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“You are serious?” Ilya asks. Then, “You are sure?”
Truthfully, no. There are a thousand and one reasons Shane could name right now as to why this was still a stupid idea, the potential risks, how he’s still not even sure he could actually perform without freaking out halfway through and ruining the night.
On the other hand, Shane has never been more sure of anything since he realized he wanted to marry Ilya.
“Yes,” he says, trying to look and sound casual. Shane sees Ilya open his mouth to say something, probably something annoying like ‘you have never been casual a day in your life, Hollander’ he can just hear it now.
He shrugs, very casually, and beats Ilya to it. “It’s your birthday, if you want something else, we don’t have to. But you’ve said before that you wanted us to have a sex tape, so…”
Ilya’s grin widens, and Shane can see that fire in his eyes that is just as exciting now as it was ten years ago.
“Sounds like me.” Ilya nods and takes the old handheld camcorder from Shane’s hands, turning it over a few times. If Shane hadn’t personally tested it himself beforehand, he’d be doubtful it would even turn on too.
“You don’t remember saying it, do you?”
“Eh, I still want.”
Shane scoffs and the both of them look down at Ilya’s hands when the camcorder beeps as he figures it out. Their floor shows up on the tiny screen when it loads, and Ilya moves it to point at different areas around their bedroom; it’s a little pixelated and grainy, and the way it’s catching the light isn’t great, but that might be a good thing.
If it were to leak, there’s plausible deniability there.
Shane has taken every precaution he can think of, though. He ordered the camcorder online under a different name and had it shipped to a parcel locker. Spent countless hours researching different models, because he still wants to be able to see whatever they end up filming, so the quality can’t be too terrible–but he had to make sure to buy one that still uses tapes.
Memory cards are small and easy to lose, and newer camcorders now have built in wi-fi capabilities. He’s definitely not trusting this being filmed on a phone and ending up on the cloud somewhere. Absolutely the fuck not. He should have turned their router off, actually. Logically, Shane knows that that’s not how the technology works at all, but… he's determined to try.
Part of him wanting to do this now, a year into their marriage and all over a throwaway comment Ilya made even longer ago, is because Shane can’t stop thinking about a different conversation he’d had with Troy only a month ago. Despite all the flack from Cromwell, Troy had never stopped posting or speaking up about all the things he cared about; Shane hadn’t even gone looking for it, but one of the top comments on a recent post of his was someone thanking Troy for inspiring them to take back their power.
The phrase stuck with him.
It felt raw, vulnerable, exhilarating. Justified. And, yes, if he was going to be on the nose about it: powerful. Shane remembers the pang in his chest as he thought about it even a few days after, the phrase repeating in his head over and over, and the next time he saw Troy, he’d let him know as such. How much it clearly meant to him too.
“Oh, yeah, I bet. I still think what happened to you guys was shitty.”
“What do you mean?”
Troy raised a brow at him, almost like he thought Shane was messing with him. When Shane continued to look at him with clear confusion settled on his features, Troy just shook his head.
“The FanMail video,” Troy said, slowly, as if worried about opening up old wounds. “Like, at least with my coming out video, I posted that myself and filmed it on my own terms, y’know? You guys had that taken away from you. I know it was an accident or whatever, but you can’t tell me you never once looked over your shoulder after that and made sure all the curtains were drawn.”
He actually couldn’t. Shane doesn’t resent Hayden for it, and in the end things turned out fine for them (more than fine, really–Shane's a married man now, openly married to another man, and things are going well with his new team). But he can’t say that Troy was wrong, because a part of him did feel uncomfortable for a while being in front of cameras, the possibility of more of his private, wonderful moments with Ilya being filmed and posted online for strangers to scrutinize and rip to shreds.
But if they’re the ones behind the camera, if they film on their own terms, Shane thinks he might actually enjoy it. Might loosen some of the tension that had lodged itself in his ribs over it. The part of him that likes to fantasize about them being watched would, at least. Not that they would ever leak it themselves, at least Shane wouldn’t, but Ilya did sometimes talk about wanting to show him off, what if—
A blinking red light halts that train of thought like a stop sign. Ilya has the camera pointed directly at him, and Shane is suddenly all too aware of his body. The way he stands, their bedding behind him, wondering if they had actually left anything incriminating on their night stands in case it does leak somehow.
“Hi,” Ilya says, softly. The voice of a man who knows him so thoroughly, he knows exactly when to ground him before he’s freefalling.
“Hi,” Shane says back, whispering because he’s worried about what his voice would do if he went any louder.
“We do not have to, if you are not sure. Is okay.” Ilya reaches out with the hand not holding the camcorder, so he can film the motion of his thumb brushing across Shane’s freckles. He’s sure the camera captures the way Shane tilts his cheek into his hand like it’s second nature, too. “But I would love to show you the way I see you, when you are getting fucked.”
Fuck.
The sharp gasp that escapes him is involuntary; just another one of his body’s natural responses to Ilya. The sun rises in the east, the tides ebb and flow guided by the moon, and Shane Hollander turns into absolute fucking putty under Ilya Rozanov’s presence. All just common facts of life.
“Okay,” Shane says, this time sounding much more resolute. “Show me, then.”
Ilya leans into him, just enough to hover their lips close together, but it’s not quite a kiss. The hand on Shane’s cheek slides down his neck and torso, stopping there to give him a playful shove back. “On your knees.”
Shane doesn’t have to be told twice. The camera is pointed at him still even as Ilya sits down on the edge of the bed, legs spread invitingly for Shane to settle between. They haven’t done anything yet and already he feels like his body is on fire, Ilya’s warmth and the intensity in those eyes wrapping around him like their summers.
“If you change your mind, say the magic word, and camera goes away.” Ilya gives the camcorder a little bit of a shake, and all Shane can really think of for a moment is how watching this back is going to give them motion sickness if the cinematography is this unsteady the entire time. He makes a note in the back of his mind to dig out one of the tripods they would often use when they were still hooking up over facetime. There hasn’t been a need for that in a long time, but he’s sure they’re probably still in storage somewhere.
Realizing he’s already thinking about next time, coupled with the thought that they were actually going to have something to watch back at the end of this regardless of what happens, sends a thrill down Shane’s spine that makes it all the way between his own legs.
“What’s the magic word?”
“Cut, of course. Just like Hollywood movie.”
Shane stifles back a laugh, disguising it with a roll of his eyes that doesn’t quite land well enough to be convincing. His hands settle on Ilya’s thighs, just under the hem of his shorts.
“You always look so pretty down there,” Ilya continues, and this time Shane can feel the back of his neck get warm. “Yes, getting a little pink, just like that. Good angle for your freckles.”
“Are you just going to talk the whole time?”
“Dead air is bad for ratings, Shane.”
“There’s not going to be any ratings, no one’s gonna watch this!”
“I will watch. Ten out of ten, five stars.”
Marriage had not made Ilya any less insufferable at times, and Shane loved him so damn much for it. One last quick look at the flashing red light, and a second later, he’s tugged the waistband of Ilya’s shorts down just enough to free his already half hard cock. He can’t help the way his tongue swipes across his bottom lip in anticipation.
It is Ilya’s birthday, after all.
Shane hears the pleased hum from above him as he takes Ilya in his mouth. His tongue presses flat against him the way Shane likes when he simply wants to feel Ilya grow hard in his mouth, remaining still as his lips gradually stretch taut. He chances a glance up at Ilya once the pressure builds and he needs to pull back and off him, and Ilya is looking down at him so adoringly it’s almost overwhelming. Almost, because after all these years, they’ve earned to feel like this. Shane’s tongue darts out to lick just at the head of Ilya’s cock, fingers still digging into the smooth skin of Ilya’s thighs, so that when he talks there’s nothing holding him back from feeling Ilya against his lips.
“I’ve been practicing for this,” Shane says, in Russian, and delights in the way his husband’s eyes widen. It’s no secret that he’s been studying the language for over a year now, but he still thinks it’s cute how giddy Ilya always looks over it.
No, maybe giddy isn’t the right word. Today he would classify that look as hungry.
“More,” Ilya responds in kind. “What, you're showing off because you finally got to all the useful phrases in your lessons?”
That familiar spark of competition blazes in Shane’s stomach, the satisfaction that comes from dedicating considerable time and effort into something and being rewarded for it.
“Of course,” Shane looks at Ilya, then at the camera. “Like this one: you taste so good, I want to choke on it.”
Ilya curses immediately and slides his free hand into Shane’s hair, pulling him down. Shane’s triumphant laughter dies on his tongue as he eagerly takes Ilya back into his mouth properly this time, bobbing his head in smooth, long strokes. He’s idly aware of the camcorder in his periphery, when he feels Ilya shift to capture a better angle, and the part of him that feels emboldened every time they do this starts to moan louder than usual each time Ilya’s length hits the back of his throat.
“Fuck,” Ilya says sharply, in English, before switching back. “You sound and feel like heaven, I love it.”
There’s a word there he doesn’t recognize and Shane files it away to ask about later, but he knows love; he knows that one very well. It echoes in his head over and over until his throat is relaxed and there’s nothing in his mind at all as the world goes quiet, as it often does whenever he’s on his knees for Ilya. Shane feels the pooling spit in his mouth mixing with Ilya’s precome, feels his own throbbing between his legs, and one of his hands finally loosens its grip on Ilya’s thigh to palm at himself.
It’s short lived, as Ilya quickly notices and pulls Shane off of him. When he's more aware of himself, Shane will probably be embarrassed at the way he whines about it.
“On the bed, I want to fuck you.” Ilya’s back to English, and Shane has a feeling it’s because he doesn’t want Shane to misunderstand or have to hesitate with translating in his head. A sweet gesture, but a little insulting with the lack of trust over Shane’s language skills.
“Ask me again in Russian, please.”
Ilya scoffs, but he does it anyway, and the two of them fall back onto their bed. Their mouths crash together immediately as they both rush to get undressed, and Ilya has Shane pinned underneath him in record time.
He’s still holding the camera and Shane watches him pan it over his body, capturing all of him, from his freckles to the purple marks scattered around Shane’s body now that they could visibly claim each other. It had quickly become one of Ilya’s favorite things to do, and the two of them must be on the same page, because he suddenly hands the camcorder to Shane and nestles himself between Shane’s legs.
Shane tries not to shake as he watches Ilya through the viewfinder, making sure he’s in frame as he kisses from Shane’s knee down to his inner thigh (and tries to ignore how hard his own dick looks on camera). Strong hands spread Shane’s legs wider, guiding him into bending them at the knee so he can lift his hips for Ilya to wedge a pillow under him.
For someone who’d been so determined to stick to Russian, Shane caves quickly back to English with a strangled, “Oh, god,” when Ilya takes the camcorder back from him so he can film the ease of which Shane can take two fingers right from the start, with the help of some lube.
“Look at you,” Ilya murmurs reverently. “Always open so easy for me.”
All Shane can manage is a strained, “Shut up,” as Ilya’s fingers mercilessly tease at the perfect angle. “Oh, oh right there–”
“Here?” Ilya presses a third finger against Shane’s prostate, and Shane sees stars.
He’s close. Shane can feel the tightness in his balls and when he chances a look down to watch Ilya’s hand move, he sees just how much he’s leaking. His entire body feels like it’s pulsing and it all leads back to the one centralized point between his legs, flushed and needy and ready to spill, he just needs a little more.
All too suddenly, Ilya’s hand pulls back in one swift motion as if it’s been burned. A gasp wrecks through Shane, his lungs aching just as much as everything else. It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up; to process the sudden emptiness inside him, to register Ilya smirking at him with that stupid camera still in his face, to grow indignant over being taken right to the edge only to be left dangling.
“You asshole,” Shane bites out sharply, which only makes Ilya chuckle. “Stop playing around and fuck me already.”
His husband has the nerve to hum; as if it’s such a chore he has to actually consider it.
“Only good boys get fucked, sweetheart.” The camcorder is moved closer, probably close enough to catch the groan under Shane’s breath at that. “Can you be good?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
Ilya rolls them over, with Shane now on top and straddling him while he lays back against the pillows. Part of Shane wants to tease him right back, to be coy and seductive and nonchalant. It would be very cool, he thinks, to keep his composure under Ilya’s watchful gaze. Unfortunately, his earlier self-assessment of him not knowing how to be casual about anything is correct, because Shane doesn’t hesitate either in shifting up on his knees, reaching behind him, and sinking down onto Ilya’s cock.
They both curse this time. Shane’s head feels fuzzy, his entire self being driven by the fact that he wants to come. Needs to come. He snaps his hips down sharply in search of that angle from before, and the sounds that he gets out of Ilya are music to his ears; he wants to yell ‘See? I am good’ right into the camera, but it’s meaningless if it doesn’t come from the person whose opinion matters to him the most.
“Da, just like that, good.” Ilya’s hips snap up to meet Shane’s movements, and they fall into that coordinated dance of push and pull that they both know so well.
Shane isn’t sure when it happens, but at some point he ends up with his face and knees pressing into the mattress, both of Ilya’s hands digging into his hips as he fucks into him hard and fast. He looks to either side of him and sees the camcorder has been abandoned beside them pointed in their direction, the blinking red light still going so steadily that it almost feels like Ilya is thrusting in rhythm with it. Are they even properly in frame anymore? Fuck it, he doesn’t care. They can just try again if they need to.
He tampers down a squeak as teeth clamp down on Shane’s shoulder, Ilya leaning over him chest to back, as he leaps off the edge. The familiar warmth inside him from Ilya’s spend has Shane jumping right along with him, into a sea of loose limbs and messy sheets.
Ilya doesn’t move right away and Shane doesn’t quite mind. He revels in these soft moments between them just as much as he enjoys their bickering, and he’s more than happy to catch his breath while Ilya apologetically kisses where he had bit him. When he does roll off him, it’s to grab the camcorder; Ilya turns it around to capture the slow, sated way in which they kiss. He then breaks away and Shane watches as Ilya sticks his tongue out at the camera before he finally turns it off.
“Good?” Ilya asks, one hand dipping to the small of Shane’s back to pull him closer.
“Mm. Good.” Seconds pass, maybe a minute or two, and Shane slowly starts to come back into his body. It would have probably taken longer if he wasn’t snapped back down to Earth as he hears Ilya start to rewind the tape. “Wait, you’re going to watch it back now? Already?”
“Of course, is my birthday gift. Cannot have you think I am ungrateful.”
Soft static hums from the screen as Ilya presses play and Shane listens to their little exchange of Hi’s from not too long ago.
Ilya chimes in again, as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. “Also, I must show you that you do squeak when you are trying not to come, and that I was right.”
“You do remember!” Shane gapes at him and Ilya laughs hard. “God, you’re so annoying.” Even so, he shifts to lay cuddled up on Ilya’s side to get a better view of the screen. I love you so much, Shane means.
“Yes, and you are boring, if we are stating the obvious.” I love you too, Shane hears. Then, as he watches himself on the screen sinking to his knees, Ilya adds, “Quiet now, movie is getting to the good part.”
Ilya was right; ten out of ten, five stars.