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Shane’s thighs were so warm against Ilya’s, even through his sweatpants. Whenever Ilya held him, he became so conscious of Hollander as a living piece of meat and muscle, a breathing, twitching, inhabited body. Usually being so aware of him felt intensely erotic, a thrill that ran over his skin. Just now Ilya thought it might turn the burn at the back of his throat into full-fledged sobs.
He squeezed his hot eyes shut, pressing his face into the linen of Shane’s shirt. It felt just slightly rough against his cheek. New, probably. He breathed through it.
When the rhythm of his breath had stabilised again, Shane was playing with the hair at the back of Ilya’s neck. He twisted his finger into a ringlet so it circled his finger, then let it drop. The fingers stroked gently at the hair — then another ringlet.
Shane leaned back again, arms still circling Ilya’s neck. “Better?”
Ilya shut his eyes and nodded, unable to stand looking at him just now. Warm, and close, and impossible. He lifted his head enough to put his forehead to Shane’s, where they could breathe the air from each other’s mouths. Shane’s breath caught, just slightly, a tiny stutter. His lips brushed Ilya’s.
It was the intimacy of it. That was what Ilya couldn’t stand, and what he needed. The static of the millimetres between their lips, the gentle pressure of his forehead on Ilya’s. If he kissed him, now — though oh, god, he wanted to — it would break the delicate, frozen warmth of this moment. Break it from something indefinable and tender into just sex, just what they always did. It was what he should do, but he couldn’t bear to do it yet.
He stroked his hands along the contours of Shane’s back. He could feel the bunch of muscle in his side, the jut of his shoulder blade. A body made for moving and living in. The dip of his spine down the centre, more pronounced lower down as the top of his glutes swelled. When he stood, there were dimples right in his lower back, and it always made Ilya want to put his thumbs in them. He succumbed now, skimming his hands down to rest above Shane’s hips. Shane shivered a little, and Ilya couldn’t resist any longer.
Deep and sweet, he opened his mouth to Shane’s, pressed up towards him. Shane let his lips fall open so easily, gasping into Ilya’s mouth. Leaving space for his tongue to lick into Shane’s mouth, map out the lush wetness of his tongue, the sharpness of his teeth. Shane’s fingers had clenched tightly around Ilya’s shoulders, holding on like they were about to be ripped apart. He moaned softly into the kiss, pushing his hips forward to get closer to Ilya.
Ilya pulled Shane tight against him, and kissed him the way he’d been thinking about for weeks. Months. Ever since Shane had stumbled out of his door, looking wrecked and broken. He fit their lips together, and drank Shane in. He tucked his hands under Shane’s shirt, revelled in the warm expanse of skin, every tiny noise that Shane made into his mouth. He kissed along the line of Shane’s jawbone, tucked his mouth into the vulnerable place where jaw met throat, scraped his teeth down his neck, bit at the ridge of his collarbone.
It didn’t take long for Shane to be squirming in his arms, so delightfully responsive. Ilya kissed him again, undoing the buttons on his shirt. A thumb over one nipple, and Shane’s hips jerked involuntarily. He was hard between the muscles of their stomachs.
Their clothes came off without discussion, the room quiet around them except for the rustle of fabric. Ilya loved to talk to Shane while he fucked him, usually. Loved to tell him how good he looked on Ilya’s cock, how prettily he flushed. He had no words left today. Once Shane’s shorts were off, he came back to straddle Ilya like he couldn’t bear to go any longer without touching him, without pressing the whole lengths of their bodies together.
Ilya opened him up slowly, with Shane still kneeling above him. God, he loved Shane’s face like this, the expression he made when he got that first touch to his prostate. Like he’d been desperate for it, missing it, and Ilya deep inside his body was the only thing that could sate that need. Shane shut his eyes through it, held Ilya’s jaw and his face as he kissed him.
When he finally sank down onto Ilya’s cock, Ilya felt like he might start sobbing again. The way he opened around Ilya was obscene — the slight resistance against his tip, parting wetly to allow him in — Ilya couldn’t control it, and he pushed up into Shane that last fraction of an inch, burying his face in his shoulder. He held Shane there, wrapped entirely around Ilya, split open on him. Shane’s fingers were stroking his hair again in absent, unconscious gestures as he panted through the exertion.
He fucked Shane slowly, in gentle, deep strokes. He angled Shane’s hips in his lap so that every thrust would stroke against his prostate, so that Shane’s face would relax into that astounded expression he got. Like he couldn’t believe that anything in this world could feel so good. Like he couldn’t believe how much he liked taking this, liked letting Ilya fill him and fuck him.
It lasted a long time, that night. Ilya held him in his lap, let his fingers map every inch of Shane’s body. He wrapped his hands around Shane’s buttocks, held him open for Ilya and listened to the shaky, high-pitched moans it drew out of him. He wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist, held him close and kissed his mouth, listened to the soft groans that elicited. He held Shane’s thighs around his sides, fixed his mouth to a nipple and lapped and bit at it until Shane was squirming with overstimulation and making breathy, fucked-out noises.
In the end, when Ilya couldn’t wait any longer, he wrapped his hand around Shane’s cock, and fucked him that fluid, driving motion Shane loved. It reminded Ilya of the rhythm of skates on the ice, of both of them racing each other, pushing and pushing and never able to eke out the advantage. He wound his free arm around Shane’s middle, held him tight against Ilya, and kissed him as he came, shaking and gasping. Ilya thrust one final, beautiful time into the heat of Shane’s body, and pressed his forehead up against Shane’s.
For as long as he could, he held Shane there. They kissed softly, lazily, tense muscles gone slack with pleasure. Ilya loved him like this, loose and fuzzy round the edges, that perfect control dissolved. He could live in that moment forever, his entire knowledge of the world narrowed to Shane's body against his, the warmth of skin and sweat, the floating sensation in his head that let nothing matter at all.
It never lasted long, though. Shane grimaced at the drying come between their chests, and went to shower. Ilya watched him walking into the bathroom, and couldn’t breathe from how beautiful he was.
It took Ilya a long time to fall asleep that night, Shane’s mouth forming Good night, Ilya behind his closed eyes, the pillows smelling tantalisingly not quite like him.