Trying Times

by nickovetch

Napoleon rolled on his side, gasping for breath. Illya was in a similar situation.

"One...of these days...my fine Russian, you're going to be the death of me."

Illya's eyebrows quirked up. "Ah, yes, Napoleon, but what a way to go, da?"

"Da, lyubov. Da."

Once he could breathe normally, Solo nestled close to his lover's body, idly playing across his sweat-slicked skin with his fingertips. Illya shivered and couldn't help responding to the touch. He groaned, grabbed Solo's straying hand and said, "Really, Napoleon, you have no self-control."

Solo freed his hand, and began roaming lower. "I have plenty of self-control." He smiled when Illya arched into his hand. "Who's the one with the control problem, Illyusha?" The American kept Illya from responding by kissing him deeply, hands working the whole time.

Illya groaned and kissed Solo back, sat up abruptly and slithered out of Napoleon's grasp. "You have to admit, Napoleon, you're far more impatient than I."

Denied his prize, Solo pouted. "Impatience and lack of self-control aren't the same things."

Illya got off the bed and padded naked to the bathroom. Solo heard him cleaning up and stared at his half-hard erection. I am not impatient...

Kuryakin came back, still nude and smiling. "In your case, they are."

Solo sighed. The tease. "I will admit I can be impatient. But my self-control is just fine."

Illya had been waiting for him to say just that. He beamed. "Prove it."

Napoleon didn't like the evil smirk on his lover's face. He knew he'd been maneuvered. "Dare I ask how?"

Illya bounced onto the bed, his scent drifting back to Solo. Napoleon tried not to sniff.

"See how long you can go without sex."

Solo stared at his partner. "Are you kidding?"

Illya shook his head and grinned.

"Define 'go without sex.' You mean with you?"

Illya snorted. "Don't be rude, Napoleon. All right, I'll redefine the parameters. No sexual gratification. Of any kind."

"I can't help it if I come in my sleep." Solo waggled his eyebrows.

The Russian dropped his chin into his hand and thought for a minute. "All right. Nocturnal emissions don't count." He looked at Napoleon who leered back. "Unassisted nocturnal emissions..."

Solo looked pained. He dropped his hand on his chest in indignation. "You wound me, sir."

"I doubt it. Napoleon?"

"Yes?"

"The test starts now." Illya leaned back and assumed a seductive pose.

Napoleon sighed. "You're an evil man, Illya Nickovetch."

"I've had lessons."

Napoleon Solo was in a mood. He'd wakened before the alarm, snuggling against his warm lover's body. Illya was awake and shifted even closer, purring against Solo's neck. Napoleon had smiled and moved his hand down to encounter... Illya slapping his hand away.

"No sexual gratification, remember? Or do you want to give up already?"

Napoleon took a very cold shower. The rest of the morning, Illya had seemed to find every reason imaginable to get close to him. He brushed close in the elevator, leaning over to push the button. At the office, he found excuses to use the filing cabinet, located right at Solo's eye level. There seemed to be a flurry of forms Solo had to sign, Illya bending over the documents to explain the urgency.

Solo was used to a certain amount of torture and discomfort on the job. But this was worse. This was perpetrated by his own partner. My own sexy, gorgeous, tight-assed partner, he thought, then shook his head and buried himself in the printout he was reading. Two could play at this game. Solo wasn't used to losing at any endeavor. Illya would have to try harder. Speaking of harder...Solo adjusted his slacks and took another sip of coffee, studiously ignoring the Russian.

Kuryakin went back to his desk and smiled. He had seen the effect he had on Solo, and vowed to turn the session up a notch. He wouldn't lose this battle. Not with this particular ammunition. Solo was definitely loaded and ready to fire. Illya reasoned it would do his partner good to admit to his baser flaws. The man's ego was enormous. So was his...Illya started, wondering where that thought had come from. He took a deep breath and felt a tightness around his own crotch. He looked up to see Solo watching him, grinning as well.

"Not as easy as you thought, is it Kuryakin?"

"Like taking candy from an infant."

"Baby. Baby, Illya."

"No endearments at work, Mr. Solo."

Solo frowned. "Or at home lately, either."

"Do you wish to concede?" Illya leaned forward in his chair, anticipating an early victory.

"It's only been one day."

"Yes. And it must be a new Solo record." Illya tried not to smile and hid behind a folder.

"You're just so cocksure of yourself, aren't you?"

Now Kuryakin did grin. Solo could hear the smile in his words. "Exactly the word I was looking for..."

Two days later both men were at loose ends. Illya was pulling every dirty trick in the book, and some new chapters as well. Napoleon gritted his teeth and used ploys of his own, the end result being two frustrated and pent-up spies.

Solo finished another cold shower and slid into the bed where Illya already lay, reading the newspaper, nude, as usual. His skin gleamed rosy pink from the hot shower he'd taken. He looked up from his fringe of wet bangs and asked, "What's a seven letter word for heat?"

Solo thought and then grunted, "Arousal." He inched closer to Illya's body.

"Hey, that works." He chewed on his pencil and then asked again, "Four letters for strong yearning?"

"Lust." Solo swallowed audibly. He laid his head on Illya's shoulder, partially blocking the crossword section. Illya ignored him and kept puzzling.

"Eight letters for wicked."

"Depraved. Illya, just what are you reading?"

Kuryakin fixed Solo with his bright blue eyes and said, "Oh, this. I picked it up in Greenwich today." It was an underground rag dedicated to sexual perversions of all kinds.

"Just as long as that's all you picked up, Illya Nickovetch."

"Napoleon, I believe you're jealous."

Solo lifted his head to meet the incredible eyes. "Of course I'm jealous. Look at you..."

Kuryakin blushed, and Solo knew he had him. "I want you all to myself, Illya." As he spoke he caressed Illya's pink skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. The Russian moaned, arching into the pleasuring hands. "So beautiful, so strong..."

Solo's talented fingers massaged tired shoulders, biceps, and forearms, the forgotten crossword falling from nerveless fingers. "All mine."

Illya's eyes were closed, his breathing coming faster, arousal evident under the light blanket. Napoleon rolled on top of the smaller man, continuing his massage.

"Napoleon..." Illya groaned, feeling Solo's answering heat.

"Yes, Illya?" He nuzzled into the soft skin under his lover's ear. One hand drew across the hard points of Illya's nipples, making him gasp.

"I think...I think...gah, I can't think when you do that."

Solo smiled against Kuryakin's Adam's apple. "You were saying?"

Panting, Illya replied, "I think your self-control..."

"Yes?" Napoleon stroked the insides of Illya's thigh.

"...is just fine the way it is."

Solo started to reply when Illya flipped him over and landed on top. The blue eyes gleamed with lust. "Mine, however," he growled as he thrust into Solo's body, "does not bear close examination."

Napoleon thrust back. "Why don't we call it a draw?"

Illya didn't bother to answer. His lips had more important things to do.