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The last day of the Centaurs’ season before the team broke away for the summer coincided neatly with Ilya’s 28th birthday. They’d conducted a couple team meetings and wrapped up some other general housekeeping for the following season before the coaches announced they were letting everyone go early in honor of the birthday boy.
Ilya had rolled his eyes dutifully, tamping down the elation at the news that he would be headed back to Montreal earlier today than he’d thought. If he got on the road as soon as he left the stadium, he’d beat Shane home from Montreal’s last practice. The thought of surprising Shane on his own birthday made Ilya far too giddy. It was ridiculous and unbecoming.
While he packed his duffel up with the necessities from his locker, his teammates intermittently dropped off presents at his bench. Wyatt had given him a stack of lottery tickets that would take hours to scratch off. Annoying. Bood had gifted him a puck he’d scribbled his own signature on, claiming Ilya could make a killing on eBay off of it. Annoying. Harris had framed a collage of comments from the Centaurs’ social media accounts, each detailing various ways they would like Ilya to debauch them. Slightly less annoying.
He’d thought they were finished as he sat on his bench wondering how the hell he was going to get all of this shit into his car when one last voice floated over his shoulder. “Got you a gift, Rozy. Happy birthday, man.” Tanner Dillon, the most annoying of all, and the stupidest, too, slapped a white bottle of pills into Ilya’s hand.
Ilya turned it over in his hand. It looked plain enough, with a light green label and matching lid. Many of the words on the bottle were unfamiliar, and a few of them were certainly misspelled. “What is this?”
“Sex pills, bro,” Dillon said on a laugh. “Found ‘em at a gas station. Rumor had it you were with a new girl every week back in Boston. Now you never get any action. I figured it must be for a reason. These will help you get it up. Meet a nice girl and dick her down all night. My treat.”
It was the last day of the season. In a couple hours, he would be back home in Montreal. A couple more after that and he would be in Shane’s arms. Ilya could not punch Tanner Dillon. It would ruin everything. Instead, he grinned. “This is perfect. I am meeting your mother later. She will be happy to hear we can go for hours.”
Dillon’s smirk dropped instantly, replaced with horror. “Take that back.”
Ilya shoved the ridiculous pills into his pocket with his wallet and keys, then hooked his duffel bag over his shoulder. “I will have her send you flowers. Maybe a thank you card. With a review, of course.”
“Man, fuck you, Rozy.” Dillon sucked his teeth and shook his head, gravely disappointed that his prank had backfired.
Ilya grinned and scooped his treasures into his arms. “Have a beautiful summer. I will tell your mother you said hello.” He walked in quick feet through the arena and out the doors, hauling ass through the parking garage to his car. He dumped all of the nonsense gifts into the trunk to deal with on another day. A day where the time between himself and Shane had not dwindled into mere minutes after weeks and weeks of waiting and wanting.
His heart was a drum as he hit the road for the two-hour drive to Montreal. No matter how many times he made this trip, he never stopped feeling that giddy rush of endorphins at the prospect of coming home to his boyfriend after so long away. His left knee bounced against the door, and his palms grew clammy as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. Sometimes he thought the anticipation of it might make him sick. It was either that, or the knowledge that this, too, would end, and they would be right back where they started. Alone with hundreds of miles between them.
A blanket of calm descended upon him when he finally crossed the city limits into Montreal, and he found a gentle comfort in the familiarity of the trees looming over the solitary winding roads. If Shane could see his speedometer, he would chastise him for endangering his own life and the lives of others, but Ilya could not be blamed. Not when he knew what was waiting for him only a few miles up the road.
While surprising Shane might have been fun, a dizzying warmth pooled in his stomach as he pulled into the driveway to find Shane stepping out of the driver’s side of his own car, having also just arrived.
Shane glanced up at the soft rumble of Ilya’s engine, and a blinding smile bloomed prettily across his soft face. He didn’t even wait for Ilya to exit his vehicle, opting instead for opening the car door and climbing on top of him in the driver’s seat. He wrapped both arms around Ilya’s neck, one hand digging into his hair and cradling his skull. It couldn’t have been comfortable. The steering wheel had to be shoved into his spine, and his kneecap was likely digging into the seatbelt buckle.
Ilya couldn’t have asked for a better homecoming.
“Happy birthday.” Shane’s voice was muffled where his face was buried in Ilya’s neck. “I missed you. So fucking much.”
Ilya was shocked he didn’t melt right into the leather seats. He reveled in the warmth that spilled from Shane’s skin into his own. He closed his eyes and squeezed Shane a little too tight if only to hide the tremors of relief flooding him in waves. “Missed you, too. Fuck, Hollander. Always fucking miss you.”
Ilya had asked that the two of them spend a night alone at home for his birthday, and they’d go out to dinner with Shane’s parents in a few days for a belated celebration. He missed his boyfriend more than anyone had ever missed anything in the history of human civilization, and all he wanted to do to ring in his 28th year was hold him and love him in the quiet of the home they shared.
“I got you something,” Shane whispered excitedly into the collar of Ilya’s shirt, but he didn’t make a move to let go. “Okay, I got you two somethings.”
“Two somethings,” Ilya murmured, inhaling the scent of Shane’s soap. He must’ve showered just before leaving the arena. Ilya wanted to bite him, wanted to swallow him whole. “How lucky I am.”
Shane pulled away to shoot him a look that was meant to be chastising, but was really only fond. He untangled himself from Ilya and climbed out of the car, Ilya following right behind. They forwent their belongings in their respective vehicles to get straight down to business. Shane grabbed Ilya by the hand and led him inside the cottage, and Ilya dutifully followed, trying his best to tamp down the goofy smile fighting to crawl its way up his cheeks.
Shane unlocked the front door, and they stepped inside, both of them stopping in the foyer briefly to relish in the serenity of it for a quick moment.
As Ilya emptied his pockets onto the counter, Shane took a white box from the fridge and set it in front of Ilya, gesturing for him to open it.
Ilya carefully removed the thin red ribbon that was wrapped around the cardboard, then flipped the top up to reveal a cupcake large enough to feed at least four people. Several sandwich cookies were placed strategically into the whipped cream icing, alongside a couple mini banners that read Happy Birthday! and I Love You! It was difficult to breathe past the sudden lump in his throat. How had he stumbled into this, into everything he’d ever wanted, into everything he never thought he’d be good enough to deserve?
“It’s cookies and cream,” Shane said as if it weren’t obvious, but he was so excited that Ilya had to look away. His smile was too bright, his glittering brown eyes too endearing. “I thought we could share it.”
Ilya’s brows shot up into his hairline. “You will eat this?”
Shane shrugged, bashful. “It’s a special occasion.”
There was a slight possibility that Ilya’s heart was trying to escape from his ribcage. He tapped two fingers on the counter and attempted to swallow down the emotion stuck in his throat. He couldn’t help himself any longer. He backed Shane up into the counter, pinning him there, and kissed him hard.
Shane made a startled noise in the back of his throat, but he was quick to adjust, tilting his head further to the side to allow Ilya better access to his mouth. He was so perfectly eager, hitching a leg up onto Ilya’s hip and wrapping his arms around his neck to pull their mouths impossibly closer.
He was perfect. This was perfect. Nothing mattered but this kiss, this relentless slide of lips and tongues, this clumsy clash of teeth and stuttered breaths exhaled into each others’ mouths.
Ilya pulled back, gripping Shane’s chin in his hand and admiring the way his saliva glossed Shane’s plump red lips. He trailed his thumb lightly over the spray of freckles that decorated his cheeks, his nose. He’d start wars for those freckles, would kill a hundred men for each one. “If you eat this cake,” he said, gesturing towards the cupcake before reaching behind Shane and grabbing two fistfuls of his ass in his hands. He kneaded deep with his fingers, hoping he left bruises. “I will eat this cake.”
“Jesus Christ, Ilya,” Shane choked, but his eyes couldn’t help but flutter shut. He made quick work of yanking open the drawer next to their hips to pull out a fork for each of them. This was entirely unnecessary.
Ilya scooped up a dollop of icing onto his finger and held it to Shane’s lips. “Suck,” he ordered, low and raspy.
Shane was so good at obeying him. He parted his lips enough for Ilya to slip his finger inside, and his tongue lapped at the icing. Wet, breathy sounds and eager swallowing filled the kitchen.
Ilya was so hard he couldn’t see straight. “I love you.”
“Love you,” Shane murmured, taking Ilya’s finger from his mouth and gripping his wrist so he could press wet kisses to the palm of Ilya’s hand.
Ilya was 28 years old. He didn’t think he’d ever been loved like this.
It didn’t take long for them to smear icing on each other’s faces and throats, moaning and shuddering as they took turns licking each other clean. Once this began, it was inevitable that Ilya would unzip both of their pants and take both of their cocks into his hand, stroking roughly until they both spilled simultaneously over his fingers. Of course, then they were sticky with sugar, and a shower was a must. No one was surprised when this ended with Shane folded up like a pretzel between Ilya and the expansive marble wall of his shower while Ilya drove relentlessly into him and whispered ragged praise into his ear.
Shane left the shower first on weak, shaky legs while Ilya finished scrubbing himself down. After Ilya dried, he stole a compression shirt and a pair of sweatpants from Shane’s side of the closet. They were a bit too tight, but he hoped the sight of them would work Shane up enough to go another round before bed.
Ilya was always one step ahead, obviously.
When he returned to the kitchen, he found that Shane had lined up all one thousand of his supplement bottles on the counter, and was deep in the process of taking every single one.
He tapped one of the pills into his hand from a startlingly familiar white bottle with a green lid, and popped it into his mouth. A bottle that Ilya had carelessly tossed onto the counter with his wallet and car keys before Shane had distracted him with sugary sweet sex. And he’d forgotten about it completely. Until now.
“No, Shane, don’t—” Ilya started, lunging towards the counter. But he was too late.
Shane knocked back the pill, then looked at Ilya with alarm towards his sudden outburst. “What?”
“Those are not yours!” Ilya said, grabbing the bottle from him despite the fact that the deed was already done.
“No,” Shane insisted, snatching the bottle from Ilya’s hand. “This is my bottle of glycine capsules that I take for—” He snapped his mouth shut as his eyes darted quickly over the label on the bottle. Spots of red burned on his cheeks, and his lips parted. “Ilya. What. The. Fuck.”
Ilya was at a loss for words. “Um.”
The two of them stared at each other in dead silence for at least 20 seconds.
Shane was the first brave enough to cut through it. “Why do you have this? I know for a fact you don’t need—”
Heat burned Ilya’s cheeks. He was going to fucking kill Tanner Dillon. “No, no. Was joke gift. For birthday. Stupid, useless Dillon.”
“And you kept it?” Shane asked, exasperated. His eyes were so wide and round and panicked.
Ilya threw his hands up. “I was not going to use it!”
“Then you throw it away.” Shane rattled the bottle for emphasis, then slammed it back down on the counter. “Oh God,” he said, repeating those two words over and over again. He covered his mouth with a hand. “Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
Ilya swallowed audibly. “Maybe it will do nothing.”
“Yes,” Shane said suddenly, like he hadn’t thought of the possibility. “You’re right, it’s…they’re probably just sugar pills. A placebo. They can’t legally sell anything more than that…right?”
“Right,” Ilya confirmed, though he knew fuck all about Canadian law. “This is true, yes.”
Shane relaxed finally, shoulders loosening from where they had been hitched up by his ears. “Okay. Okay, good.” He made a dramatic show of grabbing the pills and tossing them into the garbage can, then dodging around the counter when Ilya made a grab at his waist to punish him for his disrespect.
Their laughter filled the kitchen, and the sound of it didn’t wane for hours.
Ilya kept an eye on Shane all night, and nothing seemed out of sorts.
At first.
Shane cooked them a disgustingly healthy dinner, popping all over the kitchen for different ingredients and spices. He prepared their plates, portioning the meal in neat sections. He poured them each a glass of sparkling water, and they took their dinner out on the patio to eat beneath the setting sun. They spoke of their final days of the season, and of the incoming rookies they’d meet when practices started back up again. Shane mentioned that his parents would be visiting in a few days when they returned from their vacation to Spain, which had been heavily documented through slightly blurry photographs in the Hollander/Rozanov family group chat.
Ilya took their dishes inside while Shane scrolled through a few emails on his phone. He was scrubbing down the plates beneath scorching hot water when he noticed it. He was finetuned to Shane’s habits and movements, to every single one of his quirks. Shane, unlike Ilya, did not fidget or twitch or tap his foot. Sometimes, when he was especially nervous, he would thrum his fingers against the nearest flat surface. Other than that, he was uniquely unshakeable. Calm and steady and controlled.
So, it wasn’t hard to miss when Shane started…squirming. That was really the only word for it. Shifting his weight from one side to the other. Sliding down in his chair, then pushing himself back up. Adjusting his sweatshorts. Crossing his legs at the knee, then changing his mind and hooking one ankle over the other.
Ilya took note of it all as he slid the dishes into the dishwasher. He dried his hands without taking his eyes off of his boyfriend. “Why don’t you come inside?” He called, and Shane’s head snapped up. “We will watch a movie.”
Shane swallowed and nodded, pocketing his phone before hopping up the steps. When he cut through the kitchen towards the living room, his shoulder brushed Ilya’s, and Ilya swore he heard his breath catch. But he continued past, bending down in front of the shelf that housed a small collection of DVDs.
Ilya knew Shane felt his eyes on his back only from the way he held himself. But Ilya said nothing, and turned the lights off on his way to the couch.
They sat a couple feet apart on the couch as they watched some noisy action thriller, their hands resting on the cushion between them, fingers twined loosely. It wasn’t until a quarter through the movie that Shane started having trouble keeping his eyes to himself. Out of the corner of his own eyes, Ilya watched as Shane took turns staring at several different parts of him. His arms, first. His chest and stomach were next, hugged by the black compression shirt he’d stolen from Shane’s side of the closet. Then his legs, which were propped up on the coffee table in front of him. It wasn’t until his gaze fell to Ilya’s bare feet that Ilya finally decided to draw the line.
“You are alright?” Ilya asked, finally turning to look at Shane directly.
Shane’s eyes were wide, and a little glossy. The flashing lights from the television screen reflected in the inky black his pupils, which had nearly swallowed his irises whole. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was too busy zeroing in on Ilya’s lips to formulate a single thought. The room was dark, but it was impossible to miss the twitch of his hips or the heavy rise of his chest.
Ilya frowned. “Shane.”
“I’m okay,” Shane whispered, dragging his eyes away from Ilya and back to the screen. The tremor of his hand in Ilya’s own gave him away.
“Really?”
Shane nodded, but every muscle in his body was pulled taut. By the end of the movie, the palm of his hands was slick with sweat against Ilya’s, and his other hand gripped the edge of the couch with white knuckles. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth were seconds away from grinding into dust. Frankly, he looked a bit deranged.
As the credits rolled, Ilya tried again. “Shane, are you okay?”
Shane flashed him a tight smile that was more of a grimace than anything. He nodded as he stood, and the movements were jerky and robotic. “Just tired. Bed?”
Ilya sighed and followed him to his feet.
Shane was on fire. Burning up from the inside out, organs scorched, skin ablaze. He had never been so hard in his life, so hard that his thoughts were sluggish and time jumped and glitched and slowed around him.
And he had been rock hard since halfway through the movie, eyes glazing over as the picture on the screen was replaced with a film reel in his head of Ilya bending him over the arm of the couch and fucking him so hard he saw stars. Of taking Ilya’s cock so far back in his throat that he couldn’t breathe. Of Ilya painting Shane in his come and telling him how good he was for him.
It didn’t help that Ilya was wearing Shane’s clothes. Clothes that were far too tight, a compression shirt that hugged him so snugly that each ripple of his muscles were blazing neon signs begging for Shane’s undivided attention. At one point, he’d laughed at some throwaway joke from the movie, and his stomach muscles spasmed the same way they did when he came. That’s when the slow pulse in his cock had morphed into a throbbing ache.
He had been in the bathroom for ten minutes now with his forehead pressed into the chilly marble countertop. After the movie, they’d turned off all the lights and headed to their room to get ready for bed. When Ilya had peeled his socks off and tossed them onto his suitcase, Shane had dismissed himself, aware that if he remained a moment longer, there was a non-zero chance he was going to ask to smell them. But he knew if he didn’t head to bed soon, Ilya would come looking for him. So, with a deep breath that did absolutely nothing to calm his fraying nerves and waning inhibitions, Shane fled the bathroom on quiet feet. For good measure, he flicked the lights off on his way into their room, his secret safe in the darkness.
Ilya was already in bed, steady breaths escaping him in soft puffs.
Shane wanted to sit on his face. He wanted to crawl across the sheets on all fours and bare himself to Ilya as one final birthday gift. He ground his teeth together and ignored it all.
Normally, he wasn’t a fan of sleeping naked. The sheets dragging against every inch of his skin was unpleasant, and he usually chose to wear at least a T-shirt and a pair of boxers to bed every night. He couldn’t do that tonight, though. Not with the sheen of sweat covering his skin like a glaze, not with the heat pulsing down his spine like molten honey. He was glad for the chill of the air conditioning to ease the broiling of his insides as he pulled his clothes off, glad for the cover of the dark so Ilya couldn’t see the way his pulsing cock wept.
He had done such a good job of controlling himself. He didn’t have to fall victim to his base instincts, to a fucking gas station Viagra pill no larger than his pinkie nail. He would go to sleep, and when he woke up, he would feel normal again. He would make them both breakfast without feeling like he wanted to claw off his own skin or beg Ilya to tie him up and fuck him until he cried.
This was the plan. And he was going to stick to it.
That was, until he climbed into bed and smelled the traces of Ilya’s curl conditioner wafting over from his pillow. He had already developed a pavlovian sort of response to this smell over the years, an ambery, fresh vanilla scent that was strong and so, so Ilya. His mouth instantly filled with saliva, and the breath was punched from lungs in one singular rush. The top sheet brushed his aching cock, and the brief flash of friction was debilitating.
Between one blink and the next, Shane had found Ilya in the dark and latched onto his throat with hungry, desperate lips.
Ilya arched beneath the sudden touch, a strangled gasp floating up through the darkness. “Shane,” he managed to choke, fumbling around on the nightstand for the lamp chain.
The room flooded with soft warm light, and Shane blinked against both the brightness of it and the illumination of his wanton shame.
“Hollander,” Ilya said on a breath, eyes wide as he processed what he was seeing. It was surely humiliating. A cherry red flush traveling all the way to his chest, drops of sweat trailing down his temples from his hairline, a slack jaw, and trembling hands. “Are you—?”
“The pill.” Shane’s voice cracked, and he crawled closer to Ilya, wilting in relief as he pressed his bare, overheated skin to Ilya’s cooler body. He tossed a leg over Ilya’s and cried out into Ilya’s neck at the searing pleasure that shot up his spine from the delicious friction against his soaking, neglected cock. “I feel it, I think it’s—oh, God, fuck—” He grabbed Ilya’s thigh in a greedy hand and leveraged himself against Ilya’s shoulder with the other, rocking himself into Ilya’s leg like a dog in heat. He was so embarrassed he could die, but he couldn’t make himself stop. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I—”
“Is okay, Shane.” Ilya’s chest heaved, and he curled his fingers tight into Shane’s hair. With his other hand, he grabbed Shane’s ass in his large palm and helped him grind into his thigh. “You can use me. Da, just like that.”
Shane whined, ragged breaths tearing up his throat as he rutted against him. His thrusts were sloppy and animalistic, and each one was punctuated with a groan that sounded more beast than human.
The noises that their bodies made against each other were filthy, and Ilya swore viciously. “Fuck. You’re so wet. Knew you needed me. You should have said.”
“You shouldn’t have poisoned me,” Shane said on a gasp, clamping his jaw shut against the primal moans hitting the back of his teeth. He dug his forehead into Ilya’s shoulder as his hips rolled into Ilya’s leg.
Ilya reached around and pressed a finger against Shane’s puckered hole. Just gently brushing it, a mild pressure. As punishment.
Shane cried out, and his movements stuttered. His vision tunnelled, and his stomach tightened. He felt each individual hair on Ilya’s thigh against his cock. God, he’d leaked all over it, slicking the surface up for himself to slide against. He couldn’t be ashamed, not when he was actively fighting not to come so quickly. It had only been thirty seconds. Or maybe it had been hours. Time was inconsequential when he felt so deranged.
“Teach you not to talk back when you are so needy,” Ilya said, forcing Shane’s chin up so he could kiss him hard. He sucked and bit at Shane’s bottom lip, and hummed with satisfaction when Shane’s mouth parted instantly beneath his. “Such a good boy,” he murmured, and partnered his praise with a light pinch to Shane’s waist.
And then Shane was coming. He didn’t know exactly what it was that broke the dam, maybe a combination of it all, of Ilya’s filthy mouth and the addictive pain of his light teasing and especially the tentative press of his index finger against Shane’s hole. All of it together was a hearty, heady concoction of all the things that occupied Shane’s wet dreams when Ilya was away. To have it all at once, when he was lost in the euphoria of whatever illegal substance Ilya had fed him, was mind-numbing and world-shattering.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Shane punctuated each breath with a whimper as he released thick ropes of come so forcefully that the mess shot up to Ilya’s abdomen. Every part of him was alight, oversensitive and thrumming with the sensation of Ilya against him. His thoughts slowed to a sluggish crawl as if wading through honey, and he dug hard, unrelenting fingers into Ilya’s sweaty skin. When it was over, when he came back to himself as much as he could at a time like this, he could barely force his eyelids open. His ears were ringing, blood roaring inside his skull, and somehow he was still so fucking hard that the echoes of it thrummed in his bones. He conducted a test of sorts, thrusting one final time against Ilya. His entire body spasmed with the pleasure that zapped through him like lightning. The noise he made wasn’t human. “Why am I still—fuck, Ilya I need—”
Ilya looked down at him in wonder. His gaze was solid black, hungry and ferocious. He’d worn only a pair of tight briefs to bed, and his cock head thickened measurably inside them. He slid out from beneath Shane, jaw working as he cataloged every inch of him with intent. “Lay back.” He crawled towards the end of the bed and looked up at him expectantly. He was covered in Shane’s come and his face was ruddy and flushed in that way it got when he was particularly overwhelmed by his desire.
Shane didn’t think anyone had ever looked so beautiful. He did as Ilya said, twisting fully onto his back on the mattress. He opened his legs as wide as they could go, willing—desperate, even—to take what Ilya would give him. His cock bobbed, angry and purple, against his stomach.
And then Ilya’s mouth engulfed him.
Shane had never experienced anything like it. He arched his back off of the bed so deeply his spine would snap if moved even an inch further. His breaths had turned into little needy growls; he could hear the insanity in it, even in this wretched state, but he couldn’t force the noises back. Not when Ilya’s mouth was so soft, so hot, so skilled around him.
Ilya blinked up at him with hazy, sleepy eyes as he pressed his tongue flat to Shane’s shaft and sucked so hard his red cheeks hollowed out.
Nothing had ever, would ever, could ever feel this good again. So good it hurt, so good that Shane’s vision burned white and he clawed helplessly at the sheets in a last-ditch effort to tether himself to this plane of existence. A sob rose in the back of his throat and he clapped a hand over his mouth to catch it before it could echo through their room.
Ilya reached up and snatched Shane’s wrists in his hands, pinning them to his sides. He pulled off of him slowly, letting thick trails of saliva and pre-come drip down Shane’s cock. The mattress dipped as Ilya ground his own hips down into it.
The sight of it was so obscene that Shane’s cock twitched violently and his eyes rolled back into his head.
“I want to hear you,” Ilya rasped. “Want to know how good I make you feel.” And then he took Shane back into his mouth once more.
Shane didn’t hold back, and he felt so incredibly slutty as the sound of his pleasure filled the room. He writhed and squirmed as Ilya swallowed around his length, his exaggerated moans sending vibrating shockwaves up Shane’s spine to his melting brain. He couldn’t have been expected to last long. He could’ve lasted a tad longer, but Ilya scratched his blunt nails down the sensitive skin of Shane’s waist, and goosebumps burst across his skin. A violent shudder racked his frame, and then Shane was climaxing again, breathless and burning and brutal.
Ilya swallowed every drop of his spend enthusiastically, groaning lasciviously against his overstimulated cock.
Shane didn’t think he was still breathing. His hands and face were buzzing with pins and needles. His body felt light as air and ten thousand pounds at once. He didn’t think he’d ever move again. The world was hazy like he’d had a drink or seven. He thought he might have been crying. He couldn’t tell.
Ilya’s voice cut through the dense fog.
“You are still hard,” he observed, and there was a lightning quick excitement that passed over his features before he’d schooled them back into something that was only slightly manic.
Shane tried pushing himself up to get a good look at his own cock, but his arms buckled beneath the weight of holding himself up, and he fell back to the mattress with a groan. This was never going to end. Did he want it to?
“On your stomach,” Ilya commanded, but it was pointless. He was already manhandling Shane himself, flipping him over with ease. “I will take care of you. I will make it go away, okay?”
Shane’s teeth shattered. He shoved his face into the sheets. He could feel every molecule of air that touched his blazing skin. “Please, Ilya. Please.”
Ilya obliged, grabbing his ass in both hands and spreading him wide. There was an unpleasant second of cool air against his hole before Ilya’s tongue, hot and eager, pressed into him.
Shane keened. It was too much, too good. He tried inching up the mattress, away from Ilya’s mouth, but Ilya grabbed him with rough hands, keeping him right where he was meant to be. Stars shot across his vision and his eyes burned as his own sweat dripped into them, mingling with the tears on his waterline. He could see no way of surviving this.
Ilya tackled this endeavor with the same sort of fervor he did all others, his tongue fucking in and out of Shane with the intent to unravel him into pieces. He’d eaten Shane out dozens of times, and each time it was better than the last, like Ilya was trying to outdo his past self in the art of rimming.
But, God, it had never felt like this. Like the world was caving in beneath them, like hurricanes and tsunamis and earthquakes were ravaging the Earth and yet this was all that mattered.
Shane was trembling fiercely, huffing with each tremor that shook him from his head to his toes. He was halfway to his next orgasm, which was unthinkable and so ridiculously hot he thought he really might die. He didn’t know where Ilya procured the lube from, too dazed to make even the simplest of connections, but suddenly Ilya was pressing a slick finger inside him. One knuckle, then two, crooking inside of him, stretching him. He was ravenous for more almost immediately. “Add another. Harder. I want to feel it.”
“Fucking shit,” Ilya swore under his breath, but he complied. It took him no time all to stretch him wide, prepare him for his cock with four fingers fucking into his hole. Eventually, inevitably, he found Shane’s prostate with his fingertips, massaging it relentlessly to get a rise out of him.
A ragged cry wrenched from Shane’s throat. “Ilya. Ilya. Please fuck me. Please.” He sounded awful, even to his own ears. He arched his back as deeply as he could, baring himself to Ilya. Even this wanton action in itself, the vulnerable presentation of himself to entice his lover, sent a dizzying wave of want crashing over him. A bead of pre-come slipped from his slit. “Need your cock, need you inside me, need—”
“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya said into his skin before sinking his teeth gently into the skin of his ass. “You beg so pretty. What if I don’t fuck you? Then I could listen to you beg all night. Is my dream.”
Shane whipped his head around and hooked his chin over his shoulder. He couldn’t see straight. He was pretty sure his eyes were crossed. He was delirious. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I will tie you to the bed and ride your dick myself.”
Ilya’s grip on his waist spasmed, and he exhaled audibly, unused to Shane making such blatant demands. “Is tempting,” he said, attempting to maintain a casual facade. It didn’t work, not when his voice wavered like that. “I like when you are slutty.”
“I could be slutty with someone else,” Shane gasped, and the words, though only a tease meant to get a rise out of him, felt wrong on his tongue. He pushed his ass back to search for friction where he knew he would find none. “Someone who will—”
A hand dug into his hair and twisted, wrenching his head back at a dangerous angle. “Do not pretend,” Ilya hissed into his ear. “That anyone else could give you what you need.”
Shane had not thought it possible to be this turned on. The world spun around him like he was intoxicated. His cock throbbed in time with the rapid beat of his heart. He would goad Ilya into punishing him some more if he weren’t so drunk on him that he couldn’t think straight.
“You are so beautiful like this,” Ilya praised, like he just couldn’t help himself, even when he was meant to be admonishing. “When you want me so badly.”
Shane was seeing double of everything. He didn’t know how much longer he could last before taking his cock into his own hand and bringing himself to the brink. “I love you. I love you. Holy shit. Please fuck me.”
A press of soft, wet lips to the base of his neck just above the knobs of his spine. A whispered, “I love you,” so low that it was barely audible. And finally, finally the slick head of Ilya’s cock lined up with Shane’s entrance, and pushed slowly inside.
“Oh, God, oh, yes, fuck, just like…shit.” Shane panted as Ilya filled him, stretched him wide, all nine inches of him threatening to split him in half. Shane tried to take him too quickly, pushing back against his length with an eagerness that was dangerous.
Ilya stopped him, large hands gripping Shane’s waist. “Be patient. You will hurt yourself.”
“It’s okay if it hurts,” Shane nodded, the idea of it suddenly so appealing that his toes curled. His cock twitched against the bedsheets. “Please. I want it to hurt.”
“Shane,” Ilya chastised, but it was too astonished and breathless to be believable. He slid further inside, faster than he normally would, but still so careful, so tender and loving and gentle. When he bottomed out, his hips meeting Shane’s ass, they both shuddered and exhaled in the silence for several moments.
Ilya thrust once, a test.
Fireworks exploded in Shane’s blood. He saw colors that didn’t exist. “Yes, yes, yes—that’s it. Just like that. Harder, okay? Can you give it to me harder?” Shane had never been this talkative in bed in his life. But he was babbling now, spewing every nonsense thought the second his brain conjured it.
“You sound like,” Ilya said, grunting as he increased his pace, tilting his hips and trying for different angles until he found one that made Shane cry out and whimper like a dog. “A whore.”
A groan tore from Shane’s throat. He had lost his goddamn fucking marbles. How could anything have ever mattered but this? Ilya taking him, claiming him, fucking him so roughly that Shane would feel him between his thighs for the next week.
Shane’s cheek was pressed into the sheets, but a deranged smile split his features anyways. He couldn’t force it from his face. “Just for you, Rozanov.”
This made Ilya falter. But only for a split second, before it invigorated him to go harder, faster. He abused Shane's prostate, hitting it over and over and over, taking Shane’s wild, uninhibited pleas as encouragement to continue.
“Right there, Ilya, right there, that’s so…it’s…” Shane couldn’t translate his thoughts into speech fast enough before losing them to the blinding pleasure.
Ilya slammed into him again and again, pinning him down with a hand to the small of his back and driving him deep into the mattress.
He clenched around Ilya just to feel him against his walls, then relished drunkenly in his own power when Ilya’s thrusts stuttered and he fell down to his elbows above him. Shane was far past spoken word. The only noise he was capable of making was the throaty, broken sound of the oxygen punched from his lungs that came with each of Ilya’s thrusts. His mouth was open against the sheets, and knew he was drooling and he knew his cock was leaking and he knew he was making an incredible mess of bodily fluids in their bed but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t even bring himself to brace against Ilya’s force. He was shoved further and further up towards the headboard every time Ilya’s hips snapped into his ass.
It shouldn’t have been possible to come untouched on his third orgasm of the night, but he felt that tight heat coiling in his gut, felt the numbness of it travel up his limbs. He couldn’t even give Ilya a warning, too blissed out, tongue too heavy in his mouth.
Turned out, he didn’t have to.
Ilya’s grip on him tightened so forcefully that it hurt, and he came on a broken moan that spilled through his gritted teeth. Hot ropes of come coated Shane’s walls, and when Ilya continued to thrust sloppily into him, it dripped from his hole and down his thighs.
Shane was debauched. He was hysterical. He was coated in Ilya’s come like he was born for this, like he belonged to him, and, oh—
The world went dark, sensation and vivid awareness coming back to him in blinding, debilitating flashes. Tears streaked down his face and emotion clogged his throat and he was so irrevocably in love with Ilya Rozanov that it consumed him every hour of every day, but especially now, in this infinitesimal, fractured moment. He couldn’t breathe through the force of it, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but moan Ilya’s name over and over and over again like a broken prayer.
Shane wasn’t sure at what point he had finally passed out, but he woke up to a splitting headache and a desert dry mouth and Ilya stroking a gentle hand through his hair. His eyes ached and his body was so heavy that moving would be a herculean feat. “Shane. You have to wake up.”
“Mmmm,” Shane hummed throatily, nuzzling into the touch. He tried to lean in closer, then hissed when his oversensitized dick dragged against the sheets. He cracked his groggy eyes open, squinting against the lamplight, to learn that somehow, against all odds, he was still hard. “Noooo,” he whined, the tail of his complaint muffled as he buried his face into the pillow. He didn’t have any more orgasms in him. He couldn’t do it. He was going to be hard forever.
“I know,” Ilya said, untangling his fingers from Shane’s hair.
Another pathetic, irritable complaint was halfway out of his mouth when Ilya nudged his head to the side and forced him to look at him.
Ilya was holding out a new bottle of pills and a full glass of water.
“No more pills,” Shane groaned, convinced that if he dug his fist into his temple hard enough that the throbbing headache would magically resolve itself.
“I went to the store,” Ilya said. “This will help make you…not hard.” He winced at his own indelicate phrasing, but it really was the only way of putting it, Shane supposed. “That is what the Internet said.”
When Shane did nothing but lay there, Ilya continued. “It is that, or go to the hospital. So choose.”
Shane bolted upright so fast he got lightheaded. There was absolutely no way in hell he was going to a fucking hospital in Montreal for priapism because he’d accidentally taken a gas station Viagra. He’d be recognized within the first five seconds, and then he’d have to resort to self-immolation by way of walking into the goddamn fucking ocean. He was halfway to soft already, but time was ticking and they were nearly at that point where moderate concern turned into real danger. With eagle eyes, he double-checked the bottle that Ilya handed him, then triple-checked it, then grabbed his phone from the nightstand and Googled what the individual pills looked like for final confirmation.
With a sigh, he tapped a couple into his palm and took the glass of water Ilya held out to swallow them down. His arms were achy and weak, and holding himself upright was a feat in and of itself. But when he tried to hand the water back, Ilya shook his head.
“No. All of it.”
“Ilya,” Shane whined. “I can’t.”
“You can and you will. You are…” He frowned. “What is the word? For not enough water?”
“Dehydrated,” Shane supplied, then rolled his eyes at himself for being so helpful.
“Yes, yes. Dehydrated. So you will drink whole glass. Or you will sleep outside tonight with the wolves.”
Shane snorted, then grimaced when a sharp stab of pain shot through his temple. “The loons, you mean?”
“You know,” Ilya tilted his head, considering. “I could tell your parents why you really have not answered your phone. I was nice enough to lie and tell them you were poisoned by your disgusting dog food.”
A bolt of fear shot down his spine. The idea of his parents knowing what had taken place on this night was worse than being recognized by a dozen men asking for pictures and signatures in the hospital waiting room. It was unthinkable. “Jesus. Fine. Okay. You win.”
At the end of the day, he had to do what Ilya said. Because his cock was still half hard and very interested in continuing to listen to him make these threatening demands. Which was unacceptable, at least in this specific instance. Shane brought the glass to his lips and chugged.
Ilya monitored the situation carefully, checking the progress of his softening cock every 10 minutes and threatening to call an ambulance if he wasn’t fully limp by 2AM.
By the grace of a God that Shane would worship for the rest of his pathetic life, the blood had drained from his cock and back into the rest of his body by 1:56AM and he finally felt like himself again. Bone-tired and aching and completely spent, but himself.
Ilya undressed and climbed into bed beside him once more. He exhaled an exhausted breath before pulling Shane in close. “Was good birthday,” he murmured into Shane’s hair. “Best I have had, I think.”
Shane swatted him on the arm before laying his head on Ilya’s chest and relishing in the steady rise and fall of each breath. “Good to know. Next year, I’ll try and top it with another medical emergency. Maybe you can poison me with a different illicit substance. There’s so many to choose from. Cocaine. Ketamine. LSD. You know what, why pick just one? I’ll try a little of everything. You could never say I’m boring again.”
Laughter tore from Ilya’s mouth, and his chest vibrated heartily beneath Shane’s cheek. He kissed the top of Shane’s head, hard and fond. “You will always be boring. My boring. But funny, sometimes, too.”
Shane pinched his hip and nuzzled deeper into him. “Only sometimes?”
“You cannot always be funny and beautiful. Do not be greedy, Hollander.”
Even after everything Ilya had done to him in the last couple of hours, this still made Shane flush. His eyelids were growing heavier, achy with exhaustion. “Shut up,” he mumbled, throwing an arm over Ilya’s waist and pulling him closer than was comfortable for either of them.
Ilya scratched at his scalp with blunt fingernails. “Go to sleep, моя любовь.”
Shane had to fight not purr at the touch. Instead, as he drifted off, he counted things he was grateful for in the way that one might count sheep to fall asleep.
He was grateful for hockey, for his friends, for his parents, for his home, and for Ilya. He was grateful for ginger ale and cookies and cream cupcakes and the steady heartbeat beneath him pulsing gently against his temple.
And, shockingly, he was just a little grateful for gas station Viagra.