When and If

by Spikesgirl58

Illya snores when he's had a little too much to drink. This doesn't happen very often, considering the man's capacity for just about any sort of alcohol. Oh, and I discovered he also snores when he's had sex. That one was a little harder to figure out, given my partner's reticence to talk about his personal life. Let me tell you how that happened.

We'd just come off a mission, for the first time both healthy and unscathed. I can count the times that has happened on the fingers of one hand and still have digits leftover. Ours is a dangerous business and we consider ourselves lucky most days to just make it out alive.

But this had been one of those glorious times when everything worked in our favor and everything went exactly as planned. It wasn't any wonder that we decided a little celebration was in order. The bar we picked was packed but friendly, the alcohol flowed and when the young lady we befriended indicated that she would be of a mind for some intimate two-on-one contact sports, neither of us refused.

It had been awhile since I'd been in a position to share a woman with my partner. Illya's usually a bit more private, but it had happened a time or two previously. I attribute his acquiescence that night to some excessive imbibing and, perhaps even more, a driving need to rid himself of the unusual amount of after-mission aggression. Usually, we're able to blow it off through the natural course of the mission, but not this time. It simmered right below our skin, screaming to get out come hell or high water. Sex is usually the easiest path to follow.

We barely managed to get into our shared hotel room before our charming date was all over Illya. If I was forced to explain it, I'd have blamed my reaction on the alcohol, but I liked the way she thought and followed suit. If Illya was surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, he made a good show of keeping up with both of us, splitting his attention between us. This I will grant you, the man does know how to kiss.

The young lady headed straight for Illya's crotch and she made vague purring noises as she coaxed his fly open and I waited for the gasp. People just assume that Illya, being smaller, is, well, smaller. He's not. Nature and genetics had been good to the man and now he reaped the benefits.

How we ended up all naked on one bed is still a bit of a mystery, but I've always loved a good mystery. All I know is that the very supple young lady was lying between us like a delicious sandwich filling and accommodating us both, Illya the more tradition route while I took *um* the rear entrance.

Not only was it just incredible to find a woman willing not only to take on two men and do them both at once, there was an incredible feeling of power. But make no mistake; she was the one with all the power. I don't know about Illya, but I was useless, trapped by a sheer cascade of sensation as I thrust into her and felt his dick similarly engaged through the slimmest barrier of flesh. It was the closest I'd ever come to having sex with him and it proved more than I could handle; I have to confess that I climaxed long before I wanted to.

We flipped a coin and I escorted the young lady back to her door. It's an unspoken agreement with us that we never sleep, sleep sleep—with a date, no matter what. Too many things can go wrong in our line of work. She didn't seemed put out by it and in fact rewarded me with a blow job the likes of which I hadn't experienced in quite some time. To say that I was going to safeguard her name and phone number was an understatement. I tucked her vitals away as I wasn't even ready to share them with my partner, not after all the sharing I'd already done. Sometimes a guy just has to watch out for himself. As much as staying with her was tempting, I thanked her and headed back to our hotel.


Illya was sleeping so soundly that not even my rather noisy entrance into the room roused him. He was stretched out on his stomach on his bed, happily asleep amongst sheets that reeked of sweat, intermingled cologne and perfume, and sex. He had half a dozen scratches running down his back and at least twice as many bruises and I'll confess it wasn't just our miss who made them. After all these years, I know my partner likes just a bit of pain with his pleasure and I was more than happy to oblige. It had set him off rather handsomely and the end result was now sprawled out in boneless abandon before me. It's rare for Illya to sleep that deeply, so I was very careful not to make any extra noise as I stripped off and pulled a robe on.

Even with all the sex and alcohol, I was still wound up tighter than a ten-day clock. So I grabbed the only bottle of E&J that showed any promise and headed for the balcony. The city stretched out in front of me like an ebony blanket. Occasionally car headlights flickered splashing across the highway, lighting up buildings and sidewalks for just a brief moment. The sad part was that I couldn't even tell you what city we were in; I just didn't want to think that hard and it didn't really matter one way or the other.

Instead I wanted to reflect back upon recent events of the evening. Feeling Illya's skin beneath my fingers, beneath my mouth, was an aphrodisiac. Illya moving against me and feeling his fingers dig into my hips as he panted and moaned through one climax after another was something extraordinary and deeply satisfying. It wasn't often that my partner let his guard down enough to be that exposed. Watching that need and openness, even second hand, was almost as good as taking him to bed myself... almost.

Don't misunderstand me. I like women just fine, but every once in a while, I get an itch that only one thing can scratch. For the sex to be aggressive, in a way you can't be with a woman, hard and driving, with no boundaries and no rules, just raw naked sex for the sake of it. For sex like that, you need another man. And I'm not too proud to admit that I frequently fantasize about doing my partner before, during, and after these little bouts, but there's nothing wrong with a fantasy or two.

There was just a whisper of sound that betrayed him, that kept me from jumping when he asked, "Can't sleep?"

Wearily, I shook my head. "Still too wound up," I admitted, almost reluctantly. I envy Illya's ability to shut himself off and just sleep. I try and I'm pretty good at it most times, but he's an expert at it. I've see him sleep in some of the most challenging situations and places. It did surprise me that he was awake now when he'd been so soundly asleep just a short time previously. I smiled at the feeling of his hand on my shoulder, warm even through my robe.

"Come to bed." I don't question his request, instead just instinctively trusted him. "Take off your robe and lie down on your stomach," he ordered and I complied willing. Within seconds he'd straddled me and I felt his hands on my back, massaging, using just the right amount of pressure to convince the tension-tight knots to start packing.

His hands are rough from field work and the very nature of our jobs, but warm and powerful. I love the feeling of them skimming over my skin, but more than that, it's the mere feeling of him on me, rocking slightly as he worked my muscles. He was completely oblivious to the fireworks he was sending straight to my groin every time his thighs tightened. Oh, yes, fantasies are a wonderful thing.

In spite of myself and the incredible friction against my dick, I started to drift off into a languid puddle of contentment, and then I felt a tug on my shoulder as he rolled me over. Immediately, I startled awake. In spite of three very satisfying climaxes already that evening, I was as hard as a proverbial rock and there was no way to gracefully excuse it.

"Sorry," I tried to explain the erection away, but he just smiled and then suddenly his mouth was on me and I came... sorry, bad choice of words... began to realize that my partner, no matter what else one might think of him, was not inexperienced in the field of oral sex. He worked my penis like a pro, just the right amount of suction and tongue action until I was ready to jump out of my skin from pure stimulation.

He kept me balanced right on the precipice until I began to think that my heart would explode from sheer exertion and then he began in earnest and I discovered just how much more staying power I had. When I came, it was with every cell in my body. Stars, moons, planets, hell, whole solar systems danced before my eyes

Once my heart stopped trying to pound its way out of my chest and I'd managed to catch my breath at least marginally, I realized he was still resting between my thighs, watching me with a wicked sloe-eyed expression, gently stroking my thighs with his fingers.

"You've... um... done that before," I managed to get out.

"A time or two, yes. Does that surprise you?" He skimmed up my body and settled down beside me, sleek and graceful, in total control.

"No." Yes! my brain countered. How did my quiet reserved partner learn such delightful and hedonistic pleasures? "Where did you... learn that?"

"In Paris. My French tutor. He and his wife were very...instructional. They taught me that there are many ways of speaking without saying a word." He kissed me briefly. "I am told I was a very good student."

"I'd like to repay the favor."

"Already paid in full." Then my leg encountered a damp, sticky spot on the sheets. Somehow in the middle of all of that he'd climaxed, and I'd never even noticed. Now that was a blow job.

As much as I wanted him to demonstrate just how gifted he was, I'd finally reached my limit. I kissed him again, tasting myself, the woman we'd shared and something else, something a hundred percent Illya. "Perhaps in the morning you could give me a refresher course."

"Perhaps. If you're up for it." He smiled and stretched out against me, obviously abandoning his bed for mine. Within a minute, his breathing slowed. I nestled down, happy to feel his weight against me, reassuring and strong. Complications? Our lives are nothing but complications, but it's these sorts of rewards that make it worth the effort.

And that's when I realized my partner was softly snoring, his breath tickling my ear, and I grinned. That's how I discovered, and would prove many times over in the future, that sex makes my partner snore.

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