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Ilya Rozanov was something of a man-whore.
Emphasis on was, past-tense. It had been a long while since he could be considered a man-whore. He hasn’t slept around since accepting that he had fallen for the love of his life, and he’s perfectly happy with that.
The reformed man-whore gained a lot of skills during his man-whore days that he used to make his partner feel good. Sometimes, he felt as though that was his whole purpose, that the universe had put him through years of whoreness just so he would know how to please Shane the way no one else could.
“Ah, Ilya,” Shane moaned, head tossed back as Ilya’s nipped at his neck, a hand wrapped around Shane’s cock. The two hadn’t even undressed, but it had been over a week since Ilya had been able to come to Montreal—which was so funny to think about because they used to go months without each other—and they were both desperate. “Please don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop…”
Ilya knew Shane’s body better than Shane knew it, he liked to think. He knew exactly where to stroke to make him squirm, he knew just how to angle his fingers to find his prostate, he knew precisely how many seconds he had once Shane started babbling like this before he would come.
He also knew that Shane liked being teased, that he came harder if Ilya denied him a few times. So, like clockwork, Ilya prepared to withdraw his hand when Shane’s hand that had been resting at the nape of Ilya’s neck rose to tightly grip his curls as he whimpered:
“So good, Ilya, fuck, so good for me..!”
Ilya froze for a split-second, catching the moan that had already half-slipped out of him at Shane’s words. He chewed his bottom lip to hold back the heavy breathing that threatened to escape him as instead of denying Shane his release, he furiously stroked Shane’s cock faster and faster until Shane came with a loud cry, cum splattering all over Ilya’s hand and shirt.
He watched as Shane’s chest rose and fell, pretty speckled cheeks flushed rosy red. “Fuck,” Shane panted, lifting his head to look at Ilya with a lopsided smile. “Didn’t even get our clothes off, huh?”
Ilya didn’t respond, though, not even hearing Shane. His eyes were glued on his hand, coated in Shane’s release, as his words replayed in his mind: so good, so good for him…
“Ilya?” asked Shane, leaning forward to try and get his attention. “Are you oka—”
“Tell me again,” Ilya spoke suddenly, finally looking up from his hand to Shane.
Shane blinked. “What?”
“Tell me,” Ilya repeated in a low voice, stripping off his shirt and wiping his cum-stained hand on it before tossing it to the side. He then advanced toward Shane, pushing him backward until he was flat against the bed, and caging him in his arms. “Tell me what you just said. Again.”
Shane’s brows furrowed that adorable way it did when he was genuinely confused. Ilya could see the cogs turning behind his mind, see him methodically working through the interaction in steps and sifting through everything he said to see what Ilya was asking about.
Impatiently, Ilya nipped at his neck again, gripping Shane’s waistband and pulling his pants and underwear down in one motion. “Tell me,” Ilya muttered again, nipping at the soft skin of Shane’s inner thigh. “Tell me, Shane.”
He rested his cheek on Shane’s inner thigh and looked up. Shane gazed back down at him, a hand coming to caress his cheek. “Maybe…” Shane hesitated, as though unsure of his words, but the uncertainty melted from his face just as quickly as it had appeared.
“Maybe if you tell me exactly what it is you want me to say.”
A tiny noise escaped Ilya from deep in his throat. “You know what it is,” Ilya attempted to bargain.
“No, I don’t,” Shane teased, smirking with an ever-growing confidence that sent a rush of heat throughout Ilya’s body. His thumb stroked over Ilya’s cheekbone. “Tell me, Ilya. What do you want me to tell you?”
Ilya stared up at Shane, lips slightly parted and pupils blown as he whispered, “Tell me I’m good.”
And Shane, with temerity he could have only learned from Ilya himself, played dumb. “What? I can’t hear you.”
“Tell me I’m good,” Ilya repeated, voice shaking as he spoke louder this time. He wasn’t used to being the one begging. “Tell me I’m good for you, Shane.”
Shane hummed, as though considering it. There was a meanness in his eyes Ilya had never seen before—fleetingly, he wondered if he looked like that every time he denied Shane his release. His gut twisted, sickeningly turned-on at the thought of Shane copying Ilya’s demeanor when he was trying to be demanding. He could feel his erection strain against his pants, begging to be freed.
Ilya felt Shane’s hand curl in his hair and tug, and Ilya followed Shane’s pull until he was on top of him again, face hovering centimeters above his. Then, so close he could feel Shane’s hot breath, Shane whispered, “Be good for me, then, and maybe I will.”
“Okay,” Ilya murmured against Shane’s skin, feeling almost feverish as he kissed around Shane’s mouth. “I will.”
His lips dragged over Shane’s, pressing against him in the most tender, pillow-soft kiss. It wasn’t full of the immediate filth that Ilya normally consumed Shane with; this time, Ilya kissed him long and slow, like he, for once, could hold back his carnal desires and appreciate Shane as though he was a timeless work of art instead of a dessert to be devoured.
Even as the kiss grew open-mouthed, Ilya refused to rush, refused to take. Every squeeze of his hands over Shane’s defined muscles, every calculated feather-light brush of his hands over his nipples, was based on years of experience of learning exactly what made Shane tick in the best way. He wanted Shane writhing beneath him until the only thing he could whimper was how good Ilya was for him.
They pulled apart to catch their breath, and Ilya hazily stared into Shane’s half-lidded eyes. He looked the most beautiful like this, Ilya thought, body covered in a light sheen of sweat and lips sweat-slicked. Ilya leaned back down, lips crashing against Shane’s once more to continue slowly unraveling him.
His hands spent extra time around Shane’s waist, admiring how it fit so perfectly in Ilya’s hands, like their bodies were meticulously hand-crafted with each other in mind. Ilya couldn’t imagine ever wanting to wrap his hands around anyone else's waist ever again. He couldn’t even imagine that there had ever been a time that he had wanted to.
Their lips parted again with a wet-smacking sound and a tiny string of saliva that dissolved into nothingness. Ilya peppered a few more kisses on Shane’s most prominent freckles before moving to the side of his neck, kissing every inch of skin he could. He left tiny licks, sucks, and light nips at his skin, trailing up and down his neck.
Then, he sealed his lips right at the spot beneath his ear at the end of his jaw and sucked.
A shuddering moan was torn out of Shane, his hips bucking upward. “Ilya,” he breathed more than said, “so good. You’re so good, Ilya.”
Ilya moaned against Shane’s skin as he sucked, eyelids involuntarily fluttering. He sucked harder, savoring the taste of Shane on his tastebuds, enjoying how he shivered beneath him.
When he pulled off of Shane, a dark purple bruise had blossomed, standing stark against the rest of his skin. He couldn’t help but simply stare at his handiwork for a bit, just admiring it. As he did that, he distantly felt Shane unbuckling Ilya’s pants and tugging them downward.
“Ilya,” Shane said, tone just a bit whiny. “Take your clothes off.”
Ilya blinked, snapping out of his trance and quickly obeying. He returned to lying on top of Shane, feeling the heat from his body, and moved to the other side of his neck to plant kisses all over it.
He took his time teasing where he had learned Shane to be most sensitive. Shane whimpered when Ilya would ghost over the spots for just a second, not giving them nearly as much attention as Shane wanted him to, but Ilya had a method to his madness. He kissed up Shane’s jaw, nipping at his ear and lightly pulling back the earlobe before letting it go and moving to shower the front of his throat with kisses.
Then, right between his two collarbones, Ilya harshly sucked the sensitive skin just like he had on the side of Shane’s neck.
Shane’s hips bucked up like it did the first time, body twitching as he panted out Ilya’s name. “S-So good,” Shane struggled to get out, “just… just wish you’d go a little faster.”
Ilya felt his dick twitch the way it did every time Shane called him good, but he merely murmured, “No,” against Shane’s skin before continuing to suck the hickey into it.
Once he finished with that, he began tantalizingly slowly kissing down Shane’s body. When Shane realized that Ilya really planned to take his time with every inch of him, he felt something shoot through him—whether it was arousal or annoyance, he couldn't tell, but either way, it went straight to his dick.
“Ilya,” he moaned, intentionally grinding upward so Ilya could feel him against him, “Ilya, I can’t—I’m gonna lose my fucking mind, Ilya.”
“Mm,” Ilya grunted against his skin, hand lightly feathering down Shane’s body before landing just above his pelvis. He gently grabbed Shane, thumbs rubbing circles into his hipbone. “You are right.”
He held out his hand to Shane’s mouth, where Shane obediently and instantly spat into it, before lowering it down to where their erections were. The spit was for extra lubrication, but both of them were already rock-hard and dripping precum. Ilya couldn’t hold back his moan as he adjusted his position and wrapped his hand around both of their cocks.
The second his hand wrapped around them, Shane let out a sharp hiss, bucking upward into Ilya’s palm. “Fuck… fuck, Ilya—
“Good boy.”
Ilya went rigid, slowly raising his eyes to look at Shane’s face. It had exploded with heat, red as a tomato, but all Ilya could register was the blood rushing in his ears.
Good boy. Good boy. Good boy.
“Say it again,” Ilya said hoarsely, pumping his hand up and down faster and clumsier than he intended to. “Again, Shane, please—“
“Good boy, Ilya,” Shane panted, eyes alternating between squeezing shut and studying Ilya’s enraptured face. “You’re—You’re so good, Ilya, fuck, such a good boy!”
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya groaned, hand moving with no rhyme or rhythm or any of the skill Ilya prided himself on having. His carnal desire was the only thing controlling him at this point, and it seemed the same went for Shane too, from how he jerkily rutted up into his hand. “Shane, I-I need you—”
“Good boy, good boy, Ilya,” Shane moaned, nails digging into Ilya’s back as he thrusted up, chasing his pleasure. “Such a good boy for me, so good, you listen so well—god, I fucking love you, Ilya..!”
Ilya’s mind went blank as Shane came like he had never come before, eyes rolling backward and Ilya’s name spilling from his mouth like the prayer of a man possessed. The feeling of Shane’s nails dragging over his back, clawing into him so hard it would certainly leave marks he would be questioned about in the locker room, pushed him over the edge, and he poured all of his hot passion into Shane’s mouth as he climaxed.
The two of them came down from their high, sticky with sweat and cum and exhaustedly panting in each other’s arms. Ilya couldn’t keep his eyes open, lids falling heavy over his eyes every time he attempted to rouse himself so he could check on Shane.
Shane was the one to gather himself first. “Fuck… that was…”
Ilya could only grunt in response, eliciting a breathless laugh out of Shane. “You really liked that?” asked Shane.
“What do you fucking think?” Ilya answered, nipping at Shane’s jaw—more playful than teasing, this time. He collapsed against Shane’s chest right after that.
A soft laugh escaped Shane through his nose, his hands tangling in Ilya’s soft curls again. “We can talk about it once you’re ready.”
Ilya hummed in acknowledgment, but he could already feel himself drifting off. He knew it would bother Shane, but he could hear Shane fondly sighing, and figured that maybe this one time, it was okay.
He had been a good boy, after all.