A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Before the Deluge
Rated: NC-17
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Dinner was lovely, and three glasses of wine on top of the vodka have given the world a soft, pleasant edge. At least I tell myself it is the alcohol. Otherwise I would have to acknowledge that it is the sight of Napasha hanging his shirts beside mine as if they belonged together. Impossible, because then I would have to acknowledge my greatest hope. The wild mad dream that somehow in this strange world perhaps they do. Great hopes, I have long learned, lead to greater loss.
I am sorting through our bags and dropping the dirty clothes into the bathroom hamper when he turns to me. "Twenty six years?" He says it in a voice of wonderment. "Do you really believe that Mark..?"
"In a six bedroom house, only one has been regularly used,"I answer. "And there is at least two weeks of dirty laundry in the main bathroom hamper."
"Yes, but...twenty six years." He sits down on the bed. "Who would ever have thought it?"
"Why not?" I ask. "We are here."
"I was always pretty sure we were ... unique."
"And now?"
He pats the mattress, and I go over to sit beside him. "I still do," he says. " No matter what, I refuse to believe that anyone ever loved anyone the way I love you."
"Right answer."
"I thought so." He laughs, pulling me over for a brisk kiss.
I lean in and lengthen it just a bit before pulling back. Soon enough, but I have business first. "What do you make of that Demitri Grustov bit?"
"Clumsy. Very clumsy." Napasha leans his chin on his hand.
"That is what I thought. If Mark wanted us to know about an active ring in the area, why did he not just tell us? If David wished to put Grustov in contact with me, why did he not do so when you were not there?"
Napasha nodded. "So what are you going to do?"
"I believe I will have lunch tomorrow.... in the language department."
"Smooth." His voice is rich with amused approval. "Very smooth."
We move together for a deeper kiss. I taste a touch of scotch on his lips, over the richer taster that is Napoleon.
His lips leave mine and head south as he eases me back to the wide bed.
Clicking off the lamp as I fall, I reach for his broad shoulders. I cherish the flex of his back beneath my hands, the smooth warmth of his arms, the curls beneath them. He brushes his cheek against my chest, teasing my nipples with his evening beard.
I feel myself grow hard as he fills and lengthens against my leg.
His hands claim my ass, pulling me still tighter against him. "Why do I want you so? It hasn't been that long."
I pull him up as I open my thighs for him. "Ignore time. However long, it is always too long."
I feel his fingers at my opening, slick and hot. Teasing me. Preparing me. "Now!," I demand, and in one long stroke he comes into me. This is bliss. This warmth. This union. This song that reaches my heart from every nerve.
He rocks against me, his belly stroking my cock with every thrust. His hand claims by balls, warm and gentle as his thumb strokes the base in counterpoint to his deeper thrusts. I rise against him, impatient to finish what I can not bear to end. Soon, too soon, I feel him gush within me as I abandon myself to my own pleasure.
Weak limbed, boneless, I sprawl back on to the pillows. Napasha lays in my arms, still but not asleep. Not tucked close as I wish him to be.
"Trouble?" I whisper.
"Just thinking." He reaches out to pull me to his chest. "I have never before made love to you without a lock on the door."
END CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT