A Change of Routine
"Is there something you want to tell me, Illya?" Turning on the lamp beside his sleeping partner's bed so that he could see him, Napoleon Solo shook Illya.
Napoleon was mindful of how Illya usually reacted to being touched while sleeping. Illya could go from sleeping to awake in a moment, the Walther he kept under his pillow pressed to anybody's temple, their neck held in a grip of death. But obviously not today. Illya's only response was to toss his head from side to side, muttering unintelligibly and clutching the covers.
Illya looked vulnerable and sweet in his hotel bed. Napoleon itched to glide his hands through the tousled hair sticking up in strange places on Illya's head. He satisfied himself by watching, Illya must be exhausted after their latest mission. New lines showed on his brow and there were dark shadows under his eyes. His normally pouty lips were now closed in a firm line.
But it was unprecedented that he didn't wake up when Napoleon talked to him.
"Illya!" Napoleon tugged at the cover, trying to snatch it from Illya's hands. "Wake up!"
That got him a reaction. Illya sat bolt upright and blinked frantically, eyelashes dark and moist. Napoleon could see presence return as Illya took in his surroundings. Sharp eyes focused on him.
"It's me, alright, but who are you?" Napoleon sat down at the edge of Illya's bed.
"You are blind now?"
No one could go from sleeping to irritated as fast as Illya. "I can see perfectly well, Illya. But I need reassurance that this is you." Napoleon couldn't keep the worry out of his voice, and patted Illya's hand carefully.
"It is I, Napoleon." He scrunched up his brows and squinted at Napoleon. "Is something the matter?"
Illya sat up straighter, the covers falling low around his hips. Illya slept only in his boxers because of the heat, something Napoleon knew from observation was most unusual. Illya's chest was slightly flushed, and his sweat made Napoleon oddly aware of the planes and contours of Illya's body.
Napoleon blinked and tried to concentrate. "Nothing's the matter. If you disregard that a minute ago you were thrashing in your sleep." He could see Illya casting a furtive glance at his bedclothes. They were rumpled and in disarray. Napoleon smirked. Let his partner take that in. "And," he watched Illya intently, "you talked in your sleep."
"I did not!" Illya looked annoyed, he was obviously in denial.
"Oh, yes. You did." Napoleon wavered between wanting to gloat and wanting to comfort. Tenderness won out. "At first I thought you were having nightmares about yesterday's encounter with the Thrush operatives here in Rome..."
Illya closed his eyes. Did he anticipate what was coming?
"Then," Napoleon paused and plucked at Illya's sheet, "I knew that couldn't be it. You were not having a nightmare."
Illya glared at him. "But?"
What was that in Illya's eyes?
Napoleon glanced quickly at him.
No need for that.
Illya continued "I never talk in my sleep, Napoleon. I have been trained not to."
Napoleon doubted the possibility of being able to control that, especially in the light of what had happened. "In that case, was that a hidden record player I heard talking?"
Illya looked trapped, and retreated back against the headboard. Pink, velvet. Napoleon irrationally noticed.
"I woke up to your mumbling, Illya, and then you were saying; ah...um...more...harder...Napasha."
Illya had closed his eyes again, head tilted back against the hideous headboard. "Would you believe me if I told you about the girl I met while studying in Cambridge?" Illya whispered.
"I thought so." Illya ran a shaky hand over his face.
"Would you believe me if I told you about the young man I met in New York?" Napoleon whispered back. There was no need to torture Illya. "...a young man called Illya Nickovetch."
"It depends." Illya opened his eyes.
Napoleon met his gaze and thought of oceans, water. "Suppose I say I want to hear those words when you are awake, trembling under me?"
Illya regarded him, eyes larger than usual. "Napasha, why?"
"Why what? It's how."
"How? I know how." Illya's usual annoyance crept into his voice.
"I'm sure you do." Napoleon allowed himself a quick grin. "Before that how, I would have preferred to court you with flowers, wine, maybe dinner. Recite poetry."
Illya snorted and opened his mouth to speak, but Napoleon interrupted him, holding his hands out, palms up. "I know, I know, but I'm a romantic, Illya."
"I am a man, Napoleon. A "can I fuck you now" would have been sufficient. You can buy me dinner and offer me a cigarette later." Illya looked like he had regained his equilibrium again, which didn't surprise Napoleon at all.
But he winced at Illya's blunt language. "Illya. Have you not a romantic bone in your body?"
"No. As I have pointed out to you before, I am a pragmatist. I have not acquired your need for courtship rituals." Illya looked like he meant it. Too bad.
"It's about time I taught you, then, Illyusha. Radost moy. Napoleon leaned forward and closed his eyes. He didn't want Illya to spot the hurt he irrationally felt. After all, hadn't Illya as good as admitted his desire for him?
Napoleon could feel the moist air from Illya's mouth against his lips. He opened up, and finally...Illya! Soft and wet against his mouth, surrounding his tongue as he plunged it into Illya's mouth. Mirroring the movement he wanted everywhere.
Illya clutched him close, and his little moan spurred Napoleon on, made him deepen the kiss. Prolong it. Made him crawl up into the bed to kneel over Illya, never losing the touch of his mouth against Illya's. He pushed down, and yes. Illya was as turned on by this as he was, if the very real erection pressing against his own was anything to go by.
Napoleon buried his hands in Illya's hair, tightened the grip, and softened the kiss enough to murmur words against his lips.
"Can I? Will you?" He met Illya's dazed eyes.
Illya's voice sounded deep and sexy. "Need you ask?"
"Yes." He sucked small kisses around Illya's mouth. "I am old-fashioned." How did Illya manage to roll his eyes that far back? "Indulge me, Illya."
Illya drew back a little, and let his arms slip from Napoleon's body. "Yes you can. Yes I will lie down for you. No, sadly, I have no resistance whatsoever when it comes to your charm." Illya leaned forward again, hands on Napoleon's shoulders, and bit his nose. "Use it."
"Ouch! Illya. And what do you mean by use it?"
"I mean what I say, Napoleon. You have been talking too much." Illya flapped his hand to show babbling. "If we are to do this, it has to be now. We have a plane to catch."
Okay. So Illya wanted him. "But what about dating and foreplay?"
"Napoleon. We have been partners for three years. Isn't that foreplay enough?" Illya stroked Napoleon's shoulders and kissed his forehead. "Uhm, Pasha?"
"Certainly." But he felt oddly bereft. He wanted to court Illya.
"Napasha, when we get home, I'll let you court me."
Splendid. Illya was a psychic. And when had he lost control of the situation? Three years ago, probably. Napoleon sighed into Illya's demanding mouth.
But Napoleon didn't want to hurry this. Reluctantly, he ended the kiss. "Wait, wait."
"You really want to talk." Illya said.
"Um." Napoleon let go of Illya and sat beside him, shoulders touching. He took Illya's left hand in his own left, intertwining their thumbs, palms touching. Impossibly, it felt more intimate than kissing. Napoleon could see the feeling mirrored in his partner's eyes.
Illya shrugged down a bit in the bed, and rested his head on Napoleon's shoulder. Their hands were still clutched together in a firm grip, and Illya pressed Napoleon's hand against his heart. The lub dub of Illya's heart against the back of his hand was calming and ordinary, Napoleon thought. That sound, that heart, was near him every day.
"This is why, Illya...partner."
Napoleon smiled and patted Illya's thigh with his free hand. His elbow dumped into Illya's cotton covered erection. Deliberately, he rubbed it a little, and was rewarded with a moan. He felt his own cock jerk and harden even more in response.
Illya turned and licked his neck, up around the rim of his ear and bit his earlobe. "You are a tease, Napoleon."
"You are a keeper of secrets, Illya."
He had told Illya that uhu meant yes. "Let's start again, my Russian friend. Is there something you want to tell me?"
Illya untangled himself and sat up. He kneeled over Napoleon, reversing their previous position.
Napoleon concentrated on the sprinkle of pale hair on Illya's chest. It was safer than thinking about how his cock was lined up against Illya's equally hard one. He didn't want to be sensible anymore. He wanted to come. Now.
Illya tugged at Napoleon's hair, tilting his head upwards, perfect for a kiss. "Napoleon." Kiss. "I want to tell you this." Kiss. "And this." Illya pushed against Napoleon's cock. "This." Illya tightened his hands, almost painfully, in Napoleon's hair. "And most definitely this." Illya set up a fast rhythm, jerking their cocks together, the layers of cotton between them both agonizing and exciting.
"Is it," Illya's breath was small hitches, "acceptable?"
Was it? "Very." Napoleon didn't feel much like talking anymore, himself. Instead, he slid sideways, opening his legs. Illya fitted perfectly between them, so Napoleon wrapped his arms around Illya, tugging him close, and it was good. Better yet when Illya convulsed against him, coming, coming, and whispering his name. Illya collapsed against him, heavy and panting hot air against his chest. Napoleon wriggled a little, he was still painfully hard, his cock trapped in his tight boxers, and ready to come.
"Napoleon." Illya lifted his head, then moved up to crouch over him. Blue eyes both satisfied and hungry. "May I?" Illya bowed his head and licked Napoleon's lips. "Will you let me?" Illya breathed into his mouth.
"Anything. Everything, Illya."
Illya just nodded and moved down. Licking Napoleon's chest, biting his nipples, sucking kisses into his belly.
Napoleon couldn't believe how turned on he was, it was impossible not to moan. Impossible not to shake. Illya knew exactly where to touch him, how to tease him.
Illya did something incomprehensible, and both his own white boxers and Napoleon's, thank you god, were gone. Napoleon shut his eyes again. Shut out the sight of Illya, naked and beautiful in the flickering lamplight, kneeling over him, half-hard, cock hanging heavy between his legs. Most of all, he had to shut out the sight of Illya watching him like he was a gift.
"Ssh, Napoleon." He felt Illya's hand circle the base of his cock, he felt a lick of wet tongue against the slit, and his eyes flew open. Just in time to see the head of his cock disappear into Illya's mouth. Napoleon jerked up before he could stop himself. But Illya seemed like he could take it, sucking Napoleon's cock in deeper, and swallowing around it. He set up a firm up and down rhythm with his hand, using his other hand to massage Napoleon's balls, and gliding his mouth over the head.
Illya was good at this, and Napoleon couldn't think, had to scream, had to come. Illya moved warm hands to clutch Napoleon's hips, encouraging him to thrust. And he was coming, long, perfect jerks into Illya's mouth, lights swirling madly before his eyes.
He might have blacked out for a moment, and came to when Illya licked his softening cock, and moved up to lie down on top of him again, head on his shoulder. It was good to sense Illya against him, warm and close.
"You make me do crazy things, Illya."
He could feel Illya's smile against his shoulder. "Later, when we are back home, I will let you fuck me crazy, Napoleon." Illya moved a little, making Napoleon notice how wet and sticky they were. "But now, let's take a shower."
"Wuh...yes." Napoleon stretched out under Illya. "Besides, we haven't finished the crossword puzzle we started a couple of mornings ago."
"Whose fault is that?"
"I couldn't sit in bed, drinking my morning coffee and sharing a crossword puzzle, having a hard on!" Napoleon tapped Illya's nose.
"Why not? I have been doing that for years."
Napoleon stared at Illya, who jumped up and unselfconsciously, turned to face him.
"That must be love, Illya."
Illya smiled. "It is, Napoleon. I am taking that shower now. Are you coming?"
"I will be."
Illya tugged at Napoleon's foot. "A comedian you are not, Napoleon."
"Illya!" Napoleon jumped up and jogged after Illya. "I'm known for my oral skills."
"Prove it!" Illya's laughter mixed with the sound of the shower starting.