Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin

Category: slash

Rating: R

Word Count: 6,512

Summary: Several moments in a mission, a long hot mission

 

As they entered their second week in a planned six week not exactly whirlwind tour of a too long list of backwater banana republics, Illya and Napoleon were already exhausted, cranky and fed up with the toadying government officials they were forced to make nice with.  They were grateful to shut themselves into their tiny motel room at the end of yet another long day of heat and humidity and political hot air. 

“Please tell me we get to leave for the coast soon?  At least there might be a chance for some entertainment if not a cool sea breeze if we were on the water.”

“Sorry, my friend, we leave for Comayagua in the morning,” Illya said from the miniscule bath where he was checking for electronic surveillance. 

A moan was all the reply Napoleon gave as he continued his own electronic sweep.

Finished, they both collapsed on the only bed in the room. 

“I was hoping to find something this time.”

“Yes, we’ve been throwing files around for three days that are clearly stamped ‘Top Secret’.  You’d think any self respecting THRUSH would have made a play by now.”   Napoleon tried not to sigh.  “Who knew I would ever wish to have THRUSH show up.”

“I am sure that if they knew you were just spoiling for them to show up, they would accommodate you.” 

“Laugh if you want, tovarisch, but the sooner we get some THRUSH to trip across us, the sooner we get back home to blessed central air and cold water on tap.”

“Perhaps it is a new THRUSH torture technique, this tedious trek across the tropics in July.”

“Oh no, partner mine, that is purely a technique of Mr. Waverly’s.  This will teach us not to rig the computer in the conference room to play ‘Happy Birthday Mr. President’ when the auditors want to go over the new list of tax exemptions we can’t use.”

Illya leaned up and looked down at his partner.  “I swear I saw the start of a smile on Waverly’s face just before he started blustering.”

“I think he was amused at the look on the lead auditor’s face, you know that internal revenue guy is good friends with Hoover.”

“Oops,” Illya grinned.  “But I did notice that Mr. Waverly rather took his time turning Marilyn’s recording off.”

“Our Mr. Waverly is not as much a friend of Hoover,”  Napoleon grinned back at his partner.  “He’s more of a, uh, competitor.”

“That goes far in explaining some things.”

After a few minutes of quiet, Napoleon made a suggestion, “You know, if we both get in the bath, we could have a mostly cool shower before dinner.”

“And we could order in and not have to get dressed again in hot suits with strangling ties.”

“Good idea, partner, last one in has to fix the mosquito net later.”

“Hey, you have the bathroom side of the bed, Napoleon,” Illya complained even as Napoleon rolled from the bed and moved toward the bathroom door.  But he grinned as he tugged at his shirt buttons and followed.

***

Napoleon didn’t think he had ever seen his partner look more miserable than he did currently.  They were standing under several dripping trees by the side of a worn dirt track of road, what passed for a highway in this backwater of Honduras. 

“Are you certain that this was the best transportation we could get?”

“Illya, we are blending in.  Think of this as research.”

Illya only grunted, crossed his arms and glared at the bus they had debarked from half an hour before.

“I didn’t make the travel arrangements, you know.  Apparently Mr. Waverly thought that a pair of investors who wanted to find a place to start up a factory would be likely to want see the lay of the land, as it were.”

The afternoon rain fell in whispering sheets against the broad leaves of the trees overhead, those same leaves channeling water right down onto their heads.  Napoleon pulled Illya more under the tree where less water was likely to further drench them or find its way down their collars. 

“I am about full of the local color, Napoleon.”

“I agree, partner mine.  But Comayagua is a much larger city than the last, it’s bound to be better.”

A shout went up as the bus was finally successfully jacked to replace the blown tire, followed by a rousing moan from the men gathered around the bus as the jack slipped on the mud made from the rain.

“I could have told them that was about to happen.”

“And then our cover would have been blown if any of them happen to be our quarry.  A biologist specializing in tropical fertilization is hardly the type to be fixing flat tires on buses.”

Illya only rolled his eyes.

Finally back on the bus, just in time for the rain to stop, Illya glared at his partner.  “I think that our travel agent is a secret plant from THRUSH and has set up this horror story of a trip as a double cross.”

“I will be sure to mention your suspicions to Uncle Alex next time I check in.”

“Just inform him that we will be renting a car for the remainder of this tour.”

Napoleon watched his partner close his eyes and try to sleep as the bus wobbled its way forward toward whatever semblance of civilization might be waiting ahead.

***

“I had better accommodations in the prison THRUSH was running a few years back,” Illya said from the main room of their newest, and possibly smallest yet, motel room.

“Ah, yes, but there will be no need to blow up a computer or run from an angry mob of THRUSH guards this trip,” Napoleon said from under the shower spray.  “One hopes,” he added under his breath.   Finally there was a good reason to take a warm shower, his shoulders ached and his feet were tired.  Fine Italian leather was never meant to be used for hiking. 

Illya stuck his head in the door of the bath.  “At least there is room for two in the shower,” he said as he joined his partner under the fall of water.

Napoleon just raised a brow and passed the soap.  Illya took it and proceeded to work up a lather. 

“Bed’s a little short, Napoleon.”  Illya washed the hike off himself and then turned to apply his hands to his partner’s back. 

Napoleon sighed, “You have about a month to stop that.”

Illya dug his fingers into sore muscles and kneaded away the strain from their hike into the city.  “You know, you could have let me carry the case with all the gadgets.”

“You were already carrying the one with the books, tovarisch, besides, if I was going to change any part of today, it would be letting you change the tire in the first place.  Maybe then it wouldn’t have come off altogether and then the axle wouldn’t have broken five miles from the city.”

“And we would have been to the hotel on time and our room would have still been available.”

“For want of a nail, Illya.”

“Just so,” Illya’s voice was low and Napoleon turned in time to see a smirk on his partner’s face.  He smiled in return, opportunism being what it was…

***
He woke alone and crosswise in the bed, stretching his still tired muscles.  Restful, the night had not been.  The bed was too short by far, his feet falling off the end, necessitating his taller partner to sleep diagonally on the lumpy mattress.  It was good that they were used to sharing small quarters, he smiled at the thought.  He rubbed his hands over his face and stood to make his way to the bath then seeing a note propped on the bedside table, stopped.

Back in 30
Bringing breakfast
Left 0700
NS

He picked up his watch from the nightstand, 0720.  Excellent, time enough for a shower, such as that may be.  He took his weapon from under the pillow and shuffled off to the bath.

Morning routine done, he turned the rightmost tap and was rewarded with slightly warmer than tepid water.  He sighed and pushed the lever for the shower and then stood under the water, wishing that it was either cold enough to relieve the tropical heat already radiating into the room or that he were much further North.  Neither of these wishes were going to materialize.  He washed and listened for his partner’s return. 

“Illya?”

Illya poked his head around the door to the bath, razor in one hand and half his face still covered in shave cream.  “Yes, Napoleon?”

“Breakfast.”  Napoleon held up a sack, no telling what might be in it.

When Illya emerged freshly shaved from the bath, breakfast was already spread out on the foot of the bed, there being no table in the room.  Napoleon was leaning against the headboard eating something wrapped in what looked like flatbread.  Illya could see more of the rolled up things as well as small flat fried cakes of some kind.  And he could smell strong coffee.  He seated himself tailor fashion on the bed halfway between his partner and the food.  He picked up one of the round things. 

“Cassava cake, something like what we call fry bread back home.  Not bad,” Napoleon said as Illya took a bite.  “Here,” he handed over a mug of coffee.

Illya looked a question at his partner, chewing and drinking.

“The woman in the kitchen downstairs told me where to get local food and offered to have some coffee for me when I returned.”

“Your charm has its uses,” Illya saluted him with his coffee cup.

“She was a very lovely lady, sixty if she’s a day, and her husband does the maintenance here at the hotel.”

Illya’s only reply was to take another huge bite of his breakfast.

“She also tells me that there is an unused room on the top floor that we could coerce the manager into renting as long as we are not superstitious.  And it has a much larger bed.” 

“I will be happy to prove my lack of superstition if it means you will have enough room to hog and let me keep my feet in the bed.”

“I’m hurt, tovarisch, you weren’t complaining about how much space I filled last night.”

Illya tried to glare at the twinkle in his partner’s eyes, and found he couldn’t.  He drank his coffee instead. 

They finished their breakfast and then stopped back by the kitchen again to return the mugs and coffee pot. 

“You are right, a very lovely lady,” Illya commented as they walked down the street toward their first appointment of the day.

“She promised to feed you more sweet cakes, of course you think she is lovely.”

“Yes, but did you see how her husband looks at her.  Still in love after so many years.  It warms my cold spy heart, that’s all.  I suspect that she was a bit of a femme fatale in her day, if her husband’s gazes are anything to go by, he still sees that girl she was, I think.”

Napoleon stopped, suspicious of the sudden sentimentality in his usually businesslike partner.

Illya realized that Napoleon had stopped and turned back.  “Obviously, the heat is baking my brain to mush.  Let us get this affair over with Napoleon, before this jungle heat melts the rest of what sense I have left.”

***

Neither of them were fully awake but both were crouched on either side of the bed, weapons in hand and looking for the source of the danger.  Napoleon untangled the mosquito net from his feet and checked the door while Illya did the same and went to the window.

The hall was dark and quiet.  Napoleon reengaged the lock and the travel security measures they had in place.  Illya disengaged the motion sensors from the window and shoved it fully open.  The sound that had woken them became slightly louder and then subsided again. 

“There is no one here but us, so who is that?”

“I have no idea, tovarisch, but I think we may want to find out.”

They both scrambled into some clothing and searched the room, revealing nothing but their luggage and a stray sock under the bed that neither of them claimed.

“Perhaps even the maids are afraid of the room, eh?”

The only answer to Napoleon’s question was the continued moaning, a sorrowful cry that rose and fell softly.  He went to the window to see Illya climbing the drain pipe up to the roof above.  Illya disappeared over the lip of the roof and Napoleon had just swung one leg out the window to follow when a tousled blond head popped over the roof.

“Don’t bother, Napoleon, just go open the door for me.”

Napoleon could hear Illya crossing the roof, his footfalls quiet competition for the moaning still calling.  He went and opened the door, gun held behind his back as he stood half in the hall and half in the room.

Shortly Illya came down the hall, shoeless and grinning.

“What on Earth, partner mine?”  Napoleon looked down at Illya’s bare feet and back up to the blue eyes uncharacteristically full of mirth.

“I used my shoes to block the roof door and the door to the stairs open.”

Illya slid past Napoleon and went to his suitcase.  After rummaging for a minute or less, he came up with a thick roll of grey tape.  “Just wait here, I can promise that in a few minutes we will have a peaceful room and the rest of our stay here will be quiet, barring any THRUSH activity.”  Illya slipped back past his confused partner.

Interest piqued, Napoleon decided he needed to follow.  He pocketed the room key and slid his gun in the back of his belt, pulling his shirt down over it.  He slipped down the hall and up the stairs.  On the roof he found Illya climbing around an odd assortment of pipes like a monkey, hanging upside down from one then swinging out over open air to another, stopping here and there to tear a chunk of grey tape off the roll over his wrist and slapping it on a pipe, each time he did, the moaning sound lessened.  Finally it was quiet, no more noise but the gentle breeze.  Illya swung down and joined Napoleon.  Quietly, they made their way back to their room, Illya retrieving his shoes one at a time and slipping them on.

Settled back in bed in the dark and blissful quiet, Illya explained the problem, “It looks like there used to be water catchments on the roof, probably leading to filters and a cistern somewhere.  The pipes are rusted and have made themselves into an eerie pipe organ.  Now that I have covered the biggest holes it will be quiet.  It may last only a week or so, depending on how fast the adhesive on the tape is dried out by the heat, at least it will stay long enough for us to get a good night’s sleep.”

“Perhaps tomorrow night.”

“Well, yes, it is near dawn already.”

“But the markets won’t be open for at least two more hours, no early breakfast for us.”

Illya rolled towards his partner and pushed him back in the bed.  “Well, perhaps a bit of late night snack then?”

“Mmm. Umhum,” Napoleon agreed.

***

“Sir, I promise you, I only turned my back for a moment.”

“And there was no one in the room, as usual?”

“Absolutely.”

“This has got to stop.  If there is a spy on the premises, I want him found and arrested, we cannot lose this contract because we have no product!”

“I will have more samples brought up from the storage area.”

“Better would be if you could find the sneak thief!”

Illya and Napoleon stood outside the office and eavesdropped, the manager of the fruit company and his underling weren’t even trying to keep their voices down.  It helped that the walls were thin and the door a joke of security.  Napoleon raised a brow and Illya shrugged in return.

The underling opened the door and didn’t cover his surprise well at seeing them in the waiting room. 

“May I help you, gentlemen?”

Napoleon stood, “We’re here for an appointment.  Solo and Kuryakin to see Mr. Bartholomew.”

“Oh, yes, of course, I’m sorry.  It’s been a morning and a half,” the man squared his shoulders and visibly got a grip.  “Welcome to the New World Fruit Growers Company.  If you’d like to step in here?”

They followed the man back into the room he’d just left where a rather portly man in a light colored suit stood at the open window, mopping his forehead with a kerchief.  He turned when he heard the door open but stopped with breath indrawn to speak when he saw that his hired man brought company.

“Your ten o’clock, sir.  Mr. Solo and Mr. Kerry, ah,” he looked back at the pair behind him.

“Kuryakin,” was Illya’s curt reply.

“Ah, yes, biofertilizer or something, yes?”

“Yes,” Napoleon answered smoothly as the underling slid out the door again.  “And potential investments in South American companies.  We were here to talk to you about franchise branches, if our farming and fertilizer techniques are compatible.  We are very interested in your company.”

“Yes, I remember your letter.  Please sit down, Mr. Kline is on his way to bring you samples of our products.  We are very excited about this new hybrid we have been cultivating.  The potential for export is enormous, it is bred to stay vine fresh over long distances,” the man seemed very enthusiastic. “If we can keep it in the office,” he mumbled under his breath.

They talked about the merits and difficulties of hybridization while they waited.  The door opened.  “Ah, here is Mr. Kline now.”

They sampled the fruit, sweet and fleshy much like a mango.  Mr. Bartholomew put the basket under the window behind his desk and turned back to discuss business.  “Now, we would be happy to go over some numbers with you,” he continued on and Napoleon did all the talking while Illya watched out the window behind the desk.

Illya watched as a little brown and white face appeared in the open window and a tiny forepaw reached over the sill.  The little spider monkey took two of the sweet fruits and ducked back down again.

“Excuse me, Mr. Bartholomew, I am sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation earlier,” Illya broke in, “the walls being what they are.  If you could come sit over here on this side of the desk for just a moment.”

Bartholomew looked from Illya to Napoleon and back again.

“Trust us, we’re here to help, isn’t that right, Mr. Kuryakin?”  Napoleon looked a question at his partner.  Illya just nodded and quirked his lips in a little sphinx like smile.

Bartholomew shrugged and came around to the guest side of the desk. 

“Quietly now. It should be just a moment.”

The three men sat very quietly.  Soon enough the little face appeared again and the little paw slid in the open window and out went two more of the fruits.

“Well, I’ll be a, well, I guess I really am a monkey’s uncle,” Bartholomew laughed.  He mopped his brow again with his kerchief and went to the window, removing the basket of fruit and sitting it on the desk in front of him.

“Good to know that there is no industrial espionage afoot.  My grandfather never warned me about these things when he told me about the romance of plantation living.  Of course, he didn’t have to run a modern company in a competitive world market either.  And he went back home to cold England when he had his fill of the tropics, too.” 

“Ah, to be in … anywhere with central air, hmm?”

Illya rolled his eyes at Napoleon and reached out for another bite of fruit.

***

“McDonald and Hanson got their hands on a THRUSH encryption key and in the short amount of time they could use it, U.N.C.L.E. has discovered that there are at least three nests of them in this area.  So where are they?”

Napoleon paced the small room, but gave up when that proved too hot an activity for the middle of another steaming tropical afternoon.  He went to the window and leaned on the sill.

“We have only one more day scheduled in the city, does Mr. Waverly want us to change our itinerary?”

“Since we’ve hired a car, he’s leaving that up to us.  It’s so miserable here I have forgotten why we came down here in the first place.  How in the world do people not die of boiled brains in this sticky heat?”

“The same way they do not die of frozen ones in the tundra, I suppose.”

Napoleon turned to Illya, laying on the bed in just his shorts, reading a book.  Napoleon thought he looked ridiculously cool like that, thought about skinning out of his suit and joining him.

“How on earth are you just laying there so cool and calm, it feels like the surface of the sun in here.”

“Another reason that the top floor rooms are not premium, I suppose, full exposure to the sun at midday.  Mind over matter, Napoleon.  Allow me to read to you.” Illya flipped back a few pages in his book, “Day had broken cold and gray, exceedingly cold and gray, when the man turned aside from the main Yukon trail…”  He continued to read Jack London’s ‘To Build a Fire’ aloud as Napoleon stripped to his shorts and dropped to the other side of the bed. 

***

“Just do the charming thing you do and distract the nice lady while I do the things I do and by the end of the evening we will know if we need to stay another day in the city looking to flush some birds.”

Napoleon wasn’t sure how he’d let Illya talk him into this plan.  It was his least favourite of the three he’d come up with and he blamed the heat.  He was certain that there could be better schemes, but this was the simplest, though perhaps the less wise one, planning to pick the pockets of the leader of what passed for the local policia.  But it was a good bet that the man was on the payroll of THRUSH if they were indeed in the city, THRUSH liked to have that kind of security.  This was how he found himself on the dance floor of a loud nightclub dancing the rumba with the wife of the police captain. 

Napoleon tried to keep an eye out for his partner, but he was in full disguise mode and so it was difficult in the dark bar, but he recognised the figure circling toward the table he had been sharing with the police captain and his wife. It had been simple to get the invitation out from the contacts he’d made in the city government, it may not be so simple to get away with this.  

The dance was coming to an end and Illya had yet to make contact with the target, so Napoleon improvised.  He invited the lovely wife to join him at the bar for a fresh drink.  She smiled and agreed.  The Solo charm had yet to fail him, so he escorted her toward the opposite side of the room from their table.

“Mr. Solo, I must say I am surprised an Americano such as yourself can dance the rumba so well, it leads me to wonder what other hidden talents you have been keeping from us.”  She smiled slyly at him, brushing her hand along his lapel. 

“A misspent youth, it leads to many, ah, talents,” allowing her to imagine what his raised brow and slick smile might mean.

They reached the bar and another woman stumbled into the captain’s wife and during the ensuing confusion Napoleon slid his fingers under his lapel where she had just stroked her fingers.  Sure enough, a tracker, recognizable as THRUSH.  He grinned a feral grin.  He paid for the drinks and led her back to the table.  A few more dances and some visiting with the captain and he was ready to meet Illya outside at the prearranged rendezvous.  He made his excuses about early meetings and left.

“Some secret agents we are, partner mine,” Napoleon said by way of greeting. 

“You found something?  I could not get close enough, the man has eyes in the back of his head.” 

They had agreed to meet near the offices of the fruit company they had been at earlier in the day.  Illya was holding out some fruit to a monkey that was edging closer, wary of the human but wanting the treat.

Napoleon pulled the tracker off the underside of his lapel and the small disk caught a reflection of light and became shiny in the dark.  The monkey was immediately intrigued and came closer.  Napoleon held it out near the fruit and the monkey snatched both the disk and the fruit and scampered away.

Illya looked at his partner, brow raised.

“It was the wife.”

“Then I suggest we check the hotel room twice tonight.  The female of the species is usually the sneakier.”

“When it comes to THRUSH, I couldn’t agree more, partner mine.”

***

“If we sneak in through the kitchen, I am sure the senora will feed you, partner.”

After a circuitous route back to the hotel looking for THRUSH tails, most of the restaurants were closed and Illya had more than once mentioned their lack of dinner. 

She was indeed happy to feed them and seemed pleased at their attention and their willingness to speak at least some of her language. 

“You know, there was a break in tonight, much excitement, my husband, he had to go and repair the door to your old room, the one on the ground floor.”

Both agents stopped eating and looked at her, showing no alarm, but very interested.

“Three men, they break down the door, then are caught, the hotel guests, they scream and everyone comes running.  The three, they run away before the policia arrive. 

Illya and Napoleon looked at each other, silent signals passing between them.

They continued to chat with the woman as they finished the snack she had prepared for them, then offered to pay her for her time and the late dinner, but she refused.  She explained that the hotel would never know the difference, and anyway, the hotel manager was pocketing the profit from rebooking their old room.  It was just the way things went at this place, she said with a shrug.

In their room the silently checked and double checked for surveillance, found none, and checked again.  They finally relaxed.

“So we are still booked downstairs.”

“It seems that way.”

“Then may I suggest…” Illya stopped and listened, there was a rustling in the hall.  He crept toward the door, gun drawn as Napoleon took up a position to back him up, weapon in hand.

An envelope slid under the door and when Illya pulled the door open, the hall was deserted.

In the envelope was a copy of the menu from the nightclub where they had spent the evening not having dinner.  One word on the menu was circled.

“Salmon.”

“And that’s our code word to high tail it back to the land of climate control, tovarisch, and none too soon.”

“So it looks like Section Three got what they needed, following us around.  Shall we head to an airport or do you want to take the bus again?”

“No, Illya, no busses.  We still have a car hired, unless THRUSH is really on the ball, and I am guessing they are not, they won’t expect us to drive out of the city. Besides, they think we were booked downstairs, and since they found other guests there, they may think we moved to another hotel altogether, we have a small window of opportunity while they’re still confused.”

“And before they bribe the right person to get them up here to our room.”

“How fast can you pack?”

“How fast can you get the phone number of the newest secretary in the pool?”

***

“Aaaah, yesssss.”  Napoleon fell back on the bed, it was the second thing he did after they searched the room as they always did in any unknown hotel, or any other place that wasn’t home.  There were no bugs or cameras to be found and Napoleon wanted nothing more than to lie on the bed and soak in the blessedly cool air being pumped into the room from the vents near the ceiling.  A bounce on the bed let him know that he was joined by his partner.

The beeping of his communicator insisted that he answer it, he moved as little as he had to in order to reach for the pen in his jacket.

“Solo,” was his lethargic reply.

“You have anything to report other than relief to be out of the tropics, Mr. Solo?” 

“Well, my dear Patricia, we got out of the country right under the nose of THRUSH and Section Three has avoided detection tagging the largest of three of compounds for surveillance so I suppose I am happy to report that the mission, such as it was, was a success.”  Napoleon looked to Illya to see if he had anything to add, he was still laid back with eyes closed, he took that as a no.

“Mr. Waverly wanted you to know that your flight was delayed for tomorrow, you don’t fly out until 1500.  Your tickets will be delivered to the hotel.”

“I think I can promise that a few extra hours in an air conditioned room won’t hurt my feelings at all.”

“He has a late meeting tomorrow and expects your debriefing after that.”

“Fair enough.  We’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Sweet dreams, Napoleon.”

“And you, Patricia my dear.”

Napoleon replaced the pen in his pocket and turned to watch his partner.  Illya looked asleep, but for the small smile playing at his lips.

“Showers first or dinner?”

“You really need to ask me that?” Illya cracked one eye barely open and his half smile grew a bit bigger.

“Then I will shower and you can order room service, unless you’d rather go out?”

“No, I am not leaving this icebox until we have to go to the airport tomorrow.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Napoleon wasn’t all that surprised when the curtain on the shower was pulled back and his partner, naked and grinning, stepped inside, pulling the curtain back into place.

The water was cool, a cascade of delicious sensation over Napoleon’s shoulders and down his back and belly and trickling fingers of relief down his thighs and calves to pool at his feet.  He maneuvered so that his partner could join him under the spray.  Illya turned his face up to the water, letting it drench his hair and face, eyes closed and blissful.  When he was thoroughly cooled by the water he turned his attention to shampoo and soap and then spent some time sliding his slicked hands over Napoleon’s chest and belly.  He let the water wash away the soap from them both.

“Keep that up, and we might not make it back to the bed.”

“All in good time, my friend,” Illya said as he stepped closer and ran his hands lower.  Napoleon was certainly interested, as was he.

Napoleon joined in, the first time in weeks they could stroke and touch and not be sweatslicked in thirty seconds or less.  Though Napoleon found getting sweaty with his partner a very enjoyable activity, there were limits to just how hot he wanted the hot to be.  His head fell back and he moaned as Illya stroked strong fingers up and down his hardening cock, his other hand cupping and rolling his balls.  Napoleon mirrored Illya’s actions until they were both panting and then Napoleon leaned forward to kiss his lover under the spray of cool water, tongues tasting lips and trading thrusts and locking together as hands moved faster, and the endless cool water poured down.

Napoleon finally pulled back enough to slide his mouth to Illya’s ear, “How long until dinner arrives?”

“I estimate we have another forty minutes.”

“Plenty of time.”

“For an appetizer.”

“Ah, yes, I think you’re right.”

Napoleon turned off the water and they skipped the towels, the cool air of the hotel room raising chill bumps on their skin.  They tumbled to one of the beds, mouths meeting and locking as they rolled, a mock fight for dominance playing out across the bedspread.

Illya straddled his lover, looking down at the tousled and flushed Napoleon, knowing that the dilated eyes and high color on his friend’s face was matched in himself.  He leaned down and nibbled his way along Napoleon’s collar bone, up to his throat and was gratified to hear the moan that Napoleon gave him from deep in his throat.  Illya answered with a thrust of hips and a slide down to align their hard cocks together, the friction welcome.  He continued his slow slide until he had Napoleon hard and deep in his mouth, hands stroking, bringing Napoleon to climax and swallowing before crawling up his partner’s body to press his still hard cock against Napoleon’s belly as he kissed him again, Napoleon reaching between them with one hand to slide his fingers around Illya’s cock and his other hand sliding down Illya’s back to take a handful of his ass and press him closer. 

Napoleon rolled them over and kissed and nibbled and nipped his way across Illya’s chest to reciprocate and was rewarded with a writhing from Illya that let him know he was hitting the sweet spots and making his partner a happy man.

He took all of Illya in one long swallow, savoring the feel of velvet skin and the underlying hardness, enjoying the power he had to pleasure and the power he gave in return.

Dinner arrived and found them dressed again, the bed smoothed as if they had not yet tested it.  The cart the waiter delivered had the usual plates and silverware, steaks to their preference and one thing more that Napoleon hadn’t expected, an ice bucket and bottle of champagne.

“Who’s the one feeling extravagant tonight?”  Napoleon couldn’t help teasing his usually frugal partner, lifting the champagne from its icy bath and lifting a brow.

“It was the least expensive bottle.”  Illya looked up from his dinner, “And it wasn’t the champagne I was so interested in, but the ice.  Lots of ice.  I never thought I’d see the day that I would be looking forward to Winter, but I have to say that I wouldn’t mind seeing a bit of the Yukon after this affair.”

“Just so it doesn’t involve exploding storerooms or treacherous relatives of anyone named Partridge, or snow falling off branches putting fires out, I might agree.”  Napoleon smiled.  “But couldn’t we just go get a bucket of ice?”

“The ice buckets from the kitchen are insulated, the ice will last all night.”

“And this is important because?”

“You’ll see.”

Much later, Napoleon did see, and feel as his lover trailed a chunk of ice down his throat, tracing patterns on his skin down to his chest and circling hard nipples and then lower, the ice melting away before Illya reached his navel. 

“This is torture, tovarisch.”

“Think of it as an experiment, Napoleon, which will last longer, you or the ice.”

Napoleon thought about dumping the slowly melting bucket of ice over his partner but the hot mouth following the icy path over his skin was exquisite and a torture he was looking forward to practicing himself on the bared skin of his lover.

Later still, Napoleon worked his way down Illya’s chest with his lips and tongue, hands soothing and cold having been dipped in the ice water left in the bucket, still some ice floating in it.  Napoleon reached over and took one of the last pieces of ice and popped it in his mouth before sliding lower and taking Illya’s hard hot cock in his mouth.  Illya arched off the bed and Napoleon steadied him, pressing his hips down and swallowing icy water and Illya at once.

Illya pulled his partner up his body, voice low in his ear as he demanded, “Take me, Napoleon, I want you inside me, right now, this minute.”

Napoleon rolled away for a moment and then was back with lubricant that he’d stashed in the bedside drawer earlier.  “Your wish, partner mine.”  He slicked his fingers and pressed deep to prepare Illya for him, moaning at the arching need Illya showed him.  He slid into the heat of his lover’s body and reveled in the feeling of the surrounding pressure and the rhythm that Illya demanded with hips lifting and hands gripping.  Napoleon watched his partner’s face, a look of sheer abandon in those features that he never tired of seeing, and the heady thrill of knowing that he gave Illya that look was intoxicating.  When Napoleon wrapped his long finders around his lover and stroked his hard cock, Illya finally cried out and came for him, and Napoleon joined his a few thrusts later, crying out his own satisfaction and both were lost for a moment.

In Mr. Waverly’s office, the partners handed over their completed report and answered questions, giving opinions on steps to take to keep a lid on the THRUSH centers in the other hemisphere.  One of the secretaries entered halfway through their discussion with a pitcher of water, clinking with ice and condensation running down the clear glass. 

“Thank you, Miss Daly,” Mr. Waverly looked up at the young woman as she poured out a glass for him.  “That was very kind of you.”

She turned to leave and Waverly offered a glass to the men at the table.  “That last meeting went on too long and the central air in the building was being repaired.  I knew I should have insisted that we hold the meeting here at headquarters.  It was sweltering all evening.”  He took a long swallow from the glass before him.

Both Illya and Napoleon thanked him politely and declined.

Napoleon watched the trails of droplets on the pitcher slide down and remembered the ice on his chest under Illya’s fingers, etching him with the invisible ink of their celebration of homecoming.  Illya had packed the unopened bottle of champagne in his suitcase.  Napoleon wondered how much longer their superior was going to keep them, he wanted to find an ice bucket for that bottle.  Perhaps they might even open it, some other night.