A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Fifteen - Stairway to Heaven
Rated: NC-17 ( Very Much So )
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It is less then five hundred kilometers from Len.... St. Petersburg to Tallin. We have been on the road for eight hours. Granted, some of that was evasion. Switch backs and turns to watch for followers. Now, I think, we are just lost.
"Check the map," Napoleon tells me again. "We should be there by now."
I am already looking at the map. "We should have been there an hour ago. Perhaps we should call?"
"Do you trust the phones?"
"This far out?" I consider the chances. "Maybe... no."
So we drive on. The book says there should be a historic windmill. I would settle for a road sign. All we see is trees. Then more trees. I look at the map, then the road, then at Napoleon. "How come you can find a drop site in the middle of the Sahara, but you can't find a hotel in Tallin?"
Napoleon pulls out around a truck. "It's not the hotel I can't find - it's Tallin. Look for a windmill near a church."
How hard can it be to find a nation's capital? Even a nonexistent nation like Estonia? I spot a something like a stone silo near what looks like large barn. "Is this it?"
"According to the book." Napasha turns right, then right again at a barely visible sign marked 'hotel'. Another ten minutes brings us to a partially open gate in a stone wall. Something is behind the trees. Napoleon steers through the ironwork and takes the graveled road through the trees. It dead ends in a parking lot next to a large building, also stone.
This is Napasha's great hotel? "It looks like a castle. Ivan the Terrible's castle."
"But they restored it for Catherine the Great. Which is after the discovery of plumbing. I think this is the place." He cuts the motor and jumps from the car. "At least we can ask."
A middle-aged woman meets us at the door. She looks more like a housewife them a concierge.
"We are looking for the Kadrioru Hotel?"
"Wonderful." She steps back. "Come right on in. Do you have reservations?"
"I'm afraid not." Napoleon begins.
"No problem." She does not even wait for the smile. "We still have some excellent rooms." With a flourish, she pulls the bound register from behind the counter. "You are together? We don't have any paired rooms just now. Perhaps 133 and 139? At least those are on the same floor." She runs a finger down the page, frowning slightly. " We do have a lovely suite with a view of the lake. Very restful. And really, it costs no more then two singles."
Napoleon looks at me, then answers. "The suite will do quite well."
"Then if you'll just sign in?" She spins the register. " Will that be Visa or Mastercard? We charge a two percent surcharge for foreign traveler's checks. One percent for rubles."
"Do you take American dollars?" Napoleon asks, holding out a pair of bills.
Now she has the charming smile. "Love them."
"Konstantin!" She calls at a young man slumped behind the counter. "Show these gentlemen to suite four." She hands Napoleon a pen and adds. " Welcome to Tallin."
Napoleon hands his bag to the man. I keep mine. Just in case. As always. When we get to the room, I am still the one who finds a small bill for the tip. Even thirty-three years do not change some things.
********
The suite appears clear of listening devices. And the plumbing is excellent. At the price they are charging, it should be gold, but still...
Napoleon is at the window, pausing a moment before shutting the drapes. "It really is a beautiful view."
I ignore that, checking the main bedroom. Why, I wonder, did they put chocolates in the middle of the bed? Some quaint Estonian custom I was never briefed on? I toss them on the nightstand.
"Chances that we are under observation here?" he asks.
"Zero." I answer. "How can they know where we are? We barely know where we are."
"Which is the idea." He hangs his jacket in the closet, then his tie.
"Exactly." I hand him my jacket as well.
"So?" He smiles.
So I kiss him.
And he kisses me. It is a very good kiss. Not up to his best, perhaps, but still wonderful. And a wonderful Napoleon kiss is a force strong enough to curl the tips of my toes. Among other bodily parts.
"We need.." I breathe.
"My shaving bag." He kisses me again. "Hold that thought."
While he is gone I hang my pants and fold my new rolltop. Even in this new world there is no need for indolence. Besides....I *like* my new clothes. I am folding down the bedspread when I feel the puff of breath on the back of my neck. I turn into warm arms. Strong arms. For the first time I *feel* like it has been thirty-three years. At least.
Running my hands down his now-bare back, I shudder at the hard edges of bone there were not evident when we left New York. Ignore that. He is here now, and well now, and for now.....I will not think of that. My tongue moves from lips to cheek, rasping on a days growth of beard. So often he shaves first. Wise, as whisker burns could be lethal to our discretion, but... I have always loved his texture. And his taste.
His hands track to my waist, pulling me tight against him. His lips brush back my too-short hair, seeking the tender spot behind my ear only he knows of.
A mutual flip,and we are centered on the mattress, which leaves legs free to wrap and rub, bringing us chest to chest and cock to cock.
"My Napasha," I whisper to his throat. "I need you tonight."
He twists sideways, and my lips wander from cheek to nape as I fumble for the shape of the lube on the nightstand.
Napasha pulls back my hand. "Already done." He knows me so well.
Kissing his shoulder, I send my other hand down the trail of soft hair to the treasure I desire most. Napasha is huge and hard, and every heartbeat that sounds in my ear is echoed by the twitch of his cock. I would love to spend the night suckling there. And I will soon, I promise myself. But for now, my need drives.
My finger enters him first, learning the truth that he *is* ready. Very ready. At the first brush of my penis against his entrance Napasha thrusts back, taking me, compelling the breath from my lungs in a gasp of pure pleasure. I clutch at his thighs, pulling myself even harder against him. Hot bliss. My free hand cherishes his balls, while the other pumps his cock in counterpoint to my thrusts. He curls back, pressing me harder against his sensitive gland.
It has been too long. The need is too great. Far to few strokes and I am splashing within him, burying my cry of 'lyubovnick' in his mink-dark hair. Too soon. But for him it has been just as long, and his shouts join mine as his pleasure fills my hand to overflowing.
I raise that hand to my lips, licking the taste of my beloved from my fingers.
He rolls to his back, and I settle in his arms. With my head cradled against his shoulder, I close my eyes and hear a secret voice in my heart whisper 'Tell Moscow that Illya Kuryakin *is* home.'
**********
I am on the verge of sleep when his voice draws me back. "Illyusha, whatever comes? Together?"
"Yes, My Napasha." I rub my cheek against his chest. "Together." Dr. Goldak was correct. It is very relaxing to have something warm and furry to stroke.
END CHAPTER FIFTEEN