon ducked out and away before the doors even opened completely, leaving his partner in his dust.
Napoleon quickly ducked into the nearest room. The half-dozen techs looked up as he did, but immediately returned to their assignments. Napoleon stood there for a moment, listening to a variety of broadcasts being sent out worldwide to their various field offices, and that helped him re-center his attention.
"Napoleon, is there something I can help you with?" Napoleon looked over at the supervisor and shook his head.
"Sorry, Sam, I was just avoiding Budget Review. I still have a couple of reports due." Napoleon lied easily. It was office-wide how he hated doing paperwork and that was enough for the supervisor to nod sagely and leave him along.
Still, he could only hide out for so long and make it seem feasible. Gathering his courage, he adjusted his jacket, brushed off a sleeve and headed back out.
Napoleon stood in the hallway, just down from Illya's apartment, and wondered if this was how his namesake felt upon the eve of Waterloo. It had been all he could do to get through the day without coming apart at the seams. Upon returning to their shared office, Napoleon had found Illya too solicitous, too attentive and finally, in desperation, Napoleon sent him on a simple courier run just to get him out of the office. It was a waste of talent, certainly, but Napoleon didn't care. He just needed something, anything to be free from Illya's presence for a few hours so that his head would clear and he could decide upon a path tonight.
Man, you have it bad and that ain't good, he counseled himself. Unconsciously, his hands tightened upon the paper sack he carried. Ahead, his partner's door loomed and Napoleon fought down his 'fight or flee' instinct in order to approach it.
This was such a strange sensation to apply to Illya, so anxious to see him, yet so full of dread that Napoleon would have eagerly taken on a THRUSH ambush to escape.
Instead, he pulled himself together and knocked. There was no response. That was odd. He knocked again and was about to go for his spare key when he heard the locks disengaging and the door opened a fraction. Napoleon slid inside and instantly realized why Illya hadn't immediately heard him. The man was dripping wet.
"Sorry, time got away from me," Illya muttered, reaching for his slipping towel. "Make yourself at home. I'll be right back."
Napoleon caught his arm to study a fresh cut. Then he saw the bruising. "What happened?"
"THRUSH was waiting. It was good you sent me and not one of the new agents. Otherwise, we'd be ID'ing a body tonight." He gently extricated his arm from Napoleon's grip. "Still, all's well and all that. Drop was successful and no real harm done."
"Just a scratch, but my suit was ruined."
"Tailors all across the city are probably rejoicing." Napoleon attempted a stab at humor to offset a growing sense of guilt for having sent his partner into harm's way. He knew it was Illya and his job, but he'd done it for some breathing space and Illya had taken the blows.
"Funny guy," Illya said, grinning. "You know where everything is." He disappeared back into the bathroom, leaving Napoleon, literally holding the bag.
Typical, Napoleon thought, wandering into the tiny kitchen.
By the time Illya reappeared in a pair of well-beyond-their-expiration-date sweat pants and an equally disreputable sweat shirt, Napoleon had managed to get the well worn coffee table set up. Illya didn't waste time on such things as furniture or other niceties. In fact, Napoleon didn't really know what Illya did with his salary. It certainly wasn't being spent on his creature comforts or wardrobe.
Napoleon watched Illya move, his eye readily able to pick up a hitch in his walk that spoke of a kick or two to the kidneys or a couple of slugs to the stomach. However, Illya didn't seem to pay attention to anything except the food. So, for a while, they ate in comparative silence until Illya finally pushed his plate aside.
"Talk to me, Napoleon."
Instead, Napoleon gestured to his mouth as he chewed a mouthful of Kung Pao chicken. It only bought him a moment and all the while, his partner studied him, hard. "What's to say?"
"This is what this was all about, Napoleon, a chance to clear the air. I have a feeling that there have been a lot of things unsaid between us lately and that doesn't bode well for us as a team."
For a moment, Napoleon almost thought about lying, but perhaps it was time to clear the air. He'd sent Illya on a mission for a purely selfish reason and the results had been less than optimum. Illya was right, that wasn't good for their partnership. "The truth?"
"I'd prefer it." Illya sat back, his attention fully upon Napoleon.
"There's been someone lately."
"A woman?" Illya scoffed. "I should have known."
"A co-worker. I've been having a hard time keeping my mind off said co-worker and on work. Today's meeting was a prime example. I just can't concentrate and it's getting worse.
"So, what's the trouble? Tell this co-worker about your feelings."
"It's more complicated than that. At first, I thought there was a mutual attraction, but I think my signals got crossed somewhere along the lines. Now I'm pretty sure it was one-sided on my part from the get go."
"One sided? Are you certain?" Illya's voice had taken on a slight lilt, almost as if he were baiting Napoleon.
'Well, short of being told to take my ball and go home, yes." Napoleon almost laughed at the frown that creased Illya's brow. "Yes, I'm fairly certain. I just don't know what to do about it."
Illya was quiet for a moment and Napoleon used the opportunity to return to his meal. The chicken had lost its appeal, but it was something to do beside moon helplessly over his partner. When Illya spoke it was so softly that Napoleon wasn't even sure he'd heard anything.
"So am I," Napoleon admitted with just the ghost of a smile. "I had the feeling it could have been glorious."
"That's not what I mean," Illya slid a bit closer. "I truly am sorry, Napoleon. At some point, I crossed a line that was never meant to be crossed and now you're paying the price."
Napoleon shook his head and swallowed. "You've lost me."
"As a scientist, when I conduct an experiment, it's usually with a constant and a series of variables. Even when those variables differ, the outcome can usually be projected or anticipated."
"Even more lost now," Napoleon admitted. He stared into the blue eyes, not knowing what to expect. He wasn't following his partner's thought pattern, but from the moment he'd stepped into this apartment, his thoughts were of a singular nature. "You're saying that you've been conducting an experiment?"
"Over the course of the last few month, yes."
"Myself, of course." Illya reached for his tea, taking a deep swallow from the chipped mug.
"That would make what the variable? Me?" He waited for Illya's nod before continuing. "Okay, so you've been running this experiment. What conclusion have you reached?"
"Before the locker room incident, I thought there was interest, but after you sent me to Medical for what you thought was a misguided liaison...I obviously reached a wrong conclusion and backed off.
"You son of a bitch, you played me," Napoleon whispered, his throat tight.
"Yes, I did—at first. It was just something to tweak you when your womanizing got a little out of hand, but then, something happened. I saw your anger and your...possessiveness in the locker room and I realized things had gone wrong, in the worse possible way." Illya gestured aimlessly. "So I backed off, thought I'd give you some breathing room before..."
"Before what? Before it got out of hand! It was already out of hand long before that, my friend." Passion was beginning to give way to anger. "All the shit I've been dealing with, all the guilt and conflicting signals? What about me? How does that makes this all right?"
Napoleon stood and walked across the small living room that made up most of Illya's apartment. He pushed aside a curtain and looked out into the night or at least what passed for night in the city. He half expected Illya to follow, but when he didn't Napoleon turned back to him. Illya hadn't moved from his place on the couch, and was studying his hands. He was obviously leaving the next move up to Napoleon and for the life of him, Napoleon didn't know what to do.
"So you have no feelings at all for me? Is that what you're telling me? Before what, Illya?"
"Before I couldn't stop. I didn't say I have no feelings for you, Napoleon. Just the opposite," Illya said, his voice still soft. "But you don't know what you're doing, you've got an urge and you want to act on it. I won't be used and tossed aside—I've already had too much of that in my life. You have a 'love 'em and leave 'em' attitude that precedes you. I'm not going to be another of your trophies. So we end this now and here. I'm just sorry it is at the cost of our partnership."
Five minutes ago, the choice would have been clear, but now, in light of Illya's confession, he just wasn't sure. But Napoleon did know it was up to him to choose the defining moment. If he walked away now, he'd leave the best relationship he'd ever had with another human being, but his pride was raging. If he didn't walk away, what message was he sending? That it was all right to walk all over him, to play him for a fool and love's bitch?
The truth of the matter was that he felt as if he was staring into a bottomless well with the enemy on his heels and no place to go but down. Trapped in a nightmare with no one...no, not alone, that wasn't right, because Illya was there. Just like always, ready and willing to abide by his decision.
Napoleon had spent a lifetime honing his instincts, trusting his gut feelings to make a choice for him when his mind refused to grapple with the facts. It had served him well in the past and his rational mind consciously took a step back now and to let those feelings surface, to let them guide his path. And they only led in one direction.
"And if I chose differently?" Napoleon asked.
"Then be very sure of what you want, Napoleon, because there will be no turning back, not on my part."
Napoleon was back to the couch in three steps, reaching for Illya before the other man had a chance to react. Napoleon saw an instantaneous flare of warning in the blue eyes before he dragged Illya to his feet. He knew Illya was likely to remain passive, waiting for a blow to come or not. Instead Napoleon kissed him, with as much passion as he could muster, with all the feelings he'd been subjugating these past weeks.
He made love to those lips he'd been dreaming of and, with a flare of joy, he realized they were responding back in kind, opening to him as his tongue flicked over them. He pulled back reluctantly, studying Illya.
"What?" The Russian's breath was coming in short pants. "Don't tell you have regrets already?"
"I'm waiting for you to tell me to stop."
"Not on your life, Napoleon, never again." They sank to the couch, joined at the mouth, hands seeking and finding each other's body in a joyous exploration of discovery. In the back of his mind, Napoleon remembered Illya's afternoon adventures and as much as he wanted that hard body beneath his, he maneuvered them so that Illya was on top.
Illya ground his erection against Napoleon's and Napoleon responded in kind, growling softly as he wrapped his legs around Illya's and abandoned Illya's lips for his neck, licking, sucking, gently biting the soft skin. He could feel Illya's heart pounding beneath his lips as he mouthed the carotid artery.
"I don't know what I would have done if you'd walked out," Illya admitted softly. I was so afraid once you knew the truth that you'd leave."
"You would have coped. It's what we do, we cope."
"I can think of a much better four letter word at the moment, but," Illya murmured, "I think the bed would be a better choice of venue."
Napoleon didn't need a second invitation. By the time they'd navigated the short distance, his clothes were scattered in a line from the couch to the bedroom and he was stretched out gloriously naked beneath an equally naked Illya.
Illya's hands were all over him and Napoleon couldn't help but marvel at how well Illya's ass fit into the cup of his hands or how delightfully the man groaned when Napoleon's finger began an inner exploration. Napoleon moaned as Illya shifted slightly, reaching across him to retrieve something unseen. A moment later, something cool and wonderfully soft was being worked onto his erection. In response, he added a finger and pushed in deeper.
"God, Napoleon, I can't..." Illya thrust back against the fingers.
"You're an atheist," Napoleon said, enjoying his own bit of tactile stimulation.
"I've momentarily converted." Illya was suddenly out of reach and Napoleon lifted his head, concerned, until he saw Illya positioning himself. With a soul-satisfied groan, Illya lowered himself and tipped his head back, not stopping until Napoleon was fully inside him.
Napoleon felt his eyes roll back and he grabbed for Illya's hips, holding him motionless. "Don't move," he whispered, panting for control. He was going to go off like a rocket if he wasn't careful and he'd waited far too long for this to be over quite so quickly.
After a moment, Napoleon edged back from his climax and he moved his hands slightly. Illya instantly picked up the movement and began a slow dance of thrusts. He reached down and settled a hand on each of Napoleon's shoulder for balance and worked his body around Napoleon's erection, clenching his anal muscles until Napoleon swore he could see stars... It was wonderful, even better than his wildest wet dream had been and Napoleon let himself become lost in a bombardment of sensory overload.
He could feel Illya grind his own erection against his pubic bone with each thrust and Napoleon, in a half daze, found the cream Illya had used to prep him with and scooped up a finger's worth to work over the Russian's penis, keeping pace with Illya's rhythm.
Illya groaned and showed his appreciation by picking up the pace. Suddenly, there was no place to retreat, nothing to do but permit his body the release it demanded and Napoleon felt his climax start. It tore through and out of him, ripping a scream from him as he slammed up and held Illya down, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Illya's hips. Illya thrashed and fought, too intent upon his own climax to pay Napoleon's any mind. His semen coated Napoleon's stomach and chest as he half sobbed Napoleon's name before collapsing down onto his partner, legs and arms no longer willing to support him.
Napoleon dragged him up to kiss him and hesitated.
"What's wrong?" Illya asked, still panting, his blue eyes cloudy.
"I was afraid you were going to say 'beep'." He kissed Illya softly and grinned. "Long story, I'll explain later."
"Much later, I hope." Illya stretched out, wincing slightly at the pull in his muscles and Napoleon half rolled over on top of him, entwining the fingers of both hands with his partner's. "I can think of more interesting things to do with your mouth than talk."
"Me too," Napoleon said, shifting again until he had Illya spooned against him, his erection already recovered, jutting proudly into Illya's gluteal cleft. He reached around and cupped Illya's genitals lovingly.
"Not going to ask for this back, are you?" he asked as he started to work his fingers over Illya's still partially erect penis.
"I think it's right where it belongs," Illya admitted, sighing contentedly.
"It's a shame though."
"What is?" Illya was moving gently against Napoleon's hand.
"That after two bouts of the flu, for you to catch it again is just tragic. God knows how long it'll take you to recover this time..."
"Napoleon, what are you talking about? I'm not sick. In fact, I feel better than I have in weeks."
"And I think it's even worse that you gave it to your partner. A man who had managed to avoid all contact with that virus until you, unthinking heathen that you are, gave it to him... It could be a week before he recovers."
"I didn't..." Illya stopped and looked back over his shoulder at his grinning partner. "Of all the devious and underhanded schemes, Napoleon Solo...it's no wonder I like you."
"And now," Napoleon said, with a gentle thrust and a less gentle nip.
"I'm going to show you what it's like to love me. I hope you have insurance..."
"I hope you have a back brace..."