Pairing: Illya/Napoleon
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A vacation and a hot tub.
Disclaimer: Don't own (don't I wish I did??), don't make money (just ask my office), and it is *all* sithdragn's fault! Up one side, down the other, all her fault. All. Her. Fault.
Notes: This is so much sithdragn's fault that she really deserves cowriting credit. Blame her, and our jobs, for giving us the need to escape from them. :-)


Love, Russian Style
by Nicole D'Annais
Copyright 2003


--

"I don't know how I let you talk me into this."

Illya sat back against the rim of the hot tub, easing down a little lower in the seat. "I believe it had something to do with me and nudity, but I could be mistaken."

"Illya, my feet are frozen."

"Then drop the robe and get into the hot tub."

"Easy for you to say--you've been in there for five minutes. And you've got ice water in your veins anyway," Napoleon complained, hugging himself. "This robe is the only thing that's keeping me warm."

Leaning over the side, Illya tugged on the tie to the terry-cloth robe Napoleon wore. "The water will keep you warm." On a dubious look from Napoleon, he lowered his voice. "*I* will keep you warm."

The robe fell to the deck beside the tub, and Napoleon climbed in. "The water is hot!"

"Yes, Napoleon, the *hot* tub is actually full of hot water. You might have even noticed the steam coming from the water. Or did you think it was ice?"

"Felt like it," Napoleon grumbled as he sat down. "Oh, this is much better," he said with a sigh, sinking into the water until it covered him to his neck. Now that he was growing warmer, he looked around with renewed appreciation at the large expanse of snowy ground that separated them from the nearest cabin to their own. The lights from the other cabins were as small as some of the stars that covered the sky above them. Only the moonlight, brighter than usual thanks to the snow, made it possible to see Illya, sitting across from him, his hair damp and clinging to the side of his face, and his eyes closed, enjoying the hot water.

"I can't believe you, with all your vast romantic experience, have never been in a hot tub."

Napoleon shook his head. "I've never been in an outdoor hot tub. There was a girl I dated in Sweden--"

"Spare me," Illya said, opening his eyes to give Napoleon a dark look.

"Okay. Where did you learn the delights of hot tubs, then?"

One eyebrow rose. "You want to know?"

*No.* "I asked, didn't I?"

"Very well. There was a man I dated in Sweden...."

His attempt at splashing his partner a dismal failure, Napoleon laid his head back against the edge of the tub and closed his eyes. The cold air that only moments before had been biting was now merely refreshing, a comfortable contrast to the steamy water that covered most of his body. Really, this had been a good idea after all, just as the idea to come here on vacation had been a good one. Not that he'd admit that to his partner--the man was too smug to begin with. So what if he was usually right in the end?

Napoleon felt his feet being pulled into Illya's lap, strong hands massaging away any aches the water hadn't. Too comfortable to protest, Napoleon instead pushed his feet more firmly into Illya's lap. A low laugh was barely discernable above the sound of the jets in the tub. "Hedonist."

"Damn right," Napoleon mumbled, sinking into the water until it lapped at his chin. He didn't even worry about falling asleep; he knew Illya wouldn't let him drown. Illya's hands moved up to Napoleon's ankles, skimming over the large joint there to massage his calves. Strong fingers worked at knots he hadn't even realized could be there until his leg muscles were of about the same consistency as jelly.

He tried to figure out a way to move further into Illya's lap without losing the support from the side of the tub, but before he could drown himself, Illya slid along the seat to Napoleon's right, supporting Napoleon's thighs with his own as he let his hands drift across Napoleon's knees to massage his thighs.

As those talented fingers moved closer to his groin, Napoleon shifted to accommodate his body's reaction. Illya's slow, lazy circles over the inside of his thighs would've had Napoleon squirming if he'd had the energy. His hips, however, seemed to have a mind of their own as they inched closer to Illya until the back of his hand brushed against Napoleon's cock with each slow stroke of his thighs.

At that touch, Napoleon found he had more energy than he'd thought, and he pushed against the hand insistently. Another low laugh from his partner sent a jolt through him a second before the hands left him completely. His eyes flew open in time to see Illya rising to push him fully into the seat again. Before Napoleon could protest, Illya straddled his knees, sliding down until their erections pushed against each other, sending another, stronger jolt through Napoleon's body.

Several long kisses later, Illya's hand found Napoleon's erection and stroked lazily a few times, his weight just enough to keep Napoleon from thrusting effectively into the hand. Napoleon growled around a kiss, and felt Illya smile in response before he lifted himself up enough for Napoleon to thrust. But the hand was gone, moving to Napoleon's shoulder to help brace Illya as he rose.

This time the protest died on his lips as he felt his cock pressed against Illya's entrance, and Napoleon forgot to breathe as Illya slid himself down slowly. Too slowly, Napoleon's body demanded, but he knew to go any faster could hurt his partner, and that was unthinkable. He marvelled at the fact that this was not hurting Illya, as he'd not been prepared properly. Strange that it was so easy, unless....

"You planned this," Napoleon said into Illya's ear as his lips made their way down to fasten on the other man's neck.

That laugh again--he'd have to get over his response to that laugh, or one day he'd end up in a very awkward situation if Illya used it in public. "Did you think I wanted to just sit in the hot tub?"

Napoleon's answer was a stinging bite to Illya's neck, one that had Illya pushing down against him in one quick thrust that had them skin to skin, Napoleon's cock sheathed entirely in the welcoming heat of Illya's body. Napoleon's head tilted back for a moment, the stars actually seeming to spin before he righted his head again and looked into the eyes of his partner. The moonlight turned them to a cool, bright blue Napoleon was sure didn't exist anywhere in the color spectrum. The eyes were losing focus now, as Illya thrust against him, his arms tightening, his hands gripping the back of Napoleon's head as his lips dropped down to feed on Napoleon's neck.

His own arms tightening around his lover's back, Napoleon inhaled the combination of chlorine and Illya. He'd have to avoid pools for weeks until he could control his reactions again. Illya's mouth was moving now, low words that Napoleon had noticed several times when they'd made love before. Then he'd always been behind Illya, unable to catch the soft words before they drifted off into the air.

Now, however, the words were right next to his ear, but still made no sense until his brain kicked in long enough to translate. The words were Russian from what he could decipher of the broken jumble of phrases, so unstructured that he wondered if Illya even realized he was speaking them.

Napoleon gasped for more reasons than just the particularly hard thrusts Illya had just begun. He'd hardly ever heard Illya speak in his native tongue. Whether because of Illya's past in his mother country, or because the Russian was stubborn enough to decide if he would not give anyone reason to hate him just on the basis of his nationality--and with the accent Illya cultivated so carefully, Napoleon wouldn't put that past him--Illya spoke just about any language but Russian.

His pleasure building to the point where coherent thought was impossible, Napoleon put the revelation aside for later and gave himself over to his senses. The smell of Illya, the feel of their skin gliding together so smoothly under the water--water that now felt cool next to his feverish skin. Even Illya's words failed to have meaning again, only the strong tones left for Napoleon's instinctive reactions, tones that he recognized and translated as, "good," "better," and "oh God yes!" He tried to stick to the latter and drive his lover down the same path of insanity he was following until they each found their release and his mind went completely, happily blank.

Some time later, Illya stirred, his lips moving against Napoleon's neck. It took his muddled brain a moment to translate the Russian phrase, and then he smiled, finding the strength to tighten his hold on Illya's body. "I love you, too," he answered softly into Illya's hair. A brief tightening of Illya's arms told him he'd been heard, and the sigh that escaped the Russian as he relaxed once more into Napoleon's embrace told him he'd been understood as well. He thought he might be hearing more words in Russian in the future.
Just the thought of it made his cock jump enthusiastically.

He took one moment to pray they never had an official assignment in Russia before he pulled back to claim Illya's mouth with his own.
___
END


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