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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 12

Illya looked a bit windblown and rosy cheeked and he had his arms full of chinese takeout, the delicious odors accompanying him like a cloak. Napoleon stood at the limits of his chain, watching as Illya unencumbered himself of the various bags and food containers, too full of relief and other, less definable things, for words. When Illya turned to greet him, a broad smile and words of praise on his lips, Napoleon astonished himself with his response.

Napoleon was no more aware of his knees' intention to give way than he was of his lungs' intention to draw breath. In a gesture as fundamental as breathing, Napoleon dropped to kneel before his Top, leaning forward to lay his face against Illya's thigh and sighed with heartfelt relief and devotion.

It seemed that Illya was as surprised by the gesture as Napoleon had been. He drew a sudden breath, laying gentle hands on Napoleon to calm him. "Sshhhh, Napasha, hush now," he said softly. "I'm here; I'm not going anywhere now. I've got you. I'll take care of you."

Napoleon gave a muffled sob at those last words because, dear God, yes, he so very much needed to hear that someone else would take care of him now. Illya's hands stroked his hair, his back, grounding him and assuring him of Illya's presence. Pressing his face into his Top's warmth, Napoleon felt a certain hardness beneath the fabric of Illya's trousers and was drawn to it, nuzzling its length. He noticed Illya's posture become slightly more alert.

"Found something of interest, have you?" Illya asked. "Well, I suppose there's no harm in a little before-lunch appetizer."

Napoleon smiled and hummed in contented anticipation, letting Illya guide him up and back over to the kneeling bench. His cock was rising even as he knelt and came to full attention when Illya opened his fly and ordered him to hold his hands behind his back. Napoleon could not say quite why it was so arousing that Illya didn't even unfasten his belt, merely letting his cock emerge, erect and enticing, through his open fly. Napoleon opened his mouth, helplessly eager for whatever Illya wished to give him.

What Illya wished to give him, it seemed, was a hard face-fucking. Both his Top's large, strong hands captured his head and held it fast while he thrust his cock deep down Napoleon's throat again and again. Napoleon gagged more than once at the start so that tears were rolling down his cheeks, but he got the trick of opening and relaxing his throat soon enough. Then it was just the pure pleasure of letting his Top use him, of being a receptacle for his desire and nothing more.

"Yes!" Illya panted as he took Napoleon's mouth. "Yes, take it; take my cock, my Napasha… My Napasha… All mine… Only mine…" His words disintegrated into harsh and wordless cries and Napoleon knew that both of them were now stripped of everything save their most fundamental dynamic nature. There was a perfect pleasure in such moments, whether one was Top or sub and Napoleon savored this one, as perfect as any he'd known.

"Close your eyes!" came the sudden command from his Top. "Close them now!" Napoleon complied, instantly and without anticipation, still completely in the moment even as he felt Illya's cock withdrawn from his mouth. Then came the warm spatters on his face, simultaneous with Illya's panting shouts of climax and Napoleon himself groaned with both delight and agony as he restrained his own completion.

Illya's hands were still clutching his head, now seeming to support some of Illya's weight as his Top continued to breathe heavily, recovering from his orgasm. "Keep your eyes closed for a moment please," he said finally as he released Napoleon's head from his grip. Napoleon could hear him walk down the hall, presumably to the bathroom, then heard him return and felt a warm, moist washcloth on his face.

"My beautiful, perfect sub," Illya murmured as he cleaned away cum and tears. "My Napasha… No one could please me as you do… No one." The kiss that followed came as naturally as breathing —deep and wet and penetrating. Napoleon opened to Illya's mouth as he had opened to his cock, taking when demanded and giving upon request.

"You may open your eyes now," Illya said, smiling as he withdrew from the kiss. "You'll find it much easier to find your soup that way."

In a way, Napoleon thought it a shame to lose all the flavors of Illya which currently resided in his mouth, but the scents of the food Illya had brought in reminded him that he was hungry too. He opened his eyes to see Illya kneeling beside him, breaking the seal on his ankle cuff and opening it to release him. The absence of the restraint left Napoleon feeling a little bereft and once again he found himself unable to express what he felt in words.

He leaned forward to lay his head on Illya's arm instead and Illya, for a wonder, seemed to get it. He remained at Napoleon's side for a moment, letting him rest there in a loose embrace. "You will be restrained again soon enough," he offered. "Have no fear. You must nourish yourself before we play any further, however, and there are… practical issues to consider for eating soup, which is why I shall not be feeding you." Illya smiled at this and Napoleon could not help responding in kind. Illya stood then and took Napoleon's hand to pull him upright as well. "Perhaps," Illya considered, "I may insist on another sort of restraint… I think being told not to speak will please you, won't it?"

Surprised with just how much this suggestion pleased him, Napoleon nodded. Illya kissed him affectionately in reply.

"Very well, you shall not speak until I give you leave. You may, of course, make whatever sounds you feel inspired to make and you may say your safe word if you feel the need." Napoleon nodded again, feeling himself shed yet another layer of tension. Every new restraint meant one more thing that he could no longer be responsible for, one more burden lifted away.

Lunch was not silent as Illya conversed easily with his silent sub, mentioning that he'd seen Dr. Theremin at the Sub-Station, that he had a fine new collar and seemed quite happy in his new life. Other news and information about various doings in their neighborhood filled the spaces between the soup and egg-rolls and the occasional gestured requests for the soy sauce. Soon enough lunch was finished and Illya was clearing away the dishes. In all his conversing, Illya had not given one hint about what he had planned for Napoleon after lunch.

"I hope you will not consider me too unoriginal," Illya said now, "if I send you off to have a bath next. You will not have enough time to fall asleep, I think, but it is necessary for you to be as relaxed as possible, to have a few minutes for lunch to settle, and for me to prepare a few things."

Napoleon saw the sense of this and nodded his agreement. He could not restrain his sigh of regret when Illya removed the butt plug in preparation for his bath, but did not doubt, either, that Illya would make good on his promise to give him even greater satisfaction on that front soon enough. Napoleon settled into the piping hot bathwater, content in the assurance that he would be cared for, used or pleasured at his Top's whim. At that moment, there was absolutely nothing more that he could possibly want.


Illya had hit upon the idea as he dozed, half awake during the early morning hours. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed exactly what Napoleon needed, and what he needed too, but it was something he had no experience with, either giving or receiving. He did know that he would need to take a great deal of care, hence his need to venture out for 'research.' The business about leaving Napoleon alone, chained to his kneeling bench had been a necessity to allow for this, though it had worked to much greater effect than Illya had expected. Happily, his visit to the Sub-Station had also proven fruitful.

A long time faithful customer, Illya had come to trust the staff there, especially the proprietor, Edward, who was a switch like Illya. Older than Illya by several years, he was a veritable font of experiences from both ends of the dynamic. Illya figured that Edward could at least tell Illya if his hands were too big for what he had in mind. Finding Leon there was a fortunate bonus, providing a second opinion, which Illya very much appreciated.

It was very good to see Leon again as well. His old mentor had embraced him warmly, expressing profound regret for what Illya and Napoleon had been forced to endure as a result of his departure from the Soviet Union. Illya had assured him that everything had worked out for the best in the end, drawing his friend's attention to the absence of a Soviet collar around his neck. Theremin had congratulated Illya on his newly won freedom and Illya had returned the congratulations to Leon for his new collar —not a Soviet one but clearly something purchased with great care and no small expense by Clara Rockmore.

Both Leon and Edward had plenty of advice for Illya, but both assured him that, if he proceeded with care, there was no reason why he could not carry out his plans —large hands notwithstanding. They did advise him that he would need a lot of lube, but fortunately the Sub-Station carried a small selection of basic supplies, such as condoms, lube, gloves, and whatnot. Illya bought the largest bottle they had.

He'd left the Sub-Station full of Toppy confidence and keen anticipation of the various things he planned to do to Napoleon. Returning home to have his submissive drop to his knees in obeisance nearly unmanned him, however. For a fraction of a second it seemed too much —too much responsibility, too much to see the proud, Alpha Top abase himself before Illya. There was also, however, a heady thrill in seeing such a demonstration of his power over his sub, which recalled to Illya the true pleasure he'd taken in Topping all his life. Strange though it might seem on another day, this was where they both belonged at the moment and Illya felt the rightness of it down to his bones.

He had taken his sub then, as was his right and due, and felt himself settle truly into his role. All the hesitence he'd felt at the idea of leaving his submissive self behind were gone, much to his profound relief, and the fierce, proprietary joy he'd taken at coming on Napoleon's face told him without a doubt, that his Dominant self was alive and well. This was a very good thing, for the task he'd set for himself would require the utmost Dominance from him. Napoleon needed nothing less and Illya was pledged to give his sub everything he needed.

Once he'd settle Napoleon into his bath, Illya set to work preparing everything he would need for the scene to come in Napoleon's bedroom. First he needed to hang the sling, then he had to find and lay out all the toys and tools he planned on using. Luckily he was, by now, more than familiar with the contents of Napoleon's toy closet. He finished with a bit of mood enhancement, setting candles all around the room and extinguishing all the electric lights. The room was certainly dimmer, but Illya figured that there were enough candles to provide light for what he had in mind.

The changed atmosphere of the bedroom certainly seemed effective for Napoleon, who paused at the threshold as Illya led him into the room. He looked around with surprise, then smiled contentedly at Illya, communicating his approval the only way he was allowed. He settled compliantly into the sling at Illya's guidance and Illya secured his wrists to the chains that held the upper corners of the sling. Illya fastened a set of thigh-cuffs in his sub next, and bound them, splayed open, to the lower pair of chains. A pair of ankle-cuffs attached to the thigh-cuffs held his lower legs immobile.

His sub thoroughly secured, Illya stood back to admire his handiwork in the light of several dozen candles. Napoleon was suspended about a foot or so over the bed, spread-eagled in the sling. His hands were secured high above his head on the chains suspending the sling and his legs held open below. The candle-light caressed the planes of his sub's body, painting him in flickering, amber light and shadow. Viewing this delectable scene, Illya felt a warm flush of Toppy arousal course through him. He'd removed his necktie while setting the room up and now he unbuttoned his shirt.

He'd purposely left the toys he'd planned to use out of Napoleon's sight when he entered the room, but now, with his field of vision restricted, Illya knew he would not be able to see the dresser top where he'd laid everything out. He removed the cloth that had covered them now and picked up the large bottle of lube. Napoleon was indeed quite relaxed after his bath and opened readily to Illya's fingers as he lubed his entrance generously. Napoleon was as ready as he'd ever be for the very large dildo.

Seeing as it was Napoleon's own toy, Illya was not at all surprised when his sub recognized just what pressing against his entrance now. His eyes went almost comically wide at the first touch and in his momentary panic, he forgot his orders not to speak.

"Oh no… oh God, Illya, please…"

"Do you wish to use your safe-word?" Illya asked coolly, continuing to press the dildo into his sub. Napoleon seemed to recall himself now and shook his head. "Very well," he continued. "But I think you may need some assistance with my instructions about not speaking. We'll deal with that next."

Napoleon nodded at this with a distressed look. Illya gave him a smile in return that was likely not the least comforting. He continued to slowly push the enormous dildo into his sub and while Napoleon moaned and panted at the intrusion, he did not speak words again.

Illya gagged him anyway. He'd set the gag out, expecting to need to use it, and as Napoleon had forgotten himself once, he was entitled. Napoleon was whimpering quietly by the time he had the whole dildo inside and continued even as Illya placed the small perforated ball in Napoleon's mouth and fastened the harness securing the gag over Napoleon's head. Illya just had to step back again to have a look at his sub, now bound, gagged and penetrated. He hummed in aroused approval, removing his shirt which now seemed much too warm, and caressing his hardening cock through his slacks.

"You should really see how delightful you look," Illya said. "It is quite… arresting." Napoleon could only blink up at him, a picture of debauched helplessness.

"Ah, my sweet Napasha… I believe I could almost come just standing here looking at you." Illya stepped up to the bed then and reached out to caress his sub's face. Napoleon turned his head to meet Illya's gaze, eyes troubled and wide with trepidation. "Are you frightened, Napasha? I imagine you have guessed correctly by now what is to come for you… Do you want to use your safe-word?"

Napoleon let out a breath through the ball-gag, then shook his head, his expression shifting to determined. "My brave beauty," Illya praised, then stepped away to pick something up from among the toys he'd set out. It was a bell with an elastic loop on it, which Illya placed in Napoleon's left hand, looping the elastic around three of his fingers so he wouldn't drop it.

"Since you cannot speak, the bell will be your safe-word. Ring it and we will stop." Napoleon nodded. "And I will be very careful with you, you know." Illya said as he sat beside Napoleon on the bed. "I've had a great deal of good advice today, and I believe I can take you where you need to go." Napoleon nodded once more, relief that seemed almost painful in its intensity evident on his features now.

It was this look that drove home to Illya, not only the power he had over Napoleon, but how much his partner and sub-of-the-moment needed him to take that power away from him. Power is like a drug —something any Top would tell you— but it comes with a burden of its own, which any Top would carry with pride. Illya felt that pride now, as well as the heady ecstasy of power, as he laid a plastic shower curtain on the bed beneath where Napoleon was suspended, then stood and picked up two items: a lit votive candle and a bowl of ice cubes.

The ice he set down on a bedside table where Napoleon would not see it, but he brandished the candle for his sub to see, making a show of tipping it so that the first few drops of liquid wax fell on Illya's upturned wrist —the way one might test the temperature of a baby's formula. He did this because no Top should subject his sub to an unknown torment. Napoleon would know then that Illya knew exactly what he was doing and just how hot the wax was. It did not seem to make Napoleon any happier at the prospect.

"I think you need something to distract you now, yes?" Napoleon shook his head, eyes wide as the Illya held the candle over his torso. He tipped it again, ever so carefully, so that a thin stream of wax poured out and spattered onto Napoleon's belly. Napoleon jerked and shuddered in the sting, but Illya knew it hadn't really been that hot, as the wax had fallen some distance and nearly cooled before it struck his skin. He lowered the candle now and poured a bit more onto Napoleon's chest, where it pooled and solidified in his chest hairs.

Napoleon shouted, feeling the real heat of the liquid wax on his skin. Illya set the candle down now and picked up an ice cube. Napoleon shouted again at the touch of ice against his skin and Illya thought he could make out muffled swear words. He smiled as evilly as he could and placed the ice cube in the hollow of Napoleon's throat. It began to melt quickly, little rivulets of icy water running down over his neck and shoulders.

"You should be glad I gagged you, you know," Illya leaned close to murmur into Napoleon's ear. "You can make any sound, say anything you want. You can swear, say whatever you like about me, or my ancestry, but the gag stops everything. You need not restrain yourself at all, you see? You are free."

Napoleon turned to gaze at Illya with an unreadable look, though it might have been a mix of gratitude and resentment. At any rate, having advised Napoleon to speak without restraint, Illya felt obliged to act without restraint. He took the half melted ice cube from Napoleon's throat and ran it over the inside of his sub's thigh, causing him to shudder and try to jerk away. Illya watched the course of trickling water then let another trickle of candle wax follow in its wake. To Napoleon it would feel as if the hot wax was heading straight for his balls and Illya was sure there were more swear words muffled by the gag now.

Illya repeated his actions on Napoleon's opposite thigh several times, so that a handful of wax rivulets striped the skin there. Then he peeled them off, ripping out the fine hairs on Napoleon's skin and making him yelp in startled pain. Illya numbed the area with another ice cube, but the look Napoleon shot him seemed to suggest that he did not feel the least grateful. Illya only grinned in fierce delight.

Now he shifted around so that he could easily reach Napoleon's chest and belly, making sure that his sub was watching him as he slowly lowered a piece of ice over one of Napoleon's nipples. His sub's eyes grew wide as he watched helplessly, shaking his head and begging with words made incomprehensible by the gag. Illya grinned cruelly then and surprised his sub by pouring a generous measure of hot wax onto the opposite nipple. Napoleon's whole body convulsed in response and he threw his head back to shout with agony. Illya chose that moment to lower the ice onto the first nipple.

Illya was sure that a great number of unflattering things were being said about him in that moment, but he heard none of them. With the wax cooling and hardening on Napoleon's right nipple, Illya bent his head to suck on the ice-chilled left one. His sub's shouts soon turned to whimpers, and then to pained cries when, after he had played with the nipple for a while, Illya bit down on it.

He straightened then and drew a spattered wax circle on Napoleon's abdomen. He traced the circle with a piece of ice next and left it sitting in Napoleon's navel. Napoleon's panting cries seemed to have the sound of begging to them now, but Illya cast his eye up to the bell clutched in his sub's hand and then ignored his cries. It was seeing the explicit evidence of the power he had over his sub that made him hard and Illya paused to take hold of himself again. He considered getting a cock ring for a moment, but then decided he would manage without.

Illya now poured a thin trail of hot wax down the inside of Napoleon's arm, so that it pooled in his armpit. Napoleon gave a pained jerk as the wax struck his skin, then jerked again when Illya pressed an ice cube against his wrist, so that icy melt water chased the fiery trail of wax down his arm. Aesthetically inclined to symmetry, Illya did the same to Napoleon's other arm next. He set the candle down then, stepping back to take in the sight of his wax spattered sub, crying out with every breath, head thrown back in abject surrender. His sub's restrained body was a thing of beauty, the ephemeral wax 'decorations' only adding to its appeal. It was the emotional state he'd rendered his sub into that gave Illya the greatest pleasure, however, and he reveled in it now.

Illya had thought long and hard about what Napoleon would need from him and drew some lessons from how Napoleon had mastered Illya before he'd left for Moscow. Illya knew that he buried his own submissive self under many protective layers and Napoleon had succeeded in stripping them away, one by one. Napoleon's case was different, in that he had encased himself in armor, both heavy and deeply embedded in its foundations. There would be no subtle, gradual way to remove it.

No. Illya would have to break it, violently severing the lines of tension that kept it intact. He would very nearly have to break Napoleon Solo himself and Illya was fairly sure that Napoleon had known that when he had committed himself into Illya's care. The immense trust of that surrender both intoxicated Illya and sobered him profoundly. His next and final act, Illya was more and more certain, was exactly what Napoleon needed.


Chapter 13 & Epilogue