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Beneath Ilya’s closed eyes burst quickly moving yellows and bruised purples and molten stars: Shane’s mouth is tender love. His nape is hot under Ilya’s hand, pulse like a bird struggling under his fingertips. Their teeth ivory bites, and Ilya licks into him. Shane moans loudly through his nose, his body contorting towards Ilya’s body. He chases Ilya’s kiss, and tips his head into Ilya’s when his nose tickles Shane's swollen neck glands.
“C’mon,” Shane rushes him in a boyish slur, shuddering palpably as Ilya pants against Shane’s omega musk, “Come on, come on, c’mon, you asshole.”
“Shh,” Ilya shushes him condescendingly, his eyes nearly rolling back into his skull, teeth drowning in saliva, “I will eat you.”
Shane’s pelvis jerks against Ilya’s thigh, “Shut up. Fuck, your mouth—”
Ilya kisses Shane’s trembling Adam’s apple open-mouthed. His nails dig into Shane’s ass cheek under his tight jeans. He tilts his head up—Shane latches onto Ilya’s mouth with his, palming Ilya’s clothed erection rough and in endearing clumsy.
“Where did your manners go?”
“Please,” Shane whispers, teary-eyed like a glistening jewel, “I’m so wet, you have to get in me. Please.”
“Better.”
“I want your cock.”
“Where?”
“In my,”
“Yes.”
“My,”
Ilya bumps their noses together.
“Please.”
“No.”
Shane clutches Ilya's biceps in a strong, painful grip, “Inside me,” slurs Shane, grunting to swallow, “Need to clench on it.”
Ilya's exhale collapses his chest with relief.
Inside Shane, Ilya feels raw-skinned and delirious. Electric joy glimmers like titanium gold in his brain. His lips sticky with Shane's slick—the same slick he rubs into Shane’s left nipple with his thumb as he fucks him.
Oh god, he thinks, melting. Shane’s neck is bared, head thrown back on the pillow. His hands clutch like bracelets around Ilya’s wrist and the bedsheets. Ilya thinks he's never felt as alive as he feels when he's with Shane.
In the closet of Ilya's mind, sometimes he cannot find a favourite shirt. He goes then, ‘ah, so I no longer have it.’
Amid these million little deaths (maybe understood by his mother), Shane is the constellation in his sky pointing towards home. Hurry, he says, before morning comes.
“Hurry,” moans Shane, “knot me, knot me, knot me.”
“Where am I going?” Ilya asks, moaning low, panting, his chest burning, “Where will I cum if not inside you?”
Shane arches off the bed, legs wriggling around Ilya's waist. Ilya squeezes his quivering thighs roughly with his hands.
“красавчик,” Ilya flirts, “My impatient slut.”
Shane looks at him feverishly, pretty like how a ripe orchard in summer is pretty—rich in color and life. He reaches out his hand, and Ilya holds it firmly.
“Ilya,” murmurs Shane, grunting out his moans, “Your cum. We'll have babies.”
“Oh god,” Ilya's hips stutter, pelvis tightening hotly.
“Our babies, Ilya. Yours and mine.”
“Yes.”
Shane locks his ankles behind Ilya's back. Ilya's hand brackets Shane's sweaty throat.
Shane's hand covers his. Lips falls open to reveal pearly teeth. Ilya thinks if he reached far back down Shane's belly, he'd find burning stars and besotted moons.
“Knot,” Shane says again as though Ilya forgot.
“Shut up,” Ilya grins, sliding his slick-dry fingers into Shane's soft mouth. His knot expands with a pulsing pressure, and when he pops it into Shane's easy hole, they both moan, drunk on Shane’s clenching orgasm.
Ilya lowers himself onto Shane's body, jerking his hips in tight bursts. He removes his fingers, holds the sides of Shane's head, feeling the angles of his skull, and lays his own down on his shuddering chest.
“Do you understand?” Ilya slurs, cumming inside Shane, as Shane starts murmuring about feeling like he needs to pee.
“Mm?”
“Understand?” Ilya asks, their scents heavy and oppressive in his sinuses. Like the heat of the sun. Like the opacity of the earth. Shane is red and ocean waves and the flight of free things. Ilya is the wildflower growing accidentally from the crack in a sidewalk. Did Shane understand? That Shane is perinneal and Ilya the ache of a wisdom tooth removed?
He was Ilya’s passage of time. The gentle fingers admiring his petals in the middle of the road.
Shane's fingers run through his sweaty hair, “I don't know what you are talking about,” he whispers seriously, “but anything you say, I want to learn.”
Ilya squishes the beginnings of his tears into Shane's chest.
“My Ilya,” murmurs Shane, “we will be okay.”
Ilya closes his eyes and hugs his husband close. The heartbeat in his ear languid confessions.