Even though he was on his knees in the middle of the room, hands cuffed behind his back, Napoleon couldn't help wondering where Illya had found the cat. It was perfect, of course, gazing at him with the same condescending superiority as the man who held it, one hand absently stroking along its back as he looked his captive over.
The rest of the costume was just as accurate, from the white suit through to the duelling scar - somehow Napoleon was reminded as much of his partner's turn as Colonel Nexor and the unsettling feelings that had aroused as he was of the movie they'd seen only months before. With his hair slicked back from his face, not to mention the scar, he looked both like and unlike the man Napoleon knew so well and it was more than a little disconcerting.
"So, Mr Bond," Illya said. "We meet again."
He shouldn't find all of this arousing, should he? Being handcuffed was an occupational hazard, after all, and the last thing Napoleon needed was to develop some kind of reaction to the process that might cause embarrassment later on down the line. But at least he could tell himself it wasn't the cuffs themselves, but the combination of stimuli - all the things about this moment in time that combined to make his cock as hard as iron in a matter of moments.
"Once again you frustrate my plans."
Illya made no effort to add any kind of accent other than his own, but the words were glacial enough to come from any supervillain they had ever met. And sadly, they'd met quite a few during their career to date. Illya could clearly have competed with any of them, if he'd been so inclined.
"Your tax dollars at work, Blofeld," Napoleon said, shifting his weight a little in the hope that would make his erection a little less obvious to the man in the chair. By the way Illya's eyes narrowed at the movement, he was certain he hadn't succeeded. "You won't get away with this."
"On the contrary, Mr Bond," Illya replied. "I intend to do exactly as I have already planned, no more and no less." He stood, placing the cat carefully where he had been sitting, and it came as no surprise to Napoleon that the animal stayed where it was put, unblinking green eyes still pinning him in place. "But the question becomes this: what shall I do with you?"
'Anything you like,' Napoleon thought, before he could help himself.
"Do you expect me to beg?" he said, as Illya came a little closer. Not too close, he wasn't stupid in any incarnation, but close enough that he could loom over his captive more effectively. "You know that's not going to happen."
Illya was standing between Napoleon and the single light source in the room, making it more difficult for him to read his partner's expression, not that there was much to read now Illya was so caught up in playing this part. He was close enough now, despite the shadows, that Napoleon could tell he wasn't the only one stimulated by this particular little game. He'd also just given Illya the perfect set-up for the most famous of Blofeld's lines, so he was curious to see just how his partner would deal with it.
"No, Mr Bond," Illya said, after a moment's pause. "I expect you to suck my cock as if your life depended on it." He paused again. "Which, of course, it does."
Before Napoleon could reply, Illya had closed the gap between them, his fingers tangling in Napoleon's hair and pulling his head painfully to one side with a jerk. The same movement made Napoleon's cheek brush against Illya's groin, the heat he felt there giving him all the information he needed about just how much Illya was enjoying this.
"My hands." Illya hadn't loosened his grip, so the words were muttered in the direction of Illya's erection. "If you want..."
Illya laughed, the sound humourless in the extreme.
"Your reputation precedes you, Mr Bond." Illya's grip on his hair loosened a little, just enough to lower the strain on Napoleon's neck but not enough for him to try anything stupid. "I have no doubt you are quite capable of improvising."
He was on a level with Illya's groin, of course, Illya's other fingers working to undo the bottom jacket buttons so that it swung free - then, as Napoleon watched, he undid the top button of his pants, leaving just a zip to be undone.
"If this is the price I have to pay for the chance to defeat you in the future," Napoleon said, trying to sound resigned but certain his acting was not up to par, "then I'll gladly pay it."
He was certain Illya had chosen these particular pants just because they could be opened so easily this way - that was the kind of forward planning Napoleon expected from his sneaky Russian partner, after all. It still took three tries for him to get a good hold on the zip with his teeth, but the mechanism worked as smoothly as he had expected, Illya's erection emerging from the material at once. It was no surprise whatsoever that Illya had gone commando; Napoleon had suspected as much when he'd got his first close-up view of his partner's groin.
"Now persuade me to let you live, Mr Bond," Illya said, then hissed between his teeth as Napoleon took him into his mouth in one fell swoop, all that practice paying off even better than he'd hoped. "Your reputation..." Illya continued, his voice a little shaky now, "is clearly justified."
Napoleon didn't respond, just concentrated on giving Illya the best blowjob he could manage, taking the other man deep, his tongue playing with the sensitive flesh till he was certain Illya's knees ought to be buckling right about now.
Illya's fingers tightening in his hair again was the first indication he had of his impending climax; Napoleon took a deep breath through his nose and swallowed, kept swallowing, till he felt his partner slump a little against him, his weight driving his now-quiescent cock deeper into Napoleon's throat.
When Illya stepped back after a long moment, letting go of his deathgrip on Napoleon's hair and straightening up his costume, he still looked a little shell-shocked.
"There's something you need to do before we head off to the costume party," Napoleon said, when he was certain Illya was focussing on him once more. He shifted his weight again, knowing that the curve of his erection pressed clear against the material of his tuxedo pants. "Illya?"
Illya blinked, then looked down at him once more, a small smirk on his face.
"Who said we're going to a party?"
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Disclaimer: Not mine. This story is written for entertainment purposes only - no money whatsoever has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations and storyline are the property of the author - not to be archived elsewhere without permission.