Clearing his throat, suddenly dry at the sight of Napoleon in leather, Illya said, "Mr. Solo, the manager says you have something to fix, yes?"

"Why, yes indeed," said Napoleon, his voice oozing sex.

Illya cursed inwardly, perfectly aware that Napoleon was enjoying himself trying to break his composure.

"Kuryakin," Napoleon said with relish, as if Illya's name was a particularly tasty type of food. "That's such an 'unusual' name...and is your first name equally as unusual, mmm?"

Illya shook his head. The tight leather trousers, the way Napoleon was leaning back against the doorframe, head high and neck extended at just the right angle was a direct invitation to somebody to kiss it. Illya imagined planting a delicious row of kisses all the way down that neck from just under the chin to the 'V' of skin between the lapels of the jacket. To pull down the zipper of the jacket as he kissed his way down Napoleon's smooth chest...to...

Illya caught himself abruptly before he could break character. This might be just a game for them to while away their time together, but he was going to take it seriously...as seriously as if it was indeed a mission where failure to be convincing could mean a speedy, or worse, a slow death. And in some ways this was as serious as a mission. There was indeed much at stake...

It had taken them a little time to come up with the stakes for the bet. Napoleon had wanted the winner to write all their reports for the next two weeks. Illya had countered that he typed up most of them anyway, so it wasn't exactly much of a penalty. "Ah, but if you lose then I won't hear you complaining about it for at least that long," Napoleon had replied. This had earned him a pillow in the face. He had retaliated in kind, and things had degenerated from there. When they had finally gotten back to the subject of the bet, they had agreed that the loser would have to do all the reports, and all the cleaning and all the cooking for the next two weeks.

Illya had no intention of losing.

No, he would be strong as befitted an agent of the U.N.C.L.E. He would stay in character, no matter what Napoleon tried to do to him. Now if only the man didn't look so damned sexy in that outfit.

With a steadiness in his voice that surprised him, Illya replied, "No, sir. It's Nicolai, from Nicholas."

"Nicolai...Nicholas, Nicky, Nick," said Napoleon, the syllables falling from his tongue. "Yes, Nicolai suits you better than Nick or Nicky. Come with me, Nicolai, I have work for you." Napoleon pushed himself away from the doorframe and sauntered past Illya, almost brushing up against him as he passed by.

Illya took a deep breath, able to tell by scent alone that Napoleon hadn't had a chance to shower yet that morning. He could smell his own body scent on Napoleon, and knew that the almost contact hadn't been accidental. Gripping his 'tool belt' firmly, he followed Napoleon into the kitchen, trying to avoid staring at the leather clad ass in front of him...the perfectly formed neat little ass swaying in front of him with every step its owner took...the ass that was encased in leather so snugly fitting that it was almost like a second skin.

Napoleon draped himself languidly over the kitchen counter. "So my dear Nicolai - you don't mind if I call you Nicolai, do you?"

Illya decided to play innocent, "Sir, no sir. I do not mind," he said, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Uh-uh," said Napoleon, putting his finger under Illya's chin to raise his head. "There's no need to be so formal. Please, call me Tony."

"Yes si...Tony," said Illya, allowing a trace of fake uncertainty to creep into his voice. "What is it to fix?" He wondered whether a simpler speech pattern would sound foreign or just hokey. Russian had no articles; he'd take advantage of that.

Napoleon waved his hand towards the table in the center of the room. "This table has been giving me some trouble."

"I shall take a look at it. What seems to be problem?" He and Napoleon had eaten at it only last night. It was certainly a sturdy piece of furniture, built to last. But perhaps he was supposed to pretend that it was damaged in some way as part of the 'game.'

"It's a little bit unsteady," said Napoleon, crossing over to the table and rocking it slightly. "Also, I'm not too sure how strong the legs are. It felt rather unsteady the last time I used it. There are also a few rough patches." He stroked the surface of the table almost tenderly. Just like he had stroked Illya's body the previous night. "Here, take a look."

Illya stepped up to the table, unobtrusively picking the side opposite to where Napoleon was standing. Somehow he felt it would be safer keeping the bulk of the table between them - if for no other reason than to hide the effect that seeing Napoleon in all that leather was having on him. Still, getting an erection was a perfectly understandable reaction...especially given the fact that Napoleon seemed to be going out of his way to provoke such a reaction. "I can use sandpaper. Get rid of rough spots."

"Good," said Napoleon, moving over to Illya. "That will be very helpful. You see, splinters can be very, very nasty things...especially when they get stuck in 'sensitive' areas..."

Illya's eyes were wide and innocent. "Se...se...sensitive areas?"

"Oh yes," said Napoleon, taking a step closer.

Illya involuntarily took a step backwards, but his back hit the wall and he realized that with the counter to one side, and the table to the other, Napoleon had effectively trapped him.

"Yes," continued Napoleon. "You see, I don't only use this table for eating, or for preparing food. I also use it for fucking my partners."

It was on the tip of Illya's tongue to comment that he hoped Napoleon washed it thoroughly afterwards. A Kuryakin-type remark, not something that little innocent Nicolai would even think of saying. He filed it away for future use though. One never knew when a good comeback would come in handy.

Illya's mouth opened and shut a few times as if trying to think of a suitable reply. "Sir, I must be examining table..."

Nice work, Napoleon thought approvingly, although without letting a hint of it show on his face. Poor little Nicolai sounded like he had just stepped foot onto these shores. He made a mental note to compliment Illya on his accent...after he had forfeited the bet, of course.

Napoleon put one hand on the wall behind Illya. He breathed in and the combined actions caused the zip on his jacket to open a few more inches...revealing he wore no undershirt. "I think that I should tell you more of what I use that table for...so that you know exactly how strong it needs to be."

"Is-is not necessary," said Illya, with a stammer. His eyes were downcast, preventing Napoleon from seeing how effectively his plan was working.

Napoleon leaned in a little closer, until his face was only inches away from the Russian's. He breathed out slowly, noting with satisfaction that Illya was having some definite difficulty in maintaining composure.

"I-I make sure table is strong...strong enough for all type uses." Illya bit his lip and a faint blush appeared on his cheeks.

The blush was a nice touch, Napoleon thought approvingly. It added just the right air of vulnerability to Illya's portrayal of the sweet innocent repairman. It also made Napoleon all the more eager to break through the façade and get to the not-so-innocent secret agent that he knew lurked beneath. Out loud he said, "Oh, I think you really need to hear about this." The hand that Napoleon had placed on the wall almost touched Illya's head. With only a slight movement, Napoleon was able to caress Illya's ear. He stroked it gently.

Illya jumped and Napoleon knew this was not entirely part of the act. He was sure that Illya was only seconds away from grabbing him and proving just exactly how strong the table would need to be.

Napoleon teased at a strand of Illya's hair. "My last partner and I, we used this table. We used it a lot." He watched as Illya swallowed hard. The Russian appeared to be breathing heavily, his hands clenched into fists, his whole body trembling. "Oh, we had such fun with this table. Sometimes he would sit on the edge of the table, and I would slowly unbutton his shirt...and I'd be just at the right level to suck on his nipples as I pulled his shirt away from his body. That would drive him crazy. With one breath he would beg me to stop, but with the next he'd be pleading for me to continue." As Napoleon spoke, he brushed his hand lightly against Illya's t-shirt, stretched tightly across his chest. "Of course, sometimes he'd wear a t-shirt and there wouldn't be any buttons to play with." He rubbed his hand less gently now and found Illya's nipple through the cloth. "So then I'd just rip it off him!" Napoleon quickly tweaked Illya's nipple, causing the younger man to yelp. "And then there would be nothing between us. My skin would be pressed to his, and that's when the fun would really begin-"

"Please, sir..." Illya bit his lip.

Napoleon knew damn well that Illya didn't like being pinched like that...which, of course, was why he had done it. He was also aware that Illya was most likely filing the incident away for future payback - but hey, he was in the spy business, he was supposed to live dangerously.

"My boss...h-he is angry if I take too long on job. I need this job. I have family to provide for...if I do not work they do not eat. Please...please let me fix your table and go." The soft, broad accent became even more liquid under the stress of Napoleon's teasing.

"Oh, I think your employer would be much more angry if you failed to 'satisfy' your customers adequately." Abruptly Napoleon pulled away from Illya and took a few steps towards the door. "Perhaps I should phone him and tell him what a very bad boy you've been. How you wouldn't listen to me when I tried to tell you what was wrong. Hmm? What would your employer say to that? I know your boss and I think he would be very, very angry with you."

There was an air of menace in Napoleon's voice that he knew Illya found strangely erotic. Maybe Illya would play this game out, and 'allow' Napoleon, or rather 'Tony,' to take advantage of poor sweet innocent little Nicolai. The dashing seducer, taking advantage of the poor defenseless repairman - confusing and arousing the supposedly innocent lad and having his wicked way with him - or rather to get the spy inside the lad so turned on that Illya would be forced to forget all about keeping in character and simply take Napoleon to bed straight away. Either alternative had a pleasing outcome to Napoleon's way of thinking. Well, apart from the small matter of their wager.

Illya had a quaver in his voice, as he spoke, "Pliss, sir, not to phone my boss. If-if you complain, he fires me. I-I need this work. Pliss, I do anything you ask...do not phone him."

"Anything, eh?" smiled Napoleon. His smile was evil, just like his deliciously evil plan.

"Anything." Illya gulped.

Napoleon resumed his position beside Illya, "Now where were we?" he asked, idly plucking at Illya's hair. "Oh yes, I was telling you all about my 'friend'...and how I would rip his clothes from his body, leaving him naked on the table and looking oh-so-perfect."

Illya breathed heavily as Napoleon's hand stroked up and down his body, caressing his nipples through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

Napoleon stepped the action up a notch. Moving his hand lower, he placed it squarely over Illya's groin and squeezed gently. "Sometimes I would start by taking him in my mouth. It wasn't easy, because he was such a big..." he squeezed a little harder, "...big boy." Now his hand was squeezing rhythmically as his voice continued. "So to make it a little easier on myself...I'd take some honey butter-"

Illya gave a muffled snort and knew that Napoleon had cracked his façade. But Napoleon didn't appear to have noticed that his ploy had worked. Besides, Illya reasoned, it could easily have been a faked sob from Illya as 'Nicolai' realized what the inevitable outcome of this encounter was going to be. His control had slipped partly because he had been thinking about food in order to distance himself from what Napoleon was trying to do to him, and he had just gotten as far as imagining a plate full of hot buttered toast with honey butter dripping down the sides. He didn't think that Napoleon had noticed his sudden reaction. Or maybe he was just having waaaay too much fun to stop now.

Napoleon continued without a pause, "I'd take some honey butter, and smear it all over his cock. You wouldn't believe how much better it tastes that way." Napoleon resumed his stroking of Illya's body. "But the taste of the honey butter as I sucked it off his cock, that was nothing compared to the taste as he came in my mouth. The blends of taste and texture...the coolness of the honey butter and the warmth as he came." Napoleon sighed reminiscently, his hand coming to rest over Illya's heart, which was now beating double time. "But that was only the beginning. You see, after he had his fun, then it was my turn. He'd be lying there on the table in front of me, legs apart, just waiting for me to pleasure him. I'd smear the honey butter on my fingers and then slowly, very carefully, I'd push them into him. You wouldn't believe the noises he'd make, gasping and sighing...and any time I'd stop, he'd beg me to continue. And even though he'd just come, he'd get hard all over again. I'd get hard just watching him squirm under my touch...so then I'd unbuckle my belt..." Illya watched as Napoleon suited the action to the words, slightly easing the strain on his trousers.

"Pliss," Illya made the words sound forced, as if he was on the verge of tears. "Pliss, not...pliss stop...I...I do what you want, just pliss..."

Napoleon's hands stopped in their tracks as he saw the look of anguish on the Russian's face. Napoleon opened his mouth, ready to call a halt to proceedings immediately. He didn't know what was wrong with Illya, but obviously the game had triggered something in his partner...something unpleasant, and no wager was worth hurting him like that. "Il-" was as far as he got before he noticed a tiny gleam in Illya's eyes. It was gone almost immediately and if Napoleon hadn't been so intimately acquainted with his partner's face, he wouldn't have noticed it.

'That sneaky devious little brat,' thought Napoleon. 'Preying on my sympathies like that.' If there had indeed been any doubts in his mind as to Illya's role-playing abilities, they had been effectively quelled by that little display. All this passed through his mind in a split second. He recovered himself, pulling the persona of Tony back to the forefront of his mind, and silencing the Napoleon who only wanted to give Illya a big hug. There would be time for hugs and more later - but for now, there was a wager to win.

"I'll be gentle with you, Nicolai," said Napoleon, hoping that Illya hadn't noticed his slight lapse. "You don't need to be afraid." He leaned in closer and whispered in the younger man's ear, "I promise I'm not going to hurt you. In fact, I think I can guarantee you the time of your life! My friend never had any complaints when I took him right here in this kitchen." Napoleon gently maneuvered Illya around until the Russian had his back to the table. A little gentle pressure and he soon had an unresisting Russian flat on his back in front of him. It appeared that 'Nicolai' was going to 'lie back and think of Russia,' and simply endure this ordeal.

'That's what he thinks,' Napoleon thought to himself, a smug smile flickering on his lips, unseen by Illya's closed eyes. He had no intention of letting Illya take the easy way out of this game and pretend not to be affected by whatever was being done to him. That might work with a Thrush interrogator, but Napoleon had a few tricks up his sleeve. Some might consider it cheating to use his intimate knowledge of Illya's body to give him an advantage in this little game, but all was fair in love and wagers. Besides, if he went too far, Illya knew just how to end it. All it would take was a single word - an acknowledgement that he hadn't been able to keep in character while under pressure. Napoleon hoped that Illya was stubborn enough to resist him - he was having too much fun to stop now!

Slowly Napoleon reached for Illya's holster, unbuckled it, and dropped it to the floor. The belt was next and he pulled it gently through the loops before dropping it beside the holster. Then he reached for the zipper of Illya's jeans, slowly easing it down over his bulging crotch. Napoleon could hear Illya's breath coming faster and faster as he rubbed his hand against the Russian's crotch.

Illya gave a small moan.

'Good,' Napoleon thought to himself. If he kept up the assault on Illya's most sensitive regions, there was no way Illya would be able to keep quiet. His lover was always vocal when he was being fucked. Napoleon tugged at the waistband of 'Nicolai's' jeans and took his time pushing them down. Illya was in the perfect position for a simple blowjob - not that his fellatio technique could ever be described as simple, he thought a little smugly - but it was hardly likely to satisfy an oversexed predator like 'Tony.' No, the character he was playing would only be satisfied with Illya's - or rather Nicolai's - ass. With that in mind, Napoleon pulled away slightly from the table and grabbed Illya's shoulder to roll him over onto his stomach.

Or at least that was his intent. Illya had other plans. He grabbed Napoleon's hand in a vise-like grip. "No," he said in a voice like ice.

Before Napoleon could make up his mind as to whether Illya was conceding the game or not, the Russian sat up and grabbed his other hand as well, using them as a lever to force Napoleon back from him. "No," he repeated. A quick movement and Napoleon was now flat on his back on the table. "You will not do this. You...you with your fancy apartment, your 'spensive clothes. You think that because you have money what you want is yours for taking and no price to be paying. You Americans, all the same."

Napoleon was almost mesmerized by the steel in the blue eyes. He could feel the Russian's breath hot against his cheek as Illya hissed at him, "You think you can take advantage of me...I will not complain...I will be willing participant in your perverted amusements, eh? Well, we see if is funny when you are taken advantage of!" Even the softened V's were spat out.

Abruptly Illya pulled away, but before Napoleon could respond, he found himself rolled over until his chest was pressed into the table. "I...Nicolai," he managed to gasp. "You don't know what you're doing. Let me go and we'll say no more about this. I-I won't tell your boss." He tried to rise, but Illya pushed him back down, twisting one arm up against his back.

"Is too late," said Illya, his other hand busily undoing Napoleon's trousers. A quick movement and he had them pushed down. "You bring it on yourself." Napoleon's underwear was soon down around his ankles as well and Illya took the opportunity to rub his bulging crotch against Napoleon's ass. Napoleon let out an involuntary gasp as he made contact.

Napoleon knew that it would be a simple matter for him to turn the tables again. A sharp kick to Illya's kneecap...a quick lunge backwards...there were any number of ways for him to take back the advantage. But it wasn't just the fact that such an action might be considered 'out of character' that stopped Napoleon from doing it. If truth be told, he was quite enjoying the sudden and unexpected reversal of fortunes and was quite eager to see what Illya had planned next.

In fact, Illya hadn't really made any plans beyond getting out from under Napoleon's dangerously arousing touch. But improvisation was one of his strong points and he had quickly devised a strategy that would both give him the upper hand in the situation and  keep him in character as the poor unfortunate Nicolai. 'You should be careful of who you back into a corner, Napoleon,' Illya thought to himself as he ground up against Napoleon's bare ass.

With his free hand, Illya guided his cock into position and then hesitated. Time seemed to slow down around him as he considered his options. Would Napoleon would concede the game at this point, feeling the dry cock pushing against his ass? But maybe Napoleon knew him too well. Knew he would never hurt him.

Time seemed to stand still as both Napoleon and Illya waited for the other to cave.

It felt like an eternity but was really only a matter of seconds before Napoleon gasped out, "Please, you don't know what you're doing."

Leaning in closely, Illya hissed in Napoleon's ear, "I know exactly what I do." A sudden flash of inspiration hit him. "You said you like honey, Mr. Solo." Straightening up, he let go of Napoleon long enough to reach the jar of honey butter that had been left out following their supper the previous night.

Napoleon blinked in surprise. "H-honey?" he stammered, but Illya could see the shadow of a smile on his lover's face.

Illya smeared more honey butter around his cock, guiding it carefully to Napoleon's entrance. He heard Napoleon gasp slightly as he pushed his way in. "You like that, yes?" he said, pushing a little farther. "Is what you wanted all along, yes?"

Napoleon moaned in delight as Illya thrust into him. "Oh God!" he cried.

Illya's hands were now at Napoleon's waist, holding him steady, allowing him no freedom of movement at all, other than what he dictated. Napoleon didn't seem to care that the honey was sticking to his skin and would probably end up smeared on his leather jacket. He seemed to have forgotten that this was all part of a game and that he really should be pretending not to enjoy it quite as much. His attention seemed completely focused on the cock thrusting in and out of his ass.

Illya too was finding it difficult to remember that he was an angry young man taking revenge on a predator. He squeezed Napoleon's waist tightly in an effort to prevent his hands from wandering up to that luscious thatch of hair and stroking it lovingly. 'Keep your mind on the job at hand,' he told himself sternly, but it wasn't easy. Not with Napoleon's body pinned beneath him, moving in time to his thrusts, Illya recited mathematical formulae in his head in an effort to keep from coming too quickly, but it was a losing battle, and finally he lost himself in a wave of pleasure as his orgasm engulfed him. Collapsing across Napoleon's back, he could feel his partner breathing heavily.

Napoleon groaned in frustration as he felt Illya come inside of him. Usually, if he hadn't come by the time Illya had, then he knew he could expect a quick release with the aid of Illya's hands or mouth, but he had a suspicion that he wouldn't be able to count on 'Nicolai' for release.

The table creaked slightly as Illya pulled out from Napoleon's body and pulled his jeans back up. Calmly he walked to the sink and washed his hands, then retrieved his holster and strapped it around his waist.

Napoleon knew he should say or do something to keep the game going, but he was fresh out of ideas and, besides, he wanted to see what Illya would say or do next.

"I come back tomorrow to finish," said Illya.

"Tomorrow?" asked Napoleon as he straightened up from the table. He felt a little self-conscious with his erection bouncing in front of him, but he figured that maybe if he waved it in Illya's face, so to speak, then the Russian might be sufficiently distracted to break character. "Yeah, right," he said to himself.

"Yes," replied Illya, his face a picture of innocence. "I have not fixed table. Please to clean it first. I do not work with dirty top."

Napoleon almost lost it then, his sense of humor mightily tickled by Illya's comment, but he managed to keep a neutral expression on his face. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Of course." Illya headed for the door and freedom before adding, almost as an afterthought, "Maybe need more honey."

As Illya closed the kitchen door behind him, Napoleon could not keep from bursting out laughing.

"Aha!" Illya cried, flinging open the door triumphantly. "That is not in character. The game is mine!"

"The hell it is," retorted Napoleon, sinking into a chair. "You left the 'apartment,' so anything I say or do doesn't matter because 'Nicolai' wouldn't have heard it. But by coming back in uninvited, you're the one who broke character first, so I win!"

"Oh, no," said Illya. "I won fair and square - admit it."

The two men looked at each other for a few seconds before Napoleon sighed, "You know there's only one way we're going to resolve this now, don't you?"

Illya tilted his head at Napoleon and grinned evilly. "Double or nothing?"

*****

Some time later, sweaty limbs lay entwined on the floor. Hearts pounding, pulses racing, blood singing in the ears, two bodies panted as one. Finally a muffled voice gasped, "Best of three?"