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Shane has started to suspect Ilya has a… thing.
Nothing crazy. It’s almost too subtle to catch. But Shane is maybe borderline obsessed with his boyfriend and can say with confidence that he knew Ilya better than anyone else on the planet.
It started, if he’s being honest, about a year ago. Over a video phone call crossing two continents, Ilya seeking comfort when he was alone and Shane gladly offering it. He had made the request of him for the first time then, and Shane had already been too horny to find it suspect as he stripped.
Now, it comes up fleetingly. A hungrier, surprise kiss while in the kitchen in the morning. A sneaking hand under his shirt during the late evening on the couch while Shane reads a novel. Ilya drops to his knees without prompting when Shane is going through the mail.
Shane thinks his boyfriend really, really likes it when he wears his glasses.
They tend to have morning practice off after a game so Shane made the drive to Ottawa to stay the night. He’s watching Ilya watch him through the corner of his eye, pretending to read in bed while he thinks. It wasn’t something they explicitly discussed. Ilya had said in the past that he likes his glasses but it wasn’t something Ilya, nor Shane, had pushed. Outside of that one incident of phone sex, Ilya had never requested it on purpose. Their sex life was already so active that it wasn’t really as much of a priority to figure out what got the other just a notch hotter. No need to get particularly creative when all it took to get Shane hard and leaking between his legs was a quiet command to get on his knees.
“Something on my face?” he asks casually, turning his neck. Ilya smiles privately, golden in their bedroom light.
“Yes,” Ilya answers simply and unhelpfully, leaning up from his place on his pillow with pursed lips to silently ask for a kiss. Shane obliges, the kiss soft and close-mouthed. They’re both tired from long overtime home games and it doesn’t go anywhere that night.
Later though, Shane decides to test his theory.
He waits about a week until they have a slightly longer break between games, leaving them a full 24 hours with no commitments or practices. It gives him time to prepare. Shane finds Ilya in the living room, finishing up a phone call in Russian. He’s meandering in circles as he talks which tells Shane it’s a catch up phone call. He wraps his arms around Ilya’s waist from behind, resting his cheek against the width of his strong back.
“Мне нужно идти, я позвоню позже,” Ilya ends the call, hanging up. He tosses his phone onto the couch to thread their fingers together and he leans back into Shane.
“Svetlana?” Shane asks, voice slightly muffled.
“Mm, Да,” he confirms, wiggling a bit in Shane’s grip to turn and face him. This way, Shane gets to watch Ilya’s eyes droop a little more hooded and smile become a little more sultry. Like clockwork. “Hello. You look good, Моя любовь, my love.”
“Yeah?” Shane prompts, tilting his head coyly. He had pulled his hair back intentionally, a plan already in mind, and was wearing his thick rimmed reading glasses.
“Yes,” Ilya agrees, “you were reading?”
“Mmm,” Shane hums noncommittally, already leaning in. Ilya responds eagerly, opening up against him almost immediately. Ilya softly groans into his mouth as Shane slips in his tongue the way he knows his boyfriend likes. Shane lets him gain control of the kiss, letting it grow hotter and wetter, but stops him when he feels one hand slip up under his shirt while the other reaches up to set his glasses aside. It’s enough to make Ilya lean back and tilt his head curiously.
“No?” Ilya questions, looking back and forth between Shane’s eyes. His lenses have started getting a little foggy, an unexpected hazard but Shane rallies. He gives Ilya a slow, easy smile, and shakes his head. “I want something else. Is that okay?”
“Is always okay,” Ilya agrees immediately, leaning forward to kiss him again. Shane allows it for a few seconds before pulling back again, letting them just share air. He locks eyes with Ilya, trying to project as much heat and lust as he can.
Deliberately, he sinks down to his knees while maintaining eye contact.
Shane noses at Ilya’s crotch and looks up at Ilya over the rim of his glasses. He hears the man swallow with an audible click.
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya breathes.
“Is this okay?” Shane checks, pressing a soft kiss to the quickly growing bulge in front of him. Ilya laughs breathlessly.
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he tells him, and Shane knows him well enough to know he’s only half joking. Hypothesis strengthened.
Shane leans away for a second to take off his glasses, place them on his lap, and strip out of his shirt. Ilya copies him, and as he undresses, Shane puts his glasses back on.
“Yes,” Ilya breathes, running his fingers over Shane’s hair, catching a few stray strands out of the ponytail. He pushes up the bridge of Shane’s glasses as he traces his fingers down over his face, making Shane give him a half smile before letting Ilya slip two of his fingers into Shane’s mouth. He sucks on them briefly, eyes fluttering at the taste of skin.
After a minute of that, Shane drops his fingers, and leans his head against Ilya’s clothed thigh, looking up. “Let me?” Ilya’s cock gives a valiant twitch through his sweats, brushing against Shane’s nose.
Ilya answers by slipping down the waistband of his sweats and boxers to his knees in one go, hard cock jutting up to slap against his stomach. Shane hums, pleased, helping Ilya step out of his clothes to leave him fully naked.
“I love your cock,” Shane murmurs with half lidded eyes, nosing against the throbbing hot flesh.
Ilya gives him a raspy laugh. “I know Малыш, baby. You are such a sweet cockslut for me.” He grasps his own cock and taps the head against Shane’s bottom lip. He’s leaking enough to smear precum. Shane moans, both at the taste and the dirty talk. Shane may have only just realized how far Ilya’s thing for his glasses goes, but Ilya had mastered Shane’s praise kink almost six years ago.
Shane ducks down then to lick at the base of Ilya’s dick, making Ilya let go of himself, intentionally letting it drag over his face and glasses. He feels a little stupid, feeling the head of Ilya’s cock bump against his frames clumsily, getting his lenses a bit messy but Ilya groans out loud, his other hand darting forward to tangle his fingers through his hair again.
“Shit, I need your mouth,” Ilya breathes, already panting. Usually he was able to keep his composure for much longer. Shane is feeling more than a little smug.
“Do you?” Shane teases, licking up the superficial vein along the length of his dick. He digs his tongue under the head of his cock through his foreskin before ducking down again and sucking on one of his balls with no warning. Ilya jerks against him, cursing.
“Dammit, Hollander,” Ilya hisses, “you’re being a brat.”
Shane simply hums, letting a smirk linger. But he is admittedly being mean, so he shows mercy by sinking his mouth down the length of Ilya’s cock until his nose brushes his pubic bone. They both moan loudly.
“Fuck, look at you,” Ilya whispers near reverent. He thumbs at the edge of Shane’s lips where they’re stretched as far as they’ll go around his dick. Shane closes his eyes as Ilya adjusts his glasses, simply holding Ilya in his mouth. He’s far enough down Shane can feel him just barely slip in and open up his throat. “You’re fucking gorgeous like this.”
Shane chooses to move in reply. He settles into a comfortable rhythm, hands obediently in his lap as he works Ilya with just his mouth. Ilya gasps and curses, cupping his jaw.
Shane has gotten good at this, with almost ten years of practice on specifically one man. It helps that he loves this. He loves having Ilya’s cock in his mouth, being on his knees or his face in Ilya’s lap so his boyfriend can pet him. Craves the weight of Ilya on his tongue, the velvet, silky feel of foreskin slipping over the throbbing, hard length of him. The slightly salty, slightly sweet taste leaking down his throat. Like this, Shane could let his mind go, one of the only ways his buzzing brain unlatches for a bit and goes blissfully blank. It’s okay giving up control like this, giving up control to Ilya because he knows his boyfriend will treat it like it’s precious. So Shane lets himself get messy, spit down the sides of his mouth, and desperate, choking on him as he takes him down just half an inch more than he should.
Ilya curses and instinctively thrusts into Shane’s mouth making him moan desperately. Ilya pulls himself back, apology already on his lips, but Shane doesn’t let him, gasping to catch his breath. He can only guess how he looks right now, cheeks flushed, mouth wrecked, eyes watering under his glasses, but he knows by the look on Ilya’s face that it is definitely doing it for his boyfriend.
“Fuck me,” Shane demands, throat already deep with gravel, “please Ilyusha fuck my mouth, I want it.”
“Oh my god,” Ilya briefly closes his eyes, swallowing hard, before reaching to cup Shane’s jaw. Shane automatically shifts to nuzzle into his touch, a soft sigh escaping him.
“Так мило, so sweet,” Ilya murmurs, praise warm. He drags up one of Shane's hands to rest on Ilya's thigh. “You are such a good boy for me, sweetheart. Two taps to stop, okay?” Shane could melt, nodding a little dazed. He simply hums when Ilya’s grip on his face becomes firmer to keep him in place, long fingers spanning from the back of his neck and to his chin. He lets his eyes flutter shut as Ilya uses his other hand to guide his face by the crown of his head, Shane’s mouth opening instinctively when he feels Ilya’s cock against his lips.
“Fuck, yes that’s it,” Ilya grits out, not bothering to ease him into it as he uses Shane, knowing he can take it. He finds a rhythm in pulling his mouth down onto him and thrusting up into Shane. Shane willingly lets his neck go loose, feeling his eyes water up and track tears down his cheeks under his glasses.
“God, so fucking pretty when you cry, fuck,” Ilya groans, eyebrows furrowed as if in pain, “oh shit, sweetheart, I’m not going to last.”
Shane responds by opening up his throat to slide the last inch of Ilya’s cock past that last ring of cartilage and swallows hard.
Ilya gasps, hand tight in Shane’s hair as a warning. Shane knew his boyfriend well enough to know exactly when he was going over the edge.
He lets Ilya pull him off his dick but doesn’t go too far back as Shane quickly strips Ilya’s spit-slick cock with a hand. Making eye contact over the rim of his glasses, he lewdly sticks out his tongue under the head, making his intentions clear. And if he had any lingering doubts about this kink, Ilya’s immediate reaction to the view dissuades them.
“Jesus fuck, Shane,” Ilya swears brokenly, hips jerking as he finishes over Shane’s tongue, face, and glasses. Ilya comes hard enough that a thick strip of cum streaks over the lenses and onto his forehead, dripping down his chin. Shane closes his eyes, gasping for breath as his mind hums in single-tone. He can feel Ilya’s cum dripping and taste it on his tongue. Shane swallows it down, eyes still shut and sighs in pleasure.
“Fuck,” Ilya breathes, voice cracking, “you are impossible. Un-fucking-real.” Shane can’t help but smile a little dopily, eyes fluttering open. Ilya has his arm braced against the wall next to them, as if he couldn’t trust himself on his own two feet, with his face flushed and eyes glazed. Shane watches as Ilya bites lip, an uncommon characteristic that Shane now knows means Ilya was considering something he didn’t think he could say.
“Ilya?” Shane prompts gently, head tilting. It’s all it takes.
“I want a picture of you like this,” Ilya blurts out loud, and immediately flushes. Shane fucking lives for it when Ilya blushes, because he so rarely does. “Shit, please Shane, let me— I want to be able to look at you like this again.”
Shane blinks, surprised, but then bites his own lip. They’re still so careful about photographic evidence. It was a hard habit to break after years of hiding. A leak would be catastrophic to their post-retirement plan. Devastating to their careers.
But Ilya notices his hesitance, a little bit of clarity in the post-orgasm haze. He’s already doubling back, reassurances on his tongue, and Shane decides.
“Okay,” he answers, blinking slowly up at him. Absently, he licks at a drop of cum that dripped over his top lip with the tip of his tongue. Ilya watches him like he’s starved.
“O-okay?” Ilya stumbles, and Shane smirks. It’s been a long time since he’s managed to get his boyfriend so caught off guard so completely. Usually Ilya stayed in complete control until just the very end, the pleasure of Shane’s body finally enough to shatter that aloofness. And Shane loves it when Ilya is demanding of him, when he’s the one in charge telling Shane what to do. But he most definitely also appreciates this desperate version of his boyfriend too, one that only Shane has ever seen.
“For your secret album, yeah?” Shane confirms, referring to the password protected albums they both have on their phones. It holds the most precious photos they have, kept over the years of their relationship even with the risk of having them. Shane has only kept six, and he knows Ilya only has maybe one or two more. Still, neither album has a photo quite like the one Shane is offering. Any nudes they send each other are usually the first to be permanently deleted immediately afterwards. “I know you haven’t been just joking every time you say you want a sex tape, Ilya.”
For a second, Shane thinks he might have really just short-circuited his boyfriend.
“Christ, you are going to kill me,” Ilya mutters under his breath, “you are trying to kill me Hollander, fuck. Stay like that. Don’t you dare move.”
Shane waits patiently on his knees as Ilya scrambles for his phone on the couch cushions. He returns in seconds, swiping open the camera feature and suddenly Shane is shy. He has always been awkward in front of a lens but looking up at his boyfriend with the phone in between them felt particularly… objectifying. Explicitly exhibitionist.
Shane can’t lie and say it doesn’t turn him on a little. He’s learning something a little new about himself today too apparently.
“Still okay?” Ilya checks, and Shane gives him a half smile and nods, doing his best to look coy.
“Good,” Ilya exhales. “Look at me.”
Shane can’t tell when he takes the picture, the shutter sound turned off, but sighs softly as Ilya reaches down and traces along the tracks his cum left behind slowly down his cheeks. He’s so very careful not to disrupt them. Shane parts his lips automatically when Ilya’s fingertips reach his mouth and easily accepts them, a mirror of the start of the sex today. He hums happily as he takes his fingers deeper, sucking on them obediently as he looks up at the camera with hooded eyes.
“Just like that,” Ilya murmurs, swallowing absently. “O, Боже мой.” Oh my god. He’s already growing hard again. Shane has barely flagged this entire time.
It doesn’t take long for Shane to get impatient, both with the throbbing need between his legs and the increasingly uncomfortable tacky feel of cum drying on his skin. He leans back onto his heels and Ilya lets him, helping him up from his cracking, hockey-injury knees. Ilya doesn’t wait to capture his mouth in a languid kiss.
“You are so beautiful,” Ilya whispers against lips, and Shane felt heat travel down his spine when Ilya kissed up his jaw to his cheekbone, small and confident flicks of his tongue cleaning his own spend off Shane’s skin. The bridge of his nose hits the rim of Shane’s glasses on his journey and Ilya huffs a laugh. Shane demands Ilya’s mouth back on his.
“Ilya,” Shane breathes when they finally have to break apart for air, “baby, please.”
His boyfriend shushes him with another gentle kiss. “What sweetheart? Anything you want, tell me.”
“Need you in me,” Shane pleads. “Please, right here, need you to fuck me.”
Ilya tugs him back, sitting down on the couch when the back of his knees hit the seat. Shane follows easily.
“Of course, Дорогой, darling,” Ilya reassures, brushing a thumb against his mostly clean cheekbone while his other hand rubs his thigh through Shane’s pants. He pushes Shane’s glasses back up again, “take off your clothes.”
Shane obeys, lifting up just enough to push down his own sweatpants, and Ilya helps him balance to pull them completely off, leaving him nude on Ilya’s lap. Ilya hums in approval when it’s clear that Shane had foregone underwear, his cock leaking through and dripping and sliding against Ilya’s second erection.
“Always so wet for me,” Ilya teases, looking far too smug when he wraps a hand around him and gives him one fleeting tug that makes Shane choke. He starts reaching for the side table for where they keep their lube, and it’s a testament to how hot the whole session has been because it takes a moment for Shane’s brain to kick back on and remember his last surprise.
“Wait,” Shane mumbled, grasping Ilya’s wrist, “you don’t need to. Don’t need prep, you can fuck me like this.”
Ilya frowns a little at that. “Raw? My love, no, I will hurt you, I will not—“
“That’s not what I mean,” Shane shakes his head before guiding Ilya’s hand back towards his ass. He bites his bottom lip as he watches the confusion on his brow turn into surprise and then finally settle into heated awe. He lets out a whimper as Ilya gives an experimental push.
“Holy shit,” Ilya laughs incredulously, “you— Jesus, Hollander, just when I thought you couldn’t get any hotter.”
Shane flushes with the praise and opens his mouth to respond but whatever he was going to say gets choked out of him when Ilya finds the base of the toy and thrusts the butt plug he had secretly hidden under his clothes back into him.
“Oh god,” he groans, hands tight on Ilya’s shoulder. He’s so sensitive after being stretched out for so long, and he’s trembling now as Ilya teases him. He has been so completely focused on Ilya that he had been able to push past the low grade sensation but it was coming to catch him off guard now.
“You could come just like this couldn’t you?” He’s twisting the toy in him now.
“Ilya, fuck,” Shane gasps “just— just take it out, god fuck!”
“Mmm, but my boyfriend was so naughty, coming down those stairs in his slutty glasses and a secret plug shoved in his ass just to suck me off,” Ilya muses, “I think he deserves a little punishment for it. You remember your safeword?”
Shane just barely manages to nod, whispering, "breakaway."
Ilya hums in approval. "Good." He spanks Shane’s left cheek, and the jolt of it rubs the plug against his prostate. It’s almost too much as Shane cries out. “Count.”
Shane’s mind goes suddenly, blissfully blank. Ilya doesn’t punish him like this often, only when they’re both flying high, and it never fails to shatter Shane. He doesn’t remember breathing out a shaky “one” but he whines as Ilya continues, obediently counting each hit that sends him farther and farther up out of his head. By the time they get to six, Shane is weak against Ilya, unconscious whimpers escaping him. The toy is almost too much inside of him, driving him mad.
“Please,” he pleads in his elementary Russian, head tucked into the crook of Ilya’s neck. “Ilyusha, need you. Please.”
He lets Ilya pull his face away from his hiding spot, Ilya squeezing his cheeks with one hand as he stares. Shane knows there’s tear tracks down his face already, and he can still see the line of Ilya’s cum on his lenses.
“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya groans to himself. He clenches his jaw with dark eyes before he nods. “You’ve been so good for me sweetheart, you earn a reward.”
Shane nearly sobs in relief when Ilya reaches behind him and slowly pulls out the toy. He can feel his hole gaping, stretched open for so long, and he shivers. Ilya plays with him a little bit, lazily plunging two fingers into him like he owns Shane’s hole before pulling away again. They both scramble with the lube and Ilya slicks himself up with one hand and holds his cock steady. Shane’s hand braces against the back of the couch as Ilya helps him position his cock against his entrance, and Shane can feel his pulse fluttering in his throat. Before Ilya lets him move, he uses his free hand to cup Shane’s face, pulling him close and trapping him in a possessive kiss. “Okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs against his lips once Shane can barely breathe, “go ahead and fuck yourself on my cock.” They’re both watching as Shane exhales and lowers himself, letting the head of Ilya’s dick breach him.
“Ohh fuck,” Shane moans when he’s starts stretching out, jaw clenching before he bites his bottom lip. He’s bracing himself with two hands now as he lets gravity do the work of taking his boyfriend. Ilya devoutly watches the place where he disappears into Shane, religious fervor bright in his blue eyes.
Ilya has always been huge, but like this, Shane is forced to feel every inch of him as deep as he can possibly go. He’s panting by the time they join, hip to hip, and fully bottoms out.
“Jesus Hollander,” Ilya lets his head drop back on the couch, fingers pressing indentations into Shane’s skin. “You feel perfect every fucking time.”
Ilya kisses the skin he can reach with the most ease, soft and tender presses of his lips against his clavicle and base of his throat. He mercifully stays completely still as Shane adjusts, rubbing gentle circles against his hip when Shane makes a soft overwhelmed noise.
“Shh,” he soothes, and Shane wants to cry, heart pounding too fast. Ilya is almost too much for him, stretching him out so far he can feel it in his chest. They don’t use condoms anymore, not since going exclusive, and Shane can feel his boyfriend’s pulse inside him through his fucking throbbing dick. “Take your time sweetheart. So fucking good for me.”
Shane shudders out a breath, and starts grinding his hips in small circles. They both make quiet punched out noises, Ilya’s grip tightening on him.
“God you’re so fucking much,” Shane blurts out, jaw clenching as he moves, each drag against his walls feeling almost raw already. “You always fill me so good.”
Ilya makes a low noise in his chest, and shifts to match Shane’s next thrust with his own. Shane gasps, pleasure spiking up his spine.
“Okay?” Ilya asks, watching his face, his eyes roaming and oh, he’s looking at his glasses. Shane huffs out a breathy laugh, nodding. “Mmm.” He kisses Ilya syrupy sweet, slowly but surely finding a comfortable rock of his hips that Ilya mimics. “You feel so good,” Shane gasps into his mouth. “So good, love having you in me.”
Without warning, he moves up and forward then drops down on Ilya’s cock hard and fast, taking all of him in one smooth motion. He cries out loud as he does, feeling the pleasure of it shoot through him.
“God fucking—“ Ilya swears, teeth gritted. Any gentle restraint he had left vanishes. Shane whines, fingers grasping for purchase as Ilya takes that as an invitation to slam his cock into Shane, gripping his hip to keep him steady. Shane gives as good as he takes, riding him hard and fast until he feels his thighs burn and he’s whimpering punched out noises with Ilya’s grunts. He’s losing his rhythm.
“Fuck,” Shane exhales against Ilya’s temple, muscles growing lax in exhaustion, “fuck, yes, need more, baby, please—“
Without pulling out of him, Ilya flips them with an ease that sets Shane on fire. He’s easily over 200 pounds but his boyfriend can still throw him around as if he weighs nothing. Shane’s now under Ilya and splayed out on the couch. He knows he looks good, intentional with seducing Ilya this afternoon, but he has never felt as desired as he does in his boyfriend’s hungry gaze.
Ilya is debauched, hair a mess from Shane’s wandering hands, chest flushed. He lets Shane adjust to the new position for a moment, leaning down to kiss him desperately. Being laid out like this means that Ilya can find better leverage, one of his knees next to Shane’s up on the couch with his other foot on the floor. With one arm braced against the arm of the couch behind Shane’s head and the other bending him nearly in half, he starts fucking Shane stupid.
“Oh-hh f-fuck,” Shane whimpers involuntarily, reaching up to grab Ilya’s wrist above his head. They’re panting into each other’s mouths, their kisses almost too sloppy to be called kisses. “F-uck! Yes, right there, please, right there!” Shane goes a little cross-eyed as Ilya very determinedly fucks every last thought out of his brain. His lenses were smudged, still covered with Ilya’s cum, but he can still see Ilya watching him like he wants to devour him. He shifts on the couch, inadvertently changing their angle. Ilya slips impossibly deeper in his next thrust and they both cry out.
“God. You are unbelievable. Begging for it like this. You are perfect. You and your fucking,” Ilya pants as he punctuates each word with a thrust that rocks Shane’s entire body, “slutty. Glasses. Fuck.”
He’s pretty sure he’s sobbing. “Ne’d to come,” Shane slurs half-deliriously, eyes rolling back as he begs. “Fuuck ‘lya, please, please need’t come. Lemme come.”
“Mmm,” Ilya grunts, bringing his hand down to hold Shane’s face by his jaw. He had managed to nearly fuck his glasses off the bridge of his nose, leaving this askew. Then his hand shifts lower, just barely squeezing around his neck but it’s still enough for Shane to feel the pressure against his windpipe. “Go on then, sweetheart. Come for me.”
Shane might have screamed. He isn’t sure, because he definitely blacks out for a second. His vision goes white then dark as pleasure rocks up his body, a ringing in his ears. It’s almost brutal, how hard his orgasm hits him, and it knocks him out of the stratosphere. He feels himself cum all over himself, spurting hard enough to hit his face and maybe even his glasses.
It takes a few seconds for him to be aware enough to realize Ilya was still going, using him for his pleasure. Shane whines absently a little at the sensitivity, but doesn’t ask Ilya to stop. The bite of pleasure-pain would be enough to take his breath away if he wasn’t already having trouble with it, and he’s drifting, mind cotton-staticky as Ilya takes a few more hard thrusts before pressing in deep and groaning loudly. Distantly, he can feel the hot pulse of him inside, the way he fills him with his cum.
He slips in and out of full consciousness, aware enough to feel Ilya shuffle them just enough to lay next to him on the couch, cuddling up behind him. He hasn’t bothered to pull out, still nestled inside of Shane, and instead pressing them close and adjusting Shane’s ragdoll limbs to fit comfortably before wrapping his arms around his waist.
He is murmuring something in his ear, a low, familiar hum, but it’s the way he was tracing his skin in soothing patterns between gentle kisses that brings Shane back to Earth.
“Идеально. Ты идеален. Такой красивый. Я люблю тебя. Мне так повезло, что ты мой. Я люблю тебя. Я люблю тебя. Ты так много для меня сделал,” Ilya is whispering in Russian, tone warm enough that Shane knows he is being praised. He knows enough Russian to recognize ‘I love you’ with how often Ilya says it to him.
“What are you saying?” Shane croaks out, and he feels Ilya release an exhale.
“Back with me, Солнышко, sunshine?” Ilya murmurs.
Shane mumbles back, “always with you, Ilyusha.” He feels rather than hears Ilya’s breath hitch, quick against his back. “But seriously. I can’t translate with my brain so mushy.”
“Mmm,” Ilya hums, kissing his neck before repeating himself in English. “Perfect. You are perfect. So beautiful. I love you. I am so lucky to call you mine. I love you. I love you. You did so well for me.” Each bit of praise makes Shane burn, until he’s flushed and biting his lip to keep in a whimper. Sensation returns to him slowly but surely and the feeling of Ilya soft inside of him, just holding his cock, is particularly heady.
Another thing to try another day, Shane thinks to himself sleepily, a huff of a laugh escaping him involuntarily. Ilya pauses. “Something funny, Дорогой, darling?”
“Mmm, no. I was thinking of what we could try next time,” Shane replies, but doesn’t elaborate. Before Ilya can pry, he moves, and both Shane and Ilya groan as Ilya slips out of him.
“Oh,” Shane breathes, just holding back a wince. Ilya calms him, soft reassuring noises as rolls Shane onto his stomach. He kisses his shoulder and down his back until Ilya sits up. “Stay here, sweetheart, let me get something to clean you up,” Ilya tells him. Shane’s grateful for it. He feels mostly present now, but there was one time Ilya had left too soon without warning, and Shane’s following drop was almost debilitating.
Shane dozes a little, feeling a warm trickle from his ass but comfortable enough where he is to not bother moving. He feels a comforting hand down his flank, gently encouraging him to hitch up his leg just a little more. He obeys and Shane hears a sharp inhale behind him, and a low groan.
“Ilya?” Shane yawns, tilting his head back. “Something wrong?” Ilya stops him from moving too far.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous down here too,” Ilya murmurs, “fucked full and dripping with my cum.”
Shane feels the responding flush like a warm rush, and he’s sure Ilya can see it run down his back. His hole clenches involuntarily, releasing more of Ilya’s spend, and he hears Ilya curse under his breath. “You want another picture, Rozanov?”
“God, fuck, yes I do,” he groans in a rush like he can't help it, and Shane almost laughs at how much it sounds like a whine, “but I do not want to be too greedy. I feel like sin, you know, one who eats too much.”
“Glutton,” Shane answers, hiding a grin in the crook of his arm. “It’s okay, Ilyusha. If you really want another one I don’t mind.” He bites his lip before he continues. “I kind of want to see too.”
Ilya freezes, hand still holding the back of his thigh. “You’re trying to get fucked again, aren’t you?” Ilya accuses, but his voice is breathless. “Or you are no longer boyfriend, and now succubus. Sex demon. Fuck.” He feels a soft kiss on the swell of his ass and a dip in the couch of which Shane assumes is him reaching to get his phone.
Ilya comes back and kisses his skin as he rearranges Shane for a better view. Shane lets his muscles go loose, relaxing as Ilya poses him with his legs spread just wide enough and dragging up his hips, one leg hitched up with his back arched out. Like this, he can feel the cool air against the wet skin between his ass cheeks, and he shivers as he particularly feels the cum running down the inside and back of his thighs.
“Tilt your head, sweetheart,” he urges, and Shane does, feeling the edge of his glasses dig into his cheek.
“Fuck,” Ilya sighs, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Ilya holding his phone with one hand while squeezing his soft, twitching dick with his other.
He doesn’t take long with the picture though, and Shane shortly feels the soothing feeling of a baby wipe against his sensitive, fucked out skin.
“You are okay? Not hurt anywhere?” Ilya checks as he cleans Shane with gentle touches. Shane shakes his head, still buried in his arms, until Ilya is finished and moves back to hold him, this time face to face.
Once they are, still flushed red, Shane still in his glasses, they make eye contact for a split second and can’t help but burst into breathy laughter, clutching at each other.
“Holy fucking shit, Shane,” Ilya breathes, shaking his head a little. “Wow. Wow.”
“That was insane,” Shane agrees, more than a little pleased with how well his experiment went. “Was good for you?”
“Hollander. Please tell me you are not actually asking me this,” Ilya gestures down between them. “What do you think?” Shane hid his grin by biting his lip.
He lets himself smile a little slyly, tilting his head. “You really like the glasses huh?”
Ilya blinks before the soft laugh turns into a bark.
“Oh, you fucking– yes, you little slut,” he huffs, unable to keep down the incredulous grin. “Yes, I like the fucking glasses. They can stay on during sex.”