Illya stared at the front door after Napoleon left. Why he wasn't running for it was beyond him. He wanted nothing more than to disappear from the face of the earth right now.
How was he going to explain this to Napoleon? He couldn't even explain it to himself. He wasn't a homosexual! He wasn't!
What about that time in Naples? supplied the devil's advocate of his subconscious mind.
That was different! It was an undercover role and one he was unwillingly forced into assuming. He had not enjoyed it. He hated every minute of it. Most of it, anyway, he revised. He tried to never lie to himself.
Only because it was never Antonio fucking you.
Illya closed his eyes in dismay. That much was true. He HAD wondered what it would be like to have sex with the big, kind-hearted Italian.
Wondered enough to fantasize about it every day since, his subconscious reminded him.
That, too, was different, Illya argued with himself. Fantasies were just that. Fantasies. Something that one found sexually titillating because it would never truly happen. No one ever wanted to live them out in reality. Women often fantasized about being raped yet they would not want to have it happen to them in real life.
It was not the same as this yearning desire to once again feel Napoleon biting him . . . kissing him, the man's hard cock moving within him. Fucking him. Or was it? Perhaps it was just a fantasy and he was confused because the object of that fantasy was near to hand. After all, Napoleon definitely was a lady's man. There was no way he would return Illya's desire.
He relaxed slightly, one fear retreating into the background. Maybe . . . maybe his problem had nothing to do at all with who he was bedding. Maybe it truly was just about the frequency. Yes! He was sure of it. It had to be because the alternative simply could not be true.
Napoleon exited the kitchen, a tall glass of clear, cold liquid in his hand. Extremely cold, judging by the condensation already sweating off the glass.
"Bless you, my friend," Illya sighed as Napoleon shoved the drink in his hand. He took a long swallow.
Napoleon laughed. "That doesn't mean much coming from a godless heathen like you."
Illya managed a small smile, appreciating Napoleon's attempt to put him at ease with their familiar banter. "At least I have the courage to admit to my atheism. You, on the other hand, proclaim your piety while doing everything your God says you're not supposed to."
Napoleon held a hand to his chest, his face alight with mock despair. "Illya, you wound me! I fully admit to the fact that I am a sinner and everyone knows God forgives a sinner as long as the person is aware of his fallacies."
Illya snorted and his smile came easier this time. Napoleon smiled back, pleased his ploy worked. Illya no longer sat at the edge of his seat ready to bolt if things got too personal and hard to deal with. Illya was a good partner, sometimes bordering on greatness. He was one of U.N.C.L.E.'s best marksmen, had the most brilliant mind Napoleon had ever had the pleasure of engaging, and could blow up an entire satrapy in the middle of downtown Manhattan without disturbing the buildings on either side. At the mechanics of being an agent, the man was phenomenal. When it came to dealing with personal issues however, he was an imbecile.
He was also very slippery, which was why Napoleon sat on the coffee table in front of his friend, close enough to grab him if he tried to run. "We need to talk, my friend."
The pleasure lighting the Russian's handsome face blinked out and the barriers slammed in Napoleon's face. He sighed. Trying to work out a personal issue with Illya was like having a tooth pulled. Worse. He thought he might prefer getting the tooth pulled. Without anesthesia. He put a hand on each of Illya's knees. The better to restrain you with, my dear.
"I thought we already discussed this?" Illya said coldly, a grimace on his face.
Napoleon looked upward as though he might find some help from the man they had already established he didn't pay much attention to. "If I remember right, you left in the middle of the discussion."
Illya squirmed, testing Napoleon's resolve to keep him pinned to his spot. The well-manicured hands squeezed Illya's knees in a vice-like grip, giving him his answer. Illya fell back in defeat. He could break the hold easily enough but not without causing damage to the best friend he'd ever had. One of the few friends...period. With a sigh, he stopped struggling and stared down into his half empty glass. Maybe it would be easier to talk if he couldn't see Napoleon's face.
Napoleon loosened his grip on Illya's legs. He reached over and placed two fingers under Illya's chin, lifting it gently. He wanted to see those baby blues while they talked. It was the only way he could read Illya accurately when he was in this state. The look of pain, confusion, and . . . was that fear? Was Illya afraid of him? Why would he be . . .
Understanding dawned on Napoleon. Illya wasn't afraid of him, he was afraid of his own desire. All words left Napoleon's tongue. Good. They would have just gotten in the way of the kiss. Napoleon leaned forward and took Illya's mouth in a passionate kiss, pushing his tongue into the startled mouth.
Illya leaned against the sofa back but realized with Napoleon hovering over him there was nowhere to go. Worse, he didn't want to. The desire for the man raged through his body even as he tried to deny it to them both. It was wrong, it was oh, so wrong! His mind screamed at him to stop it now before it went too far. It had been too long since he felt like this and the needs of his body were stronger than his will for abstinence. His lips parted wider, inviting Napoleon to take him as he had in Arabia.
Napoleon took the clues from Illya's reactions and pressed in closer. The thought of making love to Illya again thrilled him as much as it had the first time. The difference was that this time Illya came to him wanting it as much as he wanted to do it again.
He slid his hands up between them and tugged lightly at the dark sweater covering Illya's torso. It soon pulled free and Napoleon raised it, running his hands over the slender ribcage while smothering his former partner with fiery kisses. Slowly and ever so subtly he maneuvered Illya to the side, urging him to stretch out on the couch.
"Wha...what are you doing?" Illya asked breathlessly although he didn't resist the motion. He needed to stop this, to push Napoleon away and escape this trap. But he wanted it so badly! He'd never desired anything, or anyone, like this before.
"Giving you," Napoleon said softly between tender pecks on the cheek and neck, "just what you...need." He was a master of manipulation. A ruler of romance. A lovemaking machine, when he got into gear. He was going to give Illya the ride of his life and enjoy every minute of it.
Changing the attention of his butterfly kissing to the now bare chest, Napoleon pushed the shirt over Illya's head. Illya, his mind swirling with desire, could do nothing but comply by shoving it up and off his arms. Then Napoleon felt Illya's strong, nimble fingers reach down into his hair entwining themselves with the dark strands. He could feel the deep undulating breaths of Illya's chest and the heartbeat beginning to race. Every sensation of Illya's growing excitement was another injection of adrenalin in Solo's passion.
Napoleon began undoing the buckle of Illya's trousers as he looked down upon his companion. As he unzipped the pants his tongue danced in circles around the naval showing tricks Illya had never seen before.
In this encounter it was all for Illya. Giving Illya what he needed. Napoleon wasn't worried about his lovemaking partner returning the attentions. That could always come later as they continued their sexual relationship, which he fully planned to cultivate. He was sure they would be doing this a lot more often now that they'd officially begun.
Illya was stripped and every inch of his desperately craving body was explored and satisfied even as Napoleon remained clothed. There were consolations. Napoleon loosened the collar of his shirt and untied the smoking jacket. As his own discomfort from the rising hard-on grew he unbuckled his trousers and shoved them down over his hips.
The look in Illya's eyes as the engorged cock leapt from Napoleon's pants pleased him. This was what they both wanted. This was what they'd both been waiting for since coming back from the desert.
Illya was beyond voice as his body ached for that cock inside him. All reason had left as the endorphins flooded the reptilian part of his brain. The animal instincts of sexuality revolted against his suppressive upbringing and urged him onward, overpowering his will to remain pure to his Soviet roots. It was then that he discovered he was on the floor, the act of moving down from the couch a complete blur.
Never to be caught unprepared, Napoleon felt around in his jacket pocket for the bottle of baby oil he'd stolen from the ledge of the tub in the bathroom. Though Illya said nothing aloud Napoleon could tell by the erection his partner sported that they were going the right direction and he popped the cap on the oil. He squeezed some onto his hand warming it with his fingers to prepare the way.
The touch of slick fingers pressing at his anus brought Illya back to his senses. His eyes widened as he realized what they were about to do. What he was about to let Napoleon do to him. "No!" he rasped. The word sounded like it had been forcibly ripped out of him. He pushed frantically at Napoleon. "No! I can't do this! We can't do this!"
Napoleon looked at him in surprise but didn't pull his fingers away. He placed a hand on Illya's chest to halt his struggles. "Why not? We both want it." He moved his hand over Illya's stomach and grasped the rigid cock rising from the golden curls of his groin. "This tells me you want it," Napoleon insisted.
"I do . . . I-I . . ." Illya stuttered. "It's not . . . right. Not . . . natural."
Napoleon chuckled. "This, my friend, is the most natural thing in the world." He scooted down and gently swirled his tongue around the head of Illya's cock.
Illya bucked, a move which allowed Napoleon to push his fingers in a farther into the tight passage. "No!" Illya screamed his frustration at his conflicting thoughts. It felt so good, so right. But it wasn't right! It couldn't be! Still he made no move to stop his friend. Did nothing to push the invading fingers out of his body. "This is not right!" he practically sobbed, unable to think clearly, to truly put a stop to things.
"Who says it's not right?" Napoleon crooned while slowly sliding the hand around Illya's cock upward even as he continued to gently push his fingers inside his friend and now lover.
Illya's breath caught in his throat. "My government. It's-it's not moral," he gasped even as he pushed down on the questing digits wriggling in his anal passage.
"And how did they arrive at that decision?" Napoleon asked conversationally and kissed the nearest hipbone.
"I-I," Illya sputtered at a loss. He tried to gather up a coherent thought but it was an exercise in futility.
"The Bible, perhaps?" Napoleon continued, dropping kisses down the length of penis in his hand. "But that can't be, can it? We already established you're from a godless, heathen country." He lifted his head and moved up so he could stare into Illya's eyes. They were dark blue with desire. "So by what standard do they decide what is and isn't moral?"
Illya blinked, unsure of what to say. What to think. His intelligent mind was completely engulfed by his instinct based reptilian brain and it was hard to form a logical argument. But this was wrong! Wasn't it? It had to... Was it? So hard to know when it felt so right. It shouldn't feel this right.
"By the same token," Napoleon continued in that same calm, silky voice as he started to nibble on Illya's neck. "Killing is also considered immoral. Yet you do it everyday without a single qualm. My making love to you hurts no one." He leaned up and caught Illya's gaze once more. "Is this hurting you?"
Illya wanted to scream, Yes! It's killing me! It was, but not in the physical sense. It killed a part of his upbringing. His comfortable knowledge of how the world worked. At the same time, it made him feel more alive than ever before. He swallowed hard, his breathing shallow with his Herculean effort to maintain his control.
Napoleon frowned. "Am I hurting you?" he asked, wondering if maybe this really wasn't what Illya wanted.
"Yes," Illya moaned. "No."
Napoleon halted the movement of his fingers, ready to remove them if Illya told him he didn't want to do this. "Which is it?" He listened to Illya's ragged breathing for several long seconds and was about to end this when his former partner-fuck that! His partner, damn it!-shook his head.
"It-it doesn't hurt," Illya whispered. "I . . . It doesn't hurt."
Napoleon fluttered his fingers being squeezed by Illya's anal muscles. God, he was tight! His cock twitched but he ignored it, ready to quit if Illya so desired. "What do you want?"
Illya's answering groan was more a sound of pain then pleasure. That was it. Napoleon started to pull his fingers out of Illya's tempting body. He would rather use his own hand to take care of his needs before he would cause his friend pain.
Illya caught Napoleon's wrist, forcing the fingers to stay inside him. His gaze burned with the flames of desire and need. "I want you, Napoleon," his voice low and husky. "I want you to fuck me."
That was all he needed to know. Napoleon covered Illya's mouth with his own and probed with his tongue as he moved his fingers in and out and around preparing Illya's passage for his own cock. Just imagining the act of penetrating him again excited him. He thought of the last time Illya was fucked and it was he who had done it then too. This could be a steady thing between them. If it helped keep Illya in the right frame of mind Waverly would probably team them up again.
When their lips parted for air Napoleon sat up. He enjoyed the clouded look in Illya's eyes as the man's body gave in to his plans. With great flourish Napoleon picked up the little bottle and, drizzling a light stream of oil over the end of his cock, he coated the shaft generously. This was what Illya craved and he wanted to give it to him.
Napoleon shifted his weight and lifted Illya's hips over his as he positioned himself for entry. He checked Illya's expression one last time seeking permission. Apprehension showed in Illya's eyes, but the flames of desire burned hotter. Napoleon pressed the tip of his cock against Illya's hole and pushed lightly until the man relaxed enough for the head to pop through. With an even steady pressure he slid in slowly and carefully.
Warmth. Tightness. Smooth snug fit. It was as wonderful as the first time. He heard a light hiss from Illya's lips but the man's hands grasping his arms urged him ever deeper.
"Are you all right?" Napoleon asked pausing to let Illya adjust to their union.
A slight gasp as Illya tried to control his breathing. It had been a month since he last had this kind of sex after becoming so used to it. He nodded, worried that confessing his desires aloud was an admission of guilt to his country. He wiggled his hips indicating he wanted more action.
Napoleon obliged with slow undulating motion, fucking Illya slow, seeking a natural rhythm between the two of them. He closed his eyes and with one hand bracing himself on the seat of the sofa and the other on Illya's stomach. He rocked the two of them back and forth and back and forth, speeding up as Illya's legs wrapped themselves around his back urging him deeper, harder, and faster.
A fine sheen of sweat began to glisten on Napoleon's brow as he plunged into his partner over and over again. He watched Illya's cock grow harder and straighter begging for attention. The man must be loving this, he thought to himself. He remembered the last time they were together and the cry that came from the Russian's mouth. Napoleon wanted to hear that cry again.
Napoleon moved his hand to Illya's cock and began pumping the slick shaft as he fucked him faster and faster. "Come on Illya. Let me hear you come," he said wanting to bring the man to ecstasy once more.
Illya believed Laheeb never cared about Sapphire's pleasure. Even then the sex had been good. But this. With Napoleon's hand wrapped around his aching cock, Illya thought he might finally understand the concept of heaven. He couldn't help letting out a groan of pure pleasure.
Napoleon's dark eyes flashed with delight at the sound. Illya felt Napoleon's smile was one reserved only for HIM, not the faux ones handed out to the rest of the world. Napoleon seemed to enjoy bringing pleasure to him as much as he enjoyed receiving it himself. A new experience. Even the women Illya bedded worried more about their own satisfaction than with his. They would orgasm as quickly as possible then act impatient for him to find completion. As with Laheeb, he usually found the whole experience vaguely unsatisfying. Not so now.
Illya's moans of approval spurred Napoleon on and he buried himself to the hilt, leaned down and fucked Illya's mouth with his tongue just as thoroughly as he fucked Illya's body with his cock. Napoleon finally pulled away with a jerk. "Let me hear it, Illya," he growled, voice husky with desire. "I want to hear you come like you did in Laheeb's palace."
The image that had fueled a number of fantasies in the last few weeks flared through Illya's mind, scorching away all rational thought. He burned from the blaze of passion ignited by the duel sensations of the hard steel rod pistoning his passage and the tight hand pumping his cock. His balls felt ready to explode. He clutched Napoleon's arms and arched up to impale himself fully. The invading cock slammed hard into Illya's prostate and what felt like a jolt of electricity shot into Illya's groin. He shouted as the pleasure overwhelmed his senses and triggered his orgasm. Streams of white cream shot onto his stomach and coated Napoleon's fingers. As his muscles contracted with pleasure he felt the hard rod inside him even more acutely. He moaned again, part of him hating himself for loving the sweet fullness of it.
"Oh, God, yes!" Napoleon growled as Illya's contracting muscles squeezed him. He yanked Illya's ass higher and put his entire being into hammering in and out of the hot, tight passage. Within seconds Illya felt Napoleon's cum coat his insides.
Illya hissed in discomfort as Napoleon unceremoniously pulled out and lowered him to the floor.
"Sorry," Napoleon panted as he lay down beside him. "Did I hurt you?"
Illya thought about it then shook his head. "Not really." The euphoria of coming flooded his brain and he felt good for the first time in weeks.
"Good." Napoleon levered himself off the floor and headed towards the bathroom and closed the door. The water turned on.
Illya lay on the floor lazily staring at ceiling. He could no longer deny what he was. At least every time he'd ever had sex with a man before he could justify it as something he was forced to do. That one time in the KGB when the team leader decided to have Illya pose as a male prostitute, then again when a slave of Laheeb. Those instances had not been his idea. This however. This he could not blame on anyone but himself. He couldn't even fault Napoleon for it. He was sure his friend would have stopped the seduction if he had just said no. Shaking his head to clear the disquieting thoughts, Illya took a deep breath.
The water in the bathroom stopped and Napoleon exited wearing a purple robe.
The color of royalty, Illya thought. Of course.
"I'm starving," Napoleon announced walking for the kitchen. "Let's eat."
Illya watched his friend's backside retreat to the kitchen with a frown. This part felt remarkably like the way it was with Laheeb. For some reason he thought it would be different with someone he cared about. Apparently not.
Illya sat up feeling used and a bit abused. Not that Napoleon had been rough with him. The last time he was beneath a man was several weeks ago. He wasn't as used to it as when he was with Laheeb so he felt a little sore. Nothing he couldn't handle, though.
He went to clean up and dress before eating. By the time he returned Napoleon had the food on the table and was already devouring his meal. He pointed to the other chair with the roll he held in one hand. Illya gingerly lowered himself into the chair.
"Hungry?" Napoleon asked moving the stewpot on its trivet a little closer to Illya. "It's pretty good if I do say so myself."
"You would," Illya said as he ladled some onto his plate. It did smell rich and inviting and his appetite returned for some reason.
Solo smiled at Illya's grumbled response. He seemed to be acting more like his old self. "You think maybe we should put in a request for reassignment together again tomorrow?" Napoleon asked seeking to find out how Illya felt about it.
As Illya shoved a large mouthful past his lips he chewed a moment and with muffled words replied, "What about that nit you work with now?"
Napoleon shrugged. "Waverly can assign him to anyone. He's got enough experience. I'll give him a good report for his promotion to permanent agent."
Illya scoffed. "He doesn't deserve it."
"Like it or not Illya," Napoleon explained. "The man has earned his points and proven himself in the field. He has the makings of a very good agent given a little time. You were pretty green yourself once."
"I was never that green," he countered. "I survived on the streets of Kiev during the war. He couldn't beat his way out of a wet paper hat."
Napoleon smirked and let out a small snort. "Bag."
"What?"
Napoleon looked at Illya's puzzled expression. "Wet paper bag, not hat. He couldn't beat his way out of a wet paper bag."
Illya nodded. "So you agree with me."
Napoleon shook his head. "No. I meant the expression is he couldn't beat his..." He grimaced. The brat did it to him again. Illya often pulled the dumb immigrant routine to get someone, usually one Napoleon Solo, to say what he wanted to hear. "Never mind. That's not what I want to talk about over dinner anyway."
"Then what do you want to talk about?" Illya asked busily shoveling the food into his mouth.
"I don't know. Nobody said we have to talk about work though."
"You were the one who started the conversation," Illya reminded him.
Napoleon rolled his eyes. That was true enough but it was hard to get Illya to talk about anything even on a good day and since Saudi Arabia things have been even more strained than usual. "So you pick something this time."
Illya never talked about personal things. He kept himself a big secret from others. TV? Well he didn't watch much. Books? He hadn't had the chance to read any lately. Jazz music? Napoleon liked symphony and opera. Physics and chemistry? Napoleon wasn't a scientist. Illya pondered what made them so close considering he never allowed that with anyone before. It never occurred to him that it could be attraction in any form. He finally chose to start talking about stories in the headlines of the newspaper. They both read those.
After dinner, which was very filling, Illya was sated on another level. He hadn't felt this good, this normal, in weeks. As he gathered his coat to leave he thought perhaps he could maintain this state of mind and begin living his life like he did before the mission to Mexico. Taking that as a given, he thought he could at last return to fieldwork and even be reassigned to Napoleon as partners again.
"Good night Napoleon. Thank you for dinner," Illya said as he put his coat on.
Napoleon smiled with all his usual charm. "I'm glad you accepted. We should do this again," he replied.
Eat together or fuck? Illya said nothing but nodded noncommittally. "I have to be in the lab early. Experiments have to be monitored," he mentioned as if trying to make an excuse for leaving.
Napoleon nodded unsure if it was the truth or not but unconcerned for the moment. He opened the door but blocked the portal with an arm. Illya stopped and turned to face him.
"Something I forgot?" he asked.
Leaning a little closer Napoleon smiled. "No. I just wanted to say... Thanks for coming." It was a double entendre but he didn't clarify it. Then he dropped his arm letting Illya pass.
Illya walked toward the elevator not daring to look back. He thought it was a long time until the door closed behind him and the elevator arrived. Long enough for him to start thinking.
He wondered how complicated his partnership with Napoleon just became. Always so simple before. They shared work, a sense of humor, some food choices, and an interest in current events. Otherwise they were separate people with separate lives. He had the uncomfortable feeling they'd just intertwined their lives in such a way as to make their relationship much more complicated.
Waverly raised a bushy eyebrow at his Russian agent.
Illya remained still even though he wanted to squirm under hid boss's penetrating stare. He couldn't help but feel like Waverly knew what he and the CEA did last night. Not possible. Unless Napoleon had blabbed. Doubtful. Even if Napoleon wanted to brag, he knew it would be taking his life into his hands to do so.
"I realize Dr Proctor has released you physically, but Dr Kopf not only has not done so, he tells me you have yet to show up for an appointment."
"Yes, sir, I know, but..." He let the sentence hang. Mr. Waverly knew how he felt about doctors of any kind, psychiatrists, such as Kopf, in particular.
Waverly sighed. This was one of his favorite agents. One of his best. Only Solo equaled him. In some ways he was the better of the two. He was also the most emotionally-and, yes in some ways mentally-damaged of the two. There was a price to pay to keep the young Russian with the U.N.C.L.E. and keeping him away from the psych staff as much as possible was part of that. Even he had his limits, however. "I understand your aversion, young man and I run interference for you when I can. But even I sometimes cannot circumvent the doctors. Especially the man in charge of our agent's mental health. You were essentially raped." He held up a hand to stop his agent's protest before it started. "I realize this type of thing was not a new experience." He leaned forward and softened his tone. "No one else does, however. If you wish to keep it that way, I suggest you see Dr Kopf."
"Yes sir," Illya conceded softly.
"Go this afternoon. If he clears you, I will reassign Mr. Burke to a different partner." Kuryakin's eyes clouded in the closest expression of emotional distress Waverly knew he would be allowed to see.
The agent took a deep breath and his eyes cleared, returning to their usual dead stare. "Yes sir." He stood without hesitation and went out the door.
Good man. Waverly had no doubt he would do whatever it took to get in under the psychiatrist's radar. Kopf was good. Kuryakin was better. Still, it wouldn't hurt to run a little interference. He had more pull in that area than he would let the young man know.
He picked up the phone and dialed Kopf's extension.
"Kopf here."
"You will be receiving a visit from Mr. Kuryakin today," Waverly said without preamble.
"It's about time!"
Waverly imagined he heard the man salivating over the possibility. Although Kuryakin was required to submit to a psych exam every six months like the other agents, he was the only one who could refuse to answer questions he found particularly uncomfortable. He answered enough to keep from being pulled from duty, but never really revealed much about himself. Kopf seldom had the chance to examine Kuryakin closely. Waverly demanded the questioning after a mission involving mind-altering be limited to that situation only and not go into the man's background. Rape was something else, though, and Kopf knew it.
Waverly had other ideas. "Doctor, your questioning of Mr. Kuryakin will be limited to what is needed to follow up from the situation in Arabia. No other areas are to be delved into." He settled back into his chair ready for a battle he knew he would win.