Don't Be Scared Of That Feeling (You're In Love)

by tropicalpanda

Summary:

Andrew swallows, reaching out to smooth Ilia’s hair down. “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”
Ilia purses his lips, trying to hide his smile as he nuzzles his cheek against Andrew’s tented crotch. “I have an idea.”
~~
Ilia loses his virginity in Irvine. Everything goes wrong, and then it goes so, so right.

Notes:

I don't know what this is this was supposed to be a 1-2k basic boring virginity loss fic. They clearly had their own plan for how their first time would go. All mistakes are my own as per usual! Hope you enjoy (this ones nasty)

The first thing Ilia notices when he walks into Andrew’s bedroom is a Milan Olympics poster, Ilia front and center like the world belongs to him.

He doesn’t have time to notice a second thing. Not with Andrew's lips attached to his throat, sucking and biting at the milky skin until it’s red and mottled. He should probably be annoyed — should tell him to stop leaving marks.

Ilia tilts his head to the side, giving Andrew easier access. He groans softly against Ilia’s skin, hands gripping onto his hips as he pulls him impossibly closer. 

Ilia feels like he’s drunk, mind floaty and far away. He can’t focus on anything other than the way Andrew is holding him, kissing him, marking him up. If he doesn’t get more soon, he’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

Andrew laughs, and Ilia’s cheeks burn. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Bed,” Andrew murmurs, squeezing his hips and kissing up the column of his throat until he can kiss him properly. 

Andrew kisses like he skates — bold, aggressive, hypnotizing. If Ilia weren’t already half-in-love, his kisses would do the trick. Ilia kisses back, tries to give as good as he gets even though he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. It seems to work though, if the way Andrew licks into his mouth and grinds down against him is any indication.

Ilia lets an embarrassing noise slip out, high and reedy and desperate. If anyone but Andrew heard it, he’d have to go into hiding for the rest of his life. Andrew eats it up though, biting down on his lower lip before soothing it with sweet kisses. “Bed,” he repeats, the word whispered against soft lips as he makes no attempt to move.

Ilia grips onto Andrew’s shoulders like he’ll die if he lets go. He really thinks he might. Still, as Andrew's hands drift down, groping at the swell of his ass, he pulls back from the kiss with a gasp, cheeks strawberry. “Bed,” he echoes, tongue darting over bitten-red lips.

Andrew’s eyes are blown so wide they might as well be black, twinkling in the light. Ilia has no clue why the hell they waited so long for this. He doesn’t know how he managed to hold himself back.

Calloused fingers dip into the hem of his sweats, nail grazing along the top of his boxers. “Can I?” His voice is soft, sweet.

Ilia nods, heart in his throat. Nothing is different, and yet everything has changed.

He should feel exposed, but the way Andrew is looking at him like he wants to eat him sends heat shooting up his spine. He feels sexy, desirable. He’d never felt this before he and Andrew started this whole… thing (whatever this thing is), but it’s addictive, to be wanted.

Ilia reaches out, thumbing at the button on Andrew’s jeans. He watches the way Andrew shudders, muscular stomach rippling at the movement. It spurs him on, gives him the boost of confidence he needs.

The beautiful gasp he gets when he drops to his knees is worth any potential embarrassment as he reaches to unbutton Andrew’s jeans, sitting back on his heels.

“Ilia, what are you—“

“Helping you get undressed. What does it look like I’m doing?”

Andrew swallows, reaching out to smooth Ilia’s hair down. “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

Ilia purses his lips, trying to hide his smile as he nuzzles his cheek against Andrew’s tented crotch. “I have an idea.”

Andrew lets out an odd strangled noise, gripping Ilia’s hair like a vice. “Ilia—“ he gasps, eyes wide and lips parted.

Arousal shoots through Ilia, sharp and all consuming. It wraps around him like vines, squeezing and suffocating, cutting the oxygen from his lungs. It’s heady, and he sways forward as he tugs Andrew’s jeans down. 

A strong hand on his shoulder holds him back. Ilia binks hard, looking up.

Andrew's face is bright red, sweat beading up along his hairline. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Ilia frowns, pushing his hair out of his face.

“Wasn’t I your first kiss?”

“Yeah? So?”

“And we kissed for the first time, like, two weeks ago.”

Ilia’s frown deepens, hot shame dousing his excitement. “I thought you invited me here to have sex.” He looks down, staring at his lap, his own nakedness suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“I did — I am. We will,” Andrew says quickly, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s just… you don’t have to give head. I know it’s kinda gross.”

“Who says it’s gross? Why would it be gross?” Ilia looks back up, brow creasing.

Andrew waffles a bit, pursing his lips together and swallowing, throat bobbing. “I’ve just, like, been with chicks in the past who don’t want to blow me. So… you don’t have to, like, force yourself.”

Even Ilia is surprised by the intensity of the jealousy that rips through him at the thought of Andrew sleeping with anyone but him — at the thought that some random girl got to taste him before Ilia did. He wants to scratch Andrew’s skin raw until there’s not a single cell left that’s been touched by anyone but Ilia, scrub away any trace of those random women from his memory until the only thing he knows is Ilia’s touch.

“Well, I want to,” his voice is small, plaintive. He kind of feels like he might cry.

“Okay, if you’re sure. I just didn’t want to be presumptuous. We can stop if you don’t like it.”

Ilia doesn’t know what presumptuous means, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that Andrew said yes. And Ilia may not actually know the first thing about giving head, but he’s a fast learner.

With a dazzling grin, he reaches up to finish the job he was so rudely interrupted during, tugging Andrew’s boxers down around his ankles.

Andrew’s hand is stiff, palm sweaty where it presses against Ilia’s shoulder, but his eyes shine as he looks down at Ilia, and that’s enough for him to push on.

Ilia has seen naked men before. He’s an athlete, after all. There’s really no avoiding it with how often they share locker rooms – showering at the rink to get the sweat off before they can go back to their homes or hotels and get cleaned up properly. And he remembers this one time a classmate of his showed him some porn when he came over for a sleepover. He was supposed to be looking at the woman, he’s pretty sure; all he remembers from that night is the man in the video, dark and handsome, all lean muscle and sharp lines, grunting and sweating as he pounded into the woman below him. 

He learned a lot about himself that night.

A real man, up close and personal, is a different beast entirely. He smells like soap and sweat — like man. It’s intoxicating, an aphrodisiac in and of itself as Ilia sways into its orbit. His dick, heavy and red and standing proud is nestled in a bed of dense, wiry curls, noticeably darker than the hair on his head. Ilia brushes his fingers along the hairs gently, fascinated. His own sparse blonde hairs feel unimpressive in comparison. He’s a man too, sure, but Andrew is a man.

Andrew’s fingers twitch against his shoulder. Ilia glances up, hand pausing its journey exploring his most intimate spots. Andrew’s entire face is burning crimson, lower lip sucked between perfect white teeth. His eyes are blown, pools of black as he stares at Ilia with something like shock and wonder.

Ilia has never felt more powerful. He made Andrew like this; he made Andrew blushy and shy. He’s the reason for the lust in his gaze and the way his cock keeps twitching, close enough to nearly graze Ilia’s cheek each time it moves. 

He keeps his eyes on Andrew’s as his hand trails down, fingers ghosting along the taut skin, hot under his touch. It feels different than touching his own, but in a good way. He carefully wraps his hand around Andrew’s cock, feeling the weight in his palm. 

Andrew gasps, a short aborted noise, eyes wide and glassy as he watches Ilia’s hand reverentially.

Ilia feels drunk on power, watching how much he can affect Andrew with nothing more than a loose hand around his dick. He pumps experimentally, watching the way Andrew’s jaw twitches, pressing his lips together to keep silent.

His dick is heavy in his hand, warm to the touch. Up close, it seems even bigger, and for a moment, Ilia worries about how he’s going to fit all of that inside his mouth.

It’s not in Ilia’s nature to back down from a challenge, though.

He licks his lips, leaning forward, equal parts nervous and excited. He’s wanted to try this for a while now — wanted to try this with Andrew. And now he’s so close, the only thing between him and what he wants his own hesitance.

Ilia sticks his tongue out experimentally, licking along the tip of Andrew’s cock. He doesn’t really know what he expected, but the sensation isn’t altogether unpleasant — it’s not unpleasant at all, really. There’s a nice salty taste on his tongue, and the skin is taut and smooth, softer than he expected. 

His eyes flit up, wanting to see Andrew’s reaction.

Andrew is staring up at the ceiling, jaw tight and lip between his teeth.

Ilia glares up at him, pinching the meat of his thigh. “Hey. Look at me.”

“I can’t,” Andrew huffs, head still tilted up. “I won’t last.”

He lets himself sit in the smugness for a second before speaking again. “I don’t care. Look at me. Pull my hair, touch me; do something.”

Andrew takes a deep breath before lowering his gaze, his expression far softer than Ilia was prepared for. “Okay. Okay. Sorry. Of course I’ll look at you, pretty boy. You look so good.” His hand trails up to cup the back of his head, scratching at the fine curls.

Ilia shivers, pleasure shooting up his spine, saturating every cell of his body. He could get addicted to Andrew looking at him like that, the warmth in his gaze despite the lust overtaking his features, the soft quirk of his smile — Ilia thinks he’s probably in love, even if he isn’t supposed to be.

He makes sure Andrew is watching before he leans in again, wrapping his lips carefully around the tip. He truly has no idea what exactly he’s meant to do here. He’s never given a blowjob before. Hell, he’s never even seen one. 

But he knows enough, he’s pretty sure. He hopes.

Ilia slowly starts to lower down, taking more of Andrew into his mouth. He’s thick, Ilia’s mouth forced uncomfortably wide open, the corners of his lips aching as drool pools under his tongue.

There’s something addicting about it though. The heaviness on his tongue, the taste of salt; slightly sweet and perfectly Andrew. 

He pulls back most of the way before dropping back down, trying to take more in.

Andrew hisses, fingers tightening. “So good, Ilia,” he grunts out, eyes glassy. “Wrap your lips over your teeth — yeah, just like that. So perfect for me, always.”

Once Ilia gets the hang of the motion, he starts taking more in. He’s nothing if not eager, and he wants to show Andrew how good he can be.

And it seems to be working, if Andrew’s expression is anything to go by. He looks utterly wrecked already, one hand clapped over his mouth to muffle his noises, eyes cloudy and distant as he stares down at Ilia lovingly.

He goes deeper, relishing the effect he has, the feeling of Andrew, hot and thick, prodding against the back of his throat—

Ilia has always had a pretty strong composition. His gag reflex has never really been an issue he’s had to worry about.

Then again, he’d never really dealt with anything touching that part of him before.

He makes a sharp, choked noise, jerking off of Andrew’s cock and doubling over, coughing and heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

He hears Andrew move before he sees him, feels the warm palm splayed across his back. “Shit, Ilia, are you okay? I’m sorry, I should have been more careful.”

Ilia stays still for a moment, focusing on the firm press of Andrew’s palm between his shoulder blades. He takes a few even, measured breaths before blinking his eyes open, red-rimmed and hot.

“‘M fine,” he rasps out finally, coughing a few times to clear his throat. “I’m fine,” he repeats, clearer now, sitting up properly.

Andrew’s hand stays on his back, firm and grounding. “I’m sorry,” he says again, face all scrunched and ugly, like he’s going to cry himself.

Ilia frowns. “It’s fine. Are you gonna make me stop?”

“Huh?”

“Are you gonna say you don’t wanna do it anymore? That I, like, ruined the moment or whatever?” Ilia knows he’s being petulant, but the tears burning behind his eyes have nothing to do with the lingering soreness in his throat.

“Baby, hey. No. Look at me.” Andrew moves to cup his cheeks. Kneeling like this, they’re eye to eye, and Andrew’s eyes are near-frantic as he meets Ilia’s gaze. “You didn’t ruin anything, sweet boy. You’re so perfect, and god knows I still want you. So fucking bad. I just wanna make sure you’re okay first. It really—“ he pauses, gnawing on his lower lip and looking away. “I got really scared when you started gagging, because you looked really scared. I don’t like seeing you hurting.”

Ilia sags forward until Andrew gets the hint, arms moving to wrap around Ilia, hugging him into his chest. “I really liked it. Before that, I mean,” Ilia admits to Andrew’s collarbone. “I wanna do it again. I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

Andrew’s hand comes up to stroke Ilia’s hair, nails tickling against his scalp. “Next time, okay? I’m not gonna last very long with that pretty mouth of yours and I need to make sure that I can keep it up for the main event.”

Ilia knows it’s an excuse, but Andrew’s words still have him sighing happily, breathing in the soft smell of sweat and aftershave. “Okay. Next time. Maybe later tonight,” he murmurs, smiling as he feels the vibration of Andrew’s chuckles.

“How do you feel? How’s your throat?”

Ilia presses his nose against Andrew’s shoulder, eyes half-closed. “Good. Wanna lie down. My knees are sore.”

Andrew laughs again, kissing the top of his head. “Let’s get into bed, then. Do you want a glass of water?”

He wants to protest — to push against anything that puts any more time between him and finally getting to sleep with Andrew — but his throat does still hurt, and the thought of a nice glass of ice water has his mouth watering. So he nods against his neck. “You have to come right back though.”

“As you wish,” he murmurs, kissing the top of his head once more before he scoops him up, carrying him over to the bed with surprising strength.

Ilia stretches out like a cat in the sun as soon as Andrew lets go of him, nuzzling into the plush duvet. Andrew kneels at the foot of the bed a moment longer, watching him with a small smile before pushing up to his feet. “I’ll be back in just a second,” he promises, leaning over to peck his lips before jogging out.

Ilia barely has time to miss him before Andrew is returning, water bottle in hand. “Scootch up, yeah? You don’t have to sit up; just enough to drink.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, holding the bottle out.

Ilia leans forward just enough to catch the straw between his lips, swallowing down the chilled water gratefully.

When he pulls back, Andrew wastes no time replacing the straw with his lips, pressing Ilia into the pillows as he blindly sets the water bottle on the bedside table.

Ilia gasps and Andrew takes the opportunity, licking into his mouth as he shifts so he’s on top of him, one hand running reverentially along Ilia’s ribs as he kisses hungrily.

He shivers, skin prickling hot everywhere Andrew touches, little electric shocks toeing the line between pain and pleasure. He arches into it, a desperate whine spilling unbidden from his lips.

Andrew lets out a pleased little sigh, pressing Ilia against the mattress as he steals kiss after kiss.

It’s heady, every kiss sending ripples of pleasure through Ilia’s system. He can’t even remember why he was nervous, why he was embarrassed. All he knows is the way Andrew’s body fits against his, gasping desperately for air between panted kisses.

Andrew pulls back first, hand trailing languidly up his side. “How do you want to do this?”

“Uh.” Ilia blinks, trying to remember how to use his brain. “I wanna bottom?”

Andrew can’t help the surprised laugh that comes out, and Ilia’s face burns in embarrassment. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not laughing at you. Just… that was kind of a given, sweetheart. I meant what position.”

Ilia wishes he could hide, wants to become small so Andrew won’t be able to see just how woefully stupid he is when it comes to anything sex-related. Instead. He just clenches his eyes shut, face still bright pink. “I wanna see your face. Whatever position lets me do that,” he says, voice small.

Andrew pecks his lips, so softly Ilia wonders for a second if he’s imagined it. “I want that too,” he murmurs, cupping his cheek. “Get comfortable, okay? I need to get you ready.”

Ilia opens his eyes, heart in his throat. “You don’t— uh.” He swallows, eyes flitting around in a desperate attempt to look at anything but Andrew. “I did that. Earlier. You don’t have to.”

Andrew breathes sharply, thumb pausing where it was petting along his cheekbone. “You… Jesus Christ, Ilia,” he rasps.

Ilia sucks his lower lip into his mouth, pressing his mouth into a tight line. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no. Fuck, Ilia. That’s so— that’s so fucking hot. Did you think about me while you were doing it?”

He nods, not trusting his voice.

Andrew groans lowly, head dropping to Ilia’s throat, kissing and sucking at the already bruised skin. “Fuck. Oh my god. You’re so perfect. My perfect sweet boy. Fingering yourself because you’re so eager for me to fuck you.”

It’s the most explicit Andrew has been, and it burns low in Ilia’s gut, hot and heady. His head falls back, spine arching up to try and press closer, desperate to eliminate every single atom of space that separates the two of them.

Andrew continues kissing along his throat, hands moving to grip his waist. “I still wanna make sure you’re ready,” he murmurs between bites and kisses. “Gotta make sure I won’t hurt you.”

Ilia just nods again, teeth digging into his lower lip to muffle the high, needy whimpers trapped just behind his front teeth.

With one last open mouthed kiss, Andrew pulls back, gently pushing Ilia’s legs apart so he can kneel between his thighs, hands stroking soft lines along his muscles. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, seemingly blind to the shy embarrassment flooding Ilia’s system.

Ila hides his face in the crook of his elbow as Andrew leans across him to grab the lube off the nightstand. He hears the click, the wet squirt, and yet he still jumps when a wet finger brushes against the tender skin where his thigh meets his crotch.

“Sorry, sorry. Too cold still?” Andrew withdraws his hand quickly.

“No,” Ilia manages to find his voice. “Just surprised me. It’s fine.”

He knows what to expect. Kind of. As much as a guy who has done a week's worth of frantic googling and fingered himself for the very first time earlier that day can.

Still, nothing prepares him for the feeling of someone else’s finger prodding against his hole. For Andrew’s finger — that strong hand he has spent so much time admiring, entwining those pretty fingers in his own — to press its way inside his most intimate part.

He gasps out, heart fluttering in his throat. He drops his arm, floundering around until Andrew gets the hint and takes his hand in his free one. “I’m right here, baby. I’ve got you. Does this feel okay?”

Ilia grips his hand like a vice. It must hurt, but Andrew doesn’t complain. “Yeah. Feels weird but good, I think,” he says, voice high and squeaky. 

Andrew kisses the back of Ilia’s hand as he works his finger inside, pressing against spots Ilia didn’t even know existed.

Ilia squirms, toes curling. Despite having done it on himself earlier, it still feels utterly foreign. He can’t decide if he likes it or not.

At least, until Andrew crooks his finger and Ilia feels a wave of pleasure so intense he actually has to check to make sure he didn’t cum right then and there. Mouth hanging open, he pants softly. “What… was that?”

Andrew looks up at him, eyes twinkling. “Did that feel good?” He asks in lieu of an answer. 

When Ilia nods, Andrew brushes his finger against the same spot once more and Ilia squeals out, digging his nails into Andrew’s hand. “You’re teasing me,” he accuses, voice high and whiny. 

Andrew presses his lips together to hide his smile. “You’re so easy to tease,” he hums, pulling his finger out just to push it back in, a second one joining this time.

Ilia sucks in a breath at the new fullness. There’s still no pain, but the difference is still noticeable, tugging at his rim as Andrew scissors his fingers apart rhythmically.

“Is that enough? Can we start now?” Ilia dares to ask finally, giving Andrew his best puppy dog eyes.

“One more. I don’t wanna hurt you.” Andrew smiles apologetically when Ilia pouts at his answer.

Ilia is grateful, though, for Andrew’s insistence once he squeezes a third finger inside. 

Two fingers was fine. Ilia had used two fingers on himself. Weird, maybe, but painless and easy enough.

Three is unfamiliar territory. He grips into Andrew’s hand, knuckles white as his breath hitches in his throat. He’s never felt anything like this before, and it twists in his gut, foreign and unnatural.

Andrew pauses, hand stilling. “Hey. Ilia, breathe. Does it hurt?”

Ilia forces his eyes open. He isn’t even sure when they closed. “Kinda,” he admits, voice small. “I dunno. It feels. Weird. Not good weird though.”

Andrew chews on his lip, looking woefully out of his element, like he’s just been asked to try a new jump with no direction on how to actually execute it. “I… I’m gonna pull out and add more lube, okay? I think that’s supposed to help.”

Ilia nods, panting in shallow breaths as Andrew pulls his fingers out carefully. He’s not sure this is any better though, the fluttering, empty feeling cold and uncomfortable. He winces, shifting awkwardly and pressing his thigh against Andrew’s side just for something to ground himself.

Andrew squeezes his hand gently. “Sweetheart, I need my hand back for a second.” He looks apologetic as Ilia shoots him a mournful glance, but nonetheless extricates his hand to grab the bottle of lube.

It feels like an eternity before Andrew is brushing wet fingers against him, other hand coming up to take Ilia’s hand in his once more. “Okay. This should be a bit better. Tell me if it still hurts, though.”

Ilia sucks his lips into his mouth, biting down. It’s better now, with the additional glide, but he can’t get used to the fullness, the stretch that feels like it might tear at any moment. He doesn’t know if it’s supposed to feel like that — when it will start feeling good again.

“Ilia. Baby. You need to breathe. I won’t be able to stretch you properly if your muscles are all tense.”

He tries. He really does. He gulps in lungfuls of air, trying to remember all his best breathing exercises his coaches had taught him over the years. He closes his eyes. He's done much harder things than this; felt much worse pain.

Andrew pulls out again, leaning back to sit on his heels. “This isn’t gonna work.”

Ilia shoots up in record time, eyes wide and wild. “Seriously?”

Andrew isn’t looking at him, wiping his fingers off on his own thigh. “You’re too tense. I can’t get you open until you relax.”

Ilia feels a bit like he might cry, eyes hot and itchy. He wanted tonight to be perfect. He’s dreamed of this day, but everything keeps going wrong. And it’s his own fault. His own stupid body betraying him at every turn. It’s making a habit of that, he thinks snidely to himself, making eye contact with the steel-faced Ilia on the Milano-Cortina poster. Letting me down when it matters most.

A warm hand rests on his shoulder, thumb grazing along the bone. “I don’t wanna do this if it doesn’t feel good for you,” his voice is soft, hesitant in a way that Ilia knows means he feels guilty. That just makes it worse.

“I don’t care if it hurts,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Anger is easier, he thinks. If he lets himself feel angry, there won’t be anything left in him to feel sad.

“Okay, well. I do. I’m not gonna be able to get it up if you look miserable the whole time.”

His lip wobbles as he glances down to confirm what he already knows. Shame sits heavy in his chest, a lead weight he can’t shake. Tugging his legs to his torso in an attempt to regain a modicum of dignity, he glares at the poster, not wanting to see Andrew’s face. “You’re a jerk. You promised me.”

Andrew lets go of him, and the loss of contact stings, even though he knows he asked for it. “You’re being unfair.”

“I don’t care. Only an asshole would promise something like that and then take it back.”

“Cmon, bro. Seriously?”

Ilia barks out a derisive laugh. “Oh, I’m back to bro now? Guess I can’t be your sweet boy if you can’t even get it up to fuck me.”

Andrew is silent, and when Ilia dares a glance over, he looks like he’s just been slapped, eyes wide and horrified, soft lips hanging open. “Do you seriously think that little of me?” His voice cracks, raw and vulnerable in a way Ilia isn’t sure he’s ever seen from Andrew before.

Something inside him breaks at the sight, dangling in his chest at an unnatural angle, like a broken ankle. It hurts, worse than a fall on a quad axel, worse than a stress fracture from too many wonky landings. 

He hiccups, and then—

Ilia was an idiot to think he could keep the tears at bay. Not when everything he had wanted since this whole thing with Andrew started was so close – literally within his grasp – and he still fell at the last hurdle.

Burying his face in his knees, he feels like a snot-nosed kid, sniffling and gulping in oxygen between heaving sobs.

Strong arms wrap around him then, moving carefully until Ilia is fully seated in Andrew’s lap. “Hey. Don’t cry, Ilia. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to ruin everything. Please don’t cry,” Andrew begs, his own voice suspiciously wet.

Ilia shifts, burying his face in Andrew’s hair, arms wrapping tightly around his neck. “I wanted tonight to go well so bad. I wanted to finally… to have sex with you,” he sniffles, muffled against his crown.

Andrew reaches up to cup the back of Ilia’s head, cradling him. “I know. Me too. I can’t do it if I’m hurting you, though. You mean too much to me.”

“I have a high pain tolerance. I can handle it,” Ilia tries again, soft and plaintive.

Andrew sighs, heavy and loaded. “I don’t want you to tolerate having sex with me, Ilia.” His grip on Ilia loosens, head falling forward until his forehead rests on Ilia’s collarbone. “I know you think I’m being a dick, but this is important to me, okay? I don’t… I don’t know how to not hurt you. I’ve never done this before.”

Ilia rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “I thought you said you weren’t a virgin?”

“I’m… not. But you’re the first guy I’ve ever done anything with. And it’s really different with a boy. I’ve never really had to worry about any of this shit before.”

Ilia chews on his lower lip, a nervous habit he’s never been able to fully get rid of, no matter how many times he has to deal with bloody or chapped lips. “Maybe it’s just normal for it to hurt a bit? Maybe if we just… keep going and you find that… that  spot inside that felt really super good again…” 

Andrew swallows. “Can I just hold you like this for a bit?”

“Andrew,” he begs, voice shattering. “Just one more try. I can do it this time, I know I can.”

His breath is shaky against Ilia’s chest. “Okay. One more time. But I need a minute to just. Calm down. Can you give me that?”

Ilia’s shoulders sag in relief, taking in a proper breath for the first time in ages. “Okay. I can wait. I can be patient.”

Andrew huffs out a laugh, and Ilia feels a suspicious wetness on his chest. “No, you really can’t. But I appreciate it anyway.”

Ilia doesn’t investigate further. He knows Andrew is grateful for that.

And he does try to be patient. He really does. Andrew wants to wait and he’s going to respect that.

But it’s hard. Patience has never been his forte, and it’s infinitely harder when he can feel every single firm muscle of Andrew’s naked body, pressed against him. Andrew might not be hard, but Ilia sure is.

He tries to be subtle, shifting on Andrew’s lap. His dick is trapped between their torsos, pressing hot against Andrew’s abs; if he doesn’t move away soon, he’s going to have an issue on his hands.

“Stop squirming,” Andrew mumbles, arms tightening to press Ilia more firmly against him. He either hasn’t noticed yet, or is ignoring it, but his grip is strong, and the press of his abs isn’t helping Ilia calm down.

Ilia lasts a few more minutes before he starts wiggling again, shallow rolls against Andrew, desperate for some sort of friction before he goes insane.

“Ilia,” Andrew huffs, fingers digging into the swell of his hips. “You aren’t slick. I thought you said you could be patient.”

Ilia whines, wiggling more. “Well I can’t. I’ve been hard for so long it hurts; didn’t you say you don’t want me hurting?” He juts his lower lip out, cheeks puffing as he pouts at Andrew.

He knows he’s won almost immediately. He feels the way Andrew’s dick stirs to attention against his thigh — sees the way his eyes go fuzzy as he looks up at Ilia. He has to focus to keep his pouting up, to keep from breaking into a grin.

Andrew sighs heavily, craning his neck up to peck Ilia’s lips. “Well. I can’t let my baby hurt, can I?”

Ilia is quick to lie back on the bed, pulling Andrew down on top of him. Ilia is desperate to find that heat, that insatiable hunger from before. He can feel it, simmering in his gut, low and hot. 

He cants his hips up, grinding against him as they kiss, all tongues and teeth.

Andrew pulls back first, panting softly as he rests their foreheads together. “You’ve been hard for so long, sweet boy. Will you be able to last?”

Ilia has absolutely no idea. It’s not like he has any experience with this stuff. But he’s pretty sure all he has to do to get Andrew to fuck him finally is to give the answers he wants. “Yeah. Course I can.”

Andrew’s lips twitch, poorly concealing a smile. “Okay. Can I touch you then? I have an idea.” 

He nods so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. His heart is racing, skin electric. This time, he’s going to do it right; he’s going to finally lose his virginity.

Andrew kisses him again before sitting up to grab the bottle of lube. “I’m not gonna be able to hold your hand this time, sweetheart. But you can grab onto me anywhere you can reach, okay?”

“Huh?”

“I need both my hands for this.”

“For what?”

He watches as Andrew squirts a glob of lube in his hand, rubbing it to coat both hands and warm the gel up. He has no clue what Andrew has in mind until a slippery palm wraps loosely around his dick.

Suddenly, Ilia is a hell of a lot less confident in his ability to last. He hasn’t actually thought about the possibility of Andrew touching his dick; now Ilia is worried he won’t last a few seconds, let alone long enough to actually have sex.

“Andrew,” he gasps out, gripping onto his forearm as he starts to pump his hand. “I’m not gonna— I don’t think I can—“ he stumbles over his words, stammering and frantic, but Andrew seems to understand.

He smiles softly, pausing his movement. “You can; I know you can.” Andrew shifts to press a gentle kiss along Ilia’s jawline. 

Ilia whines, throwing his head back, toes curling and abs tensing up as he focuses all his energy on not coming embarrassingly fast. “Easy for you to say. I’ve been hard for hours,” he gripes through gritted teeth.

Andrew just chuckles, continuing to litter soft kisses along his jaw as he lazily strokes him. “You look so fucking beautiful… make the prettiest noises. Everything about you is so fucking pretty.”

“Andrew,” he whines again, teeth digging into his lower lip. It’s so much — the pleasure building low in his gut, the delicious friction as Andrew’s strong hand glides along his shaft — almost enough for him to miss when Andrew slips two fingers inside of him.

Almost.

He squeaks out in surprise, but Andrew just shushes him, both hands pumping rhythmically as he bends and folds his own body so he can kiss Ilia, distracting him with delicious licks. 

Andrew is a great kisser, and he knows it. He kisses like a man on a mission. If that mission is to make Ilia come from nothing more than wet kisses and bitten lips.

So he barely notices when a third finger joins. He’s too busy being kissed breathless; busy trying not to come from Andrew’s skilled hand jerking his cock like it’s what he was born to do.

He sure as hell notices once Andrew manages to find that spot again — the one that makes him see stars.

Ilia squeals out, jerking back from the kiss and scrabbling to push Andrew away.

“Is this okay?” Andrew asks, immediately pausing, chest flushed with arousal.

“If you do that again I’m gonna come right here right now and there’s nothing either of us can do to stop it,” he says, shaky and breathless.

His eyes twinkle, something almost like love passing over his expression. “Fuck, Ilia. That’s so hot. Okay. I’m gonna grab a condom. You just stay right there.”

Ilia sags back against the pillows as Andrew shifts away, trying to ignore how wrong it feels to suddenly not be touched.

Andrew settles back between his legs, condom in hand and bottle of lube resting against Ilia’s thigh. “Face to face, right?” He checks, pressing a hand gently against Ilia’s hip for a brief moment, thumb stroking along his hipbone.

Ilia nods, breath hitching. “Yeah,” he manages to whisper out, gaze flicking between Andrew’s lovesick gaze and the condom in his hand.

 It hardly feels real, even though he’s been begging for this exact thing. Somehow it’s all he’s been thinking about, and yet it still feels like a figment of his imagination as he watches Andrew roll the condom on.

He knows this is real — knows this isn’t a dream. He can feel the crick in his back from arching too far, smell the sweat and sex, acrid in the air. 

So it’s real. Definitely real. And no matter how many times he’s dreamed about this, imagined this exact scenario, none of it compares to the actual experience.

Because here, in the real world, he gets to watch the way Andrew’s face twists, pleasure morphing his features as he nudges himself inside for the first time. He gets to feel the stretch of Andrew’s dick, big and hot and entirely unlike fingers, and yet he can’t feel any pain — not when he finally has Andrew inside of him, the way he always dreamed.

He forgets to breathe. How can he, when Andrew has stolen what breath he has? Ilia doesn’t even want to blink; doesn’t want to miss a single second.

Andrew shudders, arms trembling as he stops with only the tip inside, hovering over Ilia. “How do you feel?” Andrew asks, already sounding absolutely wrecked.

Ilia doesn’t bother answering; he just wraps a strong thigh around Andrew’s waist, tugging him closer and staring up with big, blown out eyes, silently begging for more.

The noise Andrew lets out in response is utterly sinful, throaty and raw, head falling forward as he pushes in a bit further. He’s trembling still, sweat sticking his hair in chunks and dripping onto Ilia. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Ilia cranes up, crashing their lips together and wrapping his arms around Andrew. It’s less of a kiss and more just panting into each other's mouths, but it’s exactly what he needs right now.

“Fuck, oh my god. You feel so—“ Andrew cuts himself off, dropping down to his elbows as he continues to ease himself in. “Fuck. So tight. It’s so good. I’ve never—“ he cuts himself off again, clenching his eyes shut as he rests their foreheads together.

Ilia hugs him close, feeling their hearts beating together. He doesn’t think he knows how to speak anymore. Not with Andrew rearranging his guts. 

So he just digs his nails into Andrew’s back, feeling the skin give under the pressure. Andrew doesn’t complain though, and Ilia doesn’t loosen his grip.

“More,” he manages to get out finally, canting his hips to try and force Andrew in deeper. “Wanna be full.”

Andrew swears, a low string of Russian expletives. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear to god,” he says, shifting to press kisses along Ilia’s mottled throat, teeth grazing tender flesh.

Ilia shivers, head lolling back. He has no clue why he was nervous, or how he ever lived without this. He could happily die like this, now that he’s felt what it’s like to have Andrew inside of him. He’s sure nothing else will ever be able to compare.

“Andrew,” he gasps desperately as Andrew rolls his hips down, fully seating himself inside of Ilia before pausing. His vision explodes, fireworks and shooting stars behind his eyelids. Nothing could have prepared him for this, and he’s utterly shocked that he hasn’t already blown his load.

“I’m right here, baby. Right here,” Andrew grunts, kissing his shoulder. “I’m gonna stay here for a second, okay?”

Ilia doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to, really. He’s never felt so full. Ilia swears he can feel Andrew’s cock all the way up to his throat.

He’s never felt more complete, though. As if there was always a piece missing, and Andrew has just slotted it into place. He’s finally whole now.

Ilia nudges his nose gently against the crown of Andrew’s head, one hand moving to thread in his hair, tugging gently until Andrew gets the hint and looks up at him.

Andrew is always beautiful. It’s one of the things that made Ilia fall for him. No matter what he’s doing, Ilia thinks he’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

He’d never say it out loud, of course. Andrew is no good at accepting compliments, especially ones like that. But in the safety of his own mind, he admires the beauty in front of him.

Andrew’s lashes flutter, unfairly long and dark, framing half-lidded eyes, blown with lust and twinkling in the lamplight. His lips, bitten pink and kiss-swollen are hanging open, slick with spit and trembling with every shaky inhale. His entire face is pink, really, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, like he’s just finished skating his free and is trying to remember how to breathe properly.

Ilia stares, trying to memorize everything about this moment. He never wants to forget — wants to take a picture of this moment and frame it on the mantle of his mind. Ilia isn’t sure he believes in heaven, but if it exists, it must be this.

Andrew licks his lips, shifting so he can cup Ilia’s cheek in his hand. “Are you feeling good? Can I move?”

Ilia blinks up at him slowly, fingers tangled in sweaty brown locks. “Yeah. I feel perfect. Amazing.”

Andrew grins in response, eyes crinkling in perfect half moons. “I feel amazing too,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of Ilia’s mouth before pulling his hips back until only the tip stays inside.

The first thrust punches a cry out of Ilia, desperate and wanton. He’s grateful, suddenly, that Andrew wanted to wait until they were alone. There’s no way he can keep himself quiet if this is what it feels like.

Andrew rolls his hips again, panting hot breaths on Ilia’s cheek as he finds a rhythm, hips snapping forward, driving deep inside Ilia.

Ilia’s whole world narrows. There’s nothing but him and Andrew, and the meeting of their bodies. He clings to Andrew like a raft in the ocean, panting and moaning with each thrust, body rocking.

Andrew is saying something, soft music in his ears that he can’t understand. It doesn’t matter though. Not as long as Andrew keeps moving, keeps fucking into him. 

Making Love to him.

Ilia cries out, curling his body against Andrew’s as the pleasure crashes over him, too much to keep at bay anymore. He’s helpless to do anything but ride the wave, let the sensations take over, so intense he sees white, body trembling like a flower as he claws helplessly at Andrew’s back.

He’s still trembling as he slowly comes back to his body, head fuzzy and feet tingling and numb. His torso is warm and sticky, softening cock laying against his stomach. Andrew is still nestled inside of him, his own abs shuddering with every labored inhale. 

“Fuck… baby, you’re so perfect. So beautiful. That was… oh my god,” Andrew murmurs, moving to push Ilia’s sweaty curls off his forehead. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Ilia practically purrs at the touch, eyes fluttering as he presses his head into Andrew’s palm. He thinks he could stay like this forever, in the fuzzy blissful post-orgasm haze, Andrew’s lithe fingers combing through his hair as he looks down at him with hearts for eyes. 

Andrew leans down to kiss him, and Ilia sucks in a hiss of air, every nerve turned up to one hundred. 

Andrew freezes, brow furrowing as he poorly tries to conceal a frown. “Did that hurt? Want me to pull out?”

“Have you… uh. You know?” Ilia blushes raspberry red, eyes flicking down to the mess covering his torso.

“Uh. No. Not yet. I can use my hand though, I don’t mind,” he assures quickly.

Ilia frowns. “No. I’m fine. I want you to finish in me.”

Andrew’s jaw twitches, nostrils flaring. “Jesus, Ilia. Do you even know what you sound like?” He lets his head fall forward. “I’m gonna go slow, okay? Tell me if it’s too much.”

Ilia doesn’t reply, just nuzzling his face against the crook of Andrew’s neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex. His dick tries to stir awake, despite his body's protests. Especially once Andrew starts slowly rolling his hips again, soft aborted whines catching in his throat.

Ilia kisses along his throat, sticky skin leaving salt on his tongue. He can feel Andrew’s heart racing underneath the delicate skin, beating triple-time.

Andrew lets out a shuddered breath, rhythm breaking. “Ilia, baby, I’m so close. Let me see you, I wanna see you.”

Ilia forces his head up, eyes heavy and glazed as he looks at Andrew. Andrew looks utterly fucked out, flushed and sweating, eyes blown and brows knit in concentration. Ilia wants to kiss the focus off his expression, to break that self control Andrew is so proud of himself for. He wants to be the reason Andrew loses his composure.

He sucks his lip between his teeth, letting it slip back out with a wet pop. “Andrew, wait. Pull out.” His eyes twinkle, corners of his mouth twitching up imperceptibly.

Andrew freezes like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and uncertain. “Is something wrong? Is this hurting you?”

“Just do it. Don’t you trust me? I have a plan.” He darts forward, pecking his lips. “You’ll like it. I know so.”

His frown remains, despite Ilia’s reassurances, but he slowly pulls out, cock red and swollen inside the slightly-cloudy condom.

Ilia shifts, nose wrinkling at the feeling of emptiness that follows, hole fluttering in the cool evening air. He can’t focus on that right now though. Not when Andrew is so hard he looks near tears, confused and uncertain.

“Take the condom off. Don’t need it.”

“But—“

“Andrew. Trust me.”

Andrew swallows, throat bobbing prettily. He obediently peels the condom off though, tossing it in his bedside trash. “Okay, can I know what your plan is?”

“Mm. No. Lie down. I wanna surprise you.” Ilia pushes himself up to a sitting position, stealing another kiss before patting the pillow, waiting for Andrew to take his place.

He takes a second to admire the sight of Andrew laid out beneath him. The soft brown hair dusting across a muscular chest, the black ink tattoos decorating muscular planes. He wants to trace them with his tongue, to bite and mark and claim. His nipples, small and pebbled and dark on creamy skin, stand out in a way that begs to be worshipped and laved.

He brushes his knuckle reverentially along the dark hair of his happy trail, stark on his stomach, trailing down to his target. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, despite himself.

“‘M’not,” Andrew retorts instantly, shifting awkwardly, muscles flexing and unflexing as he tries to figure out how to react.

Ilia just hums, leaning over to kiss Andrew softly. “You are. Pretty lips.” He moves down, kissing the line of his throat “pretty neck.” Kiss. “Pretty chest.” Kiss. “Pretty tattoos.” Kiss. “Pretty—“

“Ilia, what the fuck,” Andrew rasps, hand shooting out to cup Ilia’s chin. “I thought you were a virgin. Who taught you all that?”

“Nobody taught me anything. I just think you’re pretty.”

The Russian expletives return, gruff and desperate in Andrew’s perfect beautiful tenor. 

It’s heady, making someone like Andrew react like that, reducing him to his primal base instincts. 

He licks his lips, moving around so he can kneel at the end of the bed, perched between Andrew’s thighs. “Hold my hair, okay? Don’t let go.”

“Ilia—“

“My hair,” he whines, jutting his lower lip out, and Andrew’s hand shoots out to curl in his blonde waves so quickly it’s almost comical. He nuzzles into it, sighing happily like a cat who got the cream.

He lets himself enjoy it for a few seconds before licking his lips, zeroing in on his target. One hand gently holds his hip, admiring the muscular swell, flexing against his touch. 

The other hand finds its way to Andrew’s cock, wrapping around it. It’s hot under his fingers, slick with precum and twitching sporadically.

He doesn’t care what Andrew says. It’s beautiful; utterly hypnotizing to watch the way his body reacts to even the lightest touches.

Andrew pushes Ilia’s hair back and he takes the opportunity, darting in to press a chaste kiss to the tip of Andrew’s cock, looking up at him through pale lashes.

He looks dazzling, staring down at Ilia with high, flushed cheeks and wide eyes, breathing so shallow Ilia can see every tiny movement of his chest.

Their eyes stay locked together as Ilia slowly lowers his head, lips pressed around his teeth the way Andrew had told him to do the first time.

The sharp inhale he gets as he starts bobbing his head is worth all the nerves bubbling low in his gut. 

Ilia stays shallow, not wanting to choke himself, to ruin the moment. He wants to get Andrew off, to see him come apart because of him.

Andrew is thick, and he has to hold his mouth uncomfortably wide, drool rolling down his chin in rivulets. It should have been embarrassing, but Andrew looks like he’s never wanted anyone more, so Ilia can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed by it.

He’s careful this time around, only taking the first few inches into his mouth, pumping the rest with uncoordinated flicks of his wrist.

There’s no way it’s good. He may not know much about sex, but he’s pretty sure this isn’t what a blowjob is meant to be. Still, Andrew is gasping, beautiful breathy inhales, high and desperate. He grips onto Ilia’s curls like a lifeline, hard enough that it burns Ilia’s scalp where the hairs strain. 

“Ilia,” he manages to gasp out finally. “Ilia, I’m close. ‘M’not gonna last much longer.”

Ilia just swallows around him, trying to take him in further. The noise he gets in response is utterly sinful, wanton and desperate. “Ilia,” he tries again, louder. “Ilia, you’ve gotta pull off now if you don’t want me to cum in your mouth, I can’t hold back anymore.”

Ilia swirls his tongue around the shaft experimentally, pressing the warm flat of it against the throbbing vein underneath.

Andrew tumbles over the edge, thighs shaking and hips tensing up as he spills hot seed down Ilia’s throat.

It’s sweeter than he expected, viscous and warm as he swallows, nose wrinkling slightly. When he pulls off, a trail of spit connects him to Andrew’s softening cock, cum dribbling down his chin.

Andrew pants heavily, extricating his hand from Ilia’s hair to wipe gently across Ilia’s chin with his knuckle, a futile but sweet attempt to clean him off.

“Fuck, that was so… you’re so… god. Jesus.” Andrew closes his eyes for a moment, trying to catch his breath. “Come here. Let me hold you.”

Ilia wiggles up, cuddling into Andrew’s sweaty chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat. “Was that good?”

Andrew blinks down at him. “Are you serious? That was perfect. Best night of my life,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against Ilia’s forehead, breathing “I loved it,” against smooth skin.

Ilia sighs contentedly. “Yeah. Me too. I loved it too, I mean. It was all really good.”

Andrew just chuckles, holding him in strong arms. “You feel good? Nothing hurts?”

“Yeah. Really good. Everything feels loose and tingly.”

“Good tingly?”

Ilia pokes him. “Stop asking stupid questions.”

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. He rolls over, wrapping his body around Ilia, seemingly uncaring of the sweat and cum drying on their skin, itchy and uncomfortable.

Ilia pokes him again. “Andrew, we smell gross.”

He raises his head to look at Ilia properly. “Sex’ll do that, yeah.”

He lets out an annoyed huff. “I wanna not smell gross. Where’s your shower?”

“Five more minutes. I wanna hold you,” Andrew pouts, eyes wide in a way Ilia thinks is probably supposed to be cute but just kinda looks silly.

“Andrew,” he whines, jutting out his lower lip. “I’m all sticky.”

He groans, flopping back. “Fine. How about a bath? The tub is big enough for both of us.”

“Why would we both be there?”

“I’m sticky and gross too,” he reasons, running his hand along Ilia’s side. “And I wanna help you get cleaned up.”

He doesn’t really get what about that sounds appealing to Andrew, but he nods anyways, if only to see that beaming sunshine smile of his. “Okay. Bath.”

Andrew, predictably, grins at him, sparkling teeth on show before he darts in to kiss him. Ilia is sure he tastes gross. Or more accurately, sure he tastes like Andrew’s cum.

Andrew clearly doesn’t care though, kissing him like he’ll die if he pulls away. Ilia has to break the kiss first, ghosting their noses together. “Bath,” he reminds gently.

Andrew groans but pushes to his feet obediently, tugging Ilia up with him so he never has to break contact. “I think I have some bubble bath stashed away for when my sister stays with me, if you want.”

Ilia just hums, leaning into Andrew. He knows he’s the one who insisted on getting clean, but his legs feel like jelly and his ass feels like he slammed on the ice one too many times. So he sags into his chest, letting Andrew’s strong arms keep him up.

Andrew doesn’t seem to mind, kissing the top of Ilia’s head. “Cute,” he murmurs, and Ilia can feel him smiling even if he can’t see it.

“I liked tonight so much,” Ilia admits into the quiet. “Like you so much.” It feels like an admission, like something more than the surface of the words. It feels big, telling him this. And he hopes beyond hope that Andrew understands all of that.

Andrew keeps his lips pressed to Ilia’s crown. “I like you too, sweetheart. Tonight was incredible.”

Ilia chews on his lip, tugging the corner into his mouth. “We can do it again, right?”

“Huh? Of course we can. We have a few days here before we have to get back to tour. We can spend the whole time sleeping together if that’s what you want.”

“Right. Yeah. I do want that. For the record.” He pauses, pursing his lips. “But like. After we leave Irvine. I don’t want this to be a one time thing.” I don’t want US to be a one time thing hangs in the air, unspoken.

Andrew tilts his head. “It’ll be harder after Irvine, with the tour and stuff. I’m sure we’ll be able to find ways though. We’ll take it a city at a time, yeah? Figure it out as we go.”

It’s not the answer Ilia wanted. It’s not a big declaration of love, a promise to woo and court him, to profess his love on the ice and promise a lifetime of fealty and adoration.

“Okay,” Ilia replies finally, short. “Can we get in the bath now? I feel all itchy.”

It takes a second for Andrew to reply, the corners of his lips tugging down. “Yeah. Course,” he finally says, giving him a gentle squeeze before letting go, walking towards the restroom, Ilia following behind. 

“Did we decide yes on bubbles?”

Ilia nods, leaning against the sink and looking around curiously. “It’s neater in here than I expected.”

Andrew looks up from where he’s knelt down at the head of the bathtub. “I’m on the road a lot. Not a ton of time to mess it up, I guess. Don’t look in the cabinets though. It’s abysmal.”

Ilia just stares.

“…they’re super messy,” Andrew elaborates.

“Ah.”

The room is silent, save for the sound of running water splashing against the porcelain. Ilia picks up a bottle from the counter, turning it in his hands and pretending to read the ingredients list.

Andrew sighs, pushing to his feet. “Ilia, baby, hey. Look at me.”

Ilia looks up wordlessly, brows raised in question.

“Did I do something wrong? Why are you upset with me?”

“‘M’not.”

“You are.” Andrew steps over, grabbing Ilia by the waist to pull him closer. “C’mon, baby. I don’t wanna fight. Tonight was so special and I want it to stay that way.”

Ilia really isn't mad. At least, he doesn’t think he is. He leans into Andrew’s touch, pressing his nose into his hair. “Just promise me this doesn’t end in Irvine,” he says, barely more than a whisper.

“This doesn’t end in Irvine.” Andrew answers so confidently, like it was never in question; like he didn’t waffle around the premise only moments before.

Still, it's good enough for Ilia. For now. He smiles, pressing a kiss to the shell of his ear. “Okay. Good.”

Andrew smiles, squeezing his waist gently. “Good,” he echoes, and it sounds like a prayer.

Ilia can’t help himself. He’s only a man, after all. 

Maybe it isn’t his smartest plan, making out with Andrew against the sink when Andrew’s meant to be filling the tub, but frankly this seems far more important. And it isn’t as if Andrew seems to have any qualms.

“Ilia, I have to turn off the tap,” Andrew chuckles into the kiss, far too soon for Ilia’s liking. But he makes no effort to pull back, to stop kissing him, so Ilia doesn’t either, ignoring his words and licking along those perfect pearly teeth, pressing against Andrew’s back to urge him closer.

Andrew tries again a moment later, resting a hand on Ilia’s cheek. “Baby, the bathroom is gonna flood if I don’t go. We can kiss in the tub.”

Despite the promise, Ilia whines pathetically as Andrew pulls away. He tries futilely to hold him back, to pull him in so he can kiss him again, but Andrew slips out of his grasp, kneeling back down next to the bathtub. 

He tests the temperature and pours in the bubbles before holding a hand out to Ilia. “Okay, c’mere.”

Ilia practically skips over, pressing himself against Andrew’s back like velcro, kissing the nape of his neck.

He thinks he could stay like this forever, Andrew’s warm skin against his chest, Ilia’s arms snug around Andrew’s deceptively small waist, holding him close.

Andrew has other plans though. “Alright cutie, you gotta let go of me,” he murmurs, turning his head to kiss Ilia’s temple. “I’ll get in first and then you can sit between my legs.”

Ilia groans, but pulls back. “You hate me, don’t you? Every time I wanna hold you you make me let go.” He pouts, crossing his arms.

Andrew laughs, darting in to peck his lips before settling into the bath. “You know full well that I adore you.”

Something bubbles in Ilia’s chest at the words, heart skipping a beat. It’s dangerously close to everything Ilia wants. 

Where is the line between adoration and love? Ilia doesn’t know, but he knows it's a hell of a lot closer than the chasm between like and love. At least, if Andrew is using it the way Ilia hopes he is.

And if he isn’t…

If he adores him in the way Ilia’s fans adore him, if he sees Ilia as this untouchable figure on a pedestal, loved for what he can do and not for who he is; Ilia thinks that would break him.

“You adore me?” He asks finally, stepping carefully into the warm water, letting Andrew manhandle him until he’s satisfied, Ilia’s back against his chest, their legs tangling together beneath the surface.

“Mm,” he hums in confirmation, placing a gentle kiss on his shoulder. “Utterly and completely.”

The words settle in his chest, soft and comforting. It’s just as much a hug as Andrew’s arms wrapped around his waist. “I adore you too. For the record. Like. A lot.”

It’s not quite a love confession, but it isn’t quite not one.

Andrew smiles against his skin, squeezing his waist gently before pulling his arms back to grab a washcloth. He starts on Ilia’s back, scrubbing gentle methodical circles into his skin.

Ilia closes his eyes. He wants to capture the moment in a bottle. The soft jasmine scent of the bubbles, Andrew’s foot absentmindedly stroking against his calf, his strong hands so delicate as he washes Ilia’s back, as if he’s handling precious cargo.

He doesn’t have any experience with being in love and being loved in kind, but if this isn’t it, he doesn't know what is.

“I’ll wash you next,” Ilia offers softly, if only to distract from his racing heart that seems to echo across the tiled bathroom.

Andrew just hums, hooking his chin over Ilia’s shoulder as he moves his hand around to start on his chest. “I like smelling my body wash on you. I like that you smell like me,” he says, voice gruff, raw and open.

Ilia shivers slightly. It shouldn’t affect him as much as it does. “Yeah?” he squeaks, tongue darting over his lips as he turns his head to look at the other man.

“Yeah. Feels like staking my claim.”

He giggles at that. “You were inside me like ten minutes ago, and this is what does it?”

He feels Andrew flush, cheek warm where it presses against his skin. “Yeah, well. I dunno. It just does.”

Ilia turns more, grabbing Andrew’s cheek to tilt his head up, connecting their lips. He tries to channel everything he’s feeling, all those big messy emotions, into it; tries to tell Andrew everything without speaking a word.

Andrew lets the washcloth drop so he can hold onto Ilia properly, smiling against his lips.

Ilia wiggles around so they’re facing each other properly, never fully pulling out of the kiss. “Andrew,” he sighs out, barely a real word. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, what he wants, all he knows is he needs whatever it is.

Andrew cups his cheeks in his hands. “I’m right here. Not going anywhere,” he murmurs, thumb tracing along his cheek reverentially.

Ilia lets out a shuddering sigh, swaying closer into Andrew’s orbit. He can’t help himself. It’s like Andrew is the sun and Ilia is an asteroid stuck in his gravitational pull.

Andrew smiles against his lips. “Sweetheart, are you hard again already?” he whispers, dropping one hand to trail down Ilia’s soapy chest.

Ilia shudders, suddenly aware of the hardness between his legs, aching for a release he has already gotten once that night.

“I don’t– I didn’t–” He rests his forehead against Andrew’s, biting down on his lip. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

Andrew laughs at that. A real laugh. Not one of those little huffs of air through the nose, or a light chortle. A full belly laugh, head thrown back. “Oh my god. You’re so fucking precious, do you know that?” He says with a smile when he finally gets himself under control. “I think it’s so hot that you’re hard again. You’re so attracted to me that you can still get it up even though you just came. Do you know what an ego boost that is for me?”

“You’re teasing me again,” Ilia huffs, smacking him squarely in the chest and glaring heatlessly.

“No, no. I mean it,” he promises, but he’s still chuckling and Ilia is certain his entire face has gone crimson as Andrew laughs at him.

Ilia tries to glare again, splashing him with sudsy water. “You are, I know you are. Are you gonna help me with it or what?”

Andrew presses their lips together in lieu of answering, lazily dragging his hand down until it wraps securely around the base of Ilia’s cock. “Oh, my poor baby. You’re so hard, aren’t you? It must hurt,” he coos into his mouth.

“Shut up.” It’s the only thing Ilia can manage right now. There’s no blood left in his brain for witty retorts. It’s all gone southward for far more important purposes.

Andrew smiles, pumping his fist languidly. “You’re so perfect, Ilia. Fuck. Your body is insane. Getting hard all for me. Letting me make you feel good. I can’t get enough of it.”

The dirty talk goes straight to Ilia’s dick, and he knows he’s going to last an embarrassingly short time. He hopes beyond hope that that’s one of the things Andrew likes about his body.

“Andrew,” he whines, gripping onto Andrew’s biceps like a lifeline.

“Shh, you don’t have to say anything, baby. I’ve got you; I’m gonna take care of you,” he promises, moving to kiss over the budding bruises on Ilia’s throat, worshipping the purpling skin.

Ilia gives up on words, just panting desperately. He’s right. There's no need to speak. He doesn’t think he can come up with words right now anyways. Well, anything other than pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseohmygodplease. Or I think I’m in love with you. But he has to hold that second one in for obvious reasons.

He comes with nothing more than a sharp gasp, body tensing up, nails scratching against Andrew’s arms hard enough to draw blood.

Andrew pumps him through it, whispering words of praise that Ilia is too blissed out to understand but they make him feel fuzzy and warm all the same.

When Andrew finally removes his hand, Ilia sags into him, panting softly as he slowly comes back down to earth. “I’m not… I don't cum fast. You’re just weirdly good at that,” he says as soon as words come back to him.

Andrew purses his lips together to hide his smile. “Of course, pretty boy. Whatever you say.”

“It’s true!” He pouts up at him, narrowing his eyes.

Andrew combs his fingers through Ilia’s hair, the softness of his gaze juxtaposing his teasing words. “I’ll take the compliment. Come here, let me wash your hair.”

Ilia huffs in faux annoyance but shifts around so he’s sitting in Andrew’s lap again, tilting his head back so Andrew can massage the shampoo into his scalp. 

He feels like a cat being scratched behind his ears; he wouldn’t be surprised if Andrew told him he was purring.

Ilia has never had anything like this before, is the thing. The domesticity, the gentle touches. It’s all so foreign and new.

 Ilia is terrified that he’ll forget how to be happy without it.

Andrew takes his time, massaging the product into each and every strand, humming quietly to himself as he works. The scent of sandalwood and rosemary fills the air, mingling with the soft jasmine notes surrounding them.

Ilia yawns, rubbing his eyes with a wet hand.

“I’m almost done, then we can go to bed,” Andrew murmurs, rubbing his thumb in tiny circles against the skin just behind Ilia’s ear.

“M’not sleepy,” Ilia lies, cutting himself off with another yawn.

Andrew kisses his shoulder. “Tilt your head back so I can rinse you,” he says with a smile, guiding Ilia’s head into position with the hand already on his head.

Ilia closes his eyes, halfway to  dozing as Andrew scoops water over his head, careful not to get any in his eyes. It all feels so intimate, so… loving.

“Alright. C’mon. Up you go,” he presses a soft kiss to Ilia’s temple before reaching around him to drain the tub.

Ilia whines as the warm water swirls away, chilly evening air prickling his skin in trails of gooseflesh.

“I know, I know,” Andrew pulls him up to his feet with strong arms before wrapping him in a plush towel, scrubbing it against his skin to try and warm him up. “Is that better?”

Ilia nods, wrapping the towel around his slender frame, looking over at Andrew, the small puddle forming around his feet. “Are you gonna grab yourself a towel?” He asks after a moment.

“Huh? Oh, right. Yeah. I should do that, shouldn’t I?” He smiles sheepishly, turning to dig through the cupboard for a spare towel. Ilia wraps his own towel tighter, trying not to think too deeply about Andrew giving up his own towel. It might not mean anything, after all. Unless it does.

Andrew tosses another towel to Ilia. “Dry your hair off. Don’t want you catching a cold.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a myth,” Ilia mumbles, cheeks hot.

“Don’t care, not risking it.” Andrew gives him a pointed look as he finally grabs a towel for himself, scrubbing his head with it like a wet dog.

“That’s not good for your hair. You’re gonna break it,” Ilia interrupts, stepping over to take the towel from him. “You have to be more gentle.”

Andrew’s lips quirk up. “Yeah? Why don’t you show me how it’s done, then?”

Ilia rolls his eyes but starts gently towel-drying his hair. “You’re like a child sometimes, I swear to god.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyways.” Andrew winks, blowing him a kiss. Ilia hates the way his cheeks immediately flush pink.

He pushes Andrew lightly, towel draped over his head. “There. That’s good enough. Finish drying off, I’m gonna go dig out some pajamas.”

Andrew looks up at him with big eyes, looking even more like a lost puppy with his hair sticking up in every which direction. “You aren’t gonna sleep naked?”

“No, it’s cold.” Ilia wrinkles his nose. “And I wanna be comfy.”

Andrew rolls his eyes, but smiles. “Fine. Go get dressed. I’ll be out in a sec.”

Ilia waffles at the door for a moment before ducking over to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Okay. Don’t take too long,” he says, cheeks burning, skittering out of the room before he can hear Andrew’s response.

By the time Andrew joins him in the bedroom, towel slung low on his hips, Ilia is half dressed, digging through Andrew’s dresser.

“Is that Hello Kitty?” He can hear the smile on Andrew’s lips before he even turns around.

“They’re my favorites,” Ilia says, looking down at the fuzzy pajama bottoms he had thrown on without thinking about it.

“Cute,” Andrew murmurs, wrapping himself around Ilia and draping across his back. “Just when I think you can’t be any cuter, you come out here with Hello Kitty pajama pants.”

Ilia grabs a t-shirt out of the drawer blindly and nudges it closed. “Liza likes Hello Kitty,” he deflects lamely, turning around in Andrew’s arms so he can look at him.

“I like them. They suit you.” Andrew kisses the tip of his nose. “I like them and I like you.”

Ilia ducks his head, looking at Andrew through fluttering lashes. “I like you too,” he murmurs shyly, hugging the t-shirt against his chest.

Andrew smiles at him, looking for all the world like Ilia hung the moon. “Cute,” he repeats yet again, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Stop it. Whatever you’re thinking, no. I’m sleepy.” He pushes at his chest in faux protest, biting his lip to hold in his smile.

“You can’t blame me. Not when you’re here looking so soft and kissable,” Andrew murmurs, leaning in to dust gentle kisses along Ilia’s jaw.

Ilia giggles, crinkling his nose as Andrew’s stubble tickles along the tender flesh. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

Andrew nips his skin, right where his jaw meets his throat. “It can’t be helped. Just look at yourself.” His hands move seemingly of their own accord, running down his sides to rest where Ilia’s pajamas hug the swell of his hips, thumb rubbing along the soft skin just above.

Ilia’s hand moves, as if on instinct, to curl in Andrew’s hair. “You’re ridiculous. I didn’t realize that this is what does it for you.”

Andrew smiles, fingers dipping into the waistband of his pants. “It’s not them; it’s you. You drive me wild. Make me lose all my manners.”

His head lolls back of its own accord, and he sucks his lip into his mouth. “I just came; I don’t think I can get it up a third time,” he admits shyly, hoping Andrew can’t see the embarrassment painted across his features.

“I know, baby. You’ve done so well, been so good. You don’t have to do anything else for me.” Andrew kisses up his jaw, up the side of his face, leaving a trail of kisses to his forehead. “I just want to admire you. Is that okay?”

Ilia blushes raspberry red, scratching gently at the back of Andrew’s scalp. “Can you admire me with my shirt on?”

“You mean my shirt?” Andrew teases, smile evident in his voice.

“Shut up, oh my god. You’re so annoying, I don’t know why I even like you.”

“But you do like me, yeah?”

“Unfortunately.” Ilia wiggles out of Andrew’s grip, yanking the shirt on with more force than necessary.

Andrew just laughs, reaching around him to grab a pair of boxer briefs from the dresser. “Cute,” he repeats once more, reaching to ruffle Ilia’s damp hair, despite his whined protests.

“I’m not cute, I’m a fully grown man,” Ilia huffs, moving to sit on the end of the bed, not even pretending that he isn’t leering at Andrew ‘s body.

“Yeah, you are. A cute one. And you know you’re adorable. You wield it like a weapon any chance you get, cause you know it’ll work on me every time.”

Ilia immediately pouts, lip jutting out and cheeks puffing. “I do not! I’ve never even weaponized anything ever; I’m innocent.”

Andrew raises a brow, coming to stand in front of him.  “What’s this you’re doing now then? What are those big shiny puppy dog eyes whenever you want something from me?” He runs a hand through Ilia’s hair, smoothing the damp blonde waves against his scalp. “It’s definitely cute, baby. And it definitely works.”

Ilia preens. He can’t help it. Sweet praise, a gentle hand petting him; Ilia’s heart is doing backflips.

He lets himself sag into Andrew’s side, head resting on his strong shoulder. He’s willing to be cute. If it means Andrew looks at him with those soft gazes, kisses his cheeks and calls him sweet names, he can be cute.

Andrew continues to stroke his hair, seemingly content to just sit.

It’s not enough for Ilia, though. Not close enough. Now that he knows, very intimately, what it’s like to have Andrew inside of him, to be so close that not even air can get between them, sitting side-by-side feels like an insurmountable ravine.

And that just won’t do.

He hikes his leg up, throwing it over Andrew’s lap, arms wrapping around his neck.

Andrew’s hands move up to grab his waist, as if by instinct. “I thought you said no more for the night,” he murmurs, thumbing at the hem of Ilia’s shirt.

He narrows his eyes at Andrew. “I’m just sitting on your lap. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Oh. Does that mean you don’t want me to do anything like this?”

Ilia lets out a wholly undignified squeak as Andrew pushes his shirt up, hands dipping into the back of Ilia’s pajama pants to squeeze his ass. But his dick still twitches valiantly, oversensitive but ever-eager.

Andrew chuckles lowly, kissing the corner of his mouth. If it was anyone but Andrew, he’d think it was mocking.

But it is Andrew. Touching him and kissing him, laughing low and rumbly into his mouth.

And maybe he isn’t actually ready to be done for the night. Not when Andrew’s fingers are brushing so sweetly along the swell of his ass. Not when Andrew’s tongue is licking over his teeth. Not when Andrew’s dick is half-hard where it digs into Ilia’s thigh.

Someone moans; Ilia can’t really tell who. He doesn’t know who moved to remove his shirt, who tossed the pajama pants over the lamp to muffle the brightness without having to actually reach over and turn it off.

Andrew keeps one hand on his ass, his other hand running along Ilia’s spine. “I really want you to ride me, baby. Do you think we can try that?”

Ilia is nodding before he’s even heard the question. He’s pretty sure he’d agree to anything Andrew asked as long as he asked it in that sweet low voice, gruff with desire.

Andrew moves to nip at his neck, lathing his tongue over hot skin. Ilia isn’t sure there’s any skin left on his throat that isn’t covered in hickeys at this point, and for a split second he worries about how he is going to hide it from the others when they return from Harlem.

Then Andrew bites down where his shoulder meets his neck, and all higher thought function goes out the window.

He lets Andrew shift him around, manhandle him so he’s hovering over.

It’s only once he feels Andrew’s dick resting against his hole that he blinks back into reality. “I don’t— uh.” His face burns. “I don’t know how to ride.”

Andrew’s lips twitch. “That’s okay, sweetheart. I can help you. But I gotta get in before we do anything. We’ll go slow, okay?”

Ilia nods, thumb rubbing over the tattoo on Andrew’s shoulder blade. “I’m not, like, nervous. I’m not a virgin anymore,” he tacks on after a moment, sucking his lower lip into his mouth.

“Of course, you’re an expert now,” Andrew murmurs, smiling up at him. “Can I have a kiss?” 

Ilia connects their lips quickly, his racing heart immediately soothing. 

Andrew uses the distraction to nudge himself in, spit-slicked and hot. It burns a bit as it splits him open, tugging at the rim as he moves slow and methodical.

Ilia pulls back from the kiss with a pant, resting his forehead against Andrew’s cheek. “God, it feels even bigger,” he pants, toes curling where they hang off the edge of the bed.

“Does it still feel good?” Andrew checks, rubbing small circles on the nape of his neck with his thumb.

Ilia nods, mouth hanging open lamely as he slowly inches down. Logically, he knows it’s the same dick he took before, but the new angle makes him feel so full; he half-wonders if he would be able to see the outline of Andrew’s cock through his stomach if he looked down.

Andrew’s hand slides up, carding through his hair. “You’re so beautiful, baby. Doing so well for me. Feels so fucking good. You’re so warm, so tight.”

Ilia lets out a pathetic noise, somewhere between a whine and a moan. The dirty talk goes straight to his dick, leaving his head all fuzzy and unfocused. He feels cock-drunk, barely able to focus on anything except the way Andrew feels inside him, hot and throbbing.

With a final grunt, Andrew bottoms out, letting out a shuddered groan. “Ilia, baby, oh my god. You’re so perfect — so beautiful. Sitting on my dick like you were made for it.”

Ilia clings tighter, a high, reedy whimper falling from his lips. “Andrew, fuck, oh my god,” is all he’s able to manage, voice cracking on the words.

Andrew strokes his hair, nudging his face gently until he can kiss him again. “Fuck, the way you squeeze around me is fucking sinful. I could stay like this forever,” he breathes against his lips, bodies flush.

Ilia kisses him like a man starved, like he’s trying to devour him. He bites and sucks, swallowing sweet noises and nipping at his lip until it’s swollen and red. “Andrew, move, please. I’m going crazy,” he gets out finally, eyes wide and blown.

“You’re on top, sweetheart. You control that.” Andrew smiles against his lips, wry and perfect.

Ilia shudders, pressing as close as he physically can, feeling Andrew’s heart beating against his chest. “Andrew—“ he whimpers, a broken-off moan.

“Shh, I’ve got you baby. Rock your hips, see if we can find that spot you like so much.” He kisses the corner of Ilia’s mouth, holding him close.

Ilia rolls his hips forward, shuddering out as electric sparks shoot up his body with the movement. Experimentally, he rolls forward again, lifting up a few inches before dropping back down.

He’s rewarded with a loud moan, Andrew’s head lolling back, face twisted in pleasure. “Fuck. Oh my god. Just like that,” he groans, fingers digging into Ilia’s flesh.

Ilia repeats the motion, desperate to draw that noise out of him again, to hear that sweet music and know he’s the reason for it.

If Ilia thought last time was good, it’s nothing compared to this. The new angle, the fullness in his stomach, the way he can look down at Andrew coming apart beneath him — it’s intoxicating. He doesn’t know how it could be possible, but Andrew feels even bigger inside of him, hotter, like they’re even closer somehow.

Andrew’s hands move to grab Ilia by the hips, helping him rock as his own hips roll up to thrust into him shallowly. “Ilia, fuck, you feel so good,” he swallows his words, head falling forward, still damp hair dripping cool beads of water onto Ilia’s chest. “Stay still for a second, okay? I wanna— I need to find that spot inside of you.”

Ilia slows to a stop, chest rising and falling with each panting breath. His thighs shake with the effort to stay still, itching to feel that hot drag that he’s quickly getting addicted to, that feeling of Andrew pressing deeper inside of him.

Andrew drops one hand to stabilize himself on the mattress before pistoning his hips up, angling himself deep inside.

Ilia howls out, back arching and nails digging into Andrew’s skin. He’s at the whim of Andrew, body reacting innately to his movements. 

He repeats the motion, thrusting into Ilia with a speed and precision that is entirely new and utterly addicting. Ilia clings to Andrew tightly, along for the ride.

When Andrew finds the spot, the one that makes him see stars, Ilia doesn’t even have time to warn Andrew. He tenses up, a broken cry wrenching out of him, collapsing against Andrew as his cock sputters weakly, releasing whatever cum he has left. 

He feels like jelly, pressed up against Andrew’s body, floaty and content. Andrew hugs him close, thrusting up a few more times before his own orgasm hits, grip tightening as he pushes in as far as he can go, spilling inside Ilia, hot and sticky.

It should have been disgusting. Ilia thinks nothing has ever been hotter.

Andrew freezes though, tense and unnervingly still.

Ilia blinks up at him, wading through the afterglow to try and find words. “What’s wrong?” He slurs out finally, reaching up to tap his cheek.

“I forgot a condom,” he sounds pained, face all twisted and anxious.

Ilia just stares, tilting his head. “So? I’m not a girl. I can’t get pregnant.”

Andrew blinks, dopey and slow. “Right. Yeah.” He relaxes slightly, combing his fingers through Ilia’s hair. Ilia half-wonders if it’s a form of self-soothing. Not that he minds.

Ilia shifts slightly and Andrew winces. “Let me pull out.”

Ilia really liked the feeling of Andrew coming inside of him. He’s not as sure he likes the feeling of the after, the cum dribbling out of him as Andrew pulls out completely. He shifts around, nose wrinkling as he clenches to try and stop the flow.

Andrew grabs a box of tissues off the bedside table. “We can clean up for real in a bit, but this’ll have to do for now,” he says apologetically, handing a few tissues to Ilia.

“Look away,” Ilia replies quickly, face reddening. There’s not much he thinks could truly embarrass him in front of Andrew at this point, but wiping cum out of his ass is absolutely on that list.

Andrew’s lips twitch up, but he closes his eyes obediently, granting Ilia enough privacy to shoddily clean himself up. He wants to shower, to get himself fully cleaned, but his body feels like lead and all he feels up to is cuddling in Andrew’s arms.

“You should eat something,” Andrew says when he opens his eyes, leaning in to kiss him softly. “That was quite a workout we just did.”

As if on cue, Ilia’s stomach grumbles, humiliatingly loud in the quiet room. Andrew laughs, dangerously close to a giggle, even though he’d never admit it.

“I can go make us something,” he offers, rubbing his hand sweetly over Ilia’s side.

“If you let go of me for even a second I am gonna scream so loud your neighbors are gonna think someone is getting murdered,” Ilia responds immediately.

Andrew laughs again, throwing his head back. “Noted. We’ll order something, then.” He flops back, pulling Ilia down with him.

Ilia snuggles into his side, happy as a clam. His heart is doing backflips again, resting his head on Andrew’s chest. Andrew’s heart is racing too, even as he tries to look cool and detached, scrolling on his phone. Ilia bites his lip, hiding his smile.

Andrew nudges him, passing his phone over. “Order whatever you want, yeah?”

Ilia hums, taking the phone and scrolling around for a bit. He passes the phone back soon enough, rolling over so he’s halfway on top of Andrew, face nuzzled into his neck.

Andrew reaches up to stroke his hair, scratching lightly along his scalp. The silence is comfortable, and Ilia is starting to doze when Andrew speaks up.

“Babe, juice isn’t food.”

Ilia blinks his eyes open, face still smooshed against Andrew’s neck. “So? I want juice,” he mumbles, voice muffled against warm skin.

Andrew keeps scratching his hair. “I have juice in the fridge.”

“I want that juice.”

“Pineapple?”

Ilia nods and Andrew sighs heavily. “Okay. Pineapple juice it is. Can I at least order us some Canes too?”

Ilia hums a half-assed confirmation, rubbing his nose against Andrew’s neck. “You smell good.”

Andrew laughs softly. “I smell like sweat and sex.”

“Yeah,” Ilia giggles. “Sex with me.”

“Mmhmm.” Andrew taps a few buttons on his phone before setting it aside, wrapping his arm around Ilia. “How does it feel? Not being a virgin anymore?”

“‘M glad it was you,” Ilia replies with a yawn, stretching and curling in closer, nuzzling up.

Andrew squeezes him. “Yeah? I’m glad it was me too.”

Ilia lolls his head up, just enough to look at him. “People can’t make virgin jokes about me anymore, ‘cause I’ve had sex now. Twice.”

Andrew grins at him. “You sure have. And given head. And gotten a handjob. Checking all the boxes already and it’s only the first night.”

Ilia giggles again. “Does that mean there’ll be more tomorrow?”

“Are you kidding me?” Andrew kisses the top of his head. “I have you alone at my apartment and you think I’d do anything other than spend the whole time making you feel good?”

“‘Cause you like me,” it slips out before Ilia can stop it, but Andrew just looks down at him with impossibly soft eyes.

“‘Cause I like you. So much.”

“I like you too,” Ilia’s voice cracks slightly, soft and hopeful.

Andrew tilts Ilia’s chin up to connect their lips, soft and sweet, and so full of love that Ilia knows without a doubt that Andrew feels the same.

So he kisses back, channeling his own overflowing love into it. And he knows Andrew can feel it, too.

After all, that’s just what being in love does to a man.

Notes:

I hope that you enjoyed! Kudos are always appreciated and comments bring me the most joy in the world <3 also welcome to page 2 torgsilia you deserve it now please make up your children (me) miss you