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crack_van2004-08-28 09:58 pm
vysila.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-08-28 09:58 pm
Entry tags:
Leather by Cord Smithee (NC-17)
Fandom: MAN FROM UNCLE
Pairing: Napoleon/Illya
Author on LJ: Not that I know of
Author Website: None that I know of, but a couple of his MfU fics can be found at The Chrome and Gunmetal Madhouse
Why this must be read: Three reasons: characterization; descriptive detail; intensity of emotion.
This one starts off at a sizzling temperature and only gets hotter. Winding down from a harrowing mission, Illya and Napoleon recall how it all started for them - the partnership, the easy and comfortable sense of belonging, the sex. Who can blame Napoleon for his leather fetish after what we learn here?
"You're telling me about Bonn. Which wasn't the first time we met, but no matter--"
"It was," Napoleon insisted. "In that rathskeller. With the greasy beer."
"And the hoppy sausages. Yes." The hair, the breath tickled Napoleon's belly now, the tongue outlining his navel. Napoleon relaxed the grip of his legs so Illya could stretch out, then tightened them again around those powerful thighs. Illya's hands slid under Napoleon's body, cupped his buttocks through his pajama bottoms. "You were so young," Illya said. "You wore a charcoal suit. Expensive, Italian. Pin-striped."
"You wore leather," Napoleon said. His eyes drifted closed, his body relaxing under the kisses, the kneading touch. His erection pressed hard against Illya's chest; Illya pretended not to notice. His tongue darted into Napoleon's belly button and out again, a mockery of a deep, wet kiss.
"Leather? That hardly sounds like me."
"A leather jacket," Napoleon clarified. "I noticed you as soon as you came down the stairs. I watch people--"
"--I know--"
"--every woman in the place turned to look, and half the men--"
"--of course."
"You had a motorcycle helmet on, a black bullhide jacket with scarred elbows, still zipped up to the chin. A silk scarf and boots, and American blue jeans that were tighter than anybody was wearing them, in 1955." Napoleon's breath was getting away from him. His belly muscles fluttered under the rough and soft of his partner's kisses. He bit back on a moan. "You pulled the helmet off and all that blond hair fell out from under it, and the girl I was flirting with had to excuse herself right then and there." A slight exaggeration, of course. But only slight.
I hope you enjoy this story as much as I do.
Leather
Pairing: Napoleon/Illya
Author on LJ: Not that I know of
Author Website: None that I know of, but a couple of his MfU fics can be found at The Chrome and Gunmetal Madhouse
Why this must be read: Three reasons: characterization; descriptive detail; intensity of emotion.
This one starts off at a sizzling temperature and only gets hotter. Winding down from a harrowing mission, Illya and Napoleon recall how it all started for them - the partnership, the easy and comfortable sense of belonging, the sex. Who can blame Napoleon for his leather fetish after what we learn here?
"You're telling me about Bonn. Which wasn't the first time we met, but no matter--"
"It was," Napoleon insisted. "In that rathskeller. With the greasy beer."
"And the hoppy sausages. Yes." The hair, the breath tickled Napoleon's belly now, the tongue outlining his navel. Napoleon relaxed the grip of his legs so Illya could stretch out, then tightened them again around those powerful thighs. Illya's hands slid under Napoleon's body, cupped his buttocks through his pajama bottoms. "You were so young," Illya said. "You wore a charcoal suit. Expensive, Italian. Pin-striped."
"You wore leather," Napoleon said. His eyes drifted closed, his body relaxing under the kisses, the kneading touch. His erection pressed hard against Illya's chest; Illya pretended not to notice. His tongue darted into Napoleon's belly button and out again, a mockery of a deep, wet kiss.
"Leather? That hardly sounds like me."
"A leather jacket," Napoleon clarified. "I noticed you as soon as you came down the stairs. I watch people--"
"--I know--"
"--every woman in the place turned to look, and half the men--"
"--of course."
"You had a motorcycle helmet on, a black bullhide jacket with scarred elbows, still zipped up to the chin. A silk scarf and boots, and American blue jeans that were tighter than anybody was wearing them, in 1955." Napoleon's breath was getting away from him. His belly muscles fluttered under the rough and soft of his partner's kisses. He bit back on a moan. "You pulled the helmet off and all that blond hair fell out from under it, and the girl I was flirting with had to excuse herself right then and there." A slight exaggeration, of course. But only slight.
I hope you enjoy this story as much as I do.
Leather
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