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

Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin

Category: slash

Rating: R

Word Count: 1591

Summary: Working late again.

Table/Prompt: sleepy!sex

 

“Who thinks up these ridiculous tests?”

“I believe that would be you, partner mine, you were on the recertification committee.”

“Don’t remind me.” Illya let his head fall back against the headrest of the seat. “Next time our Uncle Alex suggests such a thing, shoot me.”

“He is rather fond of the Army Volunteer System when it comes to these committees.”

“And how did you get volunteered for the Christmas Party committee?” Illya tried to give Napoleon a glare, but was too tired, the effort was more than he wanted to attempt.

“It’s the Winter Celebration committee, we are being more inclusive this year. I was on recert last year. And the year before.”

“Hmmph,” was all the answer Illya had the energy to give.

“Come on, tovarisch, rise and shine.”

“No, thank you all the same.”

“We’re home.”

Illya’s eyes opened to see the familiar parking garage of their building. He shook himself and looked across the car to see that Napoleon was grinning at him.

“What?”

“The sleepy look works for you.”

“Blockhead.” Illya grumbled and Napoleon just grinned wider as they got out and locked up the car.

Once the elevator closed them in, Napoleon turned to his partner and ran a critical assessment. Illya did look good, eyes at half mast and shoulders relaxed, leaning back against the elevator wall with his tie loosened and several buttons opened, this was not a look anyone often got to see. The doors opened and they exited.

Illya had his keys out and was unlocking his door when he realized that Napoleon was still beside him.

He looked over his shoulder, raising a brow at his partner.

“You never fall asleep on a car trip that lasts less than an hour and you never close your eyes in an elevator, anyone could be waiting for you in there. Left to your own devices, you could find an entire flock of THRUSH in your apartment and not notice tonight.”

Illya made another rude noise, but had to agree that it was unusual. Then again, it had been a long day. But why was Napoleon so chipper and awake, he’d been there along side him for most of it.

Illya finished unlocking the door and reset the alarm as Napoleon relocked the door behind them.

“I’m betting that you didn’t eat all evening. It’s nearly ten, you ran out of fuel several hours ago.”

“I don’t remember lunch at all anyway.”

“Go shower or something, I’ll see what’s in your kitchen and then feed you and tuck you in. If you don’t eat you’ll have a hell of a headache tomorrow.”

Unfortunately, Napoleon was right, his metabolism would eat him alive and he’d wake hungry as a lion and about as unhappy as one with a thorn if he didn’t eat. He wandered toward the shower in hopes that it would wake him enough to eat without falling asleep at table.

He returned to the kitchen a short time later, somewhat refreshed and at least enough awake to be amused by what he found. Napoleon had removed his jacket and tie, rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt and tied a tea towel around his waist as an apron and was humming as he stood over the stove.

“Impeccable timing, as always, partner mine.”

“When it involves food or explosives.”

Napoleon looked over his shoulder and grinned, then gave his attention once again to the stovetop. Shortly he was sliding whatever was in the pan onto plates and joining Illya at the table.

It was a sandwich of some sort, Illya picked up a triangle and took a bite, then looked across at Napoleon, who was watching.

Illya finished the thing in four bites and smiled as he took a long drink of juice. Finally able to speak without a full mouth, he gave his partner a smile. “Wonderful. Whatever you charge, you’re hired.”

Napoleon laughed as Illya picked up another chunk of sandwich. “It’s Aunt Amy’s recipe for Monte Cristo, modified a bit since your kitchen is not as well stocked as hers. I improvised her secret ingredient, so I am glad you like it.” He finally tucked into his own plate, much less covered to start with, he hadn’t skipped dinner earlier in the evening.

By the end of the impromptu dinner, Illya had gotten his second wind and together they cleared up the kitchen.

“Drink?” Illya turned to Napoleon and took the dish towel away from him.

“I should just go upstairs, but I did promise to tuck you in.”

“I may demand a story as well.” Illya threw the towel over the dish rack and stepped closer to his partner.

“You already know all my stories, Illya.”

“A few of them bear repeating, Napoleon.” The sleepy look was still there, but now with a sly undercurrent that Napoleon recognized.

“Why, Mr. Kuryakin,” Napoleon looked down and back up his partner as if noticing for the first time that he was wearing old jeans and no shirt, “whatever are your intentions?”

“Entirely deplorable, Mr. Solo.” Illya’s smile was wickedness made flesh, it made Napoleon want to taste it. So he did.

“Sign me up,” Napoleon whispered between kisses.

That second wind lasted just long enough to get them into the bedroom and undressed, when they finally got horizontal, their movements became languid, their caresses slow and their kisses protracted.

Despite the lazy start, soon enough the blood was pounding fire in their veins and hard flesh was demanding release. Napoleon slid down his lover, hands and mouth stroking and nibbling and exciting in their turn, finally reaching his goal and tasting velvet skinned strength and the clean musk of his lover as he swallowed Illya’s hard cock in one greedy slide of mouth and tongue. Illya arched under his hands, reduced by now to wordless gasps and desire.

Napoleon took his time stroking with his hands and mouth, licking and teasing and driving Illya to finally fist his hands in Napoleon’s hair to pull him up and over his body, demanding with his action what he wanted. Illya pulled Napoleon to him, tongue thrusting past lips and teeth to kiss him deeply and taste himself on his lover, and both of them growled at the sensation.

Illya rolled them, pushing Napoleon back on the bed and pinning him there as he tortured his lover with the same caresses and tastings on his flesh, slowly working his way over throat and chest, nipples and belly, teasing thighs and finally opening his mouth to breathe warm maddening sighs on Napoleon’s own hard cock before tonguing him slowly, licking him like candy before taking him into the heat and wet and tight suction of his mouth.

Napoleon fisted his hands in the sheets under them, wanting this loving to last all night and wanting to explode with Illya and wanting just as much for this to never end and knowing his body would demand release long before he was ready if his partner kept this going for much longer.

“Illya,” he panted with effort, forming words was almost the hardest thing in the world, second only to his flesh between his lover’s lips.

Illya hummed and Napoleon could no longer think, could only feel and arch and come and cry out without coherent words left at all.

Illya took his time licking and nibbling his way along his lover once again, the return trip to his mouth a drawn out process that he enjoyed every inch of the way, finally resting against Napoleon and kissing him, their scents and tastes mingling and Napoleon drinking him in like fine wine, his tongue exploring Illya’s and welcoming.

Napoleon reached down and stroked Illya, still hard and still hot and still awake.

“Illya, come inside me, fill me with you.” Napoleon squeezed gently, the languor returning even as Illya was breathing faster and moving restlessly against him, responding to his stroking and his quiet whispers.

Illya reached for the nightstand and brought out the lubricant that was always stashed in the drawer. He slicked his fingers and stroked Napoleon, readying him as Napoleon continued to whisper quietly in Illya’s ear, telling him again and again what he wanted and how much he wanted and pushing Illya again to the edge and demanding he plunge over and in and deep.

Illya slid into his lover in one slow stroke, stilling as Napoleon adjusted to the sensation and then starting to rock his hips when he felt Napoleon tighten around him, hips pushing up to meet him and signal his need for Illya to move, to fill, to come.

Napoleon reached up and ran his fingers over Illya’s face and through his hair and then gripped his shoulders as his lover’s rocking strokes brought him back up again, Illya’s hand folding around his again hard cock to slide and coax and invite even as he was nearing closer himself to coming, to fulfilling Napoleon’s request.

And neither of them had vocabulary left at all when the climax arrived, pushing them over past the fireworks behind their eyelids closed in the moment but both opening their eyes after, seeking reassurance and the familiar communication between sated lovers, those looks that said yes and thank you and sleep now, the brushing touches of hands that settled and guided and tucked them down into slumber with the knowledge that there would be more time, another time, one more chance to pour themselves out and into and with each other.