Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin
Category: slash
Rating: R
Word Count: 422
Summary: Dreaming of a kiss.
Table/Prompt:Inspired by Songs Table Prompt: right in the middle of a good dream
Theyre de-icing the wings. Again. Napoleons voice was tinny over the communicator. Youll hold down the fort for another day, wont you?
Of course, Napoleon, we survived eight days without you, one more wont harm us, he replied with the usual amount of patience he displayed. But it isnt work where youre missed, though Ill never admit that to you, even on a secure line, Illya added to himself.
{{Miss you, my heart,}} Napoleon said in a dialect they knew that only they could decipher, a remnant from an affair in their distant past. Clever man with a clever tongue, he knew how to circumvent those who might overhear, but not how to circumvent a snow storm keeping him trapped in an airport thousands of miles from home.
I will think of that cleverness later,’ Illya thinks. Later, oh yes I will remember that clever tongue later when it can do me no harm.
***
Illya feels the firm pressure of his lovers lips on his, tongue sliding and seeking entrance, coaxing and then teasing and he is determined to deny that begging mouth on his, not to surrender, to give only defiance and finds that the laughter he tastes on his lover is his downfall, opening to his partner and giving back the demand and heat and want equally and then he is taking as well as giving entrance, seeking the secret pleasures given and received, teasing back with lips and teeth and tongue, exploring in turn and feeling himself quicken with further want, hard enough to hurt and yet it is a sweet ache, this needing, an ache he knows will be fulfilled, his lover giving everything he wants and more besides, open for him to plunge into and through and with, joining them deeper than flesh will explain. He is still kissing his lover, feeling the deepening of that kiss, sweet suction on his mouth as they press closer and harder and the heat rises between them and he is ready, he wants so much to come with his lover, his partner, he growls with the pressure, the ache, the desire hot and hard and immediate
Sorry, moyO sErtse, did I wake you?
Illya rolled over to find Napoleon warm and present and real, not the dream he was having but the man himself. He pulls his lover to himself and presses his lips close to Napoleons to answer, Not yet.
And the explosion, when it arrives, too quickly, is better than any dream of it he has had.