Napoleon Solo studied the ceiling and waited for his heart to slow down. His last climax made it feel like it was trying to claw its way free of his chest. He turned his head and glanced over at his bed partner. Illya was in a similar state, his skin flushed, sweat glistening on his body, staining his chest hair dark. Deep red spots decorated his neck, his torso, his hips and Napoleon knew without looking, his body was the same. There was something very physical about taking another man to bed, it wasn't soft or easy. At least not for them. They lived for and by violence; it made sense that their love making would carry the same edge.
Napoleon stopped and corrected himself. No that isn't right, there were many times their love making was soft and gentle, their touch almost hesitant, or shy. It was that dichotomy that made each time an adventure into the unknown.
"How many times have we made love?" Illya's voice was still thick, still raspy from their latest endeavor.
"Ah, two... well, almost three... unless I dozed off at some point. " Napoleon grinned and let his head roll upright again to study the ceiling. It was a very nice ceiling. He'd spent a particularly large amount of time studying this ceiling and he didn't begrudge a minute of it.
"Not tonight, blockhead." Illya's tone was teasing. "I meant overall."
"What?" Napoleon twisted onto his side to study his partner. While they weren't the men they once had been, they were still in good physical condition, still young for their age.
"I have." Illya pushed the hair from Napoleon's forehead. "By my reckoning, 58,794 times, give or take a few."
"And how did you come up with that figure?"
"I studied quantum physics, how do you think I came up with it?"
Illya chuckled and that was enough to make Napoleon grin happily. He loved that he could move his partner to laughter so easily, even after all these years. "Have I, no longer, any secrets from you?"
"If you do, I don't know where you've hidden them. Okay, so we've made love 58,700 something —"
"Ninety four times."
"Why are you even keeping track?" Napoleon settled back down, pulling Illya closer.
"The first time I slept with you —"
"You mean, had sex, you slept with me plenty of times before we did... anything."
"Yes, forgive me." Illya propped up his head on a pillow, his free hand dragging its fingertips over the soft skin on Napoleon's chest. "The first time we had sex, I'd wondered how many other times you'd been with someone."
"Neither of us was particularly virginal at that point."
"Agreed, but at any rate, I decided that I would have sex with you at least that many times twice over."
"Your way of staking a claim." Napoleon thrust his hips up, although his penis was still happily dozing against his thigh.
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Illya said, smirking and dropping his gaze down. "It sounds rather school-boyish when you actually say it out loud."
"I would disagree." Napoleon played with strands of Illya's hair, lighter white strands still mostly hidden from view by the blond ones, just as his were now salt and pepper. "I'm secretly delighted that you would be so... driven, as it were."
"As it were." Illya shut his eyes, leaning into Napoleon's hand. "No regrets?"
"One for every day that I waited to tell you how I felt, one for every time I thought you couldn't possibly feel the same way. One for every time I was with someone else and trying to imagine what it would be like to be in your arms..."
"You really are a gifted liar, Napoleon."
"Except that I'm not lying. I used to fantasize about kissing you, wondered what your mouth felt like, tasted like." He drew a finger against Illya's bottom lip, smiling as the mouth opened in response. "I would jack off, wondering what It would feel like to be in you or have you in me, wondering if I'd ever have the courage to act on it."
Illya dragged Napoleon over to kiss him thoroughly, deeply, as honestly as he could. "And your fantasies now?"
"Realities." Napoleon returned the kiss, passion for passion. He smiled as he felt a familiar stirring and glanced down at his groin. "Care to make it 58,795?"
"That's always been my lucky number," Illya said, smiling, already moving encouragingly against him. "One more for the road?"
"One more? From my point of view, it's a very, very..." His hand dropped to lovingly stroke Illya's genitals. "Very long... road." He bent in for another kiss. "I just hope you have insurance."
Illya's response was to scrape his fingernails gently down Napoleon's spine and then back up. "I believe we are both in very good hands." And after that, there was no longer a need for words, just sighs, murmurs, and the music that two people very much in love make.