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The conversation starts like every other time; Shane insists that Ilya quit smoking. He lists every reason, from the latest lung cancer statistics to the dangers of secondhand smoke to how much he hates the smell.
“Ten years, Ilya!” Shane rants, pacing the dining room as he speaks. “You’re likely to die a minimum of ten years sooner. I know I’ve said this a dozen times, but I -”
“I’ll quit,” Ilya says, cutting him off.
And that. That’s new. Ilya usually offers platitudes about cutting back or eventually quitting, but he’s never outright agreed to stop.
“When?” Shane asks warily.
“Now,” Ilya replies with a shrug. “Might as well. I will get that special gum and everything.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that, lyubimyy. I could use your help when I get cravings, though.”
“Of course, Ilya,” Shane agrees eagerly. “Whatever you need.”
“Promise?” Ilya asks, an unreadable expression on his face.
“I promise, anything, anytime, no questions asked. I don’t really know what exactly I can do, but I’m happy to try.”
Ilya stands to carry their dinner dishes into the kitchen. He stops next to Shane and presses a kiss to his cheek.
“I have some ideas,” Ilya says airily as he exits the room.
Shane is watching tape to prepare for the Voyageurs' upcoming game against San Jose when, suddenly, Ilya enters the living room and stands in front of him, blocking his view. He looks at Shane expectantly, gesturing in the general direction of Shane’s crotch. Shane sighs, pausing the replay and glaring at Ilya.
“Do you need something?” Shane asks.
“Your cock,” Ilya says, like it’s obvious. “Feed it to me.”
“What the fuck, Ilya?”
“What? I am having a craving and need to keep my mouth…busy?”
“Preoccupied?”
“Yes, that. So you sit back on couch and watch your tapes. Just spread your legs and keep your hands to yourself. Is like I’m not even here.”
“This isn’t what I thought you meant when you said you needed help,” Shane responds, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Anything, Ilya, I promise, Ilya, no questions, Ilya,” Ilya mocks, doing a terrible impression of Shane. “Did you mean this or not? Because I meant it when I said I am quitting,” he adds, speaking in his regular voice.
“Of course I meant it,” Shane says quickly. “I just, I guess this isn’t what I expected.”
“We can call it off, is no problem,” Ilya offers with a shit-eating grin.
“Fuck you,” Shane huffs. “We’re doing this, whatever it takes. Come on.”
Shane beckons Ilya forward and shifts around, shimmying his pants and underwear down and off. He moves to pick them up and fold them, but Ilya tosses them to the side as he bends down between Shane’s legs. He grabs a small pillow from the couch and puts it under his knees.
Ilya pulls Shane forward by the hips and pushes his legs wider. Shane goes easily, letting Ilya maneuver him like a doll. Ilya settles, resting a cheek on Shane’s thigh. His mouth is only an inch or two from Shane’s bare cock where it lies against his leg. Shane realizes he’s not completely flaccid anymore, dick stirring slightly in reaction to Ilya’s presence.
“Comfortable?” Ilya inquires with a knowing smirk, breath ghosting Shane’s dick. He brings one hand to Shane’s other thigh, idly stroking his fingertips over the coarse, dark hair.
“Yep,” Shane replies. He reaches forward to stroke Ilya’s curls and receives a sharp slap on his thigh in reprimand.
“Nyet,” Ilya scolds. “You do nothing, remember? Just let me use you.”
“Right, sorry,” Shane mutters, pulling his hand away and reaching for the remote instead. “I’ll just…yeah…”
His words trail off as he unpauses the tape, and Ilya wastes no time getting started. The feeling of his warm, wet mouth sends an immediate jolt of desire through Shane. He suppresses every instinct he has: the urge to let his eyes fall shut, the itch to caress Ilya’s cheek, the need to let out a sigh of pleasure. It takes immense effort for him to focus on the goalie, Brown. He's weak on his glove side. He always has been. Shane scored on him high glove a couple of times last season before he was traded to San Jose, but his save percentage is up this season, and Shane wants to be ready.
They’ve done this the other way around a few times. Shane finds it soothing - the weight of Ilya’s cock on his tongue, the softness of his skin, the familiar taste of him, being used in that way. Something inside of Shane settles when he’s on his knees, encasing Ilya in the still, wet heat of his mouth.
But this?
This is something entirely different.
Ilya hums around his cock, sending vibrations through Shane that make him twitch. He knows he’s starting to fill out, growing thicker from the delicious feeling. He can feel Ilya’s stare of disapproval boring into him, but he keeps his eyes trained on the screen, watching the goalie barely make a glove save.
He goes back and watches again, trying to figure out how he could've gotten through, whether the shot should've been faster, or whether the angle was just a little bit off, but it's hard to focus on tape with Ilya's mouth encasing his semi-erect dick. Shane exhales a soft curse and shifts around uneasily, growing more and more jittery. Ilya pulls off of him with a dark look, grabbing the remote to pause the tape.
“Bad Shane,” Ilya reprimands. “Muttering and moving around.” He tsks. “You are an object. A thing. Only a distraction for me. Do you not understand this?”
Shane is about to say no, but his mouth falls shut. Object. Thing. Distraction. A cigarette doesn’t talk. Doesn’t feel discomfort. Doesn’t do anything but satisfy a craving. Instead of responding, he stays silent.
“That’s better,” Ilya says. “Don’t make me remind you again.” He clicks the remote to unpause the game. “Pay attention, Captain.”
Shane doesn’t end up needing another reminder. Something about Ilya’s words and his tone remedies the unease in Shane’s core. His brain is for focusing on the tape, for being Shane Hollander, determined hockey star. His body is for Ilya to use - whenever, however. This may differ from their typical scenario, but it all boils down to the same thing.
When Ilya finally eases off, Shane is just finishing up his review. He’s surprised to see his cock has gone mostly soft. Ilya tucks Shane back into his pants before settling next to him on the couch.
“You did well, dorogoy,” Ilya praises. “I think when this is over, I’ll have to reward you, hm? Use you the way you need to be used.”
“Y-yeah, yes,” Shane stammers. “If you want.”
Ilya grins at him wickedly before drawing him into a kiss. Shane returns it, refusing to let his thoughts drift to daydreams of the future. Whenever and however Ilya rewards him, it’ll be perfect.
“Blyat,” Ilya grunts, pounding into Shane fiercely. His hands are clenched on Shane’s waist, and Shane’s face is pressed against the mattress. Ilya purposely aims for Shane’s prostate with each lunge forward, making him wail from the overstimulation.
“Look at you, my pretty cock slut. You’re doing so well.”
“Ilya, please, so close,” Shane pleads, fingers grasping at the sheets as his thighs automatically shut. Ilya has already fucked him through one orgasm, stroking Shane’s cock as he rode Ilya. Now another one is approaching, and Shane’s dick is trapped between his stomach and the mattress. The friction from the contact is enough for Shane to get off, though it always leaves his dick a bit sensitive - just like Ilya wants.
“Fuck, Shane, yes,” Ilya pants, chasing his own rapidly approaching orgasm. “Fucking come for me.”
He feels Shane come, muscles clenching like a vise around Ilya’s cock and bringing Ilya over the edge with him. He fucks Shane through it, then collapses with a sigh, rolling off of Shane and pressing a kiss to his sweaty shoulder. Shane turns over to lie on his back, face flushed and chest heaving.
“I’m almost too tired to shower,” Shane remarks.
“Hm, yes,” Ilya agrees, “it was very hot. Could really use a smoke before bed.”
“Ilya,” Shane admonishes. “You’ve been doing so well, don’t -”
“Relax, Hollander,” Ilya cuts him off. “I said ‘could’. I am lucky to have a better option right here.”
Ilya starts shifting down the bed when Shane stops him, gripping his bicep tightly. He looks horrified, staring at Ilya open-mouthed as realization dawns on him. It requires all of Ilya’s effort not to laugh, opting for a look of exaggerated calm as Shane starts speaking.
“You can’t be serious,” he says. “There’s no way. Not right now. Not after I came two fucking times.”
“You say that like it is a bad thing,” Ilya pouts.
“Ilya, I’m serious!”
“So am I!” Ilya replies. “Mind-blowing sex always makes cravings worse. It’s science.”
“Pretty sure it’s not.”
“If you don’t want to do it, I’ll just -”
“No,” Shane cuts him off. “Fuck, it’s fine. Go ahead.”
Ilya smiles victoriously before taking Shane’s cock into his mouth, feeling the faint pulse of circulating blood against his tongue. Shane’s breath hitches as Ilya closes his lips around the base, and Ilya raises an eyebrow in a wordless question. Shane breathes out shakily but remains still, his struggle palpable. Ilya may not really be doing much, but even the mildest sensations must feel amplified right now.
Ilya blinks up at Shane, batting his eyelashes in a show of innocence. Shane stares back at him, wet eyes shining in the dark room. The look of surrender on Shane’s face makes Ilya’s blood run hot. Ilya is certain Shane initially agreed to this arrangement out of sheer stubbornness, but it has clearly become something more. Shane is fervently committed to this - to fulfilling Ilya’s urges and serving a specific purpose.
Minutes pass as Ilya watches Shane’s expression grow more relaxed, despite the single tear running down his face. It’s somewhat similar to how Shane looks when he’s the one doing this - holding Ilya’s cock in his mouth or ass dutifully while Ilya plays video games or scrolls through his phone. Despite their positions, Ilya knows that their dynamic remains unchanged. Shane is able to bypass his unease and let himself be soothed by ceding control.
Unfortunately, Ilya doesn’t have the patience it requires to stay like this for long. As much as he wants to draw it out, he feels restless. He wasn’t lying when he mentioned his cravings - he did genuinely want a cigarette, but the feeling has now passed. He decides to take pity on Shane, releasing his cock with a parting kiss to the tip.
“That was quick,” Shane comments, wiping at his eyes and hurriedly shifting his crotch away.
“Mission was accomplished,” Ilya shrugs. “I need a shower, too. Did not think about how sweaty I’d get from giving you such a workout.” He leans in to kiss Shane and is surprised when he pulls his head back, looking at Ilya angrily.
“You planned this!” Shane says, pointing an accusatory finger in Ilya’s face. “Did you seriously fuck me like that just to make it worse when you got your mouth on me?”
“Of course not,” Ilya responds. “Idea popped into my head after you came so hard the first time.”
“You’re such an asshole,” Shane complains, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I can’t believe you did that and pretended to have a craving, too.”
“Was not pretending,” Ilya says honestly, littering kisses across the freckled bridge of Shane’s nose. “I really did want to smoke, and you did so well distracting me. So good, malysh.”
“Okay, whatever,” Shane mutters, face going red from Ilya’s praise.
“I mean it,” Ilya promises, moving to the edge of the bed before standing and taking Shane’s hand. “Come. Get in the shower, and I will wash your hair after I change the sheets.”
“Yeah, alright,” Shane acquiesces, allowing himself to be pulled up. Ilya captures his lips in a kiss and delights in the way Shane returns it, smiling as he does so.
Yuna, Shane, and Ilya spent weeks organizing tonight’s charity event, though admittedly Yuna did most of the heavy lifting. There are a few months left before the youth summer camps begin, and she insisted that one small fundraiser was doable. As Shane takes in the room, he reminds himself to go all out for Mother’s Day this year.
They rented out the ballroom of Hotel Bonaventure in Montreal, now decorated tastefully with emerald and charcoal grey decor. There are around fifty people in attendance, mingling in groups and indulging in the open bar. Shane and Ilya gave their joint speech, peppered with jokes about their longstanding rivalry and subsequent “friendship”. All that’s left to do is socialize for a couple more hours.
Shane thanks one of his dad’s colleagues for coming, turning in the direction of the bar when Ilya gracefully steps into his path. His hands are occupied by two champagne flutes, one of which he hands to Shane. Before Shane can ask, Ilya lifts a finger and smirks knowingly.
“Ginger ale,” Ilya explains. “Was easy enough to get it in a fancy glass.”
Shane bites back a smile and tries not to let his eyes roam over Ilya, but he isn’t very successful. Shane opted for a black suit with a charcoal tie to match the decor, but Ilya went all out with a dark emerald suit and black dress shirt. He must catch Shane’s wandering eyes as he gives him a loose grin.
“Like what you see?”
“You know I do,” Shane murmurs, “knock it off. We don’t have much longer until we can leave.”
“That reminds me of why I came over,” Ilya says brightly. “I’ve had a few glasses of this tonight. Makes the conversation easier to handle, and all. You know what I always enjoy with some drinks and -”
“Ilya!” Shane hisses, face turning scarlet. “You cannot do this right now.”
“But I can,” Ilya whispers, leaning just close enough to look friendly. “I have just the spot, too.”
“Here? Nope, no way,” Shane says. “Wait until we’re back at my place.”
“I think you forget that it is not your choice to make, Hollander,” Ilya replies.
Shane swallows hard, looking around the room. No one seems to be paying them any mind. He knows Ilya’s so close to fully quitting smoking. Shane tells himself that’s the only reason that he agrees to such an insane demand.
“Fuck, fine,” Shane huffs. “Lead the way.”
+
The bathroom door rattles when Shane backs up against it, Ilya crowding him before dropping to his knees. He looks up at Shane with a smirk as he makes quick work of his pants and boxer briefs, pulling them down around Shane’s thighs.
“Better stay still or the door will keep shaking. Someone will hear and come looking to see what all the noise is about, da? It could be anyone walking in and finding us like this. Hayden, maybe, or one of Yuna’s lovely friends.”
Shane slowly leans his weight onto the door, hoping that’s enough to prevent it from being pushed open, then goes utterly still and focuses on breathing through his nose.
“Good boy,” Ilya praises, “giving me your cock every time I have a craving.” His voice goes deeper on the last word, drawing out the syllables.
“Whatever you need,” Shane says as Ilya’s lips part over his semi-erect cock. He sees the ghost of Ilya’s smile, there and gone as Ilya’s mouth stretches around him, enveloping Shane completely. Ilya kneels with Shane’s dick in his mouth, swallowing now and then to prevent any drooling. The stimulation is mild, all things considered, and Shane does his best not to think about it.
His eyes lock with Ilya’s for several long seconds, and Ilya gives the smallest nod of approval. Shane feels his face flush at the silent validation.
Time fades as they stay in their respective positions, Ilya keeping Shane’s cock warm and wet. The drone of voices carrying from the ballroom is less terrifying than Shane anticipated, but an undercurrent of anxiety remains. He hadn’t realized that maybe he’d needed a break from the crowd, too - Ilya must have noticed it before Shane did.
Shane’s heartbeat stutters when he feels Ilya’s hands grasp his hips, rubbing circles into them with his thumbs. His touch travels behind Shane, grabbing his ass and massaging it with both hands.
“Oh, so you’re allowed to move?” Shane asks with a slight tremor in his voice.
Ilya somehow manages to look smug; a taunting ‘I can do whatever I want’ is obvious in his expression.
“Not fair,” Shane mumbles, receiving a warning pinch to his ass cheek. He goes quiet again, but he’s unable to help the way his cock starts to stiffen from Ilya’s teasing touches. He feels himself throb in Ilya’s mouth and takes a slow, steadying breath. Shane uses all of his willpower to keep quiet and still, a mantra of ‘just a bit longer, just be good’ looping in his head.
By the time Ilya eventually pulls off, Shane’s cock is more than halfway hard and dripping with precome. Ilya stands up and kisses Shane deeply, pressing his clothed crotch against Shane’s and making Shane gasp into his mouth.
“Please, Ilya,” Shane whines. “I need you to stop before I come.”
“Maybe you deserve to come,” Ilya muses. “A little treat for being so good.”
“What? Here? Now?”
“Now,” Ilya affirms, checking his wristwatch. “If you can come in less than two minutes.”
“Fuck, yeah, okay,” Shane agrees quickly.
Ilya wastes no time wrapping a hand around Shane’s cock, smiling as he begins stroking him.
Ilya keeps to his word, choosing to use one of their rare weekends off together to see it through. The only notice he gives is telling Shane to prep himself and wear a plug to bed on the night before.
+
Ilya wastes no time, purposely waking before Shane to take a quick shower. Shane is just starting to rouse when Ilya enters the room. He crosses the space to stand on Shane’s side of the bed, dropping his towel and looking down silently.
Shane nods in unquestioning acceptance, rolling onto his back and tucking a pillow underneath his head. Ilya straddles Shane’s chest, and Shane wraps his lips around the head, kitten licking the slit. Ilya grips the headboard behind Shane with one hand and taps his jaw with the other.
Shane complies instantly, taking all of Ilya into his mouth, bobbing his head as much as he can while lying down. Shane’s eyes roll back as Ilya leaks onto his tongue. Ilya feels Shane shuffle around in an attempt to palm himself, but Ilya taps his cheek roughly.
“Look at you,” Ilya mocks, “so desperate just from having my cock in your mouth.”
“S-sorry,” Shane stammers, hands falling away.
“You will be,” Ilya responds. “Touch yourself again, and I won’t let you come.”
Shane nods vehemently, swallowing Ilya down to the root, gagging and blinking up at him with watery eyes. Ilya stares at him, grunting and running one hand through Shane’s hair, clutching it forcefully. He maneuvers Shane’s head, guiding his mouth up and down his cock.
Shane goes readily, relaxing and opening up for Ilya, choking lightly when the blunt head hits the back of his throat. Ilya quickly sets a steady rhythm, pulling Shane from base to tip over and over again. Shane hollows out his cheeks and flicks the head with his tongue, but otherwise, Ilya controls every movement.
“Blyat,” Ilya grits out, “Already close.”
The view in front of him is almost too much to bear - Shane’s eyes blurred with tears, spit trailing down his cheek, lips red and swollen from the abuse. He looks ruined, and their day has hardly begun. Ilya pulls his cock all the way out, slapping it against Shane’s mouth before sinking back in.
“Hollander, fuck, I’m coming-” he trails off with a groan as he shoots down Shane’s throat, fucking Shane’s mouth until he starts going soft, Shane gasping for air when Ilya finally pulls him off.
“Did you enjoy?” Ilya asks.
“Always,” Shane rasps, eyes wide and cock tenting his boxer briefs. Ilya looks at Shane’s erection with a salacious grin before kissing him hard. When he stops to help Shane sit up, Shane’s breathing is labored, and he leans forward, desperately seeking more.
“Patience, malysh,” Ilya coos. “This is just the beginning.”
+
Ilya waits for Shane to finish washing his coffee mug before he saunters up behind him. He slides his hands under Shane’s t-shirt, roaming over his chest and massaging his pecs. Shane’s nipples perk up under Ilya’s ministrations, and he arches into the touch eagerly. Ilya smiles against the back of Shane’s neck, drinking in his response.
His hands travel down, fingertips ghosting over Shane’s toned abs before slipping past his waistband. Ilya wraps his fingers around Shane’s rapidly hardening cock. Shane whimpers and thrusts his hips forward into the touch. He tries to turn and face Ilya, but Ilya stops him with a firm hand on his waist.
“Everything okay, lyubimyy? You’re shaking. Did you have too much coffee?”
“N-no,” Shane stutters, “I mean, yeah. I’m okay.”
Ilya laughs darkly at the wetness of Shane’s cock betraying him. He works his hand over Shane, drawing out soft noises until Shane can’t help but grind his ass back against Ilya’s hard cock. He pushes Shane’s pants and underwear around his thighs, then retrieves a small bottle of lube from his pocket before shrugging his shorts off.
Ilya’s fingers slip between Shane’s legs, toying with the base of the plug that’s stuffed inside of him. He twists and tugs on it gently, causing Shane to fall forward on the counter, braced on wobbling forearms. He carefully works the plug out of Shane’s hole and presses two fingers against his entrance. He teases Shane’s rim, still slick from the night before, then slides his fingers inside.
“Oh, fuck,” Shane moans, his entire body quaking from the touch.
“Milyy mal'chik,” Ilya murmurs, sinking his fingers deeper and working Shane open with ease. He adds a third finger and crooks them against Shane’s sensitive spot, making him keen, cheek pressed into the countertop.
Ilya slips an arm around Shane’s middle, holding him steady as his powerful leg muscles threaten to give. He deftly moves his fingers in and out, pausing briefly to coat his cock with lube.
“Do you want takeout?” Ilya asks lightly, not bothering to pause his movements.
“Wh-what?” Shane chokes out, sounding lost in pleasure.
“For dinner,” Ilya explains, as if he’s not taking Shane apart at this exact moment. “I think I want Chinese food tonight, what about you?”
“S-sure, yeah, whatever,” Shane stumbles over each word, voice high-pitched and breathy.
Ilya chuckles, deciding not to draw this out any more. As much as he loves torturing Shane like this, he’s painfully hard and ready to fuck him senseless. He works his fingers past Shane’s swollen rim once more before shoving his cock deep into him.
“Holy fuck,” Shane cries, drowning out Ilya’s own satisfied moan. He splays his upper body on the counter, sucking Ilya deeper into his tight heat. Ilya threads his fingers through Shane’s hair, where it’s damp and curling at the nape of his neck. Once he’s fully seated inside Shane, he stays completely still.
“Please,” Shane begs after a few long seconds. “I need more.”
“You don’t get to beg,” Ilya hisses, tugging Shane’s hair sharply. “You’re just a hole for me today, da? A wet hole to use however I want.”
“I’m sorry, I-”
“What did I say?” Ilya scolds. “Don’t be greedy, or I’ll find a different toy to use.”
Shane doesn’t respond, and Ilya murmurs praise as he starts pounding into him, rough and relentless. Shane wails when Ilya nails his prostate, hands flying back to clutch at him wildly.
Ilya isn’t any better off, unsure of how much longer he’ll last. He pounds into Shane over and over with perfect precision, hitting his bundle of nerves with each thrust. He pulls Shane up by his hair, letting it go to reach around and shove two fingers past his lips.
“Close,” Ilya grunts, nipping his teeth against Shane’s neck. “Come with me or not at all. Now,” he demands.
Shane sobs, muffled and brokenly, his whole body shaking violently as he comes. He spurts thick streaks of white across the counter and onto the kitchen floor. His muscles squeezing around Ilya’s cock immediately bring Ilya over the edge. Somehow, he succeeds in keeping them both upright, gripping the counter and caging Shane in.
Once he’s totally spent, Ilya slips out of Shane, using the come leaking from his ass to ease the plug back into place. The squelching sound is so obscene that Ilya is tempted to drop to his knees and replace the plug with his tongue.
For now, he scoops Shane up into his arms and heads towards the master bathroom.
+
The sloppy wet noise of Ilya’s tongue against Shane’s hole is the only sound that fills the bedroom. Not in small part due to the boxer briefs shoved into Shane’s mouth.
It’s the end of the day, and Ilya has spent the better part of an hour working Shane into a frenzy. Shane is bound to the bedframe by his wrists and ankles. Ilya’s slow exploration started with sucking and biting Shane’s nipples, and it quickly became clear that Shane would not be able to stay quiet.
(“What a noisy little fuck doll,” Ilya taunted, causing Shane to whine even louder in humiliation.
“Please, Ilya, I’m sorry,” Shane pleaded. “I can be good.”
“I’m not so sure,” Ilya chided, making tears spring to Shane’s eyes. “But I think I have something that will help.”)
Shane is gaping and soaking wet with lube and Ilya’s come. The filthy mixture coats Ilya’s face as he buries his tongue inside Shane. He stops now and then to suck on Shane’s abused rim, moaning against it and sending vibrations through him. When he finally pulls back, the sight of Shane leaves him momentarily speechless.
His entire face and chest are scarlet, his freckles standing out in contrast. His pupils are blown wide. Tears spill past his lashline, creating fresh tracks next to the ones already covering his cheeks. His chest is heaving, and he’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He looks debauched and destroyed, and Ilya can’t take it. Shane’s muffled moans aren’t enough now - he needs more.
“I want to hear you now, da? I want to feel you.”
Ilya leans over Shane and pulls the fabric from his mouth before unfastening his wrists and ankles. Shane promptly clings to him, wrapping his arms and legs around Ilya tightly.
“Please, please, please, fuck me, I need you, I need-”
Shane’s words are cut off by a scream as Ilya rams his cock inside of him, swiftly burying himself to the hilt. Ilya can feel his pulse pounding behind his eyes, making his vision go blurry. He doesn’t waste time letting Shane adjust to the stretch - they’re both more than ready for this.
“Fuuuuuck,” he draws out, snapping his hips fiercely and setting a bruising pace. “So good, Shane. Take it. Take me.”
“Yes, Ilya, fuck,” Shane rambles, eyes rolling backwards.
“Fucking. Take. It.” Ilya barks, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. “My sweet, perfect shlyukha.”
“Yours, your whore,” Shane echoes.
He continues spouting nonsense words, mindlessly agreeing with Ilya, and encouraging him even further. Ilya digs his nails into the meat of Shane’s thighs, reveling in the way his body spasms and writhes beneath him.
His eyes drop down to the place where their bodies meet, and he almost comes on the spot. Shane’s hole is stretched wide and loose, an angry shade of red and dripping with lube, spit, and come. He watches his dick slide in and out of it with no resistance. He uses one hand to untangle Shane’s legs from his waist, then tugs Shane’s bicep, frantically guiding him up on his forearms.
“Look,” Ilya demands. “Watch your greedy hole swallow my cock.”
Shane twinges around him in response, and Ilya laughs manically.
“You like that, da?” He asks, leaning back and pulling out to make sure Shane gets a good look.
“Holy fuck,” Shane whimpers, body shivering and cock spurting precome at the lewd sight.
Ilya doesn’t give Shane any warning before slamming back into him, instantly resuming his previous tempo, brutal and fast. He watches Shane jostle around underneath him, jaw slack and eyes glazed over, unintelligible noises falling from his parted lips.
Ilya’s own grasp on speech isn’t much better, reduced to slurred Russian expletives. He buries his face in Shane’s neck, sloppily kissing and nipping at the expanse of skin. He uses all of his focus to speak one last time, rasping a command into Shane’s ear.
“Come for me,” Ilya says. “Come on my cock.”
Shane turns his cheek into the soaked pillowcase, releasing a broken cry as he comes untouched. His cock shoots all over their chests, sending Ilya past the brink. He groans loudly, painting Shane’s insides with hot spurts of come. He pulls out to let some of it spill out of Shane’s gaping hole before immediately fucking it back into him. Ilya gets lost in the bliss of it all, losing track of time as he fucks Shane through his release.
Shane sits at Ilya’s kitchen counter, hunched over his laptop and chewing one of the plastic aglets on his hoodie strings. He’s reviewing a few emails Yuna sent him about potential brand deals, trying to mentally calculate which ones will work best with their schedules. Shane doesn’t hear Ilya come into the room, startling when he wraps his arms around Shane from behind.
“Jesus,” Shane breathes, turning to face him. “You scared me. Hi.”
“Hi, moy vozlyublenniy.”
“Sorry, I’m almost finished. Scheduling is stressing me out.”
“I can tell,” Ilya says, tugging on Shane’s drawstrings. “You’re going to ruin your pretty smile by chewing on these.”
“I know,” Shane sighs. “It’s a bad habit, but I can’t help it.”
Ilya hums, expression turning thoughtful.
“Maybe I could help?”
“Oh really?” Shane asks with a playful smile on his lips. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”
“Anything, anytime,” Ilya promises, slipping two long fingers into Shane’s mouth. “No questions asked.”