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“I was thinking,” Shane says, pulling back from Ilya’s mouth.
They’ve been lying in bed—their bed in their cottage—for so long just making out. They’ve never had time to just make out. Ilya loves kissing Shane, loves kissing his boyfriend, loves hearing the sounds Ilya can draw from him with just his lips and tongue.
“You think too much,” Ilya replies. He’s not as desperate as he was three days ago when they got to the cottage; he doesn’t actually mind if Shane interrupts sex to share an idea he’s had. Ilya loves hearing his ideas, loves him.
Shane presses a quick kiss to his lips. “Fuck you, I’m serious.”
Ilya mouths at Shane’s neck, right below his ear. “Yes, moya lyubov. What are you thinking of?”
“You haven’t been with anyone since last time, right?” Shane asks. Of course he hasn’t; once Shane held him in that Tampa hotel room, the thought of touching anyone else broke his heart. “And I haven’t either,” Shane continues. “So maybe next time we don’t have to, you know…use a condom.”
Next time can’t come soon enough. Ilya’s already hard just from kissing him, and his cock twitches against Shane’s leg. “Yes,” he responds.
He wants to tell Shane how much he loves him. That Shane is his entire world, the best thing in his life, maybe his reason for living. He wants to tell Shane that he wants to build a life with him, that he wants kids and a dog and a reasonable home in Canada. That he wants summers at the cottage and winters at the cottage, holding hands on walks in the fall. He wants to give Shane hand-picked flowers in the spring. He wonders if Shane has a favorite flower, if anyone’s even thought to give him flowers before.
“Yes,” he says again, capturing Shane’s mouth with his own. He trails his hand down Shane’s chest, his thumbs brushing over his nipples.
Ilya remembers the moment he learned how much Shane loves that. Ilya’s always loved his chest, loved getting his hands on him while sucking his cock. It was an experiment one day, just a light pinch to one nipple to see what would happen. What happened was Shane arching off the bed, whining, his hips bucking up into Ilya’s mouth.
Ilya rolls his nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, rolls his hips to drag his cock along Shane’s. His boyfriend moans into his mouth, his fingers digging into Ilya’s shoulders.
“We don’t have to right now,” Shane mutters. “If you don’t want to.”
“Shane,” Ilya says before pressing his lips to Shane’s throat. “Shut up.”
He pulls one of Shane’s nipples into his mouth, sucking at it and flicking his tongue over it until it’s hard. He pulls it between his teeth, tugging it until Shane gasps his name.
“Please, Ilya,” Shane sighs.
“Yes, sweetheart. Tell me what you need,” Ilya says. He’ll do anything Shane asks, anything he needs, anything he wants.
“You,” Shane replies. “Inside me.”
“You do not want my mouth?” Ilya asks. He loves sucking Shane’s cock, feeling the weight of him on his tongue. He loves eating him out, drawing sounds out of him he’s never heard him make. He loves taking Shane apart with his mouth.
“Fuck, I love your mouth,” Shane says. “I need you now, I can’t wait.”
“Can we try…?” Ilya asks, maneuvering them so they’re on their sides, Ilya pressed up behind him. “I have never had you like this.”
There’s something so intimate about it to Ilya. Logically it’s probably less intimate than missionary, staring into Shane’s eyes, watching him. But he knows he can fuck Shane better from behind, can fuck him deeper. And having him like this, he can still see his face, can still kiss him if he stretches his neck enough.
“Yeah,” Shane breathes. “Fuck, please touch me.”
Ilya turns over to grab the lube from the nightstand, pouring it over his fingers and warming it before circling two fingers around Shane’s hole.
Ilya’s spent maybe hours inside him over the last few days, and Shane’s still so tight. Shane takes him so well, relaxing so beautifully as Ilya sinks one finger inside him.
With other men this always felt like a necessary part of sex. He didn’t want to hurt them, of course, and he recognized the importance of it as foreplay, but it wasn’t the main event.
With Shane, Ilya could probably come just from fingering him. Something about it feels sacred, watching the way Shane responds to his touch. It’s beautiful, having all the time he wants to finger him open. There’s almost nowhere he’d rather be than two fingers deep inside Shane.
Ilya pulls out his fingers, uses the lube on them to slick his cock, and presses inside Shane.
It feels perfect, of course it does, but he truly doesn’t care if he even gets off. It’s not about his own pleasure anymore, it’s about taking care of Shane, about making every moment good for him. Each time he thrusts into him, he hopes Shane feels how much he loves him, that each slow push of his hips is really Ilya saying I love you, I love you, I love you.
“Ilya,” Shane sighs, turning his head to kiss him. “How did we let this happen?”
Ilya can’t bear to look at him. He can’t believe it did happen, that he found someone who treats him like he matters for more than his money or his talent. He can’t believe he found someone he can love like this, who makes him feel better than a new car or dancing at a club or winning a Cup.
“We are both very stupid and irresponsible,” Ilya answers. Two things his father loved to tell him: too stupid to do anything but play hockey, too irresponsible to take care of his family. He’ll be stupid and irresponsible and any other horrible thing his father could ever call him if it means he gets to keep Shane like this forever.
“This is real, right?” Shane asks.
Ilya wants to cry. He feels like he’s dreaming, like the best thing in his life can’t be real, like there’s nothing he could have done to deserve something so good, someone so good.
He can’t even answer. If he speaks, he’ll cry, and he’ll pull Shane out of this perfect bubble they’ve created for themselves. He settles for an affirming hum and a reassuring nod.
“Please fuck me,” Shane says. It’s beautiful, he’s beautiful. Sometimes when he begs, when he says please, he sounds desperate, like he’s been waiting too long to be fucked and needs to get off.
When he says please this time, Ilya wonders if maybe Shane wants the same things. That maybe it’s not just please fuck me, maybe it’s please love me forever, please share your life with me, please stay as long as you can.
As he thrusts into him harder, faster, he thinks maybe this is what making love feels like. Ilya always thought it was kind of a strange term, that something about it seemed inauthentic and, oddly, impersonal. It makes sense now, though, the way he feels as he fucks Shane. He loves him more than he’s ever loved anything, and the whole point of this is making sure Shane knows that.
He thinks maybe they made love too in Tampa. It was different of course, because they hadn’t said it yet. Really it wasn’t all that different from their previous hookups, rushed, hard sex that left them both temporarily satisfied. But Ilya loved him then, and he thinks now that Shane might have known that.
Shane’s looking at him with something like reverence, or awe maybe. Maybe it’s just love, maybe this is what Shane looks like when he’s free from the pressure everyone puts on him and just lets himself be loved for exactly who he is.
Ilya was never one of those men who hated condoms. Yes, he knows now that maybe it dulls some sensations a bit, but getting off had never been a problem. Yes, Shane feels tighter and warmer and even more perfect, but that’s not what Ilya’s focused on.
He can’t stop thinking about the intimacy of it, the vulnerability, this clear understanding that they’re committed to each other.
Shane pushes his thumb into Ilya’s mouth and he sucks at it like it’s the most important thing he knows. Shane watches his mouth, Ilya watches his eyes. They’re heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide. They’re such a beautiful brown, the way the sunlight hits him making his eyes shine.
His freckles are perfect. Freckles that Ilya gets to touch and kiss whenever he wants for the next week and a half.
Ilya drops his head to suck Shane’s nipple into his mouth. Shane’s fingers are tangled in Ilya’s hair like he doesn’t want him to disappear.
“I love you,” Ilya says, his voice low and rough. “God, I love you, Shane.”
“I love you,” Shane replies, his hand cradling Ilya’s face. “I want to feel you come inside me.”
Ilya hasn’t been particularly close. He’s been fucking Shane slowly, tenderly, wanting to make it last. Hearing those words from Shane send a rush through his body, starting at his heart down to his stomach and settling in his dick.
“I do not want this to be over,” Ilya confesses. “I want you forever.”
“You have me forever,” Shane replies. “I’m yours, Ilya.”
Ilya drops his forehead to Shane’s shoulder. “I am yours.”
“Yeah,” Shane says, his voice ragged. “Yeah, show me. Come with me.”
Ilya gets his hand around Shane’s cock, gathering the precome at the tip and using it to ease the glide of his hand.
“I want to feel you come around me like this,” Ilya says. “Only you and me.”
“Ilya, I’m close,” Shane gasps. “Oh fuck, fuck me harder, please.”
He wants to give Shane everything. He snaps his hips against him, pushing inside him as deep as he can, one arm draped over his waist. He can feel his cock through Shane’s stomach, and his eyes roll shut when Shane puts his hand on top of Ilya’s and intertwines their fingers.
“Oh god, I’m coming,” Shane pants. “Fuck, Ilya!”
Shane comes into his hand, coating his own chest and stomach and the freshly-washed sheets. He clenches around Ilya as he thrusts through his own orgasm. He wonders if Shane does feel it, if he’s filled with warmth and wetness, if he feels as loved as Ilya does.
“I love you, Shane,” Ilya says, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”
Shane tilts his head back, resting it against Ilya’s forehead. “Je t'aime, Ilya. I love you.”