Even though he knew nobody was home, Illya still let himself into Napoleon's apartment quietly; old habits died hard. Once inside, he dropped the spare key into his pocket and looked about for the best place to put his gift - it was, after all, Napoleon's birthday, and while he was currently visiting his Aunt Amy, he ought to be back in town later on today.
Illya looked at, then decided against, the small table on which stood a stack of unopened mail. He wanted this gift to be something special, not just something else that had turned up while Napoleon was away.
Just as he'd made his mind up that the coffee table was the best place, and was crossing the expanse of rug to place his present carefully in its middle, he heard a groan from the bedroom that froze Illya in his tracks. A familiar groan, too familiar in many ways; one that immediately said 'Napoleon' to him, a groan of pleasure not of pain.
Illya put the gift-wrapped package down on the couch, his hand then free to reach for his UNCLE Special. As he crossed the room and reached the bedroom door, he hadn't yet firmly decided who he would kill first - Napoleon or his lover - but there was definitely room for mayhem and bloodshed on his schedule now.
In one swift move, Illya pushed open the bedroom door with his foot and drew his gun, pointing it unerringly at the large bed which dominated the room in front of him.
"Illya?" Napoleon had frozen mid-movement, the sweat on his skin proclaiming that he had been active for some time given the air conditioning in the apartment, his eyes wide.
"Where is he?" Illya asked. "Or she. I do not care which."
His eyes scanned the room quickly, his gunhand unmoving. There was no evidence of anyone else, no piles of hastily discarded clothing other than Napoleon's own, no smears of lipstick on the bedding or used condoms on the floor.
Illya looked back at Napoleon and lowered his gun once he realised what position Napoleon, who hadn't moved a muscle, was in. One hand was behind his back, twisted around so that the only place his fingers could be was inside himself, crooked to give himself as much pleasure as possible. Assisted by the lubricant which stood, jar open, on the bedside cabinet.
"Nobody else," Napoleon said, relaxing now, though his hand stayed where it was behind him. "I just had an itch I couldn't scratch."
"You should have called," Illya said. He returned his UNCLE Special to its holster, straightened his jacket over it, eyes raking over Napoleon's lean tanned form as he did so. He felt himself harden at the sight, all those shared nights of memories making his body respond automatically to the concept of Napoleon, naked.
"And disrupt your latest experiment?" Napoleon asked, his hand beginning to move again behind himself, clearly conscious of the effect it was having on Illya. "I'd never hear... the... last of it."
"Still," Illya began, as he loosened his tie, "surely there is something I can help you with."
Napoleon was hard now, his cock bobbing against his stomach and leaving glistening trails of pre-come, as he continued to work his fingers into his hole. His breath came in shorter and shorter gasps, his face flushed and mouth half-open.
"Stop that right now," Illya said, as he hastily kicked off his shoes and undid his trousers, all in one fluid movement.
"Make me," Napoleon said, with a grin, busy fingers still at work.
Illya was naked too now, on the bed in one stride and pushing Napoleon's shoulders back against the mattress. One hand went to Napoleon's cock, sliding down to take a firm grasp of his balls before he could come, the other sliding beneath the other man, fingers wrapping around his wrist.
"Easy there," Napoleon said, though he allowed Illya to move his hand, his slick fingers slipping easily out. Illya twisted Napoleon's arm till his hand was by his side, Illya's weight holding it pressed down and immobile. "So," he continued, "now you've got me, tovarisch, what are you going to do with me?"
"Whatever I like," Illya replied, grinding his hips against Napoleon's as he spoke - Napoleon's eyes rolled back in his head at the movement, his breath a gasp once more. "Very thoughtful of you, Napoleon," he continued, when he saw Napoleon focus again. "It's your birthday and yet here you are, preparing yourself for me as if it was mine..."
Illya's hand was still trapped between the two of them, the firm grip on the base of Napoleon's cock helping hold him back from the brink, but only just. He opened his fingers a little, then more when Napoleon didn't climax, till he could grasp both their erections, the friction and heat making Napoleon hiss out a breath as they rubbed together slowly, so slowly.
Napoleon drew a couple of shuddering breaths, trying to pull himself together enough to respond; as usual, he was never willing to let Illya have the last word if he could possibly avoid it.
"What makes you think," he blurted out, "I was waiting for you?"
Illya tightened his grip a little, making Napoleon gasp once more, before he answered him. Another shift of weight, a slight movement of his hips had Napoleon shuddering beneath him, not to breathe but because of his desperate need to come.
"Because I have what you need right here," Illya said, his hand moving, their cocks still in perfect alignment, sliding hotly against one another in his grasp. "As soon as you spend yourself against me, like the slut you are."
He shifted his weight back, letting Napoleon move beneath him as the words sank in, allowing him to rub himself against Illya's body, his fingers loose enough to allow a little latitude now. One movement, then another more abortive one, and it was all over - Napoleon's breath caught as he came, back arching, his come trapped between the two of them and spreading across their skin. Illya bit his lip so he didn't follow his partner over the cliff from which he had just dived, only his self-control and a tightening grip on his own arousal keeping him from following Napoleon to climax.
Illya let go of Napoleon's wrist, his fingers trailing down Napoleon's side, down his thigh, before his hand slipped under his knee and bent it upwards. His fingers sought out Napoleon's hole, sliding into it with ease given the lubrication already there. Napoleon had done a good job of slicking himself up and Illya wondered for a moment just how long Napoleon had been pleasuring himself before he arrived.
Illya transferred a little of the lubrication to his cock, lining himself up and then pushing into Napoleon's body with no hesitation; it was as familiar an action now, from their months of love-making, as putting on a pair of gloves. Napoleon groaned once, but it was that familiar groan, the pleasurable sound that Illya had recognised before, as Illya leaned forward and began to strike up a rhythm.
Napoleon was muttering something as Illya fucked him, but even though he leaned forward to try and catch it, the words dissolved into gibberish laced with the occasional groan of pleasure.
He knew what Napoleon needed, had always known it from the first time he'd encountered his partner this way. Not the first time they'd made love, that was a different matter completely, but the first time they'd fucked like this.
Illya could never predict when this particular mood would strike, though he enjoyed it immensely when it did - when the elements aligned, Napoleon was damn nigh insatiable, loving as much cock as he could get, but equally happy to accept the best of Illya's efforts to keep him satisfied rather than going out to see what he could find elsewhere. That, at least, was a compromise Illya could accept, even if he was left feeling a little strung out whenever this aspect of Napoleon's personality made an appearance.
"You were waiting for me," Illya said, letting the rhythm break and falter. Napoleon's head dropped back against the mattress with an audible thump; he had recovered enough to begin to move in time with Illya's thrusts. "Waiting for me to come and fuck you. Like this." He thrust again, a short jerk of his hips still strong enough to make Napoleon move a little up the bed. "Though I know you'd have taken any cock you could get."
Illya watched Napoleon's cock, half-hard till now, jerk a little as the words penetrated Napoleon's fogged consciousness. That was another aspect of this side of Napoleon; he loved it when Illya talked dirty to him, which he would never do except in this kind of situation, because it always seemed so ridiculous to talk to him that way. Still, ridiculous or not, it seemed to get Napoleon hot and bothered when he was feeling this way, so who was Illya to complain?
"God, yes," Napoleon said, the words almost groaned rather than spoken. "Whatever you say, just fuck me."
"Happy to oblige," Illya said, as he started to move once more. He could feel Napoleon's erection coming back to life, the tip of it brushing against his stomach as he leaned into the fucking, short strokes that drove himself deep into Napoleon's heat, as if his intention was to mark his territory on a permanent basis. "And happy birthday."
Afterwards, he had rolled Napoleon onto his side and spooned against his back, his half-hard cock pressing back into him again comfortably, as if the two of them had been made to fit that way. Casually, Illya draped his arm across Napoleon's hip, his fingers playing with the head of Napoleon's now revived erection till Napoleon grumbled and he took a proper hold of it instead. A few short pulls, his hand sliding over the hot skin, were enough to bring Napoleon off. They fell asleep together, still joined; when Napoleon was feeling like this, Illya knew it was the only way to ensure he could get an uninterrupted nights' sleep.
"I have a present for you, my friend," Illya said, some time later, when he was starting to feel like he could be ready for the next round and it seemed likely Napoleon had recovered as well. As a younger man, his refractory period had been much better than this, he was certain, but now he was glad for whatever he could get. "Something I'm certain you'll like."
"Hmm?" Napoleon glanced back at him over his shoulder, but didn't move. "I thought I just had my present. More than once."
"And put up with you complaining for the next 12 months that I didn't get you anything?" Illya snorted against Napoleon's shoulder, the breath against his skin making the other man twitch a little. "Don't go anywhere."
Illya got up from the bed, stepping carefully round the clothes he had dropped only hours earlier and headed back into the living room to recover the gift he'd brought with him.
"Here," he said, dropping it onto the bed in front of Napoleon, who hadn't changed position. "Happy birthday."
Napoleon pulled at the ribbon, tugging the long oblong box towards him. Illya flopped down on the bed, sliding back behind Napoleon and resuming his former place, his cock slipping between the top of Napoleon's thighs and one hand resting comfortably on Napoleon's hip as he waited for the reaction to his present.
"Is it accurate?" Napoleon asked, glancing back over his shoulder once more.
"Of course." Illya tried to keep his annoyance at being asked that question from his voice but knew he had failed. "Why bother otherwise?"
"It's a thing of beauty," Napoleon said. "Much like the original."
Illya laughed at that, once again smothering his reaction in the warm solidity of Napoleon's shoulder. He'd expected many possible comments from Napoleon about the dildo he'd just bought. Illya had commissioned it specially, ensuring that it replicated his own erect cock for those times when the urge hit Napoleon and he wasn't about to satisfy it. At least till he got there, because surely nobody would accept a copy when the original was available?
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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.