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Shane was going to get laid tonight.
He’d decided after dinner at the taverna. The waiter had been handsome in a typically Greek way. Tan skin, dark curls, bright smile, and faded tattoos peeking out from the rolled up sleeves of his white shirt. Shane had found himself staring at him when he was waiting on other tables, only to sputter and avoid eye contact every time he appeared again to serve Shane.
The waiter was definitely straight. Shane could tell by how ardently he flirted with the tables full of women, leaning into the sunburnt tourists, making them laugh with easy charm, touching shoulders as he cleared plates and lingering just a second too long when he refilled their glasses.
But he'd been courteous to Shane, even warm, hospitable in that effortless Mediterranean way, topping up his wine generously with each pour. It'd made Shane's chest ache and his stomach knot up.
He was feeling restless. He needed to be close to someone tonight.
So now Shane was in his room of his AirBnB, having showered and prepped. Shane didn’t go to clubs often, but when his stylist had heard he’d be spending part of the summer break in Greece, she’d practically forced him to buy an entire suitcase full of breezy resort wear. “For your slutty Euro summer,” she’d said with a wink, tossing another overpriced linen shirt into the pile before he could protest.
He’d settled on cream linen trousers and a lightweight white knit polo with a buttonless Johnny collar. The pants put his muscular hockey butt on display, while the shirt stretched across the broad expanse of his shoulders, revealing flashes of the freshly tanned skin at the hollow of his throat and collarbones.The fabric was also soft and thin enough to trace the muscular contours of Shane’s torso, his dark nipples visible in the right light. His hair, a bit longer now, was styled away from his face, a few loose strands falling onto his forehead. And he was wearing a gold Rolex on his wrist because well…they’d gifted it to him during his last campaign.
He looked….hot? He thought. Regardless, it would have to do.
His phone buzzed on the bed as Shane rubbed his cologne into his wrists.
Mom
Doing anything fun tonight?
Shane sighed. Shane had been travelling with his parents for the past couple of weeks. They'd done Athens, Naxos, and Paros, and his parents had moved on to Santorini yesterday, but Shane had insisted that he wanted to stay in Mykonos for a few more days, saying he'd barely explored the island between family activities and wanted to spend a few days wandering around on his own. Luckily, he’d learned that their AirBnB was still available for the next few days, so Shane still had access to the stunning whitewashed villa they’d rented.
The truth was that he’d actually chosen to extend his time in Mykonos because a quick Google search had told him that Mykonos was ‘widely known as the gay Mecca of Greece.’ Shane didn’t know much about Mecca, but he did know summers were his only viable chance for something gay to happen to him, so he knew he’d have to take advantage of the opportunity. If he went any longer without even so much as brushing hands with a man, his gay card would get revoked.
Shane also loved that the whole time he’d been here, no one had even so much as looked at Shane twice. No one seemed to recognize him here, as surrounded as he was by Brits and Australians and Germans. And even though he knew there were certainly a ton of Canadian tourists about, Shane Hollander had somehow managed to move through the island unnoticed and unbothered. Besides, there was the Aegean Sea and post-card worthy sunsets to see. He was not the most interesting thing to look at here. And he preferred it that way.
Shane’s hands shook at he texted his mom back. Going to wander around for a while. Talk tomorrow.
His taxi was arriving in 5 minutes, and he needed to calm his nerves before he changed his mind. Shane wasn’t big on going to clubs or bars in general, let alone going to them by himself. And as desperate as he was to get laid tonight, his anxious brain was already thinking of all the ways he could embarrass himself or say something stupid or kill a conversation with his awkwardness. Maybe he would get rejected by someone who was looking for someone hotter, or more confident, or more interesting.
Shane ran his fingers through his hair, making it a bit messier. He could see the taxi pulling up through the window, so he took a deep, grounding breath. He applied one last spritz of his cologne, checked that he had what he needed in his wallet, slid his phone into his pocket, and headed out.
He was going to get laid tonight. By someone sexy. And it was going to be good.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
The club was hot. Shane could feel the sweat gathering at the back of his neck as he sipped his gin and tonic. He’d already had a few wine glasses at dinner and was now on his second G&T, which was more than what Shane usually drank in one night. But he needed the liquid courage.
The music was too loud and the club lights were giving him a headache. Everywhere he looked, men were dancing and flirting and having fun, completely unconcerned with who might be watching. He didn’t know how many ‘sorrys’ he’d murmured under his breath, even though he hadn’t bumped into anyone. Everyone just kept on bumping into him, pushing past him to order at the bar or flailing their arms as they danced. It was slowly becoming a sensory nightmare for Shane, and he hadn’t even been here for that long.
But he did have to admit that the men around him were…beautiful. Tan and muscular and smiling and radiant. Some were in button down shirts with one too many buttons undone, while others were in tight tanks, all broad chests and bulging biceps. He could see sweat glistening on skin, the club lights creating multicoloured patterns across their bodies.
Which was why Shane didn't know whose dog he'd run over in a past life, because the man currently crowding him against the bar was really not his type…to put it nicely.
For one, Shane could tell that he was way too drunk. He kept leaning into Shane, every lean making Shane brace for the moment he'd topple over entirely. He was much older than what Shane personally preferred, with a flushed face and watery eyes and a voice that was way too loud even over the music. And he smelled like stale sweat and spilled beer. Even worse, he was not leaving Shane alone.
Shane was nothing if not polite, so he'd been nice enough, but he also thought he was being quite firm and apparent in expressing his disinterest. He'd declined the first drink, the second drink, and every invitation to dance that had followed.
"Can I get you another drink?" he slurred, swaying slightly on his feet.
"Um, no. I'm good," Shane repeated, grimacing.
The man brought a hand up to Shane’s face, and Shane slapped it away before he made contact. “Are you Korean or Chinese or something?”
Irritation flared hot in Shane's chest. “No, I’m half Japanese.”
“Same thing,” he said, laughing like what he just said was the funniest thing ever. Shane almost threw the rest of his rapidly warming G&T in his face. “I’ve always wanted to hook up with an Asian guy.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
The man leaned into him again, and Shane had to put a hand up to keep him at arm's length. The guy's smile faltered for the first time.
"Come on. Don't be like that."
Shane planted a hand firmly against his chest, stopping him from getting any closer. He may be quiet, but he was a fucking hockey player, and he wasn’t about to let this guy get all up in his shit. "I said no,” he gritted through his teeth, every trace of politeness gone from his voice.
The man’s expression darkened, and he imagined he was about to tell Shane to go fuck himself when a new voice cut through the tension.
“There you are.”
Shane turned to find a hand resting lightly against his elbow, a man’s shoulder brushing against his.
The man attached to the hand was fucking beautiful. Dark blond curls, blue-green eyes, and a jaw so firmly set that Shane wondered if the man was trying to crack a tooth. He had a straight nose and plush pink lips with a defined cupid’s bow, though he was currently grimacing right now. Shane allowed his eyes to sweep over him, catching the small gold hoop in his right ear and the silk button down that was generously opened, showing off a muscular chest and a gold cross necklace that glinted with every flash of the strobe lights.
“You got lost?” The mystery man continued, stepping in closer so he was taking up more space, effectively boxing the other man out. With this second interjection, Shane noticed that he had an accent. Russian, if Shane had to guess.
Shane blinked, his brain taking a few seconds to catch up. Whoever this guy was, he was gorgeous, but they did not know each other. But by the way the man gave Shane’s elbow a squeeze, he figured he was currently trying to save him from his unlucky situation.
“Uh, no. I was – It just took too long to get a drink and then I couldn’t find you,” Shane stammered out, wondering if he sounded convincing.
The man hummed, letting his steely eyes drift over to the man beside Shane. “Everything good here?”
“Well, actually –”
“Yeah, let’s go,” Shane interrupted quickly, sliding his unfinished G&T back onto the bar. At that, the mystery man simply nodded, pulling on Shane’s elbow.
As he guided him through the crowd, Shane swore he could hear the man yelling after him, but Shane didn't care. He was just glad to be getting away from him.
“Air?” the mystery man asked, looking back at him as they emerged from the crush of bodies near the dance floor. The way he rolled his Rs itched Shane’s ear just right.
“Yeah,” Shane agreed through a breath.
At that, he let go of Shane’s arm, and Shane felt the loss of contact on his skin. He nodded toward the door, silently inviting Shane to follow him.
Outside, Shane felt his senses settle slightly, though the ringing in his ears remained. It was still loud, just in a different way. There were a ton of people milling around outside the club, chatting and laughing and smoking. Not to mention all the tourists weaving through the crowded streets.
The man led him a little farther down the cobblestone street, leaning against the whitewashed wall of the club. He was standing under a wall-mounted lantern that highlighted his features even more. Fuck, he was even hotter in better lighting.
“Mind if I smoke?” He asked, glancing up at Shane as he placed a cigarette between his lips regardless.
“Smoking is bad for you.” Shane offered stupidly.
Ilya rolled his eyes, but his lips pulled into a small smile as he lit the cigarette. Shane watched as he took a drag, his eyes fixed on the way his pink lips wrapped around the filter.
Shane became hyperaware of his body as the man rolled the cigarette between his fingers between drags, absently wetting his lower lip with his tongue. Shane pushed his hands into his pockets, realizing that he was just standing there awkwardly. He moved to lean against the wall too, facing the crowd.
“Thanks for that,” Shane said, nodding toward the club. “But you didn’t have to. I was handling it.”
The man snorted, crossing his arms. The sleeves of his silk shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and Shane’s eyes traced the lines of his sculpted forearms and biceps with the movement. Along with his gold necklace, he also had a braided gold bracelet on his wrist. God, he’s so sexy.
“You should have told him to fuck off first time,” he said around a mouthful of smoke
“Were you watching me or something?” Shane asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Bartenders were fucking slow,” Ilya shrugged, “So I was people-watching, and then I saw you looking constipated.”
“He was making me feel constipated,” Shane muttered, shaking his head.
Ilya laughed, causing Shane’s head to jerk toward him. The laugh rumbled out of him, rich and unrestrained, and Shane felt something stupid happen to his stomach.
A moment of silence passed between them. Shane realized he was still looking at him and smiling like an idiot, so he let his eyes snap back to the crowd of club-goers in front of them, taking in the cacophony of voices and the smell of cigarette smoke mixed with the salt air.
He wondered if this man still wanted to talk to him, or if he’d saved Shane from his situation and now was expecting them to part ways once he finished his cigarette. Was he at the club alone? Had he left his friends to get a drink and had now found himself stuck outside with Shane? Was he waiting for Shane to say something? Or excuse himself?
Shane didn’t know. All he knew was that he was one of the most beautiful men Shane had ever seen, and he was really hoping he would get to hear him laugh again.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
The veterinary clinic Ilya worked at was down a surgeon, which meant Ilya and the other overworked vets were constantly picking up the slack. Most days (read: every day), he was exhausted, running on caffeine and spite, and surviving on whatever food he could shove into his mouth between appointments. And on the days he was on call, he'd get calls as early as four in the morning to clock in for an emergency surgery, usually before he'd even had a chance to sleep for five hours.
When he'd gotten home one night, collapsing onto the couch with his jacket and shoes still on, purely defeated by exhaustion, he'd sent Svetlana a text.
i need a fucking break before i lose my mind.
Ilya had been intending to take vacation time the month before, but once the other surgeon had left, he and his colleagues had been told by the clinic manager that they wouldn't be able to approve any vacation requests for the next couple of months (or until they found a new vet), other than the occasional day off.
So Ilya had been on the verge of burnout. One more twelve-hour shift from collapsing and getting into a literal fist fight with the next pet owner who said, "But Google says..."
He needed to sleep for a week straight. Or be sedated. Or to go on vacation, like he’d fucking wanted.
Svetlana had texted him back immediately, along with a stunning photo of the beach view she had from her AirBnB. Join me in Mykonos!!
Ilya knew she was there with a group of girl friends. Probably waking up late every day, eating an infinite amount of gyros, relaxing on the beach all day, taking ouzo shots at the club every night.
All things Ilya was yearning to do.
Ilya
i don’t want to intrude
Svetlana
don’t be dumb, ilyusha
i am inviting you
before you jump out of the window of your condo
Ilya
is there room for me?
Svetlana
yeah this place is huge
there’s a spare room for you
With that, Ilya had all but booked the flight, but Svetlana had followed up with one warning: He could only stay if he promised not to fuck any of Svetlana's friends.
Ilya had texted back that such an arrangement required cooperation from both parties. Svetlana's friends would also have to agree not to fuck him. She’d simply replied that she was going to take him on a boat tour and drop him in the middle of the fucking sea if he didn't behave.
Then she'd sent him the listing for the AirBnB with all the information attached.
Two days later, Ilya had taken a week's unpaid leave, citing some bullshit excuse about having to go visit his sick father. His father was actually sick, so it was only half a lie.
Earlier tonight, he and the girls had been pre-gaming together. They weren't going to be going out together because Ilya didn't want to impose on yet another girl's night out, but he'd still joined them for drinks, laughing with Svetlana until his stomach hurt for the first time in months. And as usual, he’d ended up being the resident photographer, taking pictures for everyone’s Instagram and even ending up in some himself.
(Sveta’s friends had taken a ton with him when she’d gone off to the bathroom, and she’d been very unamused at the sight of Nicola’s lips on Ilya’s cheek, dangerously close to his mouth, when she’d emerged.)
When the taxi had dropped them all off in the city, they’d split up. Ilya had had no plan. He wanted to get a drink, maybe dance, maybe even go home with someone. He was on fucking vacation, for fuck’s sake. And he didn’t have to wake up early for a shift tomorrow.
So, he'd wandered down the crowded streets full of clubs and bars, looking for a drink and somewhere to spend the next few hours, until he spotted a place that had little mini pride flags along the entrance.
The last person he’d expected to see in a gay club in Mykonos was Shane Hollander.
The Shane Hollander.
Best player in the MLH. And also Ilya’s favourite.
Being bothered by some guy who looked and acted like bridge troll.
He didn’t know what had taken over him, but watching polite Shane Hollander struggle to get rid of the man had amused Ilya at first, until he noticed that he kept on getting too close to Shane, despite the fact that Shane had repeatedly been putting distance between them.
Then he’d seen Shane physically push him away, and his body had intervened before his mind could even catch up.
Not because Shane couldn’t handle himself physically (Ilya had watched him brace for countless hits, watched him sacrifice his body to stop a puck, watched him hit the ice hard and keep playing anyway), but because he could tell that dusty man was the type who wouldn’t get the clue unless someone else got involved.
Now, as Ilya smoked, he took the time to study Shane. He'd looked like a fucking work of art in the club, all bathed in pink and purple and red lights that brought out the angles of his perfect features.
Because if Cosmopolitan was right about anything, it was that Shane Hollander really was the hottest player in the league. Ilya had thought he was hot all suited up in his hockey gear, but seeing him now, in stylish linen pants that hugged his ass and what looked like an impossibly soft polo stretching across his broad shoulders and thick biceps, Ilya could confirm he was beautiful as fuck. And his freckles, beneath the warm glow of the lantern, were more noticeable than they'd ever been on Ilya’s TV screen, his brown eyes slightly golden in the light.
And he was gay. Or bisexual? Apparently.
Or curious, at least.
Because you didn’t end up in a room full of gay and queer men if you weren’t at least somewhat open to the idea.
Just the thought of a gay, or bisexual, or curious Shane Fucking Hollander was going to make Ilya pop a fucking stiffy in public. He could practically pass out right now.
But he had to play it cool. The universe had somehow seen fit to drop Shane Hollander into a gay club in Mykonos on the exact night Ilya walked into it. He didn’t want to scare him away.
Ilya tapped some ash off of his cigarette. He had a feeling Shane did not want to be recognized tonight, so Ilya had to do him the courtesy of pretending otherwise. “What is your name?”
The small smile that had settled on Shane's face slipped, and Ilya found himself shifting in place.
Ilya could see the gears in Shane’s head turning. He was probably wondering if he should give Ilya his real name, even though Ilya had given him no reason to suspect he knew who he was. “Uh…”
Ilya raised his eyebrow. “You do not know name?”
“Shane,” he blurted out finally, immediately wincing. “It’s Shane.”
Ilya smiled, unable to help himself. Ilya was glad he hadn’t given him a fake name. He wanted to be able to call him Shane, to feel the name roll off his tongue, to watch him react every time he said it.
Ilya held his hand out. “Ilya,” he murmured, holding Shane’s gaze.
Shane grabbed his hand, giving it a firm shake, staring back at him. He looked a bit nervous, but Ilya, as someone who had never struggled in the getting-people-into-bed department, could also tell that Shane was attracted to him. He could see it in his eyes, in the way Shane's gaze kept drifting back to his mouth.
“Nice to meet you.” Shane said, slipping into his interview voice for a second.
Ilya smiled even wider, letting his thumb stroke the soft skin of Shane’s hand before he pulled away, flicking his finished cigarette to the ground. “You want to go back inside?”
“Are you here with…” Shane started, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the club.
“I am alone.”
“Oh,” Shane said, unable to quite hide the note of relief in his voice. “Do you want to?”
Ilya tilted his head, eyes drifting over the crowd gathered outside the club before stepping closer to Shane. “I could dance.”
Shane scratched the back of his neck. “I am not much of a dancer,” he said sheepishly.
Ilya chuckled, leaning in conspiratorially. “It’s okay,” he winked. “I am.”
He watched Shane blush (Ilya had made him blush!), before giving Shane his hand again. Ilya could smell the spicy scent of his cologne from here, and he couldn’t wait to bury his face into Shane’s neck. “Just one dance?”
Shane swallowed, but he took Ilya’s hand, his eyes tracing the line of Ilya's arm up to his face.
“Okay.”
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
Shane’s mind was screaming at him as Ilya led him back into the club, smack dab in the middle of the dance floor.
Obviously, Shane deciding to come to a gay club in a super busy area was already a risk. But he’d kind of hoped that he’d manage to pick someone up quickly enough, proposition them to go back to his villa, and fuck (all within a record amount of time so he didn’t have to spend all night potentially being recognized).
He’d already been here longer than he intended, and now he was going to be spending even more time dancing with Ilya for everyone to see. Grinding on him, maybe? Letting his hands wander and –
As Ilya’s grip tightened on his hand as he expertly manoeuvred and snaked through the crowd, Shane reminded himself that no one was looking. He was one person in a crowd of hundreds of super hot gay men who were all drunk or high and enjoying their vacation and not thinking about Shane Hollander. He imagined most of the people here had probably never even watched a hockey game in their life, because most people didn’t give a shit about the MLH outside of Canada and some parts of the US.
And this absolute Adonis of a man didn’t seem to know who he was either, so maybe he didn't have to be careful for a few hours.
Besides, just the innocent touch of Ilya’s hand holding his was making his sex-deprived body sing. So fuck it, he thought. Or more specifically, fuck me.
When Ilya had found a space for them on the dance floor, he let go of his hand, turning to face Shane. “Okay?” He called over the music.
On one hand, it made Shane a bit anxious that they were right in the middle of the dance floor, because it meant it would be a nightmare to get back out of again. But on the other, Shane could already feel himself blending in, another anonymous face swallowed up by the crowd and the music.
Shane nodded, his hands falling awkwardly to his sides. “All good,” he called back. The club was playing pulsing house music, which Shane didn’t really know how to dance to (he didn’t know how to dance in general, but whatever), so he settled on swaying. It was what other people were doing, and it didn’t require any complicated moves.
Ilya started dancing too. He seemed way more comfortable than Shane, his body already finding the rhythm without any effort. But he wasn’t touching him for now, and Shane desperately wanted him to. But he was clearly trying to respect Shane’s person, which only made Shane’s dick twitch in his pants. Hot.
As they danced, Shane couldn’t avoid being pushed closer by the crush of bodies swaying and moving to the music. The small gap between them gradually disappeared, and soon enough, they were almost chest to chest. If Shane wanted to, he could suck Ilya’s lower lip into his mouth, or trace the curve of his gold earring with his tongue.
“Can I touch you?” He heard Ilya ask, snapping Shane out of the staring contest he was having with Ilya’s mouth.
PLEASE, Shane wanted to scream, but he landed on a much more dignified “Yes.”
Ilya smiled, sliding his hands onto Shane’s waist, pulling him even closer, until their hips were flush. Shane could feel the hard line of Ilya's body pressed against his own, the bulge in his dark jeans pressing against his. Ilya’s eyes were lidded, and Shane swore he might kiss him before he turned Shane around, drawing his back into his chest, his large hand splayed against Shane’s stomach. Being the same height, Ilya’s face immediately nestled into Shane’s neck, his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin there.
Shane was hot. Not because he was in a crowd full of sweaty warm bodies, but because Ilya’s wandering hands on his body felt like being licked by fire. He hadn’t been touched in so fucking long, and the feeling of being held by real, muscular arms was making Shane’s head spin. And even though Ilya was only breathing on him, he could feel the phantom wetness of Ilya’s tongue on his neck, imagining what it would feel like on his chest, between his thighs, on his cock.
It didn’t help that Shane could feel whatever the hell Ilya was working with in his jeans against his ass. It was substantial, heavy against him, and Ilya wasn't being subtle about it. He was rocking into him slowly, grinding, letting Shane feel it.
Shane had no idea how long they’d danced in that position. He couldn’t tell by the song because, to his untrained ears, they all sounded the same. All he knew was that he somehow was now clutching Ilya’s hands to him, his nails digging into the warm skin of his forearms, as he held them at his waist and stomach, having unconsciously arched his back enough to rest his head back against Ilya’s shoulder. He could feel Ilya’s cross necklace digging into his back, and Ilya suckling at his ear.
Fuuuuuck.
Shane didn’t know if he’d moaned or whimpered, but he felt Ilya’s forehead rest against his shoulder, a groan vibrating through his chest. “You’re fucking killing me.”
Shane turned around, wrapping his arms around Ilya's neck so they were forehead to forehead, their breaths mingling. "Come home with me," Shane breathed, the anxious part of his brain making him add, "If you want."
Ilya chuckled, his grip tightening on Shane's hips, pulling him, if possible, even closer. Shane didn't know if Ilya was half-hard or fully hard, but his bulge had definitely swelled. "I want.”
Shane was clearly lust-drunk, because he pulled Ilya in for a kiss without hesitation, immediately moaning the second he felt Ilya’s velvety hot tongue against his.
This was fucking happening. And with the hottest guy Shane had ever seen in his life.
Ilya gripped Shane’s jaw as he kissed him, his tongue sliding deep into Shane's mouth with practiced, sweeping strokes. He was such a good kisser that Shane wanted to live in Ilya’s mouth, wanted to drown in his spit.
“Let’s go," Ilya said when he pulled away, his voice rough and eyes dark.
Shane let himself be guided out of the club just as he had before, barely feeling the press of people around him as they weaved through the crowd. All he could feel was Ilya’s grip on his wrists, his lips still tingling from the kiss.
When they emerged, the air hit him like cold water, even though it was 30 degrees in Mykonos. Ilya’s hand had slid from Shane’s wrist to his palm, and he was holding his hand as he pushed past the people outside of the club into the street.
“Taxi?” Ilya asked as he looked back at him, already steering them toward the taxi stand near the waterfront when Shane nodded.
Shane’s bodily reaction was confusing right now. He was fucking wired, feeling more alive now than he’d ever been even winning a MLH Cup, and absolutely weightless at the same time, like he was floating, his mind blank.
Then, to Shane’s surprise, as Ilya squeezed his hand, his stomach grumbled.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
Ilya needed his mouth on Shane's again. On his neck. On the exposed skin where his polo revealed his collarbones. On his abs, his thighs, his dick, his perfect, round ass. And he was so close to getting a taxi, ready to pay 500 euros if necessary if it meant they could get to Shane’s place as fast as possible until Shane’s stomach grumbled.
Shane had apologized profusely, insisting on not interrupting the night, but Ilya had just laughed as his stomach grumbled a second time as he protested, and now they were sitting at a tiny gyro shop tucked into one of the winding side streets, sharing a plastic table beneath a string of lights.
Ilya had to admit that he wanted to spend more time with him. For all he knew, if they went back to his to fuck, it’d be over in a couple of hours, and Ilya would have to leave and never, ever see him again. He wanted to talk to Shane Hollander, to ask him a bunch of questions that didn't revolve around goals, assists, or next season. He wanted to see him blush again.
And to be fair, he’d had dinner before pre-gaming, but it had been a measly dinner. They’d all been way more focused on consuming alcohol more than anything else. So he could eat. He’d need the extra energy, any way.
“I could have paid,” Shane grumbled as he pushed the wrapping down his gyro, clearly debating how and where to take the perfect bite.
“It’s okay, Mr. Rolex,” Ilya teased, already having scarfed down a massive bite of his. “Was only 15 euros.”
“I know, but…” Shane sighed, pausing to chew. “I owe you one.”
“There are ways you can repay me that do not include money.”
Shane nearly choked on his gyro and Ilya just laughed, shaking his head as a blush immediately crept across Shane's cheeks. Success.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, watching people drift past along the narrow street. The island was still buzzing with life despite the late hour.
It was only when Shane looked back at him that Ilya noticed a small smear of tzatziki at the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, he reached across the table, brushing the sauce off Shane’s face with his finger.
Rather than wipe his finger off of his napkin, Ilya just made his finger linger by Shane’s lips, nodding encouragement, a smirk playing at his mouth.
His cheeks burning, Shane leaned forward and took Ilya's finger into his mouth, sucking the tzatziki off his skin.
The warmth of Shane’ mouth shot straight to his dick, because Ilya had to pull his hand away, a breathy laugh escaping him despite his best efforts. He could swear he saw Shane smile smugly, but he was already taking another bite of his gyro before Ilya could make sure.
So he’s a tease too, Ilya thought, trying to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head just at the thought. God, he was going to fuck him so good.
As they finished their gyros, they sipped on the water bottles Ilya had also bought, recovering from the heat and the alcohol and the dancing.
Grinding and kissing on the dance floor had clearly done some good for Shane, because there was a glow under his skin, and Ilya was struck again by just how fucking beautiful he was.
He liked to think it was him that was making Shane look like that, or maybe it was just the delicious gyro. Either way, Ilya couldn’t believe that he was eating and chatting with Shane Hollander in a fucking Mediterranean paradise of all places.
Or that Shane Hollander was visibly into men.
The guy whose games Ilya had watched for years. The guy who made Ilya’s heart jump every time the camera man focused on his ridiculously pretty face during a game.
Ilya ventured a question, careful about his tone. “So, you are…solo-travelling?”
Shane shifted in his seat, and he took a moment before he answered. “I was travelling with my parents, but…I needed a few days to myself.” He gave a small shrug. “I have…a stressful job.”
“Me too,” Ilya said dryly, and he noticed that Shane just nodded. He did not ask Ilya what he did, and Ilya was fine with that. He knew why. He didn’t want to ask Ilya what he did because then Ilya might ask the same of Shane. Besides, as a Russian, Ilya didn’t care for how North Americans were always asking about work and career ambitions to make small talk. It was boring and it revealed nothing interesting about the person.
“What about you?” Shane asked instead. “Are you travelling alone?”
“I crashed my friend Svetlana’s vacation,” Ilya admitted, smiling. “Well, she invited me. But they are on girls trip. And I thought they deserved one night without me stealing all the attention.”
Shane laughed, and Ilya loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I think maybe tomorrow, they are doing day trip to Delos,” Ilya continued, eyes fixed on Shane. “But I think maybe I will stay here. Have pool all to myself. Finally know peace.”
Shane’s smile only grew wider, but instead of inviting himself over to Ilya’s AirBnB like Ilya wished he would, he just said,“That could be nice.”
Ilya just hummed, never letting his eyes leave Shane. After a beat, Shane asked, “Where are you from?” His brow furrowed. “Or where do you live? Or…I mean, both really.”
Ilya chuckled. “Moscow,” he answered. “But I live in Boston.”
Shane nodded, looking like he was filing that information away somewhere. Ilya imagined a world in which if they exchanged numbers tonight, Ilya could see him again when he played in the city.
He was already imagining seeing him again, and they hadn’t even fucked yet. God, his crush was embarrassing.
Shane pointed at himself. “Born in Ottawa. But I live in Montreal.”
“Montreal is very beautiful,” Ilya said.
Shane’s eyes lit up. “You’ve been?”
Ilya had gone to see a Metros game at the Bell Centre because, as a hockey fan, it was one of his dreams, but he couldn’t tell Shane that. “Bachelor party,” he shrugged, smirking. “You know what they say about Montreal strip clubs…”
Shane rolled his eyes, though a laugh escaped him anyway. “Boston is nice, too.” He took a sip of his water. “You like it there?”
Ilya did like Boston. He’d been placed there for his veterinary internship and, once it ended, one of the senior vets at the clinic had offered him a full-time position. He'd taken it without much hesitation.
It wasn't home, exactly. But it had become something close to it. He could be himself there. He didn't have to worry about his father’s disapproval or his brother's constant judgment. He didn't have to watch every word that came out of his mouth or pretend to be someone he wasn’t. And unlike Russia, where being queer felt like a stain he was supposed to scrub away, Boston had given him room to breathe.
Besides, he made good money as a vet, and he had great friends and a beautiful apartment he loved.
“Yeah,” Ilya said simply. “I like it.” He took a sip of his water in turn now, debating what he was going to say next. “Better than Russia for…” Ilya waved a hand between them, “…you know.”
He saw Shane swallow hard, but he nodded, and Ilya noticed the way Shane nervously licked at his lips.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Shane asked, his voice quiet.
Ilya's heart stuttered. Was he about to tell him who he really was, beyond just his name? Ilya braced for it, his knee bouncing underneath the table. "Of course,” he murmured just as quietly, schooling his face into a look of calm attentiveness.
“I’m not out,” Shane started, his eyes avoiding contact with Ilya’s eyes. Instead, they darted around, his hands worrying the plastic cap of his water bottle. “To anyone in my life. Not even my parents.”
Shane let out a shaky breath, then immediately corrected himself. “Well that’s not true. My best friend, Rose, knows. And my stylist. And I told my agent. But…me being gay is still basically a secret.”
Ilya figured as much, and because he was doing a great job at pretending not to know exactly who Shane Hollander was, he was going to ignore that Shane had let it slip that ‘his agent’ knew.
“I understand,” he said softly. “That must be hard.”
“Yeah,” Shane laughed, but it was bitter. “It is.”
“I have not told my father and brother,” Ilya offered, picking at the label on his own water bottle. “But I think sometimes they must know. They already hate me anyway, so it would not matter. But I do not see why they deserve that part of me.”
Shane looked at him now, his expression softening. His hand twitched on his water bottle, as if he wanted to grab Ilya’s hand.
“I’m sorry. That’s terrible.”
“Is okay,” Ilya shrugged. “Your parents…They would not be good about it?”
“They would,” Shane said immediately. “I’m sure they would be. I’m just not ready to tell them.”
Ilya nodded, and he let his leg, the one that wasn’t bouncing anxiously, open wider to brush against Shane’s under the table until their knees were pressed gently together.
Shane gave him a small smile, and Ilya smiled back, letting the silence settle comfortably between them.
After a moment, to lighten the mood, Ilya asked, “You have stylist? Are they the one who got you fancy Rolex?”
“Jealous?” Shane laughed, wiggling his eyebrows at Ilya.
“A little,” Ilya grumbled, pointing accusingly at his wrist. “It costs more than my car, probably.”
“I got it for free,” Shane blurted out. “Uh, through work. So, I didn't actually buy it.”
Ilya hummed, bumping their knees together. “I am just teasing. I love a man who dresses well.”
When Shane blushed again, Ilya nearly pumped his fist in the air cartoonishly, but he kept a smug smirk on his face, shooting Shane a wink.
“I have another question,” Ilya said more carefully, waiting for a group of drunk tourists to pass their table. He didn’t know how else to ask this sensibly, but if they were going to have sex tonight, he needed to know. “Have you ever been with a man?”
“Yeah,” Shane replied nervously, his gaze dropping to his half-empty water bottle as his cheeks flushed red. “I have. Just…not in a while.” He admitted, looking a bit embarrassed.
Ilya felt relief settle in his chest. He was glad to hear that, if he was being honest, even though being Shane’s first penetrative experience would absolutely not have been a problem for Ilya. He was committed to making this experience amazing for him, regardless. But Ilya was kind of happy that they didn’t have to take it so slow tonight. Because he wanted to absolutely ravage him.
What he wasn’t thrilled about, though, were the images that flooded his mind of Shane with other men. Did he have someone in Montreal, or in another city? If Ilya hadn’t saved him from that creep earlier, would he have gone home with someone else from the club? Ilya had to rein in his ridiculously jealous mind, reminding himself that he'd known Shane for all of a few hours. But he still couldn’t stop the flare of jealousy in his stomach.
“Okay,” Ilya said after a long moment, cutting through the silence as he slapped his hands on his thighs. “Well, I am ready to fuck now. Are you?”
Shane scoffed, his nervousness turning into an incredulous smile.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said with a laugh, but he felt Shane’s knee press into his, his eyes darkening with obvious interest. “I’m ready.”
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
The taxi ride to Shane's villa was torture. All he could feel was Ilya's body heat beside him, the brush of his leg against Shane's, his strong hand kneading at Shane’s thigh. Shane tried to keep his breathing steady, but he couldn't stop himself from shifting in his seat, trying to relieve the ache in his pants. Ilya just smirked, his hand sliding higher, his thumb tracing circles that made Shane have to bite his lip. The taxi driver was chatting animatedly with Ilya, offering his knowledge about the best sites to see, and Shane was grateful he didn’t have to contribute because he was pretty sure he did not have the ability to speak right now.
He wasn’t thinking about the fact that telling Ilya he was gay, just saying the words out loud, had felt freeing rather than terrifying, even though he was a complete stranger to him. He wasn’t thinking about how Ilya kind of made him feel like a giddy teenager, despite the fact that he was a grown ass man. All of those feelings were definitely there, making him feel all warm inside, but what Shane was feeling a thousand times more intensely was arousal.
He could not wait to scratch the itch under his skin, to finally feel relief and pleasure and release, after so long. But he specifically couldn’t wait to taste Ilya. To lick every inch of his skin, to feel every plane of his body, to have him inside him. Because beyond just being horny and sex-deprived, Shane genuinely couldn’t remember ever being this attracted to someone. He felt it everywhere, vibrating in his fingers and toes and in his core.
When they arrived at the villa, Shane handed the taxi driver more bills than probably needed before Ilya could pay, thanking him before he was practically running to the front door. By the time he’d unlocked the door, he felt Ilya behind him, his hands on Shane’s hips as they both stumbled into the entryway.
Shane spun around, slamming Ilya into the door before it was even fully closed, claiming his lips in desperation. He immediately pushed his hands under his silk button down, feeling the hard lines of Ilya's waist and abs before sliding to his chest to squeeze his pecs. In turn, he felt one of Ilya's hands fisting at his hair, the other squeezing his ass through his thin linen pants.
"Fuck, take this off," Shane gasped against his lips as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. He was practically shaking with his need, his fingers trembling as they struggled to get the buttons through the holes. Ilya just kissed down Shane’s neck before nipping at the tender skin where his shoulder met his collarbone, his warm tongue making Shane shiver. They hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on, so Shane let himself close his eyes in the dark, feeling the heat of Ilya everywhere.
“Bedroom,” Ilya breathed when he pulled away, not caring that Shane was gripping Ilya’s shirt so tight, one forceful pull would probably rip the buttons off. Shane considered it for a moment, knowing that he could just give Ilya one of his shirts for tomorrow and give him the money to replace this one. He just needed Ilya’s clothes off now, needed to feel his hot, bare skin against his.
Shane was so desperate he would let Ilya press him into the wall and fuck him right there in the entryway, but he somehow activated his brain after Ilya’s ‘bedroom’, his legs carrying them upstairs.
Before Shane could continue his mission to remove Ilya’s shirt as they stumbled into the bedroom, Ilya was already ripping Shane’s clothes off between kisses, tugging off his shirt, licking into his mouth as he unbuttoned his linen pants and pulled them down his legs along with his briefs.
Shane was on his back on the plush bed before he knew it, Ilya sucking at his throat again as he trailed a hand down his stomach to take Shane's already hard cock in his hand, teasing at the tip, his thumb circling over his slit with every twist of his hand.
Shane moaned, his hips bucking into Ilya's hand. He was painfully hard already, and there was a voice at the back of his mind who worried that after so long not feeling another person's hands on his body, Shane may cum from just a damn handjob.
So he grabbed Ilya, Shane's hands sliding under his shirt again, this time from the collar, running over his muscular back. "Take this fucking thing off, please.”
"Is Gucci," Ilya tsked breathlessly as he looked at Shane, smirking as he got up to straddle him. Shane watched as he unbuttoned just a few more buttons before pulling it off from the collar. Shane could see that Ilya was hard, too, his jeans straining with his arousal, so he worked on the button and zipper of his jeans at the same time Ilya dealt with his shirt, pressing a palm against his erection.
Instead of continuing to kiss or touch or tease him, Ilya leaned over, fumbling around until he found the bedside lamp's switch. It turned on, casting a golden glow across the room. Ilya sat back on his heels, his eyes raking down Shane's body slowly, tracing his face, neck, chest, abs, hips, thighs, and his hard cock resting against his stomach.
Ilya’s chest was heaving, flushed and glistening with sweat. His pupils were so dilated that Shane could barely see the blue of his eyes anymore. “You are so fucking beautiful," Ilya groaned, an expression on his face that almost looked like pain.
Shane felt himself blush, but he didn't care about his embarrassment because Ilya was shirtless, and he had the most insane body Shane had ever seen even though he was surrounded by athletes all day. Broad shoulders, hefty pecs, muscular arms, and a scattering of moles on his skin. Carved abs and a v-line that was so sharp, Shane wanted his tongue to come back bleeding after he licked it. Not to mention the hair that traced a line straight down to his waistband.
“You,” Shane breathed, “are fucking beautiful. Are you a physical trainer or something?”
Ilya laughed, but he finally brought his lips back to Shane’s skin, making him sigh. “I could ask you same thing,” he murmured against his pec before his mouth closed around Shane’s nipple. Shane groaned, threading his hair through Ilya’s soft curls.
As much as Shane loved foreplay and wanted to know what Ilya’s lips and mouth and tongue felt like on every inch of his skin, he wanted him inside him. He didn’t know if he could wait if Ilya kept on kissing him and touching him like this. And Ilya still had his jeans on, which Shane couldn’t imagine being able to bear, because Ilya looked hard as fuck.
“Ilya, please,” Shane rasped, his hand sliding underneath Ilya’s jeans to rest on his ass. “Take these off and fuck me.”
Ilya only moved his attention to Shane's other nipple, massaging his pec with his hand before kissing a trail down Shane's chest and stomach, leaving a path of fire the whole way. Ilya pushed Shane's thighs apart roughly, and Shane felt his hips jerk again when he felt Ilya's breath against the head of his cock. "Mmm, not until I taste you," he said against the inside of his thigh, sucking a hickey into the soft skin until it bloomed red.
“Fuck,” Shane cried out as Ilya then ran his tongue over his balls, his palm stroking against Shane's length as his cock rested against his stomach. He was not expecting Ilya to start there, and he would have probably kneed Ilya in the head if he wasn't holding his legs down.
He sucked one of Shane’s balls into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, before he licked a strip up his shaft, positioning Shane's cock with his hand to suckle on his head before he took him down to the root. If he'd been teasing him before, Ilya was clearly done playing because he was sucking Shane off now like he was starving for it, bobbing his head eagerly, his tongue working with each stroke, taking him easily down his throat like it was nothing.
“Holy fuck,” Shane moaned, his hands immediately fisting into Ilya's hair. He was probably pulling, but he couldn't help it. He was going to cum already if he continued like this. He was so fucking sensitive and strung tight that every hot slide of Ilya’s mouth and tongue felt like it was the one that was going to make Shane explode.
“Ilya, I’m gong to cum,” Shane panted, his neck straining as he tried to hold off, one hand dropping to dig into Ilya’s shoulder as he pushed him away. But Ilya only doubled down, letting his throat tighten around Shane’s cock as he basically fucked himself on his length.
The sensation of being deep throated did it for him, because Shane was cumming before he even knew it, surprising even himself as he unloaded into Ilya's throat, the hand in his hair holding him down on his cock.
As Ilya pulled off, licking his lips, wiping away the spit that had dribbled onto his chin with the back of his hand, Shane's whole body was shaking, his breathing ragged and his muscles taut. He jerked off at home, obviously, and used his dildo, but he'd never been able to bring himself to orgasm like that. And neither had the other men Shane had been with.
By the time Shane came back to his body, Ilya was kissing his neck again, trailing up to his jaw and the corner of his mouth. Shane tilted his head to capture Ilya's lips, welcoming his tongue into his mouth, tasting the remnants of his own orgasm.
"Sorry," he murmured against his lips, a little embarrassed. "I didn't want to cum so fast."
Ilya smiled, pressing soft kisses against Shane's lower lip. “I wanted you to cum fast,” he said, earning a weak smack from Shane. He let himself collapse onto Shane's body, and Shane groaned when he felt those fucking jeans against his skin.
“Okay,” Shane huffed, pushing Ilya onto his back, already working on pulling off his black jeans and briefs. “I'm going to take these off and burn them.”
He didn't want Ilya to cum before he got to feel him inside him, but he had to give him as much pleasure as he'd given him. He just wasn't expecting his cock to be so fucking big.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
As Ilya watched Shane rip his jeans and briefs off like he wanted them to combust, Ilya wondered if he’d been a saint in a past life. Or a philanthropist. Maybe he’d even cured a disease. Actually, he might have been Mother fucking Theresa.
Because he was convinced he was in Heaven. He’d found the address, and he could now share it with the world. Spoiler: It wasn’t a place. It was a person. Shane Hollander was Heaven personified.
Ilya had nearly cum in his jeans at the sight of Shane’s perfect naked body, and he’d almost done it again, for real, when he’d taken Shane into his mouth, tasting the soft skin there and the salt of his orgasm. His skin was so smooth, and his tongue so plush, and he sounded so fucking pretty when he moaned and whined.
Ilya would be okay if he died here tonight.
“Fuck,” Ilya winced the second he felt his painfully hard cock hit the cold air of the room. His briefs had been suffocating him, and he was oversensitive now that he was free.
“Oh,” Shane breathed, his eyes widening at the sight of his cock. Ilya saw himself so much that he forgot he was…bigger than average. Especially for someone like Shane, who said he hadn’t been with anyone for a while.
“It will fit,” Ilya teased, taking a second to stretch, crossing his arms behind his head. Shane licked his lips as he ogled Ilya's biceps, and Ilya couldn't help but wonder what Shane’s tongue would feel like in the hollow of his armpit.
“I know,” Shane shook his head, even though he was smiling. He took Ilya’s cock into his hand like he needed to test out the feel. “You’ll just need to…prep me for it.”
Ilya hummed, rolling his hips into Shane’s hand. Ilya thought Shane was going to tease him a bit, like he had done, but Shane was just staring at Ilya, practically drooling as he jerked him off slowly, probably enjoying the weight of him in his hand.
Before Ilya could protest and demand more, Shane had positioned himself on the bed between his thighs, his cock sliding between Shane’s lips. He wasted no time working Ilya’s length, spit dripping down his chin as he bobbed his head, wet sounds filling the room. He was messier than Ilya had been, his hands stroking what he couldn't fit in his mouth, saliva coating every inch of him as he sucked and swirled his tongue. Ilya moaned as he suddenly heard Shane gag, swallowing around Ilya's girth as he worked him down slowly until he had him swallowed full.
Ilya couldn’t tell you how often Shane possibly had sex as a closeted MLH player, or how many men he’d been with, but he did know he was impossibly good at giving head.
“So good,” he panted, running his fingers through Shane’s silky hair. He was stuck between wanting to watch him so he could burn this memory into his mind forever and wanting to close his eyes lest he shoot off just as quickly as Shane.
When Shane came up for air, Ilya nearly did cum at the sight. His cheeks were flushed, his lips wet with spit, his pupils blown wide like he was high. Ilya wanted to lick the spit from his chin just to spit it back into Shane’s mouth.
Shane massaged Ilya’s inner thighs gently, his wet cock leaking all over his stomach. “Do you want to fuck my throat?”
Ilya swore his vision went black. Maybe he was dreaming or living in a simulation and this reality was glitching because Shane Hollander was a fucking wet dream.
“If I do that, I’ll cum,” Ilya groaned, fighting every cell in his body that wanted to grab Shane’s head and bury it onto his cock.
“So?” Shane challenged, grabbing his cock and teasingly swirling his tongue around his head, licking and teasing at his slit.
“You don’t want me to fuck you?” Ilya said through gritted teeth, his voice strained.
Shane stopped, letting Ilya’s cock go with a pop. “I need you to fuck me,” Shane warned, his eyes locked on Ilya's, completely serious.
Ilya’s cock twitched, and he knew he needed to accelerate things before he embarrassed himself. He sat up quickly, positioning himself behind Shane. He gave the back of Shane’s neck a quick kiss before he pushed Shane down so he was on his knees, his chest to the bed and his back arched.
“God, yes,” Shane moaned, even though Ilya hadn’t even touched him yet. Shane, the tease that he was, arched his back further, presenting his hole to Ilya.
Ilya felt himself salivating. He spread Shane's cheeks apart with his hands, letting a drop of spit fall from his mouth to Shane's hole before he got comfortable behind him, flicking out his tongue. Shane's back arched more as he pushed back into Ilya's mouth, and Ilya buried his face between his cheeks, swirling his tongue around his entrance, licking at him relentlessly, probing deeper and working him open. His moans were loud and unbridled, and Ilya could see that Shane was hard again, dripping onto the sheets below.
“Do you have lube?” Ilya asked breathlessly when he pulled away, letting his thumb circle against his hole.
He didn’t know if it was worth asking, because Shane had been on vacation with his parents, and he didn’t imagine Shane would have packed lube for that. But Shane Hollander was full of surprises tonight.
“In my luggage,” Shane answered, slightly muffled by the pillow. “In the interior pocket.”
"Naughty," Ilya laughed, giving Shane's ass a gentle smack before he slid off the bed. Shane's luggage was on the floor by the closet. When he opened it, Ilya noticed that everything was neatly folded and perfectly organized. And when he dipped his hand into the large interior pocket, his hand immediately found a travel-sized bottle of lube.
“Well, you know..” Shane laughed into the pillow. “Who doesn’t masturbate on vacation?”
"With your parents?" Ilya teased as he got back on the bed on his knees behind Shane.
“I can be quiet,” Shane insisted, looking back at him, but he was immediately proven wrong by Ilya. His fingers now slick with lube, Ilya carefully slid two fingers into Shane, thrusting gently, as Shane let out a sharp gasp.
“Can you?” Ilya murmured, curving his fingers upward. Shane immediately choked out a moan, his entire body shuddering.
Shane didn't bother being quiet. As Ilya worked his fingers in and out, adding a third before long, twisting his hand to find that perfect spot, he was mesmerized by the sight of Shane's hole stretching and clenching around his fingers. Shane was taking his fingers so well, practically fucking himself onto them and Ilya couldn’t help but picture his cock in their place, his stomach hot with anticipation.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
“If you don’t get inside me within the next five minutes, I am going to die,” Shane pleaded, actively pulling away from Ilya’s fingers. He was close to cumming again, and he was going to be pissed if his second orgasm wasn’t around the girth of Ilya’s thick length.
Ilya huffed in amusement, and Shane felt him lean over his body to kiss up his spine. Shane keened, feeling his legs and arms shaking with need. “I’m serious, Ilya.”
“Okay, okay,” he gave in, leaning his full body weight onto Shane, his arms wrapping around Shane’s torso. Shane was pressed into the bed, feeling heat bloom through him as Ilya kissed along the tops of his shoulders. “I think I have condom. Two seconds.”
"Wait," Shane said, lifting his head from the pillow. "You…don't have to.”
Ilya froze on top of him, searching Shane’s turned face. “You are sure?”
With some effort, Shane turned around so he was on his back, facing Ilya. He placed his hands on his biceps, feeling Ilya's chest and his cock pressing against his.
Shane was being a bit reckless, maybe. Or very reckless. But he hadn't had sex in so long, and he didn't know when he would again, after this. There was a part of him that wanted to feel Ilya raw inside him, skin to skin with nothing between them. He wanted the intimacy, that connection that went beyond just fucking. He wanted to feel Ilya completely, every ridge and vein of his cock, wanted to feel him cum inside him. And he would conjure up this feeling, this moment, every time he was alone again during the season in cold hotel beds or the dark silence of his vast apartment.
“I was tested,” Shane mumbled quietly. “Before I came here. I’m clean. Can I…trust you?”
Ilya's eyebrows furrowed, and he looked like he was studying Shane, searching his face for doubt. “Yes,” he answered quickly, bringing a hand up to Shane's cheek. “I was tested two months ago. Also clean. But I have not been with anyone since. Have not had time, with work.”
“Okay,” Shane nodded, his heart racing. “Okay?”
Ilya ran his thumb over Shane’s lip, his touch feather-light and tender. “Okay.”
Shane let out a sign he didn’t even know he’d been holding, reaching down between their bodies to stroke Ilya’s cock. “Then get inside me right now, please.”
Ilya kissed him deeply, his hand gripping Shane's hair before he sat back on his heels, grabbing the lube from where it lay on the bed. He slicked his cock up generously, and Shane couldn't help but watch his hand pump steadily, feeling himself clenching unconsciously at the lewd sight before him.
When Ilya was properly lubed, he hoisted Shane's legs up to his chest, placing another kiss to Shane's lips. Shane could feel the tip of his cock at his entrance, and his breath caught.
"Ready?" Ilya asked against his lips.
“Ready."
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
As Ilya sank into the hot heat of Shane’s hole, he decided mid-stroke that maybe he was actually the creator of the universe in a past life.
Because he was inside Shane Hollander right now, raw.
Ilya wondered if he should become religious after this, because he was pretty sure he’d heard angels singing when Shane had told him he didn’t need to use a condom. Which was usually a huge red flag, as Ilya personally was not in the habit of not using a condom with hook-ups. And as much as he was a self-proclaimed slut, Ilya was serious about his sexual health.
But Ilya was also properly dickmatized by Shane, and he may have left all his sense right there at that club the moment he’d seen him.
Shane's head was thrown back, and Ilya was only four strokes in. The pleasure was all-consuming. He was so tight around him, clenching and unclenching in waves as his body welcomed his cock, Ilya maintaining measured thrusts as he let Shane stretch and adjust around him.
“Fuck,” Shane gasped, his hands scrabbling across Ilya's back, leaving marks. “Oh my god, fuck – ”
Ilya rested his forehead against Shane's, his eyes fixed on where their bodies met. He couldn't help but watch as his cock slid into him, how each stroke glistened the lube on his cock.
"More," Shane whimpered, pressing Ilya’s hips down. "Please, more."
Ilya sucked in a breath, burying himself until he bottomed out. Shane's back arched off the bed as a deep moan tore from his throat. His nails dug deeper into Ilya's shoulders, and Shane’s legs locked around Ilya's waist as Shane jerked his hips up, pulling him even closer.
Ilya couldn't hold back anymore. Shane's desperation, the way he bucked his hips up to meet Ilya, it was all too much and not enough. He pulled back and thrust forward again, harder this time, then again, his pace quickening as Shane's pleas spurred him on.
“Yes, yes, just like that,” Shane moaned, his breath brushing Ilya’s ear.
Ilya buried his face in Shane's neck, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper, more urgent. He was losing himself completely in the heat of Shane's body, in the way Shane was meeting him stroke for stroke, in the sounds of their combined moans filling the room.
Ilya hadn't had raw sex in years, and it was an intoxicating revelation all over again of just how amazing it felt. Shane was tight and hot and every stroke had him feeling pleasure in his fucking toes. If he continued like this, he was going to cum before he could really give Shane what he needed. But he didn't want to stop, either. He couldn’t stop.
"You feel so fucking good," He rasped into Shane's skin before he pulled up, hooking his hands in the crease of Shane's knees to keep his legs spread wide for him. He pistoned into Shane, the slap of skin against skin echoing between them. Shane was looking up at him, his untouched, hard cock bouncing with each of Ilya's thrusts. He looked like he was in utter bliss, his eyes unfocused and glassy, his mouth hanging open in a perfect O.
Ilya didn't know how much longer he was going to last. He needed to get Shane gasping his name, writhing beneath him, completely lost in sensation before Ilya could even dare let himself cum. If Shane Hollander was the king of hockey, Ilya was going to be the king of making Shane Hollander orgasm.
He brought one hand to Shane’s jaw, holding it firmly so Shane had to look at him. Shane's face was flushed and damp with sweat, his eyes black as he looked at Ilya like he was the only person that existed in the world. Ilya had to clench his own jaw, the sight so erotic to Ilya that he needed to remind himself the current mission was to make Shane cum first.
He didn’t know how receptive Shane would be to dirty talk, but he figured he’d try it. He leaned down so Shane’s face was mere inches from his, not stopping the hammering of his hips for a second. “Are you going to cum on my cock?”
If Ilya was expecting to see surprise in Shane’s eyes, he saw the opposite. Shane’s eyes practically rolled back in ecstasy, his hand coming up to grip Ilya’s wrist as he held his jaw, his grip almost tight enough to bruise Ilya’s skin. “I’m so fucking close,” Shane gasped. “Please don’t stop.”
Ilya growled, biting at Shane's lower lip before he gave him a filthy kiss, swirling the coppery blood from his lip into his mouth, tasting every crevice and corner. When he pulled away, Shane guided Ilya’s hand to his throat, looking into his eyes. “You’re going to cum inside me?”
Ilya was certain his ears started ringing because his balls were drawn up so tight, ready to go. Shane Hollander wanted Ilya to dump his load inside him. The thought of the intimacy of it, the trust, and the desperation in Shane's voice nearly sent Ilya over the edge.
And Ilya was also flustered. Shane had weaponized Ilya’s own dirty-talking strategy against him. Tease.
"You want me to?" Ilya breathed, his hips stuttering slightly as he tried to hold on.
Shane was nodding frantically, his nails digging crescents into Ilya's shoulders. "Please," he begged, his voice raw. "Fill me up.”
“Oh my God, Shane,” Ilya moaned, his hand slightly tightening around Shane’s throat as his forehead dropped to his in surrender. Shane was actually going to kill him.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
Shane’s soul had left his body the moment Ilya’s thick cock had entered him. It had been intense at first, given his size, but once his body had acclimated, the pleasure had been fucking transcendent. The pleasure was transcendent. And Ilya was so far the best fuck of his life, every relentless snap of his hips making his cock drag against Shane’s prostate. Shane was maybe two more strokes away from cumming hands-free, for the first time in his life.
He was babbling now, begging Ilya to cum inside him, to flood him, to pump him full. He needed to remember the feeling of his cum filling him up, of the way it was going to drip out of him once Ilya pulled out. He'd never, ever let anyone cum inside him before. But right now, he needed this like he needed air.
Ilya was moaning and groaning with every one of Shane’s pleas, swearing under his breath in Russian as he pounded into Shane. His hand was still around his throat, their hot breaths mingling as Ilya sped his hips up even more, his thrusts becoming erratic and desperate.
Shane felt the rush of his orgasm before he even knew he was spurting all over his stomach, his whole body seizing up as the most intense orgasm of his life ripped through him. His back arched off the bed, his nails raking down Ilya's back as he came and came, his hole clenching tight around Ilya's cock. His thighs shook violently, and he couldn't stop the broken moans and swears tearing from his throat.
He was barely down from his orgasm when he felt Ilya unload inside him a few strokes later. Ilya's entire body went rigid, his hand tightening around Shane's throat as he buried himself deep, flooding him with hot cum. Shane could feel every pulse of it, each spurt filling him up just like he'd begged for, Ilya's moans loud and ragged, his hips twitching as he came hard.
Shane would probably never forget the look of pure pleasure on Ilya’s face as he came, the look of being completely under the surface, drowning in it. He wished he could look at him forever, but Ilya collapsed on top of him, his face buried deep in the crook of Shane's neck, his heavy breaths coming in gasps. Shane felt his own body melt into the bed, completely satisfied, savouring the heavy, hot weight of Ilya's body on top of him.
Shane's mind went quiet. He wasn't anxious, like he always was with covert hook-ups, already thinking about needing to get out of there unseen, checking his phone, rehearsing excuses. All he could do was feel. The rhythm of their hammering hearts, Ilya's breath against his neck, the light hair of Ilya's leg brushing against his skin as their legs lay entwined. He could smell the faint notes of Ilya's cologne mixing with his sweat, the musky scent of sex still hanging thick in the air between them.
“You killed me, Shane,” came Ilya’s muffled voice against his skin after a while before he lifted his head to look at him. Ilya’s now soft cock was still inside him, and Ilya gave Shane light kisses all over his mouth before he pulled out carefully.
Shane immediately felt the loss, an empty ache spreading through him. He wanted to kiss Ilya again, but he was looking down, his face focused and intense again, and Shane knew Ilya was watching his cum spill out of him as Shane felt the trickle between his cheeks.
“Fuck,” Ilya whispered, and he shook his head as in disbelief, before he placed another chaste kiss on Shane’s lips and slid off the bed.
Shane made a sound like a whine, feeling the air-conditioned air of the room cool his skin, missing the heat of Ilya’s body. Shane watched as Ilya disappeared into the ensuite bathroom before he returned with a damp washcloth.
Ilya was gentle as he cleaned Shane's cum off of his stomach, dragging the washcloth slowly across his inner thighs. He was even more gentle as he wiped away the cum that had spilled down his cheeks, the washcloth barely brushing at his hole. Shane knew he would need to clean himself properly, unconcerned about the fact that there was still a bit of Ilya’s cum inside him. He liked the feeling of it there.
“Good trick, hmm?” Ilya winked as he placed a kiss on his stomach where Shane had cum all over himself. Shane smiled despite himself, shoving him weakly, but Ilya had slid off the bed again to deposit the washcloth in the tall, seagrass laundry hamper in the corner of the room.
When Ilya sank back into the bed on top of him, Shane didn’t even care that they were sweaty and sticky and in desperate need of a shower. He couldn’t, with how Ilya was kissing him again, slower and deeper this time, like he was trying to make a home in Shane’s mouth.
Shane didn’t consider himself a particular sentimental person, but he found himself thinking that he wanted to kiss Ilya, basically still a stranger, all night and morning until he suffocated from the lack of air.
Maybe it was the two insane orgasms Ilya had given him clouding his judgment.
Or maybe it was the simple fact that Shane liked him, only a few hours into their encounter. An embarrassing amount.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
Ilya was wondering if he’d just fallen in love with Shane Hollander.
Yes, he just had the best sex of his life with him. And yes, he’d buried his cum so deep inside him, he would believe you if you told him Shane would get pregnant. And yes, it helped that he was fucking gorgeous and so good at hockey it turned Ilya on every time he watched him play.
But it was more than that. It’d probably started with the grateful look Shane had given him when he’d saved him from that creep at the club. Or how he’d looked like a literal angel under the warm glow of the lights outside as Ilya smoked his cigarette, real and in the flesh and not just on his TV. Or how he'd looked nervous, apprehensive even, but not scared to tell him, a complete stranger, that he was gay. Or how he’d looked lying underneath him once he’d turned the lamp on, vulnerable and sexy and open. Maybe it was when he’d called Ilya beautiful. No one had ever called him that before, no matter how many compliments about his looks he’d gotten throughout his life.
Ilya was propped against the pillows now, halfway under the covers of the messy, rumpled bed with Shane lying on his chest. He looked completely content and boneless, and Ilya found himself selfishly pinching his hip, not wanting Shane to fall asleep just yet.
In his post-coital clarity, something nagged at Ilya. Shane had opened up to him, both personally and physically. He’d been honest with him, more honest than Ilya suspected he was with most people. He’d let Ilya come inside him, for fuck’s sake. Should he tell him he knew who he was?
He knew Shane might (would) freak out, probably question if this meant anything at all. Or if Ilya had just approached him because he was Shane Hollander. And maybe Ilya had, at the beginning of the night, been pulled to Shane as he was because of his crush on him and the burning curiosity of seeing him in a gay club at all.
But now Ilya didn’t know if he’d be able to go without ever seeing Shane again in person, even if it was just to hook-up every few times he played in Boston. It would be a craving that would itch under his skin, that would probably affect his relationships and hook-ups with other people from here on out.
“I have to tell you something,” Ilya said before he could think it through some more, his tone hesitant and careful.
Ilya felt Shane stiffen, his jellied body going taut against him. Shane lifted his head to look at him, eyes serious, and Ilya almost considered not telling him at all. They were strangers, after all. For all Shane knew Ilya would just admit that he did in fact have an STI, or was married with 3 kids, or that he’d lied about everything he’d told him tonight.
When Shane didn’t say anything, and just looked at him expectedly, Ilya took a deep breath. “I know who you are.”
The warmth of Shane’s body left Ilya immediately. Shane was sitting up, all traces of sleepiness gone, his face draining of colour. “What?”
“Shane, I –”
“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Shane was already rambling, his words tumbling out over one another. “No one can find out. I –”
“I won’t,” Ilya interrupted, as Shane kept going, his breathing growing quicker with every sentence.
“Did you only approach me because you knew who I was?”
“No. Well, yes. I saw you and recognized you but I swear I came over because asshole would not leave you alone,” Ilya explained, running a hand through his hair. “But if you told me to fuck off, I would have fucked off. I didn’t –”
Shane huffed. He got up from the bed, pacing now, like he just needed to put the anxiety somewhere, his hands flexing at his sides. Ilya didn’t even know if he’d listened to Ilya’s explanation. “I’m serious. Please don’t tell –”
Ilya stood up, too, putting a gentle hand on Shane’s shoulder, firmly stopping him in place. “Shane, I won’t tell anyone,” he said firmly. “Grew up in Russia, remember?” He tapped a hand against his own chest, pointing at himself. “And I really, really want to see you again.”
Ilya swallowed as he said that last part, watching Shane’s panic-stricken eyes soften slightly. “If you want,” Ilya added more quietly.
“You do?”
“I do. And not because you are Shane Hollander.”
Shane blinked, the mention of his full name making him stiffen. “You…watch hockey?”
“Yes,” Ilya admitted, unable to help smiling a little. “Used to play when I was young, too. Was probably better than you.”
Shane cracked the ghost of a smile at that before he nodded, like he was processing the information. He moved past Ilya to sit on the edge of the bed, folding his hands in his lap as he chewed anxiously on his lip. “Like I said, I’m not out,” he said carefully. “Tonight, I…just wanted to –”
“I understand, Shane,” Ilya said as he sat beside him, keeping his hands on his own thighs. Even with anxiety tightening Shane’s features, his hair all messy and his mouth set in a line, he looked so pretty. His freckles were vivid on his scarlet skin, and Ilya had to push back the thought that he wanted to press kisses there. Now was not the time.
“This is a bit fucking embarrassing,” Shane groaned now, dragging his hands over his face. Ilya’s heart twisted. He could see a bit of himself in Shane, in the fear of being found out, in the weight that came from carrying a secret for too long.
“Shooting off from 2-minute blowjob is bit embarrassing,” Ilya teased, trying to lighten the mood. “But this,” Ilya gestured vaguely. “This not being able to be yourself…that is not embarrassing, Shane. It is unfair. And it is not your fault.”
Shane turned to look at him, something raw flickering across his face, giving Ilya’s heart yet another pinch.
Shane looked like he was turning the words over in his head. Ilya stayed quiet, shifting his leg just enough to press his knee against Shane's again. The contact was small, but Shane didn't pull away.
“I want to see you again, too,” Shane said suddenly, swallowing as he forced himself to look Ilya in the eye.
Ilya let out the breath he’d been holding, unable to stop the surely goofy-as-hell smile that erupted on his face.
Right now, it didn’t matter that Ilya lived in Boston and Shane in Montreal. Or that Ilya’s work schedule was so crazy, he barely ever had time to himself anymore. When the season started, if Shane wanted, Ilya knew he would drop everything to see him again.
At the sight of Ilya’s smile, Shane started rambling again. “It would have to be in secret, and only when there’s a game in Boston, and you’ll probably be seeing oth–”
Ilya lunged at him, kissing him so hard Shane fell back onto the bed. Ilya covered his body with his, feeling Shane’s body go limp again as Ilya kissed him, stroking his jaw gently. “I don’t care,” Ilya said between kisses, “if I have to meet you in fucking middle of nowhere. Tonight is not enough.”
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
Shane’s eyes fluttered as Ilya scattered kisses all over his face, drawing in deep breaths to slow his breathing and will his body to settle.
Shane had felt a rush of terror at Ilya’s admission. Blind fucking panic. His whole career had flashed before his eyes. The sensational news articles, having to explain himself to Roger Crowell of all people, his parents’ hurt reaction to the news, the uncomfortable looks of his teammates, the endless questions, the scrutiny, the complete loss of control.
But as Ilya had looked at Shane, felt the warm comfort of Ilya’s hand on his skin as he tried to soothe him, Shane realized that he trusted Ilya. He trusted that he wouldn’t go running to the press, trusted that he wouldn’t tweet a fucking play by play of their evening. Trusted that he meant it when he said he wanted to see Shane again.
“Let’s shower,” Ilya said suddenly, lifting himself up on his forearms.
“What?” Shane’s brain was still running at a mile a minute, making processing difficult.
“Shower. You are gross.”
“What?” Shane grimaced, swatting at Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya was baiting him. “You’re gross.”
“Exactly. So join me in shower.” Ilya said, sitting up and giving Shane’s stomach a smack.
Shane watched as he peeled himself off the bed, a little surprised at the fact that he was just acting…normally. He was treating Shane like he was just some guy. Not that Shane thought of himself as a celebrity, but considering Ilya was a hockey fan who knew who he was, Ilya was treating him like nothing had changed. Well, he’d been treating him with ease all night, Shane reminded himself. It made the knot in Shane’s stomach loosen.
When Shane snapped out of his thoughts, he noticed that his eyes were glued to Ilya’s muscular frame, to the shifting muscles in his back and the very generous curve of his ass as he made the journey from the bed to the bathroom.
Okay, yes. He had to join him in the shower.
Shane entered the bathroom as Ilya turned on the water to let it warm. The villa he was staying in was quite fancy, so the shower was spacious, a white walk-in alcove with a wide stone bench molded right into the wall.
He couldn’t help but stare at Ilya as he turned, his eyes falling to Ilya’s cock. Even soft he was heavy and thick. When he looked up he caught Ilya smirking at him, fully aware of exactly where Shane's eyes had been.
“We shower now, yes?” Ilya asked, a teasing edge to his voice. “Or you had another idea?”
Shane wasn’t sure his body had recovered from his two orgasms, but he would be lying if he said that just the sight of Ilya wasn’t enough to get his cock stirring again. If they did…do something, this orgasm would probably take him out for good, but he didn’t care. Besides, Shane felt the race against the clock now. He didn’t know how much time he would have left with Ilya after they fell asleep. Or if he would even stay the night.
Without waiting for an answer, Ilya stepped into the shower with Shane following closely behind. Shane let the hot water cascade over him, pushing his hair out of his face as Ilya did the same. Ilya smiled at him as they faced each other, Shane watching the rivulets of water stream down Ilya’s perfect body. He let the water rinse the layer of sweat from his body before he reached for the fancy body wash.
But Ilya beat him to it. Shane had bought a too-expensive sea sponge at the market yesterday, and Shane watched as Ilya got it lathered up with body wash. He looked so fucking sexy wet. Shane thought that if he’d seen Ilya at the beach during his vacation so far, there’d be no way he could continue hiding just how gay he was from his parents.
As Ilya brought the sponge to Shane’s skin, gently starting at his shoulders, Shane wanted to lean over and kiss him. But Ilya looked focused, his eyes fixed on where he was washing Shane, like he was studying him. Shane let his eyes fall closed as he felt the sponge move over his collarbones and chest, his arms, down to his stomach and all the way down, Ilya being ultra careful between Shane’s legs. Shane kept his eyes closed as he felt Ilya turn him around, rubbing the sponge into the back of his neck and his back with a little more pressure, like he was trying to give Shane a massage.
When Ilya dragged the sponge over his ass and down his thighs before pulling away to wring it out, Shane made a sound like a whine. But he wasn’t without Ilya’s warmth for long, because then, his hands were on Shane, one pressing along his abs, trailing down before he took Shane's cock in his hand.
Shane sucked in a breath, his eyes flying open as he looked down. Ilya was stroking him lazily, his head resting on Shane’s shoulder as he watched, too.
“I make you cum one more time, yes?” Ilya murmured into his ear, taking his lobe between this teeth. “Before we go to bed?”
Shane didn’t have to answer because his cock was hardening embarrassingly fast as Ilya twisted his palm slowly around the head of Shane’s cock. For one, Shane was glad to hear that Ilya was going to stay the night, and two, having Ilya’s voice in his ear and his breath on his neck was already doing it for him.
Once Ilya stroked him to hardness, he quickened up his pace, his fist working Shane's cock with purpose. He brought his other hand to Shane’s throat, pressing gently as he positioned Shane’s neck so he could kiss and suck at the junction of his shoulder, his mouth and tongue hot against his skin. It wasn’t hard enough to leave hickeys, but Shane knew there would be some redness there as a reminder. And before Shane knew it, he was moaning and whimpering, feeling his legs quiver underneath him as Ilya pumped him fast from base to tip, thumb brushing over his sensitive head with each stroke.
Shane's orgasm hit him like a wave, his cock pulsing in Ilya's hand as came, the cum washing away immediately in the shower spray. His legs went weak, and he leaned back further into Ilya completely, his body heavy.
“Hat trick,” Ilya whispered into his ear as Shane melted, feeling Ilya's smile against his skin.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
Shane was fucking exhausted. But as they stumbled into bed together, both freshly cleaned, Shane willed his body to stake awake, even as he felt drowsiness weigh at his mind and body.
He wanted to keep talking to Ilya. He wanted to find out more about him. Not only to level the playing field (Ilya clearly knew a lot more about Shane than he about him), but because Shane was properly captivated by him. He wanted to keep hearing his accent and deep voice rumble in his ear, see his plush lips pull into a smile. He wanted his blue-green eyes to keep lingering on Shane’s face and never look away.
So Shane, with a sleepy voice, pestered him with questions as he lay his head on his chest, busying himself with tracing the ridges of Ilya’s abs with his fingers so he wouldn’t fall asleep. It helped that talking to Ilya was easy. Every answer came with a joke, a story, or a sarcastic remark that made Shane laugh.
He learned that Ilya was a veterinarian, that he’d moved to the U.S. to go to university with his friend Svetlana, the one he was on vacation with. He’d stayed in Boston since he’d been placed there for his vet residency, that he was finally earning enough money to pay off his student debt and hopefully buy an apartment.
He learned that Ilya rooted for Boston since he lived there, but as a hockey fan, he begrudgingly appreciated the Metros, because who didn’t respect such a legendary team? From that, he told Shane that he played hockey growing up. He’d been good, really good, and had every intention of playing hard enough to get to the MLH, but then his mother had died. He’d stopped playing after that.
Then, to lighten the mood, he told Shane he had a dog, Anya, who he’d gotten from a shelter. She was currently being watched by his neighbour, an elderly woman who loved animals, and she was sending Ilya a picture every day. He’d wanted to show Shane pictures of Anya, but Shane had been too lazy and tired to get off of Ilya’s chest, and Ilya had been too lazy and tired to retrieve his phone from the floor.
He was trying to quit smoking, but his efforts had faltered when his job got even more stressful than it already was. Ilya still liked skating as often as he could. He was considering maybe joining a beer league just to stay sharp. Otherwise, for fun, he enjoyed anything that got his adrenaline pumping. One of his dreams was to own a sports car. Or even better, a whole fleet of them.
As Ilya continued talking, Shane didn’t know when he fell asleep. He’d tried to keep up the conversation, throwing in some responses when he could, but he mostly just listened to Ilya, utterly content. When sleep finally claimed him, it was to the soft sound of Ilya's voice in his ear and the feeling of Ilya's fingers drawing lazy circles across his back.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
Ilya had been so wrapped up in Shane (literally) that he hadn’t heard the 5000 calls and texts Svetlana had sent him. Luckily, the Greek police were not currently conducting a search party for him, because as he got up in the middle of the night (well, morning) to take a piss, he’d fished his phone out of his jean pockets and assured Svetlana, despite all of her worried texts asking him where the hell he was, that he was okay.
Ilya
i am safe
with someone
don’t worry
It was morning now, and as Ilya stretched his arm to the other side of the bed, he was hoping to feel Shane’s warm body against his. Instead, he felt cold sheets, causing him to crack open an eye. The bed was empty, the sheets bunched around Ilya. He’d probably subconsciously hogged them all once Shane had gotten out of bed.
Too bad, Ilya thought. He’d wanted to fuck Shane sideways all curled up behind him, with Shane’s chest to his and Shane’s ass grinding back into his dick. Maybe he could drag him back to bed for that later.
Ilya rolled onto his back, stretching lazily, and let his mind feed him memories of last night.
Shane at the club. Shane under the string lights as they ate together. Shane telling him probably his biggest secret. Shane calling him beautiful. Shane asking him if he wanted to fuck his throat. Shane writhing and moaning underneath him as he fucked him. Shane asking, begging, pleading Ilya to cum inside him. Shane tracing his abs gently as he tried to learn what he could about Ilya, even in his half-asleep state. Shane’s steady, soft breaths as he fell asleep on Ilya’s chest.
Shane Hollander was a fucking sweetheart. A gem of a man. And a life-changing lay.
He was so fucked.
The sound of a cabinet being shut snapped Ilya back to Earth. Shane was in the kitchen, it seemed. As Ilya forced himself to sit up in bed, he grabbed his phone to see that it was already past 11. Svetlana hadn’t texted him back, so it was safe to assume she’d probably partied hard last night and was definitely not awake yet.
Ilya slid off the bed, slipping on his black Calvin briefs. He could probably borrow a pair of sweats from Shane, but he didn’t want to rummage through his luggage to find them. He may have buried his cum inside Shane last night, but the meticulously organized state of Shane’s luggage told Ilya that rifling through it would be a step too far. So his Calvin’s would do.
As Ilya padded down the stairs, he followed the sound of something frying to the kitchen. He hadn’t exactly gotten a tour of the place last night. But it was very, very nice. All white walls and breezy, chic Mediterranean decor. It was a proper vacation villa, the kind that probably cost a fortune to rent.
When Ilya finally entered the kitchen, he found Shane at the stove, frying eggs. He was wearing a pair of tight, short athletic shorts and was otherwise shirtless. Ilya found himself tracing the sharp lines of his shoulder blades as Shane tilted the pan, before trailing down the curve of his spine to his sexy back dimples and his thick, muscular ass practically bursting out of his shorts. They almost looked like rugby shorts, and Ilya's traitorous brain was assaulted with images of Shane in a scrum position, thick thighs flexing.
There was practically a spread on the huge quartz kitchen counter behind Shane. A stack of thick pita breads in a plate right next to a container of tzatziki (store-bought, but Ilya knew Shane had surely got the good kind). A heaping plate of loukaniko sausages, cut up fruit, and thick-cut potatoes. All food that Shane had probably bought for himself for his stay, that he was now sharing with Ilya.
Ilya wondered when the hell he’d woken up to start preparing all of this, and then felt his heart and stomach warm at the thought of Shane even thinking to feed him. He had a feeling, from last night, that Shane liked him, too. He had more or less said so. But there was nothing like the light of day to make you start overthinking. There was a possibility Ilya could have woken up to Shane freaking out, withdrawing his desire to see him again, begging Ilya again to not tell anyone, ushering him out of the villa with his walls firmly back in place.
But all of those worries disappeared when Shane finally turned at the sound of Ilya walking into the kitchen, a shy, but genuine smile on his face.
“Good morning,” Shane said softly, his eyes trailing down Ilya’s body. “I was just going to come wake you up. Fried okay?”
Ilya felt disarmed by Shane all over again, distracted by the scatter of freckles across his sun-kissed skin and the soft curve of his gorgeous pink lips. He looked even better than he did last night despite his bed head, cheeks glowing and eyes practically twinkling.
When he realized that Shane was asking him if a fried egg was okay, he simply nodded, walking around the island to get closer to him.
“There is a Nespresso machine right behind you if you want coffee,” Shane said, sliding one of the eggs out of the pan and onto a plate. “And I think the sugar is in the cab—”
Ilya was pressing a soft kiss against Shane's lips, causing Shane to set the spatula down on the countertop beside the pan, his shoulders falling in surrender.
“It is very good morning,” Ilya said finally, brushing his thumb over Shane’s cheek.
Shane smiled at him warmly, and Ilya got the sudden urge to pinch his cheeks and bite him. But Shane's tone was apprehensive, despite Ilya's apparent enthusiasm. “I just assumed you wanted to stay for breakfast. But I understand if you have to head back.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow at him incredulously, giving him a pointed look. “I want to stay for breakfast, if you’ll have me.” Ilya responded. He cast a look at the spread on the counter, and then smirked. “Unless you planned on eating all this by yourself?”
Shane blushed, turning his attention back towards the eggs in the frying pan, picking up the spatula again. “I may have made too much,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.“But I figured you’d be hungry.”
Ilya hummed, pressing a kiss to the back of Shane’s neck and giving his ass in those teeny tiny shorts a small squeeze as he brushed past him to get to the fridge. “I am hungry,” he confirmed.
He saw Shane turn even redder, but he kept his eyes on the eggs, busying himself with sprinkling salt and pepper over them as Ilya peeked into the fridge to see if Shane Hollander was the type to buy cow milk or coffee creamer for his coffee. Or a third healthier option, alternative milk. Ilya either liked strong espressos or a milky, sugary latte. No in-between. And right now he was craving sugar.
As Ilya hovered beside the coffee machine with Shane’s sad oat milk, his eyes darting between the hot brown liquid pouring into his mug and Shane’s biceps and his picture-perfect side profile as he prepared the eggs, Ilya found himself feeling a bit restless. He wanted to press Shane against the counter and kiss him until he ran out of breath, so badly craving a taste of him again, and wanting to nervously ask Shane, before they’d even had a bite to eat, if Shane was serious about wanting to see him again. And when.
This crush of his was getting more embarrassing by the second.
“Ready,” Shane announced, snapping Ilya out of his thoughts. He'd made them each two eggs, serving them on large dinner plates so they could load up the rest of the spread. As Shane turned to set the plates at the two bar stools at the counter, Shane grimaced in amusement at the generous heaping of sugar Ilya was shovelling into his coffee.
Ilya made his way around the counter, sitting down in front of his plate just as Shane settled onto his stool, their bare shoulders brushing.
“Thank you for this,” Ilya said sincerely, taking a sip of his sugary coffee. “I will need to buy you another five overprices gyros.”
Shane chuckled, already dipping a torn piece of pita into the runny yolk. “You don't have to,” he said. “This is a thank you. For last night.”
Ilya hummed, stabbing a sausage with his fork and immediately taking a bite. He needed protein to regain his strength. Especially if he was going to fuck Shane again (if he wanted). Not that he really needed the ‘strength.’ Just the sight of Shane was enough to get Ilya’s hips moving of their own accord like a dog in heat. “For when I saved you from man in club,” Ilya mused, eyes on Shane. “Or when I made you cum three times?”
Shane nearly choked on his food, gulping it down with a swig of black coffee. “All of it, obviously.” he muttered, bumping Ilya’s knee with his.
Ilya smiled into his plate. He so wished they’d sat at the table he’d passed in the dining room so he could look at Shane the whole time. This was still surreal to Ilya. He was having post-coital breakfast with Shane Hollander in his expensive-as-hell villa. And Ilya’s heart was pit-pattering in his chest, all giddy like they’d spent way more than just the night together.
They ate in silence for a bit, Ilya complimenting and thanking the chef again for the spread as they did their best to work their way through Shane's generous offering. When they’d finished what they could, Ilya practically forced Shane down into his stool, insisting on cleaning up. Shane fought him, insisting Ilya was the guest here, but he eventually relented, watching as Ilya put away the leftovers, washed the pans, and loaded the rest of the plates into the dishwasher.
He was even wiping down the counter Shane was sitting at when he heard a sudden intake of breath from Shane, causing him to look up at him. “Okay?” Ilya asked, pausing just long enough to playfully bump Shane's hand with his own.
Shane chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes darting between the countertop and Ilya. Ilya could tell he was nervous or apprehensive about something, so he stopped his cleaning, standing there patiently.
“I was just wondering…” Shane started, one hand running through his hair. “How much longer you’re here for?”
Ilya felt a rush of hope tingle in his chest. “Only three more days.” He’d only taken a week off work, and he’d already been here for four days.
“If I…” Shane trailed off, and he grimaced, like he was about to take back what he was going to say. If Ilya’s instincts were right, he hoped to the fucking Gods that had led him here that he wouldn’t. Ilya was gripping the edge of the counter as Shane shook his head, dragging a hand over his mouth. “This is dumb. You’re on vacation with your friend—”
“Shane,” Ilya tried to say softly, but there was probably a nervous (excited) edge to his voice too. “What is it?”
Shane took a deep breath and Ilya found himself thinking that maybe Shane should be a rapper instead, because he delivered his next lines Busta Rhymes fast.
“Iwaswonderingifyou’dwanttohangoutagainifIextendmystay? I don’t really have to meet my parents in Santorini. I could stay longer, and you could also stay here…if you wanted? Or not. Whatever you prefer. Sorry if this sounds crazy. We only just had sex. But I really want to keep spending time with you. Maybe go to dinner or the beach or –”
“Yes,” Ilya said simply, his chest practically heaving with his happy he was.
“Yes?” Shane echoed, looking at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.
“Yes, I want to spend the next three days with you.”
“Are you sure? I don’t think I would be able to meet the people you’re here with. Because I don’t want to risk –”
“Shane, I’ll stay locked up in here all day if you want.” Ilya cut in, making his tone serious.
“So you’ll stay? Here?” Shane swallowed, still looking both hopeful and worried at the same time time.
“Yes. And I will be best roommate ever.” Ilya grinned, dropping the dish towel he was holding and walking over to face Shane where he sat on the stool. He turned the stool so Shane was facing him, splaying his large hands across Shane’s legs. His shorts had ridden up high enough to expose even more of them, practically bursting at the seams around his thighs. “Given my...many skills.”
“Fuck,” Shane breathed out, sounding like he’d been holding it in. Shane’s own hands fell to cover Ilya’s before gliding up Ilya’s forearms and biceps to rest on his shoulders. “We’ll have fun, I think,” Shane said, his eyes flicking from Ilya’s lips to his eyes.
Ilya burst into a smile, giving Shane’s thighs a squeeze. The muscle underneath his hands felt like steel, and the urge to fuck him hard and fast and slow and softly hit all at the same time. He was going to spend the next three days with Shane. Exploring his body some more, getting to kiss him and hear him moan and make him cum.
He was going to spend the next the next three days making Shane smile and laugh and blush. He was hoping to make him forget who he was here. Not Shane Hollander, but just Shane. A man on vacation having fun. Relaxing. Maybe finding something more.
Ilya couldn’t wait.
With urgency, Ilya grabbed Shane’s jaw, crashing his mouth to his in breathless kiss.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
Shane melted in his seat.
As he’d been chopping away and preparing breakfast that morning, he’d been really worried that Ilya would wake up and simply…be a different person? He didn’t think he would. Ilya seemed genuine enough. But, maybe he’d been far more calculated with Shane to stay the night, promising not to tell anyone just to get a further look into Shane Hollander. And Shane also worried, apprehensively, that Ilya would not want to see him again. That maybe he’d come down to the kitchen fully dressed and ready to leave.
But, no, Shane had to remind himself. Last night, Ilya had been the first to admit he wanted to see Shane again.
And llya had made him feel safe. Seen. Relaxed. And wanted for the first time in a while.
As Ilya kissed him now, probing so expertly with his tongue as he’d come to know Ilya kissed, Shane found himself moaning in his mouth.
He’d wanted to surprise Ilya with breakfast, had wanted it to be good. Because he always wanted to be good. But leaving Ilya’s naked, warm form in the morning had been difficult. The sight of his broad back as Shane had slid out of bed, the way the sheets pushed down to his waist, bunching over the swell of his ass, had made Shane’s cock twitch. But Ilya had been dead asleep. There was time.
Now, Shane didn’t even care that they should probably both brush their teeth. He wanted to be permanently suctioned to Ilya’s mouth. Shane stood up, deepening the kiss as he threaded his fingers through Ilya’s curls, pulling and tugging. He felt Ilya’s hands slide down his back to squeeze his ass, bringing Shane’s hips forward into Ilya’s.
Fuck, he needed him in his mouth. Pulling away for breath, Shane simply breathed “Couch,” pulling Ilya with him to the living room. There was a large, pristine, and very expensive-looking cream couch which Shane would normally be quite concerned about dirtying. But, right now, he didn’t care. If they got cum on it, Shane would pay whatever fee or penalty the AirBnB host sent his way.
Ilya made a move to pull Shane onto the couch but Shane was already pushing Ilya back. He fell with a soft thud as Shane immediately dropped to his knees between Ilya’s spread legs.
Shane curled his fingers into the waistband of Ilya’s briefs, gripping the fabric as he nuzzled his face into Ilya’s crotch. He wasn’t hard yet, but Shane wanted to breathe him in, to feel the weight of him. Ilya had one of the most amazing cocks Shane had ever seen and felt, and he was almost drooling being so close to it again. He dragged his lips slowly over his length through the fabric, his lips tingling with the sensation.
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya breathed, one hand running through Shane’s thick black hair as the other gripped one of his wrists. His hips shifted against Shane’s mouth, his blue-green eyes darkening as they watched him.
Shane mouthed at his cock, Ilya's briefs dampening with his saliva. He licked the head, sucking through the fabric, causing Ilya's hips to rock back up to his mouth again. With Shane's movements, he could see that Ilya was quickly getting hard, his cock beginning to strain against his briefs.
Desperate now, Shane nuzzled his face further between Ilya's legs, mouthing his balls, feeling Ilya's light leg hair against his skin. Shane's mouth was aching for the feeling of having Ilya in his mouth again. He rested his face against Ilya's thigh, looking up at him with hooded eyes.
"I want you to fuck my throat," Shane breathed, Ilya's thigh twitching reflexively with the feeling of Shane's breath tickling his skin. Shane's fingers were still firmly holding Ilya's waistband, white-knuckled with tension, and Shane saw as Ilya let out a sharp breath from deep in his chest, his eyes locked on Shane.
“охуенно красивый,” Shane heard Ilya whisper under his breath, and before he could ask what that meant, Ilya was nudging Shane’s hands away from his waistband so he could shove down his briefs.
Shane helped, pulling the briefs down Ilya’s legs completely before tossing them behind him. To both Shane’s surprise and pleasure, Ilya grabbed him back by the hair and tapped the head of his cock against Shane’s lower lip.
“Get me nice and wet,” Ilya murmured gruffly, his voice rough with want.
Shane was already painfully hard in his athletic shorts, and he swore he could feel his cock pulsing like a second heartbeat. Eager and wanton, he spat the saliva that was pooling at the corner of his mouth onto Ilya's cock before he wrapped his lips around his head, dragging his saliva along the length of Ilya's cock with his hand.
Ilya immediately groaned, his mouth falling open at the sensation of Shane’s lips around him. The sound made Shane moan around him, speeding up the twist of his hand and the movement of his lips and tongue as he bobbed his head along Ilya's cock. Ilya hissed above him, not yet holding Shane's head to him, looking like he was trying to hold back from bucking his hips.
But Shane wanted to feel him take control, was dying for it. So he pulled his hand away from Ilya's cock, gripping his thighs as he let his mouth do all of the work, taking all of him down with every bob, working his throat onto Ilya's length every other stroke, letting his throat relax and contract so Ilya would feel it.
Ilya's hips jerked forward involuntarily, another moan tearing from his chest as Shane's throat enveloped him again. His hand immediately went to Shane's head, fingers threading through his dark hair as he gripped him firmly.
"You want this?" Ilya asked, beginning to thrust his hips gently at first. When Shane nodded eagerly around his cock, Ilya didn't hesitate. "Then take it.”
He began to move, setting a brutal pace as he fucked into Shane's throat. Shane gagged, his eyes watering as Ilya drove deeper with each thrust, not giving him time to adjust. But Shane loved it. He loved being used like this, loved the way Ilya's breathing was turning ragged and heavy as he took what he wanted.
Shane’s grip on Ilya’s thighs tightened as he anchored himself. He could feel spit and saliva dripping down his chin as Ilya’s cock slid wetly in and out of his mouth, every thrust and stinging pull of his hair sending a spike of pleasure straight to Shane's own cock. He felt himself choke as Ilya pushed him down him until Shane’s nose was pressed against Ilya’s lower stomach, the tightness of Shane’s throat causing Ilya’s cock to pulse.
“I could keep you there forever,” Ilya rasped, letting go of Shane's hair to stroke his cheek almost tenderly. Instead of gasping up for air like he needed, Shane stayed there, with Ilya's cock buried down his throat, unconsciously palming himself through his shorts.
Shane loved being like this. Utterly dazed, focused on only the sensation of a cock in his mouth and his arousal coursing through his veins. He could taste Ilya’s salt and smell his masculine scent.
“You’d like that? To spend all day on your knees with my cock in your throat?” Ilya grunted, rolling his hips so his cock ground in Shane’s throat.
Shane had to pull away by a fraction, the head of Ilya’s cock gagging him, but Shane moaned.
As much as Shane loved being dominated, he didn’t think he’d have been as violently turned on as he was right now if any of the other men he’d ever slept with had spoken to him like this. But if occurred to Shane in this moment (well, it had actually occurred to him all three times he’d orgasmed last night), that Shane had somehow won the lottery by meeting Ilya. This complete stranger who Shane was insanely attracted to and somehow so perfectly sexually compatible with.
Because he would, absolutely, love to stay on his knees with Ilya’s cock buried down his throat. And Ilya knew exactly how to talk dirty to him, had known exactly how to draw such exquisite pleasure out of him over and over again last night. In a perfect world where Shane wasn’t a closeted hockey player and Ilya didn’t live in a whole different country, he’d probably really let Ilya use him however he wanted, whenever he wanted.
To Shane's dismay, Ilya carefully pulled Shane back so Ilya's cock slid gently out of his throat and flopped out of his mouth. Shane whined, immediately licking a strip up the underside of his shaft, wanting to take him into his mouth again.
Ilya tutted, steadying Shane away. "I want to cum inside you again," Ilya said, bending forward and tilting Shane's chin up. Ilya's eyes were dark and hungry, and Shane could only imagine what he looked like with his chin wet with spit, his hair disheveled from Ilya's pulling and tugging and his eyes glassy with want. “Can I?”
“Yes,” Shane breathed, licking his lips. He reached for Ilya's lips, and thankfully Ilya met him halfway, drawing Shane's mouth into a filthy kiss as his tongue lapped at the spit on his chin.
Pulling himself from off the floor, Shane slid down his athletic shorts and briefs in one go before straddling Ilya’s lap. He crushed his mouth against Ilya’s as he wrapped his arms around his neck, moaning into Ilya’s mouth when he felt Ilya give his cheeks a squeeze. “Let me ride you,” Shane murmured against the skin of Ilya’s neck, unable to stop himself from grinding against him. His cock was flushed and even more sensitive now that it was out of his shorts, dripping precum onto Ilya’s stomach.
“We should get the lu–” Ilya started, his fingers trailing in slow circles at Shane’s tight hole as he craned his head back for Shane to kiss his neck.
Shane pulled away, grabbing Ilya’s hand and bringing Ilya’s index, middle, and ring fingers to his lips. Eagerly, he sucked them into his mouth, bathing them in his saliva, Shane’s hips moving of their own accord as he sought some friction for his cock.
Ilya looked like he was in pain as he watched Shane get his fingers sufficiently wet. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips pulled into a grimace, his free hand clamped tightly around Shane’s thigh.
“You look like such a needly slut,” Ilya exhaled, his eyes shining with something like reverence despite his expression. And Shane knew it was true. Shane’s cock was red and throbbing as it bucked against Ilya’s spit covered cock, his eyes rolling in ecstasy as he sucked and worked Ilya’s fingers. He was exactly where he wanted to be, doing exactly what he wanted to do.
Shane moaned around Ilya’s fingers as Ilya pressed down on his tongue, saliva pooling at his lips. Shane was gripping Ilya’s wrist with both hands, digging into the skin of his forearm. “Is that what you are?” Ilya rasped, his accent thicker as he edged his fingers deeper into Shane’s mouth. “A needy slut?”
Shane nodded and whimpered, releasing one of his hands from Ilya’s arm to grip his own cock. Seeing that, Ilya pulled his hand from Shane’s thigh, wrapping it around Shane’s cock instead and stroking it lazily. The contact made Shane dip his head back, Ilya’s fingers slipping out of his mouth as saliva dripped around Shane’s lips. “For you,” Shane whimpered, rolling his hips so his cock thrust into Ilya’s hand.
“Good boy,” Ilya rumbled. Impatient now, Ilya reached behind Shane to circle his wet fingers against Shane’s hole, his other hand still working Shane’s cock. Shane leaned into Ilya, gripping his shoulders as he stretched his hips back and spread his legs to give Ilya better access.
Immediately, Ilya was driving his fingers into Shane. Shane’s spit and saliva was not as good a lubricant as actual lube, but Shane didn’t care. He welcomed the burn, loving the feeling of being stretched and probed. He panted against Ilya’s neck as Ilya pushed his digits further, Ilya’s other hand sliding easily around Shane’s cock with all the precum Shane was leaking. When he added a third finger, curling upward, Shane felt Ilya hit his prostate and he jerked his hips, digging his nails into Ilya’s skin.
“Put it in, Ilya,” Shane croaked desperately.“Fuck, please.”
“You’re not stretched out enough yet,” Ilya murmured against his cheek, thrusting and scissoring his fingers to stretch him out more.
“I don’t care,” Shane panted, rocking his ass back against Ilya’s fingers. Ilya was rubbing at his prostate, shooting fire through every one of Shane’s limbs, but he needed the thick length of him. He wanted to feel full, to fully envelop Ilya, to be connected completely.
Ilya pulled his fingers out, gripping Shane's hips with both hands as he positioned him. Shane reached behind him, wrapping his hand around Ilya's thick cock and lined it up with his hole. He could feel the heat of it, the head of his cock nudging at his entrance.
Slowly, Shane lowered himself. He sank onto the head before engulfing more of Ilya’s length. Ilya’s head was thrown back, his jaw set as he breathed sharply through his nose. Despite Ilya’s fingers having worked him open, Shane was still a bit tight without lube. His hole was practically squeezing at Ilya’s cock. It was overwhelming, the pressure almost too much. But Shane knew what kind of Earth-shattering pleasure was on the horizon.
So he sank down further until he bottomed out, taking Ilya to the hilt. Instead of moving, he let his body get used to the feeling of Ilya inside him. Shane’s thighs were slightly shaking, his abs clenched taut. Curling his hands around Ilya’s jaw, he stroked Ilya’s cheek and hair, tracing the pulsing vein at Ilya’s temple.
“I won’t last,” Ilya whispered shakily when his eyes fluttered open, burning into Shane’s chestnut brown eyes. Both of Ilya’s hands were bruising the skin of Shane’s hips, his chest heaving up and down. “You feel fucking amazing.”
Shane felt gratification spread through him. Other hook-ups had praised Shane during sex, but it had always sounded like a script that was being performed. Like it was more for the sake of being sexy rather than making Shane feel good and really seen. But with the overwhelmed look on Ilya’s face, Shane knew for a fact that the intense pleasure Ilya was feeling was his doing.
“I haven’t even moved yet,” Shane murmured with a smile, rolling his hips into a lazy circle.
Ilya groaned, squeezing Shane’s hips even harder if possible. Shane chuckled softly, leaning forward to pull him into a kiss. As Shane busied Ilya’s mouth, he slowly lifted his hips before sinking down again, repeating that a few times before he began to quicken his rhythm.
Ilya’s cock was dragging deliciously against Shane’s walls, and he could feel every inch of friction. But he didn't pull away from Ilya's mouth. He moaned and breathed into it, his forehead resting against Ilya's as he lifted and sank back down, moving so that Ilya's cock dragged from his head to his base with every stroke.
Without knowing it, Shane’s eyes had closed in pleasure. He felt Ilya grip his jaw, felt his lips moving against his with how close they were. “Look at me,” Ilya murmured.
Shane forced his eyes open. The moment he met Ilya’s eyes, he was overcome with a feeling of something deeper. He didn’t know what he saw in Ilya’s eyes, but it was more than arousal. It was probably due to the fact that Ilya was buried so impossibly deep inside him, but Shane was viscerally struck by just how intimate and raw this moment felt.
Spurred by his overwhelming emotions, Shane sped up even more. He braced his arms behind him on Ilya's knees, beginning to bounce vigorously, his cock slapping against his stomach with every movement as he chased pleasure and connection all at once. Ilya's eyes glazed over, his chest flushing a deep red as he heaved for breath, completely mesmerized as he watched Shane.
“Fuck Shane,” Ilya choked out, his voice rough. “I’m close.”
Shane almost didn’t hear him over his own moans. He was properly fucking himself on Ilya’s cock, using him like he was his personal dildo. He saw Ilya brace himself, his neck straining against the back of the couch before he took Shane’s cock in his hand, beginning to stroke him fast. “Need you to cum too,” Ilya said thickly.
With that, Shane began grinding his hips instead, fucking Ilya’s fist at the same time that he pushed back on Ilya’s cock. He was dangerously close too, feeling his orgasm building in his core, but he was trying to hold back. He wanted Ilya to cum first, to give him even a fraction of all the pleasure he’d made Shane feel yesterday. “Fill me up again,” Shane spilled, moving his hands back to Ilya’s shoulders as he rocked his hips faster and faster. “Come on.”
Ilya moved his hands back to Shane’s hips, letting go of his cock, and Shane was glad because Ilya’s orgasm was so fierce, he probably would have ripped Shane’s dick off. Ilya's entire body seized, his back arching off the couch as he spilled deep inside Shane in waves. Shane could feel every pulse of it, every spurt of cum flooding him, could feel his hands bruising his skin again.
Shane’s hands were on Ilya’s face, in his hair, holding his jaw as it fell open in pleasure, breathing in Ilya’s guttural moans and groans. And their eyes were locked on each other, everything narrowing down to just this. He watched as unfiltered pleasure consumed Ilya’s features, felt his legs shaking underneath his thighs, Ilya’s cock twitching with each spurt of his cum.
He looked so beautiful. From the men that he'd slept with to the porn he watched when he needed to get off alone, Shane had never seen anyone look so fucking radiant in the throes of climax. And that did it for Shane. It wasn't the incessant drag and press of Ilya's cock against his prostate as he'd rode him or how feverish Ilya had been stroking him, but just the sheer sight of him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Shane keened, stroking himself vigorously to completion, grinding his hips into his hand. As he came around Ilya, his cum coating Ilya's stomach, he heard Ilya groan again, pulsing inside him.
He collapsed against Ilya, his brain and body too spent to care about the sticky feeling of his own cum rubbing against his abs as he settled his whole body weight onto Ilya. Ilya’s arms went to wrap around him, holding him there as they both caught their breath.
Ilya’s skin was impossibly warm, almost scorching, and a slick sheen of sweat was covering both of their bodies. He could feel Ilya’s heaving chest rising and falling against his, his breath washing against Shane’s ear as he rested his cheek against Ilya’s shoulder.
He knew he was intoxicated with the afterglow of his orgasm, but something else was gnawing at his mind. And his heart.
It was fucking insane, as hazed by sex as he was, but he could really see himself doing this with Ilya again, and again, and again. Even more, he could already see himself aching for the aftermath. The cuddling, the talking in bed, the making dinner together to spend more time laughing and touching and learning about each other.
It was a bit foolish, Shane knew, but he couldn’t help it. It was how he’d felt last night and it was how he felt now.
“Thank you,” was what he managed, his voice muffled against Ilya’s shoulder.
He felt Ilya shift beneath him, a soft laugh rumbling through his chest. “Thank you?”
“Mmm,” Shane simply hummed, almost purring at the feeling of Ilya’s hand gently stroking up and down his back.
“Thank you,” Ilya murmured against his temple.
Instead of getting up, Shane just nuzzled himself further into Ilya’s neck. They should probably disconnect (carefully, lest they get cum all over the couch), but Shane didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay like this, with Ilya still inside him, for the next 30 minutes at least.
“This is the best vacation of my life,” Shane admitted, his voice soft. Even though his body had come down, his words were a bit slurred and he could feel Ilya smiling against his skin.
“It is not even over yet,” Ilya chuckled, giving his hip a squeeze with the hand that wasn’t stroking his back. Chest to chest like this, Shane could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, so real and present and grounding. Shane had never had the luxury of lingering.
“Still is,” Shane insisted, grinning into his shoulder.
“My best vacation was Ibiza.”
Shane rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Asshole.”
Shane could feel Ilya shaking with quiet laughter beneath him. After a moment, Ilya slid a hand beneath Shane's jaw, gently tipping his chin up until their eyes met.
“Let’s clean up. Then spend all day in pool. Then maybe I fuck you on sun chair,” Ilya murmured, his eyes bright. “Then I want to take you on date. So I can get to know you properly, Shane Hollander.”
Shane’s heart swelled.
The prospect of letting himself open up to Ilya, this man he’d known for less than 24 hours, filled him with giddiness and hope rather than fear or apprehension. He wanted so badly for Ilya to get to know him. All of him. And to get to know Ilya. Even if after this vacation, it meant doing so through phone screens and secret hotel visits and whatever time they could steal.
“Okay,” Shane smiled, feeling his pulse buzz beneath his skin, his whole body thrumming with electricity.
Ilya smiled back, his eyes glowing with tenderness as he pulled Shane even closer, if possible. He brushed his thumb softly across Shane's cheek, his gaze never wavering. "Okay."