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crack_van2004-03-24 08:50 pm
vysila.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-03-24 08:50 pm
Entry tags:
Tango by Banshee Caoine (NC-17)
Fandom: MAN FROM UNCLE
Pairing: Napoleon/Illya
Author on LJ: Not to my knowledge
Author's Website: None that I know of, but her MfU stories can be found on File 40
Why this must be read:
A truly erotic story that starts off at a simmer and slowly notches up by degrees. The sex scene is incendiary. At the end of a successful mission in Buenos Aires, Illya and Napoleon are treated to a night on the town by a grateful Innocent. Napoleon shows off his skill at the tango to distract himself from concerns over his partner's deepening isolation, while Illya watches and broods. Until he leaves. And Napoleon follows.
The throbbing yearning of the song cut into Illya’s already heightened senses like broken glass.
He could not escape the obvious sexual choreography of the dance. The pounding pulse of this music reminded him miserably of his own inability to suppress his own growing desires. As Napoleon bent his partner low over his arm backwards, bringing their lips tantalizingly close but pulling back at the last second, denying her what she sought, Illya turned away and gulped from his wine glass.
Estefan, not a dull man, was noticing the way the pain in the Russian’s eyes as he tracked his partner’s movement around the room. He was an old man, wise in the ways of the world. “So . . . ” he thought to himself, “ . . . this is how it is, at least for the blond one.” He doubted the milongeuro on the dance floor was aware of the passion this one had for him.
“It is said that the tango is the wail of frustrated love, Mr. Kuryakin,” Estefan added softly. “It speaks of destinies engulfed in pain. It is the dance of sorrow, less about love, than about loneliness, lust and pain. A wise man named Elshaw once said of the tango 'We have dreams that might not be realized, desires life might not fulfill. In some ways we are all immigrants seeking a home. All we can do is strive to make those dreams come true.'"
Illya watched intently, his own breath beginning to deepen as he watched the passionate interplay before him. He clutched his wineglass so tightly that his knuckles whitened. How could he tell his partner his desires? Tell him how diminished he felt by this raw lust he was unable to subdue. As the band struck up its final piece of the set, “La Punalada,” he watched until he could watch no more, then slammed the chair away. Muttering an excuse to Estefan, Illya bolted for the door.
The old man watched after him with sad eyes as the band finished this last piece, appropriately entitled “The Stab.”
Napoleon finished the dance to a round of applause and kissed his partner’s fingertips in thanks, escorting her regally back to her seat. He caught sight of Illya dashing through the doors of the dance hall as if the hounds of hell were pursuing him. Confusion lit his eyes as he bid goodnight to the woman in red and stopped to tell Estefan farewell before following Illya out rapidly into the night.
The woman in red sighed sadly. Not tonight would she enjoy this handsome guapo. It was not destined to be. What a shame, she considered, a man that dances with that fire would be magnificent in bed.
I hope you enjoy this story as much as I do.
Tango
Pairing: Napoleon/Illya
Author on LJ: Not to my knowledge
Author's Website: None that I know of, but her MfU stories can be found on File 40
Why this must be read:
A truly erotic story that starts off at a simmer and slowly notches up by degrees. The sex scene is incendiary. At the end of a successful mission in Buenos Aires, Illya and Napoleon are treated to a night on the town by a grateful Innocent. Napoleon shows off his skill at the tango to distract himself from concerns over his partner's deepening isolation, while Illya watches and broods. Until he leaves. And Napoleon follows.
The throbbing yearning of the song cut into Illya’s already heightened senses like broken glass.
He could not escape the obvious sexual choreography of the dance. The pounding pulse of this music reminded him miserably of his own inability to suppress his own growing desires. As Napoleon bent his partner low over his arm backwards, bringing their lips tantalizingly close but pulling back at the last second, denying her what she sought, Illya turned away and gulped from his wine glass.
Estefan, not a dull man, was noticing the way the pain in the Russian’s eyes as he tracked his partner’s movement around the room. He was an old man, wise in the ways of the world. “So . . . ” he thought to himself, “ . . . this is how it is, at least for the blond one.” He doubted the milongeuro on the dance floor was aware of the passion this one had for him.
“It is said that the tango is the wail of frustrated love, Mr. Kuryakin,” Estefan added softly. “It speaks of destinies engulfed in pain. It is the dance of sorrow, less about love, than about loneliness, lust and pain. A wise man named Elshaw once said of the tango 'We have dreams that might not be realized, desires life might not fulfill. In some ways we are all immigrants seeking a home. All we can do is strive to make those dreams come true.'"
Illya watched intently, his own breath beginning to deepen as he watched the passionate interplay before him. He clutched his wineglass so tightly that his knuckles whitened. How could he tell his partner his desires? Tell him how diminished he felt by this raw lust he was unable to subdue. As the band struck up its final piece of the set, “La Punalada,” he watched until he could watch no more, then slammed the chair away. Muttering an excuse to Estefan, Illya bolted for the door.
The old man watched after him with sad eyes as the band finished this last piece, appropriately entitled “The Stab.”
Napoleon finished the dance to a round of applause and kissed his partner’s fingertips in thanks, escorting her regally back to her seat. He caught sight of Illya dashing through the doors of the dance hall as if the hounds of hell were pursuing him. Confusion lit his eyes as he bid goodnight to the woman in red and stopped to tell Estefan farewell before following Illya out rapidly into the night.
The woman in red sighed sadly. Not tonight would she enjoy this handsome guapo. It was not destined to be. What a shame, she considered, a man that dances with that fire would be magnificent in bed.
I hope you enjoy this story as much as I do.
Tango
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no subject
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