There are a few questions you ask yourself a lot in life. Did I pick up the dry cleaning? Where are my car keys? Did I put a new condom in my wallet after last night?

All right, that last one might just be me.

But the question I seem to ask myself most often is: How the hell did I get into this? And, surprise, surprise, every time I ask myself that question, Illya is around. I'm not sure if he's just such a good partner that he's around every time I get into trouble or if he's cursed, but today, I'm leaning more into the idea that he's just a pain in my ass.

"Napoleon, it's been nearly five minutes already. If you cannot untie a simple knot in that amount of time, how do you expect to be able to pick a lock?" Illya waved his watch in front of my face like a pendulum, apparently trying to make some sort of point. Whatever it was, it was lost on me because I was still trying to pick the knots on the rope he'd tied my wrists with. I swear, this man must work part time as a sadist because I know he was never a boy scout. I can barely reach the blasted knots.

This was not how I wanted to spend my Saturday. Trussed up like a leg of lamb, tied to a chair. And I'd just had this suit pressed. Worse, Illya has been standing over me with his watch, clucking about the time and looking so damned smug. Reminds me of my gym teacher in high school. I keep waiting for him to harp on me about running laps.

I suppose that this is just a little my fault. But then, how was I supposed to know that THRUSH had designed a new rope that was fireproof? That's why we have a Research Department, you know. Enforcement agents can't do everyone's job for them. Besides, we'd gotten out. Only Illya got it into his head that I needed a refresher course on knot untying. I don't know why he is so testy about it, they'd barely had to trim an inch off his hair and he looks better with a decent haircut.

I'd done pretty well on the first two tries, but this! My fingers were already sore, well on their way to numb, and I could tell the ropes weren't one bit looser than they were before.

"Seven minutes, Napoleon." Illya sighed and sounded greatly put upon. Oh, the poor thing, trapped with a partner that had no roping skills. He should ask Waverly to transfer him to the Texas office.

"I'm working on it," I gritted out. Yeah, sure I was. At this rate, I'd get loose just in time to start work on Monday. I could tell Illya knew it too, and if he sighed one more time, I was going to see to it that he had some time tied to a chair, too. Of course, he could get loose faster than I could, but not before half of headquarters had seen him with his pants off, that I promise you.

"Eight minutes, Napoleon, really! By this time, any decent THRUSH facility would have you drugged and spilling your secrets with a foolish grin on your face." I didn't say any of the four-letter words I was thinking but Illya seemed to hear it just as well, because he looked amused. Well, he looked like he usually did but with an amused air around it. Sort of...OK, just trust me, he was amused.

"What would you do," Illya mused, "If you were being tortured and you could not escape because of a few simple ropes?" He set aside the watch and stepped close enough to me that my nose was about the level of his belt buckle. Whoa, wait a second here. Practicing knots was one thing but no one used the 't' word when he suggested this little exercise.

"Uh...wha?" I sounded like an idiot, but maybe I could be excused because Illya suddenly just folded down to the floor, kneeling between my legs. What the hell was he...you know, Russians aren't as uptight about personal space as Americans, but I am pretty sure that putting your hands on someone's thighs and sort of rubbing isn't considered acceptable behavior. His thumbs were massaging their way higher, moving in deliciously wonderful little circles.

"There you would be, trapped." That was a tone of voice I'd never heard from Illya before, almost, well, a purr, and I may have looked like an idiot but my mother didn't raise any fools. Even if she had, having someone's face abruptly in your lap worked as a wonderful teacher. He traced the line of my zipper with the tip of his nose, just barely touching me.

"And all you would have to do is free yourself," Illya murmured, his voice muffled against my leg, "Is untie one little knot." Holy Mary, Mother of God, it had been years since I'd been to church, but Illya was so close I could feel his breath through my pants, little blurts of heat and that was almost enough to make me start praying again. If all THRUSH agents did their torture sessions like this, no one would need truth serum or cattle prods.

"But you can't." I just stared in stupid disbelief as Illya suddenly stood up. He shook his head sadly as he buckled on his watch. "Such a shame."

"Hey...I...you," I sputtered. Apparently my tongue and my cock are connected in ways I didn't know about because I couldn't seem to spit out a full sentence.

"Oh, well. I'm sure you'll get loose eventually," Illya did grin then, and who knew he could look so damned wicked. "If you survive the torture." The bastard actually blew me a kiss and walked, walked out the door. Son of a bitch, he just left me here! Tied to a damned chair with a damned hard-on in my own damned office!

Oh, he was going to pay and pay dearly, I decided grimly. It was amazing how a good adrenaline rush makes it easier to loosen knots. He was still going to lose his pants, that I promise, but I think somewhere private would be better, because he's going to lose a lot more too. And since he won't be watching me tie him up, I'm sure a little glue on the ropes would make it a better challenge for him.

Illya, naked, and squirming and tied to a chair, and I'll be sure to make him say please twice before I untie him. Now there is a mental image to urge you on.

After all, we could both use a little practice.



-finis-

 

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