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

Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin

Category: slash

Rating: R

Word Count: 2003

Summary: A night in London.

Table/Prompt: Pounce!Porn Table Prompt: Surprise

 

He really had no idea at all.  He was polite and charming and talked knowledgeably on several topics without being either bombastic or falsely self effacing.  As the evening wore on and the wine flowed, he relaxed and laughed out loud several times, joining in with telling stories he knew about the surrounding area and providing more moments of laughter for their companions, something he rarely did at home.  At home there was constant guarding and watching and the careful containment that he was used to seeing in his partner.

 

Perhaps it was the city; London was a city they had each spent a considerable amount of time in, separately and then later together.  Maybe he was remembering a younger self, an earlier time when life was not quite so harried as it was now, a time when he knew less of the harshness and anticipated more of the joyful.  Or maybe he was just drunk, perhaps they both were.  Still, his partner had no idea the effect he had on his companion.

 

***

 

Illya unlocked and opened the door to the hotel room, noticed that Napoleon’s coat was hanging inside the door and stopped to listen for activity.  It was quiet.  No television or radio sounds, there was a dim light coming from somewhere, but no voices or other signs of occupation.  He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and slipped in the door, shutting it softly and setting the alarms they always brought with them.  Last one in, it was his job to set them.  Usually Napoleon was the one out late and set them on his arrival back to whichever hotel they were billeted in.  Illya hung his own overcoat next to his partner’s and then walked quietly down the short entry hall, just in case he had miscalculated his timing and Napoleon was being strangely more silent than usual with company.

 

He found his partner stretched out on one side of the double bed, hair still damp from a shower and dressed in a pair of soft cotton pajama pants.  A paperback book was propped on Napoleon’s bare chest and a glass of amber liquid was in one hand; he looked the picture of comfortable and relaxed.

 

Glancing up, Napoleon smiled a welcome.  “You’re in early?”  He asked as if expecting Illya wasn’t staying.

 

“I saw the lovely Miss Carbondale home but declined the offer of a nightcap, she has an early call in the morning.”

 

“So thoughtful of you, partner mine.  Too bad though, she seemed smitten.”

 

Illya only shrugged and turned to slide off his jacket and hang it on the back of a chair.  He continued to ready for his own turn in the shower, untying and removing shoes, socks, slacks, bunching his laundry into the bag of it to be stuffed into a suitcase later.  He took his own pajamas and disappeared into the bath.

 

Napoleon let his book drop to his chest and sipped the whiskey.  He listened to the shower come on, the pipes whined as Illya adjusted the temperature of the water, then there was only the steady fall of water like rain on the roof.  Napoleon continued to sip his drink, letting his eyes fall closed, though it did nothing to block out the images he kept seeing; Illya laughing, Illya smiling as he lifted the wine to pour more into glasses around the table, Illya holding the lovely Miss Carbondale’s coat for her, then escorting her out the door with his hand in the small of her back.  And there were other images behind his eyes as well.  Illya giving him a sly look from the corner of his eye as he told stories sanitized for civilians, knowing that Napoleon knew the details he wasn’t supplying, details about nights spent out dancing in Paris, a mission to Greece that turned out to be a wild goose chase and a missed flight that forced them to spend a weekend on a tiny island, sun drenched and mostly alone in an off season resort.  He let himself drift on the memories that Illya had stirred but not voiced, not aloud, only with looks and the small curl of his lips that told Napoleon he knew exactly what his partner was remembering, even as he told amusing stories to the girls they invited to dinner.

 

Illya emerged from the steam cloaked bath to see Napoleon still reclined, book face down on his bare skin and the glass barely held upright in his hand.

 

Illya stepped close to the bed and lifted the book and glass and sat them aside.  Dark eyes opened and watched him.  The bedside lamp cast dim shadows around the room but lit the bed bright enough to see the expression on Napoleon‘s face, unreadable as it may be.

 

“You are also in early tonight.”  Illya made it a statement, knowing that Napoleon rarely made it back to a hotel before midnight.

 

“Emergency translator needed, she was on call.”

 

“Too bad.  She was certainly smitten.”  Illya sat on the edge of the bed, crowding his partner.

 

“I am sure she will survive the unrequited smittenness.”  Napoleon did not move, let Illya’s hip push close to his.

 

Between one lazy blink of Napoleon’s eyes and another, his partner was over him, arms braced and holding himself above Napoleon, skin not yet brushing, one deep breath separating their chests.

 

Illya’s mouth was against Napoleon’s ear, voice low and barely more than a whisper, “I want you.”

 

Napoleon took that deep breath, feeling the solid length of Illya’s torso against his own.  “We aren’t home, Illya, we agreed…”

 

Illya stopped Napoleon speaking by kissing him, a quick brush of lips on lips followed by another and then a longer and deeper exchange, tongue tracing lips and then gumline and then when Napoleon opened to him, tracing arcane patterns on soft palate and against his tongue, drawing him into a spiraling need along with him.

 

Illya finally drew back, looking down at his lover, “We agreed never in a city where we were too well known, and only ever at home where we knew we were safe.  London is a balance of them both, and we have done our part to safeguard the reputations of all parties.  Our companions will attest to your charm and my politeness.  And I will not wait another three days.  This has been the longest week I have ever lived through.”  He didn’t wait for an answer, but kissed Napoleon again, another exploration with tongue and teeth, willing his lover to understand, to agree.

 

Napoleon slid his hands up Illya’s arms, down his muscled back and then trailed his fingers rib by rib up his sides and then pushed his fingers into his lover’s hair, darker than its usual sunbeam brightness, still damp from the shower.  He kissed Illya back with matching need, letting his own desire rush forward as it would have in three days time when they were safely in New York and locked behind the door of one of their apartments.

 

Illya swung up fully on the bed, knees bracketing Napoleon’s hips and pressed cotton clad body to body, hard flesh responding and demanding, never breaking the kiss, deep and telling in its intensity.

 

Napoleon slid his hands down again, strong fingers kneading their way down Illya’s back and lower, sliding under cotton and gripping the firm ass there, pulling him closer, harder, translating his want from flesh to flesh.

 

There were no more words for a while after that, no need for them as mouths and hands and flesh on flesh spoke most eloquently for them.

 

Illya slid his way down Napoleon’s body, kissing and stroking and sliding the cotton away to reveal his desire, his lover hard and wanting and ready.  Illya didn’t wait, he stroked his hands and mouth over Napoleon’s cock, swallowing him and cupping his balls and then sliding one finger inside to stroke and cause Napoleon to arch and moan and throb for him.  Illya pulled back enough to slip his hand into his pajama pocket and pull out a tube of useful slick lubricant, then shucked the pants altogether and rejoined his lover on the bed, both bare and ready.

 

Napoleon moaned when Illya pulled away, sitting up and seeing Illya naked, he reached out for him, pulling him up to kiss, taking his time to explore and taste, even as Illya’s hands were again busy.

 

“All week I have wanted you, do you even know how difficult it was to watch you tonight?”  Napoleon gave Illya no chance to respond, kissing him again, then nipping kisses along his jaw to his ear and the sensitive places on his throat that made him growl and Napoleon answered him with his own low sounds, encouraging and full of want and demand and acceptance.

 

Illya pushed Napoleon back, kissing him into the pillows and then rose above him to position his lover, ready now, and Napoleon reached out to stroke Illya’s cock, taking the slickness off Illya’s hands to apply it himself, wrapping his long fingers around Illya the way he knew he enjoyed.

 

Illya pushed Napoleon back again, then pushed inside, a long slow slide, Napoleon’s hips lifting to meet him and neck arched.  Illya stopped, let Napoleon adjust and then started to rock, small movements that drove them both higher and harder into their desire.

 

Napoleon reached for Illya and Illya met him, a fierce kiss joining their mouths as Illya wrapped one hand around Napoleon’s hard cock, stroking a counterpoint to his thrusts.  Napoleon’s hands slid down his back, again his palms and fingers gripping Illya’s ass to pull him harder and deeper and urging him faster and their kiss broke as Illya pushed himself up on one arm to drive harder, one hand still stroking Napoleon.

 

Napoleon arched under him, coming hot and fast and the tensing of his muscles pushed Illya over the edge and he followed Napoleon into orgasm.

 

Minutes, hours, unknown time later they disengaged from the tangle of relaxed limbs they had collapsed into, breathing calmed and murmured words exchanged, finally again able to articulate the words they so often could not, did not allow themselves.

 

Illya rose and went to the bath to retrieve warm washcloths and Napoleon poured another measure of whiskey.  Illya returned, performed the ablutions they always did for one another and then took the drink offered him.

 

They sat up in the bed, twined around each other again and sharing the drink.

 

“London and New York, then.”

 

“Yes, moyo sertse, as good as home, London.”

 

***

 

He really didn’t know, had no idea how naturally he charmed everyone he met, how even the flight attendant perked up when he looked her way.  He worked so hard to appear indifferent and aloof and all it did was intrigue them more, make them want to get under that cool veneer to the heart they knew had to be there.  He smiled, knowing that he was the one who was allowed into that hidden heart, invited there, always surprised a little when he realized how happy it made him to be there.

 

Napoleon leaned over to Illya once the flight was underway and they were promised a few moments free of interruption by stewardesses with drinks or snacks, “What possessed you, tovarisch?”

 

Illya glanced up from his book and met Napoleon’s eyes, knowing what he was asking.  He thought about the dinner out with their dates three nights before, remembered watching his partner, his lover, charming and amusing.  Remembered the overwhelming want, need, desire, one he found he no longer wanted to sublimate or deny.  He looked steadily at Napoleon and answered, “You, my friend, you possessed me.”

 

Illya returned to his book, but didn’t see the words for a very long time.  The flight attendant came by again, Illya heard Napoleon wave her off and smiled when Napoleon settled back and closed his eyes to sleep.