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Hayden Pike: Hot tub party. My place. Friday night. Be there or be square.
Shane sighs heavily as his eyes scan the text. Invites to various Hayden parties are unfortunately a fairly common occurrence, and it's all Shane can do to field the summons with a new, fun excuse every time. Well, Shane's definition of fun, anyway.
Ilya perks his head up from across the room, looking strangely akin to an inquisitive meerkat as he quirks a questioning eyebrow in Shane's direction.
"It's just Hayden," Shane murmurs as he starts to type out a response.
Ilya huffs under his breath—a short, jealous little noise—and Shane rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, giving his boyfriend a pointed look. Ilya's not actually jealous of Hayden, or Rose, or any of Shane's other friends—at least, Shane doesn't think he is—but he puts up this stupid possessive front as soon as any one of them is mentioned. It's as though he thinks, after all these years, that Shane is going to suddenly stop being completely besotted with him, and fall for his extremely straight, extremely married best friend. It would be annoying if Ilya wasn't so charming.
Shane: Sorry Hayd, I already have a party planned that night. I'm committed to this really interesting book on the history of hockey statistics.
It's not a lie—the book is really interesting.
Hayden Pike: Pleeeaaseeeee Shane, I miss you, man. The kids are staying with Jacki's parents, so it's adults only! You can even bring Boston Lily if you have to.
Shane snorts a soft laugh, and he can sense Ilya's hackles raise across the room.
Shane: His name is Ilya.
Hayden Pike: Please consider it? You never come to my parties! It'll be fun, I promise.
Shane highly doubts that. He looks up as Ilya begins slowly approaching him, crossing the room with deliberate, methodical footsteps like a leopard stalking its prey. Shane's not entirely sure whether he or Hayden is the prey in this analogy. Ilya drops the act as soon as he reaches Shane, falling heavily onto the other end of the couch and kicking his socked feet up into Shane's lap. "Did Pike finally get his dick cut off?"
"That's not what a vasectomy is," Shane murmurs, ignoring Hayden's last message and putting his phone down so he can run his thumbs up the soles of Ilya's feet, satisfied when he gets an appreciative noise in response. "He invited us to a party again. How many years has he known me? How many times do I have to say it's not my thing before he gets the memo?"
"Hot tub party?" Ilya asks, his eyes lighting up.
Shane gives him a wary look. "Yeah, why?"
"Give me phone," Ilya demands, holding his hand out in Shane's direction.
This can only be a bad idea, but Shane doesn't hesitate to pick up his phone and place it into Ilya's waiting hand. They're each enabled on the other's Face ID, and within seconds his phone has been unlocked and Ilya is being underlit by the text thread. Shane's heart pounds softly in his chest as he watches Ilya scan the messages, his thumbs rapidly typing something.
"What are you doing?" Shane asks, his voice threaded with suspicion.
Ilya just hands the phone back to him without a word, a smug smile on his face.
Shane: We are not square. See you on Friday - Lily
It's Friday afternoon, and somehow Shane has ended up on his back on the bed—holding his knees up around his ears—while Ilya works a suspiciously dick-shaped royal blue butt plug into his quivering asshole.
"Fuck," he groans, squeezing his eyes shut as the toy settles all the way inside his body and Ilya pats the base firmly, sending aching reverberations deep into his core. "Come here? Please?" he begs, dropping one of his legs to reach for Ilya and moaning brokenly when the motion changes the angle of the plug inside of him, splitting his body open on thick silicone.
Ilya rocks up over him, curling a possessive hand under the back of Shane's skull to tug him into a deep, searching kiss as their dicks rub together deliciously between their bodies. "Hollander," Ilya breathes hot and wet into Shane's mouth, barely pulling away to speak as his hips roll over Shane's.
It's only polite for Shane to take the initiative and wrap his hands around both of their cocks, holding them tight to each other as Ilya thrusts against him.
"I have idea," Ilya murmurs, his gorgeous mouth pressing frantic kisses to Shane's lips practically every word. "Will you promise to be good boy for me?"
Shane's brain is melting out through his ears, reduced to pathetic, whimpering moans as Ilya fucks against his cock, as his hole involuntarily clenches down around unyielding silicone. "Yes, please," Shane moans, arching his chest up against Ilya's in a desperate beg for touch.
Ilya doesn't disappoint, his free hand immediately zeroing in on Shane's pec, pinching harshly around his erect nipple, and Shane's mouth falls open as a euphoric howl echoes from deep within him. He's quickly muffled by Ilya's lips, his boyfriend's tongue sliding along his as the sharp ache in his chest zips straight to his cock.
"I'm gonna—" Shane gasps into Ilya's panting mouth, his hands squeezing their cocks, drippy precome already forming a puddle on his belly. "Please, can I? I need—"
It only takes Ilya nodding once against his face before Shane is shooting off with a broken cry, overstimulated tears welling up in his waterline as rope after rope of come splashes across his torso. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he moans, his hands sliding over their cocks as Ilya presses their faces together, breathing heavily across Shane's cheek.
Ilya's dangling necklace brushes against the skin of Shane's neck, sending a shudder through him as his body jolts, his hands still working himself through the aftershocks. Ilya's orgasm isn't far behind, and he trips over the edge with a cut-off moan, his body shaking and his cock jerking against Shane's as he adds even more mess to Shane's chest, biting down harshly around Shane's lower lip.
"Ow," Shane laughs softly when Ilya pulls back, sucking his bitten lip into his mouth. That's going to be embarrassing, when Hayden inevitably notices the massive bruise in the middle of Shane's face. Ilya's such a performative dick; Shane would bet money that he did it on purpose with the express intention of flustering Shane in front of his friend.
"Sorry," Ilya murmurs, rubbing his thumb soothingly across the teeth marks. His smirk says everything Shane needs to know.
Shane spreads his legs wide on either side of his boyfriend, feeling the plug shift and settle, a firm, constant pressure against his exhausted, overstimulated prostate. A whimper escapes from the back of his throat, and he meets Ilya's eyes above him. "I've had enough," he whispers, his spent hips shifting upwards, "take it out, please."
"Mm," Ilya hums quietly, his eyes scanning Shane's face, "you promised me you would be good, no?"
What does that mean?
"I will leave it in," Ilya continues, pressing a final kiss to Shane's lips before rolling off of him, holding out a hand to help Shane get up.
Shane stares at him, dumbfounded, his mind short-circuiting as he tries to follow Ilya's train of thought. Eventually, under his boyfriend's firm, unwavering gaze, he manages to croak, "For how long?"
They'll be heading to Hayden's straight after they shower, to a dumb party that Shane never wanted to go to in the first place. Ilya is definitely scheming, and Shane doesn't like the look in his eye.
"If you are a really good boy," Ilya groans, squeezing his spent, softening cock, "all night."
Shane considers safewording. There's no way this ends up going well for him.
But Ilya is looking at him with those big blue eyes, waiting patiently for Shane to make a decision, and the answer cements itself in his core. He did promise to be a good boy.
Which is how Shane ends up in Hayden's massive hot tub with a few people he knows and a bunch of strangers, sitting between Ilya's spread thighs as the vibrations of the jets through the acrylic send constant tremors up the silicone secretly buried deep in his ass.
He's going to kill Ilya. This was a terrible fucking idea. There's chatter happening around him—drinks are flowing, people are having fun—while Shane stares at the bubbling surface of the water, hoping to god that it's sufficiently obscuring the fact that his dick is getting hard under his light blue swim shorts.
He feels a tap against his knee under the water and almost jumps out of his skin, his eyes shooting up to meet Hayden's quizzical stare.
"You good, buddy?" he asks, his eyes flicking between Shane's eyes and his bruised lip. He didn't comment on it when they arrived, but he keeps looking at it, and it's making Shane feel crazy. Well, that and—and the rest of it.
Shane sucks on his lip self-consciously, wanting to explain himself but not having any of the words to do so as Ilya's arm tightens possessively around his waist, his forearm subtly brushing over Shane's erection.
"Y-yeah," Shane stammers, his throat sticky from lack of use. He has to bite back a moan as Ilya less subtly rubs his cock beneath the bubbles, hoping to god that Hayden's eyes stay locked on his face. At least he can blame the heat rising from the water for the deep red flush he knows is spreading across his skin.
He takes a sip of his drink, trying to think of a valid excuse that isn't there's a massive dick in my ass sending permanent vibrations through my prostate and my terrible, horrible boyfriend is currently groping my dick just out of your peripheral vision. "Sorry, I've just got a bit of a headache," he murmurs. "It's one of those days."
Hayden nods sympathetically, eyeing Shane's Moscow Mule balanced on the edge of the tub. "Do you want a water, or a ginger ale?" he asks, ever the consummate host.
Shane is about to say No, that's okay, when Ilya pipes up from behind him, squeezing him around the waist.
"Yes," Ilya says, his voice low and hot in Shane's ear, "big glass of water is only way to deal with Shane's terrible headaches."
Hayden's eyes flick to Ilya, scowling slightly, but he nods, rising up from the water with a soft groan. Shane's eyes briefly scan his friend's thin, toned body—dripping wet muscle glistening in the soft porch light—before snapping back to the bubbling water cycling through green, blue, and purple, lit by the internal hot tub lights. Shane wishes that someone would switch them off as his cock pulses embarrassingly beneath the water.
"Any other drink orders?" Hayden asks the rest of the tub, collecting a few as he climbs out of the water and makes his way to the back door, shouting inside for Jacki's assistance.
Without the attention focused on them, Ilya squeezes Shane's cock more blatantly, making Shane gasp and elbow him in the ribs. "Cut it out," he hisses, looking across at the other hot tub patrons, chatting and laughing with each other, blissfully unaware of his little predicament.
Ilya's breath huffs over Shane's ear, his voice a whisper when he says, "You remember what you promised me?"
Shane winces, whispering back, "To be good."
"No," Ilya murmurs, "before that. Few weeks ago. When we watched video."
Video. Their sex tape. Shane feels his flush deepen as he casts his mind back to the day they watched it back, his cock jerking embarrassingly at the memory. He was still pretty out of it, and he had another nap pretty much straight after they watched it together. He has no idea what he promised Ilya.
His boyfriend cups his cock brazenly, rubbing his palm over the head. Shame washes over Shane as he feels it blurt precome against the inside of his shorts, and the memory comes flooding back to him. Fucking hell. That explains why Ilya was so enthusiastic about this stupid party—he's going to make Shane fulfill his promise to piss into his hand under the water.
"I can't," Shane begs, whimpering softly as he watches Hayden approaching the hot tub with a tray of drinks, distributing them amongst the patrons.
"You will," Ilya replies, as Hayden hands Shane his water—a big glass, just like Ilya requested—and clambers back into the tub, settling right across from them.
Shane takes a shaking sip of his new drink, and Ilya lifts a dripping hand from the water to press up on the bottom of the glass, encouraging him to swallow down more. Shane hates him. And he hates even more that it's doing it for him, his cock not flagging in the slightest as the reality of the rest of his night settles itself in his mind.
He feels Ilya reach out to the side, unsure of what he's doing until they're plunged into darkness, the hot tub lights deactivated. The only remaining light comes from the porch behind them, and Shane looks down to see a murky darkness beneath the water where his cock should be.
"Hey, what the fuck?" someone unknown complains from the other end of the tub.
"Shane has headache," Ilya growls, and Shane is certain that his boyfriend is scowling at them. "Lights are too much."
Shane doesn't look up, but he can hear the eye roll in the guy's voice when he replies, "Alright, whatever, man."
Activity resumes as normal. Shane can feel Hayden's big blue eyes on him as he finishes his water, placing his empty glass safely on the table beside the tub. His belly roils, and Ilya strokes a comforting hand over the hard muscle of his abs, the other squeezing Shane's cock through his shorts.
Having spent the formative years of his life masking his autism, Shane is especially adept at acting normal in odd or unexpected situations. He's not usually hard, in previous examples, with a cock-shaped butt plug up his ass and a devious boyfriend stroking his dick under the cover of darkness, but that's just a new challenge to overcome as he does his best to hold a somewhat normal conversation with his best friend.
"Pinch my leg when you are ready," Ilya murmurs in his ear, in a brief moment when Hayden's attention is caught by someone else. Ilya is hard too, his cock lined up right against the crease of Shane's ass, rocking faintly in the tight space. "When he is looking at you."
Shane's core burns red-hot at that. Ilya is such a bastard. Of course he's going to make him piss while Hayden watches. "I hate you," Shane hisses, just as Hayden's attention turns back to him.
He can feel the ache in his bladder, made only worse by Ilya's firm fingers pressing down on the skin of his lower belly. Hayden is saying something to him, teasing Shane about his latest ad campaign, he thinks, and Shane pinches Ilya's leg, hard.
Ilya slides one hand into Shane's shorts, the skin-on-skin contact after so long sending panicked electrical signals though his core. His body jerks in Ilya's hold, and Hayden raises a questioning eyebrow in his direction, but keeps talking like nothing happened.
Shane wants to die. Surely Hayden knows. Maybe not that he's about to piss, but almost certainly that Ilya is touching him. Shane has to get on top of this. Be normal. Have a normal face. Have a normal body. Nothing untoward is happening below the surface, Hayden, I promise.
He responds to Hayden's question with practiced calmness as Ilya's hand curls possessively around the head of his cock.
He's being normal.
Hayden is talking again, and Shane takes a deep, normal breath as he releases his bladder into the water, feeling his piss shoot out into Ilya's cupped hand, immediately making the water even warmer in the tight confines of his swim shorts.
Ilya sucks in an audible breath behind him, pressing his lips to the back of Shane's neck.
Shane's piss comes out in an unsteady stream, pulsing in time with the water jets still sending vibrations through his prostate. He's so turned on he feels like he'd pass out if he didn't have the distraction of trying to hold a conversation with his best friend. His best friend, who is looking at him expectantly. Shit, is it Shane's turn to talk?
Ilya presses his palm hard against the head of Shane's cock, and the pressure of his piss against Ilya's skin drags a quiet—but undeniable—moan from Shane's lips.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Hayden is still looking at him.
"S-sorry," Shane stammers, his face beet red in the heat of Hayden's attention, "I spaced out, uh, what—what did you say?"
Ilya's cock twitches hard against Shane's lower back, his hand shifting so his thumb is pressed into Shane's slit, splitting his piss stream around it.
Shane's brain shuts off. Hayden is speaking again—repeating himself, probably—but Shane can't understand any of the words. He lifts a hand from the water, pressing it hard against his mouth as his eyes squeeze shut in ecstasy. He could come from this. From pissing openly into Ilya's waiting hand while his best friend watches. He's not sure he's ever been so turned on in his life.
Hayden is never going to let him live this down.
"His headache is really very bad," Ilya's voice rumbles from behind him, and Shane's cock jerks pathetically in his grip, Ilya's thick accent only serving to arouse him even more.
Shane feels his stream finally peter out, sputtering the last few drops against Ilya's thumb. He counts to ten in his head, sucking in a deep breath, before finally opening his eyes.
Hayden's eyes are shooting daggers at him. "You think you're subtle?" he hisses.
Shane looks around, but no one else in the hot tub is paying attention to him, thankfully. Just his best friend, who looks incredibly pissed off. Shane's heart pounds in his throat. He's a terrible person. He's terrible and Hayden will never speak to him again after this. He watches years of friendship swirl down the metaphorical drain in Hayden's steady glare, trying his best not to panic.
"I'm sorry," Shane whispers, no idea what else he could possibly say, following it up with a whimper when Ilya unhelpfully squeezes his cock. He's going to die, either from straight-up shame, Hayden murdering him, or from nutting so hard that he succumbs to the darkness and never wakes up.
Hayden's gaze turns sharply to Ilya. "Hey fucker," he says quietly, his voice dripping with venom as he points a finger into the depths of his long, dark garden. "If you're so embarrassingly horny that you can't resist touching my friend for two fucking hours, get out of my hot tub and go deal with that shit in private."
"Okay," Ilya says casually, shrugging like Hayden didn't just tear him a new asshole. He slides his hand from Shane's shorts. "Come on, Shane."
What? Shane isn't going to stand up—what is wrong with Ilya? Even if Hayden knows—Shane isn't about to stand from the water right in front of Hayden's face with a sodden pair of swim trunks draped inelegantly over his throbbing erection.
But Ilya is pushing him out of his seat and standing up behind him, so wildly unashamed of the huge hard cock tenting his shorts. Hayden's scowl deepens as Ilya climbs out of the tub onto the deck below, holding out a hand for Shane to follow.
"You don't have to go with him," Hayden says, but the problem is, Shane absolutely does. If he doesn't get off in the next five minutes, he's going to go clinically insane.
"Please don't look at me," Shane whispers, turning away from Hayden, away from all of them, as he rises from the water. The plug in his ass makes him crunch forward with a gasp, practically falling into Ilya's arms as he steps over the edge of the tub.
"Good boy," Ilya whispers in his ear as they slip their wet feet into slides, and Shane wants to strangle him.
He doesn't look back at the hot tub as Ilya drags him by the hand into the depths of Hayden's garden. He doesn't want to know how many eyes are on his back, how many conversations are springing up discussing the disgusting perverts Hayden invited to his party. If he doesn't know, he can pretend it's none.
The end of the yard is almost forest-like, dense with trees, and Ilya tugs Shane behind one, slamming his bare back into the bark to slide his tongue eagerly into Shane's mouth, their wet erections sword fighting between them.
Ilya pulls back for breath, murmuring, "Holy shit," at the same time as Shane says, "I'm going to fucking kill you."
"Hayden is never going to look at me the same," Shane hisses through his teeth, furious even though he knows he can't entirely blame this on Ilya. He did agree to come to Hayden's house stuffed to his guts on silicone cock.
"Good," Ilya says, smug, unbothered by Shane's threats, "he knows you are mine."
Shane wants to argue, wants to point out that that was never an issue in the first place, wants to bang Ilya's dumb, jealous head into a tree—but there's a more pressing issue at hand. He shoves his swim shorts down to his knees in one quick motion, turning and folding himself forward so his upper body is perpendicular to the tree, leaning heavily against it.
"Fuck me," he begs, his legs trembling beneath him as Ilya's hands immediately go to the plug, sliding it out of him with one quick pull. He can feel his hole gaping open, the cold Canadian night air swirling into the deep cavity as Ilya presses the base of the plug into Shane's free hand.
"Keep it clean," Ilya warns, as Shane hears him push his shorts down, his thick cock immediately pressing up against Shane's hole. "It is going back in, after, unless you want to show Hayden how nasty you really are."
With those words, he pushes in, burying himself to the hilt, forcing a broken cry from Shane's throat that he can only hope wasn't loud enough to be picked up by the other partygoers.
Ilya sets a punishing pace—clearly as desperate and needy as Shane is—wrapping both hands tight around Shane's hips and dragging his body to meet each of Ilya's wild thrusts.
"I love you so much," Ilya chokes, already close, and Shane is right there with him. "Such a fucking slut for me."
Despite everything, Shane can't deny that this is doing it for him. He feels his balls draw up tight to his body at Ilya's words, his cock jerking untouched in the cold air as orgasm punches him in the gut, and he watches his twitching dick shoot ropes of sticky come into the leaf litter below their feet. "Ohhhh, my god," he moans, feeling weak at the knees as Ilya leans down over him, biting kisses across Shane's shoulder as he lets himself come just after, shuddering and spilling his seed deep inside Shane's waiting body.
"I'm so mad at you," Shane grumbles, letting his head fall slack on his neck, but he can't help the giggle that follows the words. "You're such a bad influence."
"Mmm," Ilya hums, grinding his cock deep in Shane's body, "I will be worse influence, now."
Shane's not sure what Ilya can do that's worse than what he's already done, until he notices the familiar feeling of liquid filling up his ass.
"Oh my fucking god, Ilya," Shane groans, gripping tight around the base of the plug hanging heavy in his hand as he feels himself go a little lightheaded, leaning more firmly against the tree. Ilya's piss rapidly fills his ass, and Shane bends slightly more at the waist, letting it drain up into his body, not wanting to waste a drop of the filthy, perfect gift Ilya is forcing into him.
It feels unnervingly good—warm and weirdly comforting in the cold night—and Shane can't help the way his body clenches around Ilya's softening cock, trying to milk it of everything he has to offer.
"Such a good boy," Ilya soothes, rubbing the flat of his hand up and down Shane's shaking spine, "taking all of my piss."
Shane feels the stream come to an end inside him, and he can't help but sigh with relief. He feels full—his belly is bloated with it, pressing outward under his abs. He's ready to let it out, to unashamedly (well, with some shame) squat down at the end of Hayden's garden and drain all of Ilya's piss back out into nature.
But Ilya seems to have another idea. He takes the dangling plug from Shane's hand, slowly pulling out of his loose hole. The second the head slips out, he quickly slides the plug back into place, pushing all of the piss deeper into Shane's body and stoppering him up.
Shane is going to pass out. He grabs onto the tree with both hands, sucking in a deep breath of fresh night air. Ilya's hands steady his hips as Shane wobbles on weak knees. He's so fucking full; he feels like he's going to die.
"Fuck," Shane whimpers, "no. Absolutely not."
Ilya waits patiently, one hand sliding up to rub Shane's back soothingly.
Shane takes a shaky breath. Then another. The more breaths he takes, the easier it gets, until he's breathing halfway normally again, his brain slowly calming down from panic mode.
So he doesn't say Red. He doesn't even say Yellow. He could, but he doesn't want to. "Green, you fucking asshole," he spits, and Ilya chuckles darkly behind him, reaching down to tug Shane's shorts back up into place and helping him stand up straight.
It's awful—Shane's not sure he'll even be able to walk. Ilya turns him around and tugs him into a tight embrace, his bare chest cold against Shane's. "You are perfect," Ilya whispers in his ear, moving his head just enough to take Shane's lips in a tender kiss. When he pulls away from Shane's mouth, he presses their foreheads together, meeting Shane's eyes. "Hayden will get over it," he murmurs, smoothing his thumb over Shane's cheek. "He cannot be a prude about sex when he has one million children."
Shane can't help but snort a soft laugh, tugging Ilya back in for another hug. "We are going straight home," he demands against Ilya's ear. "I'm not hanging out here for two more hours with your piss plugged in my ass, you piece of shit."
He can hear the smile in Ilya's voice when he says, "Deal."