Fic Update
Title: The Tell-Tale Dream
Author: aneuhaus
Rating: NC/17 (this part is R-ish)
Pairings: That would be telling!
Warnings: Slash
Part Nine
They ended up at Illya’s apartment because it was closer. The talking had lasted all of five minutes, during which Napoleon very briefly related his dream and Jason Palmer’s interpretation of it, before clothing seemed superfluous. Illya had waited far too long for his partner to come to his senses to allow the slow, gentle love making he had fantasized about; so they had only gotten as far as lying side by side on the double bed, squeezing and stroking with their hands until each had covered the others’ fingers with his warm, sticky essence. It had been surprisingly satisfying.
“So I have a dream to thank for this,” Illya commented, as he lay snuggled against Napoleon’s panting, naked body.
“Well, that and Dr. Palmer,” Napoleon answered breathlessly.
Illya suddenly looked cross.
“What is it?” Napoleon asked sharply, concerned that there were second thoughts whirling around in that beautiful head.
“I just realized,” Illya explained, “that I will now have to completely revise my opinion of the psychiatric profession.”
“Don’t let one good egg spoil a lifetime’s philosophy, Tovarisch.” Napoleon chuckled, and then grew somber. He turned to look into his lover’s eyes. “Illya, before you decide to make this commitment, there are lots of things you need to consider. We can’t have what heterosexual couples take for granted: holding hands on the street, walking in the park with our arms around each other, stealing kisses in a restaurant. Hell, we can’t even go dancing together.”
Napoleon was surprised by Illya’s conspiratorial grin. “You are right about some of those things, but it isn’t true about the dancing and the kissing. We just have to be careful about where we go.”
Napoleon’s eyes grew wide and his brow furrowed. “You mean, you know places like that?”
“I frequent Greenwich jazz clubs,” Illya replied with a smile. “I know people who know places like that.”
Napoleon’s silence lasted for so long that Illya concluded he must have fallen asleep. He thought about the unfinished reports and decided that, if he went back to the office now and had them in the ‘Old Man’s’ in-box when he arrived in the morning, perhaps he could escape the traditional tongue lashing.
His attempt to extricate himself from the strong, warm arm that was slung possessively across his bare waist served only to ensnare him more tightly.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Napoleon demanded.
“You were asleep,” Illya defended. “I was going to go back to the office and finish up your half of the paperwork.”
“That is most industrious of you, Comrade, but I am not finished with you yet.” Napoleon spoke slowly and emphatically. “I was not asleep, as you assumed, but I was thinking.”
“Did you enjoy it?” Illya deadpanned, and then softened the barb with a kiss to the tip of Napoleon’s nose. “About what were you thinking for so long?” he asked, pointedly.
“I was thinking,” Napoleon rejoined in the same forceful voice, “about dancing with you. Then I realized that, if we are going to dance together, a bit of practice is in order, hmmm?”
“But you never practice with your women.” Try as he might, Illya couldn’t keep just a touch of petulance from his tone.
“Ah, but the women are simply a pastime, unless it’s in the line of duty,” Napoleon explained. “Dancing with you, however, is altogether different. It is a public announcement that you are mine, and only I am allowed to hold you close against me and whisper in your ear and…”
He stopped abruptly and pulled Illya on top of him, where he was thrilled to feel the hard length pressed against his thigh.
“Just one question,” Illya breathed. “Who is going to lead?”
Napoleon traced Illya’s scrumptious lower lip with his tongue. “How about if we take turns?” he muttered back, and turned the caress into a very long kiss.
Illya reached for a decorative bottle of massage oil that had lived for ages, unopened, on the bedside table. It had been years, but he had done this before so he knew the way; and after all, it was only logical that the one who was familiar with the dance should be the one to lead.
Had this been a woman, he would have kissed and sucked and licked his way down her body, opening her up physically and emotionally. He yearned to do that with Napoleon, but he had waited so long for this final bonding that the other would have to wait. Not that he, in any way, felt that sex was the most important part of a relationship; but this joining of their bodies would be the consummation of the trust, respect, and love they had finally admitted to each other.
“Napoleon?” Illya asked, carefully keeping his voice neutral. “Have you done this before?”
Napoleon opened desire-glazed eyes, but said nothing.
Illya tried again. “Have you ever made love as men make love, Napoleon? Have you ever been filled by a man, a hard cock sliding against your prostate and melting your very bones with every thrust?”
Napoleon shook his head slowly, and the expression of complete trust on his face brought tears to Illya’s eyes.
“Show me,” Napoleon growled.
Author: aneuhaus
Rating: NC/17 (this part is R-ish)
Pairings: That would be telling!
Warnings: Slash
Part Nine
They ended up at Illya’s apartment because it was closer. The talking had lasted all of five minutes, during which Napoleon very briefly related his dream and Jason Palmer’s interpretation of it, before clothing seemed superfluous. Illya had waited far too long for his partner to come to his senses to allow the slow, gentle love making he had fantasized about; so they had only gotten as far as lying side by side on the double bed, squeezing and stroking with their hands until each had covered the others’ fingers with his warm, sticky essence. It had been surprisingly satisfying.
“So I have a dream to thank for this,” Illya commented, as he lay snuggled against Napoleon’s panting, naked body.
“Well, that and Dr. Palmer,” Napoleon answered breathlessly.
Illya suddenly looked cross.
“What is it?” Napoleon asked sharply, concerned that there were second thoughts whirling around in that beautiful head.
“I just realized,” Illya explained, “that I will now have to completely revise my opinion of the psychiatric profession.”
“Don’t let one good egg spoil a lifetime’s philosophy, Tovarisch.” Napoleon chuckled, and then grew somber. He turned to look into his lover’s eyes. “Illya, before you decide to make this commitment, there are lots of things you need to consider. We can’t have what heterosexual couples take for granted: holding hands on the street, walking in the park with our arms around each other, stealing kisses in a restaurant. Hell, we can’t even go dancing together.”
Napoleon was surprised by Illya’s conspiratorial grin. “You are right about some of those things, but it isn’t true about the dancing and the kissing. We just have to be careful about where we go.”
Napoleon’s eyes grew wide and his brow furrowed. “You mean, you know places like that?”
“I frequent Greenwich jazz clubs,” Illya replied with a smile. “I know people who know places like that.”
Napoleon’s silence lasted for so long that Illya concluded he must have fallen asleep. He thought about the unfinished reports and decided that, if he went back to the office now and had them in the ‘Old Man’s’ in-box when he arrived in the morning, perhaps he could escape the traditional tongue lashing.
His attempt to extricate himself from the strong, warm arm that was slung possessively across his bare waist served only to ensnare him more tightly.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Napoleon demanded.
“You were asleep,” Illya defended. “I was going to go back to the office and finish up your half of the paperwork.”
“That is most industrious of you, Comrade, but I am not finished with you yet.” Napoleon spoke slowly and emphatically. “I was not asleep, as you assumed, but I was thinking.”
“Did you enjoy it?” Illya deadpanned, and then softened the barb with a kiss to the tip of Napoleon’s nose. “About what were you thinking for so long?” he asked, pointedly.
“I was thinking,” Napoleon rejoined in the same forceful voice, “about dancing with you. Then I realized that, if we are going to dance together, a bit of practice is in order, hmmm?”
“But you never practice with your women.” Try as he might, Illya couldn’t keep just a touch of petulance from his tone.
“Ah, but the women are simply a pastime, unless it’s in the line of duty,” Napoleon explained. “Dancing with you, however, is altogether different. It is a public announcement that you are mine, and only I am allowed to hold you close against me and whisper in your ear and…”
He stopped abruptly and pulled Illya on top of him, where he was thrilled to feel the hard length pressed against his thigh.
“Just one question,” Illya breathed. “Who is going to lead?”
Napoleon traced Illya’s scrumptious lower lip with his tongue. “How about if we take turns?” he muttered back, and turned the caress into a very long kiss.
Illya reached for a decorative bottle of massage oil that had lived for ages, unopened, on the bedside table. It had been years, but he had done this before so he knew the way; and after all, it was only logical that the one who was familiar with the dance should be the one to lead.
Had this been a woman, he would have kissed and sucked and licked his way down her body, opening her up physically and emotionally. He yearned to do that with Napoleon, but he had waited so long for this final bonding that the other would have to wait. Not that he, in any way, felt that sex was the most important part of a relationship; but this joining of their bodies would be the consummation of the trust, respect, and love they had finally admitted to each other.
“Napoleon?” Illya asked, carefully keeping his voice neutral. “Have you done this before?”
Napoleon opened desire-glazed eyes, but said nothing.
Illya tried again. “Have you ever made love as men make love, Napoleon? Have you ever been filled by a man, a hard cock sliding against your prostate and melting your very bones with every thrust?”
Napoleon shook his head slowly, and the expression of complete trust on his face brought tears to Illya’s eyes.
“Show me,” Napoleon growled.