Circle Line
“Whose brilliant idea was it to take the Underground in stead of hailing a decent cab?” Napoleon knew he was grumpy, but heat, stifling air and crowds did that to him. He also knew he should feel bad for venting his irritation at his partner, but who else was conveniently nearby? The unwashed backpacker pressing his frying pan into his kidney maybe?
“Napoleon. I am sorry that this is taking longer than scheduled.” Illya almost managed to look contrite, but Napoleon secretly suspected that he was enjoying their ordeal. Oh, yes. The pout proved that option.
“Yeah, well, it will mean less time at the
“Paddington. Mind the gap!”
More people entered, making Napoleon wonder if it was possible for a train to bulge. He sighed, grabbed a new sling overhead, just as the train pulled out of the station, and felt himself thrust even closer to Illya’s warm body. Illya blinked at him, giving him one of those half-grins that made Napoleon feel…well…feel.
“At least, Napoleon, this is a unique way for us to be intimate in public.” Illya bumped into him, on purpose, that little sneak.
The bumping was, Napoleon had to admit, well done, considering they were pressed together chest to chest, with no leeway whatsoever.
He could feel Illya’s bottle of water, safe in the pocket of his linen jacket, press into his hip. That, of course, gave him all sorts of ideas about what else he could have pressing against him, if not exactly when they were shaking and bumping along in an old, dirty train carriage.
They stopped at Notting Hill Gate and more eager tourists in ill-fitting clothes entered. “You’ve been eating too little lately, Illya. I’m worried about you.”
“What?” Illya shot him an incredulous gaze. “Are you feeling unwell, Napoleon?”
“Not at all,” he smirked. “I can feel your ribs.” He also noticed Illya’s interested cock poking into his belly, but he wasn’t about to mention that.
“Funny. You will have to feed me better in the future, then.” Illya’s eyes shone with a devious light, and Napoleon knew who exactly would have to pay for those extra meals.
The train screeched to a halt, preventing Napoleon from giving a clever retort, leaving them in eerie silence and the semi-darkness of the emergency lights. It made him hyper aware of just where they were; in an underground train, dangerously exposed to accidents and fires, surrounded by ill-smelling people he had no untold business with. If that wasn’t bad enough, the heat would probably make him faint.
Voices murmured in a cacophony of different languages around them again, but all Napoleon could hear was the panicked beating of his stupid heart; he really didn’t like to be closed in like this. He wanted to hit someone. Instead he leaned in and nosed at Illya’s neck, pressing his nose-tip into the soft hair just under his ear.
“Pasha.” Illya’s arms came up around him, Illya knew about this little irregularity of his, this fear of enclosed spaces. “Do you want some water? Sometimes this takes awhile.” Illya patted his back, to comfort him in a manly way, Napoleon guessed. It helped.
“No, not yet.” He sniffed Illya’s musky scent, feeling drugged. It was probably the heat, though.
“Okay,” Illya whispered, tilted his head, and in cover of the semi-darkness, kissed his cheek. Napoleon thought he could smell his intent. When Illya started trusting minutely against him, he knew he was right. Only thin cotton and linen separated them; it was impossible to ignore his partner’s ready erection, especially when it was lined up, with good aim, directly against his own. Close quarters with Illya always made him horny like hell, and not always in appropriate locations.
“Illya, you crazy sod! What are you doing?” He tried to pour outrage into his whispering voice, but failed. Spectacularly, when his last words were swallowed by a groan he couldn’t stop.
“You have been picking up British words, Napoleon.” Illya pressed impossibly closer. “I like that.”
Napoleon bet he did. “Well, you bloody git, what…ah…are you doing?”
“Ssh, Polya.” Illya leaned his forehead against his lips; Napoleon would not get to answer then. “Nobody will notice.” And they probably wouldn’t, at that.
“Okay,” he mumbled against Illya’s moist bangs, and let himself over to the sensations of an eager Illya rubbing against him, feeding the urgency that had started in his groin and spread through his body like wildfire. Illya moved so perfectly that it only took moments to pass the line of no return. He bent and buried his face in Illya’s shoulder, feeling Illya cross the line with him, shaking and giving Napoleon the extra pleasure of hearing him purring against his chest. He raised his head again and squinted around. Nobody seemed to have noticed their extracurricular behavior; everyone was busy complaining about the tube and the downs of public transportation. Some seemed more panicked than Napoleon, and he realized just what Illya had done.
Napoleon snickered, feeling affectionate, despite of what Illya had just instigated…and seen through. “You crazy cat! Diverting my attention with sexual favors in public places! I should spank you.”
“Ummm.” Illya said. Napoleon decided not to go there…this time.
The train jumped into action again, blending them with artificial overhead lights and making Napoleon painfully aware of their predicament. He leaned back into the backpack with the frying pan, so he could peek down at himself. The pale fabric of his linen trousers turned spectacularly dark when wet.
“As a punishment for this nasty behavior, you’ll have to wait to go to the museum. Lunch first.” Wine. “I need a bathroom.”
“Yes, Napoleon,” Illya answered meekly. But as usual, Illya’s eyes betrayed him, showing Napoleon the layers of emotions and understanding there.
Napoleon didn’t mind that.