The Mephisto (Redux) Affair - 10/10
Title: The Mephisto (Redux) Affair
Pairing: NS/OFC; IK/OMC; IK/NS
Genre: Slash
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine; no profit; for fun; don't sue.
Summary: Working through the consequences of 'The Mephisto Affair'. Some angst, some action, some banter, some choices... oh and the Pursang puts in an appearance.
Author's note: My thanks, as ever, to my fab betae dinahmt and cousinnat for their patience and rigour and for their efforts to prevent me from making a complete fool of myself. Also to st_crispins for info on sailing times. Any remaining howlers and lumpy bits are all mine. I'm adept at ignoring good advice...
Warnings: None for this bit.
So - over to you...
Epilogue
When Illya woke, it was just after dawn. His head was throbbing, he was too hot, and his chest was being crushed. He took a difficult deep breath and inhaled the scent of - Napoleon. Memories of the previous night crashed into place and he twitched involuntarily. The pressure on his chest eased fractionally and he opened his eyes.
They lay crammed together on the impossibly narrow bunk. He was trapped against the cabin wall and Napoleon, half on top of him, was wedged against the table. He wondered vaguely how they’d managed that, and if it were possible ever to extricate themselves. His bladder was uncomfortably full and he tried to shove against his partner.
“Napoleon,” he muttered. “I need to pee.”
There was a grunt and his partner tried to roll off him, only to be trapped by the table. His struggles pressed against Illya’s now protesting bladder.
“Ow!” said Illya. “Get off me, you great…”
There was a seismic upheaval and a thud as the table pillar gave way under Napoleon’s struggles, depositing him on the cabin floor.
“Ow!” grumbled Napoleon. He looked up at Illya blearily, then a smile split his face. “Good morning to you too,” he said. “Did I just feel the earth move?”
Illya rolled his eyes and clambered off the bunk towards the small head. The sea remained glass-flat but his legs didn’t feel entirely steady. Once inside, he stripped to his boxers, relieved himself, washed, shaved, brushed his teeth, and finally ran out of excuses to stay where he was. With a sigh he opened the door. The aroma of coffee swept around him. Napoleon was nowhere to be seen.
The double bunk was made up. He tried to ignore it.
He made his way up through the hatch, blinking in the bright sunlight. Napoleon sat at the prow, legs dangling and two mugs of coffee at his side. He wore only a pair of shorts and looked endearingly sleep-tousled. Illya felt a thrill of longing. He quashed it immediately and moved forward.
Napoleon slid sideways as he approached, and patted the deck beside him. He raised a full mug of coffee to Illya. “Come get it while it’s hot,” he said, squinting up at him.
Illya sat and accepted the mug. He took a sip and grimaced. The only time he ever drank coffee first thing was on the Pursang. It had something of the ritual about it. As did the furtive pouring-overboard when Napoleon wasn’t looking.
Napoleon caught the look. “What?” he said. “You don’t like my coffee?”
Illya took another sip. “It’s very good,” he lied, his face expressionless.
Napoleon looked at him then sighed. Removing the mug from Illya’s hand he stretched out and slowly emptied the contents into the sea. “There,” he said. “It will save you doing it when I go below.” He stood and ruffled Illya’s hair, letting his hand linger for a moment. “I’m going for a shower,” he said. “I’ll bring you up a cup of tea when I’m done.”
Left alone Illya leaned against a stanchion and let his gaze drift across the calm water. Despite his misgivings he too felt surprisingly calm. The internal torment he’d felt since the return of his memory had been quelled, however temporarily, last night. Idly he watched a group of shearwaters diving in the distance…
Twenty minutes later Napoleon reappeared at his side, freshly showered and immaculate in tailored white shorts and navy polo. He handed Illya a cup of tea and leaned against the rail with his ankles crossed, looking down at him. Illya sipped the hot, sweet liquid and closed his eyes in bliss. He squinted up at Napoleon.
“You’re improperly dressed,” he said. Napoleon raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you have a captain’s hat to go with that outfit?” said Illya. “How will the crew know whose orders to obey?”
Napoleon snorted. “Name one order of mine that you’ve ever obeyed,” he said with a smile.
Illya took another sip of tea and absent-mindedly reached out a hand to stroke his partner’s ankle. “Give me a moment,” he said.
Napoleon squatted down, and combed his fingers slowly through the fall of blond hair on Illya’s forehead, eyes searching his face. “We need to finish what we started last night, you know,” he said softly.
Illya looked at him levelly. “Is that an order?” he said.
“Does it need to be?”
After a long moment, Illya shook his head.
Napoleon continued the soft petting of Illya’s hair and the silence lengthened.
Eventually Illya sighed. “You made up the double bed,” he said.
“Does that bother you?”
“No… I…” Illya faltered. “I didn’t think you’d want…”
“You didn’t think I’d want…?” Napoleon sat down hard next to him and removed the mug from his hand. “Jesus, Illya,” he said, voice low and tremulous. “Don’t you know how much you mean to me?” He scrutinised his partner closely and shook his head. “You aren’t quite yourself yet, tovarisch, or you would. Do you think that you having sex with the alter ego of a madman would change that?”
“Even though it was by choice?”
“You didn’t know it was Schiller.”
“Maybe not, but I knew he wasn’t you…”
Napoleon interrupted with a shake of his head. “You weren’t in full possession of the facts.”
“I…”
“You didn’t know how much I loved you - love you,” said Napoleon softly. “If you’d known that, you’d have made a different choice.”
Illya opened his mouth to speak - and then closed it again. There was nothing he could say in the face of Napoleon’s conviction.
Napoleon was looking out across the gently rippling water, eyes unfocused. Finally he spoke.
“Everyone has choices, partner mine,” he said. “The ones you and I make every day are harder than most folk will have to face in a lifetime.” He took Illya’s hand in his and stroked the silvery scars. Then he laced their fingers together. “In Waverly’s office that day, I made the hardest choice I’ve ever had to make.” his voice wavered. “And I had all the facts. I knew it would kill you… I knew… ”
Illya squeezed his partner’s hand wanting to drive away the pain in his voice.
“Napoleon…” he said softly.
Napoleon looked at him. “If I had to make the choice again…”
“…you would do exactly the same.”
Napoleon nodded slowly, eyes infinitely sad.
“As would I in that situation,” said Illya holding his gaze.
Napoleon brought their joined hands up to his mouth. He kissed Illya’s knuckles lightly one by one. “But,” he said, “for anything less than the end of the world - I choose you. I will always choose you.”
Acceptance and remorse warred in Illya’s chest. Finally he laid his forehead against his partner’s.
“And I you,” he said, and the beast inside his chest howled in defeat and fled.
They sat like that for several moments then Napoleon pulled himself to his feet.
“Breakfast,” he said, offering Illya a hand. “Come on. I’m starving.”
Illya allowed himself to be pulled up into an embrace. “You’re such a slave to the pleasures of the flesh,” he grumbled, trying to quell the importunate grin that threatened to ruin the effect.
Firm hands kneaded his buttocks and he felt his cock fill.
“Well now, that depends whose flesh it is,” said Napoleon. “And this,” he said as he squeezed, “is flesh I would very much like to pleasure.”
Illya wriggled out of his grasp and cocked an eyebrow. “Do I get a say in this?” he said.
“Did you have something better in mind?”
“I thought you wanted breakfast.”
Napoleon nuzzled his ear. “Later,” he whispered.
Illya found himself manoeuvred gently but firmly down into the cabin and heard the snick of the hatch as Napoleon closed it behind them. For a moment, the memory of recent events crowded in on him again and he froze. Then warm breath ruffled the hair at his nape and soothing hands kneaded his shoulders.
“Shh… it’s OK,” Napoleon murmured. He guided Illya to the bed then turned him round and took his face gently in his hands. He kissed him lightly. “Just lie with me, lyubov,” he breathed against Illya’s mouth, “and we’ll take it from there.”
Unable to speak, Illya nodded. He slipped off his boxers and lay down, watching as Napoleon stripped off his own clothes and moved to stand next to the bed. Illya searched his partner’s face, still half-expecting to see hurt or contempt lurking there…
“Stop it,” Napoleon said softly. “None of that.” He ran his fingers through the soft flop of Illya’s fringe and shook his head slowly. “This is me, remember?” He smiled, and Illya could see nothing but relief and love and respect dancing in the toffee-coloured eyes.
He reached for Napoleon almost desperately and drew him down, sighing with contentment as he was blanketed by his partner’s well-loved weight. He buried his face in Napoleon’s neck and inhaled slowly. Napoleon. It was all Napoleon. He closed his eyes and listened to their combined breathing, throat aching at the familiarity of it all.
It was several moments before Napoleon shifted a little above him. Dusting Illya’s face with soft kisses, he began to rock his hips slowly against him.
“Napoleon,” Illya whispered, moaning softly and pulling his partner harder against him. The friction escalated, and Illya was beginning to find it hard to breathe.
“Tell me what you want,” Napoleon whispered.
Illya groaned. “Napoleon… please.”
He felt a whisper of breath on his lips and then his partner’s weight was suddenly gone. Illya opened his eyes in time to see the dark head dipping down to his groin and then he nearly came off the bed as Napoleon took him in his mouth.
Napoleon held his gaze, sucking and swallowing repeatedly and then Illya gasped as Napoleon’s finger, loaded with something cool and slippery, swept across his opening before sinking inside. And then Napoleon’s mouth left him. He just managed not to cry out.
“You feel so good,” panted Napoleon, working his finger deeper.
Illya made a small sound of satisfaction. He reached up and gently stroked his friend’s face. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered.
Slowly, his partner smiled. “You,” he said, then leaned down and kissed him softly. “Always you…”
Napoleon gently withdrew his finger. He knelt and coated his own penis with the gel, his hand shaking almost imperceptibly. Illya shivered in delicious anticipation and began to turn onto his front. Napoleon grabbed his shoulder.
“Uh, huh,” he said emphatically. “Not this time. This is us, partner mine. You and me, OK? You need to know that it’s me inside you.” He brushed Illya’s lips lightly with his own. “Always me.” He drew Illya’s legs around him and positioned himself against the slick opening.
Illya caught his breath as Napoleon entered him, his partner’s weight easing the thick cock slowly forward until it was fully sheathed and he felt Napoleon's balls nestled against his ass. Illya closed his eyes momentarily, adjusting to the stretch, and savouring the sense of fullness - of completion.
Napoleon withdrew slightly and then pushed forward into him again, then again and again, allowing the pace to build. He grasped Illya’s weeping penis and began to stroke it in counterpoint to the movement of his own hips. Sweat dripped from the cleft in his chin as the tempo increased.
Breathless now, Illya closed his eyes once more and abandoned himself to sensation as he was swept higher and higher and...
With a gasp he came, clutching mindlessly at Napoleon’s shoulders, his cock spurting hot semen over his belly and over his partner’s pumping hand as his orgasm roared through him.
“Yes… Illya - oh god…” Napoleon grunted, and Illya opened his eyes in time to see his friend’s features contort in passion as he shuddered to his own wild climax deep within him.
Napoleon…
Napoleon - filling him, completing him, loving him - always Napoleon.
Illya sighed with a pleasure that was bone deep and sank into velvet darkness.
He was woken by the sound of the Pursang’s engine turning over. Napoleon was nowhere to be seen. Illya sat up, wincing slightly at the minor internal discomfort, and grimacing at the feel of the caked semen on his belly. He stood and dragged on his boxers then stuck his head through the hatch.
Napoleon was closing the engine housing and wiping his hands on an oily rag. He turned at Illya’s approach.
“Welcome back,” he said, with one last rub of the rag. “Sleep well?”
Illya raised an eyebrow. “Not with all the racket going on up here,” he grumbled half-heartedly. He nodded towards the engine cover. “Need a hand with that?”
“Nope,” said Napoleon. “All done.” He turned off the smoothly purring diesel and reached for Illya, drawing him into an embrace that became an increasingly heated kiss.
To his disbelief, Illya felt himself fill and harden once more. Eventually he pulled back from the kiss, breathing hard. Napoleon looked down at the bulge in his shorts then grinned at him.
“My, my,” he said with a mock leer. “Need a hand with that?”
Illya gave him an arch look. “What I need is a swim,” he said.
Napoleon raised his eyebrows. “You packed trunks?”
Illya shook his head, holding Napoleon’s gaze and stepped out of his boxers. He grinned at the look on his partner’s face, took two strides, and dived over the side.
***
Napoleon finished putting together a cold breakfast for them, then took a glass of juice and a towel up on deck. His partner swam powerfully around the boat, disappearing and reappearing as he watched. He’s playing, thought Napoleon, and sighed with relief as long months of almost unbearable strain began to trickle away.
As he watched, his partner duck-dived underneath the boat. Minutes passed. Familiar with the Russian’s formidable capacity to remain under water, Napoleon was nevertheless relieved when the blond head broke the surface one last time and Illya swam towards the stern ladder. Napoleon moved aft to meet him.
“Napoleon,” Illya panted as he hauled himself from the water. “Do not take this the wrong way, but from what I’ve just seen, I think your bottom is in need of some attention.”
“Are you - ah - volunteering?”
“That depends,” said Illya as he clambered aboard, shaking the water from his hair.
Napoleon caught his breath at the sight as he handed him his towel. “Oh?” he said. “On what?”
Illya took the towel from him and began to dry his hair. “On whether this is going to be a reciprocal arrangement.”
“Ah,” said Napoleon. “I see.” He grabbed the ends of the towel and flipped it behind his partner’s neck, drawing him closer. “Tough choice,” he said, and kissed him.
Pairing: NS/OFC; IK/OMC; IK/NS
Genre: Slash
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine; no profit; for fun; don't sue.
Summary: Working through the consequences of 'The Mephisto Affair'. Some angst, some action, some banter, some choices... oh and the Pursang puts in an appearance.
Author's note: My thanks, as ever, to my fab betae dinahmt and cousinnat for their patience and rigour and for their efforts to prevent me from making a complete fool of myself. Also to st_crispins for info on sailing times. Any remaining howlers and lumpy bits are all mine. I'm adept at ignoring good advice...
Warnings: None for this bit.
So - over to you...
Epilogue
When Illya woke, it was just after dawn. His head was throbbing, he was too hot, and his chest was being crushed. He took a difficult deep breath and inhaled the scent of - Napoleon. Memories of the previous night crashed into place and he twitched involuntarily. The pressure on his chest eased fractionally and he opened his eyes.
They lay crammed together on the impossibly narrow bunk. He was trapped against the cabin wall and Napoleon, half on top of him, was wedged against the table. He wondered vaguely how they’d managed that, and if it were possible ever to extricate themselves. His bladder was uncomfortably full and he tried to shove against his partner.
“Napoleon,” he muttered. “I need to pee.”
There was a grunt and his partner tried to roll off him, only to be trapped by the table. His struggles pressed against Illya’s now protesting bladder.
“Ow!” said Illya. “Get off me, you great…”
There was a seismic upheaval and a thud as the table pillar gave way under Napoleon’s struggles, depositing him on the cabin floor.
“Ow!” grumbled Napoleon. He looked up at Illya blearily, then a smile split his face. “Good morning to you too,” he said. “Did I just feel the earth move?”
Illya rolled his eyes and clambered off the bunk towards the small head. The sea remained glass-flat but his legs didn’t feel entirely steady. Once inside, he stripped to his boxers, relieved himself, washed, shaved, brushed his teeth, and finally ran out of excuses to stay where he was. With a sigh he opened the door. The aroma of coffee swept around him. Napoleon was nowhere to be seen.
The double bunk was made up. He tried to ignore it.
He made his way up through the hatch, blinking in the bright sunlight. Napoleon sat at the prow, legs dangling and two mugs of coffee at his side. He wore only a pair of shorts and looked endearingly sleep-tousled. Illya felt a thrill of longing. He quashed it immediately and moved forward.
Napoleon slid sideways as he approached, and patted the deck beside him. He raised a full mug of coffee to Illya. “Come get it while it’s hot,” he said, squinting up at him.
Illya sat and accepted the mug. He took a sip and grimaced. The only time he ever drank coffee first thing was on the Pursang. It had something of the ritual about it. As did the furtive pouring-overboard when Napoleon wasn’t looking.
Napoleon caught the look. “What?” he said. “You don’t like my coffee?”
Illya took another sip. “It’s very good,” he lied, his face expressionless.
Napoleon looked at him then sighed. Removing the mug from Illya’s hand he stretched out and slowly emptied the contents into the sea. “There,” he said. “It will save you doing it when I go below.” He stood and ruffled Illya’s hair, letting his hand linger for a moment. “I’m going for a shower,” he said. “I’ll bring you up a cup of tea when I’m done.”
Left alone Illya leaned against a stanchion and let his gaze drift across the calm water. Despite his misgivings he too felt surprisingly calm. The internal torment he’d felt since the return of his memory had been quelled, however temporarily, last night. Idly he watched a group of shearwaters diving in the distance…
Twenty minutes later Napoleon reappeared at his side, freshly showered and immaculate in tailored white shorts and navy polo. He handed Illya a cup of tea and leaned against the rail with his ankles crossed, looking down at him. Illya sipped the hot, sweet liquid and closed his eyes in bliss. He squinted up at Napoleon.
“You’re improperly dressed,” he said. Napoleon raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you have a captain’s hat to go with that outfit?” said Illya. “How will the crew know whose orders to obey?”
Napoleon snorted. “Name one order of mine that you’ve ever obeyed,” he said with a smile.
Illya took another sip of tea and absent-mindedly reached out a hand to stroke his partner’s ankle. “Give me a moment,” he said.
Napoleon squatted down, and combed his fingers slowly through the fall of blond hair on Illya’s forehead, eyes searching his face. “We need to finish what we started last night, you know,” he said softly.
Illya looked at him levelly. “Is that an order?” he said.
“Does it need to be?”
After a long moment, Illya shook his head.
Napoleon continued the soft petting of Illya’s hair and the silence lengthened.
Eventually Illya sighed. “You made up the double bed,” he said.
“Does that bother you?”
“No… I…” Illya faltered. “I didn’t think you’d want…”
“You didn’t think I’d want…?” Napoleon sat down hard next to him and removed the mug from his hand. “Jesus, Illya,” he said, voice low and tremulous. “Don’t you know how much you mean to me?” He scrutinised his partner closely and shook his head. “You aren’t quite yourself yet, tovarisch, or you would. Do you think that you having sex with the alter ego of a madman would change that?”
“Even though it was by choice?”
“You didn’t know it was Schiller.”
“Maybe not, but I knew he wasn’t you…”
Napoleon interrupted with a shake of his head. “You weren’t in full possession of the facts.”
“I…”
“You didn’t know how much I loved you - love you,” said Napoleon softly. “If you’d known that, you’d have made a different choice.”
Illya opened his mouth to speak - and then closed it again. There was nothing he could say in the face of Napoleon’s conviction.
Napoleon was looking out across the gently rippling water, eyes unfocused. Finally he spoke.
“Everyone has choices, partner mine,” he said. “The ones you and I make every day are harder than most folk will have to face in a lifetime.” He took Illya’s hand in his and stroked the silvery scars. Then he laced their fingers together. “In Waverly’s office that day, I made the hardest choice I’ve ever had to make.” his voice wavered. “And I had all the facts. I knew it would kill you… I knew… ”
Illya squeezed his partner’s hand wanting to drive away the pain in his voice.
“Napoleon…” he said softly.
Napoleon looked at him. “If I had to make the choice again…”
“…you would do exactly the same.”
Napoleon nodded slowly, eyes infinitely sad.
“As would I in that situation,” said Illya holding his gaze.
Napoleon brought their joined hands up to his mouth. He kissed Illya’s knuckles lightly one by one. “But,” he said, “for anything less than the end of the world - I choose you. I will always choose you.”
Acceptance and remorse warred in Illya’s chest. Finally he laid his forehead against his partner’s.
“And I you,” he said, and the beast inside his chest howled in defeat and fled.
They sat like that for several moments then Napoleon pulled himself to his feet.
“Breakfast,” he said, offering Illya a hand. “Come on. I’m starving.”
Illya allowed himself to be pulled up into an embrace. “You’re such a slave to the pleasures of the flesh,” he grumbled, trying to quell the importunate grin that threatened to ruin the effect.
Firm hands kneaded his buttocks and he felt his cock fill.
“Well now, that depends whose flesh it is,” said Napoleon. “And this,” he said as he squeezed, “is flesh I would very much like to pleasure.”
Illya wriggled out of his grasp and cocked an eyebrow. “Do I get a say in this?” he said.
“Did you have something better in mind?”
“I thought you wanted breakfast.”
Napoleon nuzzled his ear. “Later,” he whispered.
Illya found himself manoeuvred gently but firmly down into the cabin and heard the snick of the hatch as Napoleon closed it behind them. For a moment, the memory of recent events crowded in on him again and he froze. Then warm breath ruffled the hair at his nape and soothing hands kneaded his shoulders.
“Shh… it’s OK,” Napoleon murmured. He guided Illya to the bed then turned him round and took his face gently in his hands. He kissed him lightly. “Just lie with me, lyubov,” he breathed against Illya’s mouth, “and we’ll take it from there.”
Unable to speak, Illya nodded. He slipped off his boxers and lay down, watching as Napoleon stripped off his own clothes and moved to stand next to the bed. Illya searched his partner’s face, still half-expecting to see hurt or contempt lurking there…
“Stop it,” Napoleon said softly. “None of that.” He ran his fingers through the soft flop of Illya’s fringe and shook his head slowly. “This is me, remember?” He smiled, and Illya could see nothing but relief and love and respect dancing in the toffee-coloured eyes.
He reached for Napoleon almost desperately and drew him down, sighing with contentment as he was blanketed by his partner’s well-loved weight. He buried his face in Napoleon’s neck and inhaled slowly. Napoleon. It was all Napoleon. He closed his eyes and listened to their combined breathing, throat aching at the familiarity of it all.
It was several moments before Napoleon shifted a little above him. Dusting Illya’s face with soft kisses, he began to rock his hips slowly against him.
“Napoleon,” Illya whispered, moaning softly and pulling his partner harder against him. The friction escalated, and Illya was beginning to find it hard to breathe.
“Tell me what you want,” Napoleon whispered.
Illya groaned. “Napoleon… please.”
He felt a whisper of breath on his lips and then his partner’s weight was suddenly gone. Illya opened his eyes in time to see the dark head dipping down to his groin and then he nearly came off the bed as Napoleon took him in his mouth.
Napoleon held his gaze, sucking and swallowing repeatedly and then Illya gasped as Napoleon’s finger, loaded with something cool and slippery, swept across his opening before sinking inside. And then Napoleon’s mouth left him. He just managed not to cry out.
“You feel so good,” panted Napoleon, working his finger deeper.
Illya made a small sound of satisfaction. He reached up and gently stroked his friend’s face. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered.
Slowly, his partner smiled. “You,” he said, then leaned down and kissed him softly. “Always you…”
Napoleon gently withdrew his finger. He knelt and coated his own penis with the gel, his hand shaking almost imperceptibly. Illya shivered in delicious anticipation and began to turn onto his front. Napoleon grabbed his shoulder.
“Uh, huh,” he said emphatically. “Not this time. This is us, partner mine. You and me, OK? You need to know that it’s me inside you.” He brushed Illya’s lips lightly with his own. “Always me.” He drew Illya’s legs around him and positioned himself against the slick opening.
Illya caught his breath as Napoleon entered him, his partner’s weight easing the thick cock slowly forward until it was fully sheathed and he felt Napoleon's balls nestled against his ass. Illya closed his eyes momentarily, adjusting to the stretch, and savouring the sense of fullness - of completion.
Napoleon withdrew slightly and then pushed forward into him again, then again and again, allowing the pace to build. He grasped Illya’s weeping penis and began to stroke it in counterpoint to the movement of his own hips. Sweat dripped from the cleft in his chin as the tempo increased.
Breathless now, Illya closed his eyes once more and abandoned himself to sensation as he was swept higher and higher and...
With a gasp he came, clutching mindlessly at Napoleon’s shoulders, his cock spurting hot semen over his belly and over his partner’s pumping hand as his orgasm roared through him.
“Yes… Illya - oh god…” Napoleon grunted, and Illya opened his eyes in time to see his friend’s features contort in passion as he shuddered to his own wild climax deep within him.
Napoleon…
Napoleon - filling him, completing him, loving him - always Napoleon.
Illya sighed with a pleasure that was bone deep and sank into velvet darkness.
He was woken by the sound of the Pursang’s engine turning over. Napoleon was nowhere to be seen. Illya sat up, wincing slightly at the minor internal discomfort, and grimacing at the feel of the caked semen on his belly. He stood and dragged on his boxers then stuck his head through the hatch.
Napoleon was closing the engine housing and wiping his hands on an oily rag. He turned at Illya’s approach.
“Welcome back,” he said, with one last rub of the rag. “Sleep well?”
Illya raised an eyebrow. “Not with all the racket going on up here,” he grumbled half-heartedly. He nodded towards the engine cover. “Need a hand with that?”
“Nope,” said Napoleon. “All done.” He turned off the smoothly purring diesel and reached for Illya, drawing him into an embrace that became an increasingly heated kiss.
To his disbelief, Illya felt himself fill and harden once more. Eventually he pulled back from the kiss, breathing hard. Napoleon looked down at the bulge in his shorts then grinned at him.
“My, my,” he said with a mock leer. “Need a hand with that?”
Illya gave him an arch look. “What I need is a swim,” he said.
Napoleon raised his eyebrows. “You packed trunks?”
Illya shook his head, holding Napoleon’s gaze and stepped out of his boxers. He grinned at the look on his partner’s face, took two strides, and dived over the side.
***
Napoleon finished putting together a cold breakfast for them, then took a glass of juice and a towel up on deck. His partner swam powerfully around the boat, disappearing and reappearing as he watched. He’s playing, thought Napoleon, and sighed with relief as long months of almost unbearable strain began to trickle away.
As he watched, his partner duck-dived underneath the boat. Minutes passed. Familiar with the Russian’s formidable capacity to remain under water, Napoleon was nevertheless relieved when the blond head broke the surface one last time and Illya swam towards the stern ladder. Napoleon moved aft to meet him.
“Napoleon,” Illya panted as he hauled himself from the water. “Do not take this the wrong way, but from what I’ve just seen, I think your bottom is in need of some attention.”
“Are you - ah - volunteering?”
“That depends,” said Illya as he clambered aboard, shaking the water from his hair.
Napoleon caught his breath at the sight as he handed him his towel. “Oh?” he said. “On what?”
Illya took the towel from him and began to dry his hair. “On whether this is going to be a reciprocal arrangement.”
“Ah,” said Napoleon. “I see.” He grabbed the ends of the towel and flipped it behind his partner’s neck, drawing him closer. “Tough choice,” he said, and kissed him.