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So, okay, I lied. It's not ending with this chapter. I just couldn't fit all the sex in. Yes, that means that this chapter ends in the middle of a sex scene, yes it does, but it's at an okay breaking point. Final chapter next. Really.

T.D.

The Top to Bottom to Switch Affair; Chapter 8

-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 sex ==>THIS CHAPTER!!!!<== + m/m; m/f; dubious consent
Rating: adult, aka NC-17

Length: Probably fairly long (40,000 wds + -9 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.

Chapter 8

According to the latest political news there'd been a dramatic falling out between the Senator from Alaska and the Senator from New York and while the press seemed to have no clear idea what had caused it, Napoleon and Illya most certainly did, and it gave them both cause to smile. It had given Master Waverly cause to smile as well, for all that he had been less pleased about Angelique and Grantner's escape. On the whole, even he had to count the mission a success, as THRUSH had been prevented from reacquiring the module and the US officials who had insisted the most loudly that UNCLE's technological resources be opened to them now had quite a lot of egg on their faces.

The UNCLE team who'd arrived in Wainwright in response to the call that had been made on their behalf had installed themselves in the PetrAmCo offices and made a very clean sweep of things. The revelation that the complex had been thoroughly infiltrated by THRUSH for over a year and a half cast a rather poor light on the Alaskan oil industry in general and the US's 'technology repatriation policy' in specific. Napoleon and Illya had sent a very large, very expensive fruit basket (fresh fruit being more valuable than gold on Alaska's north slope) to Tina by way of her cousin, who was the one who'd actually come to collect them from the old barracks that evening.

The UNCLE forces had arrived the next day and probably would have found the two agents before they froze to death, but Napoleon and Illya both appreciated the extra lengths Tina had gone through, to see that someone would respond the the flare even after she'd left town. They both got an invitation to her collaring ceremony roughly two weeks after they'd returned to New York and while personal attendance was out of the question, they had a call in to research to determine what might be an appropriate gift to send for an Eskimo collaring ceremony. They both wanted to be sure that it was something especially nice.

It had taken the UNCLE surgeons a full two hours to get all the glass out of Illya's feet and now, two weeks later, he still had at least a week of mandatory down time left. Napoleon was himself still restricted to desk duty, but was able to be more philosophical about it. Illya, on the other hand, was slowly going stir crazy. Napoleon had a feeling that it wasn't just that Illya hated being restricted, or that he was between projects in his lab just now. In fact, if it were any other 'sub' Napoleon would be fairly sure that the man was simply keyed up after the mission and needed taking down, but Illya was most certainly not any other sub.

It was with the utmost delicacy, then, that Napoleon offered a take-out meal and a game of chess at his place, and to his profound relief, Illya accepted. Napoleon had worried that Illya would insist on returning to the Sub Station for their social interactions so that everything would appear to be on the up-and-up, but he made no mention of this. He did make some show of considering the worthiness of Napoleon's suggestion, but acquiesced in the end... almost as if he knew what was really on Napoleon's mind.

Napoleon had generally excellent instincts about his subs (Angelique notwithstanding) but regarded those instincts with caution where Illya was concerned. Illya was not, after all, a typical sub, and in some respects not a sub at all. Still, Napoleon had a feeling that just now Illya was more or less functioning in 'sub mode' and that his own instincts might serve him well in this instance.

Going by those instincts, and what he'd already learned about Illya, Napoleon knew that Illya would be one of those subs who fought their submission. Napoleon hadn't spent so much time with subs of this sort previously, mainly because the more tractable ones tended to catch his eye first. It occurred to him now that he might have been missing out on a good thing, because as pleasant is his assignations had been in the past, he'd too often come away with the feeling that it had all been too easy. There was nothing easy about Illya, and the more Napoleon thought about it, the more he anticipated testing himself against the man.

A test it must surely be, for Illya would give nothing until Napoleon put something of his own on the table, so to speak. This was what Napoleon considered as he cleared away the remains of their dinner and began to set the chess pieces up on the board under Illya's watchful eye.

"I've had an idea to make this evening's game a bit more... interesting, if you like," Napoleon said nonchalantly, gathering up a pair of pawns for Illya to choose.

Illya's eyebrows rose up into his blonde bangs. "So far, our games have been fairly interesting on their own," he replied. "But I am curious to hear your proposal."

"My proposal," Napoleon said, offering his closed fists —each containing a pawn— to Illya, "is that whoever wins this game will Top the other, at the conclusion of the game."

"Now, Napoleon," Illya said with a sly smile, "if you wish me to Top you again, you need only ask, you know."

"Ah, but I didn't say that," Napoleon replied smoothly as Illya chose the white pawn and won the first move of the game.

"No," said Illya, considering his opening move, "but based on your record against me so far, the odds are clearly in my favor."

"That 'record' would be a total of two games," Napoleon replied. "Hardly a representative sample, and I'm willing to bet that I can amend that record. If I lose... well there are far worse fates. What do you say, partner mine?"

Not only was this the sort of challenge that Napoleon was sure Illya would not be able to resist, he was also nearly certain that, in fact, Illya wanted to be forced to submit; that he would play this game as brilliantly as always but still find a way to lose, and therefore be honor bound to let Napoleon Top him. The fight would be far from over at that point, but he would have Illya's consent, which was half the battle at least.

"Well, seeing as I already know the contents of your toy closet fairly well," Illya said with a fierce grin, "why not?" He extended a hand over the board and Napoleon took it, sealing the deal. He had the consent he had sought, now all he had to do was win Illya's submission.

"Just as a reminder," Napoleon put in. "You remember my safe word, right? It's still 'Waverly'. What will yours be?"

Illya scowled at the question, but had to answer it. "Very well.. mine will be... Brezhnev."

Napoleon nearly spit out the coffee he had just taken a sip of and nodded. "That'll do, partner mine. That'll do," he said, and turned to address the game.

Napoleon had spent some part of the last few days boning up on his chess technique, but he began this game cautiously. Illya, on the other hand, set out to play a highly aggressive game from the very beginning, pushing Napoleon into a defensive stance. It soon became clear, however, that Illya was taking reckless risks, some of which were likely feints, but others simply sloppy play. Napoleon watched carefully, then began to pick off Illya's endangered pieces, one after another.

He lost a few of his own, either through misjudging Illya's feints or just the inherent risks of his strategy, but after an hour or so Napoleon could see that the game was definitely going his way. As one might expect, Illya's game turned more desperate as the evening went on, though that hardly made him easier to beat. There was a sort of massacre of pawns leading into the endgame but when the dust had cleared Napoleon saw his way clear to capturing Illya's king and, a handful of moves later, had him cornered.

Illya scowled so deeply at the board as he reluctantly tipped over his king that for a moment Napoleon thought that Illya would renounce the bargain they'd made, but he did not. Instead he glanced up to meet Napoleon's gaze with a dark, impenetrable look and stood, so abruptly that he jostled the table and sent a couple of chess pieces tumbling to the floor. As Napoleon had suspected, the task of acquiring Illya's submission must now be played out in a less subtle manner.

"So," Napoleon said lightly, secretly pleased that he'd taken the precaution of removing all the breakables from the living room. "Where shall it be? Here or the bedroom?"

"I suppose," Illya said, his expression openly challenging, "it depends on where you are best able to secure me."

Deceptively casual, Napoleon rose, aware of the table between them and strategizing as to how he could get close enough to Illya to get his hands on him.

"I suppose it does," he replied. "And as it happens, I have set up a little apparatus in the bedroom that ought to fulfill that function quite well." He strolled around the table at a leisurely pace as he spoke, as though he did not expect Illya to evade him at all.

"Apparatus?" Illya said with raised eyebrows as he took a step back from the table.

"Just a suspension sling," Napoleon replied. "Have you ever used one?" He was nearly sure that Illya's answer would be 'no'. He doubted very much that Illya had ever had a Top who sought to do more than dominate him, and never one with the goal of pleasuring him into submission, as Napoleon planned to do.

"I, ah... can't say as I have," Illya managed, taking another small backwards step. Napoleon took another larger step forward, so that he was close enough to grab hold of Illya, but he kept his hands down.

"Oh I'm sure you'll love it," he said. "All my subs sing its praises. They say it keeps them completely secured and helpless, but comfortable too, and of course, it will hold you however I want, so that I can take whatever pleasure I like from you."

Napoleon watched with satisfaction as Illya's pupils dilated and his breath became shallow and more rapid. Hesitantly, Napoleon lifted his hand, not to seize but to caress, brushing Illya's pale cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"So beautiful," he murmured. "My Illyushka. I can't wait to see you, bound and helpless and submitting to my pleasure." While Illya seemed mesmerized by Napoleon's words he moved, smoothly and yet too rapidly for Illya to resist. In the blink of an eye Napoleon's arms were around Illya's waist and he was pressed, back to Napoleon's chest.

He moved them both forward a few steps so that they stood before the full length mirror that hung in the hall, halfway between the livingroom and bedroom. Napoleon, of course, wore black —his favorite leather vest over a black silk shirt and black wool slacks beneath his belt. Illya had arrived this evening in deliciously tight faded jeans which left nothing to the imagination, and a white shirt and tie. In the mirror he appeared to be a thing of ivory or pearl, framed by Napoleon's ebony presence.

"My beauty," Napoleon sighed, bending down to touch his lips to Illya's temple. "My beautiful Illyushka." Napoleon's use of the possessive seemed to disturb Illya's tranquility, however, and he felt the man tense in his arms.

"I am not yours, nor any man's," Illya growled. "As you well know."

"Strictly speaking, no," Napoleon said. "But one of my first lessons from Master Giuseppe was that when you are in a scene with your sub, nothing else matters but you and him: one of you is the possessor and one is the possessed, and that must be your whole world."

"A lovely sentiment," Illya replied. "On the other hand, one of the first things I learned in boarding school was that when someone thinks he finally has the thing he has sought for some time, that is when he is most vulnerable."

Napoleon should have suspected something, of course, and he'd been fairly sure that Illya wasn't finished resisting, but he was still taken by surprise when Illya suddenly hooked his foot around Napoleon's, bringing them both crashing to the floor in front of the mirror. Napoleon's first goal became not controlling Illya but rolling them both away from the mirror, on the theory that they'd both had enough of broken glass lately. There then followed a no-holds-barred struggle on the livingroom floor, into which Napoleon threw himself with savage pleasure.

Illya fought like a demon, but Napoleon fought like a man who already knew what the outcome would be. His blood was singing in the most primordial of harmonies known to Tops alone when he finally attained mastery of his sub, straddling his hips and pinning his hands above his head, next to the overturned coffee table. Illya continued to struggle, of course, which only made Napoleon's grin wider and more savage as he removed the cuffs from his belt and captured Illya's wrists in one swift move.

"You are mine now, and mine alone, Illya Kuryakin," Napoleon said fiercely.

Beneath him, Illya writhed and spit out a curse in Russian, but his eyes were dark with arousal, the pupils widened to black pools rimmed with azure and his erection pressed up against Napoleon's, hard and eager. It hardened further when Napoleon drew a knife from his vest pocket.

"This isn't exactly your newest shirt, is it?" Napoleon asked conversationally as he pulled off Illya's tie, then slipped the knife under the shirt collar to cut it open at the shoulders. "Looks like you were expecting to wind up here, hmm?"

Illya gave no reply beyond swearing at him in Russian again and so Napoleon made quick work of cutting Illya's shirt away entirely. As always, Napoleon found Illya's physique, especially when displayed in this manner, well worthy of at least several seconds of perusal. Still holding Illya's bound wrists with his left hand, he caressed the smooth skin of Illya's torso with his right, pausing to molest his nipples till they stood erect and flushed.

Unable to resist tasting them, Napoleon bent forward to lick each one and then sucked at the right one, pinching it between his teeth gently. Illya writhed and moaned beneath him, but refrained from further swearing. Napoleon figured he'd be spending a lot of time with Illya's nipples later, when he was safely secured, but had another goal in mind for now. He kissed and nibbled his way up Illya's chest to somewhere near his collarbone but well clear of his collar.

The heavy leather claim around Illya's neck had not bothered Napoleon in the least when Illya had topped him, but he found that it irked him now. He would leave his own claiming mark, he decided. That would settle matters.

"I don't hold with a man being claimed by a state," he said, lips caressing the patch of skin he'd chosen. "And I don't hold with a man being claimed without his consent. You've given me your consent tonight, Illya Kuryakin, and I would see a mark of my claim on you, more legitimate than this seal they forced on you."

Napoleon kissed then sucked on the spot, just below the collar line on the right side of Illya's upper torso. He sucked harder and harder, till Illya began to thrash beneath him and to make a thin keening noise. Still Napoleon did not stop until he was sure he'd left a clear mark. Then he released his hold, raising himself up to regard his work.

The red mark on Illya's pale skin was already purpling slightly, standing out vividly beneath the crude, dark collar with its garish, red enamelled plaque bearing the Soviet hammer and sickle. To Napoleon's eye, one mark stood out as cold and impersonal, the other as a living testament, and he felt a visceral flush of of dominance at the sight.

"Now," growled. "Now you are mine; for all the world to see!" He moved then, without another word or thought, grabbing Illya up from the floor as he stood and throwing the man over his shoulders, like some cave man's prize. The move so surprised Illya that he remained largely unmoving, slung over Napoleon's shoulder like a sack of flour, until he was deposited abruptly into the sling suspended over Napoleon's bed.

Once there, Illya found himself largely immobilized by the thing's very design, as he settled down into it like a hammock chair and would find it quite difficult to extract himself, even if unbound. Naturally, he did not remain unbound either, as Napoleon immediately clipped his handcuffs to one of the four ropes from which the sling was suspended. Working with swift skill, Napoleon soon had each of Illya's wrists freed of the metal cuffs and comfortably bound to two separate ropes and now turned to the task of removing Illya's jeans.

If Illya had continued to struggle and kick Napoleon could have been presented with some difficulty here, but the suddenness and novelty of the situation seemed to have taken much of the fight out of his sub —for the moment, at least. Once he had Illya's jeans unbuttoned, his rigidly erect cock springing out, unencumbered by any intervening layers of underwear, the sub was putty in his hands. Napoleon slipped the jeans off and then took his time carefully securing Illya's ankles to the other two ropes, so that when he was done Illya hung immobile and splayed open, entirely Napoleon's plaything for the evening.

Now Napoleon stepped back to admire his work, as Illya came to realize the ingeniousness of his confinement. He pulled at the cuffs and tried arching his back to lift himself out of the sling, but soon found that he could not. His eyes went wide as he met with defeat again and again and his cock grew harder and began to leak slightly. Napoleon smiled with utmost satisfaction.

"You see what I mean?" he asked conversationally as he began to remove his own clothes, carefully unbuttoning his leather vest and silk shirt. "You can fight all you like, but you're not going anywhere."

Napoleon took his time undressing, putting his clothes away carefully as always and pleasantly aware of Illya's eyes following him around the room. When he was done undressing, Napoleon crossed to his toy closet and opened the doors to peruse its contents. One day, he mused, he would really like to cane Illya's lovely, firm backside, but they both still had healing welts and scars on their backs from their most recent mission and so any such punishment was out for tonight. Now nipple clamps, those were a must, and Napoleon himself wanted a cock ring. Watching Illya endure his torments would be Napoleon's own delicious torment, and he wanted to be sure to last for the evening.

He fastened the cock ring on, then placed a few other items on a side table where Illya couldn't see them. He turned back to his sub then, juggling a pair of gem studded nipple clamps in one hand. The sight of Illya spread open and suspended over his bed arrested him once more, and he drew in a long breath, his own dark eyes meeting Illya's wide blue ones. As Napoleon felt his own Dominance all but rolling off him, he watched the almost alarmed distress fading from Illya's eyes, replaced by something like acceptance, though the arousal never left his gaze.

"Napoleon..." Illya murmured, the first word he'd uttered since his defiant curses a little while ago.

"Shh." Napoleon calmed him, stroking his cheek with gentle fingers. "You know I'll take care of you. You're going to suffer for me, my Illyushka, but it will be the most delicious suffering, and you'll love every minute of it."

"Yes..." Illya whispered with a swallow. "You have me. I am yours."

"Oh Illya..." Napoleon felt a surge of Dominance and something even more profound, and could not stop himself from bending to demand a kiss from his sub. Illya complied with unfeigned desire and Napoleon had to drop the nipple clamps on the bed so that he could clutch at Illya's head and deepen the kiss. A sweeter kiss he would swear he'd never known in his life, and if there was one small part of him that knew the further implications of this revelation, it knew that this matter could wait.

When they'd both grown breathless with the kiss, Napoleon drew back and gathered up the nipple clamps once more, smiling down at his sub with evil anticipation.

"One thing you'll learn about me," Napoleon said, positioning the first clamp over Illya's left nipple, "is that I love ornamenting my subs. I spent a week in Japan learning the fine art of rope bondage, and I spent a month apprenticed to a Master in Algiers who creates the most ornate play piercings on his subs you've ever seen."

As he spoke Napoleon began tightening the clamp, watching Illya's face go from carefully impassive to tense to tight lipped with pain and his breath began to quicken. Napoleon paused to admire how the emerald and sapphire rhinestones glittered where they hung below Illya's darkening nipple, then set about attaching the other.

"I'd love the chance to do either one of those things to you," Napoleon continued conversationally, "but I have a feeling that it's the rope bondage you'd love the most. I've got yards and yards of the most perfect black silk rope I could use to bind you into absolute immobility, and the black would contrast so beautifully with your skin... There, now that's an excellent beginning."

Napoleon stood back to admire the two colorful ornaments decorating Illya's chest now, and how his sub's lips parted with each panting breath he took. Napoleon could not limit himself to looking alone for long, however, and quickly darted back in to lick each of Illya's captured nipples. This elicited a brief cry of agony from Illya, his back arching at the sensation.

"Shh..." Napoleon soothed. "You can't fight it, you know that," he murmured, gently stroking Illya's face, brushing the hair away from his wide blue eyes. "Just let it take you."

Napoleon returned to his side table now, gathering up a fine silver chain strung with small bells every few inches. A small clip at each end allowed him to fasten the chain to each of the nipple clamps and to Napoleon's delight it hung down just far enough that he could hook it over the barbell on Illya's cock. Now the chain hung taught from one nipple, down to his erect and weeping cock and then back up to the other nipple. The little bells chimed at Illya's smallest movements.

"Oh, now that is just perfect," Napoleon said with deep satisfaction, hearing Illya whimper slightly in response. Just blowing on the chain caused it to swing and tug on Illya's nipples and cock, which caused him to writhe in his bonds, which in turn caused the chain to swing and pull on Illya's sensitized flesh once more.

"Alright, I think you're ready for your next ornamentation, but from now on they'll be for my pleasure alone," Napoleon said, collecting a soft velvet blindfold from the side table. Illya's eyes grew wider still at the sight.

"No, please, Napoleon..." he begged, voice actually shaking. Napoleon waited for Illya's safe word, and in that pause he saw understanding in Illya's eyes, that this was what he was waiting for, but no safe word came.

"I think that this is something you need, my Illyushka," Napoleon said softly, tying the blindfold in place. "You're too used to pain, too good at fighting it. You need to get out of your head, and I'm going to do whatever I need to to get you there. You're safe with me; you know that, right?"

"Yes," he heard Illya breathe and slowly his trembling subsided as Napoleon caressed him gently. Without speaking another word, Napoleon now took up a new implement from the side table, this one a small flogger —no more than twelve inches including the handle— on which the 'flails' were not of leather or knotted rope, but thin strands of rubber. He swished it through the air a few times, smacking it against his own forearm as well, giving Illya some idea of what might be coming by the sound.

The little rubber flogger would sting with a mild to cutting sharp intensity, depending on where and how hard it was employed. Napoleon began by striking lightly at the insides of Illya's thighs, letting his sub get used to the pleasantly light sting and slowly become drawn into the pain. Before he had played as a sub, Napoleon had never understood how seductive pain could be, and having that knowledge now allowed him to give Illya just what he needed. As much as Napoleon respected and admired his old Dom tutor, he knew he'd been badly wrong about not letting Tops experience or understand more about pain.

He played the little flogger against the pale skin of Illya's thighs until both were pink and flushed with abuse and Illya's breath was punctuated with soft cries. He shifted his target then, to the inside of Illya's arms, which was an unexpected target and caused Illya to draw in a shocked breath. Napoleon struck hard here from the beginning, not letting Illya get slowly used to this new torment, but soon he shifted his target again, to the cruelest spot of all.

Illya gave a loud, agonized cry as the flogger struck his left nipple for the first time, hard and vicious. He sobbed as Napoleon flogged first his left nipple, then his right, and the little bells on the chains attached to the nipple clamps and his cock rang unceasingly throughout. Napoleon watched his sub's body as he punished him, saw the tension slowly, slowly bleed away until the last of the fight was gone and only submission remained.

Illya's cries had devolved to soft breathy whimpers when Napoleon finally decided that his sub's nipples had endured enough. He moved to strike at the insides of Illya's thighs again for a moment, just to remind him that his circumstances were unpredictable, but then (silently) put the flogger down and began the next phase in his campaign.

~*~

Next: Climax, pillow talk, denouement.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
spikesgirl58
Jun. 26th, 2013 08:26 pm (UTC)
Oh, my, I hadn't realized I'd missed a chapter! I'm off to read!

Great read as always!
alynwa
Jun. 27th, 2013 12:29 am (UTC)
I'm looking forward to the final installment! This is a very interesting take on their relationship.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )