The Chillicothe Horror Affair: Act IV
The Chillicothe Horror Affair
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin, April Dancer/Mark Slate (background)
Warning: This is the chapter with the graphic sex.
Chapter Index
Prologue: ...his Unspeakable Name...
Act 1:...something must have brainwashed them.
Act 2: ...There's something not right here...
Act 3: ...a little bird told me.
Act 4: Your Guide has found you!
Epilogue: ...a good beginning.
Act IV: "Your Guide has found you!"
Napoleon and Mark took point once the two cavers had turned back, feeling, at last, more like UNCLE agents infiltrating an enemy base, and less like National Geographic explorers. They kept their lamps focused away from the disturbing depictions on the walls, instead trying to illuminate the passage as far ahead as possible. The dim form they both spotted lying in the path did not quite catch the light as a normal object, however, for it gave off a faint illumination of its own.
"Bloody hell!" Mark exclaimed. "It's another spirit guide; but whose?"
As if in answer, Abigail gave a pained cry and suddenly bolted from behind the two UNCLE agents, dashing ahead to drop to her knees before the creature, who appeared, as they drew closer, to be a fox.
"You're the one I dreamed about!" Abigail cried, gathering the dejected looking creature into her arms as her chipmunk guide climbed onto its shoulders, tail switching in agitation. "You begged for my help and I said I was coming, but I didn't know! I didn't know I'd find you here!"
"It must be her Sentinel," Napoleon realized. "There must be another Sentinel down here along with Illya and April!" Beside him, Mark suddenly straightened.
"The Park Ranger!" he exclaimed. "One of the missing persons reports we pulled up when we were trying to identify our John Doe. A Park Ranger from the Mound City National Monument had gone missing around a week ago…"
And Sentinels, Napoleon knew well, often turned to jobs like Park Ranger, as it suited their temperaments and skills so well. If her spirit guide was here then she was still alive, but after a week…
"Her strength is failing," Abigail said from where she sat. "We must hurry!"
"And hurry we shall!" said Mark gallantly.
It was, in fact, only a little ways past where Abigail had found her Sentinel's spirit fox that the passage made a turn and then opened out suddenly. To the left a descending passage joined theirs, and electric light spilled out from it, throwing some illumination into the larger room beyond.
"Bet that leads right to the jail," Napoleon said, indicating the lit passage. No one offered to take him up on it, however, for their eyes were now drawn to the great chamber beyond.
In spite of the ready availability of electricity, it was lit with burning torches-a dozen or more braced on the walls and all around the main dais. The abundance of the light there drew all their eyes, but the nature of the monstrosity presiding there made them all immediately tear their eyes away, wishing, impossibly, to unsee even the slightest glimpse.
As a boy at summer camp, Napoleon had once cut open a rotten log to find a queen termite, her massive, fleshy body, bigger than his thumb and pulsing with the white mass of her countless eggs, and her tiny black head and forelimbs, haunting his nightmares for years to come. This vision encompassed all the horror of that one and expanded upon it exponentially.
The thing glistened, the expanse of its quivering flesh gleaming greenish and pus-white in the torchlight. Its head, high above the blobulant mound of its body, was too small, had tentacles where it ought to have a mouth, huge, insect-like eyes where it ought to have ears, and a sickening, slavering, toothless mouth where it ought not have anything.
Beside him, Napoleon heard Mark utter a vile profanity which seemed mild compared to the living blasphemy which stood before them. He saw Ricky make the sign of the cross over himself and heard Dahlia retching in a corner. It was his otter which roused Napoleon from his horrified paralysis, tugging at his pants cuff once more to draw his attention to a corner, where the light from the torches did not fall. Three shadowy forms were barely visible there which might merely have been largish stalagmites, but on closer examination proved to be three kneeling figures, one slumping with exhaustion… or starvation.
"Illya!" Napoleon cried, and as if the word had broken some spell, or perhaps activated his own Guide magic, Napoleon felt the luminous power of the joined Guides expand to fill the room. It illuminated the place where Illya, April, and a third person wearing the khaki colored uniform of a Park Ranger knelt. All three shuddered in response, and one, Napoleon could not identify the voice, gave an agonized cry of denial.
"April!" Mark called out with his strongest Guide Voice. "April Dancer, your Guide needs you!"
"Illya Kuryakin!" Napoleon called in turn. "You Guide is here for you. I'm right here Illya!"
"My Sentinel!" Abigail cried, voice all but breaking. "My Sentinel, I've found you. Your Guide has found you!"
"Armstrong," Mark said, the name of the missing Park Ranger surfacing in his memory and reverberating through the network of joined Guides. "Her name is Laura Armstrong."
"Laura Armstrong," Abigail repeated, coming forward to drop to her knees at her Sentinel's side. "I'm your Guide! You found me in my dreams and I've come for you! I've come for you! Please don't let it be too late!"
When her fox spirit guide came up to join them as well, the slumped Ranger gave a sort of gasping sob and raised her head. Her gaze was met immediately with that of her Guide and Napoleon felt the moment of Recognition ring through the joining. With the last of her strength the newly bonded Sentinel raised her hand to touch her Guide's face.
"You found me," she rasped, voice rusty with lack of use. "My very own Guide… You found me."
The hushed words belied the strength of the blow they delivered to the excrescence presiding on the dais. It gave a gargling, bowel curdling, shriek of outrage, whose upper notes ascended into a range beyond human hearing but which disturbed Napoleon's very being nonetheless. The protective aura of the Guide joining grew stronger and more resolute in response and now Napoleon saw his own Sentinel stir where he knelt, reaching out as if groping in the dark at first, until Napoleon reached out to catch his hands.
"I've got you, Sentinel," Napoleon said, drawing him to his feet. "I'm here."
"Napoleon!" Illya choked out, voice uncharacteristically panicked. "Chyort! Where am I? What's happened?"
Gathering his Sentinel in his arms, feeling their link reestablish itself to its fullest once again, Napoleon had eyes and ears for his partner alone. He was aware, through the Guide joining, that Mark had drawn April out of her enthrallment as well, and that now three Sentinel and Guide pairs stood free, though one was very barely standing, in this chamber of horrors. Even as Lindy and Andy darted forward to lend their support to Abigail and her weakened Sentinel, the thing that had held them in thrall roared out its displeasure.
It writhed and shrieked, flailing its tentacles and other unidentifiable appendages, but though not a word could be heard over its reverberating cries, not one of the Guides or Sentinels there needed any further instructions. As one they turned to exit the chamber with nothing standing in their way, but Napoleon and Mark made sure they were the last to leave.
They knew that countless enthralled thugs would soon be arriving from the penitentiary, regardless of whether or not any attempt had been made to clean out the facility yesterday. They also knew that using explosives in a cave while you are still trying to leave it is a risky business indeed, but a calculated risk they had already decided upon. April and Illya lingered with them, naturally, as they waited for the others to get further down the passage, then Napoleon and Mark set the two small charges they'd prepared, one above the passage leading to the jail, the other at the front of the 'temple' chamber where the creature resided. They set the delay for 30 seconds, then ran.
The others had paused at the far end of the mural passage, where Dan and Luther waited, but Napoleon shouted for them to get moving.
"Don't wait!" he shouted. "It's called for help and we don't want to be here for them to catch us!"
Dan and Luther wasted no time helping folks up the rocky stretch and back to the wrecked Thrush lab, letting Mark and Napoleon bring up the rear. They and their Sentinels had barely stumbled into the lab when the twin thuds of the explosions were heard, and a plume of rock dust was forcibly ejected into the lab from the passage they'd just left.
To Napoleon's relief, the two dedicated cavers did not waste one word on the UNCLE agents' apparent act of reckless vandalism, but only worked diligently to guide everyone back out of the cave. The steep, mud-slicked slope out of the large room and the rope climb up the short chimney were navigated with as little fuss as possible, the two cavers showing remarkable competence in assisting Abigail's less than able Sentinel to manage these obstacles.
So focused was he on guiding his Sentinel's every footstep through the journey, that Napoleon felt almost disoriented when they stumbled out of the final rocky cleft and into the culvert. They found the others waiting there, resting against the rounded sides just out of the trickle of water flowing through the middle, blinking their eyes against the midday sun angling in on one end. There came a grating, shifting sound from the dark passage they'd just left and Luther stepped over to shine his flashlight back the way they'd come.
"Dang," he said. "A big rock just come down and blocked the way. Guess that's the end of Deadman cave."
"The end of that entrance, anyhow," Abigail said. "That thing's never, ever going to stop trying to get out. Not till the end of time."
"Yeah, but we aren't going to forget about it now," Napoleon answered. "And we're going to take steps to make sure we won't, ever again. As a Guide, I swear it."
And every Guide in that culvert swore the same.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Getting Abigail's Sentinel up the slope to the road was a cakewalk compared to getting her up the chimney in the cave, and getting her settled in the bed in her VW camper was easier still. Abigail heated up some broth for her and tended to her Sentinel's immediate needs while everyone else stripped out of their caving gear and returned it to Mr Nichols. Napoleon wanted nothing but to crawl into the back of the Dodge with his Sentinel, and didn't even care if Mark and April were similarly occupied in the front, but knew there was some mopping up to do before he could.
He made a brief initial report to Mr Nichols, by way of an apology to the local Grotto chapter about the use of explosives in the cave, leaving Dan and Luther to fill him in on the details. The unexpected appearance of the missing Park Ranger had gone a way towards allaying the science teacher's skepticism. Personally, Napoleon thought that Dan and Luther ought to get some sort of cave safety/rescue award for their help in getting Ranger Armstrong out, and he intended to see to it later.
Once the situation with Mr Nichols was sorted, Napoleon had left just enough presence of mind to see to it that neither he nor Mark nor Abigail were driving. It was Ricky Holden, who agreed to leave his motorbike to collect later, who drove the Dodge into town, with Mark and April huddled together in the front seat, and Illya and Napoleon silently clutching at each other in the back.
Lindy drove Abigail's van and, once in town, delivered her passengers to the local emergency room, while the others converged on the Mayberry sized, Chillicothe police station. As soon as they were clear of the radio jamming from the penitentiary, Napoleon had contacted UNCLE to let them know he and the other agents were out of harm's way and that a proper UNCLE mop-up team would be needed at the prison. He then informed them that no further briefing would be coming from any of the agents involved in the affair for twenty four hours, and signed off.
At the police station, Napoleon marched in (a silent and subdued Illya in-tow, as he would not leave Napoleon's side), informed the already overwhelmed desk sergeant that someone should be sent to the hospital to resolve a missing persons case, and that none of the UNCLE agents would be available for statements until tomorrow afternoon. He left the four Guides there to give their accounts and before he left they'd been joined by Lindy and Dahlia's Sentinels, who'd been waiting, not terribly patiently, in the nearby diner.
Mark and April were still sitting, silently locked in each other's embrace, in the Dodge, now parked in front of the police station. With some effort Napoleon was able to pry Mark loose long enough for him to indicate where their hotel was, and induce him, with his equally shell-shocked Sentinel, to lead the way, fortunately just around the corner.
Once in the hotel, Mark and April disappeared instantly into their room, while Napoleon had to retain his presence of mind long enough to not punch the receptionist when he explained that their rooms had been rented out when they hadn't checked in yesterday. He counted it as a positive miracle that he did not actually resort to physical threats when he instructed the clerk on duty that they would take the Presidential Suite, since that was the only available room, but that they would not be billing UNCLE for any more than a regular room. It was quite possible that the clerk might have felt some implied threat in Napoleon's demeanor, but that was in no way his fault.
The only thing 'Presidential' about the Presidential Suite was that it was half again as big as the other rooms, it had a hot plate and a mini fridge, and the bed was king sized. This was the only thing that registered on Napoleon's mind as he all but dragged his barely responsive Sentinel into the room. Illya did seem to be aware enough of his surroundings that once in the room, with the door locked, he began to sag, knees buckling, and would have crumpled to the floor had Napoleon not caught him and and man-handled him to the bed.
All he could do then was hold his Sentinel close, rock him gently as he shook, whispering soft words of comfort. When it occurred to Napoleon that Illya hadn't eaten in over a day, he patted down his pockets until he found one of the Space Food Sticks that Mr Nichols had handed out to everyone, with the instruction that no one should go into a cave without a backup snack. He peeled the wrapper off and lifted Illya's head, kissing his eyes and mouth as he did, to rouse him as gently as possible.
"You need to eat something, Sentinel mine," he said. "This isn't much, and it isn't much like food, but it'll help ground you."
Illya drew a reluctant breath and complied, consuming the unappetizing snack in a few bites. His trembling had subsided by the time he finished, however, and his sigh, when he was done, had a note of relief in it.
"Napoleon," he breathed, reaching up to touch his Guide's face.
"Right here, partner," Napoleon replied. "Not going anywhere."
"I don't… I don't understand what happened," he murmured, burying his face against Napoleon's shoulder. "How did it, that thing… It made me forget you. How could it do that? How could I...?"
Illya's hands fisted in Napoleon's shirt and Napoleon rocked him gently, stroking fingers through his hair, gently rubbing his back. "Nobody knows what that thing was… and I don't want to know," he said. "It was wrong… It shouldn't even be at all; not on this planet anyhow."
"But how could I…?" Illya moaned, voice breaking now, which was a terrible, wrong thing to hear. "How could anything make me forget you… us?"
"It couldn't; it didn't, Illya," Napoleon comforted. "Nothing could do that, but it blocked us, our sense of each other, like a jamming field. Like a wall. I couldn't reach you, either. Your spirit guide couldn't even reach you."
"I thought I knew what it was to be alone," Illya murmured. "Thought it was easy to endure, but not like this. Was never so alone like this."
"Oh, my Illya," Napoleon held his Sentinel close, his own voice breaking. "You don't know how brave you were, how you fought that thing. Just think, there must have been three or four Sentinels at least among the prisoners and guards that were turned by that thing. It used them like puppets, and it must have wanted you too, but you fought it. You fought and it fought back, isolating you more and more so you'd give up, but you didn't. You didn't let it in."
"I didn't," Illya choked out. "I couldn't. It used every one of my senses against me, but I couldn't let it win."
"You couldn't," Napoleon confirmed, placing a kiss on the top of his Sentinel's head. "Because your senses are mine to command and no one else's. So you see, you didn't forget me at all."
"I didn't!" Illya cried in triumphant realization. "I didn't, Napoleon, but now I need…"
"Shh, my Sentinel, I know just what you need," Napoleon said, for he did. Illya would have withdrawn his senses for his own protection, until he was all but numb, deaf and blind. He would need his Guide to coax his traumatized senses into stretching open once again, and Napoleon knew just how that was to be done.
Gently laying his partner down on the bed, Napoleon moved quickly to divest them both of their muddy shoes. Likewise, he removed their belts and unfastened his own trousers and the top of his shirt. Then he stretched them both out in the center of the bed, Illya laying partially atop him, face tucked into Napoleon's shoulder.
"You're safe now, Sentinel," he murmured into Illya's ear, both hands lovingly cradling his head against his body. "You're home and safe and off duty. Now you're under my protection."
"Yes," Illya sighed, almost moaning in relief, and Napoleon could feel the body resting on his relax a degree.
"Now we're going to bring your senses back, one at a time, little by little," Napoleon said, voice pitched to soothe. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Illya nodded with another sigh.
"All your senses are pulled back in, as far as they can go, and that's fine," Napoleon began. "You did that for a good reason, but now you're safe; nothing is trying to hurt you now, so you can relax them. Leave them closed for now, but at rest. Can you do that?"
"Yes," Illya murmured. "Yes, I have it."
"Good," Napoleon stroked his hand over Illya's back and shoulders. "Now we're going to start with your foundational sense-scent. Think about where you are Illya-here with me-so you know what you're going to smell. You've learned me, Sentinel; I'm your home base, your anchor. Reach out and find my scent. I'm right here."
Moving at last with his own volition, Illya shifted to bury his face in the juncture of Napoleon's neck and shoulder. He drew in a deep, gathering breath, humming in gratitude as he exhaled.
"Napoleon," he sighed. "My Guide."
"Right here," Napoleon said fondly, nuzzling his partner's ear. "I've got you."
Illya drew another long lungfull of his Guide's escence, seeking blindly over his throat and collarbone for more. He sobbed as he exhaled, letting his head drop to rest on Napoleon's chest.
"Take it easy," Napoleon soothed. "Take you time."
But Illya was ready for more, it seemed, and had lifted his head once more to take in the scents of his partner's skin, and before long the flavors as well. Napoleon chuckled.
"Okay, moving on to taste, then," he said with a smile, which was quickly cut off with a gasp as Illya's tongue swiped across a nipple.
"You know my taste like I know yours, partner mine," Napoleon murmured. "Come and feast your sense of taste on me, Sentinel. I am here for you and you alone."
Napoleon had barely spoken the words before Illya surged up with a suddenness that shouldn't have been surprising by now, but still was. Illya's hands were on his face, and his mouth was on Napoleon's, not so much tasting as devouring, but Napoleon was more than prepared to devour right back. Napoleon lost himself in Illya's losing himself, in the universe of his taste and tongue and the way their two tongues moved together, sharing flavors that they alone knew. They were lost together until the moment when both had to break off and draw breath-breaths full of the scents of sweat and fear and desire and arousal.
"Now listen to my voice," Napoleon said, soft as velvet. "You've learned to fix on that too. You can pick it out it in a crowd of other voices; it can reach you when no one else's can. Stretch out your hearing, Sentinel. Hear my softest whispers… the faintest modulations…" And then he broke off, as Illya's tongue had found that special place behind his ear.
"I hear your voice Guide," Illya murmured, lips caressing his ear. "Now I want to hear it sing."
"Oh… whatever you desire, Sentinel," Napoleon moaned at the sensation of Illya's teeth on his earlobe. "I am here for you… for whatever you would have…."
Napoleon didn't think that Illya really needed to be told this at this point, but he liked saying it, almost as much as he liked Illya's mouth on him, wherever that happened to be. Presently it was headed back down toward his nipples. Napoleon let himself bask for a moment or two, in the sensation of Illya licking, kissing and nibbling his way across his torso, and in the presence of his Sentinel in his mind, stretching out once more to his full capabilities. He did not sing so much as moan and hum and gasp, but Illya seemed satisfied.
"Now touch," Napoleon said eventually. "Let yourself feel everything you touch, in every detail, in every texture." Illya's hands were moving under his shirt, opening it, pushing it off his shoulders. Napoleon's hands paused at the closure of Illya's shirt, making sure his Sentinel was ready.
"Yes," Illya hissed. "Need to feel you on my skin, your touch, everywhere… anywhere."
Napoleon obliged with pleasure, stripping Illya's shirt away to reveal the smooth contours of skin Napoleon's hands were hungry for. He knew that this was Illya's hunger as much as his own, but he loved knowing that it was Illya who guided him, all but possessed him in this yearning. Skin pressed against skin as Illya lay his body against Napoleon's and his hands wandered wherever they could reach.
Before long they had slipped down below the open waist of Napoleon's trousers. "Oh, god, Illya…" Napoleon ground out at the feel of his Sentinel's large, strong hands cupping the cheeks of his ass. He could not stop his hips thrusting… and Illya did not want him to.
"Yes, Napoleon, more!" Illya cried, thrusting back, grinding their pelvises together. It sent a hot rush of desire through Napoleon's body and he let loose a long, deep groan, as his hands reached for the fastening of Illya's trousers.
"Yes," Illya hissed once more, giving Napoleon the permission he'd been waiting for. Illya had already gotten Napoleon's pants out of the way and was working on the underwear. Years of experience in escaping various types of bonds made removing Illya's trousers, while at the same time aiding him in doing the same for himself, easier than it might have been. Before long, Napoleon was completely divested of everything but his socks and Illya's shirt was off and his trousers and shorts down around his ankles. Then there was just glorious skin against skin, every surface of his body ravenous to touch and be touched.
For a spell they simply revelled in it, writhing and grappling each other in complete abandon. Then Illya went back to tasting, chasing Napoleon's headier scents and tastes, around the base of his cock, his testicles, and deeper still. Illya's tongue caressed as it tasted, laving widely here, probing slickly there. Napoleon sang for him then, and swore and shouted, and Illya took it all in with relish.
Illya finished up with a long, wet lick along the length of Napoleon's fully erect cock, then knelt up, regarding his Guide with a look that was both fond and rapacious. It was a look that generally rendered Napoleon senseless with desire, for it carried both Illya's intent and his appreciation for what he gazed upon.
"Feast your eyes, lover," Napoleon sighed. "This sight is for yours alone. Whatever your eyes find pleasing, drink it in, Sentinel." He ran a hand over his torso, finishing with cupping his cock and balls, lifting them like an offering.
"There is no more beautiful sight to a Sentinel than his Guide," Illya murmured, feasting as instructed. "No more alluring voice, no more desirable scent or delicious flavor… no touch more compelling, than yours, my Guide."
"Then, touch, taste, sate your senses," Napoleon commanded. "No Guide knows any greater desire than to serve their Sentinels… just like this."
Illya was upon him even before the words had left Napoleon's mouth, but he was ready nonetheless. His Sentinel's hands were everywhere, and his mouth followed, kissing here, biting there. Napoleon touched back, tracing the contours of Illya's muscled shoulders, kissing fingertips when they came near enough. He let Illya lead the way, setting the pace for how much stimulation he wanted.
Eventually Illya's mouth found Napoleon's cock, which elicited an almost musical groan from Napoleon. His following vocal offerings were even more so, though punctuated by gasps and pleading cries.
"Fuck, Illya, please!" Napoleon cried as Illya took the full length of Napoleon's cock as deep as he could and held it there, breathing hard through his nose. When he finally moved, it was to withdraw tortuously slowly, making Napoleon keen for the gradual loss of warm, wet heat encompassing his sex. Illya held the head in his mouth when he came to the end, then slowly took it all back in again. Napoleon's hands grasped desperately at the bedclothes, and his hips strained to thrust, but were pinned firmly by Illya's arms.
Illya was never going to bring him off this way-delicious torment though it was-but Napoleon was fairly sure that this was by intent. He seemed to be working towards something, and Napoleon had a good idea what it might be. He hoped he was right in any case. The problem was, that if Illya did have it in mind to fuck him, then they needed an item from his shaving kit, which was currently packed in his suitcase… which was in the car… which was parked around the corner in front of the police station.
Illya seemed to have picked up on his thought and had come to a pause, releasing Napoleon's cock to sit back on his heels. "What can we use…?" he mused, almost as if to himself.
"I'm trying to think of what…" Napoleon mused in reply.
"Do not move," Illya said after a moment, then rose from the bed (leaving his pants and underwear on the floor beside the bed) and padded over to the bathroom.
"Ah ha!" Napoleon heard from within and a moment later Illya returned, clutching a small, 'sample sized' bottle of something. "I knew I smelled some kind of lotion somewhere!"
What Illya dropped on the bed a moment later had the 'Jergens' label nearly covered by a larger sticker reading, "Compliments of the management'. Napoleon thanked the management sincerely but silently as he heard the sound of Illya slicking up his cock. Opening his thighs eagerly at Illya's prompt, Napoleon soon felt cool, slick fingers behind his balls, caressing, then moving further back to his entrance. Napoleon relaxed, craving the intrusion to come.
The first two fingers slipped in easily and Napoleon groaned, almost in relief, to feel them. It came to him suddenly how alone he'd been during Illya's disappearance, and to feel himself touched so deeply brought home suddenly that he had his Sentinel back, at last.
"Now, you will feel me, Guide," Illya purred. "As you can feel me again in your mind, yes?"
"Felt so empty without you," Napoleon whispered. "That thing stole you away and I couldn't do anything… didn't even know what it was."
"You were right," Illya comforted, his fingers pausing in their work as he leaned up to kiss Napoleon's face. "It was a thing that shouldn't be, but you did find a way to fight it, and you found me. You found me, Guide, and you always will… And now I will remind you what it is to have me inside you in every way."
Ilya's fingers began to move again, pressing deep and stretching, readying him for what he craved. Napoleon's body relaxed further, open to the intrusion as his mind likewise opened to Illya's presence-the emotional essence of his Sentinel. Holding that essence within him had come to seem as natural to Napoleon as feeling Illya enter him as he did now, with three fingers, plunging deep. They finally reached that place within him which triggered a flood of liquefying pleasure through his whole body-blood, bones and muscles. Whatever remained alert or attentive within him had to relinquish its hold, leaving Napoleon utterly helpless in his Sentinel's hands.
"Now…" Illya murmured, low and sultry. "Now you are ready for me, Guide."
Napoleon gave a broken sob at the sensation of his Sentinel's fingers slipping away, entirely lost in the moment, even as part of him was aware that something better was coming. First there was more lotion, momentarily cool against his skin, then the blunt, hard head of Illya's cock was pressing against his entrance. It slipped in with little effort, then continued, deeper and deeper, filling Napoleon as nothing else could.
He cried out, an animal sound, as he writhed mindlessly, his body moving to urges as basic as breathing. This was where the Sentinel dwelt-the fundamental, animal world of instinct, reflex and sensory response, free of the complications of intellect and artifice. Their coupling became an essential act, bodies responding to sensory stimulus, unburdened by reason or purpose, or even the passage of time.
They were fucking, two bodies moving in a rhythm as old as life itself, every thrust confirming the life it embodied; every sensation engendering the next breath or cry or upthrusting of hips. Napoleon became the very act of receiving, his body accepting the other's, seeking that which thrust into it, again and again, deeper and deeper. The hard flesh entering into his softest places, sparking pleasure with every stroke, the strong, grasping hands seizing his hips, the harsh breath in his ear, all were of that essence of their beings. They drank that essence, potent as that which quickens all life, were that essence, singular, eternal and timeless. They were all Sentinels and all Guides, from the dawn of time into the untold future.
Time came spilling back in soon enough, as Napoleon became aware of his own building climax, and of Illya's increasingly urgent breaths. Now each one was punctuated with a shout and Napoleon's keening cries became a litany of pleas and and swears he had no idea he was uttering. Illya knew-would always know-just what it was that Napoleon needed, just as Napoleon would always know what his Sentinel desired. Creature of instinct that he was, he knew by those very instincts, just when to close his lotion slicked fingers around Napoleon's cock, just how firmly to grasp it, and when and how fast to stroke.
He started slowly enough, so that Napoleon could see the end coming, like a freight train headed right for where he stood. It was just enough time to appreciate its coming, to rejoice in its imminence, and to surrender completely to its arrival. As the first wave of climax struck, Napoleon felt it move through him, like the force of an explosion, seizing and pulsing around the hard flesh still thrusting into him, redoubling his own pleasure and setting Illya's climax off in turn.
They lost time again, in that moment of soul searing rapture, lost their bodies and very selves in the ocean of ecstasy which crashed over them and tumbled them like so much flotsam, then carried them likewise to their shore, gasping like stranded fish. They welcomed the air that filled their lungs, however, felt it as the renewal of life that it was, and lay, still little more than creatures of sensation and instinct, basking in the ebbing waves of pure pleasure.
Stirred by those last little waves, Napoleon found his fingers moving through the flaxen strands of his lover's hair, even as he felt lips pressing gently over his collarbone. Little by little, his universe expanded to include the warm weight of Illya's body on his, the rough texture of the hotel bedspread beneath them, the last of the evening sun angling through the blinds to leave pinkish-orange stripes over the 'presidential' wallpaper.
There was a cooling stickiness between the two of them as well, and Illya's cock, still half inside him until Illya rolled slightly, pulling himself free. He smeared the cooling remains of Napoleon's release over his own body, as he always did-a disturbingly primitive practice that never failed to leave Napoleon with a little illicit thrill.
"Wild thing," Napoleon murmured affectionately. "I love it when you do that."
"Your wild thing," Illya replied, kissing Napoleon's face. "Now and forever."
Illya often preferred to spend the night absorbing his Guide's essence into his skin, but they'd both had enough of the two days worth of grime and cave mud they'd accumulated, so eventually prodded each other into the shower, which, being Presidential, was actually big enough for both of them. They enjoyed washing each other, but limited their pleasures to the practical as they'd both started to feel hungry by now.
The Chillicothe Inn had no kitchen, and therefore no room service, but they did have an arrangement with the diner, and a copy of their menu was conveniently set next to the phone. For a reasonable delivery charge, a young fellow with a scooter showed up about twenty minutes after they'd called in their order, with two cheeseburgers, a whole fried chicken, two orders of fries and one of onion rings, a chocolate milkshake and two pieces of pie, as per their request. Illya ate the lion's share and Napoleon watched him do so with delight.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Epilogue
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin, April Dancer/Mark Slate (background)
Warning: This is the chapter with the graphic sex.
Chapter Index
Prologue: ...his Unspeakable Name...
Act 1:...something must have brainwashed them.
Act 2: ...There's something not right here...
Act 3: ...a little bird told me.
Act 4: Your Guide has found you!
Epilogue: ...a good beginning.
Act IV: "Your Guide has found you!"
Napoleon and Mark took point once the two cavers had turned back, feeling, at last, more like UNCLE agents infiltrating an enemy base, and less like National Geographic explorers. They kept their lamps focused away from the disturbing depictions on the walls, instead trying to illuminate the passage as far ahead as possible. The dim form they both spotted lying in the path did not quite catch the light as a normal object, however, for it gave off a faint illumination of its own.
"Bloody hell!" Mark exclaimed. "It's another spirit guide; but whose?"
As if in answer, Abigail gave a pained cry and suddenly bolted from behind the two UNCLE agents, dashing ahead to drop to her knees before the creature, who appeared, as they drew closer, to be a fox.
"You're the one I dreamed about!" Abigail cried, gathering the dejected looking creature into her arms as her chipmunk guide climbed onto its shoulders, tail switching in agitation. "You begged for my help and I said I was coming, but I didn't know! I didn't know I'd find you here!"
"It must be her Sentinel," Napoleon realized. "There must be another Sentinel down here along with Illya and April!" Beside him, Mark suddenly straightened.
"The Park Ranger!" he exclaimed. "One of the missing persons reports we pulled up when we were trying to identify our John Doe. A Park Ranger from the Mound City National Monument had gone missing around a week ago…"
And Sentinels, Napoleon knew well, often turned to jobs like Park Ranger, as it suited their temperaments and skills so well. If her spirit guide was here then she was still alive, but after a week…
"Her strength is failing," Abigail said from where she sat. "We must hurry!"
"And hurry we shall!" said Mark gallantly.
It was, in fact, only a little ways past where Abigail had found her Sentinel's spirit fox that the passage made a turn and then opened out suddenly. To the left a descending passage joined theirs, and electric light spilled out from it, throwing some illumination into the larger room beyond.
"Bet that leads right to the jail," Napoleon said, indicating the lit passage. No one offered to take him up on it, however, for their eyes were now drawn to the great chamber beyond.
In spite of the ready availability of electricity, it was lit with burning torches-a dozen or more braced on the walls and all around the main dais. The abundance of the light there drew all their eyes, but the nature of the monstrosity presiding there made them all immediately tear their eyes away, wishing, impossibly, to unsee even the slightest glimpse.
As a boy at summer camp, Napoleon had once cut open a rotten log to find a queen termite, her massive, fleshy body, bigger than his thumb and pulsing with the white mass of her countless eggs, and her tiny black head and forelimbs, haunting his nightmares for years to come. This vision encompassed all the horror of that one and expanded upon it exponentially.
The thing glistened, the expanse of its quivering flesh gleaming greenish and pus-white in the torchlight. Its head, high above the blobulant mound of its body, was too small, had tentacles where it ought to have a mouth, huge, insect-like eyes where it ought to have ears, and a sickening, slavering, toothless mouth where it ought not have anything.
Beside him, Napoleon heard Mark utter a vile profanity which seemed mild compared to the living blasphemy which stood before them. He saw Ricky make the sign of the cross over himself and heard Dahlia retching in a corner. It was his otter which roused Napoleon from his horrified paralysis, tugging at his pants cuff once more to draw his attention to a corner, where the light from the torches did not fall. Three shadowy forms were barely visible there which might merely have been largish stalagmites, but on closer examination proved to be three kneeling figures, one slumping with exhaustion… or starvation.
"Illya!" Napoleon cried, and as if the word had broken some spell, or perhaps activated his own Guide magic, Napoleon felt the luminous power of the joined Guides expand to fill the room. It illuminated the place where Illya, April, and a third person wearing the khaki colored uniform of a Park Ranger knelt. All three shuddered in response, and one, Napoleon could not identify the voice, gave an agonized cry of denial.
"April!" Mark called out with his strongest Guide Voice. "April Dancer, your Guide needs you!"
"Illya Kuryakin!" Napoleon called in turn. "You Guide is here for you. I'm right here Illya!"
"My Sentinel!" Abigail cried, voice all but breaking. "My Sentinel, I've found you. Your Guide has found you!"
"Armstrong," Mark said, the name of the missing Park Ranger surfacing in his memory and reverberating through the network of joined Guides. "Her name is Laura Armstrong."
"Laura Armstrong," Abigail repeated, coming forward to drop to her knees at her Sentinel's side. "I'm your Guide! You found me in my dreams and I've come for you! I've come for you! Please don't let it be too late!"
When her fox spirit guide came up to join them as well, the slumped Ranger gave a sort of gasping sob and raised her head. Her gaze was met immediately with that of her Guide and Napoleon felt the moment of Recognition ring through the joining. With the last of her strength the newly bonded Sentinel raised her hand to touch her Guide's face.
"You found me," she rasped, voice rusty with lack of use. "My very own Guide… You found me."
The hushed words belied the strength of the blow they delivered to the excrescence presiding on the dais. It gave a gargling, bowel curdling, shriek of outrage, whose upper notes ascended into a range beyond human hearing but which disturbed Napoleon's very being nonetheless. The protective aura of the Guide joining grew stronger and more resolute in response and now Napoleon saw his own Sentinel stir where he knelt, reaching out as if groping in the dark at first, until Napoleon reached out to catch his hands.
"I've got you, Sentinel," Napoleon said, drawing him to his feet. "I'm here."
"Napoleon!" Illya choked out, voice uncharacteristically panicked. "Chyort! Where am I? What's happened?"
Gathering his Sentinel in his arms, feeling their link reestablish itself to its fullest once again, Napoleon had eyes and ears for his partner alone. He was aware, through the Guide joining, that Mark had drawn April out of her enthrallment as well, and that now three Sentinel and Guide pairs stood free, though one was very barely standing, in this chamber of horrors. Even as Lindy and Andy darted forward to lend their support to Abigail and her weakened Sentinel, the thing that had held them in thrall roared out its displeasure.
It writhed and shrieked, flailing its tentacles and other unidentifiable appendages, but though not a word could be heard over its reverberating cries, not one of the Guides or Sentinels there needed any further instructions. As one they turned to exit the chamber with nothing standing in their way, but Napoleon and Mark made sure they were the last to leave.
They knew that countless enthralled thugs would soon be arriving from the penitentiary, regardless of whether or not any attempt had been made to clean out the facility yesterday. They also knew that using explosives in a cave while you are still trying to leave it is a risky business indeed, but a calculated risk they had already decided upon. April and Illya lingered with them, naturally, as they waited for the others to get further down the passage, then Napoleon and Mark set the two small charges they'd prepared, one above the passage leading to the jail, the other at the front of the 'temple' chamber where the creature resided. They set the delay for 30 seconds, then ran.
The others had paused at the far end of the mural passage, where Dan and Luther waited, but Napoleon shouted for them to get moving.
"Don't wait!" he shouted. "It's called for help and we don't want to be here for them to catch us!"
Dan and Luther wasted no time helping folks up the rocky stretch and back to the wrecked Thrush lab, letting Mark and Napoleon bring up the rear. They and their Sentinels had barely stumbled into the lab when the twin thuds of the explosions were heard, and a plume of rock dust was forcibly ejected into the lab from the passage they'd just left.
To Napoleon's relief, the two dedicated cavers did not waste one word on the UNCLE agents' apparent act of reckless vandalism, but only worked diligently to guide everyone back out of the cave. The steep, mud-slicked slope out of the large room and the rope climb up the short chimney were navigated with as little fuss as possible, the two cavers showing remarkable competence in assisting Abigail's less than able Sentinel to manage these obstacles.
So focused was he on guiding his Sentinel's every footstep through the journey, that Napoleon felt almost disoriented when they stumbled out of the final rocky cleft and into the culvert. They found the others waiting there, resting against the rounded sides just out of the trickle of water flowing through the middle, blinking their eyes against the midday sun angling in on one end. There came a grating, shifting sound from the dark passage they'd just left and Luther stepped over to shine his flashlight back the way they'd come.
"Dang," he said. "A big rock just come down and blocked the way. Guess that's the end of Deadman cave."
"The end of that entrance, anyhow," Abigail said. "That thing's never, ever going to stop trying to get out. Not till the end of time."
"Yeah, but we aren't going to forget about it now," Napoleon answered. "And we're going to take steps to make sure we won't, ever again. As a Guide, I swear it."
And every Guide in that culvert swore the same.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Getting Abigail's Sentinel up the slope to the road was a cakewalk compared to getting her up the chimney in the cave, and getting her settled in the bed in her VW camper was easier still. Abigail heated up some broth for her and tended to her Sentinel's immediate needs while everyone else stripped out of their caving gear and returned it to Mr Nichols. Napoleon wanted nothing but to crawl into the back of the Dodge with his Sentinel, and didn't even care if Mark and April were similarly occupied in the front, but knew there was some mopping up to do before he could.
He made a brief initial report to Mr Nichols, by way of an apology to the local Grotto chapter about the use of explosives in the cave, leaving Dan and Luther to fill him in on the details. The unexpected appearance of the missing Park Ranger had gone a way towards allaying the science teacher's skepticism. Personally, Napoleon thought that Dan and Luther ought to get some sort of cave safety/rescue award for their help in getting Ranger Armstrong out, and he intended to see to it later.
Once the situation with Mr Nichols was sorted, Napoleon had left just enough presence of mind to see to it that neither he nor Mark nor Abigail were driving. It was Ricky Holden, who agreed to leave his motorbike to collect later, who drove the Dodge into town, with Mark and April huddled together in the front seat, and Illya and Napoleon silently clutching at each other in the back.
Lindy drove Abigail's van and, once in town, delivered her passengers to the local emergency room, while the others converged on the Mayberry sized, Chillicothe police station. As soon as they were clear of the radio jamming from the penitentiary, Napoleon had contacted UNCLE to let them know he and the other agents were out of harm's way and that a proper UNCLE mop-up team would be needed at the prison. He then informed them that no further briefing would be coming from any of the agents involved in the affair for twenty four hours, and signed off.
At the police station, Napoleon marched in (a silent and subdued Illya in-tow, as he would not leave Napoleon's side), informed the already overwhelmed desk sergeant that someone should be sent to the hospital to resolve a missing persons case, and that none of the UNCLE agents would be available for statements until tomorrow afternoon. He left the four Guides there to give their accounts and before he left they'd been joined by Lindy and Dahlia's Sentinels, who'd been waiting, not terribly patiently, in the nearby diner.
Mark and April were still sitting, silently locked in each other's embrace, in the Dodge, now parked in front of the police station. With some effort Napoleon was able to pry Mark loose long enough for him to indicate where their hotel was, and induce him, with his equally shell-shocked Sentinel, to lead the way, fortunately just around the corner.
Once in the hotel, Mark and April disappeared instantly into their room, while Napoleon had to retain his presence of mind long enough to not punch the receptionist when he explained that their rooms had been rented out when they hadn't checked in yesterday. He counted it as a positive miracle that he did not actually resort to physical threats when he instructed the clerk on duty that they would take the Presidential Suite, since that was the only available room, but that they would not be billing UNCLE for any more than a regular room. It was quite possible that the clerk might have felt some implied threat in Napoleon's demeanor, but that was in no way his fault.
The only thing 'Presidential' about the Presidential Suite was that it was half again as big as the other rooms, it had a hot plate and a mini fridge, and the bed was king sized. This was the only thing that registered on Napoleon's mind as he all but dragged his barely responsive Sentinel into the room. Illya did seem to be aware enough of his surroundings that once in the room, with the door locked, he began to sag, knees buckling, and would have crumpled to the floor had Napoleon not caught him and and man-handled him to the bed.
All he could do then was hold his Sentinel close, rock him gently as he shook, whispering soft words of comfort. When it occurred to Napoleon that Illya hadn't eaten in over a day, he patted down his pockets until he found one of the Space Food Sticks that Mr Nichols had handed out to everyone, with the instruction that no one should go into a cave without a backup snack. He peeled the wrapper off and lifted Illya's head, kissing his eyes and mouth as he did, to rouse him as gently as possible.
"You need to eat something, Sentinel mine," he said. "This isn't much, and it isn't much like food, but it'll help ground you."
Illya drew a reluctant breath and complied, consuming the unappetizing snack in a few bites. His trembling had subsided by the time he finished, however, and his sigh, when he was done, had a note of relief in it.
"Napoleon," he breathed, reaching up to touch his Guide's face.
"Right here, partner," Napoleon replied. "Not going anywhere."
"I don't… I don't understand what happened," he murmured, burying his face against Napoleon's shoulder. "How did it, that thing… It made me forget you. How could it do that? How could I...?"
Illya's hands fisted in Napoleon's shirt and Napoleon rocked him gently, stroking fingers through his hair, gently rubbing his back. "Nobody knows what that thing was… and I don't want to know," he said. "It was wrong… It shouldn't even be at all; not on this planet anyhow."
"But how could I…?" Illya moaned, voice breaking now, which was a terrible, wrong thing to hear. "How could anything make me forget you… us?"
"It couldn't; it didn't, Illya," Napoleon comforted. "Nothing could do that, but it blocked us, our sense of each other, like a jamming field. Like a wall. I couldn't reach you, either. Your spirit guide couldn't even reach you."
"I thought I knew what it was to be alone," Illya murmured. "Thought it was easy to endure, but not like this. Was never so alone like this."
"Oh, my Illya," Napoleon held his Sentinel close, his own voice breaking. "You don't know how brave you were, how you fought that thing. Just think, there must have been three or four Sentinels at least among the prisoners and guards that were turned by that thing. It used them like puppets, and it must have wanted you too, but you fought it. You fought and it fought back, isolating you more and more so you'd give up, but you didn't. You didn't let it in."
"I didn't," Illya choked out. "I couldn't. It used every one of my senses against me, but I couldn't let it win."
"You couldn't," Napoleon confirmed, placing a kiss on the top of his Sentinel's head. "Because your senses are mine to command and no one else's. So you see, you didn't forget me at all."
"I didn't!" Illya cried in triumphant realization. "I didn't, Napoleon, but now I need…"
"Shh, my Sentinel, I know just what you need," Napoleon said, for he did. Illya would have withdrawn his senses for his own protection, until he was all but numb, deaf and blind. He would need his Guide to coax his traumatized senses into stretching open once again, and Napoleon knew just how that was to be done.
Gently laying his partner down on the bed, Napoleon moved quickly to divest them both of their muddy shoes. Likewise, he removed their belts and unfastened his own trousers and the top of his shirt. Then he stretched them both out in the center of the bed, Illya laying partially atop him, face tucked into Napoleon's shoulder.
"You're safe now, Sentinel," he murmured into Illya's ear, both hands lovingly cradling his head against his body. "You're home and safe and off duty. Now you're under my protection."
"Yes," Illya sighed, almost moaning in relief, and Napoleon could feel the body resting on his relax a degree.
"Now we're going to bring your senses back, one at a time, little by little," Napoleon said, voice pitched to soothe. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Illya nodded with another sigh.
"All your senses are pulled back in, as far as they can go, and that's fine," Napoleon began. "You did that for a good reason, but now you're safe; nothing is trying to hurt you now, so you can relax them. Leave them closed for now, but at rest. Can you do that?"
"Yes," Illya murmured. "Yes, I have it."
"Good," Napoleon stroked his hand over Illya's back and shoulders. "Now we're going to start with your foundational sense-scent. Think about where you are Illya-here with me-so you know what you're going to smell. You've learned me, Sentinel; I'm your home base, your anchor. Reach out and find my scent. I'm right here."
Moving at last with his own volition, Illya shifted to bury his face in the juncture of Napoleon's neck and shoulder. He drew in a deep, gathering breath, humming in gratitude as he exhaled.
"Napoleon," he sighed. "My Guide."
"Right here," Napoleon said fondly, nuzzling his partner's ear. "I've got you."
Illya drew another long lungfull of his Guide's escence, seeking blindly over his throat and collarbone for more. He sobbed as he exhaled, letting his head drop to rest on Napoleon's chest.
"Take it easy," Napoleon soothed. "Take you time."
But Illya was ready for more, it seemed, and had lifted his head once more to take in the scents of his partner's skin, and before long the flavors as well. Napoleon chuckled.
"Okay, moving on to taste, then," he said with a smile, which was quickly cut off with a gasp as Illya's tongue swiped across a nipple.
"You know my taste like I know yours, partner mine," Napoleon murmured. "Come and feast your sense of taste on me, Sentinel. I am here for you and you alone."
Napoleon had barely spoken the words before Illya surged up with a suddenness that shouldn't have been surprising by now, but still was. Illya's hands were on his face, and his mouth was on Napoleon's, not so much tasting as devouring, but Napoleon was more than prepared to devour right back. Napoleon lost himself in Illya's losing himself, in the universe of his taste and tongue and the way their two tongues moved together, sharing flavors that they alone knew. They were lost together until the moment when both had to break off and draw breath-breaths full of the scents of sweat and fear and desire and arousal.
"Now listen to my voice," Napoleon said, soft as velvet. "You've learned to fix on that too. You can pick it out it in a crowd of other voices; it can reach you when no one else's can. Stretch out your hearing, Sentinel. Hear my softest whispers… the faintest modulations…" And then he broke off, as Illya's tongue had found that special place behind his ear.
"I hear your voice Guide," Illya murmured, lips caressing his ear. "Now I want to hear it sing."
"Oh… whatever you desire, Sentinel," Napoleon moaned at the sensation of Illya's teeth on his earlobe. "I am here for you… for whatever you would have…."
Napoleon didn't think that Illya really needed to be told this at this point, but he liked saying it, almost as much as he liked Illya's mouth on him, wherever that happened to be. Presently it was headed back down toward his nipples. Napoleon let himself bask for a moment or two, in the sensation of Illya licking, kissing and nibbling his way across his torso, and in the presence of his Sentinel in his mind, stretching out once more to his full capabilities. He did not sing so much as moan and hum and gasp, but Illya seemed satisfied.
"Now touch," Napoleon said eventually. "Let yourself feel everything you touch, in every detail, in every texture." Illya's hands were moving under his shirt, opening it, pushing it off his shoulders. Napoleon's hands paused at the closure of Illya's shirt, making sure his Sentinel was ready.
"Yes," Illya hissed. "Need to feel you on my skin, your touch, everywhere… anywhere."
Napoleon obliged with pleasure, stripping Illya's shirt away to reveal the smooth contours of skin Napoleon's hands were hungry for. He knew that this was Illya's hunger as much as his own, but he loved knowing that it was Illya who guided him, all but possessed him in this yearning. Skin pressed against skin as Illya lay his body against Napoleon's and his hands wandered wherever they could reach.
Before long they had slipped down below the open waist of Napoleon's trousers. "Oh, god, Illya…" Napoleon ground out at the feel of his Sentinel's large, strong hands cupping the cheeks of his ass. He could not stop his hips thrusting… and Illya did not want him to.
"Yes, Napoleon, more!" Illya cried, thrusting back, grinding their pelvises together. It sent a hot rush of desire through Napoleon's body and he let loose a long, deep groan, as his hands reached for the fastening of Illya's trousers.
"Yes," Illya hissed once more, giving Napoleon the permission he'd been waiting for. Illya had already gotten Napoleon's pants out of the way and was working on the underwear. Years of experience in escaping various types of bonds made removing Illya's trousers, while at the same time aiding him in doing the same for himself, easier than it might have been. Before long, Napoleon was completely divested of everything but his socks and Illya's shirt was off and his trousers and shorts down around his ankles. Then there was just glorious skin against skin, every surface of his body ravenous to touch and be touched.
For a spell they simply revelled in it, writhing and grappling each other in complete abandon. Then Illya went back to tasting, chasing Napoleon's headier scents and tastes, around the base of his cock, his testicles, and deeper still. Illya's tongue caressed as it tasted, laving widely here, probing slickly there. Napoleon sang for him then, and swore and shouted, and Illya took it all in with relish.
Illya finished up with a long, wet lick along the length of Napoleon's fully erect cock, then knelt up, regarding his Guide with a look that was both fond and rapacious. It was a look that generally rendered Napoleon senseless with desire, for it carried both Illya's intent and his appreciation for what he gazed upon.
"Feast your eyes, lover," Napoleon sighed. "This sight is for yours alone. Whatever your eyes find pleasing, drink it in, Sentinel." He ran a hand over his torso, finishing with cupping his cock and balls, lifting them like an offering.
"There is no more beautiful sight to a Sentinel than his Guide," Illya murmured, feasting as instructed. "No more alluring voice, no more desirable scent or delicious flavor… no touch more compelling, than yours, my Guide."
"Then, touch, taste, sate your senses," Napoleon commanded. "No Guide knows any greater desire than to serve their Sentinels… just like this."
Illya was upon him even before the words had left Napoleon's mouth, but he was ready nonetheless. His Sentinel's hands were everywhere, and his mouth followed, kissing here, biting there. Napoleon touched back, tracing the contours of Illya's muscled shoulders, kissing fingertips when they came near enough. He let Illya lead the way, setting the pace for how much stimulation he wanted.
Eventually Illya's mouth found Napoleon's cock, which elicited an almost musical groan from Napoleon. His following vocal offerings were even more so, though punctuated by gasps and pleading cries.
"Fuck, Illya, please!" Napoleon cried as Illya took the full length of Napoleon's cock as deep as he could and held it there, breathing hard through his nose. When he finally moved, it was to withdraw tortuously slowly, making Napoleon keen for the gradual loss of warm, wet heat encompassing his sex. Illya held the head in his mouth when he came to the end, then slowly took it all back in again. Napoleon's hands grasped desperately at the bedclothes, and his hips strained to thrust, but were pinned firmly by Illya's arms.
Illya was never going to bring him off this way-delicious torment though it was-but Napoleon was fairly sure that this was by intent. He seemed to be working towards something, and Napoleon had a good idea what it might be. He hoped he was right in any case. The problem was, that if Illya did have it in mind to fuck him, then they needed an item from his shaving kit, which was currently packed in his suitcase… which was in the car… which was parked around the corner in front of the police station.
Illya seemed to have picked up on his thought and had come to a pause, releasing Napoleon's cock to sit back on his heels. "What can we use…?" he mused, almost as if to himself.
"I'm trying to think of what…" Napoleon mused in reply.
"Do not move," Illya said after a moment, then rose from the bed (leaving his pants and underwear on the floor beside the bed) and padded over to the bathroom.
"Ah ha!" Napoleon heard from within and a moment later Illya returned, clutching a small, 'sample sized' bottle of something. "I knew I smelled some kind of lotion somewhere!"
What Illya dropped on the bed a moment later had the 'Jergens' label nearly covered by a larger sticker reading, "Compliments of the management'. Napoleon thanked the management sincerely but silently as he heard the sound of Illya slicking up his cock. Opening his thighs eagerly at Illya's prompt, Napoleon soon felt cool, slick fingers behind his balls, caressing, then moving further back to his entrance. Napoleon relaxed, craving the intrusion to come.
The first two fingers slipped in easily and Napoleon groaned, almost in relief, to feel them. It came to him suddenly how alone he'd been during Illya's disappearance, and to feel himself touched so deeply brought home suddenly that he had his Sentinel back, at last.
"Now, you will feel me, Guide," Illya purred. "As you can feel me again in your mind, yes?"
"Felt so empty without you," Napoleon whispered. "That thing stole you away and I couldn't do anything… didn't even know what it was."
"You were right," Illya comforted, his fingers pausing in their work as he leaned up to kiss Napoleon's face. "It was a thing that shouldn't be, but you did find a way to fight it, and you found me. You found me, Guide, and you always will… And now I will remind you what it is to have me inside you in every way."
Ilya's fingers began to move again, pressing deep and stretching, readying him for what he craved. Napoleon's body relaxed further, open to the intrusion as his mind likewise opened to Illya's presence-the emotional essence of his Sentinel. Holding that essence within him had come to seem as natural to Napoleon as feeling Illya enter him as he did now, with three fingers, plunging deep. They finally reached that place within him which triggered a flood of liquefying pleasure through his whole body-blood, bones and muscles. Whatever remained alert or attentive within him had to relinquish its hold, leaving Napoleon utterly helpless in his Sentinel's hands.
"Now…" Illya murmured, low and sultry. "Now you are ready for me, Guide."
Napoleon gave a broken sob at the sensation of his Sentinel's fingers slipping away, entirely lost in the moment, even as part of him was aware that something better was coming. First there was more lotion, momentarily cool against his skin, then the blunt, hard head of Illya's cock was pressing against his entrance. It slipped in with little effort, then continued, deeper and deeper, filling Napoleon as nothing else could.
He cried out, an animal sound, as he writhed mindlessly, his body moving to urges as basic as breathing. This was where the Sentinel dwelt-the fundamental, animal world of instinct, reflex and sensory response, free of the complications of intellect and artifice. Their coupling became an essential act, bodies responding to sensory stimulus, unburdened by reason or purpose, or even the passage of time.
They were fucking, two bodies moving in a rhythm as old as life itself, every thrust confirming the life it embodied; every sensation engendering the next breath or cry or upthrusting of hips. Napoleon became the very act of receiving, his body accepting the other's, seeking that which thrust into it, again and again, deeper and deeper. The hard flesh entering into his softest places, sparking pleasure with every stroke, the strong, grasping hands seizing his hips, the harsh breath in his ear, all were of that essence of their beings. They drank that essence, potent as that which quickens all life, were that essence, singular, eternal and timeless. They were all Sentinels and all Guides, from the dawn of time into the untold future.
Time came spilling back in soon enough, as Napoleon became aware of his own building climax, and of Illya's increasingly urgent breaths. Now each one was punctuated with a shout and Napoleon's keening cries became a litany of pleas and and swears he had no idea he was uttering. Illya knew-would always know-just what it was that Napoleon needed, just as Napoleon would always know what his Sentinel desired. Creature of instinct that he was, he knew by those very instincts, just when to close his lotion slicked fingers around Napoleon's cock, just how firmly to grasp it, and when and how fast to stroke.
He started slowly enough, so that Napoleon could see the end coming, like a freight train headed right for where he stood. It was just enough time to appreciate its coming, to rejoice in its imminence, and to surrender completely to its arrival. As the first wave of climax struck, Napoleon felt it move through him, like the force of an explosion, seizing and pulsing around the hard flesh still thrusting into him, redoubling his own pleasure and setting Illya's climax off in turn.
They lost time again, in that moment of soul searing rapture, lost their bodies and very selves in the ocean of ecstasy which crashed over them and tumbled them like so much flotsam, then carried them likewise to their shore, gasping like stranded fish. They welcomed the air that filled their lungs, however, felt it as the renewal of life that it was, and lay, still little more than creatures of sensation and instinct, basking in the ebbing waves of pure pleasure.
Stirred by those last little waves, Napoleon found his fingers moving through the flaxen strands of his lover's hair, even as he felt lips pressing gently over his collarbone. Little by little, his universe expanded to include the warm weight of Illya's body on his, the rough texture of the hotel bedspread beneath them, the last of the evening sun angling through the blinds to leave pinkish-orange stripes over the 'presidential' wallpaper.
There was a cooling stickiness between the two of them as well, and Illya's cock, still half inside him until Illya rolled slightly, pulling himself free. He smeared the cooling remains of Napoleon's release over his own body, as he always did-a disturbingly primitive practice that never failed to leave Napoleon with a little illicit thrill.
"Wild thing," Napoleon murmured affectionately. "I love it when you do that."
"Your wild thing," Illya replied, kissing Napoleon's face. "Now and forever."
Illya often preferred to spend the night absorbing his Guide's essence into his skin, but they'd both had enough of the two days worth of grime and cave mud they'd accumulated, so eventually prodded each other into the shower, which, being Presidential, was actually big enough for both of them. They enjoyed washing each other, but limited their pleasures to the practical as they'd both started to feel hungry by now.
The Chillicothe Inn had no kitchen, and therefore no room service, but they did have an arrangement with the diner, and a copy of their menu was conveniently set next to the phone. For a reasonable delivery charge, a young fellow with a scooter showed up about twenty minutes after they'd called in their order, with two cheeseburgers, a whole fried chicken, two orders of fries and one of onion rings, a chocolate milkshake and two pieces of pie, as per their request. Illya ate the lion's share and Napoleon watched him do so with delight.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Epilogue