Like His Father
Napoleon stumbled from the building and piled into the car. They'd been successful; they'd stopped THRUSH. He felt the ache in his head, neck, and limbs and realized the very real truth, THRUSH has nearly stopped him.
Illya was behind the wheel, driving like a man possessed, and Napoleon wasn't so very sure he wasn't. Illya still wore the Nexor outfit, his cheek marred by a scar. Terry Cook huddled in the corner of the backseat, terrified by the Russian even now. Napoleon remembered seeing something in those eyes. It had been horrifying and oddly exciting at the same time. He couldn't help but wonder if that's what a cobra saw just before a mongoose snapped its neck.
Illya dropped them off in front of the hotel, pausing just long enough to let them scamper out before driving off in a cloud of dust and gravel.
"Where's he going, Napoleon?" Terry quietly asked as he led her through the lobby. They'd taken rooms here before the affair's start, a place to fall back to in case of trouble. Of course, they hadn't counted on Terry getting involved.
"He's going to lead our tail on a merry chase."
"We were being followed?"
"He thinks we were..." Or he just needs some time to himself to get his head back together, Napoleon added mentally. He guided Terry to his room and quickly packed up his things and moved them to Illya's room. He wasn't wild about facing Illya alone after this. He knew Illya had done exactly what he had needed to do, but still, that look in his eyes...
Napoleon stripped out of his soiled suit and grabbed a quick shower. Tying a towel around his waist, he padded back to the bed and sat. He touched a spot on his temple and winced. He could still feel the electricity jolting through his skin, even though he knew it couldn't be.
The door opened and his gun, resting on the bedside table was up and leveled at Illya before he took a step inside. His partner was still wearing the uniform, but the hat, glasses, and scar were gone.
"Napoleon?" he asked, staying frozen in place. His eyes studied his partner's face and Napoleon let the gun drop.
"Sorry, still a little on edge."
"Understandable. How is your Miss Cook?" Illya moved carefully into the room, still cautiously watching his partner.
"Shaky, but I think she'll be fine."
Illya knelt before him. "And you, my friend? And before you say fine, I think it would be good to consider the question for a moment." Illya reached out a gentle hand to brush the dark hair away from one of the spots on Napoleon's temples. "I am sorry, Napoleon."
"You did what you had to, I know that. We both know it had to be convincing."
"And even so it was barely enough." The hand stilled, cupping the side of Napoleon's head. "I was... very concerned that I'd permanently damaged you."
"I'm harder to kill than you think." Napoleon leaned against the hand, finding it familiar and warm against his still damp hair.
"That's a relief. In the future, I won't be half as... concerned, at least not with your mortality." Illya moved closer until Napoleon could hear Illya's breath, feel the flicker of Illya's eyelashes as they caressed his temple. Two lips pressed themselves against the burn, careful to not irritate the skin any further.
Slowly, the lips began to work a path downward and Napoleon closed his eyes as they brushed over them.
Napoleon lifted his hands to the lapels of Illya's uniform jacket and pulled him up and closer, even as he was lying back, dragging Illya back with him until they both sprawled upon the bed, Illya resting comfortably between Napoleon's splayed legs.
"When I had you on that rack, you don't know how much I wanted to stop, to kiss you, to love you and you unable to do a thing about it, my victim, my," Illya's mouth licked Napoleon's jaw line. "Own." Another lingering sidetrack to the other side of Napoleon's jaw, nuzzling. "Helpless." The lips finally reached Napoleon's mouth after a lifetime. "Victim." Illya's tongue tickled its way into Napoleon's mouth even as Napoleon's fingers were wrapping themselves around the leather belt.
The towel had fallen away and Napoleon winced as his genitals met the rough cloth of Illya's pants. Instantly Illya was pushing up, away from him.
"What's wrong?" Napoleon came up onto his elbows.
"I'm just going to make this more pleasant by getting out of this uniform." Illya started to unbutton the jacket and Napoleon sat up with a grunt, catching the closest wrist.
"No?" Illya paused, studying Napoleon's face, looking for a clue.
"Just..." Napoleon was staring at the bulge in Illya's trousers, his erection so hard Napoleon swore he could make out its outline against the fabric. "Tell me what you want."
Illya's lips curled, not so different from the smile Nexor wore. "I take vhat I vant." Illya's voice morphed and it was as if he'd disappeared and Nexor had taken over. Languidly, he undid his belt and began to undo the fly. Napoleon's hands reached to help him along and Illya smacked them away. "No one touches me," he snapped.
For a moment, Napoleon hesitated and then saw a look of promise in Illya's eyes and he grinned. Flopping back on the bed, he watched Illya ease down his fly and permit his penis some breathing room. Napoleon smiled, his eyelids lowering.
"Vhat are you looking at?"
"Perfection," Napoleon murmured, knowing better than follow his instincts. Illya leveraged himself down against Napoleon, genitals to genitals.
"You may touch me now." Illya voice was husky and Napoleon brought a hand up to encompass both his and Illya's penises and stroked them.
"Harder." Illya kept from groaning, but Napoleon was willing to bet it was a struggle. He did as he was told, tilting his head back as Illya put his mouth to better use than snapping commands.
The game playing slipped aside as need took over. Napoleon's hand found a rhythm that he liked and moved in long hard strokes, squeezing just enough to make the friction nearly unbearable. He was so close that Illya's voice barely reached him.
"You vill come vhen I tell you, not before."
"Illya..." Napoleon's voice carried a whine in it. He was so frigging close.
"Vhen I say, not before." Napoleon stilled his hand, releasing the pressure and the sensation. "Vhy did you stop."
"I had to..."
"No!" Illya's voice was hard. As hard as Napoleon's penis, if that was possible. "Continue."
All right you little bastard, if that's how you want to play it. Napoleon began to move his hand, letting his fingers wander just a bit. He knew all of Illya's weak points—the spots to touch that would make his partner rumble with delight and he went after them with a vengeance now.
And in the end, Napoleon took satisfaction in knowing that Illya broke and came first. Napoleon felt the mutual throbbing start to subside, but neither of them lost much starch. Reluctantly he released his handful and wiped his hand on the towel.
"Es ist gut?" Napoleon asked.
"Mmm, sehr gut." Illya was resting to his side, a smile on his face. Nexor was gone, a ghost now, only his partner remained. "When I was a child," Illya's voice was silky soft in his ear. "I used to wonder why my mother would always have my grandmother take us away for the first afternoon when Papa came home on leave. I think I understand now why."
Napoleon reached out and drew a finger down Illya's right cheek, following the path of Nexor's scar. "Are you okay?" Illya's eyes opened and he studied Napoleon for a moment.
"By rights, I should be asking you that."
"All you did was torture me. I just had to yell at the right points."
"It went on too long."
"They wouldn't have bought it if I'd caved the second you hit the juice. Besides, I trusted you to stop before it went too far." Napoleon's finger reversed its path. "And you haven't answered me."
Illya rolled over to his back and sat up. "I know."
"Tell me. Was it that difficult to be Nexor?" Napoleon watched Illya's eyes suddenly scramble for purchase, fight for level ground.
"How?" Napoleon purposefully kept his tone neutral, non-accusatory as he sat up as well.
"It was easy, that much power is intoxicating, that much control..."
"You really scared Terry." His hands started working again, finding a lock of hair to fondle, tugging it gently.
"I really scared me. I thought it would have been harder, especially in view of my country's past with Germans. It was so seductive to keep going."
"You couldn't have... that kind of power eats up a man from the inside, rips his soul to shreds and leaves nothing but a shell behind."
"Do you know what saved me? What ultimately stopped me?"
"An over-inflated sense of right and wrong and the All-American way?"
Illya snorted and smiled the sort of smile few people got to see. "You and knowing that you would be waiting for me when the smoke cleared. Both of us came close to not making it."
"But we did. And in the end, that's all that matter. That and," his hand dropped to Illya's and he squeezed gently, "this; this is what matters."
Illya smiled and peeled off the trousers, kicking them away. His shorts and socks followed the same path. He reached up to start unbuttoning his jacket and Napoleon's hand again found his.
"Leave it on."
"What can I say?" Napoleon was moving now, reaching for the lube he'd brought from the bathroom. "Blame it on the military, but I've never been able to say no to a man in uniform." He held the tube up and Illya gave him a sly little smile, a we-have-all-the time-in-the-world smile. Napoleon had to agree.