Work Text:
00:28.9
That’s how many seconds are left on the clock.
Ilya, behind the scarred plexi-glass of the penalty box, watches Shane lean in for the final face-off. It was stupid, getting himself sent off so late into the third period. Two minutes for charging, a petty call from the ref if you ask Ilya, but they’re in Montreal and Ilya knows they all hate him here anyway. Coach Wiebe will have something to say about it back in the locker room, but Ilya’s more worried about the scolding he’ll get from Shane later for being so careless.
The Centaurs have put up a valiant effort tonight, but the scoreboard doesn’t reflect effort. It reflects fact. And the fact is, they’re losing 3-1.
And yet, the Metros haven’t given up. Or, at least, Shane hasn’t.
It’d be easy to, with less than thirty seconds left and a two point lead, now on a power play. They’ve got this in the bag, no question. But Shane doesn’t get careless, doesn’t get complacent. Not when it comes to hockey. He’s relentless, right up until the very last second of the game, never satisfied with ‘good enough’ and always reaching for perfection.
If anything, he pushes himself harder in these last few minutes. It’s like he gains a second wind from somewhere deep within him, tenacious in the face of victory and even more so in the face of defeat. But they won’t be defeated tonight.
The puck drops in the defensive zone and there’s the initial scuffle. Bood wins the puck from Shane, miraculously, and it skitters off toward Luca who’s anticipating it.
00:27.1
He only gets so far up the ice with it until Pike is coming in and sandwiching Luca’s body between his and the glass, the puck somewhere between their feet, scrabbling against the boards for it. Ilya leans forward on the bench.
00:25.8
Shane cuts a wide arc across the ice and comes up the side, lingering for a pass. Then, suddenly, the puck comes free.
00:22:3
It’s scooped up by Shane immediately, practically magnetised to his stick as he sets off across the rink with it. He’s making a breakaway, the Centaurs defensemen woefully unprepared for the sheer velocity with which he moves in pursuit of the goal. Poor Wyatt is helpless.
00:21:7
Ilya’s nose is practically smushed up against the glass now. Shane’s thick legs pump mercifully beneath him in wide, powerful thrusts that propel him forward. Even from here, Ilya can see the sweat pouring down the sides of his face, his neck. His lips are pulled tight over his mouthguard, eyes set with a fearsome determination.
00:20:9
He sails across the blue line and pulls his stick back for a slapshot. Wyatt tries to anticipate it, knees splayed and hands up, but he’s no match for Shane, not when he’s like this. Shane’s stick wobbles with the force of the shot as it connects with the puck and sends it flying through the air. Ilya can almost hear it whistle as it sails high and fast over Wyatt’s shoulder and hits the back of the net.
00:20:3
The buzzer blares, the crowd roars. Ilya tries not to look too happy; they just lost, after all. But Shane is getting swarmed by the Metros, helmets knocking against his and gloved hands slapping his back, and he looks elated. It makes Ilya’s heart squeeze.
It doesn’t matter that the game had been theirs well before the final puck drop. Shane would always give 110% of himself to the very end, regardless.
He’s like that in many ways, Ilya has come to realise.
9.8 miles into their 10 mile trail run, Shane suddenly speeds up.
“Last one back cooks dinner!” he shouts over his shoulder, breath ragged.
Ilya doesn’t even have the lung capacity left to groan, because all his oxygen is currently in use trying to keep his muscles working and his brain functioning. There’s sweat rolling down his back in the late summer heat, and he can feel the little rubber band holding his curls off his forehead starting to come loose.
Shane had made fun of him when they set off, saying he looked like an apple. Ilya had slapped his ass in those tiny little shorts and called him a peach.
He watches his boyfriend disappear further and further into the tree-line and resigns himself to thinking about what they have in the fridge. Where the fuck does he get the energy from? It’s like he keeps a separate store of it just to draw from at the most annoying moments, one last show of stamina to keep things interesting. Maybe Ilya needs to start considering this so-called performance diet.
And it’s not just in the playoffs or during summer trail runs that Shane exhibits this last-minute boost of endurance either.
“Oh, fuck, Ilya,” Shane moans.
The sweet, filthy noises he’s making are a little muffled by the phone speaker but Ilya can appreciate them well enough as they echo into his empty hotel room. Ilya strokes his dick more fervently, the slick sound of his hand mixing into Shane’s whimpers.
“Turn the camera, sweetheart, let me see how wet you are for me,” he groans.
On his phone screen, Shane takes a moment to fiddle with the camera before it flips and reveals his red, leaking cock sliding between his fist.
“Fuck, look at you,” Ilya purrs, “leaking all over yourself.”
Through grainy pixels, Ilya watches another drop of pre-cum swell at the tip of Shane’s cock. On the upstroke, his thumb swipes over the head and smears it all over, making it glisten. Ilya’s cock throbs in his hand.
“M’so close,” Shane whines. “Please make me cum.”
They’ve been going at it for half an hour now, Ilya talking Shane through pleasuring himself over the phone, telling him where to touch, how fast, how slow, when to stop. And Shane has listened beautifully, hanging off every word. He’s gotten himself close to the edge twice with Ilya’s instruction, and Ilya had nearly cum himself listening to Shane trying to hold off his orgasm, whining pitifully through bitten lips, eyelashes fluttering and face contorted in pleasure.
He’s earnt it now. But he’s flagging. Ilya can see the way his fingers are losing grip around his length, the way his rhythm falters as his forearm muscles start to ache.
“You want to cum, hm?” Ilya says, voice dripping with playful condescension.
“Yes, holy shit, I need it,” Shane gasps. “Need you to tell me.”
Ilya squeezes himself harder at the sound of Shane’s desperation, the way in which he surrenders fully to Ilya’s whim. So submissive, so beautiful.
“Okay. Cum for me.”
And there it is. The camera wobbles as Shane starts to jerk himself off with renewed strength, his fingers gripping his leaking cock tight enough to wring out another drop of milky white. His breath stutters and trails off into a low, guttural groan. Ilya tries to match him, but even he can’t get his wrist to move that fast, just barely keeping up as his orgasm starts to build.
“Oh, God,” Shane chokes out, his voice breaking as he starts to unravel.
“Da, that’s it, let me see it,” Ilya huffs.
Shane is stroking himself so fast and hard that the shitty phone camera can barely keep up either, his fist turning into a blur. Ilya can even hear the sound of his hand slapping against his lower stomach on every downstroke.
“Gonna cum so fucking hard, holy shit.”
Ilya moans and strokes himself harder, feeling his balls pulling up tight. “With me. Come on.”
At the last moment, Shane moves the phone and angles it from his hip, giving Ilya a perfect shot all the way up his toned body. Ilya watches through half-lidded eyes as Shane’s head snaps back into the pillows, eyes squeezing shut and stomach clenching as he cums all over his chest.
Ilya just about gets to see the way it shoots up and runs down his pecs before he’s cumming too, spilling all over his hand.
Just when he thinks it’s over, Ilya hears more rustling and Shane’s breath picking up. “Fuck, there’s more,” he whines, and Ilya’s eyes snap open to see Shane writhing around in the sheets as he milks out another spurt of cum.
“Fucking hell, Shane,” Ilya breathes, cradling his limp dick against his stomach and watching his boyfriend with something close to awe.
The phone, eventually, comes back up somewhere near Shane’s face, and Ilya gets to enjoy the blissed-out expression that’s settled over his features. “Can’t feel my legs,” he mumbles.
Ilya chuckles. They lay for a moment longer before agreeing they should probably clean themselves up, though neither of them are eager to end the call. It’ll be a while before they next see each other properly.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Summer comes around like a gift. Stolen days in the cottage together, drenched in sunlight.
One morning, Ilya walks into the living room and finds Shane on the couch, the TV turned on low and playing – no surprise – hockey highlights.
“Getting hard watching me win?” Ilya jokes, resting his forearms on the back cushions and learning over Shane’s shoulder.
“You wish,” Shane snorts. “When was the last time you won a game, again?”
Ilya dips his head down and nips at Shane’s earlobe, making him yelp. “Is not my fault Tanner Dillon cannot receive a pass to save his fucking life.”
On the screen, Ilya knows what game is playing. The score is 3-1, the clock 00:25.8. Shane takes off with the puck like a rocket with a fresh pack of jet fuel strapped to his back, straight towards the Centaur’s goal.
“Shame you weren’t on the ice for this one,” Shane quips.
“Brave to think you would have scored if I was.”
“I don’t need you benched to score.”
“Mm,” Ilya hums, “I can think of many ways you can score.” He turns his attention away from the TV and starts planting lazy kisses down the side of Shane’s neck.
“That was,” Shane says, a little distracted all of a sudden, “a lame joke.”
Ilya sucks beneath his jaw. “Stop talking.”
Shane stops talking.
Later, splayed out on the mattress in a mess of sticky sheets, watching the sun go down outside, Shane says:
“I feel like I’m training for the fucking Sex Olympics, or something.”
Ilya laughs against his back, pressing a kiss to his sweaty skin. “Ah, yes, you would win silver in blowjob competition. I would win gold, of course.”
“Fuck off. I’m serious, I think by the end of this summer I’m gonna be able to last like… two hours.”
“Very…” Ilya searches for the word. “Ambitious. You maybe took two minutes this time.”
Shane kicks him in the shin with his heel. Ilya pinches his nipple in return. They end up wrestling briefly before Ilya pulls Shane down onto his chest and settles back into the pillows.
“Remember the very first time?” Shane says. “We both lasted like ten seconds.”
Ilya frowns. “Um, no, for me it was at least twenty.”
“You’re such an ass.”
Ilya relents, pushing Shane’s hair from his forehead and pressing a kiss there. “Okay, yes, you are very impressive, last so long now. Fancy athlete diet really paying off.”
“It is,” Shane replies, indignant. “You should try it.”
“Mm, no.”
“Fine, but when we’re forty and your dick doesn’t work properly, don’t blame me.”
Ilya laughs. “My dick,” he says, gripping Shane’s wrist and forcing his hand down to palm Ilya’s half-hard cock, “will be fine, if you are around.”
Shane lets Ilya prove it to him shortly after, and by the time they fall asleep, the moon is high in the sky and painting silvery patterns on the lake.
In the days that follow, Ilya finds himself thinking more and more about stamina and endurance and refractory periods. It’s only when they’re in the gym one morning, Ilya weight training while Shane goes through the motions of some complicated circuit routine, that those thoughts come to a head.
Shane completes his burpees and bends down, tapping his phone and starting another 90 second stopwatch before launching into the next exercise. Ilya watches the timer on his phone start to tick down, Shane’s breath laden with exertion as he begins his push-ups. His arms wobble a little, skin glistening with a layer of sweat, and Ilya can tell he’s exhausted.
But he keeps going. Pushes through it. Breathes harder, grunts louder. The timer ticks lower and lower. The muscles in his arms and his back bulge with each movement, quivering with the effort of holding him up and lowering him down. A bead of sweat drips off his nose and onto the mat.
The timer ticks down. Shane’s fingers start to tense up, his grunts turning to strained whimpers as he keeps on pushing through the movement. Ilya licks his lips.
The timer ticks down. The sound of Shane’s laboured pants echoes off the walls. Ilya swallows thickly.
The timer ticks down. Shane’s whole body is trembling. Ilya adjusts himself in his shorts.
The timer runs out with a shrill beep. Shane collapses, face down, onto the mat.
Ilya has an idea.
After a particularly lazy morning of late breakfasts and lake swims, Ilya emerges from the shower and locates Shane lounging on the couch again, glasses on and book in hand. It’s a perfect opportunity.
Ilya adjusts his sweats as he walks over to him. He steps between Shane’s open legs and then sinks to his knees. Shane, unfazed, splays his legs a little wider to accommodate and continues reading.
“What are you doing?” Shane asks, bemused.
“Nothing.”
Ilya strokes his hands up and down Shane’s bare thighs, fingertips grazing just under the hem of his shorts. He feels Shane twitch at the touch, but he keeps his nose firmly planted in the pages of his book. The coarse hair of Shane’s legs prickles under Ilya’s fingers. Ilya leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of Shane’s knee, then his lower thigh, slowly trailing higher. He drags his lips over the warm skin and inhales Shane’s scent; seaweed and mint mixing with fresh sweat and sunscreen. It’s intoxicating.
He mouths higher, reaching the inseam of Shane’s shorts before he moves upward to his lower stomach. Ilya loves the summers for many reasons – one of them being that Shane is almost always shirtless. Ilya kisses and licks up his happy trail, feeling Shane’s stomach tensing underneath his lips. It takes maybe another minute of this before Shane moves to put his book down.
“No, carry on,” Ilya mumbles against his skin. “You will not need your hands for this.”
“I just read the same sentence like three times,” Shane complains, getting shiftier under Ilya’s incessant touching and kissing. “I can’t focus.”
Ilya grins against him. The book (and, regretfully, his glasses) gets discarded to the side, though Shane still takes the time to slip his bookmark in between the pages. He never dog-ears them, he’s not a heathen like Ilya is.
When Ilya’s mouth starts moving south again, pressing firm kisses right over Shane’s crotch, Shane sighs contentedly and lets his legs widen a little further. Ilya spends a while mouthing there, back down his thighs, nipping him lightly and making him hiss. He’s still mostly soft when Ilya returns back up, but Ilya knows a quick way to solve that.
Kneeling up straight, Ilya leans in and captures Shane’s mouth with his. He threads his fingers into his hair, and Shane mimics the motion, pulling Ilya in by his curls. Their mouths open for each other, tongues meeting in the middle and dragging over one another. They make out lazily, and Ilya lets his hands wander down Shane’s neck and chest. The touch makes him moan softly into Ilya’s mouth, and Ilya doesn’t let up until Shane is wriggling beneath him.
This time, when Ilya makes his way back between Shane’s thighs, he can see the prominent bulge under his shorts. He mouths over it, flattening his tongue against the nylon, and Shane bucks his hips up impatiently. A grin tugs at Ilya’s mouth; if he’s impatient now, he’ll be very upset when he realises what Ilya has planned for him. Shane helps to shuck the shorts off, kicking them away and settling back into the couch with his cock free and sitting against his stomach. Ilya licks his lips greedily.
Shane has such a pretty cock. Framed by a well-groomed patch of dark, wavy hair, the tip is the same colour as Shane’s lips, glistening and wet and tempting. Ilya kisses it, softly at first, just to hear the way Shane’s breath hitches in his throat. He kisses down the underside, too, all the way to his balls, nuzzling against them. He allows himself a few lazy licks there, enjoying the way Shane moans softly and melts further into the couch.
Ilya takes Shane’s length in his fingers, squeezing softly at the base. He brings Shane’s cock back to his mouth, rubbing the head all over his closed lips as he smiles up at him. He’s watching Ilya dreamily. Ilya smears his pre-cum all over, like lip-gloss, and then darts his tongue out to lick it off. Salty and distinctly Shane.
“Shit, that’s hot,” Shane breathes.
Ilya smirks and does it again, and Shane jerks a little this time at the sensation against his slit. When Ilya dips down and lets his tongue fall out of his mouth, licking a long, hot stripe all the way up Shane’s underside, Shane’s head rolls back into the cushions with a groan.
Taking his distraction as an opportunity, Ilya reaches his free hand into the pocket of his sweats and fishes out his phone. His tongue continues its ministrations, around Shane’s length and down to his base, back up until Ilya reaches the head and allows a few kittenish licks over the tip.
“I have an idea,” he murmurs between flicks of his tongue.
“Mm?” Shane hums, not really paying much attention when Ilya is suckling on his cockhead.
Ilya pulls away, and Shane’s head comes up with a whine. Shushing him, Ilya grabs his phone and thumbs into his clock app with a sly grin.
“What–”
“How long do you think you can last?” Ilya says, scrolling through the minutes on the stopwatch. “Two? Five?”
Shane laughs in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re taking that conversation personally.”
Ilya rubs his thumb against Shane’s frenulum and makes him jump. “You talk a big game, Shane Hollander. Now you can prove you are worthy of gold medal in Sex Olympics.”
Shane, despite his cock straining and leaking in Ilya’s hand, fixes Ilya with a hard glare. His eyes are filled with everything Ilya has come to love about him over the years. Fire, tenacity, unwavering stubbornness, desire.
“Five minutes,” he says.
Ilya chuckles. “Wow, I thought maybe you might at least go for ten. So modest.”
“Fuck off. I get to cum in your mouth either way, so what does it matter? Whether I last long enough or not.”
“Oh, Shane,” Ilya purrs, giving his dick another languid stroke. “We both know you hate losing.”
Ilya starts the timer at five minutes, then sinks down onto Shane’s cock in one go. He bobs his head hard and fast, and Shane, unprepared, moans loudly and arches up into the heat.
Ilya pulls off again. Shane groans at the loss.
“Oh, I forgot to say. Each time you move–” Ilya taps the phone screen and hits the +30 button, “–I am going to add 30 seconds to the timer.”
“But that’s not–”
“Ah, ah,” Ilya says, shushing Shane with another kiss to his leaking slit. “You can do that, right? Stay still and not cum until the timer says so, yes?”
Shane looks both utterly distraught and terribly aroused at the same time. He swallows, then nods.
“Good,” Ilya smiles, then sinks back down.
Shane’s head thunks back against the couch as his cock hits the back of Ilya’s throat, but he keeps the rest of his body firmly planted in place. It’s impressive, Ilya gives him that. He’ll have to try harder if he wants to break him. And, oh, he so wants to see Shane come apart.
Ilya pulls off and begins to lick at him slowly, painfully so. Shane’s fingers twist themselves into the fabric of the sofa, his jaw ticking as Ilya swirls his tongue around the head of his cock and then flattens it against the tip. His thighs tense around Ilya’s body, but they don’t move. He’s watching now, brow set and lips pressed into a firm line, nostrils flaring from the effort of staying still. So competitive. Ilya knows him well.
Unfortunately for Shane, Ilya knows him a little too well, knows his body intimately from all the years spent exploring each other. He pulls away slightly and hovers his face over Shane’s length. Gathering saliva in his mouth, Ilya lets it dribble over his lips and all over Shane’s cock, using the added lubrication to give him a slow, firm pump of his fist. Shane’s hips twitch upwards.
Ilya tuts.
+30s.
The timer jumps back up to five minutes.
“Fuck you,” Shane grits out.
Ilya grins. “I did nothing, you are just so sensitive,” he says, punctuating that with another firm stroke.
Shane’s foot bounces up off the floor. “That doesn’t count.”
+30s.
05:25.
“I hate you.”
“Sure.”
Ilya goes back to stroking Shane slowly, and Shane goes back to doing his best statue impression. It’s a little funny, watching him try to hold himself together as Ilya glides his fingers up and down his cock, using his spit and Shane’s pre-cum to make it nice and smooth. A warm, pink flush is slowly spreading up his chest and neck, and Ilya can see the vein under his jaw starting to bulge beneath his skin.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ilya watches the timer slowly creep below 4:30. Shane’s doing well so far. Ilya adds his tongue back into the mix, laving over the slit and licking up every drop of pre-cum that leaks out, savouring the taste. Shane clamps his eyes shut and lets out a strained noise as Ilya repeats the motion again and again, teasing. He does it once, twice more, then encloses his lips around the head and lowers all the way down until his lips meet his fingers.
Shane’s cock throbs in his mouth, jerking against his tongue. Ilya lets it sit there for a moment, breathing steadily through his nose as he watches Shane’s eyelids quivering. He’s leaking into Ilya’s mouth, and Ilya has to swallow around him to alleviate the rapid build up of spit and pre-cum on his tastebuds.
“Fucking Christ,” Shane hisses. Still, he doesn’t move.
Ilya begins to bob his head, hollowing his cheeks and letting the thick, heavy length of Shane’s cock stretch his lips with each movement. Besides the occasional clenching of his fingers around the sofa cushions, Shane is doing remarkably well. He’s breathing heavier now, and Ilya can see the way his eyes have hardened, staring at a point on the far side of the room like he’s trying to astral project to anywhere that isn’t here.
Ilya can’t have that. He needs Shane’s full attention.
On the upstroke, he pulls nearly all the way off, letting Shane’s tip rest just inside the part of his lips. He hears Shane whimper. Ilya lets his tongue make lazy circles over the slit, stimulating Shane’s head as his wrist twists and jerks him off at the base. Then, when Shane’s breath starts coming in short little pants, Ilya drops all the way back down and takes Shane into his throat.
Shane gasps and moans, and his hips jerk unconsciously.
Ilya slaps his thigh and pulls off. “Naughty.”
+30s.
04:00.
“You fucker, you knew that would wor–”
Shane doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Ilya goes straight back to deepthroating him. His whole body locks up around Ilya as he fights the urge to arch into it or bow in on himself, his body caught in a prison of Ilya’s making. All he can do is make a strangled noise in the back of his throat and try to catch his breath. He still has to last four more minutes.
Ilya notes the way Shane keeps his eyes fixed pointedly on anything but him. He’d usually watch, if this were a regular blowjob. Ilya knows how much he luxuriates in observing the way his length slides in and out between Ilya’s lips, slick with his spit, the way Ilya looks up at him as he tongues his head and sucks on his balls. He’ll watch until he’s just about to cum, until he can’t control it anymore and his eyes snap shut and his face screws up in pleasure. This time, though, Shane can’t look. Because he knows, as well as Ilya does, that he’d be done for if he did.
03:00.
Ilya’s hand starts snaking its way up from where it’s been gripping Shane’s thigh, now trailing a path up his stomach and chest. He can feel how tense Shane is, each muscle protruding and quivering with the exertion of holding himself together. Goosebumps blossom under Ilya’s fingertips. When he reaches Shane’s nipples, he rolls one between his fingers as his tongue swirls around Shane’s cock.
“Mm, ah!”
Shane, unbidden, arches into the touch. He makes a wretched sound when Ilya slides off and lets his dick fall out of his mouth, his head falling back as he smacks the couch with a closed fist. He knows what's going to happen next.
+30s.
“I hate this fucking game.” So whiny.
“Oh, someone is a sore loser,” Ilya coos, sitting back on his heels. “You want to stop? You can forfeit now, is okay, I–”
Shane cuts him off. “Keep talking, the timer’s gonna run out before you’ve finished gloating, asshole.”
Ilya laughs and feels his own dick (hard and aching, and has been since they started this silly game) twitch. He loves when Shane gets bratty. Mostly because he loves to put him in his place afterwards.
He wants to reply with something snarky, but he wants to get his mouth back on Shane even more. So, Ilya takes him back on his tongue and into the back of his throat again.
For a long minute, Ilya gets lost in the rhythmic up and down of his head in Shane’s lap, sucking on him greedily and teasing out every pretty whine and moan that he can. It’s like fucking music to his ears, each gasp that bubbles its way out of Shane’s lips and spills into the quiet of the living room. Ilya slurps and sucks on his cock like an ice pop melting in the summer heat, taking Shane further and further into his throat until his nose is buried into his pubes.
“Fuck Ilya, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Shane is moaning at the ceiling, head lolling back on his shoulders as he uses every ounce of his strength to keep himself still. Ilya can only imagine how it feels, the warm, wet heat enveloping his cock, the spasms of his stomach muscles as his orgasm starts to build.
His knuckles are white, hands fisted into the cushions from how much he’s holding back. Ilya knows Shane would much rather have them in Ilya’s hair, twisting and tugging at his curls, making Ilya moan around his length with the sting. But he’s not allowed.
02:15.
The next time Ilya pulls up, he hollows his cheeks and suckles on Shane’s tip so hard, he actually feels himself draw out a thick bead of pre-cum. Shane mewls, and his whole body shudders and arches.
“No! Fuck!” he cries as Ilya pulls off for the umpteenth time.
+30s.
When Ilya looks up from his phone, Shane’s eyes are glistening.
“Oh, baby,” Ilya coos, sitting up to swipe at his under-eyes with his thumb and catching a few stray tears.
Shane’s bottom lip wobbles, and Ilya leans in to suck it into his mouth. Shane automatically opens up and lets Ilya’s tongue curl into his mouth, his hands scrabbling at the back of Ilya’s head to force him closer. Ilya lets him, because Shane is so fucking desperate for it and he can’t help indulging for just a moment, eating up his soft whimpers. Ilya’s neglected dick rubs against the couch and he groans against Shane’s lips.
“You want to give up yet?” he murmurs into his mouth. “I can make you cum right now, just tell me moy lyubov.”
He pulls away, a string of spit trailing from his mouth to Shane’s, and he licks it up hungrily. Shane looks conflicted, a war going on behind his eyes. His pupils are the size of dinner plates, and there’s that glint in them that lets Ilya know just how fucking close he is. At the same time, there’s that familiar fire there, too. The heat that lets Ilya know he’s not going to give up just yet.
“No,” Shane says, sniffling as he takes a few steadying breaths. “I’m not gonna let you win that easy.”
Ilya chuckles, pressing another chaste kiss to his lips and then licking into his mouth one last time, because he can’t help it. “Okay, if you say so.”
He resets the timer. 02:45.
It takes about thirty seconds of sloppy sucking for Shane to start whimpering again. Ilya rubs his hands up and down Shane’s thighs, squeezing the muscles and relishing in the sheer size of them under his fingers. He’d once told Shane about his fantasy of putting his face between them and letting Shane crush his head with his strong, thick muscles until he ran out of air. They’d tried it, and Ilya had cum so hard he’d nearly passed out. Since then, he’s certain Shane has been wearing shorts more often.
02:00.
Ilya swallows around Shane once more and makes him choke on a moan. It’s undoubtedly fun, teasing him like this and pushing him to see how far he can go without breaking. But Ilya can’t help thinking about how it’s so much better to have Shane writhing and shaking in his hands, squirming so hard that Ilya has to practically hold him down as he sucks him, fucks him. Ilya likes using his strength to subdue Shane during sex. Likes to lean into him and feel his body give under Ilya’s weight, surrendering to it.
It’s enjoyable to watch him try so desperately to hold himself back, jaw flexing and jumping with each pass of Ilya’s tongue over his slit, fingers twitching with every bob of his head, but Ilya wants him falling apart. Properly.
As he sucks, he uses his hands to grip Shane’s hips and tug him forward slightly, making his back slide down the cushions. Shane makes a little confused noise, which dissolves on his tongue as the movement causes his cock to slip further down Ilya’s throat.
01:45.
Ilya pulls both of Shane’s legs up off the floor and drapes them over his shoulders. Shane’s head lifts up. When Ilya removes his mouth from Shane’s cock and replaces it with his hand, Shane looks even more confused.
01:30.
His cock is so wet with Ilya’s spit, even his pubes are slick with it. Saliva coats his dick, his stomach, his balls. It’s so messy and obscene that Ilya just takes a few seconds to admire it. Looking up at Shane, he can see his blush deepening.
Ilya continues jerking him off, slow and firm at first, before gradually starting to increase the pace. He can feel Shane’s legs trembling against his back, hesitant to move an inch in case Ilya reaches for the timer again. But, at this point, Ilya’s no longer interested in punishing him. He just wants to see how quickly it’ll take for Shane to come undone.
With his palm encircling Shane’s dick, he dips his head and begins to kiss over his balls, his thighs, sucking and licking as his hand works.
“Oh, god, Ilya,” Shane groans, his cock straining inside the tight grasp of Ilya’s fingers.
Ilya goes lower. Having pulled Shane forward, Ilya has the perfect angle to–
“Oh, fuck!”
Shane goes rigid. Ilya has his tongue pressed right up against Shane’s hole.
01:00
He doesn’t cum. Not yet. His breath is coming in stuttered gasps, his chest heaving, and there’s a sweat breaking out along his hairline. But he holds it back.
Even when Ilya’s hand speeds up, the wet sounds of him jerking Shane’s cock getting louder, his tongue pressing into the tight heat of Shane’s ass, Shane doesn’t cum.
Ilya feels Shane’s body coiling up, practically vibrating with tension. He flicks his wrist, thumbs over the slit and pushes against it. Slips his tongue deeper and licks against Shane’s walls.
00:45
The noises Shane is making are heavenly. Long, drawn out whines that waver and trail off into something more feral. Ilya looks up from between his legs, past his cock that is leaking steadily now and practically purple, finding Shane’s face. Ilya nearly orgasms from the sight.
He’s crying, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes and running down his ruddy cheeks, curling around the tight line of his jaw and dripping off his chin. His eyebrows are drawing together and smoothing out repeatedly, lost in the throes of pleasure and sensation. His mouth hangs open, lips swollen and bitten, letting each delicious sound spill over them.
00:30.
Ilya fucks his tongue deeper. His arm is pumping so hard that he almost worries he won’t be able to maintain the pace long enough to get Shane to cum. Every muscle in Shane’s body is trembling, too.
00:20.
Shane’s legs lock up around Ilya’s ears. His body strains, a rubber band primed to snap, quivering with the anticipation of release.
00:15.
Ilya eats Shane out like he’s fucking starving. He can feel Shane clenching around the muscle of his tongue erratically. His hand squeezes harder, moves faster.
00:10.
Shane is so gone that he’s barely making noise anymore. Just stilted, strained whimpers. Ilya feels his own dick start leaking.
00:05.
Shane’s heels dig into Ilya’s shoulder blades hard enough to bruise. His eyes roll back into his head. His breath catches. He’s so fucking close, and Ilya can’t fuck his tongue any deeper, can’t fist his pulsing, leaking cock any harder.
00:00
The timer beeps, and Shane starts cumming.
“Oh, fuck, oh, oh my–”
It’s like a dam breaking, coating Ilya’s fingers first and then shooting up Shane’s chest. Ilya catches a good amount on his chin and cheek when he sits up, slotting his mouth over the head and suckling the rest of Shane’s release straight from the source.
Shane’s body shudders through his orgasm so hard that Ilya can barely keep his dick in his mouth. He sinks lower, latching on and sucking Shane through it until he’s bucking and writhing and quivering, just how Ilya likes him. Overstimulated and wrecked.
Even after he’s spilt every drop he has down Ilya’s throat, Shane is still trembling and rocking up into the warmth of Ilya’s mouth. Whether it’s intentional or the result of his muscles firing off uncontrollably, Ilya’s not sure, but he has no intention of releasing his suction around Shane until he’s begging for it. Just when he thinks it’s over, Shane will buck up again and shiver with oversensitivity.
Ilya feels lightheaded. He’s pretty certain every drop of blood in his body is pooling in his dick. But right now, all he wants is to taste Shane, feel Shane, breathe Shane. Swallow every last salty rope of cum until he’s completely empty and soft against Ilya’s tongue.
Shane’s legs slip off Ilya's shoulders and his feet hit the floor with a thump. He doesn’t even react, too fucked out to even register if it hurt. His orgasm is slowly ebbing, and with it fading away, he’s just left twitching listlessly against the soft embrace of the couch cushions, head lolled back and eyelids fluttering shut.
“Okay… okay…” Shane breathes, barely lucid.
Ilya lets his cock slip out from his lips and starts to kiss up his body. When he gets to Shane’s lips, Shane doesn’t even make an effort to kiss back. He’s drifting now, cradled pleasantly in that warm, heady space that supersedes the fireworks behind his eyes and his nerves short-circuiting.
After peppering his face with kisses – brushing his lips over Shane’s forehead, temples, eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his freckled cheeks, his Cupid’s bow, his chin – Ilya gets up and pours a glass of water in the kitchen. He takes a sip, refills it, then walks back and sets in on the coffee table.
Shane hasn’t moved, unsurprisingly. Ilya even has to put his hand beneath Shane’s nose to check he’s still breathing. The puffs of air are faint against his skin, Shane’s chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly, but he’s alive. Good.
“You did so good,” Ilya murmurs, crawling onto the couch next to Shane and pulling him into his lap. Shane, utterly boneless, goes willingly.
“Definitely gold medal worthy,” Ilya continues, kissing his forehead again.
Shane swallows thickly, then says, “Told you I’d win.”
Ilya laughs. “Yes, I’m sure you will boast about it so much later, when you are not so dead.”
“Wha’ ‘bout you?” Shane slurs, trying very hard to remain conscious.
Assumedly, he’s referring to Ilya’s rock-hard erection pressing into his side. How considerate of him.
“After that?” Ilya chuckles. “I think I will be hard for days. You will have lots of time to make it up to me, do not worry solnyshko.”
“M’kay,” Shane breathes.
While Shane drifts against his chest, Ilya pulls out his phone from beneath their bodies. The timer blinks back at him, the zeroes bold and mocking. He shakes his head. Well, he could have predicted it’d end this way. When had he ever known Shane to back down from a challenge? And when had Shane ever thrown in towel at the last moment?
He presses a gentle kiss to the damp roots of Shane’s hair. Ilya loves him so much. This fierce, stubborn man who races him on exercise bikes in hotel gyms and stays up ‘til the early hours planning every detail of their future. Who chases Ilya down for the puck like a bloodhound; who pores over a Russian textbook at the dining table every evening, muttering the pronunciations under his breath until he’s satisfied that they’re perfect.
Shane’s ability to persevere, to endure – it extends far beyond just sex. It permeates every aspect of his life, and somehow, along the way, Ilya got lucky enough to be included within that.
“Y’know, that was a lot longer than five minutes,” Shane mumbles.
“Eh, was maybe like seven.”
Shane thumps Ilya’s chest weakly.
“I think we will have to work on your training if you are going to last two hours by the end of the summer,” Ilya smiles.
“Gimme, like, five minutes and then restart the timer, coach.”
“Okay, stallion, let’s get you to bed.”