A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Sixteen - Plasair d'Amore
Rated: NC-17 (More Than the Water is Hot.)
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*Brriingg* The phone . I reach for the nightstand, fingers stretching for the gun that is not there.
"I'll get it." Napoleon's voice at my shoulder. Far too cheerful unless I have overslept substantially. I feel the mattress bounce as he slips out from beneath my arm. "Suite four."
I blink back the blurred edges of my vision, slipping on my glasses with one hand. "What time is it?" I pick up my watch. 8:00? Not too late. Rolling on to one elbow, I enjoy the sight of a naked Napoleon. One of the world's great art treasures, and my favorite way to greet the morning.
" Illya?" He asks. "Do we want breakfast brought up? It comes with the room."
Not really, but I remember the sharpness of Napoleon's spine under my hands. If he will eat... "Tell them yes."
"Coffee or tea?"
"Too early for coffee. Tea for me."
I roll for the other edge of the mattress, only to be restrained by a warm hand and warmer lips. That is very tempting, but... "No, Napasha. Bathroom." I drop a promissory kiss on his deprived palm. "Later."
The bathroom is as splendid as I remembered. Even better. Whoever restored this pile of stone may not have understood architecture, but he clearly appreciated the value of hot water. In volume. At high pressure. The shower here is even finer than the one in the hospital. Two shower heads, and the flexible one has a button marked 'pulse' as well as the spray and massage.
Napoleon stands by the shower door, an abstract shape against the mottled glass. "Room in there for two?"
Switching over to the main shower head, I ease open the door and step back. "If there is an energy shortage, then we should not waste hot water."
He joins me, leaning close so the water splashes over both of our shoulders. The steam brings out the red marks on his skin. Remembrances of electrodes. I would once have said torture, but in light of recent experience? Perhaps sexual excitement is now neuron therapy. I have always considered Napasha an effective anodyne to my various aches and pains. Perhaps it was not just affection. I shall have to add that to my list of research subjects. Later. I drop a kiss on his marked right shoulder. Then another on his left. Much later. For now? I shall rely on empirical experience.
The water covers us both as I follow the trail of dots from shoulder to elbow, to waist, to hip, to... well, that is also red. But I do not think I should blame Ms. Chan for that. In fact, I would prefer to take all the credit myself. I give the bright head of his penis a quick lick, then a kiss. A further swelling and Napasha's groan is reassurance that - yes indeed, for this discomfort I am responsible. And, being so, it is clearly my duty to alleviate matters.
I cradle his balls as I guide the long shaft between my lips. Delicious as always, and so tender. The rough edge of my teeth brushing the long vein makes him shiver. Every lick, every glide of my tongue below the head brings a gasp, and when I pull him back against my throat he clutches my shoulders for balance. Good. I try that again, and feel his balls tighten in my hand.
"No. Illyusha... please."
The words are slurred, but I understand him. Leaving my sport, I kiss my way back up his body, following the trail of dots back to his lips. Our tongues join, rough and urgent.
"Need you," he murmurs against my lips.
I am loath to break the kiss, but a shower is no place for gymnastics. And the bed is too far away. And I want him *now*. I brace against the walls and open myself to him. Soap slick and ready. Waiting. Welcoming.
I love this. His long fingers loosening me, preparing me, enticing me. His muscled thighs spreading mine. His wide hands on my cheeks. The bright fire of entry and the deep warmth as he comes inside me. Perfect strength and power as he drives deep into me. The near-pain pleasure sparking from my prostate with every touch. Nothing is better. Nothing is more perfect. Not even his voice whispering silly mispronounced Russian love words in my ear, not the wide roughness on his palm rushing over my cock in perfect counterpoint to his every stroke, nothing. The pleasure takes my body, and my release joins the water swirling around us as I feel Napasha tense in completion. Then I feel the warm splash of his seed inside me and I think, this is heaven.
I turn to kiss him, relaxed and at peace. He shakes the water from his eyes and flips the shower back to include the lower head. We lean together as he guides the wide jet slowly over both our bodies. The architects here must have used a booster shell for a water tank, because the flow is still perfectly hot. I roll my sore shoulder against the top jet. It is definite. I will install one of these the minute we reach New York.
Squeezing the water from my too-short hair, I force myself out of the pleasant warmth. Time to go to work.
There are only four towels, but each of them is big enough for two bodies. A fact which Napasha proves by experiment. Very successfully. I must see about finding some of these towels as well. Perhaps I should not condemn the Major so harshly. This new world might turn me into a sensualist as well.
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A knock from the door. Napoleon tightens the belt on his robe. "I'll get it."
The Konstantin lad again, this time with our breakfast cart. And, wonder of wonders, this time Napoleon comes up with the tip.
I pour a cup of tea and look at the tray. Bread and cold cuts. Nothing that Napoleon would choose. I put together a sandwich and hand it to him.
He chews distractedly while leafing through our travel books."We need a plan."
"We need breakfast. Here." I hand him a photo brochure I found in the 'information' folder on the desk. 'Tallin Yacht Club' is printed in bold blue over a picture of food-laden tables.
He whistles appreciatively at the clear view of the water framed by the picture windows. A view which extends clear to the Finnish coast. "Nice view."
"I thought so." I turn the page over to the pictures of boats. "If there are pleasure craft, that will give us another route out."
"You hate the water."
"So no one who knew me would expect me to take that path. And Napoleon - if there is anyone still following now - they are those who know us very well indeed."
END CHAPTER SIXTEEN