The Let's Get Friendly Affair
by: RAC
Rated NC-17
The Let's Be Friendly Affair: Part 3
Napoleon already hated Appleton. He hated this assignment, and to be perfectly honest, he wasn't feeling particularly fond of Illya right now. He knew it was ridiculous but he felt betrayed. Listening to Illya chat and talk about himself made Napoleon wonder if he'd ever even known his partner.
Illya was telling this guy stories he'd never heard. Stories about his family, his childhood, stories about the war, and being a war orphan. Stories Napoleon would have paid money to hear, Illya was giving away for free.
It had all started when Illya had walked out of his room. He had clearly decided to get in character with more than just a change of clothes and it was as if a stranger had entered Napoleon's room. Illya had smiled easily, and laughed, and talked about the weather, for God's sake.
And the outfit he was wearing. Nothing that unusual, a pair of khaki's and a blue polo shirt, but the combination of the outfit and the smile on his face was a clear message that he was approachable, a far cry from the arctic ice prince look. It was, Napoleon had to admit, a good look on Illya.
Napoleon didn't like it. He didn't want anyone approaching Illya. After this assignment was over he was taking all of Illya's new clothes and burning them. Or, maybe he'd just have Illya wear them when the two of them went out. No, that wouldn't work, because people would look at Illya, and want him. Men and women. Napoleon finally decided that Illya could wear the clothes when he was home. That way Napoleon could look, but no one else could.
It didn't help that thinking all these things made Napoleon feel like an idiot. As if a world existed where if he told Illya what to wear Illya wouldn't first laugh himself sick, and then break both of Napoleon's arms.
Napoleon had tried to focus just on the mission tasks while Illya, but not Illya, stood before him. The wire was the latest invention of Section Eight, inappropriately still referred to as a wire, as it involved no wires at all. It was a microphone, the size of a half dollar, which Illya planted on the underside of his collar. He'd left the room with a cheery smile and a wave, and it had sent shivers up and down Napoleon's spine.
Everything had gone like clockwork. Appleton had been looking for Illya, just as his partner had said. It had taken him all of fifteen minutes to connect. They'd taken a walk down to the beach, found some secluded cove, and had spent the last three hours talking, and if the sound effects were anything to go by, occasionally kissing. Nothing too frenzied; Illya was playing hard to get, something for which Napoleon could at least be grateful, even if everything else was grating on him.
The feeling wouldn't go away. The desire that had flamed into being last night when Illya had done whatever it was he'd done still hung over him, and in him, permeating his being with sexual thoughts of his partner. Thoughts which, now completely unleashed, Napoleon had to admit had crossed his mind on an unsettlingly regular basis over the last year.
It had been those thoughts that had driven him to revisit his college days of experimentation and occasionally include men in his repertoire of sexual dalliances. In gay bars it apparently didn't matter if he put out the right signals or not. The assumption was that he was there for the same reason they were.
Napoleon supposed, unconsciously, that he had hoped it might get Illya out of his system. It hadn't. Obviously. And now his body was primed with fairly recent memories of being with a man, and how much he enjoyed it. But those had been strangers, so the experience had been about nothing but sex. This was Illya. Someone he was closer to than anyone else.
Napoleon scowled. Up until this afternoon, Napoleon had taken it for granted that Illya liked him more than anyone else. It was just a known, like the sky being blue, and the sun rising in the east. Napoleon knew Illya was playing a role with Appleton, but after all his talk of how hard it was to play this particular game, he'd taken to it like a fish to water.
Maybe Illya liked Appleton. Napoleon didn't know how. The man was obsessed with himself. Of course, if Appleton didn't talk so much, Illya would have told him more secrets, exposed more of himself, made it even more glaringly apparent how much Napoleon didn't know about his partner and best friend.
Napoleon got up to pace around the room. After a couple of circuits, he realized that the two men had stopped talking. He moved back over to the equipment, sitting down on the bed, making sure it hadn't malfunctioned. Then he heard the sounds. They were kissing. Really kissing, wet kissing.
Napoleon's hands tightened into fists. Appleton's next words didn't help. "Petro, come up to my room with me. I want you so bad." Even the fake name didn't help.
Neither did Illya's response. "I want you, too." More kissing ensued.
"Come to my room, then. I want to fuck you."
Napoleon clenched his jaw. The man's crassness bothered him only nominally less than his subject matter.
"No, it's too soon for me. I barely know you."
"You know me well enough for a fuck. I know you want it." There was a pause. "There's nothing shy about this hard cock of yours."
Someone let out a groan, and Napoleon was afraid it was Illya. More kissing, and then some panting breaths. "I do want you, but you need to give me some time, let me get to know you better."
"What are you, some kind of fucking cocktease?" Appleton's voice was not very friendly.
Napoleon stood, debating the wisdom of interfering. Maybe it was time for the competition to show up.
Illya laid on the accent. "I do not know what this cocktease is, but all I ask is for more time. If you are not willing to give me that, then I will say goodbye and you can find someone else to fuck." Illya's voice wasn't friendly either.
Appleton began to back pedal. "No, no, Petro, I'm sorry. It's just that you make me so goddamned hot. All I can think about is fucking you."
Napoleon rolled his eyes. He spoke to the room, "How fucking romantic of you."
Illya was taking too long to answer. Appleton tried again. "C'mon, baby. I'll give you some time, as long as you promise to make it worth my while." There was a sound of fabric rustling. "Just let me touch you a little."
More rustling. Napoleon was ready to go bash Appleton's face in. Apparently the noise had been Illya extricating himself because when Appleton spoke next, his voice was harder to hear, as if from a few feet away. "Hey, where you goin'?"
"I do not appreciate being manhandled."
"Hey, don't be like that. If you want to play hard to get, that's all right with me. Come back here and sit with me." When Illya didn't comply, he tried a different tact. "Then, let's go get some dinner."
"No, I cannot. I am having dinner with another friend."
That was news to Napoleon. He guessed he was the friend.
"I thought you said you were here alone?"
Napoleon grinned. Appleton clearly wasn't too keen on sharing Illya with anyone.
"I am. I came by myself, but I ran into an old friend and we made plans for dinner."
Appleton must have closed the gap between them. "Are you gonna fuck him? Is that why you're ditching me?"
Napoleon's cock twitched in response.
"He is just a friend."
"If he's just a friend, then ditch him and have dinner with me. We'll order room service and then I'll have you for dessert."
"Maybe…"
"Maybe what? Anything you want, baby, just say the words."
"Maybe I could see you later?"
Napoleon grimaced. Illya had done that perfectly, put just the right amount of pleading in his voice. There was no way Appleton was going to say no to that.
And indeed he didn't. "Anytime, anyplace, gorgeous. As long as I get a piece of your sexy ass." Rustling noises. "In fact, let me get a little feel now." There was a sound of someone landing with a thump on the ground and Napoleon was heading for the door when Appleton let out a groan. "What the fuck did you do that for?"
Napoleon started to laugh. He should have known better than to think his partner couldn't take care of himself, even against a guy who had several inches and about 60 pounds on him.
"I have to go."
"Hey, don't go away mad. I'm sorry. I'll be down at the bar later, tell me you'll meet me there."
"I do not think it is a good idea."
Napoleon didn't think it was a good idea either.
"I can't help it that you turn me on. I promise I'll be on my best behavior."
There was a long pause. Finally, "I make no promises, but I will try."
"Good. Oh, and tell your friend that if he even thinks about fucking you that I'll rip his balls off. You're mine, babe. Just remember that."
Napoleon's eyes narrowed. He'd like to see the guy try.
"I told you he was just a friend."
That answer disgruntled Napoleon. He wished Illya had told Appleton to go fuck himself, and that he'd fuck whoever he wanted to, thank you very fucking much, including his just-a-friend.
"Yeah, well, he better be, because I don't like to share." Sounds of movement. "If you're gonna go, then you better go, before I change my fucking mind."
Napoleon wanted to go down there and change Appleton's fucking mind for him.
"Well, maybe I'll see you later tonight."
"I'm counting on it, Petro. I'll be real disappointed if you don't show."
Napoleon heard the covert threat. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He could hear footsteps, and assumed they were Illya's. After a minute Illya spoke, apparently for Napoleon's ears alone. "Insufferable egotist."
Napoleon grinned, relieved that Illya apparently didn't like Appleton. It took about fifteen minutes before Napoleon heard Illya enter his room next door. The door between their rooms was ajar a couple of inches. Illya poked his head in. "Napoleon?"
"Present and accounted for." Napoleon watched as Illya came into the room. He gave his partner a lopsided grin. "Well, he was a real charmer."
Illya made a face like he'd sucked on a lemon. He peeled off the microphone and handed it to Napoleon. "I need to take a shower. Perhaps several of them."
"Well, while you're washing that man right out of your hair, make up your password list."
Illya scowled. "You can probably start it yourself." He started prattling off a list as he turned and headed back for his room. "Fuck, fucker, fucking, cock, asshole, masturbate…"
The sex terms grew fainter as Illya got further in to his room and, Napoleon assumed, entered the bathroom. He heard the shower turn on. Yup, that Appleton was a charmer; he'd made quite a hit with his partner. Napoleon let out a short laugh and picked up the phone to order dinner.
The food arrived as Illya finally got out of the shower. As soon as the room service waiter left the room, Illya entered through the adjoining door. Napoleon noticed he was back in black. A part of Napoleon was relieved; this was the Illya he was familiar with and most comfortable, but another part was miffed that he apparently wasn't worth a fashion show.
Napoleon felt childish for feeling that way, and did his best to shake it off. He arranged their dinner, prattling on about nothing in particular.
"What is the matter, Napoleon?"
Napoleon glanced at his partner. "What do you mean?"
"You're upset about something, what is it?"
Napoleon shrugged and told a partial truth. "That Roger guy just bugs me."
Illya grunted his agreement, and reaching for a pen, started making a list as he tore off a piece of bread to nibble on. Dinner progressed as the list grew longer. Napoleon found himself resenting the silence.
Finally Illya tossed down the pen. "There, that should get Art started." Illya began to give his full attention to dinner.
Napoleon's appetite was falling off. He threw his napkin on the table and picked up the list. Moving to the bed where his jacket was lying, he fished out his communicator. In a minute he was talking to Art and listing the words Illya had written, including the ones Illya had spouted as he'd gone to take his shower.
Art snickered when the list was complete. "When does this guy have time for research? From this list it sounds like he does all his thinking with his dick."
Napoleon couldn't agree more. "Just run the list, Art."
"Will do."
Napoleon recapped his communicator. He sat on the bed and looked at his partner. "So."
Illya looked back. "So." He placed his own napkin on the table. "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you now or do I have to try to guess?"
Napoleon's lips tightened for a second. He shook his head as if to intimate he had nothing to say. He kept his voice casual. "You seemed to do okay with the whole being friendly thing today."
Illya grimaced. "The man is lucky I did not have any sleep darts with me."
"I didn't think he was going to take no for an answer."
"Neither did I."
"You gonna be able to handle him tonight?"
Illya's lips quirked up at the corners. "Is that what you're concerned about, Napoleon? My virtue?"
"I just don't want things to get out of control. After all, if you kill him, we'll never get his password."
Illya frowned at his partner, faking injury. "Nice to know you care so much about the mission."
Napoleon grinned. "Just call me Uncle Solo." He hoped that Illya would assume that this was what was bothering him. The last thing Napoleon wanted to confess was that his feelings had been hurt by Illya's openness with Appleton. "When do you plan to accidentally run into him?"
Illya glanced at his watch. "In a couple of hours. I don't want to seem too eager."
Napoleon stood. "Well, I might go have a stroll. I'm feeling a little stir crazy being cooped up in the room all afternoon and I hate to not get a little beach time in while we're here."
Illya stood as well and moved to sit on the second bed, making himself comfortable against the headboard. "I'll wait until you get back before I leave."
Napoleon gave him a wry smile. "Make yourself at home."
Illya looked up at him, surprise in his eyes, hearing more than Napoleon meant to convey. "Do you want me to go back to my room?"
Napoleon locked gazes with him. He slowly shook his head. "No. I don't." Napoleon couldn't seem to pull his eyes away and his blood began to pool in his groin. Before he did something stunningly stupid, Napoleon shrugged into his jacket, made sure he had his key, and left the room.
The Let's Get Friendly Affair: Part 4
Illya had dropped off into a light doze but awoke easily when Napoleon returned. He stretched, glancing at his partner's face. Despite that last look, whatever had been bothering Napoleon before was still bothering him.
Illya grew a bit flushed thinking about that last look. It had smacked of the same sexual energy that had so affected him last night, when Napoleon had transformed from his partner into an eminently desirable man, in a matter of seconds. Illya had tried to lock the feeling back up, the way he'd kept it locked up for months, but it was like a tiger loose from its cage, and it refused to be captured.
Napoleon took his jacket off. "Appleton's downstairs in the bar, checking out everyone who walks in the door with a frown on his face. I'm guessing he's looking for you."
Illya scowled.
"I'm assuming from your scowl that Art hasn't called back to say that he's found a way in."
Illya shook his head. "He's only half way through the list but so far none of them have worked." He ran a hand through his hair and stood. "I suppose I ought to get dressed."
Napoleon gave him a quick once over. "Black's not good enough for him?"
Illya could hear the hint of anger in Napoleon's voice. "I'll ask one more time."
"Ask what?"
"What is it that is making you act this way?"
"What way?"
Illya rolled his eyes, both disgusted and distressed. He knew Napoleon was upset with him but he had no idea why and he didn't like it. "Fine, act however you please. I'm getting dressed."
Napoleon acknowledged the comment by silently moving over to the surveillance equipment, running an experienced eye over it, making sure it was ready for its next run.
Illya gave Napoleon another last look as he walked into his own room. He looked in the closet and deliberated what to wear. He thought about Napoleon's comment about his black clothes. It had nothing to do with not being good enough. Rather, it was because he liked his black clothes and he didn't want them tainted. Much better to wear clothes he hated and would never ordinarily wear.
He almost called for Napoleon to come help him decide but then elected not to. Napoleon was already acting strangely enough about this whole mission.
Realizing he was staring at the closet, Illya frowned and pulled out an outfit. Donning it, he looked in the mirror and swallowed. The pants were still black, but these were so tight they might have been painted on. It was plain Illya wasn't wearing any underwear, and despite several adjustments, the mound of his genitals was obvious.
His shirt was a royal blue, less form fitting, but half unbuttoned, inviting further exploration. The color reflected in his eyes, making them a brilliant blue. Illya almost changed, but then he thought about the mission, about its importance, and the need to keep stringing Roger along. Adjusting himself one last time, he walked back into Napoleon's room.
Napoleon glanced up, and his eyes opened wide, giving Illya a once over, this time his eyes lingering on Illya's groin. "Jesus, Illya, why don't you write the words Fuck Me on your forehead."
Illya grew defensive. "If I must act the cocktease, then I must dress like one. I need Roger to think I will be worth the wait." He was appalled with himself for allowing Napoleon to cause him to doubt his strategy, but he found himself blurting out another excuse. "I think that once Roger has his way with me that he will move on. I need to put him off as long as possible."
Napoleon tugged on his lip. "And you think that outfit's gonna make him willing to wait?" His eyes roamed over Illya again. "Did you actually look in a mirror?"
Illya frowned. "Yes, Napoleon, I looked in the mirror. I know what he likes and have dressed accordingly."
"What he likes is sex, Illya. It seems to be all he likes."
"Exactly."
That shut Napoleon up. But only for a minute. "So, what did this salesclerk look like who sold you this outfit?"
Illya shrugged, not sure where this line of questioning was going. "He was just a man."
Napoleon gave a knowing nod. "A man who just happens to be a homosexual?"
Illya scowled. "What possible difference does that make?"
"Because I know who he's going to be dreaming of when he jerks himself off to sleep tonight."
"Napoleon!" Illya could feel the blush scalding his face. He turned away from his partner and found himself looking in the mirror. There was no doubt that the outfit screamed sex. Illya was reasonably certain he looked good, even if his appearance made him acutely uncomfortable. He didn't like to draw attention to himself. In his experience, every time someone noticed him, bad things tended to happen.
He glanced up in the mirror and saw that Napoleon was still staring at him. Illya followed his gaze and realized that Napoleon was eying his butt. He half turned so he could see his ass in the mirror. Jesus, the pants were tight. Illya looked at Napoleon again, and for a second, he was sure he saw admiration in his gaze. He hoped it was. It would help him feel less uncomfortable if Napoleon thought he looked good. It would be even nicer if that look had been one of desire.
Illya suddenly realized the enormous mistake of thinking about Napoleon that way while wearing these pants. There would be absolutely no way he could hide an erection in this outfit. He thought of Roger, and that helped. The only way he'd been able to get hard when Roger had been kissing him earlier had been to think of Napoleon, pretending it was Napoleon's hands exploring his body, Napoleon's tongue in his mouth. He liked to think, though, that Napoleon's kisses wouldn't be rough and sloppy, but skillful and arousing.
He was doing it again, and his body reacted accordingly. Illya moved across the room, his back to Napoleon, and looked out the window, blowing out a long breath. He jumped when Napoleon's voice came from close behind him. "Here's the microphone."
Illya held out his hand over his shoulder and Napoleon dropped the small device onto it. Illya pressed it in place and sighed. It was time to start getting into character but he was reluctant to begin the charade.
Napoleon's comments didn't help. "I can't imagine he'll be doing a lot of talking with you looking like this."
Illya flashed his eyes up, catching the reflection of Napoleon in the window. "I'll get him to talk."
"Oh, yes, you were a regular Chatty Cathy today, weren't you?"
There it was again, that tone in Napoleon's voice. It didn't make sense. Napoleon was angry with him for talking? "I explained that to you, Napoleon. I had to talk to him to get him to talk to me." Illya wasn't sure why he was still defending himself, and about something so inane.
"Right. Mr.-I-can't-stop-talking-about-myself? The insufferable egotist? He'd keep talking even if there was no one listening."
Illya turned around to face Napoleon. "But not about important concerns, important parts of his life from which he might choose a password."
Napoleon nodded. "Which was why you shared so many stories about your life?"
Illya was relieved that Napoleon understood. "Exactly." Then he frowned when he saw how that answer affected his partner. Napoleon walked to the adjoining door stiffly and began to open it. "You better go."
Illya moved and pushed the door shut. "Not until you talk to me."
"Now you want me to talk to you?" Napoleon's voice grew bitter. "We don't need to talk about important things, Illya. I have no passwords to ferret out."
Illya was lost. He furrowed his brow.
Napoleon waved a hand in the air, dismissing the conversation. "Never mind, Illya. I don't know what the matter is with me tonight. I don't like this guy, I don't trust him, and I just want to get this mission done so we can go home."
Illya almost bought it. Almost. He grabbed Napoleon's arm, and forced him to sit on the end of the bed. "I don't believe you. Despite your words this morning, for some reason you are acting as if you don't like me at all. What did I do wrong?"
Napoleon blurted it out. "You talked to him, Illya. I've known you for years and you've never talked to me like that."
Illya was even more puzzled. "It was a role, Napoleon. It didn't mean anything."
"Nothing except that he seems to be someone you're willing to tell your life secrets to."
Illya figured it out and it hurt. "You like him more than me, don't you?"
Napoleon scrunched his face up in confusion. "What?"
"You like him more than me. I think that is the issue here."
"Who are you talking about?"
"Petro. You like him more than me. You wish I were friendly and outgoing, instead of the way I am. I told you I was not an easy person to like, but it is apparently truer than I thought." Illya felt lonelier than he had in years.
Napoleon grabbed Illya's arm. "No, no, wait a minute. I thought you liked him more than me."
"Petro?"
"No, Roger."
Illya was dumbfounded. "Are you insane? I cannot stand the man. How could you think that?"
"Because you told him all those stories about your life, about you, about your childhood. You told him more about yourself today than you've told me in all the time we've been partners. Important stuff, Illya. That was the word you used, important."
Illya felt lightheaded with relief at Napoleon's words. "Oh, Napoleon. None of those stories were true. I made them all up." Illya kept his eye on his partner, watched as the truth sank in, and the blush start creeping up his face. He cocked his head to the side. "Did you really think I would tell stories of my life to a stranger, a despicable stranger at that?"
Napoleon ran a hand over his face. "Jesus, Illya. I'm sorry. I've been off since this mission began. I don't know what I was thinking. Of course, you wouldn't."
Despite the fact that he would normally be annoyed by Napoleon's accusations, Illya found himself wanting to reassure his partner. "You know more about me than anyone."
Napoleon's lips tightened. "I feel like I don't know anything about you."
"But you do. You may not know all the facts and figures of my life, but you know my likes and dislikes, you know my moods, you know how I'll respond in any given situation, you can practically read my mind. You know me, Napoleon. Me. Who I am now. Who I was in the past doesn't matter."
Napoleon stared at Illya for a long time. Then he gave him a rueful smile. "I guess I do know you, don't I?"
Illya nodded. "Better than anyone ever has." He bit his bottom lip and worried it for a minute. "Does it really bother you that I don't talk about my past?"
Napoleon shrugged. "Sometimes. I don't know why, but sometimes it does. Your life was so different than mine it makes me curious."
Illya dropped his gaze to the floor. "I don't talk about my life because much of it is better forgotten."
"I know, Illya. I've picked up that much from being with you. And my curiosity isn't important enough to make you relive days that were painful for you."
"Maybe not, but you are important to me." Illya's heart started to race as he listened to his own words. They were too close to the truth. He gave Napoleon a small grin, the corners of his mouth turning up. "I will do this for you. I'll let you ask me two questions. One now, and one when the mission is over."
Napoleon's eyes opened wide at the offer, like a kid in a candy store. "Really? Any question I want?"
Illya hoped he wouldn't live to regret this. "Any question." He frowned. "I'm not promising long answers."
Napoleon snorted. "If you gave me a long-winded answer I'd insist on fingerprints to prove that it's really you." He narrowed his eyes. "It just better be the truth."
Illya stood, suddenly nervous. "What's your question?"
"Don't rush me. I'm thinking."
And it was clear he was. He paced across the room, knuckles rapping against his lips.
Illya's nervousness grew. There were so many things about his life he would rather not discuss. It made him cross. "Napoleon, sometime tonight would be good."
Napoleon gave him a disgruntled look. "Be quiet."
Illya started thinking maybe he should leave now before things got ugly. Instead, he sat, forcing his body to relax. He watched as Napoleon took in his outfit again. Illya decided Napoleon was going to ask him something about sex. Illya relaxed a bit more, sure he could handle that. He looked expectantly at his partner.
"Okay." Napoleon squared his shoulders as if working up his own courage. "Okay. Answer me this. When was the last time it was really you in a relationship? A sexual relationship. Not some role, not for the job, just Illya. When was that?"
The question floored Illya. He'd been expecting a question about when he decided he was a homosexual or his first sexual experience, or what excited him about a man. Typical questions. Illya almost laughed. He should have known Napoleon would not ask a typical question.
An inner debate raged as to how best to answer the question. He glanced up at Napoleon and the debate ended. Napoleon was patiently waiting for Illya to give him an honest answer. Despite his longing to lie to protect himself, he couldn't. But he kept his answer short. "Never."
Napoleon's jaw dropped. "Never?"
"Never."
"But…why?"
Illya wasn't sure what answer Napoleon had been expecting, but clearly this hadn't been it. "That is another question."
"I know. Answer it anyway. Tell me why?"
"Because it gets me what I want."
"Which is?"
"Sex and no entanglements. No expectations beyond the physical."
Napoleon pursed his lips, considering his partner. The close scrutiny made Illya feel cornered. Napoleon's next question made him even more uncomfortable. "No pain?"
Illya gave him a tight nod. "No pain." It was time for a new topic. He'd answered the question; in fact he'd answered several. He pressed his fingers against the microphone, making sure it was still in place. "I need to go." He glanced down at himself. "Should I go change first?"
Napoleon tightened his lips. "No. You have good instincts, Illya. The best. And I'm sorry I made you doubt them. Those clothes will do exactly what they need to do. He'll notice you, he'll want you, and he'll do whatever it takes to get what you're promising."
Illya frowned.
Napoleon touched him lightly on the arm. "Just be careful. I don't trust him, and I wouldn't put it past him to try to take what he wants. I don't think those were idle threats he made earlier."
Illya gave him a mocking grin. "You mean when he threatened to rip your balls off?"
"Ha ha. No, there was something in his voice when he made it clear he expected you to show up, and to put out."
"I can take care of myself."
"I know you can. But humor me and be careful. Okay?"
Illya nodded. "Da."
"Good." Napoleon gestured at the equipment. "I'll be here. If you need me, say the word and I'll come down and shoot him for you."
Illya batted his eyes at Napoleon. "My hero."
Napoleon opened the door to the adjoining suite for him. "Feel free to leave any time you want."
Illya let out a soft laugh, entered his room, and shut the door behind him. He checked his appearance in the mirror one more time, while he began to slip into his role. Illya looked at his body, at the way he stood, equal parts shyness and advertisement.
The conversation with Napoleon ran through his mind. Never. It had only ever been sex. That's all. It was what he was good at. It echoed his life as a spy. Get in and get out, and keep the body count low. He couldn't imagine trusting anyone enough to give them more than that. A picture of his partner appeared in his mind; the thought followed immediately. Except Napoleon. He trusted Napoleon.
Illya closed his eyes against the sadness that rose in him. Dreams. Hopes. Wishes. Dangerous trappings. Shaking all of it off, he embraced his role and slipped out of his room.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~