Napoleon watched his partner dress, mind wandering slightly but never veering far from the Russian before him. He parted the curtains in the window for a brief second, glancing down at the motel parking lot. It was quiet, so he took a step closer to Illya.

"What is it?" Illya asked, turning to face him with a curious look. "Napoleon?"

"Just wondering something." He smiled, smoothing the fabric over Illya's chest.

"Care to tell me?"

There was a brief pause, one of Napoleon's hands still resting over Illya's heartbeat. He felt it quicken as he fixed the man with a smoldering gaze.

"Sure. I was wondering about what your guilty pleasures are."

"Guilty pleasures?" Illya stepped back from his lover's touch, deciding that letting Napoleon stroke him even just a little certainly qualified as a guilty pleasure, at least when he was supposed to be preparing for his next mission. Unfortunately, one which he would be taking alone. Not his favorite potential definition of the phrase 'Solo mission.'

"Yes, guilty pleasures. Everyone has them. I was wondering what yours were." Napoleon smiled seductively, leaning forward.

"Oh, I don't know, Napoleon," he stalled, picking invisible lint from the black gabardine of his current disguise - a Soviet Naval Officer's winter uniform. "Why don't you tell me yours first."

"Well, there's you..." Napoleon tugged the knot of Illya's tie into place and brushed more imaginary lint from the epaulets. Since he wasn't going with Illya on assignment, Napoleon was at least going to make the most of the preparation time allowed before this particular mission.

"I am a guilty pleasure?"

"I wasn't done yet." Napoleon straightened Illya's lapels. "Watching you get dressed, to be more precise. Although I prefer you undressing...but that's beside the point. You getting dressed in uniform, to be truly precise. I love a man in uniform."

"This may have been the downfall of your military career," Illya said dryly, twisting the buttons that held the jacket closed, so that the design stamped into each was precisely right side up.

"Only you," Napoleon amended, cupping the blond's cheek tenderly. "I love you in uniform."

"Which uniform? This one?"

"All of them," he purred, wrapping his arms around Illya's waist. His eyes flickered over Illya's chest and shoulders, and he continued in a low, silky voice, "Serge... does wonders...for that physique of yours."

"This isn't serge. It's ga--" A kiss cut him off, and he promptly forgot his argument, giving into the questing tongue, and to the strong hands his partner was currently running up and down his back and sides.

Even without the kiss, he reflected, there wouldn't have been much holding out, not with Napoleon in full seduction mode, not the way each word was smoke and satin and ambrosia to the ears. Illya's thoughts returned to their room only when the kiss ended and he found himself trying to stand on legs that could barely hold him.

"That's all right. I happen to think that a lot of fabrics do wonders for that physique of yours." Napoleon grinned. "Although nothing suits you quite so well as nothing. I still think that if you have to be wearing something, I'd rather see you in some kind of uniform."

"Seeing me in uniform really gets you worked up?" Illya asked skeptically, extracting himself from the embrace. He fumbled with the ribbons sewn to the breast of the uniform's jacket, but being stitched in place, there was little he could do with them to distract himself. What else was he wearing that needed adjustment?

"Yes. Definitely yes." Napoleon nodded, attempting to catch his lover again.

"Napoleon, don't...you'll wrinkle it, and it has to look perfect tomorrow when I go undercover," Illya protested. "Besides, I am supposed to be working on getting into character."

Napoleon grinned slyly, picking up the visor cap from the uniform and setting it on his partner's head, adjusting the angle just so. "Really?"

"Yes, really." He sighed, allowing the other man to finger-comb his bangs into order before re-setting the cap. "I cannot afford to make any mistakes."

"Character..." The sly grin widened.

"Character. Honestly, Napoleo-- Napoleon..." Illya shot his partner a hard suspicious look. "What warped idea has insinuated itself in that devious little brain of yours?"

"Well, I was just wondering if your...character had any guilty pleasures..." He stepped back in feigned innocence, but the step brought him closer to the small room's one bed.

"Na...pol...eon..." Illya pleaded.

"Do you keep a cabin boy?"

"Napoleon..." he growled.

"Handcuffed to your bedposts, maybe?" Napoleon bounced back onto the nearby mattress, looking up at the other man.

"You really are impossible." Illya rolled his eyes, trying to turn away.

"Come on, Illya, don't you want me to fire your torpedoes?" A winning smile from Napoleon held Illya's focus, despite all valiant attempts to ignore him.

He snorted. "That's the worst come-on you've ever come up with."

"Ready to board, Captain?"

"I stand corrected," Illya groaned. "That was the worst come-on you've ever come up with."

"No boarding, eh? Would you rather I dive?"

"Dive?"

"Dive. You know, go down." Napoleon lifted his eyebrows. "Take your pick."

"Napoleon, I really cannot-" He sighed, turning back to the mirror to adjust the few medals that adorned his uniform. Unfortunately, his partner was still displayed to an advantage in the reflection.

"Captain..." Napoleon said smoothly, leaning back on the bed. "Go ahead... submerge yourself in me."

"You couldn't resist throwing in one more submarine pun." Illya rolled his eyes.

"If you don't give in soon, I'm going to have to start stripping."

"No!" Illya spun quickly, one hand shooting out to grab Napoleon's wrist. There was a moment between them, a heavy silence that hung in the air as their eyes locked, and his resolve melted. "I mean...no."

"No?"

"You asked about my guilty pleasures...one of them is this." Illya moved to the bed, crawling across the mattress to straddle his partner's hips. He slowly undid the top button of Napoleon's shirt, pausing to lick the hollow at the base of his throat before continuing.

"I thought you were working on your character," Napoleon teased.

"You want character?" Illya asked, a gleam in his eye. He tore his partner's shirt the rest of the way open, scattering buttons over the bedspread. "Now finish undressing and lie on your stomach."

Napoleon complied with a grin. "This is exactly what I wanted. Though before you get too into character, may I remind you-"

"I do not need reminding," Illya whispered, kissing him. "If you change your mind-"

"I won't change my mind, Illya. I just wanted to make sure you were-"

"Yes, yes." Illya interrupted Napoleon with another kiss. "We can stop if you like. Just say the word."

"What word?"

Illya shrugged. "Stop, I would imagine."

"What if my character would say stop and I don't want you to. Shouldn't we come up with some sort of code in case I'm only playing along?"

Illya shook his head, quickly removing his clothes. "Your character would not say stop, because my character is his captain."

"Works for me." Napoleon watched as Illya returned the uniform to its hanger. "Where were we?"

"You were just obeying orders."

"Yes, Captain." He smiled, turning back onto his stomach and wriggling his hips enticingly.

Illya knelt behind his prone lover, reaching for the jar on the nearby bedstand. "You may just be up for a promotion, you know. If you do a good job here, who knows where you may end up? After all, your...career is in my hands..."

Napoleon shivered in anticipation. He loved it when Illya was in the mood to dominate him, and he loved it even more when he could talk him into exploring a kink - neither happened nearly enough - and now he got both. For all his expertise, Napoleon hadn't done a lot of roleplaying in the past - up until Illya, there was never anyone he'd wanted to try it with. Another shiver ran through his body as Illya worked a generous amount of lubricant into him, and a small pleading noise escaped his throat.

Napoleon felt Illya's grip on one of his hips as the other hand presumably coated the Russian's own erection. He felt Illya push into him, now holding onto both hips, his grip slippery from remaining smeared lubricant.

Napoleon gasped as one of the thrusts grazed his prostate. The next didn't go as deep, and he pressed back, encouraging Illya to just take him and stop worrying. The thrust after that was harder, sinking deep into his body as Illya's hands tightened on his hips, sliding a little from the lube. He wondered idly if he would bruise, but the head of Illya's cock pressed against his prostate, this time a hard heat, and there was a pause before Illya pulled back again. Napoleon heard a keening sound that sounded more like his voice than his lover's, but he hadn't thought he'd made it.

Illya leaned forward, curling over Napoleon's body, chest against back. He left a kiss between Napoleon's shoulder blades, and on the back of the neck. His teeth closed around Napoleon's shoulder, and he bit down gently as he came, muffling his partner's name, distorting it into a harmless groan pressed into flesh.

Napoleon felt Illya's orgasm explode inside him, one last dying thrust all he needed to come himself, collapsing beneath the unexpected weight of the body atop his. Despite his slender build, Illya wasn't light. It didn't matter. Napoleon wanted, needed, to feel him there. Just like he'd needed to feel the fingers digging into his hips, the teeth marking his skin, the slight expanding of Illya's manhood inside him in that too-brief instant. Illya still hadn't pulled the deflating erection out, though he would soon. No matter how long they stayed, it always seemed to end too soon.

After a moment Illya pulled away, rolling Napoleon over and kissing him roughly before sitting up at the foot of the bed. "Not bad. How would you like to serve in my quarters permanently?" He grinned.

Napoleon smiled, giving his partner a mock salute. "I would like it very much, Captain."

"Mm." He nuzzled his lover's neck, inhaling the musky scent. "You'll salute me with your cock next time, boy."

Napoleon gave a brief laugh of pleased surprise. "Illya! I had no idea you were so imaginatively kinky...though I'm afraid this next time will have to wait. I require a certain recovery time between 'salutes,' after all."

"That's all right," Illya mumbled, relaxing against Napoleon's chest. "The important thing is that you hold the salute until your superior releases it."

"Never a problem." He grinned. "That...was fun."

"Yes," the blond agreed. "I enjoyed it very much. Only next time, Napasha..."

"Yes?" A tingle ran through his body. Next time...

"You will be acting according to the dictates of my guilty pleasures. I am thinking of something with involved storylines, possibly a lengthy historical backstory."

Napoleon groaned. "Involved storylines and lengthy historical...? Your guilty pleasures involve that much work?"

"You knew I was an intellectual when you fell for me, Napoleon, so you've only yourself to blame if when it is my turn to choose. I wish to reenact great literary works."

"How great?" Napoleon asked, hoping in the face of insurmountable odds that his partner would pick Fanny Hill over Anna Karenina.

"Well, for starters, the Iliad  holds some promise...perhaps The Three Musketeers. It is perhaps too lofty a goal to try and work in Proust, but perhaps you have a favorite in classical literature?"

Napoleon rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms tightly around Illya's waist. "Classical literature? Only for you, Illya mine, would I attempt such an undertaking."

"Kinky sex was your idea in the first place." He shrugged, his head dropping to Napoleon's shoulder. Before long, he was sleeping comfortably in his lover's arms.

Read the sequel - The Game in Scarlet Affair