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Shane had an idea and acted on it.
He spent the evening at some boring fundraising gala in New York, suited up, his hair done, and his best smile plastered on his face. Except tonight it isn’t boring, because he is sporting a secret that makes him fidget so much, you’d think he is hiding a knife.
Instead, underneath his dark blue suit pants, Shane has been wearing light pink panties and white thigh highs that are held up by frilly garters wrapped around his thighs.
He wouldn’t be surprised if someone sees the imprint of them at the gala. When he sits down, his pants hug his thighs so well he has to put a napkin on his lap or people would be able to see the outline of the frills through the fabric. It makes him feel so naughty, so on edge of being found out. He has been hard all night.
The whole time he can’t wait to get back to the hotel. To the room he shares with his fiancée, because the Centaurs know everything by now and they’re not necessarily hiding anymore. He pities the ones occupying the rooms adjacent to theirs.
No, Shane can’t wait to get back and be with Ilya in private. To show him. Show him how naughty he’s been. Show him what he’s wearing underneath his suit. Remind him that underneath his professional demeanor and dazzling smile, he is actually a vixen.
So, when Ilya finally closes the door behind them and immediately starts kissing him, Shane gratefully lets himself be led toward the sofa (which he thinks is an ugly yellow) right next to the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. Their lips never part as they stumble across the dimly lit room.
It seems Shane isn’t the only one who is hot and bothered; Ilya is practically eating him. Shane lets him, loving the messy open mouthed kiss. Loving the way Ilya greedily sucks on his tongue and sighs into his mouth.
Shane feels giddy, his cock straining the front of his pants, probably leaving a wet spot in his panties already. He can’t help it. Ilya looks so good in a suit and kissing him while they’re both in suits winds him up so fucking much, it’s a wonder he’s still breathing. Especially with Ilya’s tongue practically down his throat.
A moan leaves his lips when Ilya sits him down on his thigh, his cock squeezed between himself and Ilya’s leg, the panties suddenly way tighter around his ass. The way his thighs thicken in this position strains the garters and tests the elastic of the socks wrapped around his legs.
The sound is immediately swallowed by Ilya, who hungrily laps into his mouth, his tongue eager and wet.
Shane’s heart is thumping against his ribcage, ready to burst out the moment Ilya finds out his secret. Everything feels too hot. The room, Shane's clothes, the kiss. Their tongues are pressed against each other, licking and flicking until they break apart.
Shane shakes off his suit jacket and feels Ilya’s strong hands on his waist, his thumbs rubbing circles, crinkling Shane’s white dress shirt. He wants to fold the garment and place it neatly on the couch next to them, but their lips meet again, desperate and hungry, before he gets the chance. Ilya sucks on Shane’s plump lower lip, pulling a shaky moan from Shane’s throat, before he licks back into Shane’s open mouth.
Then Ilya’s hands move down, over Shane’s wide hips, toward his thighs.
Shane’s heart leaps to his throat and he keens when Ilya’s fingers bump into the outline of the frills on the garters.
Ilya stills, his mouth hanging open against Shane’s for a second, before he pulls back and looks down between them. “What are—” He cuts himself off, fingers skimming the humps on Shane’s clad thighs.
Nervously playing with the end of Ilya’s black leather tie, Shane swallows thickly. “I have a surprise.” He had hidden the panties, thigh highs, and garters in his suitcase to ensure Ilya wouldn’t find out, then brought them all the way to New York. Somehow, doing this in a city that isn’t their own makes him ten times more excited, ten times more horny.
Ilya’s hazel eyes darken as his lips quirk up expectantly. “Oh?”
Shane licks his suddenly dry lips and nods, strands of hair falling over his eyes and momentarily obstructing his view until Ilya brushes them back.
“What surprise?” Ilya asks, his gaze going back to Shane’s hips and thighs. His look is intense, as though he wishes he could burn through the fabric with his eyes and have a look. “Stand up and show me.”
Shane bites his lower lip. His knees are a bit weak as he stands up from Ilya’s lap, an obvious tent in both their pants. He takes off his tie and shirt first, leaving his chest bare except for the engagement ring hanging from his necklace. He notices Ilya staring at it, gaze soft for a moment, before lustfully raking his eyes down.
Suddenly Shane feels very naked, despite still wearing his dark blue slacks, which start feeling increasingly too hot and too tight. The frills of his garters prickle his skin and he presses his thighs together to relieve the itch.
The idea to wear panties and thigh highs came to him when he went shopping with Rose. They went to a lingerie store, because Rose wanted something to surprise Svetlana with, which jump started Shane’s freaky brain.
Would Ilya be into him surprising him with pretty underwear?
“Come on, sweetheart,” Ilya says as he leans back into the sofa and looks up at Shane, whose face feels so hot. He’s sure he resembles a strawberry that’s been ripening in the sun, his freckles being the seeds.
Ilya looks like a rich businessman in his suit and brown oxfords, relaxed on the ugly yellow couch, legs apart and bulge tenting his pants. He has one of his arms draped over the back of the couch, the other lying still on his leg.
Shane swallows thickly.
“Do not be shy, now. Show me,” Ilya encourages, voice insisting.
With trembling hands, Shane folds his dress shirt and puts it on the nearby coffee table before fumbling with his belt. There could be a sexier way to do this, he thinks, but with Ilya staring him down like this he cannot help but be too shaky to put on a striptease. Besides, he has no idea what Ilya will think of what he’s wearing underneath the pants. Which only makes him more nervous. Nervous but excited. His whole being is atwitter.
By the time he has unbuttoned his pants and removed his shoes, he feels like three hours have passed. Then slowly, being careful not to accidentally move the panties out of place, he lowers the dark blue fabric. His bulge pops out, his hard cock barely contained by the pink panties. There is a small bow above the wet spot his leaking dick has created.
“Fuck…” Ilya breathes, drawing out the word as Shane reveals more and more of what he is wearing.
After folding the suit pants and placing them atop his dress shirt, Shane anxiously tugs at the white frills of the garters. His thick, muscular thighs spill out above them as they squeeze around his legs. The thigh highs he's also adorning, which hug his legs snuggly, are a sheer type of white with a bow decorating the front and two straps attaching them to the garters holding them up.
He feels a sexy kind of pretty and when he locks eyes with Ilya again, he gulps at the predatory look in his eyes.
“You wore this all night?” Ilya asks, his voice low. When Shane nods, he nearly growls. “Bozhe moy, Shane.” His eyes are back on Shane’s cock billowing the panties, then the garters, then the thigh highs, as though he doesn’t know where to look, where to begin.
“Do you like it?” Shane asks, still playing with the white frills, neck prickling with sweat.
Instead of answering, Ilya says, “Turn around.”
Shane shudders at the demanding tone and follows the command. When his back is turned to Ilya, he hears him breathe in sharply. He knows what Ilya is seeing, that his ass cheeks are threatening to spill from the panties. It’s a lewd sight, he knows because he checked it out when he first tried them on.
“You make it difficult for me,” Ilya says after a while and Shane can feel his eyes burning on his ass.
“D-Difficult?” Shane stutters and looks back at Ilya only to catch him rubbing himself through his pants. His cock throbs in the tight panties at the sight.
Ilya’s eyes are dark with lust, his pupils dilated. His cheeks are flushed with arousal, evidently turned on if the outline of his hard cock is anything to go by.
“To stay sane,” Ilya exhales, then looks up at Shane. “Walking around the event hiding all of this.” He grabs his length through the fabric of his slacks. Shane watches with wanton. “That is very naughty, sweetheart.”
Shane bites his bottom lip, his ass still facing Ilya. He feels as though Ilya just called him a slut instead of sweetheart, which makes his stomach churn. He’s helplessly standing in the room, waiting for some kind of approval, waiting for Ilya to do something, anything.
The air around them is heavy and thick, just like his rock-hard cock trapped by the soft pink fabric of the panties. He’s going to pass out from all the blood rushing south.
“Come here,” Ilya finally commands.
Shane follows like a good boy, straddles the thigh Ilya is patting, and feels a shock of warmth go through his body at that sudden pressure against his stiff dick.
Ilya’s hands are immediately on his hips, playing with the lace hem of the panties. “After all these years, you still surprise me.”
Shane waves a hand in the hair on the back of Ilya’s neck. “Do you like it?” he asks again, desperate for praise. He needs to know whether seeing him in lingerie is as exciting for Ilya as wearing it is to Shane.
Ilya smirks and sneaks one hand to Shane’s plump ass, giving the cheek a light squeeze. Instead of answering, he cups Shane’s chin and pulls him down for a kiss. He immediately licks into Shane’s willing mouth, claiming his territory, drawing a moan from Shane’s throat.
The kiss turns filthy when Shane starts drooling. Ilya doesn’t complain and laps it up when some spit escapes the corner of his mouth, only to thrust his tongue back into Shane’s mouth and make him forget the nastiness of it.
Shane whimpers when Ilya grabs his hips and pushes him harder down on his thigh. He bucks forward, causing the wet tip of his dick to catch in the lace of his panties. The sensation, heavily overstimulating, makes him grab Ilya’s shoulders tightly. His body is begging him to repeat the motion; the delicious draw of his cock against Ilya’s thigh is addictive.
Ilya breaks the kiss, a string of spit still connecting their lips until he looks down. “So hard already,” he coos, helping Shane move his hips back and forth. “And so wet.” Ilya drags his fingertip over the tip of Shane’s cock, which is just peeking from above the bow, and scoops up a bit of precum while a violent tremor shakes Shane’s body. “You were like this all night?” He brings his fingers to Shane’s lips and makes them glossy with Shane’s own precum.
Another whimper leaves Shane’s lips, unable to form words because, fuck, it feels good when Ilya is just playing with him. He pokes out his tongue to lick his precum off his lips. It’s filthy, it’s sinful, it’s fucking incredible.
Ilya’s big hands are guiding his hips, his cock dragging against the soft fabric of the panties pressed against Ilya’s strong thigh, making him lose his mind.
To make matters worse, or better, Ilya is still completely clothed. Fully suited. While Shane is perched on his lap in just the panties, garters, and thigh highs, engagement ring dangling from his necklace. He feels like a slut. He acts like one too, losing himself in the friction between his cock and Ilya’s thigh. It’s making him feel delirious, high, like a kitten experiencing its first heat.
When Ilya roughly grabs his face, hollowing his cheeks with the press of his fingers, Shane gasps.
“I asked you a question,” Ilya says, forcing Shane to look at him.
Shane nods weakly against the strong grip of Ilya’s hand, which makes Ilya curse under his breath in Russian.
“I bet you were,” Ilya says as he lets go of Shane’s face and places both hands on Shane’s wide hips again - this time not to help him move - but to keep him still. “Bet the risk of people noticing made you so hard.”
Shane’s hips shake as he nods stupidly again, half-lidded eyes focused on Ilya’s lips, waiting for them to start moving again. He is starving for Ilya to loosen the grip on his hips so he can continue grinding his panty-clad dick against Ilya’s thigh.
Ilya smirks. “Tell me.”
A shudder runs down Shane’s spine. He scrambles to find the words; his mind is filled with cotton. “It made me so hard,” he eventually whispers, voice breaking. “Walking around the room, wearing this for you…”
“For me.” Ilya’s hold on Shane’s hips tightens. “That is right. All of this, just for me.”
The possessiveness in Ilya’s voice makes Shane’s clothed cock throb. He nods — which seems to be the only thing he can do — and sighs when Ilya leans forward to plant a kiss on his chest, his nose touching the necklace.
“Only for you,” Shane says, the last word barely making it out of his mouth because Ilya’s hands let go of his hips, giving him the freedom to move. He grabs Ilya’s shoulders and sits back a bit, straddling the middle of Ilya’s thigh. He starts rutting immediately, loving the friction, needing the friction.
A high sound catches in the back of his throat when Ilya leans forward more and closes his lips around one of his nipples. He arches his back to give him better access and throws back his head when Ilya starts sucking.
Shane is so wet, the panties are sticking to his cock and wetting Ilya’s pants. The stickiness adds to the friction, the sliminess of his precum makes his cock move easily. He rides the feeling, rides Ilya’s thigh like it’s the one thing he was put on his earth to do. His hips rock back and forth, canted in a way to make sure his cock stays inside the panties. Sometimes the head peaks above the lace hem, making him mewl inside his mouth, lips pressed tightly together as he loses himself in the pleasure.
Ilya moves to his other nipple, licking it and sucking it into his mouth, making it nice and hard and gleaming with spit.
Shane looks down to bury his nose in Ilya’s curls and inhales deeply. Ilya’s scent, a fresh blend of dark spices, makes his cock throb with want.
“Are you going to fuck me?” Shane asks into Ilya’s hair, his voice high, still rubbing himself against Ilya’s thigh.
Shane shudders when Ilya blows on his wet nipple. “Fuck you?” Ilya asks as he carefully sits back and takes in the sight in front of him. He places his hands on Shane’s waist and smiles mockingly. “You think you deserve that?”
Weakly pulling at Ilya’s leather tie, Shane whines. “Yes,” he whimpers, eyes locked on Ilya’s, though he can’t see much through his horny haze. “I’ve been good…” He moans, pressing himself harder against Ilya’s leg. “L-Look so pretty for you—”
Shane gasps when Ilya suddenly sits up and gives his ass a mean smack. Then Ilya’s hand is on his face again, thumb pressed against his lips. Shane opens his mouth willingly, his hips motionless.
“Like a pretty fucking slut, yes,” Ilya growls. He moves his free hand to the front of Shane’s panties and tugs at the lace. “Look at the fucking mess you make.” He yanks Shane’s face downward, forcing him to look.
Though Ilya’s arm is blocking part of his view, Shane can see how his precum has leaked through the panties onto Ilya’s pants, creating a wet spot. Despite himself, he feels more wetness leaking out and watches his cock throb.
It’s so messy.
Shane whimpers when Ilya forces his head up again.
“I bet you wanted people to notice what you were wearing underneath your suit,” Ilya goes on, voice dangerously low. “You think that is being good?”
Shane feels tears pricking the back of his eyes. Fuck. Frenzied with want and so turned on when Ilya talks to him like this, Shane feels like he’s going to float. He sucks on Ilya’s thumb to keep himself grounded.
“You think you deserve being fucked?”
Whimpering again, Shane blinks away the moisture in his eyes. He shakes his head slowly.
Ilya seems pleased with that answer. “That is right, kotyonochek.” He takes his thumb out of Shane’s greedy mouth, watching some spit fall down between them because Shane is salivating so much, it’s embarrassing. Ilya grins as he lightly taps Shane’s hot face. “You will ride my thigh, da? Make yourself come like this like the little whore you are.”
A shudder runs down Shane’s spine, his cock growing impossibly harder at the name calling. He feels hot all over with Ilya looking at him with a challenging glint in his eyes. Part of him can’t believe what Ilya is asking of him, the other part is excited to show him that he can be good.
“Put on good show for me,” Ilya continues. “Maybe I will fuck you in these pretty panties after.”
Shane whines, excitement pushing away all feelings of embarrassment as he starts rubbing himself against Ilya’s thigh again, spreading the wetness.
The panties are tight around his leaking cock and the garters chafe against his shaking thighs. With each undulation of his hips, he feels a bit more delirious, riding a wave so delicious he doesn’t care that Ilya is watching him intensely. He loves that Ilya is watching him intensely. And by the looks of the large tent in Ilya’s suit pants, he’s enjoying what he’s seeing.
Shane feels good pressing his groin down hard on the thick muscles of Ilya’s thigh. His hips stutter ever so slightly because, fuck, he is losing his mind. Humping a thigh shouldn’t feel this good, but it does. His sight is hazy, his eyes half-lidded, and all he can focus on is the warmth building in his stomach.
Somewhere, he registers that he started drooling, again - a lot - with his mouth agape and moaning as Ilya scoops the spit off his chin to use it on his hard nipples. His whole body trembles when Ilya rubs circles around the sensitive nubs before pinching them, making him moan filthily.
At some point he can’t keep himself up and hunches forward, bringing his face closer to Ilya’s, lips apart and eyes teary. His movements start becoming erratic, desperate, pathetic.
“That is a good boy,” Ilya croons.
Shane loses it, because finally, finally, there is the praise he needed to hear. He moans loudly, rutting against Ilya with a neediness he rarely felt before. A throaty gasp leaves his mouth when a hand buries in his hair and yanks his head back. Then there are lips on his throat nipping at the skin.
“Use my thigh,” Ilya rasps against Shane’s neck.
“F-Fuck,” Shane groans, the sound guttoral, strained. He doesn’t stop moving his hips as his face scrunches up in pleasure. The tension pulling his hair causes more blood to flow south, pushing him to the edge with a speed that makes him dizzy.
He lets out a husky groan, body shuddering as he gets closer and closer and—
“Don't come yet.”
The words hit Shane like a rock as he slumps forward. The hand in his hair is gone and he wails into Ilya’s sweaty neck. His fists are balled in the front of Ilya’s dress coat as he drags his hips slowly, savouring the feeling that has been building up, trying very hard not to tip over the edge.
His cock is weeping, throbbing painfully, begging for more friction, begging for release. He wants to cry. “Ilya…” he howls and gathers all his strength before he pushes himself up again so he can look at the man, eyes wet and pleading. “Please.”
Shane wants to be good, has to be good.
Ilya smiles sweetly and places his hands on Shane's ass, fingers toying with the hem of the panties. He slides them under the fabric, the tips dipping into the crack, making Shane squirm.
“You look so pretty for me tonight,” Ilya says, the curl of his lips gaining an edge because he knows the power of those words.
The praise shoots straight to Shane's cock and he mewls softly. It's torturous how slowly he's rutting against Ilya’s thigh. He feels the lug of it, sticky and wet, but he can't seem to stop.
“These panties, the high socks, fuck…” Ilya eyes Shane as he slides his hands down his ass towards his thighs. “These…” — he pulls at the garters and looks up at Shane again — “will look good around my waist when I fuck you.”
Another pathetic sound leaves Shane's throat as he bites his lower lip, eyes fixated on Ilya's. “Please,” he begs again.
“Please what?”
Shane gulps, feeling one of Ilya’s hands run up his stomach, over his abs, toward his neck. “Please,” he repeats, helpless.
When Ilya slaps his ass again with the hand that is not on his neck, Shane squeaks as his hips jolt. The sudden, short friction against his cock and the sharp sting on his behind make his head spin.
“Please,” he quickly rasps, eyes so teary that Ilya turns blurry. “Please, let me come.” He yelps when Ilya spanks him again while gently holding his throat. “Please, please, please— I want to come on your thigh, p-please.” Another slap, another gasp. “I’ll be good, I'll ride your thigh. I'll come like this.” He sounds pathetic, out of breath, out of his mind.
It pleases Ilya, it seems, because instead of spanking him, he rubs Shane's stinging ass cheek and even nudges him forward. “Go on then,” Ilya says in a low voice. “Show the world how good it feels.”
Shane glances over at the windows as he starts picking up speed again. A cold shudder rattles through his body upon the sight of all the flickering city lights. They’re high up, he knows, but the possibility of someone seeing him like this, someone that is not Ilya, makes his stomach churn pleasurably.
The pressure on his neck tightens, making it harder for him to breathe.
“Gonna show everyone how easily you can make yourself come on my thigh?”
Shane whimpers before his half-lidded eyes flicker back to Ilya, who’s looking back at him with a sexy grin. “Y-Yes,” he stutters, hips rolling in a rhythm that will definitely make him come easily. His mouth hangs open to let out a continuous stream of breathy moans. He has one of his hands gripping Ilya’s bicep, the other on the wrist of the hand holding his throat.
His knees have gone sore from the position he’s been sitting in, his legs shaking and the muscles in his back and hips aching, but he doesn’t stop. The drag of his cock against Ilya’s thigh, against the hard muscles, against the wet fabric of his panties— It’s unfurling him.
“That is it,” Ilya coos as he pulls Shane closer by his neck, their mouths mere inches apart. “That’s a good boy.”
Shane whines, tries to lean in for a kiss, but Ilya holds him in place. So, he just moans, hips stuttering wildly as he gets closer and closer, the familiar warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach.
“Ride my thigh, moy malysh,” Ilya whispers, barely audible above Shane’s whimpering. When Shane’s eyes falter close, Ilya holds his throat a little tighter and says, “Look at me. Look at me.”
“Fuck, fu— uh—ck, fuck.” Shane can’t hold back the string of curses as his orgasm washes over him. He tries looking at Ilya as he comes inside his panties, against Ilya’s thigh. His eyes go cross, his vision bleary with tears and white hot pleasure.
“I know, baby, I know.”
Shane mewls, his whole body shaking, as he spills and spills and spills. There seems to be no end. The cum is seeping through the panties onto Ilya’s pants, making them wetter, making everything messier.
Once the convulsions ebb and he comes back into his body, Shane feels his toes are tingling from the lack of blood flow to his feet. He also finally actually starts feeling the stickiness inside the panties he’s wearing. He wants to look, but Ilya is still holding his neck, preventing him from doing so.
Ilya is looking, brows furrowed, pupils impossibly dilated and lower lip caught between his teeth.
Shane shudders, the warmth of embarrassment spilling from his heaving chest into each of his buzzing limbs. Then Ilya looks at him and Shane gulps. Just from the dangerous look in Ilya’s eyes, he knows this is going to be a long night.
“You made such a fucking mess, sweetheart,” Ilya says, his tone condescending, and Shane squirms in his fiancee’s tight grip. He lets go of Shane’s throat and strokes his neck lovingly. “Ruined your pretty panties…”
“I’m sorry,” Shane squeaks.
Then the tight grip on his neck is back, choking Shane, who splutters helplessly.
“And my brand new pants.”
Shane wants to lean in again, to have Ilya kiss him, but Ilya is still holding him. He blinks away tears. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, desperate.
Ilya’s lips quirk up, his smile mean, and Shane whimpers pathetically. Then, Ilya says:
“Messy boys need to be punished.”