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“Do you miss having sex with women?”
Ilya looks over at Shane with his eyebrows raised. They’re lazing on the couch in the cottage, their summer hurtling towards its end faster than either of them want. Pre-season will start up again soon and they’ll have to figure out how to tend to their relationship whilst living in two entirely separate countries. After nearly a decade he supposes they should have a decent grasp on how to manage it, but the stakes feel higher now.
But before Ilya can begin to parse his reply into English, Shane bites his lip and adds, “Unless,” and Ilya’s stomach drops out from him. “I know you said you hadn’t been with anyone else since Tampa but…” he bites his lip. There’s something so tense and sad lingering around Shane’s eyes as he keeps his face turned away from Ilya. “If – if you did, miss sleeping with women, and you –” he swallows thickly, looking like the words are causing him physical pain. “If you – if you wanted to, in Boston when we’re apart…” Ilya doesn’t miss the way Shane’s hands shake slightly as he rubs across the back of his neck. “We don’t have to be exclusive.”
He swears, pushing himself upright, his brain rushing along at a hundred kilometres an hour, desperate to make sure his English doesn’t fail him and he winds up hurting Shane any further. “Moya lyubov’,” he says softly, scooting forwards until he can get his hands on Shane, tugging his arms towards him, tangling his fingers into his hair encouraging him to look at him. He wonders how long this particular fear had been playing on Shane’s mind. “What part of ‘I always wish these women were him’ did you not hear?”
“You can wish they were me whilst you have sex with them,” Shane mumbles, trying to avoid eye contact again.
“Look at me,” he says, forefinger and thumb on his chin, tugging his face back to Ilya’s. “Look at me, Shane,” he repeats. Those beautiful dark brown eyes finally glance back at Ilya. “Moy lyubov’, please listen now. I don’t want anyone else,” he says forcefully. “Okay?”
As though he’s a puppet who’s strings have been cut, Shane slumps forwards, resting his forehead to Ilya’s, a deep shuddering breath escaping his lungs. “Okay.” He swallows with a click, wets his lips, lets his eyes flutter shut, his eyelashes fanning across his pink cheeks. “I don’t – I don’t want anyone else either,” he says rather redundantly, though hearing the words still sends a thrill rocketing up Ilya’s spine.
“Good.” He punctuates it with a kiss. And because he has a sneaking suspicion that Shane’s still a little tender about the subject he adds, “There’s nothing women could give me, I can’t get from you.”
Shane huffs, rolling his eyes and shoving Ilya’s face away from him. “I think I’m missing a couple key parts, Ilya.” His tone is so much lighter now though, and Ilya feels sure they’re getting back to some sort of equilibrium.
“Eh,” he says by way of response. He lets his hands trail suggestively across Shane’s pecs, giving the muscle a squeeze, letting his thumbs tease at the rapidly hardening nubs of his nipples. Shane’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into Ilya’s ministrations. He leans further forwards, nips at Shane’s ear and whispers, voice as low as he can get it, “You have some other, equally as fun parts though.” And to ensure there’s no misunderstanding, he trails his right hand down Shane’s front, to cup him through his sweats.
Shane surges forwards, groaning into a kiss that tilts Ilya’s world on its axis slightly. It feels like he’s being devoured. He’s never been happier.
It feels as though Shane is everywhere, half in Ilya’s lap, fingers tangled in his hair, the slick press of his lips tugging against Ilya’s own. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this. Shane pulls back slightly, chest heaving, pupils blown. He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth before saying, bluntly, “But what is your favourite part about fucking a woman?”
Ilya tampers down the desire to roll his eyes. He drags Shane further forwards until he’s fully in his lap, running his hands over Shane’s thick thighs and delighting in the strong muscle under his palms. He tips his head back, resting it against the back of the couch. Apparently he can’t get away with avoiding this topic all together. He momentarily wishes he hadn’t agreed to their honesty policy at the beginning of their time together at the cottage and then quickly chases the thoughts away because, no, being honest with Shane was a good thing and if they really wanted this to work between them, he would have to have these awkward conversations.
Fuck it. “When they sit on my face,” he says to the ceiling, though he casts his eyes down slightly, trying to gauge Shane’s reaction.
His boyfriend flushes. His freckles look stunning.
He smiles to himself, closing his eyes and adds, “And like I said, there is nothing they can give me that I cannot get from you.”
Shane stills on his lap – Ilya hadn’t even really been aware that he’d been shifting until the minute movements stopped. “I don’t have…” Shane’s voice comes out a little strained. It’s torture not looking at Shane right now, to not know how deeply he’s blushing, but he doesn’t think he could keep having this conversation if he were to look at him.
“What?” Ilya says, blindly bringing his hands to Shane’s hips and clutches them tightly. “You argue as if you don’t also have pretty hole for me to eat.” He does look now, needs to see how those words have landed. As expected, Shane is flushed, the apples of his cheeks bright and the very same blush colouring his neck and chest as well. His eyes are wide and dark with lust. A single sharp incisor has caught his bottom lip. He’s breathing heavily. He looks fucking beautiful.
“You wanna…?” Shane asks and, oh, that tone is going to ruin Ilya. He sounds awed.
He surges upwards, flirts with the idea of a kiss but restrains himself just a little. His breath ghosts over Shane’s parted lips as he says, “I love when my partner’s thighs are bracketing my head, as they shake and fall apart on my tongue. I love being used for their pleasure. And yes, pussy is fantastic, but,” he does kiss him then, just a brush of lips, “So is your hole. Always so pretty and needy for me.” He lets his hands slide further around to grab Shane’s ass to accentuate his point. “Let me show you?”
“Oh, fuck.” Shane gasps the words straight into Ilya’s waiting mouth and then they’re kissing. Desperate, frantic. Shane grinds down onto Ilya’s lap, onto Ilya’s clothed cock, his hands roving everywhere. Ilya needs it just as bad, his hands shaking as he gets them up Shane’s shirt, needing his skin.
He swears lowly in Russian. His brain is providing suggestions in a maelstrom, fleeting, needy ideas that Ilya can barely make sense of. Shane tips his head back, offering his throat up for Ilya’s mouth, his teeth. He sucks a bruise into Shane’s pulse point, feeling his heartbeat thrum against his tongue and makes his decision. Hands on Shane’s thighs, he engages his core and stands; they need a bed. Now.
Shane breathes his name on an exhale, wrapping his legs around Ilya’s waist, trusting him to manoeuvre them out of the living room and into their bedroom. Shane’s mouth is back on his. “Fucking love that you can do this,” he says, squeezing his thighs. Ilya preens under the admission. He knows once upon a time it had mortified Shane to know that Ilya could toss him around with such ease. He’s glad that’s no longer the case. “So fucking hot.”
Ilya smirks as he drops Shane down onto the mattress, watching as his dick jumps against the loose fabric of his sweatpants as he bounces onto the bed. “Off,” he orders, as he makes quick work of his own clothes, tossing them aside without a care. It’s proof of just how turned on Shane is that he shuffles up the mattress to wriggle out of his clothes before kicking them to the floor without folding them.
Ilya’s on him then, pushing him back into the bed, pressing their bodies together from knee to hip to chest. Their cocks rub together and he looses himself to the feeling.
And then Shane tugs sharply on his hair and he closes his eyes in delight at the sting. Ilya blinks his eyes open, gazing down at the beautiful man below him.
“How do you want me?” Shane asks, barely any apprehension left in him and fuck, fuck, how is he so fucking perfect?
Without a word, Ilya rolls them, delights in the weight of Shane straddling his hips. Ilya’s cock bumps up behind his balls and Shane moans, loud and low, grinding down against Ilya’s length. But Ilya doesn’t allow him to build up a rhythm, doesn’t allow him the chance to try and sink down onto Ilya’s leaking cock, no matter how fun that would be. No, he told Shane he was going to show him something he loves and he intends to follow through on that promise.
“Here,” Ilya says, feeling a little crazed as he begins to push Shane further up the bed. He makes a point of shuffling down a little further, guiding Shane to turn around and fuck, oh fuck, what a sight. Shane’s ass hovers just before him, all taut muscle and smooth skin. His balls hang heavy, will bump against Ilya’s chin once he starts, and God. Fucking hell. Shane is dripping, his cock leaking pearly pre down his shaft and dripping onto Ilya’s bare chest.
He drags his nose up across Shane’s taint, bullying his way between Shane’s cheeks to bring his tongue towards his goal. He keeps his hands on Shane’s hips, needs to keep himself anchored lest he shake apart into a tiny pieces, destroyed by Shane Hollander’s ass and thighs. What a fucking way to go.
He laps at Shane’s balls, drags his tongue over the right one before moving to the left and drawing it into his warm mouth. He sucks gently, enjoying the way Shane curses above him. He’s so sensitive here and Ilya delights in every little huffed gasp, every small moan.
He moves higher, suckling at Shane’s taint before bringing his tongue to Shane’s hole. He swipes a languid stripe, up then down, before changing tactic and swirling around his rim with the point of his tongue. And it’s not like this is the first time they’ve done this. Fuck, eating Shane out was one of Ilya’s favourite fucking ways of getting him relaxed and begging for his cock, but it was always a precursor to sex. It was usually when Shane’s face was pressed into a pillow, muffling his whines as Ilya speared him on his tongue whilst his ass was up in the air. Once or twice, Ilya had pulled Shane’s hips to the edge of the bed, got his legs up on his shoulders and spread his cheeks.
They might’ve been sleeping together for close to a decade now, but he’s never had this much time to just luxuriate in the act of getting Shane off on his tongue. He’s never drawn out Shane’s pleasure in this particular way. He closes his eyes and hums at the feeling of Shane’s rim fluttering against his tongue. Above him, Shane whines, high and uninhibited and his thighs tremble at Ilya’s sides with the effort of keeping his weight off of Ilya which… well, that just won’t do.
He tightens his grip on Shane’s hips, kisses around Shane’s pretty hole before relaxing his tongue and resting it there as he says, “The whole point of you sitting on my face, Hollander, is for you to sit.” Then he wraps his arms across Shane’s waist and pulls him down.
Shane gives a strangled curse as his knees slip a few centimetres down the silken sheets. Finally, finally, he drops his full weight onto Ilya’s face and fuck, he’s never been fucking happier in his life. He can barely contain his grin, he just keeps licking and sucking at Shane’s hole like a man starved. His face is a mess of sweat and saliva as he keeps up his rhythm, bringing his trembling hands around to grab two great handfuls of his boyfriend’s gorgeous ass.
Ilya loses himself to it. He parts Shane’s cheeks further, his thumbs tugging gently at his rim and Shane makes the prettiest noise at the sensation. Ilya needs to hear it again, so he repeats the movement and then pushes his tongue up alongside his thumb, pressing into Shane’s pliant body. “Ilya,” he whines. “Ilya. Fuck, oh fuck.” And yeah, he gets it. There’s so much fucking need trying to claw its way out of his chest and the only way he can sate it is by drawing out every last gasp that he can from Shane. He thinks he might die if he stops.
One of Shane’s hands blindly grabs behind him, seeking out Ilya’s hair until he knots his fingers through his curls and fucking holds him there. Ilya’s brain feels like it’s whiting out, he can barely focus on anything but the feel of his tongue in Shane’s hole, Shane’s weight pushing him down into the mattress and Shane’s hand in his hair, nails against his scalp.
It’s all just Shane.
His beautiful, wonderful Shane.
Ilya floats. There is barely any of him left at this moment. All he is is a vessel for Shane’s pleasure and he lets him take it. Lets him ride his face, his tongue. Lets him take whatever he wants.
Shane could take the breath from his lungs; all he need do is ask.
“Fuck, Ilya.” The words are spoken with uninhibited desire and he tugs a little more forcefully on Ilya’s curls. “Like that.”
It takes him several seconds to register that Shane’s movements have shifted and then Ilya hears the obscene sound of Shane stripping his cock in time with each of Ilya’s thrusts of his tongue and oh no, oh absolutely not.
He comes back to his body with effort and then sinks his teeth into the meat of Shane’s ass, following the bite with a swipe of his tongue. “What the fuck?!” he exclaims, hand held at the base of his cock as he shifts up so he can peer down at Ilya. The angle is all wrong and Ilya mourns the loss of Shane’s weight on him.
“Don’t touch yourself.” Ilya’s honestly surprised his voice sounds so steady, if hoarse and utterly wrecked.
And before Shane can respond, Ilya yanks him back down onto his mouth.
He fucks Shane thoroughly with his tongue, tugging his hole open to get deeper. He slides in a finger shallowly, conscious that the only lube they’ve currently got is his spit. It’s not enough but Ilya knows it’ll still feel good regardless.
“Ilya,” he whines. “Ilya. Let me touch."
He hums against Shane’s skin, moves back just enough to say another firm, “No.”
“Not me.” Shane’s all breathy need. His voice shakes. “Let me touch you.”
Oh.
Ilya’s suddenly very aware of just how hard he is. His neglected cock is rigid, straining against his belly, pre pooling into his belly button. As if to draw further attention to it, Shane trails his fingertips down Ilya’s shaft.
He closes his eyes to the sensation, just lets his nerves light him up. It’s like fireworks going off up his spine. Shane is barely touching him, but Ilya knows even this small amount of attention could set him off and he’s not done with Shane just yet.
It takes all his willpower to push his face further into Shane’s ass and reach around to grab hold of his wrists. “Here,” he says, his voice muffled against Shane’s skin and he brings Shane’s hands to his hips. “Just here.” Shane’s blunt nails scrape into the sensitive skin and he rocks back, fucking himself down onto Ilya’s tongue.
Ilya is very pleased with himself.
Shane is losing composure as he grinds down and Ilya wonders if he really could get Shane off like this. Have him come untouched on his tongue. He always did enjoy a challenge.
A broken sob slips past Shane’s lips as he rocks against Ilya’s face. Gone are the gasped fucks and Gods. Now, the only thing he seems capable of saying is, “Ilya.” He speaks the word with reverence. His name on Shane’s tongue sounds holy. There is no room for God in this bed. It is Ilya that Shane devotes his pleasure to.
It’s Ilya’s turn to lose his composure.
He holds Shane in place, sucking on his rim. “Moy lyubimyy,” he mumbles against Shane’s skin. “Moy lyubimyy,” he repeats, fucking him with his tongue. He can feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes but he ignores them, focuses on saying those words to Shane once again, “Moy lyubimyy.”
He’s so fucking hot. So fucking beautiful. And he’s all Ilya’s. His beloved.
He doesn’t think he can keep this up much longer. Nor does he think Shane can. A brief idea floats through the haze of pleasure in his brain. He could tip Shane forwards, he thinks, keep spearing him on his tongue and get that gorgeous mouth around the tip of Ilya’s cock. Let him suck at the head and take his come. It really wouldn’t even take that long, given just how wound up and wet he currently is.
But no, he’s got a better idea.
“Watch, moy lyubov,” he says each word into Shane’s slick skin, alternating between shaking presses of his lips to Shane’s rim and the insistent press of his tongue into Shane’s body. He reaches down, takes one of Shane’s hands from its white knuckle grip on his hips and wraps it, and his own hand, around his shaft. “See what you do to me.” Their fingers tangle, the angle isn’t quite right, and though he’s leaking pre everywhere, it’s still just this side of not slick enough.
It doesn’t fucking matter.
“I never need anyone else.”
It takes two rough strokes of their joined hands and then he’s coming, hot and slick up his chest, across their hands. The fact it didn’t take that much might’ve once been embarrassing, it probably would be if it were anyone but Shane whining on top of him. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about when it comes to Shane.
He untangles their filthy fingers, and, on a whim, draws his hand back to Shane’s ass, smearing some of his come against his taint then lapping at it with his tongue.
“Fuck, Ilya.” Shane’s hips jerk, his balls drag against his jaw. And then Shane’s fingers are there, pressing against his own hole, smearing Ilya’s come against the already slick skin and a whine passes Ilya’s lips as he points his tongue and fucks it roughly into Shane’s body, chasing the taste of himself on Shane’s skin.
“Again, Ilya. Fuck. Again,” Shane gasps, and who is Ilya to deny Shane a single thing?
So he swipes his fingers through the mess on his stomach and brings them back to Shane’s ass, fucking them in shallowly before lapping the come back out again. Shane’s fingers follow his own, bringing yet more come to his hole to feed to Ilya as he grinds his hips back down onto Ilya’s face. One day – hopefully soon – he’ll see if Shane will let him come inside him bare and then eat it out of him like a fucking offering. With the insistence with which Shane is pushing his come covered fingers into his own ass right now, he doesn’t think it’ll take too much persuasion.
He slides his own finger into Shane, alongside Shane’s. Tugs gently, sucks at the rim. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Shane’s hole clenches and Ilya works his tongue in too. Shane keens and Ilya knows he won’t last much longer.
So he drags his tongue down a little lower, sucks the sensitive skin of Shane’s taint into his mouth and chases his lips with the insistent press of his thumb.
“Come for me,” Ilya says softly. Not a demand. Not a request. Not even the offering of permission. He just knows Shane’s body so damn well that all it takes is a final push of fingers past Shane’s rim, fucking in once, twice shallowly, followed by one final thrust of his tongue past the loose muscle.
Shane’s words devolve into nothing but Ilya’s name over and over and over. He rocks down, riding Ilya’s tongue as his orgasm peaks. He spills, cock untouched. His come splatters up his chest, drips down his abs and on to Ilya’s chest, running down the valley of his pecs to mix with Ilya’s own spend.
Shane tips forwards, boneless, his whole body trembling. He presses his sweaty forehead against Ilya’s left knee but doesn’t move any further, keeping his ass high in the air. Ilya’s cock gives a valiant attempt at filling out again at the sight.
He sucks in several deep breaths, trying to regulate his own heartbeat. He keeps his hands on Shane’s flushed skin, rubbing his broad hands across any inch he can reach; lower back, shaking thighs, beautiful ass.
“That was so fucking hot,” Shane says. Ilya can feel the flutter of his eyelashes brushing against the skin of his thigh. It sends a thrill through him.
“You are so fucking hot,” Ilya says, voice wrecked, almost trembling. He wants to bask in this afterglow forever; feel nothing but Shane’s sweaty skin beneath his hands and his warm wet breath ghosting against Ilya’s body.
He guides Shane sideways, lets his body roll onto his side until they’re both laying on their sides, like yin and yang. The sheets are bundled around them, they’re both a fucking mess of various bodily fluids and Ilya knows Shane won’t want to stay like this for much longer. He’ll need to go wash his face, brush his teeth, shower the come from his skin. Help strip the sheets off and change them…
Shane pushes himself up onto his elbow, his skin rosy and his smile loose and fucked out. He’s so fucking beautiful that it makes Ilya want to scream. Then he locks those dark eyes on Ilya and says, “Kiss me.”
Ilya feels his own eyes bug. He thought he was done being surprised by Shane Hollander and yet… “You do not want me to go clean up immediately?”
“Just fucking come here, would you?” he punctuates the question with an exasperated eye roll. He grabs blindly at Ilya’s wrist and tugs him forwards.
Ilya’s too stunned to put up a fight, merely moves at Shane’s guidance until he has Ilya’s jaw cupped with a steady hand, bringing his mouth down to his own.
It’s not a chaste kiss. It’s almost as filthy as their bodies currently are. Shane wastes no time sucking Ilya’s tongue into his mouth and groaning around it, like he would his cock.
“Shane Hollander, filthy pervert,” he chirps as he breaks the kiss. He digs his fingers into Shane’s side and he delights as Shane squirms beside him.
“Only for you,” Shane says, right into Ilya’s smirking mouth.
“Good.” And because Ilya is still well aware of the conversation that led to this, he softens said smirk into a delighted little grin and tacks on, “Only ever for you.”
It’s the right thing to say. Shane’s gaze melts like chocolate. Molten warmth that trickles down Ilya’s spine and spools in his gut. “Ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane says. It’s stilted, a little awkwardly pronounced, and his voice trembles as he focuses on each word. It’s the most beautiful thing Ilya has ever heard in his life.
Tears spring into Ilya’s eyes and he drops down to hide his face in Shane’s neck, suddenly too overwhelmed to keep looking. He feels cracked open, like a raw nerve that’s over exposed. He repeats the words back to Shane, pressing bruising kisses into his collarbone, his throat, his jaw. “Ya tebya lyublyu,” he says once more in Russian before switching back to English to say, “So much, Shane. So so much.”
They stay there for several more moments, just breathing one another in, tangled up in one another. He knows, however, that Shane will bitch if they fall asleep like this and wake up with dried come all over them. “Come,” he says softly, pulling up but keeping his hands on Shane. “Shower with me.”
Quietly, he leads them to the en suite, turns on the faucet to get the water warm and pins Shane to the shower screen. “I love you,” he says once more, because now he’s finally allowed himself to say it, he can’t seem to stop. “Please do not ask me if you’re enough for me again, moy lyubimyy. You are everything.” Shane’s blush returns and Ilya can’t help but dance his fingertips over his freckles. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he whispers softly, like it’s a secret. Then he tangles his fingers with Ilya’s and steps into the walk-in shower. And because he’s fairly certain that he will follow Shane Hollander wherever he goes for the rest of his life - and gladly - Ilya follows.