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Ilya is not a good man; he isn't an upstanding citizen, he isn't a good husband, and he definitely isn't a good father. One would think, at the age of forty-four, he would have his life together and would be trying harder to rectify all of his mistakes, but, no, he just keeps making more and more. He's greedy, and he'll be the first one to admit it. He thinks that all of his years as a stockbroker have contributed to that, but he knows, deep down, that he's just always been like this. He takes and takes, then takes some more, never once stopping to think about how it might hurt others. For the most part, he doesn't care. He feels like it has always been him against the world, but even through cheating on his wife with multiple prostitutes, skimping out on his children's extracurriculars to get high, and pocketing money from the poor, he doesn't think he has ever done something quite this bad.
Morally, wanting a twenty-one-year-old is questionable at best and deplorable at worst, but wanting a twenty-one-year-old who also happens to be in a long-term relationship with your son, well, Ilya thinks that might deserve jail time. In the beginning, he could justify his desire for Shane because he never intended to act on it, and there is no harm in merely admiring the beauty of others. The fact that he can't count the number of times he's gotten off to the thought of Shane shouldn't matter, because he isn't touching, and no one will ever know. But that was all before he found out that Shane works as an escort for one of Ilya's top investors: Orion's Den.
He isn't a stranger to the acclaimed gentleman's club. In fact, he's so closely linked to it that he's privy to their more underground amenities, such as using their strippers as escorts. It isn't legal by any means, but Ilya isn't in the business of playing by the rules, and he has used their services on many occasions. That's how he comes to learn of Shane's secret and how he ends up at the Four Seasons with a bottle of Bourbon on ice. He flicks his wrist, cuff slipping just enough for him to check the time on the watch his wife gifted to him last Christmas. It's currently a little after midnight, so he knows his late-night prize will be arriving shortly.
Unscrewing the cap of his whiskey, he pours two glasses and plops a couple of ice cubes into his own. He swirls the liquid around before taking a tentative sip, basking in the way it burns a path down his throat. He's barely had time to savor the taste before he hears the all-too-familiar click of the mechanism on the door. Someone — presumably Shane — enters the room, and Ilya crosses one leg over the other, anticipating his arrival. He vaguely wonders how the younger man will react. Will he be scared? Will he be thrilled? Maybe he has secretly wanted Ilya just as much.
He doesn't get to dwell long as Shane rounds the corner just a second later and stops dead in his tracks. He visibly pales, and Ilya worries that he might get sick all over the expensive floor. He takes another sip of his drink, letting the silence stretch between them as Shane stares open-mouthed, but, God, does he look pretty. Ilya had requested for him to wear casual clothes, something simple like his current attire of a white button-down and black jeans with rips all down the thighs. Shane even has a touch of brown eye shadow on, paired with a swipe of gloss across his lips that only seems to accentuate his pout. Ilya wonders if he's followed through with what's underneath as well.
"Mr. Rozanov?"
Shane's voice comes out so small that Ilya isn't sure he's heard it at all. He looks completely bewildered and out of sorts, but Ilya loves it. It's nice to know that he can still catch people off-guard. Ilya simply hums in response as he sets his drink to the side and motions for Shane to come over.
"Care for a drink?"
He sees Shane's Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard, gaze flitting to the glass of whiskey before he subtly shakes his head. He doesn't look Ilya in the eye again, instead choosing to stare at his own two feet. A faint blush creeps across his freckled cheeks, and Ilya smiles just enough for it to be noticeable. He shouldn't enjoy this, but he does derive some kind of pleasure in making Shane uncomfortable. So, he clasps his hands together and rests them atop his knee, continuing to just sit there until Shane decides to speak. It doesn't take long.
"Mr. Rozanov… I'm so sorry," Shane says, finally looking up at Ilya with watery eyes. "I just… I needed the money, and—"
Ilya holds up his hand to silence the other, and Shane clamps his mouth shut almost immediately. Ilya knows he's lying; he knows that his son spoils Shane to no end. There's no way he's doing this for the payout. Ilya thinks he's doing it because he just genuinely enjoys it, and there's nothing wrong with that. He just wants Shane to be honest.
"I am not here to expose you," Ilya assures him, uncrossing his legs.
He shifts in the chair slightly, and Shane's eyes follow his movements, catching on the outline of Ilya's already half-hard cock. The latter makes it a point to straighten out his slacks, his intentions clear as Shane locks eyes with him again. It feels almost as though they're having a full conversation without speaking a single word. It's exciting.
"Did you get my list of requests?" Ilya asks, to which Shane answers with a small nod. "And do you have any objections?"
Shane subconsciously chews on his bottom lip, losing himself to his thoughts, Ilya guesses. He's just about to say something else when Shane finally speaks up with a simple, "No."
"Good," Ilya smiles, tapping his fingers against the armrest. He waits for Shane to make a move, to do something, but he seems frozen in place. "Well? Do you keep all of your well-paying customers waiting this long? Or am I special?"
"N-No," Shane shakes his head. "I'm sorry, but—"
"No buts," Ilya interrupts. "If you would like to leave, then the door is right there. Otherwise, I expect to get what I have paid for."
Shane swallows hard again, and, for a split second, Ilya thinks he might actually leave. He won't stop him, of course, but, God, would he be sorely disappointed. To his surprise, and excitement, Shane simply digs his phone out of his back pocket and walks over to where the Bluetooth speaker is located. Ilya watches with rapt attention as Shane scrolls through a playlist before settling on a particular song. He places his phone down just as the haunting melody begins to drift from the speakers.
When he turns to face Ilya again, something in his eyes has changed. He isn't looking at shy and timid Shane anymore. No, he's looking at a much bolder, a much more brash Shane, escort for Orion's Den, and Ilya can't wait to see what he has in store.
The first thing on his list? A striptease.
Shane is a hockey player, body lithe and movements precise, so Ilya has admittedly always been fascinated in the way he carries himself. He knows that those factors will only make for a damn good show, and he wants to see one of his fantasies come to life. Shane practically glides across the room until he's standing in front of Ilya, but still out of arm's reach. He drops his head back, neck on full display and eyes hooded. He raises a hand, slender fingers wrapping around the side of his throat as a woman begins singing the first verse.
He drags the tips of his fingers over his pulse, then across his collarbone. Ilya imagines that it's his own in that moment, his cock already fully hard and Shane hasn't even removed a single article of clothing. Shane rolls his head to the side, keeping eye contact with Ilya as deft fingers begin unbuttoning his shirt. With every new piece of skin that's revealed, Ilya feels like he's opening a present on Christmas morning. He should be embarrassed that his mouth waters at the sight, but he can't be when Shane's golden skin is just begging to be touched, begging to be tasted.
When he releases the last button, he slowly shrugs off the material and lets it fall to the floor. Shane follows suit, sinking to his knees and then to all fours. Ilya's muscles tighten, and his cock twitches. He nearly reaches down to provide himself with some kind of friction, but he refrains. He wants Shane to be the first person to touch him tonight. Ilya almost goes back on that instantly, however, questioning himself when Shane begins crawling towards him. He never once looks away, and Ilya is ready to just say, fuck this, and take him to bed already, but, luckily, he has more self control than that.
When Shane reaches him, he trails his hands up Ilya's legs, only stopping to put his weight down onto his thighs, giving them a gentle squeeze. He uses the leverage to lift himself up, lips grazing Ilya's just barely enough to be felt, before he's pulling away again. Raising his leg, Shane places his large combat boot on Ilya's lap and grinds the shoe against his cock. Ilya moans in the back of his throat, hands quickly wrapping around the leather material to stop him.
"Take 'em off," Shane demands.
Ilya licks his dry lips, fingers working in tandem to unlace the boot. Shane presses the heel into his cock repeatedly as he works, and Ilya has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself grounded. Once he finally finishes, he jerks the shoe off and tosses it aside, only for Shane to replace it with the other. The cycle starts all over again until the boy is completely barefoot and they're back on track.
Shane turns then, giving Ilya his back as he unbuckles his jeans. He bends, giving his body a sinful arch, and slides the material down over his ass. Ilya's breath hitches, the flesh so close to him that all he would have to do is lean forward and he could have a taste. Shane stands before Ilya's impulsive thoughts win out, kicking off his pants, and Ilya has to grip the armrest in order to keep his hands to himself. He's glad to see that Shane has, so far, met his every request, though. He has even worn the skintight underwear that hugs his curves, ass cheeks spilling out of the bottom, and the light blue of the material contrasts beautifully with his skintone.
Ilya wants to touch him so badly, wants to run his hands along the back of his thighs, over the perky hump of his cheeks, until they settle around the curve of his waist, but he manages to keep himself under control, knuckles turning white from his tight hold as Shane slides backwards onto his lap. Ilya sucks in a sharp breath as Shane grinds against his cock, arching back to lay his head on Ilya's shoulder. He lifts his arm, wrapping it around Ilya's neck and sinks his fingers into his curly hair. Ilya drinks him in from head to toe, admiring his pert, dusky nipples and taut stomach.
"Is this okay?" Shane whispers into his ear, breath shaky.
That's when Ilya notices that Shane is hard as well, cock stretching the material of his underwear where a wet patch is already starting to form. Ilya turns his head to the side, nose brushing against Shane's, and he takes in his debauched face. They stare at each other, eyes hooded, before Ilya's gaze flits to Shane's mouth, and he watches as the other subconsciously licks his lips under the attention. Ilya never kisses any of his conquests, but he leans forward before he can stop himself and merely presses their mouths together.
It can barely be considered a kiss, but the cherry flavor of Shane's gloss lingers on his lips. So, he does it again. There isn't any urgency to it, just mouths sliding against one another slowly as Shane rolls his hips down. Ilya's dick twitches, and he replaces his grip on the armrest with Shane's hips to keep him held in place. A small, barely audible, moan reverberates from his throat, and Ilya runs his tongue over his bottom lip, silently asking for permission to deepen their kiss. Shane opens, and Ilya greedily licks inside his mouth.
It only lasts a second before Ilya pulls away, jerking Shane off of his lap. The boy yelps, but his confusion doesn't last long as Ilya presses his own legs together, scooting to one side of the chair in order to make room. He positions Shane over his lap so that his knees are digging into the cushion on one side and his body is arched over him, elbows perched on the armrest. Shane turns his head to look at him, and Ilya thinks this might be the prettiest sight he's ever seen. Shane's lips are swollen, now shiny with spit instead of gloss, and as red as the cherries that he tastes like.
Ilya runs a hand down Shane's smooth back, reveling in the way he shivers underneath the touch. "What is your safe word?"
Shane sucks his bottom lips between his teeth, chewing on it nervously as his eyes leave Ilya's. He knows that the other is aware of why he's asking, but he makes no move in answering.
"You do have a safe word, correct?" Ilya prods.
Shane nods. "Yeah, of course. I—"
"Then, what is it?" Ilya interrupts.
Shane startles, wide eyes blinking at Ilya with an entirely misplaced sort of innocence. "Peach."
Ilya smiles, not breaking eye contact as he tugs Shane's underwear down, letting the material rest just under the swell of his ass. Ilya runs a hand over Shane's skin, averting his attention as he massages the mounds of flesh. Shane's skin is so soft, even more so than he imagined, and he would consider this alone as getting his money's worth. But he has so much more in mind.
"Do you know why I am doing this?" Ilya asks, looking to Shane as he shakes his head. "Because you are a liar. Because you have been living this double life without caring how it may affect others."
Shane opens his mouth to say something, but it turns into a gasp when Ilya brings his palm down onto his ass. The sound echoes throughout the room, even louder than the song still playing on Shane's phone.
"Count them. Out loud," Ilya demands.
Shane takes a deep, shaky breath before uttering out a, "One," as Ilya massages the stinging flesh.
When he brings his hand back down again, he does it harder, the slap resonating off of the walls and causing Shane's mouth to fall open in a moan. He continues to count while Ilya spanks him, soothing the abused skin of his ass cheeks each time he does so. When Shane mumbles out a ten, Ilya decides that he's had enough and admires his work. Shane's ass is a bright red, and Ilya thinks that if he didn't stop when he did, then there was a good chance that he would actually break skin.
"That was not so bad, was it?" Ilya asks, voice barely above a whisper as he brushes Shane's hair out of his face. Shane mewls, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against the armrest. "You did so well, baby."
He continues threading his fingers through Shane's hair, basking in the way he leans into Ilya's touch, and despite his willingness to keep doing this, Ilya also wants to get to the main course sometime soon.
"Stand up for me," Ilya says, landing a light tap on Shane's ass.
He hisses at the contact, but does as he's told. His legs are shaky when he stands, so Ilya helps hold him up by the waist before inching Shane's underwear down his legs. When they pool around Shane's feet, he kicks the material to the side and glances over his shoulder. Ilya leans forward then and places a tender kiss on each of Shane's cheeks, skin hot underneath his touch.
"Go make yourself comfortable on the bed."
Shane hesitates for a split second before he steps away and Ilya stands up. He readjusts his cock, trying to ease some of the pressure, before he makes his way over to the speaker. He picks up Shane's phone to turn off the music and catches a glimpse of his notifications. Some of the texts are from Ilya's son, and if he were normal, then that would surely make him rethink his decisions, but he's not normal. In reality, it only makes him want to continue even more. What kind of person does that make him? Not a very good one, he thinks.
Once the room is bathed in silence, he hears Shane moving around on the bed and reaches up to loosen the tie around his neck. Ilya frees it from his collar, then gently lays it across the dresser as he unbuttons his cuffs. He pulls his shirt out from where it's tucked into his pants and then turns around, breath catching in his throat at the sight. Shane is laid across the mattress, body on full display, and Ilya drinks in the sight like a man dying of thirst.
"Mr. Rozanov?"
His voice snaps Ilya out of his trance, and he looks to Shane's expectant face. But he doesn't want to lose this moment. He wishes he could have this every day. Ilya forces himself to move forward, however, until his knees collide with the bed, and Shane sits up.
"Ilya," he corrects, unbuttoning his shirt. "Mr. Rozanov is my father."
Shane smiles at that, and Ilya can't help but to kiss it off of his face. As their mouths find a rhythm, Shane helps to remove Ilya's shirt, then makes work of his slacks. He's obviously an expert in this area, and it doesn't take long for him to push the material down Ilya's legs. They break apart with Ilya taking over to rid himself of both his pants and footwear. Shane reaches forward (almost with enthusiasm, Ilya notes) to strip off his briefs, but Ilya stops him.
He wraps his fingers around Shane's wrists and guides him into a lying position on the bed. "Someone is eager."
Shane flushes, instinctively looking away, but Ilya doesn't allow that. He demands attention as he crawls over Shane's body and pins him to the bed. Shane is very pliant, but Ilya wonders if that's just because of the job or because it's in his nature.
"Tell me, do the people you sleep with even care about your pleasure? Or just their own?"
Shane swallows hard. "I'm not supposed to talk about my other clients."
"So, they do not."
"I didn't say that."
They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before Ilya speaks again. "So, you are saying that it is fifty-fifty, then? That they care as much about you getting off as you do them?"
"Yes."
Ilya cocks a brow. "It is not nice to lie. You have seen what that gets you," he says, nudging Shane's legs apart to expose his red ass cheeks.
Shane bites down on his bottom lip, trying to force down a whimper as the air tickles his sensitive skin. "Why does it matter?"
"It does not," Ilya shrugs. "At least, not right now. But it will once I show you what you are missing. You will not ever want to take on another client that is not me again." He doesn't grant Shane the chance to reply as Ilya rolls off of him and motions to his crotch. "Go ahead. Unwrap your gift."
Shane rolls his eyes, but Ilya thinks it's funny. It's kind of wild to think that the two of them will actually be spending the holidays together, yet no one will know what they've done. It's exciting; the most Ilya has felt in a really long time. Shane sits up on his haunches, wincing from the pain of his inflamed skin, and hooks his fingers into the waistband of Ilya's briefs. He looks to the older male for a moment, as if he's waiting to be stopped or something, before peeling the last remaining article of clothing off. He carelessly tosses it to the floor, then feasts his eyes on a side of Ilya he was never supposed to see.
Ilya lets him stare, lets him drink it all in, and knows, without a shadows of a doubt, that he looks fucking good. He rivals men that are half his age, easily, but his impatience gets the best of him when Shane doesn't seem to want to move, and he takes the initiative by grabbing the boy's ankle. Shane's brows knit together in confusion, but Ilya simply drags his body around, then maneuvers Shane on top of him so that he's straddling Ilya's face. He runs his hands over the sore flesh gently, then spreads Shane's cheeks. Ilya's breath catches in his throat, and, for a moment, he truly believes he's dreaming.
"You are so perfect," Ilya whispers.
Ilya scoots his body down the mattress a fraction, then raises his head to lick a long, slow stripe from perineum to rim. Shane shudders at the motion, so Ilya does it again. He swirls his tongue around Shane's hole before dipping the tip inside. A low moan sounds from Shane, and a bead of precome drips down onto Ilya's chest. He repositions his arms then, pulling Shane back until he's sitting right on Ilya's face. He sucks on Shane's rim, slipping more of his tongue inside and sliding it in and out repeatedly until it's fully sheathed.
Shane moans loudly, and his fingers dig into Ilya's stomach as his hips begin rocking on their own accord. Ilya encourages the movements, gripping Shane's hips and helping to guide him as he licks the inside of his walls.
"Fuck, Ilya," Shane pants. "Just like that, shit."
Ilya hums, the praise igniting a fire in his veins as he eats Shane out with even more vigor. Shane whines, and the next thing Ilya feels is the boy's mouth wrapping around the head of his cock, giving it a harsh suck. Ilya's hips jerk, but Shane only opens his mouth wider and takes more of him in. Ilya has to pull away then to catch his breath, groaning when Shane wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and starts flicking his wrist with a sort of practiced expertise.
Ilya moans, bending his knees to plant his feet onto the mattress. He bucks up into Shane's mouth and the boy gags, but he doesn't stop. Shane hollows out his cheeks, bobbing his head up and down, slurping at the precome leaking from Ilya's tip. It's all very obscene, and it has Ilya rolling his eyes into the back of his head as he squeezes the meat of Shane's thighs between his fingers hard enough to bruise.
He can't even focus with the way Shane flattens his tongue against his cock and takes him all the way down. Ilya lets out a guttural moan when Shane's nose touches his scrotum and his throat flutters around the head. He feels his orgasm rapidly approaching, so he reaches down and grabs a handful of Shane's hair, pulling him off. His mouth releases Ilya's cock with a loud pop, one that nearly sends Ilya plummeting over the edge.
He lets go immediately, grabbing Shane's hips as Ilya maneuvers himself into a half-sitting position against the headboard. He uses his hold on Shane to position the boy how he wants, keeping him mostly in the same spot, only situating him slightly further down so that Shane's palms are resting between Ilya's legs. Shane glances over his shoulder at him, and Ilya licks his lips. They've barely done anything, yet Shane looks completely fucked-out. If possible, the sight of his blown out pupils, spit-slick lips, and flushed cheeks only makes Ilya harder.
Reaching out to his right, Ilya pulls open the bedside drawer without breaking eye contact and fishes out a bottle of lube. He's never been so thankful that he basically owns a hotel room than right in this moment. Otherwise, he would've been screwed. Ilya leans forward and places a kiss to Shane's puckered rim before squeezing a glob of lube out onto his fingers. He tosses the bottle somewhere onto the sheets, rubbing the substance between his fingers to warm it up, then presses a digit to Shane's hole. He watches it flutter from the contact, and Ilya groans at the sight. He doesn't think he's ever wanted to fuck someone so badly before.
As he slowly presses in, he watches Shane's face change, mouth falling open in silent pleasure as his eyes droop closed. "Feel good, baby?" Ilya asks, which causes Shane to suck his bottom lip between his teeth and nod. "How long has it been since you have gotten off?"
Shane forces his eyes open, releasing his lip from its hold. "About a week," he says.
Perfect. Ilya thrusts his finger inside of him, and Shane lets out a breathy cry. Ilya continues his slow pace until he's ready to add a second, then finds a faster rhythm as he scissors Shane open. Shane doesn't hold back, letting out downright sinful moans every time Ilya's fingers drag against his walls. When he fits in a third, Shane drops his head and a whine leaves his lips as his hips instinctively roll against Ilya's hand. Ilya stills, letting Shane fuck himself on his fingers a few times before he takes over again. Ilya would honestly be satisfied doing this all night, but he's greedy by nature, so he wants more, more, more.
Ilya removes his fingers with a loud squelch and is completely enraptured by the way that Shane's hole clenches around nothing. Ilya wants to tell him to relax, to just hold on a minute, because he's about to give Shane something so much better, but he doesn't. Actions speak louder than words, after all.
"Turn around," Ilya commands, giving a quick tap to Shane's hip.
Ilya places his palms down against the mattress, using the leverage to push himself further up so that he's sitting completely straight as Shane maneuvers himself around so that he's facing Ilya. This time, he doesn't get a chance to tell Shane what to do, because the boy is already stretching across the bed to grab the bottle of lube and is using it to slick up his own fingers. Ilya keeps his eyes glued to him, watching as Shane reaches behind himself to make sure that he's ready enough. He then spreads some lube across his palm and wraps it around Ilya's shaft.
Ilya hisses at the contact, muscles twitching as Shane pulls at his cock, making it nice and wet. He even rubs his palm over the head, and Ilya has to reach down to grab his wrist in order to stop him. There's no way Ilya is about to come from a fucking handjob before he even gets the chance to stick his dick in Shane's ass. Shane smirks, like he knew what he was doing, but ceases his movements nonetheless. He crawls up Ilya's body and straddles his waist. This is it, Ilya thinks. This is everything he's fantasized about for nearly two years.
"Condom?"
Ilya nearly rolls his eyes, but thinks better of it. He knows Shane is clean — he has to be for his job and is tested regularly — and Ilya is clean, too. He would never want to accidentally give his wife something. She definitely doesn't deserve that.
"I do not have one," Ilya says, the words coming out a bit smug.
"I'm not supposed to have sex with clients without protection."
"Well, I am not most clients," Ilya points out, wrapping his hands around Shane's hips. "Plus, I am clean, so it is fine."
Shane quirks a brow. "And I'm just supposed to trust you, why?"
Ilya tilts his head to the side, landing a sharp slap to Shane's sore cheeks. Shane jerks forward from the impact and whimpers. "Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?"
The only response he receives in return is Shane reaching behind himself and guiding Ilya's cock to his hole. The head catches on his rim, but Shane relaxes and it finally slips through. Shane sinks down onto his length slowly until he's fully settled on Ilya's lap, and they both moan in unison. Ilya's toes curl, and his fingers leave indentations on Shane's skin from his hold. The fit is so snug that Ilya doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to lose this feeling.
Shane doesn't seem to share the same sentiment as he rests his hands on Ilya's shoulders and lifts himself up with his knees. He almost pulls all the way off before dropping back down and punching a moan out of his throat. Ilya can tell that Shane has hit his own prostate dead-on just by the way it sounds so raw.
"Fuck, you're so big," Shane breathes, rolling his hips.
Ilya moans, leaning forward to capture Shane's lips in a passionate kiss. He then trails his mouth down over Shane's jaw, neck, and collarbone, only stopping at his chest. He holds Shane close to him as he continues to grind against his cock and swirls his tongue around the boy's nipple. Shane throws his head back, hand disappearing into Ilya's curls as he rubs his cock against the older man's abs.
"Look how sensitive you are," Ilya smiles, taking the nub between his teeth and giving it a gentle tug.
Shane mewls, arching into Ilya before starting to bounce on his cock. Ilya pulls back to watch Shane as he basically uses him to get off, but he doesn't mind. Not at all. Not when Shane looks this good, with his eyes closed and neck on full display. There's a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, and Ilya finds himself wanting to lick it off. Shane's moans keep growing in volume as his speed picks up, and Ilya pays rapt attention to the way Shane's cock slaps against his stomach. Now, he's never thought a dick was pretty before, but he's quickly learning that Shane has changed his mind on a whole hell of a lot of things. And this is no exception. Shane is just beautiful in every way.
"Oh God, Ilya. Fuck," Shane says, biting down on his lip harshly as he leans back and braces himself on Ilya's thighs.
The angle gives Ilya an even better view of Shane's body, and he groans at the image in front of him. Ilya's hands roam over his form, giving each nipple a pinch, then gripping Shane's hips again to help guide him.
"Shit, you're gonna make me come," Shane pants, dropping down onto Ilya's cock harshly.
He continues to ride Ilya vigorously, never once slowing down, then going so fast that Ilya's cock slips out of his hole. Shane whines, scooting back to sit on Ilya's thighs. His brows furrow in confusion, frustrated that his pleasure has been ripped from him so suddenly, when he sees Shane grab the base of his own cock and come in thick ropes all over Ilya's. He then reaches forward and uses his come as extra lube, wrapping his hand around Ilya's cock to spread it over the length.
And Ilya is in some sort of blissed-out coma, completely shell-shocked, because he can do nothing but stare. He can, with one-hundred-percent certainty, say that no one has ever done something like that to him before. The satisfaction he feels only seems to skyrocket when Shane, once again, takes Ilya in until he's balls deep, fucking his own come inside himself. Ilya groans, not allowing him to get back into rhythm as he flips them over so that Shane is underneath him.
Ilya places Shane's legs over his shoulders and practically bends him in half, pressing his cock even deeper. He loves watching Shane's face change, loves seeing it morph into unabashed euphoria. Ilya rocks his hips forward once gently, causing a long moan to spill out from Shane's lips, before he sits back on his haunches. He doesn't allow Shane's cock to start softening, gripping the shaft in his hand as Ilya starts jerking him off in time with his sharp thrusts. Shane cries out, squeezing his eyes shut as his own hand wraps around Ilya's wrist. He doesn't try to stop Ilya, though, he just takes it.
Ilya thrusts into him roughly, hips smacking against Shane's ass cheeks in a way that he knows has to hurt, but Shane is a moaning mess underneath him, practically panting and drooling over the way Ilya pounds into him. Ilya pulls at Shane's cock even faster, stopping to rub his palm over the head just like the boy had done to him, and Shane's entire body shakes.
"Fuck, fuck. Ilya, God, I—" Shane moans loudly, throwing his head back. "Harder, please. Wanna fucking… wanna be reminded of this every time I…"
He's cut off by his own loud sob of pleasure when Ilya leans over him and pulls almost all the way out. He slams down into Shane, causing them both to let out guttural moans, then does it again. He repeats the action a few times until he feels Shane's tight walls squeezing around him, and he knows that the brunette is starting to get close again. Ilya begins fucking into Shane without abandon, capturing his lips in a kiss that ends up turning into them just breathing into each other's mouths as he abuses Shane's prostate. Shane's blunt nails dig into Ilya's back with each movement, but it only serves to spur Ilya on more knowing that he'll have his own reminder of the boy.
"How long have you wanted this, Shane?" Ilya grits out. "Huh?"
"Since…" Shane gasps at a particularly hard thrust, "since I first saw you. In that business suit. Wanted you to fuck me in your office, right across your desk where everyone could hear."
Ilya smiles proudly at his babbling, and all it takes is one last sharp snap of his hips to have Shane crying out. He comes all over his own stomach and chest, body shaking from the aftershocks as Ilya continues to fuck him through his high. Ilya can feel the heat pooling in his own stomach, his rhythm becoming erratic, and he finds himself both chasing his release and wishing for it to never come. He doesn't want this to end. Shane drops his arms from around Ilya's shoulders and just takes the relentless pounding until Ilya pushes all the way inside him, and his orgasm washes over him like a tidal wave.
Ilya comes so hard that his vision whites out for a minute, and when he comes to, he realizes that he's biting down onto the juncture between Shane's neck and collarbone. Shane whines, pushing at his shoulders, and Ilya subsequently releases his hold. There are deep indentions of his teeth now in Shane's skin, but Ilya doesn't have the brain capacity to think about that right now. He rolls his hips a few more times, before starting to feel a little oversensitive himself, and pulls out.
His dick gives one final, albeit a little pathetic, twitch when he sees both his come and Shane's from earlier leak out of his hole, but the moment is cut short because Shane is then sitting up and letting out a whimper as the soreness of his body really starts to settle in. He swings his legs off of the bed, but Ilya reaches out to grab his arm before he can stand.
"Where are you going?"
Shane glances over at him with exhaustion painted across his features, paired with a tiny bit of confusion. "To get dressed."
"Why?"
Shane's brows furrow, and he closes his eyes for a brief second as he rubs at his temples. "So I can leave. It's getting late."
"I have you for the whole night," Ilya reminds him.
"Yeah, but…"
Ilya already knows that Shane is about to give him the whole spiel of how that's really only in place to make sure that the client truly gets their money's worth and that no one ever really needs him the whole night, but Ilya doesn't accept that. He's getting what he paid for.
"No, I have you for the whole night," Ilya repeats, sliding off the bed.
He stretches his limbs, hearing a few pops, before standing in front of Shane. He pushes Shane's hair off of his forehead again and threads his fingers through the damp strands in what he hopes is a soothing manner. Ilya isn't very good at things like this — comforting others, that is — but he's willing to try. If only just this once; if only just for Shane.
"Just let me take care of you, yeah?" Ilya quirks a brow, caressing Shane's cheek. "It is the least I can do, and you should not have to deal with the aftercare yourself."
Shane blinks up at him, but eventually agrees with a subtle nod. Ilya smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. It feels slightly more intimate this way, when there's no sexual tension left between them, but he doesn't care. He still enjoys it, and maybe that's a problem, but one that Ilya will deal with some other time. When he stands, his gaze finds the bite mark on Shane's neck, and Ilya gently runs his fingers over it. Shane flinches from the contact.
"Sorry about that, by the way," Ilya apologizes, even though he's really not all that sorry. "I hope it will not cause problems."
Shane sighs. "It's fine. I'll find a way to cover it."
Ilya nods, giving Shane's forehead a chaste kiss. "Stay right here. I will go run a bath."
He gives Shane a once over before turning on his heel and padding over to the restroom. He presses the button on the wall, and the room is bathed in light just seconds later. Everything is pristine, from the marble counter tops to the porcelain sinks, and Ilya idly thinks that it's way too fancy for a hotel bathroom. He also thinks he wouldn't settle for anything less. He makes the trek across the cold tile until he reaches the corner jacuzzi tub and turns the taps. Water flows smoothly from the faucet, and Ilya takes a seat on the unfinished wood.
He puts his hand underneath the water to check the temperature and adjusts it accordingly until it's the perfect amount of warmth. He bends down to plug up the drain, then grabs a spoonful of bath salts from the bowl next to him. He dumps the crystalline substance into the filling tub, the relaxing aroma already starting to take over the room, then stands.
"You know," Ilya starts, calling out over the sound of running water, "I was thinking, if you are hungry, we could order some room service or something."
He walks over to the sink and studies himself in the mirror. To say he looks like a hot mess is definitely an understatement, so he quickly fixes any rogue hairs and washes off his face. There's still dried come on his chest from when Shane was sitting on his face, but he can worry about that after he cleans up the other. Speaking of which, Shane still hasn't answered him, and Ilya thinks that he either didn't hear him or he's fallen asleep. Not that Ilya could blame him.
"Shane?"
Ilya makes his way out of the bathroom, stopping dead in his tracks when his eyes land on an empty room. He surges forward to the dresser, but Shane's phone is gone, along with all of his other belongings. Ilya clenches his jaw and brings his fists down hard against the surface, causing his previously discarded tie to flutter to the floor. He pushes a hand through his hair, mussing it up after just fixing it, and turns around. That's when his gaze catches on a piece of paper resting on the bedside table, one that wasn't there before, and he moves to pick it up. There's only two words scrawled across it in messy handwriting.
I'm sorry.