Smelly Business      Smelly Business by sensine  
 

Warm and sweaty, Illya Kuryakin stretched out on the wrecked bed. He could
hear the shower running, his neat partner was, he snickered, anal about
cleaning up. It also was a profitable situation for him. When he emerged
from the bathroom, Napoleon would have breakfast on the table. 

He waited till he calculated Napoleon to be finished, then he jumped out
of bed. His body was aching in places he definitely never wanted to
discuss at work. That was as it should be, but one thing was not right.
Smell. He sniffed the air. He turned around. He checked the bed and the
nightstand. 

Nothing. 

"Napoleon!" 

"Ummmhm." Muffled reply from the bathroom. 

Moist, gray air spilled out of the door when Illya opened it. He waved his
arms, nearly hitting Napoleon in the chest. 

"Whoa, Illya. What?" Napoleon grabbed his moving arms. 

"Can you smell it Napoleon?" 

"Smell what?" Napoleon narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his nose. 

"Me!" Napoleon raked his eyes over Illya's naked body, raising his
eyebrows in an interested way. "Oh, no, Napoleon. We are going to work.
Smell and tell." 

"You smell fine, Illya. Maybe a trifle ripe, which is only natural,
considering our previous activities." 

Illya swatted Napoleon's arms away and punched, hitting Napoleon in the
shoulder. "Very funny," he rolled his eyes. "I am not talking about the
natural results of our lovemaking. It's something different." 

Napoleon stepped closer, careful so that his crisp, white shirt and sharp
pressed suit pants were not touching Illya. He held Illya by the
shoulders, holding the distance, and moved his face up and down the front
of Illya's body. 

"Napoleon. What are you doing? Are you becoming unhinged? Are you sniffing
me?" 

"What else can I do to answer your question, sugarpie?" 

"What! How many times have I told you I will not tolerate those American,
so-called endearments?"He paused. "You are avoiding the issue. Why?" Illya
glared suspiciously at his well-dressed partner. His partner who had
stilled, a strange expression on his face. 

"Napoleon. Tell me." Illya tried to sound threatening, not a bad feat
considering how naked and dirty he was. 

"Um. Ah. Illya?" Napoleon let go of his arms, and backed toward the door.
"You remember this morning?" 

"Of course I remember this morning, Napoleon, I am not amnesiac." 

"Well." Napoleon backed another step. "Then it will not be necessary for
me to remind you how you begged me to make love to you? 'Fuck me, or die,'
I believe were the exact, romantic words?" 

This was annoying. "In what way have your torturous delays anything to do
with how I smell?" 

Napoleon was on the other side of the door frame now. "It will also, then,
not be my task to point out that we were out of lube? Or, that I like
being prepared; my Eagle Scout training, probably. " 

"But," this was puzzling, "what was it you..." He jumped up. "You did
not!" 

"What choices did I have? Use Brylcreem or die?" Napoleon mimed his
'backed into a corner' expression, "that's, in popular vernacular, a
no-brainer." 

Illya raced after the retreating Napoleon. "Otsosi!" 

"I'll be glad to Illya," Napoleon barricaded himself behind the kitchen
table. "Breakfast first?" His eyes were gleaming, and the corner of his
mouth was quivering. 

Illya cursed some more in Russian, but there really was not anything else
he could do. Napoleon had a point, not that he would admit to that, of
course.. 

"I will not forget this, eagle scout, revenge will be mine." Illya glared
at him for good measure. 

And why was Napoleon laughing? 

 
Note: otsosi means suck my dick (as far as I have been able to find out,
and it's rude)	


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