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The Theremin's Protege Affair: Part III

-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands

Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin
Genre: slash, h/c, BDSM, A/U: BDSM Universe (Originally created by Xanthe )
Warnings: explicit BDSM (Duh!) + m/m sex
Rating: adult, aka NC-17
Beta: The highly precise and efficient spikesgirl58 Thanks!

Length: 3 parts. Part 1 (4 chapters) ~19,000 words. Part 2 (5 chapters) ~23,000, Part 3 (4 chapters) 17,600

Summary: Napoleon has won his submissive's freedom, but at what cost to himself, and to Illya? It takes a little while for each of them to realize the toll it has taken, and longer still to put things back to rights.



Chapter 1 and Index



The Theremin's Protege Affair

Chapter 11

Since it was only a little past four in the morning, Illya insisted that they return to bed, though now it was Illya curled around Napoleon rather than the way it had been the last week or so. This alone made an enormous impact on Napoleon's 'hyper-vigilance' and he actually slept dreamlessly until Illya woke him at around nine o'clock. This was noticeably earlier than Illya had risen the last few days, which Napoleon took as a heartening sign. It was also very heartening indeed to see the devilish gleam return to Illya's eyes as he looked Napoleon over upon rising.

"I've been lying here thinking, all morning," Illya said, looking at Napoleon the way he was inclined to look at a hot meal. "We will discuss some of these idea over breakfast, but first, a shower."

Napoleon was looking forward to washing away the remains of last night's terrified sweat, but Illya began by asking Napoleon for his safe word, signaling that he was now the Top and Napoleon the sub. Then he insisted on doing all the work in the shower, ordering Napoleon to turn this way and that as Illya applied the soap and washcloth, then to stand under the spray to be rinsed. Napoleon told himself that he'd asked for this, plus a whole host of other things which he might or might not expect or like, but it unsettled him, nonetheless.

Illya insisted on drying him after the shower, then bent him over and prepared him to be fucked, lubing and stretching his entrance. Napoleon naturally expected to be fucked right then, but instead Illya led him to the bedroom and requested a blow job. He also told Napoleon that he was not allowed to come, which Napoleon had more or less expected.

The whole business left Napoleon feeling oddly off balance. He hardly minded sucking Illya's cock, but being told when and how was more off-putting than he'd have thought, and he began to wonder whether this was such a good idea after all. His sense of resentment deepened when Illya forbade him to dress.

Illya turned up the thermostat obligingly, though it was a mild spring day and looked to be fairly warm later on. It was the disruption of his usual routine and comforts that Napoleon resisted, so much so that he was actually surprised at himself. Illya seemed not to be surprised, however, and led Napoleon by the hand to sit on the living-room sofa.

"I would like you to stay here and not speak while I prepare breakfast," Illya said. "You will come and kneel at the table for me to feed you when I tell you it is ready."

"Of course," Napoleon murmured, shocked at how surly he sounded. Illya did not let this pass, but reached out to take Napoleon by the chin, lifting his eyes to meet his own.

"My poor Napasha," he said, shaking his head with dismay. "This is usually much easier for you and you are usually a much more obedient sub, but I suppose I should not be surprised. I'm afraid today will be difficult for you and you will think I am being petty, making you endure many of the same things you made me endure. But you know, in your heart of hearts, that this is what you need. So, you will obey me or you will be punished. Those will be the only choices you have today."

Illya released him then and Napoleon nodded, suddenly ashamed. "Hush now, Napasha," Illya comforted when he saw Napoleon's downcast look. "There is no shame in struggling with a difficult task. The only shame is giving up, which I know you will never do."

Napoleon nodded again, resigned now rather than ashamed. He waited obediently on the sofa, remembering to be grateful that at least Illya hadn't blindfolded him. In truth, he ought to be very grateful indeed, seeing as how every part of the kitchen was visible from where he sat and Illya, wearing only a pair of skin-tight faded blue jeans, presented a veritable banquet for the eyes. Illya Kuryakin was the very embodiment of the expression 'poetry in motion,' even when engaged in a task as mundane as fixing breakfast.

Just watching Illya's back as he moved about the kitchen served to shake Napoleon out of his sulk and even put him in something like the proper state of mind for being fed his breakfast while perched on a kneeling bench. Worshiping Illya's body as a Top was subtly different from worshipping it as a sub, however, and easier when he was merely watching for watching's sake and not anticipating his next bite of food.

"I can see you are really trying," Illya said about halfway through, setting down his fork to stroke Napoleon's hair gently. "But I would like you to try something more. Close your eyes for me, Napasha. Just let things happen. Do you think you can do that?"

Napoleon had to swallow hard then, though there was not a trace of food in his mouth. The very idea terrified him, but there was no way he could refuse such a request. He nodded in compliance and slowly shut his eyes.

The first thing he felt was Illya's lips on his forehead, placed there like a benediction. Illya was pleased, and Napoleon liked pleasing Illya. He felt himself begin to relax. His nose caught the scent of an approaching bit of bacon which he opened his mouth to receive. A little while later there came a bite of eggs, then some toast.

Napoleon realized after a little while that it wasn't just the smell which tipped him off to each bite as it came. He could sense Illya's movements and knew when the fork was on the plate, when it was moving toward Illya or whether it was moving towards him. They worked in such harmony so often, but always in the midst of some firefight or other fraught occasion. He had never thought about what it meant nor how it might be applied in circumstances other than desperate ones.

It was in the field and on missions that Napoleon and Illya had first forged this connection and came to put it to use, but surely it influenced how well they 'played' together too. Being with Illya was comforting; being aware of him was like being aware of his own heart. 'Two heads; one heart.' Napoleon had heard this expression often used to describe couples whose dynamics meshed perfectly. In his and Illya's case, Napoleon preferred to think in terms of, 'one car; two drivers.' He'd been doing the driving for some time now, Napoleon realized, and maybe it would be okay to let Illya take control for a little while.

He sort of drifted through breakfast after that, losing himself in the rhythm of Illya's eating and feeding him. He knew, as clearly as if he'd seen it, when the last bit of eggs and toast vanished into Illya's mouth and felt no concern about what would come next. Illya would take care of it.

"That's more like it, my Napasha. I knew you could do it," Illya said, gently stroking Napoleon's cheek. "It's better now, isn't it?" Napoleon nodded, basking in the compliment.

"Now I would like you to keep your eyes closed for a few minutes more," Illya said, "while I make some arrangements." Napoleon nodded again, content to remain as he was. Illya stood to clear away the breakfast dishes, then could be heard moving around the apartment. A moment later Napoleon thought he heard the sound of the living room carpet being shifted, then Illya was at his side again.

"Stand please," Illya said and promptly took away the kneeling bench when he did. Illya took a moment or two fooling with things in the living room, then returned to lead Napoleon back to the kneeling bench in its new location. He knelt again with Illya's guidance, then there was the faint clinking of chains and the sensation of a leather cuff being fastened around his right ankle.

"You may open your eyes now," Illya said, and Napoleon obeyed. He glanced down at his leg first, naturally, and saw that he was indeed chained by one ankle to one of the recessed metal tie points in the wooden floor, usually covered by the carpet. The kneeling bench was also similarly affixed and Illya was rummaging for something in one of Napoleon's desk drawers.

"Seeing as I was not entirely prepared for your request last night," Illya explained, "I find that I need to go out, to buy a few things and do a little research. Of course, it goes without saying that I trust you to stay here if I tell you to, but this is not about trust. This is about reducing your options. I also trust you not to remove your restraints, but I mean for you not to have any choice in the matter. Locking you in would not be safe, however, so I find that I must resort to techniques used by my old Soviet masters."

Now Napoleon could see that the items Illya had taken from his desk were a stick of sealing wax and a lighter. Admonishing Napoleon not to move, lest he be burned by dripping wax, Illya sealed closed the hasp where a lock would normally go on the ankle cuff. Without it, Napoleon might well have unfastened the cuff, done what he liked and returned before Illya came home, leaving Illya none the wiser. Now this option had indeed been taken away. Napoleon felt a mix of admiration and annoyance at this turn of events.

"I'm not sure how long I will be," Illya now explained, putting away the sealing wax and fetching a couple of books from the side table. "Possibly as much as three hours or so. I don't wish you to be too bored, so you may read, but no news or current events. No television or radio, for the same reason, I'm afraid." Both were within Napoleon's reach, but the electrical outlet, where Illya was just now unplugging these devices, was not.

"You do not, naturally, have permission to play with my toys," Illya indicated Napoleon's cock, currently only showing some slight interest in the proceedings, "and obviously if you do, there will be evidence." Napoleon nodded again with a resigned sigh, not that he'd intended to do anything of the sort, but that Illya had taken yet another choice away from him.

"You are, of course, free to sit or stand or move about, as far as you are able, and if you wish to lie down…" Illya added as an after thought, then picked up a couple of the sofa cushions —which were just out of Napoleon's reach— and laid them on the floor next to the kneeling bench. "If you wish to lie down, you may do so here. Have you any questions?"

Napoleon started to shake his head, then asked, "And if I need to pee?"

"Do you need to now?" Illya asked, and it occurred to Napoleon that Illya had carefully given him only a few sips of coffee at breakfast. He shook his head.

"If you have an urgent need," Illya said, fetching an empty beer bottle from the trash, "you may use this."

"Thanks," Napoleon said, honestly trying to sound more grateful than sarcastic. Illya gave him a look, but let it pass.

"I'll be picking up lunch on the way back," he said. "Any requests? I recommend something light."

The freedom to choose anything now seemed like an enormous privilege already, so Napoleon thought about his choice carefully before speaking. "How about an order of Kwan's hot and sour soup with a side of egg rolls?"

"Excellent choice," Illya praised him. "Now I suppose I'd better get dressed… oh wait. I knew I was forgetting something. I was going to fuck you. On the cushions please, on your hands and knees."

Blindsided again, Napoleon thought dazedly as he got into position. He'd also forgotten how Illya had prepared him before breakfast, but now he remembered the slick fingers pushing into him after their shower. The sound of Illya unzipping his jeans had Napoleon's cock up and ready for business in an instant.

"Very nice," Illya said as he dropped down behind Napoleon, "but you know you will have to wait till later this evening for your pleasure."

"I know," Napoleon said with resignation, then gasped as Illya thrust into him.

"Good things come to subs who wait," Illya said, voice strained as he held himself still, giving Napoleon's body a moment to adjust. When that moment had passed Illya commenced fucking him in an almost businesslike way, both hands gripping Napoleon's hips firmly.

"Oh… my Napasha," he moaned softly, slowing his rhythm and deepening his thrusts. "No one else knows you like this… no one else can use you like this… can they?"

"No," Napoleon gasped, trying to push back, take Illya's cock even deeper. "No one but you, Illya… No one…"

"Mine!" Illya growled in response, leaning forward to bite Napoleon on the shoulder. Napoleon cried out wordlessly, using every ounce of will he had to hold back his own climax. Not so constrained, Illya thrust into him rapidly a few more times, then came with a loud groan, sighing in deep contentment when his climax finally abated.

"You are so very good, my Napasha," he said when he finally withdrew, giving Napoleon's sensitized nipple a hard pinch as he did so. Napoleon gasped, then collapsed onto the cushions, both aroused and aching. Illya knelt beside him, gazing over his prone form for a few moments, then gently stroked his arm before extracting something from his hip pocket.

"This will likely make your wait a bit more interesting," he said and Napoleon felt a plug, one of his larger ones, push its way inside him. "Naturally, I will want to see this just where I left it when I get back." Napoleon nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth to speak he would end up whimpering.

Illya removed himself to the bedroom to dress after that. Napoleon was still curled up on the cushions when he returned to bid Napoleon farewell for the moment. He was wearing something like his normal work clothes of slacks, white shirt and a necktie. While this outfit had never seemed particularly Toppy to Napoleon before, it most certainly did now.

"Promise you'll be good while I'm gone," Illya said, bending down to stroke him like a cat.

"I promise," Napoleon said, the words coming without thought. It still shocked him how easily and thoroughly he could transform to this side of his dynamic when he subbed for Illya.

Illya departed then, after one final kiss to Napoleon's cheek. Napoleon remained where he was for some time, thinking he might nap for a bit, curled up like a cat on the cushions. His thoughts never quite dropped down to the level of sleep however, moving instead with almost dreamlike randomness through his consciousness.

He dwelt happily on the recent memory of how nice it had felt when Illya was fucking him and how pleasant it was think about the part of Illya that was still inside him. It made him think of how pleasant it also was to take Illya's cock in his mouth and how surprisingly good it was to let Illya use him in these ways. This led him to wonder what other uses Illya would have for him tonight and how soon he would be back.

Napoleon's thoughts now skipped back to breakfast and how peaceful if had been to surrender himself to Illya's will. Allowing Illya to take total control had allowed him to let go of the heavy and constraining armor of personal discipline he wore every day. With Illya away though, he felt like a snail out of its shell: vulnerable and helpless.

Was this what was behind Illya's recent spate of neediness? Napoleon knew that Illya fought his submission because he found it too easy, seductive and compelling. Napoleon fought his submission because it terrified him… but were these not merely two sides of the same coin? Letting go of his Dominance terrified him mainly because he had to surrender himself to someone else. Illya was the only person he'd ever met who he trusted enough to surrender himself to, but it still left him entirely dependent. Surrender was alluring in its danger, and dangerous in its allure —these were the two sides of the coin he and Illya traded in.

Without trust, Napoleon would be tempted to believe Illya guilty of petty revenge but, as Illya had told him, Napoleon knew, in his heart, that this was what he needed and what he'd asked for. Trust meant that he could ask Illya for something and have no idea what exactly it would entail, but still know that he would not regret it. He might, along the way, be annoyed, puzzled, even frustrated, but he knew that it would all be to some purpose, to his benefit.

Paradoxically, he trusted Illya to not to trust him, or at least to act as though he was not trusted. To be trusted, after all, was to carry the weight of that trust and to be constantly vigilant that the trust placed in one was not broken. Somehow, this thought put Napoleon in mind of his dream again, remembering the great weight of the fire escape crashing down on him, and how he'd become so fragile and brittle that it had destroyed him… and Illya as well. He shuddered at the memory and found that he had lost all interest in sleeping again. Restless, he sat up and immediately felt the plug inside him, prodding him internally and not altogether comfortably. He shifted again and found himself constrained by the chain at his ankle.

Grumbling in frustration, Napoleon pushed himself up off the cushions and settled on the kneeling bench. It felt foolish to perch thus when no one was there to command it or to see him, but it was the most comfortable out of the few options Illya had left him. It was a forceful reminder that the burden of trust was no longer his to bear. It was also a reminder that shedding that burden, heavy though it might be, was no easy thing.

If he were free to do as he wished now, Napoleon would probably put some clothes on and go sit on the sofa to read the paper. He'd probably take the butt plug out too, but what would that get him? Already, even the task of choosing his wardrobe seemed overly burdensome, and reading the paper only meant seeing something of the work they lay ahead of them at UNCLE. Removing the plug, however, would mean disregarding Illya's gift and that he could not bring himself to do. Napoleon lowered his head into his hands, feeling suddenly exhausted down to his soul. How Illya could seemingly cast aside his responsibilities so easily, Napoleon had no clue. It seemed that he could not bear to continue with his normal daily duties, yet could not bear letting them go.

It was out of purest desperation that he finally took a look at the books Illya had left for him. On top was a paperback detective thriller, which struck Napoleon as being too much like his day job. Then there was a coffee table book of French Impressionists from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which Napoleon knew wouldn't hold his attention. Under that was a Book Club double edition of H.G. Wells The Time Machine and War of the Worlds. This was published cleverly so that each of the novels had a 'front' cover, depending on which way you held the book.

Napoleon remembered devouring both of these classics as a boy and closed his eyes to turn the book over in his hands, enough times that he no longer knew which title was up. He opened his eyes then to see that he had The War of the Worlds, then commenced reading. At first the tale pulled him in, as it always had, but before long Napoleon found himself wondering what Illya would think of this tale, if he'd ever read it, or what the two of them would do if they ever found themselves in a similar situation.
It seemed that he could not manage even such simple distractions as reading an adventure novel without thinking of Illya, so profound was his dependance.

How had Illya managed three whole weeks on his own? Napoleon wondered as he laid the book down. Illya had finally told him some of what he'd endured during that time, trying to convince Napoleon that it hadn't been as bad as it might have been. He'd only been used sexually twice, though both occasions were part of a scene which had begun with Reznikov viciously flogging some other slender, blonde-headed male sub before using Illya. It made Reznikov's intentions crystal clear, however and Napoleon could well see how it had fueled Illya's determination to take that last step off the edge of the fire escape.

It was not those unpleasant occasions with all their violent portent that Illya had found the hardest to endure, however. Nor had it been the countless times he'd been ordered to stand still for hours at a time while wearing little more than a harness and codpiece, serving as 'decoration' at one of Reznikov's social occasions. Regulations regarding State supervised subs prevented Illya from being punished without cause, required that he be back in the submissive barracks by midnight and forbade his being requested to serve before eight a.m. No, Illya had claimed, the worst of it had been the countless hours of forced idleness.

When he was not in service to Reznikov or one of his cronies, Illya was confined to the submissive barracks. He hadn't even been given menial work in the KGB labs because, he'd been told, his loyalty would be suspect until Napoleon's claim of propriety over him had been settled. Instead, Illya had spent day after day with nothing to do except stare out the tiny window of his cubicle and wait for Napoleon. The other subs in the barracks hadn't wanted anything to do with him because they knew he'd been living on his own —in America, yet— and despised him for the privilege he'd been allowed. Napoleon had heard all this and assumed that Illya was trying to convince him that he had not suffered as badly as Napoleon had feared. Now Napoleon realized that he had no idea of how Illya had really suffered nor how he had endured.

"The thing about being forced to do nothing for days on end," Illya had explained to him, "is that when you are finally told to do something, you are so grateful for any occupation that you will do anything you are told to do."

Restless again, Napoleon stood with an anxious sigh and stepped as close to the window as his chain would let him. Standing where he was, few if any of the neighbors would be able to see him, but Napoleon was able to look out over the rooftops of New York, watch flocks of pigeons wheeling over the city, see the play of clouds and sun on this windy spring day. It was far more than Illya had had, and even so Napoleon did not think he could bear much more than a few hours of this confinement.

The strength and endurance his partner possessed had always impressed Napoleon, but never so much as now. Now that admiration was mixed with an almost crippling longing, made worse by the fact that Illya had also moved all the clocks in Napoleon's flat so that none of them could be seen from where he was confined. Napoleon had no idea how much time had passed since Illya had left, but he was sure that he could not endure a minute more. Luckily, it was about then that Napoleon finally heard the welcome sound of a key unlocking his door.

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Chapter 12