1-900-Napoleon

by nickovetch

Napoleon Solo was about to call the meeting to order. Section heads milled around the coffee service or smoked in small groups as they waited for the briefing to begin.

As he cleared his throat, the secure line behind him rang. His secretary, Mitzi, answered in hushed tones. She brought the phone to him, raising her eyebrows and whispering, "It's Mr. Kuryakin. He says it's urgent."

Solo knew Illya well enough to know he wouldn't interrupt with something trivial. He cradled the receiver to his shoulder. "Solo here."

"Ah, Napoleon. So professional; so business-like. I wonder what I can do to change that?" Illya's voice was pitched low and soft and Solo had to filter out the murmur of voices around him to hear.

"Illya?" It sounded like his partner.

A deep sigh came across the line. "Yes."

"Ah, Illya, I'm in the middle of an important meeting..."

"Oh, I know, Napoleon. I know very well. It's all part of my plan."

Reynolds from Accounting gave Solo a look as he swiveled in his chair. He said sotto voce, "Exactly what plan would that be?"

He heard a soft laugh from the other end as Illya replied, "The one whereby I exact my revenge against you for the little incident in the hotel last month."

Napoleon's jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding? Here? Now?" The last word came out as a squeak as Solo thought about how many of his bosses were in the room.

"Of course, Napoleone. The game is only as important as its stakes, don't you agree?"

Solo started to sweat. "Game?"

"My game. It only has two rules that you must obey. Failure to do so will bring unsatisfactory repercussions."

Napoleon wiped his upper lip with his hand. "Repercussions?"

Illya chuckled again. "You seem to be repeating me, my Napoleon."

"I'm just weighing my words carefully..."

"Well, weigh these. Rule One: You cannot hang up. Rule Two: You cannot leave the room."

Solo tried not to groan into the phone. "And what if I do?" he whispered.

Illya sighed. "It would vex me, Napoleone. It would vex me most deeply."

Solo's stomach tightened as he thought of how the Russian would repay him if that happened. He transferred the phone to his other hand. His right one was slippery with sweat. He turned to the assemblage and announced, "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I have to take this."

Illya hissed in his ear, "Careful, Napoleon. Mustn't lose our audience."

Solo swallowed and motioned to Mitzi. "Please call the commissary and have a breakfast tray sent up."

Illya breathed into the phone, "Well done, milii moi."

Napoleon forced himself to relax his grip and asked quietly, "Where are you, Illya?"

"The first truly important question. I'm downstairs in one of the agent's quarters. Lying on the bed. Naked."

Napoleon's imagination filled in the details. Unfortunately for him, it also filled in the crotch of his slacks. He shifted and carefully rearranged himself.

"Illya..."

"Yes, Napoleone mio?"

"I'm going to kill you."

A full-throated laugh drifted from the receiver. "But first you have to finish the game."

"The game is likely to finish me..." Solo coughed.

"That would be extremely embarrassing for you given your current position." Illya whispered into his phone, "My position is much more comfortable. I'm hard, Napoleone. Hard and thinking about you touching me."

Solo watched the conference room door open and admit the culinary staff. Acutely aware of the eyes on him he said, "Yes, I understand."

He swiveled the chair again and closed his eyes with a groan. His Russian fireball would be the death of him.

"Can you see me, my Polya? See my need? I want you to feel me, love me..." Illya moaned as his hand worked his cock up and down. "You're touching me now. Running your strong hand across my shaft, feeling my desire, my lust."

Biting his lip, Solo squirmed in his seat, trying to ease the pressure in his groin. "Please, Illya..."

"Oh, I will. I'll please myself fantasizing about what you would do to me if you were here. I'm so ready, Napoleone. So hot and hard and throbbing thinking about your body covering mine."

Napoleon choked and reached for the glass of water at his elbow. Mitzi raised an eyebrow at him, and he smiled weakly at her. "That's right. That mission is slated for tomorrow." Inwardly, he tried to imagine tortures, Thrush plots, and anything else that would stop his body's reaction to Illya's machinations.

Illya sighed, "I have all sorts of things planned for that 'mission' tomorrow, lyubov. You have no idea..." He groaned as he stroked himself, trying not to lose his concentration and end the game too abruptly. "Do you know how you affect me, caro mio? Do I affect you? Are you hard, too, bello? Full, hot, and needing my touch to bring you off?"

Napoleon leaned back in his chair. He only hoped he could ride it out longer than Illya. He placed his portfolio across his lap to hide his erection. "Uh, huh. Yes."

Fortunately, the thought of Solo's reaction fueled Illya's fantasy to the point of no return. His hand worked faster, his release reaching flashpoint. "Napoleon, I'm coming!" he shouted into the phone, spine arching, body rigid with orgasm. His grunts of release caused Napoleon to shiver and almost drop the phone to the floor. His erection jerked inside his shorts, and he willed his body to behave.

A moment later Solo heard a satisfied sigh gust out of his partner. "Polya..."

Solo's lips quirked once. "We've reached a satisfactory conclusion?"

"I'll say," came his partner's tired voice. Illya severed the connection.

"Game. Set. Match." Solo hung up the phone and turned back to the table.

"I apologize for the interruption. Gentlemen, if you'll take your seats?"

Napoleon sincerely hoped standing up would not be required. He shifted again and decided he would make this a very short meeting...