![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keelywolfeTitle: In Stitches
by Keelywolfe
Rated : NC-17
Pairing: Napoleon/Illya (SLASH)
Disclaimer: I do not own these wonderful characters, because if I did, all their episodes would be on DVD by now...but I digress. I also make no money off of them.
Summary: For the 'Black' challenge on muncle. So I'm a freak, so sue me. *G*
~~*~~
No matter how attractive a person might consider themselves, stitches could render any flesh repulsive. An ugly looking cut bristling with waxy black threads like a freakish scene from a horror film. It could be subdued, disguised behind a sterile bandage but that couldn't deaden the pain or the knowledge of its existence.
Illya sighed quietly and ran a hand over his freshly shaven head, wincing as his fingers brushed against the stitches. He'd spent enough time looking in the mirror to know what little hair he had was so pale it was just barely visible; he looked more like his head was dirty.
“It doesn’t look that bad.” Napoleon didn’t look up from his book.
“Look at me and tell me that.”
“It doesn’t look...” Napoleon’s lips twitched and Illya glowered. “All right, it looks terrible. That’s the dangers of the job though, isn’t it,” he added unsympathetically. “Sorry, but you can’t look pretty all the time.”
Illya stared. “Did you just call me pretty?”
“Yep." Napoleon wagged a finger at him. "If you want to protest my adjectives, then you should start by being happy you didn’t break open your skull while you were at it instead of standing in front of the mirror lamenting your lack of hair.”
“This from a man who color coordinates his ties with his undergarments?”
“Just because you haven’t found a way out of the gray scale,” Napoleon sniffed. “One of us has to be stylish.”
“Is that what they call it?” Illya mused.
Napoleon sighed and set his book aside. "Look, you can either stand over there sulking, alone with your hair loss, or you can come over here and let me kiss it better."
"You think you can kiss this better?" Illya scoffed, but there might have been a touch of wry amusement in his eyes.
"Baby, you have no idea what these lips can do." The throaty seduction in his voice was completely ruined when the object of it rolled his eyes.
"I'm sure your lips can work miracles but I'm afraid the same cannot be said for your pickup lines."
The soft flicker of Napoleon's tongue over his lips drew Illya's eyes, fading his humor into something warmer, darker. "Then come over here and shut me up."
An invitation to silence Napoleon. Such things were not to be wasted. He moved to stand in front of Napoleon and watched as the shine of his own amusement faded, shifting into wariness when Illya made no move to sit, to do anything but stand between Napoleon's legs and watch him silently.
He slid a hand behind Napoleon's head, weaving his fingers into the soft, dark hair as they urged him forward. There was the briefest flash of uncertainty, of resistance, but Illya's grip was firm and with his other hand, he stroked a thumb over Napoleon's lower lip, asking.
Napoleon's hands on the front of his pants were the answer, fumbling almost nervously and seeing that always touched something inside of Illya, deeply. He doubted anyone would believe it if they didn't see it, Napoleon Solo, fingers trembling as they cupped themselves around Illya's cock with obvious care. That his breath could stutter with apprehension against hot skin, the press of his tongue a slick little quiver that made the backs of Illya's knees itch with want.
Bold with an invitation and hesitant to carry it out, no one would ever suspect this of Napoleon, and Illya cupped his face in both hands, felt the soft flexing of his cheeks as he gently sucked. Perhaps Napoleon was right, perhaps his lips could perform miracles but if that was true then his tongue could compose symphonies, a song Illya wished he could always remember and it never lasted long enough, always he was coming far too soon, sliding down to kneel on the floor before he suffered the indignity of collapsing.
Napoleon was pressing gentle kisses against his scalp, skirting the too-hot edges of his cut that still throbbed with pain. "Better?" he murmured, smug surety in his voice.
Just once, Illya would be charmed to see that faint uncertainty carry over. Just once. "Better," he agreed reluctantly.
"You know, if you're going to have a shaved head, maybe you should think about shaving other places too," Napoleon said conversationally.
It was enough to make Illya pull away and stare at him in mute horror.
"Well, I’d like it," Napoleon huffed. "I didn't think much about your hair at all before I started involuntarily flossing with it..."
Illya clapped a hand over his mouth. "Please. I'd like to begin forgetting now that you ever said that."
Brown eyes sparkled with humor over his hand and Illya decided it was in the interest of fair play to find another way to silence Napoleon.
One that didn't include shaving.
-finis-
by Keelywolfe
Rated : NC-17
Pairing: Napoleon/Illya (SLASH)
Disclaimer: I do not own these wonderful characters, because if I did, all their episodes would be on DVD by now...but I digress. I also make no money off of them.
Summary: For the 'Black' challenge on muncle. So I'm a freak, so sue me. *G*
~~*~~
No matter how attractive a person might consider themselves, stitches could render any flesh repulsive. An ugly looking cut bristling with waxy black threads like a freakish scene from a horror film. It could be subdued, disguised behind a sterile bandage but that couldn't deaden the pain or the knowledge of its existence.
Illya sighed quietly and ran a hand over his freshly shaven head, wincing as his fingers brushed against the stitches. He'd spent enough time looking in the mirror to know what little hair he had was so pale it was just barely visible; he looked more like his head was dirty.
“It doesn’t look that bad.” Napoleon didn’t look up from his book.
“Look at me and tell me that.”
“It doesn’t look...” Napoleon’s lips twitched and Illya glowered. “All right, it looks terrible. That’s the dangers of the job though, isn’t it,” he added unsympathetically. “Sorry, but you can’t look pretty all the time.”
Illya stared. “Did you just call me pretty?”
“Yep." Napoleon wagged a finger at him. "If you want to protest my adjectives, then you should start by being happy you didn’t break open your skull while you were at it instead of standing in front of the mirror lamenting your lack of hair.”
“This from a man who color coordinates his ties with his undergarments?”
“Just because you haven’t found a way out of the gray scale,” Napoleon sniffed. “One of us has to be stylish.”
“Is that what they call it?” Illya mused.
Napoleon sighed and set his book aside. "Look, you can either stand over there sulking, alone with your hair loss, or you can come over here and let me kiss it better."
"You think you can kiss this better?" Illya scoffed, but there might have been a touch of wry amusement in his eyes.
"Baby, you have no idea what these lips can do." The throaty seduction in his voice was completely ruined when the object of it rolled his eyes.
"I'm sure your lips can work miracles but I'm afraid the same cannot be said for your pickup lines."
The soft flicker of Napoleon's tongue over his lips drew Illya's eyes, fading his humor into something warmer, darker. "Then come over here and shut me up."
An invitation to silence Napoleon. Such things were not to be wasted. He moved to stand in front of Napoleon and watched as the shine of his own amusement faded, shifting into wariness when Illya made no move to sit, to do anything but stand between Napoleon's legs and watch him silently.
He slid a hand behind Napoleon's head, weaving his fingers into the soft, dark hair as they urged him forward. There was the briefest flash of uncertainty, of resistance, but Illya's grip was firm and with his other hand, he stroked a thumb over Napoleon's lower lip, asking.
Napoleon's hands on the front of his pants were the answer, fumbling almost nervously and seeing that always touched something inside of Illya, deeply. He doubted anyone would believe it if they didn't see it, Napoleon Solo, fingers trembling as they cupped themselves around Illya's cock with obvious care. That his breath could stutter with apprehension against hot skin, the press of his tongue a slick little quiver that made the backs of Illya's knees itch with want.
Bold with an invitation and hesitant to carry it out, no one would ever suspect this of Napoleon, and Illya cupped his face in both hands, felt the soft flexing of his cheeks as he gently sucked. Perhaps Napoleon was right, perhaps his lips could perform miracles but if that was true then his tongue could compose symphonies, a song Illya wished he could always remember and it never lasted long enough, always he was coming far too soon, sliding down to kneel on the floor before he suffered the indignity of collapsing.
Napoleon was pressing gentle kisses against his scalp, skirting the too-hot edges of his cut that still throbbed with pain. "Better?" he murmured, smug surety in his voice.
Just once, Illya would be charmed to see that faint uncertainty carry over. Just once. "Better," he agreed reluctantly.
"You know, if you're going to have a shaved head, maybe you should think about shaving other places too," Napoleon said conversationally.
It was enough to make Illya pull away and stare at him in mute horror.
"Well, I’d like it," Napoleon huffed. "I didn't think much about your hair at all before I started involuntarily flossing with it..."
Illya clapped a hand over his mouth. "Please. I'd like to begin forgetting now that you ever said that."
Brown eyes sparkled with humor over his hand and Illya decided it was in the interest of fair play to find another way to silence Napoleon.
One that didn't include shaving.
-finis-
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-10-19 09:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-25 01:38 pm (UTC)