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Shane wriggled against the leather seat. He really wouldn’t like to be watched, but as a purely imaginary scenario, it fucking did something to him.
“Would you show me off?” Shane asked quietly.
He could feel the heat of Ilya’s gaze even without looking. “I would never stop showing you off,” Ilya said. “If I could.”
“Fucking hell,” Shane muttered.
-- The Long Game, chapter 5
-
The trick to get Shane talking about sex was, ideally, to do it while they were actually having sex. Second best was lying in bed in the dark after they’d fucked. After Ilya had changed the sheets and Shane had showered and was comfortable again, but before they fell asleep.
Ilya thought of this as he knelt over Shane on the bed and fucked Shane’s mouth, his knuckles blanched white where he gripped the headboard for leverage. He’d felt on the edge of orgasm for almost too long, getting to the brink and then pulling back and giving them both a rest until he could tolerate more. By now it had been enough he’d lost count. Shane looked beautiful under him, the lamplight showing sweat and tear tracks running down his temples into his hair, and a sheen of spit covering his chin. The night had been a quiet one. If Ilya listened, all he could hear was his own panting and Shane’s sweet, muffled moans around his dick.
“You are so fucking good for me,” Ilya said, moving one hand from the headboard to Shane’s hair and gripping hard. Shane’s eyes fluttered open for a moment. He looked drunk.
“You like to be good for me, hmm?”
Shane moaned louder, wriggling slightly under Ilya’s weight.
“I know, sweetheart. I want to show everyone. Show off how good you are, how you beg for my cock in your throat.”
A shudder moved through Shane’s body and he looked up at Ilya, a frantic expression in his eyes. He pushed his face impossibly closer to Ilya’s hips, sucking him down just a millimetre further.
“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya gasped. “You can have it now. Make me come.”
Shane’s eyes squeezed closed and he swallowed, choked momentarily, and swallowed again around Ilya’s cockhead. Ilya could feel the buzz of Shane moaning, the sound of it moving from deep in his chest, and Ilya dropped his firm grip on control and came with a shout. He fought to keep his eyes open to watch it happen, shooting in Shane’s mouth until some of it dripped out, then pulling back to give himself a few more rough strokes, dripping more onto Shane’s lips. Shane stared up at him, both of them breathing hard, and opened to show Ilya the pool on his tongue. Then he swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and licking that off too.
“Oh my God, you’re going to fucking kill me,” Ilya groaned.
After a few more breaths, he managed to gather himself enough to drop between Shane’s thighs and suck him down. Shane had apparently been on the edge just from Ilya fucking his mouth, and it took him just moments to get there, biting the pillow next to his face and muffling the animal noise that emerged as he came, hard. His body went rigid for a long moment, and then he flopped boneless against the pillows, sighing out a soft oh. Ilya rolled over and shimmied up to lie next to him, touching Shane’s lips with his fingertips. They stayed there till they’d caught their breaths.
After, once they were both clean and dry and the sheets were fresh, Shane turned out the lamp and rolled over. He was just barely visible in the sliver of moonlight that came through the blinds, if Ilya squinted. Better yet, Ilya could close his eyes and feel Shane breathing, smell his skin and the soap with a stupid name that he was contractually obligated to use.
“You like the idea of me showing you off,” Ilya said quietly into the dark, and put an arm around Shane, to keep him from startling.
“Yeah, I mean, I guess.” He was still there, though his body had tensed. Ilya rubbed his back slowly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“Tell me what you like about it.”
Shane groaned softly, turning his face into the pillow. “Oh my God, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Or you are too shy to say?”
Ilya felt Shane shrug, and decided to change tactics. He poked Shane in the stomach.
“Fine, I will guess. You are secret exhibitionist.”
“No.”
Ilya poked him again.
“You have fantasy of All-Stars locker room gangbang.”
“No! What the fuck. No, Ilya.”
Ilya sighed, cool and nonchalant. “OK. Is unsolved mystery. I am out of options.”
A moment passed, and then Shane shifted a little closer, taking a hesitant breath in. Got him. Ilya smirked to himself in the dark.
“It’s not about actually being watched, okay? Like, I’m pretty sure my dick would actually shrivel up and fall off if anyone was really watching."
“OK, so not that.”
“It’s…” Shane thought about it. Ilya could practically hear the gears turning, slowly and effortfully. The way Shane operated both annoyed and softened him. Shane felt things and wanted things like anyone else, but he took a long time to figure out what those things were, and even longer to put words to them.
“Do not think too hard, moy pomidor.”
“Okay,” Shane said quietly, and pressed a little closer. It seemed to help him, to feel wrapped up in Ilya when he tried to say things aloud. Ilya put one hand in his hair and held him, breathing out when he breathed in.
“It’s like…two things, I think. One is I want people to know about us, but that’s too - that’s too much, right now. But still, it’s the idea of it. Showing people, showing everyone, saying hey, this is me, this is us. That’s…I like that.”
Ilya was intimately familiar with the way you could dodge the things you feared by making them into things you fucked about instead. He didn’t comment on that. Instead, he asked,“You want to show who? People you know?”
“No! No, um, just…whoever. The world, people in general.”
“Okay, that is one. Go on.”
“Um, the other thing is…” He paused. “Don’t make fun of me, okay?”
“I would never!”
Shane scoffed.
“Fine, I would. I love to. Is so easy. But not about this.”
Ilya felt Shane turn his face, his mouth brushing Ilya’s chest, and kiss his collarbone and his neck.
“Okay. The other part is I like, um. When you tell me I’m good. And I like…the idea that I’m being good for you, and - maybe that’s what you’d show off. That I’m yours.”
Shane’s cheek felt hot against Ilya’s skin, but Ilya shivered, a thrill moving through him. Something that felt dark and hungry. He tightened his hand in Shane’s hair, and felt Shane soften against him.
“You are mine.”
“Yeah,” Shane said, a note of pride in his voice that made Ilya want to do terrible things, like tie him up and keep him in that bed surrounded by windows for hours and hours. Cover him in bruised bite marks he’d never be able to hide in the locker room. Put a ring on his hand that anyone could see and make him promise to never, ever leave.
Ilya pulled him closer by the hair and kissed him, deep and filthy, tugging his lower lip with his teeth as they parted.
“I would not make fun of this. I like this too.”
“I can tell.” Shane slotted his thigh between Ilya’s legs, grinding slowly against where Ilya was halfway hard again.
“Do not start shit with me, Hollander,” Ilya grumbled. “I will chafe. You are so demanding.” That made Shane laugh, and Ilya kissed him again, then flopped over to his other side before he could give in to the temptation to keep making Shane tell him things. Better to leave Shane thinking about it himself.
“Where are you. Fucking come spoon me.”
“Oh, I’m demanding.” Shane obeyed, fitting himself in behind Ilya and making himself comfortable - a foot on top of Ilya’s, one arm over his stomach, close enough to kiss the back of his neck.
“Better.”
Shane yawned. “G’night.”
It took Shane till the afternoon to ask, which meant he had probably been thinking about it silently all morning, turning it over in his mind.
“What do you like about it?”
Shane was driving them into town to get groceries, his hands at ten and two on the wheel. Ilya couldn’t see his expression fully behind the Ray-Bans that made him look kind of douchey in a sexy hockey player way.
“About what?” Ilya asked, all innocence.
“You know. What we were talking about last night.”
“Ah yes, All-Stars gangbang. What is phrase? ‘No loads refused’?”
Shane chewed his lip in the way he did when he was trying really hard not to laugh.
“You are so annoying."
Ilya took his hand and held it in both of his. Looked out the window at the road ahead.
“I want to tell people all the time you are mine. I want to show them. Is fucking unbelievable. Hottest player in NHL likes to be good for me.”
Ilya looked back at him. Shane’s cheeks had started to go pink.
“And you are so good,” Ilya continued, wanting to push. “Nice mouth. Perfect ass. Look good on your knees.”
Shane licked his lips, darting a look over at Ilya.
“So, what, you want to be watched? Or just me?”
“You are star of show. I do not mind being watched but you, it’s better.”
“Huh.”
Shane was quiet, turning it over again in his mind. He tended to do that, to look at things from all angles before speaking.
“You don’t want to, um…” He swallowed. “You don’t want other people really, like, involved though, right? Like, touching - ”
“No,” Ilya cut in, flat. “I am selfish man. I do not share.”
Shane sat back and let go of the tight grip he’d had on the steering wheel, letting it slide through his hand as he turned into the Sobeys parking lot.
“Okay.”
Hours later, in bed again, Shane spoke.
“So how do you do something if you don’t actually want to do it?”
Ilya cracked one eye open, not quite willing to move. He was perfectly cozy, stretched out like a starfish across his half of the bed and some of Shane’s too.
“Less vague, please,” he murmured.
Shane huffed. Ilya could imagine the exact scrunched expression on his face, even in the dark.
“People, you know, fantasize about all sorts of things. You can’t always do them. So what’s the alternative?”
“You are asking how I will have sexy time showing you off, without actually inviting All Stars over for - ”
Shane reached over and smacked him on the leg.
“If you say fucking gangbang again I swear - ”
Ilya gasped loudly, “Language, Hollander,” shoving him back as much as he could without moving from his warm spot .
“You’re such an asshole. Where did you even learn that word - never mind. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Your loss.” Ilya shrugged, grinning to himself in the shadowed dark. “Use imagination. For what you don’t want to do. Like when you learn new skill, you practice but you also - what is it?”
“Visualize?”
“Yes. You are good at this.”
“I guess.”
Ilya closed his eyes again, sinking into the pillow. “I will help. Do not worry.”
“You’ll help?” Shane shoved closer to Ilya, leaning over him. “What does that mean?”
“Will be fun, stop panicking. Now let me sleep.”
“What will be fun?”
Ilya wiggled his toes under the blanket. There was very little in the world he loved more than getting under Shane’s skin.
“Shhhh,” he whispered, holding in laughter, and felt Shane give up and flop over onto his side with a groan that sounded equal parts annoyed and charmed. The perfect ratio.
-
Shane watched him all day.
It was incredibly, deeply irritating how cool Ilya was; while Shane felt like he was vibrating out of his skin, Ilya appeared to be having a mundane afternoon sipping coffee and playing Sudoku on his phone. Every so often he would catch Shane staring at him and give a perfectly innocent, loving smile. It was infuriating.
Unfortunately, Shane was deeply sexually fucked up. He knew this because he loved it when Ilya implied he might get something later, but made him wait and work for it. He also loved it when Ilya took control.
Even consciously acknowledging that yeah, he kinda liked being told what to do was still new and weird. The weirdest thing was, Ilya didn’t act like there was something wrong with him. He loved to tease Shane, but he managed to ask him what he liked and why while he was doing it, and then he seemed to enjoy giving Shane those things. Being told what to do didn’t really feel like being managed, with Ilya. It felt more like being guided toward parts of himself he hadn’t quite understood before. He still didn’t, not fully, but he was getting to know them a little better.
“What are you thinking about?”
Shane startled. Ilya was lying on the couch, leaning up on one arm and looking at him.
“Nothing,” Shane said quickly, without deciding to, and Ilya laughed. Shane could feel himself blushing. It happened so easily, still, with Ilya.
“After dinner,” Ilya said, with an air of telling Shane important information.
“Fine.” Shane got up from the kitchen table and headed toward his bedroom to change into gym stuff. A workout wouldn’t really do anything, but it was his only option. He didn’t need to look down to feel Ilya’s eyes on him as he climbed the stairs, and it made him feel even warmer.
Later, once the counters were wiped clean and Shane had finished loading the dishwasher, he came back out to the deck. Ilya leaned against the wooden railing at the edge, eating one of the fresh peaches from the farmer’s market in town.
Shane watched his mouth. Juice from the fruit dripped down his thumb and wrist, and he raised his hand to lick it off, then grinned at Shane.
“Hi,” he said, and took another bite.
Shane tried his best not to look like an idiot, but there was only so much he could do. It was a clear, beautiful night, in his favourite place, and Ilya was the sexiest person he’d ever met.
“I’m really lucky,” he blurted out. It had been three years since Ilya had first come to the cottage, and he still felt thrilled and free when he said things like that without having to think too much about it, about who was around or what it might mean.
Ilya swallowed, then tossed the pit of the peach onto the table and wiped his hand on his shorts.
“Come here,” he said, and Shane went, gratefully.
The feeling of agitation that had come and gone all day started to settle when Ilya kissed him, dipping his tongue into Shane’s mouth and pulling him firm against Ilya’s body. He tasted like peaches. Shane felt a sense of relief that made absolutely no sense. They slept in the same bed last night and had been in the same house all day.
Ilya’s hands felt good on his back, holding him close. He knew how strong Ilya was, how good the flex of his biceps and forearms looked when he braced himself over Shane and fucked him. Shane made a small noise in his throat as they kissed. Couldn’t help it.
Ilya pulled back and shifted to speak in Shane’s ear. “Go upstairs, get on the bed. I will be up soon.”
Shane did not want to walk away. But he would. He would do what Ilya asked of him.
“Okay,” he said, and went upstairs.
The bedroom was warm and the blankets still mussed from the morning. Shane usually made the bed, but today he’d been distracted. He took off most of his clothes and folded them on the dresser, then puttered around in his underwear, tidying things that didn’t really need to be tidied and listening for sounds from downstairs. He went to the bathroom quickly and double-checked that everything was as clean as could be. He swished some mouthwash and spat it out.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Shane forced himself to walk back into the bedroom at a slow pace. He arranged himself in the middle of the bed, sitting up against the pillows and crossing his legs.
Ilya walked in and stood against the doorframe, just looking at him. It occurred to Shane that they were in nearly the same positions as that night in Vegas, years ago: him on the bed, exposed and waiting for instruction; Ilya, watching. It made him shiver.
“C’mere,” he said, and Ilya gave him that small, crooked little smile, approaching him like a graceful, predatory cat. Ilya put something down on the bedside table that Shane couldn’t see, and then straddled Shane’s thighs, his weight insistent and comforting.
They looked at each other for a moment.
Ilya pulled something dark and fabric from his pocket.
“Is okay?”
It took a second to process, but them Shane felt himself kindling, a spark heating up inside. It was the tie they’d used once before as a blindfold, just to try. Just to see how it felt.
Shane nodded, emphatically, and Ilya chuckled.
“Okay.”
He didn’t need to tell Shane to close his eyes. The soft tie went around his head and Ilya carefully tied it off, testing the slack.
“Too tight?”
“No, it’s good.” Shane felt the same sense of relaxation start to creep in as he had last time. He couldn’t see anything, and he didn’t need to. Ilya would take care of him.
He felt Ilya lean in close, breath warm on his neck. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” Shane said, immediately.
Ilya kissed him.
“Will be fun, I think. Tell me if you do not like.”
“Okay.”
Ilya moved away, then, getting up off the bed, and Shane turned the same direction he’d gone.
“I will be right back. I invited some people over and they just texted they are here.”
Holy shit. We’re doing this.
Shane struggled to catch his breath for a moment, overwhelmed with panicky excitement. It’s not real, he reminded himself. Ilya waited til he seemed to be breathing again, then went to the bedside and did something that made a soft click. He left the room, his footsteps fading as he went downstairs. Shane could hear the front door open and close, and then - more footsteps? It sounded like multiple people were in his house, but he hadn’t heard a car in the driveway, and no way would Ilya actually invite -
Wait.
The fairly minuscule part of Shane’s brain that was still thinking clearly tapped him on the shoulder and told him to listen, dumbass. Every sound that was freaking him out was coming from directly next to him. The little Bluetooth speaker Ilya had bought to keep on the deck.
He’s taking this seriously, Shane thought, and wanted to laugh at the absurdity of putting together, what, a soundscape playlist for this weird sex thing Shane was into? He kind of wanted to cry, too, somehow. He wanted Ilya back desperately.
Finally, he heard Ilya approaching, and felt the movement of air in the room as the door opened.
“Wherever you can find space,” Ilya said, and it took Shane a moment to realize Ilya wasn’t talking to him. “I do not think everyone can fit in this room. So sorry. You will still be able to hear him from outside, though. He can get loud."
Ohfuck he’s talking about me - Shane didn’t think he’d ever blushed this hard, this quickly. His whole body felt hot and exposed and embarrassed.
He was into it.
The sounds had shifted, now to a soft, ambient suggestion of people breathing and occasional shifting, and a quiet chatter of voices he couldn’t make out in the distant background. Ilya climbed back onto the bed and knelt next to Shane.
“I knew you would be popular,” he said, tugging Shane’s underwear down his thighs and tossing them somewhere. “Only had to make one Instagram post. Barely said anything. All I put was photo of you from that wet t-shirt commercial and little caption, who wants to see in bedroom? I could not keep up with messages.”
Shane’s stomach flipped. It was difficult to breathe, and he was vaguely aware that he was rock hard.
“Take breath, moy lyubimyy,” Ilya murmured, and put his hand on Shane’s belly to feel him breathe in and out, in and out.
“Good. You are okay?”
Shane nodded. “Uh huh.”
“Okay,” Ilya said, and moved his hand further down to wrap around Shane’s cock and stroke it. firmly.
“Oh, shit,” Shane gasped. In a moment, the hand was gone.
“Go ahead. Touch yourself. They want to see.”
Shane was suddenly, strangely afraid that Ilya would leave him there, the centre of attention on his own.
“Okay, but don’t move. Don’t go.”
Ilya was quiet, and Shane wondered what he was thinking. Then he settled next to Shane on the bed, putting an arm around his shoulders and nudging him to lean on Ilya’s chest.
“I don’t go anywhere.” He pressed a kiss into Shane’s hair. “Now, touch.”
Shane did as he was told, and immediately swore at the sensation of his own hand, squeezing his eyes closed. Fuck, he was already so on edge, his cock starting to drip just from imagining -
“That’s it,” Ilya told him.
He fisted his cock slowly, feeling a tremble in his thighs already. Ilya gripped Shane’s thigh and held it, spreading him open in a way that made him lightheaded.
He felt Ilya’s dick hard against his hip and groaned, turning his face toward where he thought Ilya was. “I want you, I want to touch - ”
“You will get, when I decide to give to you.” Ilya dug his fingertips into Shane’s thigh, holding it tight, hard enough to bruise. The thought made Shane moan, speed up his hand on his cock, and he could feel it on his skin, he could feel Ilya leaving marks on him and feel the eyes of everyone in the room watching -
“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, and Ilya let go of his thigh to grip his wrist.
“Don’t come yet.”
He’d been so close already. He took a deep breath in and out, shaky on the exhale. Ilya held his wrist and brought that hand to his mouth to kiss Shane’s knuckles.
“Good,” Ilya said against his skin, and Shane let it sink in. Then, Ilya told him: “You can suck my cock now.” As though it was a reward.
It felt like one.
“On your knees.” Ilya shifted, guiding Shane off the side of the bed. Shane could tell himself that he hadn’t chosen the rug next to the bed based on how comfortable it would be to kneel on, but that would be a lie. He couldn’t muster up any embarrassment about it, not here as he dropped to the floor, waiting for Ilya to give him what he wanted.
“Back up a little. Give space, please,” Ilya told someone who Shane knew wasn’t really there, but whose gaze he could feel on the back of his neck anyway.
He heard the rustle of what must be Ilya’s shirt and shorts coming off, tossed someplace Shane would be annoyed to find them later. He imagined Ilya’s necklace falling on his chest as he tugged the neck of his t-shirt over his head. The cross would always hang down and brush Shane’s chest or neck when Ilya was on top, swinging with the momentum of how fast Ilya decided to fuck him. Once, the angle was a little weird and it had brushed his lips; on instinct, Shane had opened to it, let it rest on his tongue. It had tasted like metal and sweat, and Shane still remembered the look of awe on Ilya’s face, watching him.
“Come here.” Ilya’s voice came from in front of him, where he must be standing. Shane tilted his head up though he couldn’t see, and leaned closer. One of Ilya’s big hands cupped his jaw and Shane opened his mouth, ready.
“Always so eager.” Ilya held him still and pushed his cock just inside, sliding the tip against Shane’s tongue. “Watch. He is beautiful like this.”
Ilya thrust into Shane’s mouth, then, slowly letting him get used to the pace.
The particular weight and shape of Ilya’s cock in his mouth was something Shane had been coming home to since he was eighteen. He felt himself quiet inside, his thoughts slowing as he leaned in close, letting the taste spread on his tongue. He used to pretend he didn’t love it, years ago.
Ilya gripped his hair and held him there, slowly nudging his cock just into the curve of Shane’s throat, giving him time to protest. He felt himself start to drool, wetness pricking at the corners of his eyes, and he took it.
“You see?” Ilya said, starting to pant. Shane could swear he felt someone’s breath on his shoulder, like they were leaning over him to watch. “He is too good. Next time I will make him wait for it, let you see him beg.”
Someone laughed softly. Not quite mocking, more a diminutive sound - how sweet. Shane’s face burned, but he didn’t move away, only rubbed his tongue along the underside of Ilya’s cock, swallowing ungracefully and trying to relax, to make more room. He always wanted more.
Ilya stayed there, not pushing, but not easing off. “He learned how to take me like this so fast. He is quick learner. I think he was made for this.” He paused, cursing under his breath and tightening his fingers in Shane’s hair. “He was made for me.”
Shane’s heart twirled in a happy little circle. He loved to be good at this, to be good for Ilya, to make space for Ilya in his body everywhere he could. Ilya’s cock slipped deeper into his throat and he couldn’t breathe, but that was alright. He wanted Ilya to decide, wanted the burn in his chest. He would wait. He would be good.
He couldn’t have said how much time passed, but one moment he blinked, and then he was coughing, gasping cool air into his empty mouth and lungs. Ilya’s thumb rubbed his bottom lip where it was wet with spit and he licked it, drawn to whatever he could taste like a beacon.
“Up,” Ilya said, “Come on,” and took his hand, tugging him to stand. Ilya kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, the tip of his nose. “Still OK?” Ilya murmured, and Shane nodded.
“Yeah.” His voice sounded gravelly to his ears, and he swallowed, a little ache blooming. His breathing slowed.
Ilya kissed his earlobe. “They cannot take their eyes off you,” he whispered.
Shane made a fairly embarrassing noise. He was so fucking hard it made him lightheaded. “Please fuck me.”
“Such a polite Canadian boy.” Shane could hear the smile in Ilya’s voice. “You hear this? Such a good boy for me.”
He shoved Shane back onto the bed and manhandled him back into the position he wanted, on his back with knees bent and falling open. Shane wasn’t that much shorter than Ilya, and he was over two hundred pounds of mostly muscle. He was nearing thirty. And still, something about being tossed around and called a good boy did it for him.
“Come closer, come on,” Ilya said, his voice somewhere off to Shane’s left. The drawer to the bedside table opened and closed. The soft sounds of their guests breathing and shifting got a little louder. The floor creaked.
Ilya, warm and heavy, settled back on top of Shane then. “You need me to fuck you?” he murmured.
Even after all these years, there was still a little raw edge of shame about it. What did it say about him that he liked taking it this way? That it got him off to be watched doing the very thing every dickhead jock had used as a gross-out insult since he was in juniors?
Right now, it was hard to care all that much. He’d had enough practice at making that edge of shame manageable, or even leaning a little into it.
He wasn’t supposed to like this. And yet, he did.
“Yeah. Please.”
“Mm.” Ilya dug his teeth into Shane’s shoulder, then moved, kissing his pec, his ribs, his hipbone. He heard the cap pop open on the bottle of lube they’d almost gone through that week alone.
Ilya’s fingers were cool when they brushed against Shane’s hole, and his hips jerked up involuntarily, held in place by Ilya’s other hand warm and firm on his stomach.
“Stay still, please.”
Ilya didn’t rush, would never rush this unless Shane asked him to, but he didn’t needlessly take his time either. He pressed one finger in, all the way to the base of his knuckle, and waited. It wouldn’t take long; in the summers they fucked often enough that Shane was relaxed and easy. He liked it that way. Most of all, he liked knowing that Ilya was obsessed with it, always wanting to bend him over the couch and eat him out, always talking shit about how Shane was so loose and eager and what a slut he was for Ilya’s cock. It made him feel powerful.
A second finger joined the first, then, slipping in easily. The stretch felt good. Familiar. Shane arched his back, shifting his weight so he could rock back against Ilya’s fingers and feel it a little deeper.
He moaned. Ilya kissed his knee, pressed his cheek to Shane’s thigh and fucked him slowly. Shane didn’t have to see to know he was watching his fingers move in and out.
“My favourite is to see this,” Ilya said, confirming it. “You should all appreciate. I love to watch him take when I fuck him. He is natural at this.”
The image came to Shane’s mind vividly: people filling the room, pushing to get closer and get a glimpse of him trembling in Ilya’s hands. Something gave way inside him, letting him sink into the fantasy.
Then Ilya leaned in close and spat, and that was that. He heard it a fraction of a second before he felt it, wethot on his rim and then pushed inside him when Ilya gave him a third finger. “Fuck,” he whispered, “fuck, oh my - please, Ilya,” and then Ilya pulled his hips up, up and crouched over him to lick just where his fingers met Shane’s body, his tongue wet and hot and unbelievable, pushing insistent at his hole and then up, up, lips pressed to his balls and wetting them too, and Shane spread his legs more and rocked up, desperate, suddenly back on the edge -
“Oh fuck Ilya, I’m going to - ”
“Not yet.”
Ilya pulled away, gently settling Shane’s weight back on the bed and stilling his hand. Shane gasped, shaking. The fingers were still there, inside him, filling him, but Ilya didn’t move. He pressed his lips to Shane’s knee again and waited.
“Do you know what I love?” he asked the room, quietly. Shane took deep breaths. The floor creaked again, right next to him. Someone was leaning over to get a better look.
“I love,” Ilya continued, “that I was first one to touch him here.” He curled his fingers just slightly, making Shane twitch. It felt like he was almost petting Shane from the inside. “He tried before. Used toy. But was not enough, hmm?”
Only the last part was directed to Shane. It seemed like it should be humiliating, and maybe it was, kind of, but he didn’t give a fuck. It was true.
“No,” he said, and tried not to whine at the sensation of Ilya’s fingers, curling up and in, rubbing him inside, right where they belonged.
“No,” Ilya agreed, satisfied.
Then he took his hand away, withdrawing his fingers and leaving Shane empty.
“What - ” Shane gasped, confused at both the loss and the sudden ache and burn behind his eyes that signaled tears.
“Hey. Sweetheart. You want condom?”
Oh, Shane thought, I’m okay. I’m just… He didn’t know what the word was. He felt good, and a little disjointed, and like he was floating. He focused on the question, and shook his head. “No. Please, just - ”
He heard Ilya’s hand on his cock, slick and wet, and reached out. Relief flowed through him like the tide when Ilya came back, closer, finally close enough. He hooked one of Shane’s knees over his elbow and spread him open, the blunt, wet head of his cock catching on Shane’s rim as he rubbed it there back and forth.
“Please.”
“Watch. Watch his face,” Ilya told the room, and pushed in.
Shane didn’t think about what his face was doing, usually. Not in bed, anyway - he did when he was meeting people or trying to make conversation, and he knew there were things he should do that would make him look engaged and likeable. He didn't know what it looked like when he was having sex, or what it was supposed to look like. It didn’t matter; what mattered was Ilya liked it and thought it was worth seeing.
Shane let his head fall back on the pillow, mouth open, and let himself moan loudly enough that everyone outside the room could hear. God, he wanted them to.
Ilya moved slowly but didn’t pause until he’d bottomed out, his hips pressed flush to Shane’s ass. He ground himself against Shane and touched where they were joined, rubbing his thumb right up against where Shane was stretched tight around his cock. “This is mine, here,” he said, sounding proud. “He is mine. Tell them.”
“I’m - this is yours,” Shane managed, panting. “I’m yours. I’m, I’m his,” he corrected himself, “Jesus Christ, fuck me, please.”
“Good boy,” Ilya whispered, only for him to hear, and started to move. Shane couldn’t see anything, but he knew that they must look beautiful like this. It was impossible that anyone could watch them fuck and not see how they fit one another, how much they loved each other, how it was worth the years of waiting.
Shane tilted his head back, letting out a soft uh every time Ilya bottomed out, sighing at the drag of Ilya’s cock inside him, over and over. He covered his face with his arms without thinking, and Ilya grabbed them one at a time, pinning his wrists to the bed and fucking him a little harder.
“Do not hide,” Ilya told him firmly. Then: “Fuck, you look so good.”
He couldn’t see but he knew where Ilya was, where every part of him was. He knew Ilya in the dark, by feel, by taste. When he lifted his face like this he knew Ilya would kiss him and let his hands wriggle free, and then he could dig his fingers into Ilya’s curls, hold him there, moan and beg against his mouth and tilt his hips a little more to let him deeper, show everyone that he would take anything Ilya gave him and he would do it well. Better than anyone else.
“Fuck,” Ilya groaned, “fuck, fuck, you feel too fucking good, Shane, you want my come in you? You want?”
Hearing that, Shane’s body abruptly remembered that he himself had already been on the verge of coming twice. He nodded frantically, thoughts gone except this animal longing to be filled, to have Ilya leave himself behind inside him. He wanted Ilya to come in him and fuck him with it. He wanted people to watch him like that, begging for it, and to know that it was him, Shane, his body that had made Ilya come. The thought made the dark of his closed eyes burn red at the edges, and he had to hold on. It felt impossible, the crest of orgasm rising in his belly and thighs and tightening deep in his pelvis every time Ilya fucked into him, rubbing his prostate, filling him.
He could, he could wait, he wanted - he would be good -
“I give you. Anything you want, anything - ” Ilya gasped and came with a shout, his hips stuttering, and Shane felt it inside him, wanted it there, wanted all of it. Ilya pinned him with his weight, short fingernails digging into the meat of Shane’s thigh. “Now, you can come now,” he said, between a few last jackrabbit thrusts, his cock pulsing inside, and Shane let go. He’d earned it.
His cock spurted on his chest and belly, untouched, twitching. His whole body tensed and released, tensed and released, and he cried out, dimly aware of Ilya saying something but unable to focus. It was more intense than it was even usually, when coming full of Ilya’s fingers or cock left him shaking and breathless. It was too much.
It was the other best thing his body could do besides hockey, and people could see, but it belonged to him and Ilya alone.
When he came back to Earth, trembling with aftershocks, Ilya was pressing kisses to his hips and thighs, murmuring something in Russian. Shane reached for him. He shimmied up the bed and wrapped his arms around Shane, pressing their foreheads together.
“Solnyshko,” he said softly, and they kissed, slow and uncoordinated. Ilya’s fingers moved through Shane’s hair, petting the nape of his neck. He still felt like he was floating.
“How do you feel?” Ilya asked, after a while.
Shane couldn’t answer for a moment, not until he kissed Ilya again and swallowed down the wave of something bright and electric that made it impossible to speak.
“I love you,” he said, once he was able. “That was - fuck. I dunno, I feel kinda out of it? Not in a bad way. I’m just, I don’t know. I love you.”
He felt Ilya smile.
“Good. Okay. I am…” Ilya took a deep breath. “I am so lucky. Cannot believe, sometimes.”
Shane wanted to see him. “Can I take this off?” he asked, plucking at the cloth over his eyes.
“Oh, yes, just let me get these people out of house. Too crowded, now.”
Turning his head, he addressed the room. “Okay, show is over. Go jerk off at home, yes? Get out of here.” He rolled over and fiddled with something on the nightstand, and the sounds of people slowly faded. “Enjoy,” he called toward the door, after the fading footsteps. “You are welcome for precious memory!”
Shane laughed. He was starting to come back from wherever his brain had gone during that…whatever it was. There was a word people used, for sex stuff like this where you pretended something. He couldn’t bring himself to care enough to think about it. It was just…what he and Ilya did, together.
He felt Ilya’s fingers at the back of his head and the tie loosened, then was gone. It was too bright despite the dim lamplight and he squinted, blinking at Ilya like something emerging from underground into the outside world.
When it didn’t hurt to look anymore, he opened his eyes. The expression in Ilya’s face was almost too much all over again.
“You are okay?” Ilya asked, running his thumb along Shane’s cheekbone.
Shane nodded. He felt like he was in a spotlight.
“I love you,” Ilya said, and for a moment, he looked fragile.
Shane kissed him. “I know,” he whispered, “I know you do, baby, you’re so good to me.”
Ilya relaxed a little, nestling his face into Shane’s neck. “Is all I want to do.”
-
Ilya woke before Shane the next morning. He laid still for a long while, staring up at the ceiling and letting his mind wander.
He was not ashamed of his sexual history. He did not regret most of what and who he’d done. But sometimes, in the wake of doing something new with Shane, he worried.
He couldn’t quite explain why if pressed, at least not in English. It was something to do with how many people he had fucked and how few Shane had, other than Ilya. How possessive he felt of Shane, and how unbearably hot he found it that everything Shane did and liked during sex was what he had learned from being with Ilya. He worried, because these things were selfish, and it could not possibly be healthy for Ilya to have that much influence over someone so good.
Shane started to stir next to him.
“Hey,” Shane mumbled, reaching for Ilya without opening his eyes.
Ilya rolled onto his side and let Shane hold him. “Hi.”
Shane let out a contented little hum and squeezed Ilya tight, then relaxed, his breathing deep and slow and even. It was quiet, and ilya matched Shane’s breaths with his own, which always calmed him. He started to feel like maybe he could fall back asleep.
“I like you,” Shane said then, and pressed his lips to the part of Ilya’s shoulder that happened to be closest to his mouth.
It had become a shorthand for them, since their first summer together. It meant I like you, and I love you, and good morning, did you sleep okay? and I’m glad to be here with you, even if sometimes I’m still terrified.
Ilya moved just enough to be able to see Shane’s face. His eyes were still closed and he had a line across his cheek from the pillowcase. A sunbeam was just starting to peek through a gap in the blinds and it made half a crooked halo where it shone through Shane’s messy hair.
“Did you like? Last night?” Ilya asked, touching the spot below Shane’s eye he liked where the skin was thin and soft and freckled.
Shane opened his eyes. He looked well rested.
“Yeah. Like, more than I thought I would, even.” The knot in Ilya’s stomach loosened.
Shane’s brow furrowed. “Did you?”
Ilya nodded. “Of course.” How could he not? It was the next best thing to actually being able to brag about having Shane, loving Shane, being with Shane.
It wasn’t enough, but it wasn’t supposed to be reality, anyway. It was just a fantasy.
Shane’s expression relaxed. “Thank you for, um, all of that,” he said. “Like, making me talk about it, and figuring it out, and - I dunno, doing sound effects? It was way more than I expected.”
Ilya held Shane’s jaw and considered him.
“I like knowing what you want.”
He knew it was coming, but it still undid him when Shane blushed a little and smiled. As though he’d never seen it before.
“I like you, too,” Ilya whispered, and let Shane hold him close.