The Suburbia Affair Affair The Suburbia Affair Affair by AconitumNapellus Well, if youd just let me make the damn soufflé myself, Illya said snarkily. Napoleon had been complaining about the way their evening had gone since they got back into the house, and Illya had had enough of it. He had been perfectly happy with their arrangement he would do the cooking and Napoleon would do the cleaning. But somehow he had ended up doing most of the cleaning, and Napoleon hadnt even made the bed. You always have to go running off after some woman, Illya continued, and if youd just brought me my eggs and let me cook we would have had a quiet evening at home, instead of wrestling hysterical women and attending provincial little neighbourhood dispute meetings just because you cant keep it in your trousers. You know, you get really bitchy sometimes, Illya, Napoleon said, regarding him with his hands on his hips. A proper little cat. Illyas eyebrows arched. Oh, Im bitchy, am I? Really, Napoleon? Im the bitchy one? You do a fine line in passive aggressive, too. Shouldnt a man of science be more direct? Shouldnt a philosophy graduate be more enlightened? I dont much like your tone of voice when you say that. Youve never thought philosophy was a real academic discipline, have you? You with your PhD from Cambridge. You set yourself above us mere mortals. Illya scoffed. Well, Napoleon, I think a PhD in Quantum Mechanics from Cambridge is somewhat higher on the scale than a philosophy degree from where was it from? One of your countrys modern universities, wasnt it? It was from Yale, Napoleon said tartly. Exactly. It must be funny living in a country that has no real history. But I suppose that explains why it doesnt even offer good degrees oomph. The sound was forced from Illyas mouth as Napoleon launched at him, cannoning his head straight into Illyas stomach. He fell back onto the bed, gasping. You little shit, Napoleon said, coming over him. He planted his knees either side of Illyas hips and wildly grabbed his hair in both hands, lifting his head up towards him and bending towards his mouth. Is that how you talk to your women? Illya asked, breaking away from the kiss that Napoleon was pressing on him. In case you havent noticed, Illya, youre no woman, despite the baby blue eyes and the silky blond hair. And he shoved him harder down onto the bed and ground his lips against Illyas again and his tongue forced itself into his mouth and touched Illyas tongue and teeth, and Illya lost himself in the flood of sensation and the taste of Napoleons mouth. Napoleon was bigger and heavier than him, using all his weight. His fingers were tangling and scraping through his hair, pulling at it painfully. Although Illya could have flipped him he didnt want to, he really didnt want to, so he let Napoleon press him into the bed and then bit his lower lip halfway through another violent kiss. Fuck, Napoleon said. Eloquent, arent you? Illya snarked. Did you learn oration at Yale? Napoleons hands were at Illyas throat, tugging loose the knot of his tie, fumbling at his buttons, and then he lost patience and just ripped, and buttons popped and ricocheted across the room. That was my best shirt, Illya said, and Napoleon snapped, For gods sake, Illya, all your shirts are the same. Every damn one. His holster strap was tight against his bare stomach, and Napoleon put his hands on the buckle, pushing his fingers under the strap, digging in to Illyas soft skin. What kind of tight ass makes weaponry give him a bespoke fucking holster and alter every single one of his shirts so his damn gun doesnt flap when he runs? Napoleon asked him, pulling the strap so tight as he undid it that Illya winced. He wrestled the holster off and tossed it across the room. It bangs into my hip! Would you rather I was distracted when Im saving you from your usual incompetency? I shouldnt imagine thered be a difference in your inaccuracy, Napoleon snapped back. He tugged Illyas fly open and shoved his hand roughly down into the mess of rough hair and grabbed at the soft bundle of flesh in there, and Illya gasped and arched his back, and Napoleon took the opportunity to wrench the trousers and underpants off him so that he was lying in just his open shirt. God, Napoleon said. God... And he threw off his jacket as Illya lay on the bed panting, and then he came down over Illya again and his cock was hard under his clothes against Illyas thigh. Illya grabbed at him and realised that while he was almost naked, Napoleon was most frustratingly fully clothed, and he began to thrust his fingers into the knot of Napoleons tie. Napoleon angrily knocked his hands away and got off him and stripped himself off, balling his clothes up and throwing them hard into the chair by the dressing table. Get the fuck back on that bed, Napoleon said, because Illya was starting to sit up, and when Illya stayed upright Napoleon pushed him down with a hand hard in the middle of his chest, and then started to lay kisses all over his golden torso, his teeth grazing and nipping as he moved, his hands hard and relentless over Illyas flanks and then moving down again to brush between his legs where Illya was hardening fast. Thats it, Napoleon said as Illya moaned aloud and pushed against his fist. Yeah, thats it. And he knelt between Illyas thighs and grabbed a bottle of liniment from the nightstand and unscrewed the cap. Illya reached out a hand and tightened it around Napoleons cock, and Napoleon threw his head back and ground out a sound of desire. Then he swiped Illyas hand away and started to lave the liniment over his own cock, making small sounds of gratification. His fingers glistened with the liniment, pale around the darkness of his stiff cock. The sight made Illya wild. He wanted that, all of it. He wanted it in him so badly, in his ass, in his mouth, he didnt care, but he wanted to be around that hot thing. Napoleon roughly nudged Illyas thighs further apart and put a hand under each knee and pushed it upwards. He slung Illyas calves over his shoulders and took hold of his hips in firm hands, and he positioned his cock in between Illyas spread cheeks, and pushed into the tight hole between. Illya gasped and almost jerked backwards at the speed and force of Napoleons entry, but Napoleon grabbed his wrists and held them hard, pressing them down onto the bed. Illya resisted for a moment and then lay still, feeling the thickness of Napoleon filling him. The sensation made him dizzy, burning a little but mostly sending shivers of pleasure through him, and he wanted Napoleon to move inside him, he so wanted him to move. Napoleon pressed once on his wrists, then let go, and folded his fingers around Illyas hard, yearning cock instead. Illya groaned aloud and moved his hips, and that made Napoleons cock move deeper inside him, and the twin stimulation set him alight. Oh god, oh god, he groaned, and Napoleon withdrew and pushed in hard again, and said in a self satisfied voice, Seems to me you werent calling me a deity earlier in the evening. Well, youve got to be good at something, and youve certainly had enough practice, Illya spat, and then gasped out aloud as Napoleon entered him again, sweeping over his prostate and filling him with such dizzy pleasure that he could hardly form words. He dug his fingernails into the sheets, feeling the hardness of Napoleons hand around his cock, feeling the relentless plunge inside him over and over again as Napoleon fucked him without mercy. He kept his eyes wide open, watching Napoleons face, his parted lips, his abstracted expression. He wasnt watching Illya, but staring into mid-distance, intent on his own pleasure, his hands holding Illyas thighs hard against his chest. The muscles of his abdomen rippled each time he thrust into Illyas body, and he gasped with the effort, sweat beading on his face. He moved harder and faster, harder and faster, until Illya could almost not bear the sensation inside him and the beating of Napoleons hips against his behind. Then Napoleon was bellowing out his climax and Illyas cock jerked and jetted his seed over Napoleons hand, and Napoleon collapsed over his body, panting. Illya lay with his legs splayed either side of Napoleons hips and the heaviness of Napoleons body over him and Napoleons breath hot on his neck. He felt as if fireworks had exploded in his mind. Well, Betsy will be safe in her bed tonight, at least, he commented at last. You really are a little shit, Illya, Napoleon gasped, his torso pressed hard over Illyas and it was slick and hot with sweat. Dont use all the hot water in the shower, Illya said as Napoleon got stiffly off him and turned towards the bathroom. If you want to be stingy about it then why dont you take it first? Napoleon tossed over his shoulder. Dont be ridiculous, Napoleon, Illya spat. Well, in that case, why dont we just double up? Illya watched those taut buttocks and the long dimple of Napoleons spine, and the decision to follow his partner to the shower didnt take long to make at all. He was still prickling with anger, but he would be damned if hed pass on something that looked like that. He shoved Napoleon back against the wall of the shower cubicle as hot water rained down around them and kissed him furiously. God, he felt good. God, he was hard and muscled and wet and so good under his hands. He felt furious at Napoleon for being so bloody perfect and sleeping around with all those women and then being so perfect that Illya could never turn him away. Afterwards they both slumped into the double bed and lay there rather stiffly, not knowing what to say. Will you turn out that light? Illya groused. Its like trying to go to sleep under an interrogation lamp. Napoleon reached out to the switch of the bedside lamp and flicked it into darkness, and Illya sighed. He felt as if an itching had been turned off in his brain. He hadnt realised he had been holding himself tense, but now every muscle in his body relaxed. Well, that was strange, he said at last. Yeah, Napoleon replied from the darkness beside him. Strange. Yeah. Illya turned over to face Napoleon in the darkness. How do you feel, Napoleon? Fine, Napoleon said in a rather distracted tone. I mean, more than fine. That was Then he faltered. Did I hurt you, Illya? No, Illya said. I mean, it was rough, but good. It was good. Ah, Napoleon said. Yes, it was pretty darn good, wasnt it? Yes, it was, Illya agreed. Then he pulled the covers a little higher and said sleepily, Good night, Napoleon. Good night, Napoleon said, and the bed shook as he turned over on his side and settled down to sleep. Illya silently shuffled himself closer in the bed, spooning against Napoleons broad back, and Napoleon murmured sleepily and reached his hand back to lay it on Illyas hip. This was a good place to be. ((O)) It was light enough in the morning to not need the kitchen lights on. The sun shone straight in through the kitchen window as Illya fried eggs and toasted bread and put cereal and a jug of non-exploding milk on the table. It really was peaceful here, he reflected, when the food wasnt laden with explosives and he and Napoleon werent unaccountably arguing. Napoleon had looked like a cherub in sleep when Illya had woken up, and Illya hadnt had the heart to disturb him. He was slightly sore from last night, but it had been good, so good. Napoleon had been so good as he drove into him, and he had enjoyed it. God, he had enjoyed it, despite that weird, prickling anger that had driven them both on. There was something odd in this though. Something reeked of Thrush in this supposedly innocent place. He heard a noise in the other room, then Napoleon came in through the swing door, still wearing pyjamas, rubbing his eyes. Wtimesit? Napoleon asked blearily, and Illya grinned. Almost nine, Illya said. He whistled a snatch of a Ukrainian tune and flipped the eggs in the pan. You know, this suburban living isnt so bad, really. He dropped four slices of toast into the toast rack and carried it to the table. Help yourself to cereal, toast, and I have eggs on the stove. Do you want a glass of milk, the American beverage, to wake you up, or shall I make coffee? Oh, coffee, Napoleon said, plumping himself down in a chair at the table. He twisted in his chair to regard Illya, looking him up and down, then said, You know, thats a nice apron. Goes well with the holster. You look very cute. Illya made a face. The apron really was too frilly, but it had been the only one here, so he had put it on to save his shirt and trousers from grease splashes. How do you want your eggs? he asked. I do runny or solid. Whatevers easiest, honey, Napoleon said, then caught himself and grinned, I mean, Illya. Illya shrugged easily. You can call me honey if it makes you happy, he said. He considered a moment, then said, I quite like it. He slipped a couple of eggs onto a plate, dished out his own, then dropped the frying pan into the sink, wondering if washing up counted as part of the cooking or part of the cleaning. As the kettle boiled he poured the water into the coffee pot and brought it to the table. Napoleon was whistling How Do You Like Your Eggs In The Morning? and Illya laughingly kissed his cheek before sitting down. So, do we have a plan of action for today? Illya asked. Napoleon forked some egg into his mouth and plucked a slice of toast from the rack. Butter, he said. Wheres the butter? Oh, sorry. Illya got up and fetched the butter from the fridge and plunked it onto the table. You know, whatever else needs doing today, the kitchen floor could do with mopping. I think theres still some milk residue there and itll go sour and stink. Napoleon reached for the butter. Well, Ill do that later, and if you make me a list of what you need for dinner Ill go out and stock up on provisions. Ah, perfect, Illya smiled. He went to fetch a piece of paper and a pen, then plucked his reading glasses from his pocket and sat down to make his list. The tinted glasses dimmed the room, so he got up again and put the light on. I thought Id try that soufflé again. You will manage to remember the eggs this time? Youre writing it down on paper, Illya, Napoleon said, suddenly terse. How scatterbrained do you think I am? Going by the state of your reports and the fact that yesterday you went out for three items and managed to forget the most important one That feeling was starting again, that itching, irritating feeling that made him want to slap Napoleon almost every time he opened his mouth. He determinedly didnt look at Napoleon as he wrote down the other ingredients, then he pushed the list across the table. Thats it? Napoleon asked, glancing at the list. Cant you go out for that yourself? Its only a few things, Illya, and you can drive, you know. Well, you shouldnt offer if you have no intention of doing it! Illya flared up. Well, look, if you expect me to mop the floors and vacuum the carpets and make the damn beds, and do all the shopping as well Shouldnt shopping come under the cooking umbrella? Not if youre buying cleaning products which I notice you didnt manage to forget yesterday. Youre so self-centred, Napoleon! Illya pulled his glasses off then got up to switch off the light. He banged it irritably with his hand, and the kitchen was lit only by the sun again. Illya sighed and sat down and rubbed his hands over his face. Sorry, Napoleon, he said. He didnt know where all that anger had come from so suddenly. He pulled an egg onto a slice of toast and spread the yolk over it. Sorry, I didnt mean to be so cranky. I guess the neighbours are right, arent they? We do have a strange problem here. Napoleon smiled rather sheepishly. Well, our number one problem is finding Dr Rutter. I thought I might go and snoop about a little, talk to some of the neighbours, see if I can get any clues. Dont forget the floor needs mopping, Illya said, and Napoleon grunted. Ill do it later, Illya, I promise. Look, why dont you stay here and bone up on your soufflé techniques this morning, and Ill do the first wave of poking about. I reckon our good upstanding American neighbours will take to me better than a diminutive Soviet communist. Illya snorted. Well, you are more all-American, Napoleon. Just dont tell them your name. Napoleon made a face, but when he went out later they parted with a discreet kiss before Napoleon opened the door, which was a distinct improvement on snarky comments and outright insults. ((O)) It wasnt, all told, their most auspicious affair ever. Too many innocents had been put at risk and the affair had become almost ridiculous by the end, what with ice lolly grenades and ice cream van chases, and then Dr Rutter persuading them that he was on his death bed and that they should destroy the computer that held his formula. Mr Waverly had hotfooted it all the way to Peaceful Haven to have stern words with them about that, and no doubt there would be stronger words to come when they got back to HQ. But at least they had one more night in suburbia, and since all of the bulbs had been changed for ones that didnt cause irritability, it was a much more pleasant place to be. Against all odds, Illyas soufflé stayed risen and he presented a very pleasant meal to Napoleon and Betsy, although truth be told he wished it had just been Napoleon there. Betsy was so bright and cheerful and unrelentingly nice, and she obviously had designs on Napoleon, and Napoleon being Napoleon of course he spent the evening flirting with her. That always made Illya rankle. Even though he knew he was the only constant in Napoleons love life, he still felt jealous when Napoleon made eyes at other people. He loved being the recipient of Napoleons flirting. He basked in it. But finally they shut the door on Betsy, and she had hardly stepped off the front path before Napoleon took Illya by the jacket lapels and pressed him back against the wall and kissed him hard. God, I thought shed never leave, he murmured, drawing back a little, smiling into Illyas face, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. He kissed Illya on the nose, then tilted his head to catch his lips again, nibbling briefly on his full bottom lip, his hand pressing the back of Illyas neck, his tongue darting out to taste the rich chocolate dessert that lingered in Illyas mouth. I thought you might be leaving with her, Illya admitted, a little breathless from that long, lingering kiss. Napoleon tossed a glance at the door. Her? When Ive got you here? Not a chance. Illya chuckled. Its been a weird couple of days, he said. Do you think well still have jobs waiting for us when we get back to Manhattan? Napoleon kissed him again, a light, chaste press against his lips, but one finger was teasing between the buttons of his shirt and tracing the flesh beneath. Oh, I think so. Do more of that, Illya said, his voice a low rumble. More, huh? Napoleon asked, flicking one button out of its hole to make a larger gap. He crouched with his hands on Illyas sides and darted his tongue through the hole onto his naked skin, and Illya hissed. More, Illya managed, although his head was spinning. Napoleon opened more buttons and slipped his hands under the shirt, easing it out from Illyas waistband, trailing his fingers round to the back and pushing them down to touch the top of his ass. His lips moved over Illyas chest, kissing, licking, then he found a nipple and sucked it to a hard peak in his mouth. Oh, god... Illya jerked out. He started to fight his arms out of his sleeves, dropping the shirt in a white pile on the floor as Napoleon worked at his belt and button and zip and pushed his trousers down. Oh god, he said again, as Napoleons hot mouth sank over his rapidly stiffening cock, sucking it into his mouth, his fingers playing delicately over his balls. He arched his back a little and Napoleon sucked harder, and he felt himself grow inside Napoleons mouth until he was filling him. Please... He could hardly form words. Napoleons tongue teased around his cock head, around the exquisitely sensitive rim of the flaring head, into the little slit at the tip. His hands kneaded on Illyas buttocks and Illya thrust into his mouth, right there by the front door, his shoulders against the wall and his cock, all of it, so deep in Napoleons mouth. He was dizzy, he was breathless, the heat and wet of Napoleons mouth was so, so good. He tangled his fingers into Napoleons hair and pulled him harder onto him, and Napoleons fingers jerked on his behind, and Illya thrust and thrust, his breath coming out in little grunts. And then everything coalesced into one blazing white spear of delight, and he was coming and coming into Napoleons mouth, coming so hard the strength left his knees and his hands dropped, and he was floating, spinning, gasping out his wordless climax. Napoleon knelt there a moment, then stood up, grabbing Illyas head by the hair, pulling him close, kissing him with the taste of Illyas come still in his mouth. You, now, Napoleon said, and he took Illyas wrist in an iron grip and led him into the kitchen, where he placed a folded towel over the edge of the table and bent Illya down over it with his hand on the back of his neck, and while Illya lay there, panting, Napoleon got a bottle of cooking oil and poured it liberally onto Illyas back and it ran and trickled down between his buttocks, and he gasped at the cold. And then Napoleons hands were on him, rubbing the oil over his back, into his shoulders, then into his ass, the back of his braced thighs, his muscular calves. And Napoleon was stripping himself off with greasy hands, and Illya lay there, waiting, and then there was a finger, deliciously slick with oil, slipping into the little pucker between his legs, slipping into that exquisitely sensitive cavity, touching him inside, stretching him. Another finger, and another, and Illya gasped out and said, Please, Napoleon. Fuck me. Please. So Napoleon took him by the hips and the next thing that entered was his cock, his thick and hot and beautifully hard-soft cock, slipping all the way in, filling him so deeply that Illya cried out. And Napoleon fucked him, coming in softly at first, gently, slowly, teasing, stroking over his prostate, setting off shivers of joy, making little explosions in his loins. And Napoleon was bending over him as he fucked, kissing his neck, kissing his shoulders, taking his spread out arms and sucking a finger at a time into his mouth as he pushed rhythmically into Illyas behind. And then he clasped his hands around both of Illyas wrists and he sped up, losing himself, moving faster and harder, faster and harder, until he was coming, jerking over and over deep in Illyas body, and Illyas bellow matched Napoleons. God, god, god, Napoleon breathed, collapsing over Illyas back, his breath hot and coming fast, brushing over Illyas oiled skin. Illya just lay beneath him, panting, feeling the ripples of that second orgasm still running through his body. Oh god, if the builders of this house had ever imagined this If that ridiculous estate agent had ever imagined this This was the best thing this kitchen table had ever had on it, the best thing it ever would. Napoleon slipped out of him, moved off him and Illya stood himself up, stiffly, achingly, sublimely content. He turned to face his lover and looked straight into his eyes. Napoleons eyes were brown, dancing, weary but full of sparks. His lips were beautiful, his face was beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful. I am going to take you upstairs, Illya said, and when weve both recovered I am going to put you on that bed and I am going to fuck you into next week. Napoleon grinned, and opened his arms wide. I dont even care if we wake every single neighbour we have, he said. I just want you, every inch of you. He started towards the kitchen door, Illyas hand tangled in his. He looked back briefly at the table, where the bottle of oil had spilled over and was pooling over the surface. Illya followed his gaze, and grinned. He was glad it was Napoleon who had volunteered to do the cleaning. Peaceful Haven, where your loving partner can fuck you into next week, Napoleon said musingly. I wonder if Mr Barkley would consider putting that into the brochures... Please post a comment on this story. Read posted comments.