The advert was tucked away in a corner of the back pages of a woman's magazine. Illya Kuryakin wasn't normally in the habit of reading women's magazines (he subscribed to several physics journals, one gun magazine and National Geographic); but he had agreed to pick Napoleon up from a physiotherapy appointment, and the session with Dr Denison was taking longer than expected.
"Battery operated massager brings satisfying relaxation."
Relaxation was hard to come by in their line of work. Even when they weren't actively engaged on an affair, aches and pains from injuries past were not always shrugged off easily. In fact, some of them hung around like unwanted friends.
"Deep, gentle, penetrating vibrations soothe neck, shoulder muscles, arms, legs and tired feet."
In Napoleon's case, his back and shoulders were often the problem. Too much dangling from manacles wasn't conducive for one's health, and Illya could hear his friend's grunts through the solid metal door as the therapist took his UNCLE-mandated pound of flesh. Every so often, he let out a particularly loud groan, and Illya winced, hating to know his partner was in pain.
"Operates on standard batteries (not included)."
Even though he understood full well the need to return to full fitness in time for the next demanding affair, Illya was equally reluctant to visit physiotherapy. In his case, his hams and quads were the usual offenders, and he sympathised heartily. It would be such a relief if they could find something that could reduce the need for the energetic pummelling that was, more often than not, yet another form of torture.
It was at this point that he was struck by the advert he was mindlessly reading.
"4 sizes: Mini 4 &fraq12; "—$3.98; Regular 7"—$4.98; Deluxe 10"—$7.98; Super 12"—£9.98. Add 50c. post and hdlg fee each. Calif. residents add 6% sales tax."
Well, it wasn't expensive, and if it worked, such a gadget could be a useful addition to the agents' "toolbox" of toys and widgets that they carried around with them. Illya remembered several nights where neither he nor Napoleon had been able to sleep for the aches and strains of the mission. It was especially difficult when necessity forced them to share a bed after Napoleon had taken the brunt of THRUSH's not-so-kind attentions. Times like that were when his completely unacceptable impulses to take his partner into his arms had to be most firmly repressed, and it was becoming more difficult every time it happened.
The therapist must have finished while he was musing on the massager's potential, as just then Napoleon emerged fully dressed from the therapy room, looking more than a little worse for wear. Illya quickly tore the advert out of the magazine and stuffed it in his pocket, before walking with his partner to the car. He'd buy one as a surprise present for his partner.
"Ow." Napoleon winced as he checked underneath the hotel mattress. It had been a particularly exhausting affair, and only the force of habit drove him to complete the security check rather than just collapsing on the bed as he wished.
Illya poked his head out from the bathroom, where he was checking for hidden bugs. "Is it your shoulders again?"
"No, no, I'm fine Illy-Ahhh!" Napoleon finished with a gasp as he stretched up to check the light fitting, drawing his arms back down quickly and rubbing his neck.
"Yes, it is quite obvious that an hour being stretched on yet another rack has left you completely unaffected," Illya responded brusquely. "Why don't you get undressed and lie down? There is no need to strain yourself any further now that the mission is completed. I will finish up in here."
"Well, if you insist, how can I possibly refuse?" Napoleon demurred, although he was secretly pleased. From the beginning of their partnership, Illya's competence at therapeutic rubdowns was one of his more unusual skills, although very welcome. However, Illya's kneading often caused an additional reaction that Napoleon found difficult to hide. Having his partner's hands manipulating his body was one of his most private fantasies; but given the importance of their working relationship he had decided not to test the Russian's reaction to a proposition of more intimate massage.
Slowly removing his shirt, vest and trousers, he hung his holster on the bedpost, laid himself face down on the mattress, and closed his eyes. He heard Illya performing the final checks, then rather than immediately coming over to the bed, he heard the zip of a suitcase, and some unidentifiable clicks.
"What are you up to?" he asked casually.
"Just something I discovered that might be helpful," he heard Illya reply, and then a soft buzzing filled the air. Illya came over to the bed, and suddenly Napoleon felt a strange tingling, vibrating sensation gradually move across his shoulders and over the back of his neck.
It felt good. It felt really good, and Napoleon gradually felt the stiffness in his muscles fade away as the vibrations seemed to sink deep into his flesh. "Hmm, yes, it does seem to be effective," he murmured. "What is it?"
"It was described as a battery-powered massager. I thought I would see if it reduces the need for physiotherapy sessions."
The tingling moved slowly down Napoleon's back, working from side to side, covering every inch. After only a few minutes Napoleon had sunk bonelessly into the mattress, completely relaxed and happy—until he realised that the vibrations had stimulated a rock-hard erection. To his relief the buzz stopped just as it reached the waistband on his underwear—only to restart on his left ankle.
The device worked as well on his legs as it did on his back, albeit with the same unfortunate side effect. While Napoleon appreciated the stress-relieving benefits, he wondered how he was going to explain the side-effects to his partner.
Then he was struck by a bolt of recognition. He'd heard something like that buzzing sound before—in the company of Angelique. No—it couldn't be...
The vibrations were now up near the top of his thighs, and his breathing was becoming rapid. If he wasn't going to disgrace himself, he needed to do something soon.
"Illya, where did you find this massager?"
"It was advertised in a magazine I was reading to pass the time in Dr Denison's office."
"A woman's magazine?"
"Yes, I suppose so, but—"
The vibrations were now right next to his buttocks. "Illya, you need to stop. Now."
To Illya's credit, the vibrations ceased immediately, and the buzzing sound stopped a second later. "What's the problem, Napoleon?"
Napoleon raised himself up on his elbows and reached awkwardly around for the massager, not wanting to reveal the extent of his problem to his partner. When he saw the device, his suspicions were confirmed. The massager was an elongated plastic bullet shape, cream in colour, about ten inches long and an inch-and-a-half in diameter. A switch at the base of the bullet caused the vibrations and buzz. "Angelique uses something like this as a pleasure device."
"A device for very personal pleasure. Internal massage. " Napoleon twisted up in order to see his partner's face, and saw a faint blush rise. He decided to take a gamble. "They're very effective," he added, and twisted a little more.
"How do you—oh," Illya's eyes flicked south, where Napoleon's twisting had subtly revealed the cloth-covered erection. "Napoleon, I'm sorry, I never realised..." The blush deepened, but Napoleon carefully noticed how Illya's eyes lingered at his groin.
"You honestly didn't know what it is?" Napoleon tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but his partner's eyes flicked back up to his and he realised he hadn't succeeded.
"No. But—Napoleon, you aren't angry about this, are you?"
"Not at all, partner." Napoleon rolled onto his back and stretched his arms over his head, blatantly displaying his arousal. "After all, I'm feeling much more loose and relaxed than I was before. Thank you." He eyed Illya carefully, who had taken the massager again and examining it with raised eyebrows. "Does this bother you?"
"You have never 'bothered' me, Napoleon." Illya's eyes refocused on his partner, and Napoleon smiled as he saw the humorous glint in his eyes. "But I do think that you are still exhibiting a certain...tension. Would you like me to...finish the job?"
Napoleon grinned. "I was hoping you'd offer."
A/N: For the advert that inspired this story, please see http://www.flickr.com/photos/jackieinmi/2442644999/