"Who needed a strip club," thought Napoleon as he lay in bed watching Illya. Not that the Russian was taking his clothes off for the pleasure of his partner...not that he was taking them off at all. No, Illya was simply getting dressed to face the morning ahead, but the simple act of watching that slender body disappear under a layer of clothing was far far more erotic than any professional stripper's act that Napoleon had ever seen. And he had seen enough to make judgment upon the matter. But all of the strippers in all of the clubs that he had been to, none could compare to the sight of his partner.

Napoleon stifled a sigh as he watched the smooth firm buttocks recede beneath a layer of fresh white cotton. He could still see the shape of them through the material that clung to Illya like a second skin. As Illya turned around, Napoleon could see the nice neat package at his groin, before his attention was drawn to Illya's chest, specifically his nipples, the oh so delicate nipples that just begged to be caressed and sucked and have all sorts of other nice things done to them. But all too soon Illya's undershirt was being pulled down, hiding them from Napoleon's view.

"How could some people not understand," thought Napoleon, "That erotic as it was watching somebody take their clothes off, once they were done, that was it. No more surprises. But to watch somebody cover up their body - especially one as beautiful as Illya's - and knowing what was under the coverings but not being able to touch it, and counting down the hours until you could see it again, that, *that* was an even greater turn on."

But then who was he kidding, Napoleon told himself as Illya pulled up his trousers and threaded his belt through the loops. Illya could make *anything* appear erotic. From the simple act of tying his shoelaces, to brushing his hair first thing in the morning. Not that he needed to brush his hair quite so thoroughly. In Napoleon's opinion the tousled mop of blond that had greeted him on many mornings was more attractive than any of the well groomed highly styled hair sprayed to an inch of its life ladies that he squired around town.

Even writing the dullest of dull reports. Napoleon had often glanced over to see Illya sucking on the end of his pen as he collected his thoughts, apparently unaware of the effect the movement of his tongue and lips had on his partner's libido. Napoleon had never wanted to be a pen so much in his life.

He had once made the mistake of buying Illya a lollipop. After the first initial suspicion, Illya had taken to it like a duck to water. His tongue had caressed every square inch of the sugary surface, testing it, tasting it, stroking it almost lovingly. It had taken him almost half an hour to finish it, patiently licking away, licking and licking, even after Napoleon had suggested that he use his teeth to finish it off a little quicker.

"But why would I want to finish so quickly?" Illya had asked him with his big blue eyes looking oh so innocent. "If something is worth having then it is worth taking ones time over. To rush until one gets to the end when there is no need to hurry, what is the point of that?" He had looked so beautiful at that point...the coloring in the lollipop turning his lips a little pinker than usual...Napoleon had been tempted to kiss him there and then...to taste the sugar of the lollipop mixed in with the sweetness that was Illya. The fact that the sweetness masked one of the most dangerous men he knew only made it all the more attractive to Napoleon.

"He's beautiful," thought Napoleon, as Illya stood in front of the mirror to adjust his shoulder holster. "The way the light glistens off his hair...the way he purses his lips as he concentrates on getting the strap of the holster positioned exactly to his liking...the way he smooths down his hair even though he's just finished brushing it a few minutes ago...the way he smiles when he looks in the mirror and sees me watching him..."

"A dollar for your thoughts," said Illya.

"It's usually only a penny," Napoleon replied.

Illya shrugged, "You looked as if they were worth more than that."

"It was nothing," Napoleon said, watching as Illya paused for a moment before heading into the hotel bathroom to wash his hands.

"He's beautiful," thought Napoleon, "And maybe some day, some time, I'll be able to tell him so."