The Top to Bottom to Switch Affair; Chapter 5
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin
Genre: slash, first time, h/c, BDSM, A/U: BDSM Universe (Origionally created by Xanthe )
Warnings: explicit BDSM ==>THIS CHAPTER!!!!<== + m/m; m/f; dubious consent
Rating: adult, aka NC-17
Length: Probably fairly long (30,000-40,000 wds +? 7+ Chapters?). I can't seem to do anything else.
Summary: Set in a BDSM AU. Alpha Top Napoleon Solo, the new CEA at UNCLE, is surprised when he is asked to take a sub on a mission with him. Illya Kuryakin has his secrets, and Napoleon just can't leave well enough alone. Getting the Russian's secrets from him will come with a price, however, for Napoleon has his own secrets -ones that he's keeping from himself, and those are the most dangerous secrets of all.
Intro page and Chapter Index
Disclaimer: I'm old, but still not old enough to be any of the writers or owners of the Man from UNCLE intellectually property. I swear, my own twisted musings are not costing those people a dime, and I won't be making a penny myself.
In spite of what Napoleon knew to be the truth, it almost seemed as if Illya were some sort of magical creature, for he enchanted the entire story out of Napoleon almost painlessly. Everything that Angelique had done, and how it had affected him poured out of him and, though it might be the most wretched and embarrassing confession of his life, he saw nothing but complete understanding in Illya's expression throughout. He also, by the end, saw Illya's point.
"So... you think I might be a switch too?" he asked as he concluded.
"Napoleon, everyone is a switch," Illya replied patiently, "to some degree, at least. You, it is plain to see, are a Top, ninety to ninety-five percent of the time, but every now and then you will feel the need to... scratch a different sort of itch. There is nothing out of the ordinary about this. If you ask me, it is those who never, ever feel the urge to switch who are the psychologically unstable ones. This is where you find your abusive Tops, and the subs who allow themselves to be castrated or worse."
Feeling his whole world being reassembled around him, Napoleon sat back in the sofa and let it all sink in. This was not the same 'carpet pulled out from under you' feeling he'd been beset with before, but more of a 'you had no idea you were wearing dark glasses all this time' feeling. When he turned to Illya and opened his mouth to speak he had a half an idea only of what he was about to ask, but he decided to go with it anyhow.
"Illya," he said, looking into those cool blue eyes and seeing not ice, but an unshakable honestly and a true and deeply loyal heart. "Will you top me?"
"I will," said Illya, without hesitation, even as he took the glass of whisky out of Napoleon's hand. "But not until you're sober. Right now you're going to go get something to eat, get cleaned up and then sleep it off. We'll negotiate the rest once you've done that."
Napoleon nodded, then rose with a resolved sigh to do just as Illya commanded. "You crafty devil!" he said a moment later, turning back to regard his partner. "You're topping me already!"
"Perhaps I am," Illya admitted with a laugh. "In which case, you'd better get to it!"
One portion of reheated beef with broccoli, a shower and a four hour nap later, Napoleon found himself back on the sofa with Illya, feeling fifty percent his old self, and fifty percent terrified. Illya had consigned Napoleon's dressing gown to the laundry hamper (grasped between thumb and forefinger and held at arm's length) so he presented himself to Illya dressed in a shirt and slacks, for all that he was fairly sure he'd be divested of them soon.
"So," said Illya, handing Napoleon a cup of coffee made just how he liked it. "Some fundamentals before we begin. You will have a safeword, and it will not be 'thrush'."
Napoleon chuckled, feeling more at ease already as he sipped his coffee. "How about 'Waverly'," he suggested with a perfectly straight face.
Now Illya chuckled. "Fair enough," he said. "That is a name guaranteed to throw cold water on any pleasant pastime. Now, one other ground rule. I am not, in general, a jealous man, but I can be a jealous Top. While you are subbing to me it must be as if you have never had any other Top. During our scene I will not tolerate the mention of any other names or references concerning persons who may have topped you in the past. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," said Napoleon, instinctively reverting to military parlance. Illya nodded in approval.
"Now," he continued. "Since I have never topped you before, I require that you give me some idea of what sorts of experiences you would enjoy, or have enjoyed, and which sorts of activities you would prefer to avoid. Please bear in mind your previous agreement, however."
"Right," Napoleon said. "Okay, well, being tied up... I've always liked the idea, and I liked it okay... before, but, not on my back, I think. Something about it... well, I didn't like it."
"That is fine, Napoleon," Illya said. "There is no need to give any reason for why you do or don't like something, only to say what works for you and what does not."
Napoleon nodded again, feeling still more at ease. "Alright," he said taking another sip of coffee to moisten his dry mouth. "So, clearly I'm no masochist, but I seem to like a little pain... things like nipple clamps and... being paddled or spanked was okay. I don't think I'd get anything out of blood play, though. Too much like my day job."
"Agreed," said Illya with a wry smile. "What else?"
"Um... being fucked was okay," he continued after a moment. "Which is to say that a lot depends on the person doing the fucking." Illya nodded with understanding. "I um... I really think I'd enjoy, ah, pleasuring a man... with my mouth. I mean, obviously I have given blow jobs before, but..." It was ridiculous to feel his cheeks flame when discussing such matters, but Ilya's smile was kind as he reached across to brush his fingers over Napoleon's face.
"I don't believe I have ever seen you blush before," he said. "It is quite adorable. Of course it is something very different, to pleasure a man as a sub rather than a Top. Tell me Napoleon, has anyone ever fucked your mouth?"
Napoleon felt both a fresh blush of heat in his cheeks and a surge of arousal. Suddenly reluctant to speak, he only shook his head. Illya's smile widened as it became rather more possessive, and slightly feral.
"Ah, Napasha... May I call you that?" Napoleon nodded, swallowing hard to feel Illya's fingers on his face, gripping his chin and running his thumb over Napoleon's bottom lip.
"I cannot tell you, in any language I know," Illya said, voice hushed with desire, "how it makes me feel, to know I will be the first to have your mouth in this way. You are a gift to me, more precious than all the secrets in the world."
Napoleon remembered how much he had craved Angelique's slightest word of praise, but Illya's words made hers disappear like a match before a blazing sun. "Master Giuseppe, my tutor, once told be that the greatest gift a sub can give their Top is their trust," Napoleon found himself saying in a low voice. "I want you to know that... I've trusted you from the beginning, even when I had no idea why, and I trust you now... like no one I've ever trusted in my life before. There's no one else in the world I'd trust with this... with me, but you... I know you'd never hurt me, never betray me... that I'll always be safe in your hands."
"Napasha..." Illya's eyes all but glowed with azure fire as he moved forward on the sofa with sudden, cat-like swiftness, to straddle Napoleon's lap. One large strong hand cupped his face, holding it firmly, the other was splayed across his chest, as though seeking to encompass his heart.
"You know," he hissed, pressing his groin against Napoleon's. "You know what it means to a Top to hear such words from a sub."
"And I meant them," Napoleon said, meeting the penetrating gaze that stood mere inches from his without a flinch. "Every syllable."
Napoleon had never been assaulted with a kiss before, but there was no other word for what Illya did then. Both his hands framed Napoleon's face now, so that he was pinned and helpless against Illya's tongue plundering his mouth. A moan escaped him, and an answering one from Illya vibrated between them. God above, Napoleon thought to himself as he mindlessly tried to thrust his hips against Illya's, he probably had been this hard before in his life, but never harder.
He tried to chase after Illya when he drew back, clearly reluctant as he kept returning for little nips and tastes to Napoleon's neck and ears and mouth, but Illya had something in mind, yanking off his tie with one hand as he continued to grip Napoleon's face with the other.
"Take off your shirt," Illya was muttering. "Take if off now or I will have to cut it off you later when your hands are bound."
This was not particularly easy, as Illya was still straddling him and pressed close, but Napoleon was motivated, and he'd made more difficult escapes in his career, after all. Illya had both Napoleon's wrists caught up on one of his large, capable hands the moment he was free of his shirtsleeves, and a second later was expertly binding them with his black necktie.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," Illya said, "with one of your ties. Pity you're not wearing one at the moment, but mine will do nicely."
Napoleon nodded, feeling some sort of indefinable calm descend over him as his hands were bound. Illya felt the moment as well, sitting back to regard his partner —his sub— with satisfaction. Blunt and callused fingers caressed their way through the dark hairs on his chest, and Napoleon found himself utterly beguiled by the fey yet proprietary smile that formed on Illya's lips. The smile turned thoughtful a moment later.
"This," he said, reaching up to touch the broad collar with its garish Soviet emblem now clearly visible under his open shirt. "It is not... off-putting? I can hide it, if you prefer."
"No," Napoleon shook his head immediately. "It's... part of who you are... your life, your history. Someday you'll be free of it, I hope, but it's still... you."
"Napasha..." Illya sighed, leaning forward to kiss him tenderly now. He planted a train of kisses down Napoleon's torso, pausing to spend some time with his nipples, licking and sucking at first until Napoleon was writhing with pleasure. He should have expected it to devolve into biting, but then Napoleon was new at this subbing business and it came, therefore, as something of a surprise.
"Fuck... oh fuck, Illya!" he cried as Illya fastened onto one nipple, sucking harder and harder until he had the little nub of sensitive flesh caught between his teeth. Napoleon threw his head back, bound hands grasping at one another, as Illya bit down harder and harder. Just when he thought that he could not bear any more he was released and Illya's tongue was lapping over it, thrilling him with a mix of pleasure and pain.
"Mmm." said Illya, a dreamy look in his eyes. "That was delicious, but I am afraid you have only whetted my appetite."
"Oh, no, no, no..." Napoleon moaned, entirely aware of the uselessness of his protestations. Illya's smile was properly terrifying as he lowered his head to address the second nipple. Napoleon tried to brace himself against the pain, but that was, he sensed immediately, the wrong approach. He could not fight the pain, could not deny it or avoid it; all he could do was accept it... submit to it.
He could let it in to him; let it move through him so that he gave voice to it, long wordless cries escaping his throat. The pain deepened and Napoleon felt himself fall through something like a barrier, a sort of second wind in which the pain was just as intense, but somehow much more bearable. The pleasurable aspect of it was also much more evident. Napoleon was panting with both pleasure and pain when Illya finally let up, looking over the two red and swollen nipples with satisfaction. Looking up to meet Napoleon's eyes, what he saw there seemed to satisfy him as well.
"Your pupils are dilated," he said, nuzzling Napoleon's throat.
"So are yours," Napoleon answered, revelling in the sensation of Illya's skin against his. They had both achieved their 'spaces' it seemed —Top and sub— which was a rare enough thing on a first play session, but Napoleon had felt how compatible they were from the beginning. The two of them fit together, like hand and glove, and Napoleon would bet that this would prove to be true regardless of which role they were taking.
"Hmmm, yes," said Illya, reluctantly lifting himself away from Napoleon. "I think we are ready for the next act."
Napoleon nodded, sitting placidly with his bound hands in his lap, aware nonetheless of how hard his cock was just beneath them. Illya's gaze drifted in that direction.
"Definitely the trousers will need to come off," he said, shrugging out of his own shirt as he spoke. He gathered both their shirts and draped them over an adjacent chair while Napoleon undid his belt and trouser fastenings. Then Illya returned to help him to his feet and to remove his trousers. The fact that Napoleon had not bothered with underwear merited no more than a single raised eyebrow.
Once Napoleon was divested of the remainder of his clothes Illya stood back to regard him and Napoleon figured he was entitled to return the favor. Of course Illya was still wearing the pair of skin tight jeans he'd arrived in, but his form was still worthy of admiration, as was his pale, well formed torso. He still had a gymnast's body, Napoleon reflected, his eyes caressing what his hands could not but desired to, very much.
Illya, for his part, seemed to be entirely pleased with what he was seeing which, in turn, made Napoleon puff up just a bit inside. As though reading Napoleon's thoughts, Illya stepped forward suddenly and pinched one of Napoleon's painfully sensitized nipples.
"You were looking entirely too smug," Illya explained at Napoleon's aggrieved yelp. "I could punish you for smugness alone, but the way I see it, your ass needs to be spanked on general principle, and I am more than pleased that it has come to me to do so."
Napoleon felt himself flush suddenly, from head to toe, aware that he had asked for this —for all of it— so there was no point in regrets. Illya was circling him now, like a hungry predator, and then his arms were encircling Napoleon from behind and the binding around his wrists was off, but his arms were still pinned by Illya's. In a flash Napoleon's arms were pulled behind him and Illya was binding them once again and propelling Napoleon forcefully toward the sofa.
"You learn that trick in the KGB?" Napoleon asked conversationally as Illya guided him to kneel sideways on the sofa.
"Hush!" Illya commanded as he sat on the sofa in front of where Napoleon knelt. "You are being punished now. There is no speaking during punishment."
Illya then grabbed Napoleon by the shoulders and pulled him down, prone over Illya's lap like a naughty child. His hand came down with a gentle but meaty slap on one of Napoleon's upturned buttocks. "You may however," Illya murmured wickedly into Napoleon's ear, "scream and cry like a little boy if you feel the need." Napoleon most certainly did not mean to whimper just then, but he most certainly did.
Napoleon had given more than a few spankings in his day, and seen more than a few handed out too, but he knew the hand of a master when he saw one... even when it was his ass that hand was falling on. Illya really did have fairly large hands, and they were surprisingly hard for a 'lab rat', but more importantly, he had perfect control. He began with firm but not particularly forceful slaps, shifting evenly back and forth over both cheeks, not following any pattern but building in force ever so slowly.
Napoleon had begun lifting his ass to meet the slaps at first, strangely craving the sharp sting of sensation, but he continued to do so even as the strikes became more painful. He couldn't seem to stop himself, even though it meant rubbing his hard and leaking cock over the fly of Illya's jeans again and again. He had no idea of when he'd begun softly moaning, almost keening as sensations intensified and Illya's hand fell harder and harder.
As the spanking went on, Napoleon's movements became more and more erratic, until there was a real danger that he would wriggle his way off of Illya's lap, but then his Top's other arm came down over the small of his back, holding him securely in place.
"Be still," Illya whispered, commanding, and Napoleon found himself compelled to obey. No longer seeking to meet or avoid the blows, Napoleon found himself acquiescing, just accepting the punishment Illya meted out and then he was falling into that serene place again. There was pain but it was not his pain, any more than the water in the sea which he swam in was his water. He was floating... drifting in a sea of sensation, breathing it in... a part of it, and it was a part of him.
Then, suddenly, it was as if he had been cast out onto dry land, for the sensation had stopped and Illya was only stroking his inflamed skin, whispering soft words.
"Shhh... shhhh, it's all done now, my sweet Napasha; it's all over, and you've taken it beautifully," he was saying, and only as he began to recognize Illya's words did Napoleon realize that he was sobbing softly, and that his face was wet. Then Illya's strong arms were lifting him, drawing him close so that Napoleon's head rested against Illya's shoulder, and Napoleon felt his breaths calm and his sobs still.
Resting in the sanctuary of Illya's embrace, Napoleon let his eyes drift closed and knew a more profound sense of peace than any he had ever experienced before. It seeped into the deepest parts of him, touching even childhood sorrows and the feelings of shame he'd known all his life for the occasional submissive urges he'd felt. There was no room for shame in him now, the peace of surrender was so all encompassing.
Within this moment, however, Napoleon knew that such moments are not lasting. He drew a long breath, at last, when he felt ready to interact with the world again, and was greeted with a shower of soft kisses on his face.
"You ready to come back now?" Illya asked gently. Napoleon nodded.
"I think you really needed that," Illya said. "I've never had a sub go so deep before, so quickly."
"I did need it," Napoleon said, clearing his throat after a failed first attempt. "But also, you... you are very good."
Illya beamed. "We aim to please," he said. "Now, are you ready to please me?"
"Very much so," said Napoleon, moving to sit up and then discovering that sitting on his ass was going to be problematic for a bit yet. Illya moved out from under him and arranged him so that he was kneeling on the sofa, facing the back, then walked around the sofa, making a brief reconnoiter of the tie points there. He then stood for a moment, chin cupped in one hand as he considered his next move. Napoleon watched him, anticipation mixed with a touch of nervousness, for Illya's imagination was nothing if not diabolical.
"I'm going to need some rope," he said at last. "Also, a plug for you and possibly a cock ring, if you think you will need it."
"Um," said Napoleon intelligently. "Well the rope's in my toy locker, in my bedroom, and the plugs are in the second drawer there... do I have a choice of which one?"
"Of course," Illya said benevolently, heading into Napoleon's bedroom.
"In that case, I'd prefer the one with the ebony handle," Napoleon called out. "Why might I need the cock ring?"
"In case you think you might come while I am fucking your mouth," Illya said matter-of-factly, reappearing in the living room with a coil of rope slung over his shoulder and the previously mentioned plug in one hand. Napoleon's cock did surge at the idea, but he drew a centering breath and brought himself under control.
"I believe I'll manage on my own," he said with more bravado than he really felt.
"You must be quite sure," Illya said, suddenly very close, tilting Napoleon's chin up with the hard ebony handle of Napoleon's favorite butt plug. "Failure on your part will be met with punishment."
"I won't fail you," Napoleon said, suddenly dry mouthed, but meaning it with all his heart. Illya nodded thoughtfully, then set the toys down on the coffee table and went to get a glass of water. He held it to Napoleon's lips as he drank gratefully, then refilled it to drink himself.
"Now," Illya said, thinking aloud once he had set the empty glass in the sink and gathered up the rope once more. "How best to proceed...?"
It was no surprise to Napoleon that Illya Kuryakin was something of a genius with ropes. Before very long Napoleon was well and truly immobilized, with one rope passing over his back and under his arms, pinning his chest down against the back of the sofa. More ropes counter pulled this one, attaching him to the tie-downs at the front of the sofa as well, and preventing any front to back movement. Illya tied his ankles next, so that his position, kneeling on the sofa was fixed. Bound thusly, Napoleon was secured for fucking, any way which Illya preferred.
Napoleon's range of vision was now also limited, so that when Illya stepped behind him Napoleon had no way of knowing what the man was up to. He had a good idea when he heard the cap of the lube being opened, and was ready for the intrusion of the plug when it came. He groaned a little to feel it press into him, stretching him and filling him deeply, and his cock stirred again. Napoleon wanted to come now, but he knew he must wait.
Then there came the sound of a zip and the soft rustle of cloth and Napoleon knew that Illya must be removing his jeans at last. Being more than a little experienced with topping, Napoleon knew that Illya knew exactly the sense of suspense he was creating by staying out of Napoleon's sight. On the one hand, Napoleon was almost trembling with anticipation, and on the other he knew that Illya would be inclined to take his own sweet time here. Indeed, before his sense of sight was indulged, Napoleon felt first hands, then the full press of Illya's groin against his heated and sensitized backside. He made a small involuntary sound in response.
"You do have a very shapely ass, my Napasha," Illya purred, caressing the flesh he praised. "Some day I will very much enjoy fucking it." The contact was drawn away now and Napoleon heard nothing because Illya would be shoeless and therefore completely silent.
"I have other pleasures in mind for this evening, however," Illya continued, letting Napoleon follow the sound of his voice. A moment later Illya came into Napoleon's field of view, splendidly naked and splendidly erect. He was uncut, of course; Napoleon had expected that... but not the little steel barbell inserted through his foreskin. Napoleon gave a little gasp of surprise at the sight.
"Do you like it?" Illya said, smiling stroking himself proudly. "A token of my most carefree youthful days in Cambridge." Napoleon nodded, mouth actually watering in anticipation.
"Do you want to taste it?" Illya's invited, openly seductive.
"Please," Napoleon managed, voice rough with desire.
"Worship it first," Illya instructed. "Show me your devotion."
Helplessly, Napoleon strained against his bonds to do just that, feeling a profound thrill at being restrained. The moment Illya brought it near enough Napoleon fell upon it to the limit of his reach, kissing it, licking his way down the graceful length of it, tonguing the little barbell until Illya groaned with pleasure.
"Very... very good..." Napoleon knew exquisite pleasure at the thought that the evident strain in Illya's voice was his doing. Illya's fingers in his hair, tugging sharply, only heightened his pleasure. "Now... no more worship, only service. You will take what I have to give you until I decide I am done... until I have spent myself in your mouth. You will not come until I say you may. Am I clear?"
"Yes," Napoleon little more than mouthed. It wasn't as if he had any choice, bound as he was, kneeling on the sofa, hands still fixed behind his back with Illya's tie. Illya could do as he wished, but his words reminded Napoleon of this fact and made his helplessness even more delicious. Then Illya's cock was filling his open mouth, all the way back to the soft palate, making him gag for just a second. Illya paid no notice whatsoever, only leaving it there for a moment or two to savor the wet heat of Napoleon's mouth, then began to thrust.
The thrusts were slow and deliberate at first, and Napoleon instinctively tried to suck and tongue the hard flesh moving in and out of his mouth. His hands strained in their bindings, yearning to grasp at Illya's hips; he struggled against the ropes which restrained him, every instinct urging him to take control of the encounter. Another tug at his hair, sharper than before, shattered this train of thought.
"You are thinking," Illya snapped. "No more of that! Your only purpose is to service me."
Even as Napoleon tried to intellectually grasp what this meant, Illya was upon him again, thrusting harder and faster now, so that there was absolutely no chance for him to do anything but take it.
"Yes... yes... take it, take my cock, my Napash," Illya murmured as he took his pleasure. "All mine to use... All mine..."
Napoleon found himself making helpless affirming noises as Illya fucked his mouth. He was Illya's, to use for his own pleasure, however he wished, and there was nothing Napoleon wanted more at that moment. Being a mere vessel for Illya was more freeing than anything Napoleon had experienced in his life; it was like freefall, and Napoleon fell, and fell, and fell, free of everything but the pleasure Illya took from him.
It was as a vessel that he experienced his own pleasure and it was as if his entire body had become an organ of ecstasy —his and Illya's. The growing intensity of Illya's wordless cries fell upon his ears like a caress on his cock, like his mouth on Illya's. Illya's fingers clutching at his hair might as well have been deep inside him, stroking his prostate, and yet Napoleon knew he would not come. Not until Illya said he could.
But Illya would be coming, and very soon. Napoleon's whole body shuddered in sympathy as Illya's went rigid for a moment, his cock thrust deep down Napoleon's throat, and then he could taste the bitter effluent of Illya's climax at the back of his tongue, heard his Top cry his name out loudly in his culminating ecstasy, and felt the profoundest satisfaction, known only by the sub who has made his Top come.
Illya's grip in his hair loosened after a bit, then became gentle caresses. Napoleon relaxed against the well padded sofa back and felt Illya's cock slowly grow soft in his mouth, only the little barbell remaining hard against his tongue. He moaned a little, in pleasure and regret, as Illya finally withdrew, bending to kiss Napoleon on the mouth and taste a little bit of himself as he did. Napoleon let his eyes drift closed, feeling his whole body humming with the tension of his delayed orgasm but enjoying that tension immensely.
"Oh, Napash," Illya crooned as he slowly walked around the sofa again, fingers trailing over Napoleon's sensitized skin. "My beautiful, obedient sub, would you like to come now?"
Napoleon made a contented humming noise, not quite able to manage a more coherent answer.
"Pardon?" Illya asked, nuzzling Napoleon's still tender backside.
"Please!" Napoleon gasped at the sensation of Illya's teeth gently biting there.
"Please, what?" Illya asked, maddeningly.
"P-please... I'd like to come," Napoleon ground out, back arching as Illya ran his hand up the inside of Napoleon's thigh.
"Very well," Illya murmured against the skin of Napoleon's ass, and then the plug was thrusting gently into him, and Illya's large, warm hand was wrapped around his cock, stroking him in rhythm with the thrusts and then Illya's teeth were biting hard into his left cheek and Napoleon was coming and coming and shouting himself hoarse and coming like he'd never come before, in all his life.
Next: pillow talk and a new mission