I thought I was never going to write fic again (what was that Bond film called? Never Say Never Again?), but it turns out that I have two stories for the Thon. The first is slash (Yes! Explicit-sex-with-actual-rude-words type slash!) and it ties in with discussions that have been taking place in the last couple of weeks over on the Canteen.
Warning: Explicit sex
Word count: 397
In view of recent discussions at the Canteen, please read the Author's Note at the end.
"Listen to this!" said Illya.
He had what appeared to be the contents of a file spread out on his desk in front of him, and had been poring over it for almost half an hour, occasionally shaking his head in disbelief, in a manner that suggested Thrush had come up with some even more spectacularly absurd plan than usual.
"Go on," said Napoleon. "It's been a lousy day, I could do with a good laugh."
"I'm not sure laughter is an appropriate response," said Illya. "Listen to this. 'Oh, darling, he moaned, smothering his lover's body in hot wet kisses as his tongue worked its way down past the pearly nipples and the sweet dimple of the con
"There's nothing like a dose of bad porn to set you up for the evening," said Napoleon, with a grin.
"… to the massive erect tower of his golden manhood, which he took, panting, into the hot cave of his…"
"What?!" said Napoleon, sitting bolt upright.
"… oral cavity. Listen, it gets worse. 'I am going to melt you, my little Ice Prince,' he gasped, 'into a gooey puddle of
"That's… that's… that's…!" spluttered Napoleon.
"I couldn’t have put it better myself. But wait, there's more. '"Give it to me, Napoleon," groaned the smaller man, fixing his lover's chocolate orbs with his own ice-blue chips…'"
"'Give it to me, Napo…' Where the hell did you get that?"
"I liberated it from Lisa's desk," said Illya, grimly. "I couldn't work out why she kept giggling every time she looked at me. And now I know."
"Oh, is that who it's by?" said Napoleon, relaxing back into his chair. "Given the literary style, I thought it must be a Thrush blackmail attempt. Well, girls will be girls. It's all good clean fun."
"You have a strange definition of 'clean'."
"Good dirty fun, then. But look on the bright side, Illya, at least we know we, ahem, arouse interest among the ladies of UNCLE."
"You mean you don't mind?" said Illya.
"Why should I mind? Don't you think it's rather flattering to know you loom so, ah, large in Miss Rogers' thoughts?"
"I hadn't thought of it like that. I suppose it is rather flattering, to a certain type of mind… There is one thing bothering me, though."
"And that is?"
"How did she know?"
The sharp-eyed will have noticed that this fic draws heavily on the clichés mentioned in the recent Canteen discussion of the topic. It is in no way intended to imply that all slash fanfic, or even most slash fanfic, is clichéd and badly written – just Lisa's :-). Also, although when I was writing it I didn't think of it as a remix of the anti-slash story spikesgirl58 found on ff.net (because the trope of characters reading fanfic about themselves is a widespread one), in the light of the current discussion, it occurs to me that it's actually a pretty good illustration of one thing a remix might do.