Napoleon woke to the sensation of soft, exploratory licks to his hips and the crease of his thighs. It was a novel sensation. He'd certainly woken up with a lover before. He'd even, on rare occasions, woken up after them. But never on those rare occasions had his bedmate taken the opportunity--or the liberty--of exploring his body as he slept.

With good reason, Napoleon mused, shifting to allow the wet caresses to migrate down to his inner thigh. He stayed the night to be polite, not to deliver a repeat performance the following morning.

But this morning was different. This morning, his lover was a prickly Russian who was more than welcome to take all the liberties he liked. Napoleon moved one hand to cup the curve of Illya's head, running his fingers through that ridiculously long hair. It felt good, sliding over his fingers and the back of his hand, warm and smooth.

"Are you awake?" Illya asked. His breath washed over Napoleon's skin, curling into little eddies where his thighs came together and stirring the hair there.

"Oh yes," Napoleon confirmed, surprised at the huskiness of his own voice. Sleep and desire--a powerful combination. He blinked his eyes open and looked down his own body to find Illya stretched out on his belly between Napoleon's legs.

"Good," Illya said, suddenly grinning. "I wouldn't want you to miss my best work."

Napoleon gasped and jerked as Illya's tongue washed over his balls, covering them with licks and little suckling kisses. "I...ah! I always appreciate...your work," Napoleon managed, kneading Illya's shoulders enthusiastically. He panted rhythmically, his thighs clenching and releasing irregularly as spikes of pleasure shot through him. His cock was hard and aching...and sadly neglected. "But I think...ah! I think you're missing a spot," he moaned.

Illya lifted his head and considered his work. "I think you may be right," he said wickedly. "Roll over."

Napoleon blinked. "What?"

"Roll over," Illya repeated. A familiar manic expression flashed through his eyes. "Trust me."

Napoleon rolled over slowly, unsure whether he should be excited or scared, given that Illya usually wore that expression when he was planning to make something explode. Comfortably sprawled on his stomach, Napoleon waited curiously.

Starting at the base of his spine, Illya started nibbling his way...downward. Napoleon laid very still, uneasiness at war with the hot little thrills lighting up his nerves. Broad hands palmed the cheeks of his ass and eased them apart, making way for Illya's tongue.

"Illya," Napoleon blurted at last. "You shouldn't-- I mean, that's not-- Oh, god!"

The touch of Illya's tongue against the thin, sensitive skin of his hole felt hotter and wetter than it had anywhere else. Even on his cock. Napoleon's eyes squeezed shut, his back hollowing out, hips jerking upward to meet every little lick.

Illya chuckled warmly, lips brushing the tender pucker, and proceeded to overwhelm Napoleon with a flurry of nibbles and sucking kisses and incredibly little stabs of his tongue. God, those sweet little thrusts seemed to knife through him and hit him right in the groin. Napoleon groaned, his balls tightening responsively.

"Fuck," Napoleon panted, wetting his lips, the gesture mirroring that Illya had given his clenched hole.

Illya laughed breathlessly. "Later," he promised. "For now...I'm going to make you come with nothing but my mouth."

"You've--" Napoleon cut himself off in favoring of sucking in desperate little breaths. He didn't want to pass out; not while Illya was licking him like that. Christ, his tongue was practically vibrating. Napoleon didn't manage to retrieve his train of thought until Illya paused for a breath himself. "You've done that before."

"Not like this I haven't," Illya said, giving Napoleon's ass cheeks a little squeeze. "Have you ever come like this, Napoleon?"

Napoleon laughed incredulously, trailing off into a sob of pleasure. "Come?" he managed after a moment. "No one's ever touched me like that before. I have a...oh god...a hard enough time getting...again...yes...getting a woman to suck the other side."

Illya hummed distractedly. Napoleon could feel it, shivering through his lips and into Napoleon's body, a caress that would have intangible if it had been pressed to flesh any less sensitive than the pucker that Illya now teased ruthlessly. He pulled his lover towards orgasm relentlessly, his mouth fixed against Napoleon's hole, the tip of his tongue tracing the ring over and over, slipping inside briefly and suddenly and unexpectedly.

It was a slow, burning climb to completion. Napoleon's lungs heaved, sweat dripping from his body as his muscles clenched and released, over and over again. He reached his peak at last, fell over the edge, and tumbled into a sea of such sensation he couldn't give it any other name than ecstasy.

Illya was with him when Napoleon managed to claw his way back to coherency. With him and, apparently, more than satisfied himself. That was good; Napoleon couldn't have moved a muscle to help at the moment.

"Where on Earth did you learn that?" Napoleon asked after a moment, his voice hoarse. Had he been shouting?

"You know how to please women," Illya said, draping himself against Napoleon's side. "I know how to please men."

"Will you teach me how to do that?" The thought of driving Illya crazy appealed.

Illya rolled onto his side to face Napoleon and considered for a moment. "I'll teach you how to please me," he offered at last.

Napoleon chuckled. "That's what I wanted," he said, pushing himself into a wobbly sitting position. "Come on. Let's shower."

--End--