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"Rozanov, post for you," Shane yells over his shoulder towards the kitchen as he closes the front door with a nod and a smile at the retreating mailman. "Signed for!"
"Bring it to me," Ilya demands, his voice echoing off the walls.
Shane rolls his eyes, testing the heft of the parcel in one hand as he heads through the house. It's a fairly small, plain cardboard box, with no branding that Shane can see. The only thing that's a little interesting is that there's a weight to it; it's heavier than it looks.
Ilya is clearly waiting for him, leaning against their marble-topped kitchen island with a smirk. His arms are flexed behind him; holding up his weight but also blatantly showing off, in that slutty little tank top he always wears.
Shane holds the parcel out towards him, but Ilya doesn't move.
"What?" he asks, when Ilya just stares at him, his eyes half-lidded. "You want me to open your post now, too?"
"Yes," Ilya drawls, sighing heavily, as though Shane is the one being difficult and confusing.
He's pretty sure he isn't.
He carries the box over to the island, grabbing a small Damascus from the knife block on his way past. A little overkill for a bit of packing tape, but he'll take any excuse to use one of the gorgeous knives his mom got for them as a housewarming gift.
"You will dull the blade," Ilya points out as he turns to watch, leaning his whole upper body across the marble.
"And you will sharpen it," Shane rebuts with a wink, cleanly slicing the tape in one quick motion. Ilya does most of the food prep for the both of them, these days, and treats his kitchen tools with reverence. It's extremely endearing.
He was clearly in the process of preparing a salad; there are ingredients littered across the counter and a tomato left half sliced on the chopping board, but that doesn't seem to be what's on Ilya's mind any more.
"So," Shane mutters, placing the knife in the sink, "what's in the mystery box?"
Ilya keeps playing it coy, raising a single eyebrow and tilting his head to the side.
"You're not cute," Shane snarks, opening the flaps and pulling out a bunch of packing paper. Beneath it lies an unassuming black pouch, which he takes out and places on the countertop. It's simple—still no indication as to what's inside, but it looks and feels high quality as Shane runs his hand across the fabric.
Ilya's losing his edge, spending all his time with Shane, and he can only hold his stoic face for so long. His lips curve up at the side, devious. "Open it," he instructs, his voice calm and clear.
But Shane knows this game.
"Let me just tidy up first," he says, picking up the scrunched up piece of packing paper and laying it out flat on the counter. He smooths it over with his hand a few times before folding it in half, then again, and again, until it's small enough to fit neatly back inside the box. In his periphery, he can see Ilya's eyebrow twitching. "I'll just take this to the recyc—"
Shane gasps as the box is slapped out of his hands. He watches it skid over the island and tumble across the floor, landing unceremoniously by the kitchen door.
Ilya's stare could shatter glass. "Open. It."
"God," Shane laughs, "you're such a control freak." He's playing with Ilya, but he can't deny that he is intrigued, especially since whatever it is has Ilya so worked up. It's definitely a sex thing, but it's only a small pouch, maybe 9 by 5 inches and pretty flat—definitely not big enough for a dildo or anything of the sort. It could be a set of nipple clamps, maybe; that might be fun.
There's a shiny metal zipper around the edge, and Shane drags it sloooowly around, watching Ilya's face as the teeth separate with tinny little clicks.
"You are pissing me off," Ilya warns, "I will not go easy on you."
"Oh, I'm so scared," Shane mutters sarcastically as the zipper track comes to an end. He flips the pouch open, and feels his heart sink. Shit. Maybe he is scared a little bit.
The pouch contains a selection of polished metal rods, starting fairly small on the left and getting alarmingly large by the right. Shane knows what they are immediately.
It's been months since Ilya suggested this. Shane was certain—and secretly relieved—that he'd forgotten.
"Imported," Ilya nods. "I did a lot of research. Found very best."
"Oh," Shane's voice has lost its bratty edge, coming out as almost a whisper, "right."
Ilya pushes himself up, walking around the island until he's beside Shane. He curls one hand around the base of his spine, and uses a single finger to tip Shane's chin up, meeting his gaze from inches away. "You thought I forgot."
Shane hums a quiet affirmative, certain that his eyes have already betrayed how nervous he is.
"Problem is," Ilya murmurs, pressing his lips to Shane's, "I cannot stop thinking of it." He slides his body flush against Shane's side, his cock already chubbing up against the other man's hip. He takes a breath, holding Shane against him, "You will trust me, da? I will not hurt you."
Shane squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his forehead hard against Ilya's. He takes several deep breaths before he feels ready to speak.
"I trust you."
"Fuck, yes," Ilya exclaims with a grin, spinning away from Shane to open one of the kitchen cupboards. "Fuck, you are going to look so hot, Hollander."
Shane feels a little out of sorts as he watches Ilya grab a steel pot and start to fill it from their newly installed boiling water tap. He'd kind of assumed that this was happening… now? But Ilya has seamlessly transitioned back into cooking mode, working around Shane as he stands, gormless, in the middle of the space.
Ilya places the pot on the stovetop and turns on the heat before spinning back towards Shane. "Ty vyglyadish' rasteryannoy, milyy kotenok," he murmurs, placing one hand in the small of Shane's back and picking up the pouch with the other.
Shane still doesn't understand a lot of the Russian Ilya comes out with, but— "Did you just call me a kitten?"
"He is learning!" Ilya laughs delightedly, kissing Shane on the cheek as he turns back to his mysterious stew. Metal clinks against metal, and Shane turns to watch as Ilya, one-by-one, slides each of the new sounds into the boiling pot.
"What are you doing?" he murmurs, sliding up behind Ilya and wrapping his arms around the Russian's waist.
"Uninfecting," Ilya replies. "Is very important."
"Disinfecting," Shane corrects softly, and Ilya just huffs. "I really don't think we need to clean the huge ones," he protests, as Ilya takes out the final sound. "That one's as big as your thumb!"
Ilya holds it up for comparison. It's a little bigger, actually. Shane balks—that thing is categorically never going inside his cock.
"May as well clean," Ilya shrugs, "I have boiling water already."
"You're crazy if you think that's ever going inside me," Shane murmurs, "I don't even think the smallest one will fit."
"Mmm," Ilya hums, spinning around in Shane's hold and pushing him back towards the island, "we will make it fit." He hoists Shane up until he's sitting on the surface, leaning up to kiss him eagerly. His hands roam to Shane's lap, where… nothing is happening. "Are you okay?" he asks, blinking softly, finally meeting Shane's eyes with something other than crazed horniness.
"Yeah," Shane sighs, "yes. I trust you, and I'm glad you're so into this." He cups Ilya's face, brushing his thumb over the mole on his cheek, "I just think, maybe until I know how it feels, I'm going to be scared about it, is that okay?"
Ilya's gaze flickers back and forth between Shane's eyes, assessing him. "You want to try?"
Shane can't think of a single thing Ilya might ask of him where the answer to that question would be no. He has been scared to try many different things with his boyfriend in the past, and Ilya has always kept him safe. Even when it comes to the few things they decided they never wanted to do again; Shane doesn't have any regrets about taking those leaps into the unknown. This is no different.
He nods, leaning down to press their foreheads together, sucking in a shaky breath.
"I will be careful with you," Ilya promises, a smile creeping onto his face, "your dick is very important to me."
"Gross," Shane laughs, shoving Ilya in the shoulder, glad that some of the tension has been diffused.
"This should be long enough," Ilya states, turning back to the pot. He spends the next few minutes pottering around the kitchen; draining out the pot of water and nearly scalding himself on the hot metal.
He lines up the sounds on a few sheets of paper towel to cool down, and hoists himself up on the island next to Shane. "They say it is easier," he shrugs a shoulder, "if you are not hard your first time. So is a win-win."
"It really doesn't bother you?" Shane asks, biting his lip. Ilya's still at least half hard, just in anticipation, and Shane's sat here with nothin' going on at all.
"Should I be bothered?" Ilya asks back. "I believe what you say, so it is fine." He bumps his shoulder into Shane's, "You worry too much."
Well that's certainly true.
Ilya hops off the counter and uses the back of his fingers to test the temperature of the sounds. "Mm, the big ones are still hot," he murmurs, taking a few more sheets of paper towel from the roll to gather up the smaller half, "but these ones are okay."
He turns back to Shane, eyes wide, loot in hand. "Are you ready?"
"No," Shane says with a nervous chuckle, "but when am I ever? Bedroom?"
Ilya's face lights up with a grin, heading out the kitchen door with a skip in his step, "Yes, I have supplies ready."
"The fuck does that mean?" Shane yells as he scrambles after him.
Ilya's getting set up in the bedroom when Shane arrives moments later. He's somehow already donned a rubber glove, and is laying out the sounds in size order on the paper towels along the nightstand. Something about the sight calms Shane, a little. Ilya seems really serious about doing this properly.
His heart beats a little faster.
"Strip," Ilya murmurs, shooting Shane a glance over his shoulder.
Yes, of course. Shane tugs his shirt over his head and folds it neatly, placing it on the dresser. He looks over his shoulder to see Ilya already kneeling beside the bed, his tank top discarded on the carpet. Ilya gives him a smile and an encouraging nod.
Shane turns back towards the dresser, unbuttoning his fly with slightly shaking hands. It's not like Ilya's never seen him flaccid before, but that's not usually where he's at when they get into things. He steps out of his pants and underwear at the same time, flushing red as he looks down at his sad, lifeless cock. He really wants to be into this, for Ilya, but he can't get past the mental block right now.
There's also a hint of an inferiority complex creeping into the back of his mind. Ilya is fully a shower—eight and a half inches, 24/7, whereas Shane, well… it's less embarrassing in comparison if he's already hard when they start, is all.
"Are you okay?" Ilya asks again, and Shane realises he must have been staring at his pile of clothes for a little while now.
Shane shakes his head harshly, trying to rattle his brain into gear. He turns to walk quickly towards the bed, one hand half-shielding his crotch. "Sorry, I just—there are a lot of thoughts in my head right now," he murmurs, plopping himself in front of Ilya, his hands in his lap.
"You are embarrassed," Ilya smiles, lifting Shane's hands with his ungloved one. "Why is this? Your cock is cute."
Shane winces. Cute. Great.
Ilya rolls his eyes, rocking up on his knees to press a kiss to Shane's softly freckled cheek. "Stop your thinking so much," he murmurs, "let me play with you." He places a hand flat on Shane's chest, pushing him until he falls back on his elbows.
Shane's never felt more exposed; soft, scared, and about to try something new which could backfire massively—all with Ilya knelt before him, watching intensely.
"Are you going to panic? If I begin?" Ilya murmurs, grabbing what looks like a small white ketchup sachet from the nightstand drawer. Shane shakes his head.
"Okay, good," Ilya murmurs, picking up the furthest left rod on the nightstand and holding it up for visual inspection. "Is smallest size, will fit nicely."
Shane watches, his arms already shaking underneath him, as Ilya messily empties the whole sachet—lube, obviously, not ketchup—along the length of the rod, spreading it around with his gloved hand.
It feels kind of like Shane's on a different planet as Ilya picks up his cock, spreading a glob of lube against his slit. He can only watch in mild horror as Ilya lines up the metal with the head of his cock. It's cold, by now, and wet, and it slips easily inside.
"Holy shit," Shane whispers, crashing back down to earth. He can feel his eyes bugging out of his skull as he looks down at Ilya kneeling between his legs. It can only be an inch inside of him—Ilya made sure to pause just after it slipped in—but Shane already feels like his whole world is about to change.
Ilya's face slowly transitions from cautious optimism into unabashed glee. "Is good, da? What did I say? I said you would like!"
Holding Shane's cock up with one hand, Ilya slides the rod a little further inside, and Shane has to hold himself back from bucking into the sensation. "Oh my fucking god," Shane whispers, letting his arms give way under him so he falls flat on the bed, "oh my fucking god."
Ilya chuckles, delighted. He leans in to watch more closely as he pushes the sound deeper, gently squeezing with the hand around Shane's cock.
Shane nearly kicks him in the ribs as his leg spasms, way outside of his control. "Ilya, fuck," he gasps, and it's not until that moment that he realises he's panting, "fuck it's so intense, it's so—"
"And I haven't even fucked you," Ilya rumbles, leaning in to kiss Shane's trembling knee. "We are only half of the way in."
"Jesus Christ," Shane moans, "fuck, I, uh, I am definitely going to get hard. Wow, just, keep going, please, fuck, I—"
Ilya doesn't hesitate, pushing down on the rod with a constant pressure, sliding it deeper and deeper into Shane until it won't go any further.
"Aah, ohhh, shit," Shane gasps, shooting out a hand to grab Ilya's wrist, "that's it."
Ilya grins up at him with the eyes of a wolf, "I felt it too."
"Am I fucking full?" Shane groans. He looks down his body, locking in on Ilya's gloved fingertips grasping the end of the sound, buried as deep as it seems to want to go. There are still a couple of inches of rod hanging from the end of his cock.
Ilya smirks, gently stroking Shane around the rod, flicking his eyes cautiously towards his twitchy leg. "When you are totally hard," Ilya explains, "we will lose whole rod in you."
"Please don't lose it," Shane whimpers, his chest heaving, "I seriously won't be able to live down that ER visit."
"It will come out," Ilya says decisively, "I have done many research."
Just as Shane opens his mouth to respond, Ilya drags the sound all the way out in one swift motion. "HaaaaAAAGHhh, fuck, Ilya, no warning?" he gasps, throwing an arm across his face as his body trembles uncontrollably.
Ilya's hand squeezes around Shane's cock again and it already feels so empty.
Oh, he's fucked.
"No," Ilya murmurs, taking the opportunity to harshly jack Shane's rapidly hardening cock. He smiles, determined. "I want to see it when you are hard."
Shane groans, his body curling in on itself. "Put it back in, please," he begs, reaching out to touch Ilya's shoulder with his fingertips. "I want to watch myself get hard around it."
"Gospodi," Ilya breathes, meeting Shane's eyes, "yes, yes, okay."
Ilya is just lining up when Shane says, "Wait!"
He freezes. "You are okay?" he asks, his eyes rapidly scanning Shane's face.
"Um," Shane closes his eyes, feeling a blush start to taint his cheeks. He tries to speak but his tongue gets stuck in his mouth. And the longer he pauses, the further his blush spreads. The tips of Shane's ears are burning by the time Ilya makes an encouraging "Hm?"
"Wouldyoutrythenextsize?" he whispers in a rush, squinting his eyes open just enough to see Ilya's reaction.
Ilya collapses heavily against Shane's thighs, a groan ripped from his throat. "Fuck," he whispers into Shane's skin, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses up his inner thigh, "yes."
He makes quick work of it, swapping out the sounds and applying a new sachet of lube to the second size. Once it's lined up and ready to go, he looks up to meet Shane's eyes at the exact moment he slides it inwards.
Shane does buck, this time, his hips flexing off the bed and onto the sound, which Ilya quickly has to draw back. "Fuck," Shane whispers, "I want this so bad."
Ilya's free hand slides up Shane's stomach, pressing hard against his abs to hold him in place. "Be careful," Ilya warns, "I love you."
"I love you," Shane gasps, "This is crazy." He feels like he's simultaneously barely breathing and breathing way too much as Ilya starts to slide the sound in a steady motion. Shane's hands scrabble to scratch at his own chest, pinch his nipples; anything to try to distract from the overwhelming pleasure spreading from his cock to the rest of his body. A pleasure he didn't even know was possible before today. "I feel crazy."
"You make me crazy," Ilya murmurs. "You are so fucking hot, Hollander, you have no idea. Never in life have I been harder than this."
Shane looks down his body at Ilya with wide eyes, "Wait, really? N-no—fuck, ah, that's good—haah, no one's even touching you."
"You are touching me," Ilya whispers, like it's a secret, and Shane thinks that may be the biggest compliment he's ever had in his life.
And then he stops thinking, because Ilya starts to move the sound faster, and Shane's head is filled with static as his core clenches, forcing him into a crunch. He feels like he's about to piss or come or both, and he's not even sure if he's fully hard yet.
"Fuck, stop, I'm gonna—I don't know," Shane gasps, pushing at Ilya's arm, his eyes squeezed tight. His head thrashes about on the bed as he pants, overwhelmed by all the sensations. He feels Ilya drag the sound out of him, and it's only a second later that he realises it's still too late.
Ilya grunts when Shane's body releases, his cock spilling warm, wet piss all over his abs. "Fuck, Shane—" It's Ilya's turn to fall apart as his hand, still pressing down into Shane's stomach, gets soaked in the process. His fingers clench desperately against the muscle underneath them before he forcibly drags his hand away to strip off his rubber glove with a snap. His wet hand comes straight back to Shane's midsection with a splash as the other tugs, almost hysterically, at his cock.
Shane can feel Ilya's hand bashing frantically against his shin, and a slick streak of precome as the head of his cock rubs against Shane's leg.
He's almost past feeling embarrassed about wetting himself, when he looks down to see Ilya so far gone.
"Fuck, I'm going to come," Ilya gasps, leaning in to press his lips messily to Shane's upper thigh, his shoulders shaking. "Fuck, Hollander, you make me so crazy, I love you so fucking much, fuh-huuuck."
Shane can't help but smile as he feels Ilya's come splatter across his shin. The sensation of rapidly cooling piss soaking into the sheets behind his back is giving him the ick, but it doesn't matter, because when Ilya lifts his head and looks at him, it's like Shane is the centre of the entire universe.
"Oh my god, Hollander," Ilya whispers, his eyes damp as he blinks up at Shane, "holy shit."
"Come here," Shane whispers back, shifting sideways out of the wet patch and holding a hand out towards Ilya.
Ilya practically jumps up onto the bed, his body crowding over Shane's, splashing cold piss between them as he drags Shane's lips up to meet his own. Both of his hands find their way into Shane's hair, his short nails scraping at his scalp as Ilya takes and takes from Shane's panting, desperate mouth.
"You're so hot right now," Shane murmurs against Ilya's lips, "I think next time, we can maybe try the third size."
Ilya lets out a groan from somewhere deep in his guts, flopping over to lay flat on the bed, right in the wet patch. He doesn't flinch. "You are going to kill me, Shane Hollander."
Shane reaches out a hand to touch Ilya's chest as both of them lie staring at the ceiling. There's a chance he broke Ilya's brain so hard that his boyfriend has forgotten Shane hasn't come, yet, but that's okay—it's incredibly hot, actually. He turns his head inward, and Ilya does the same, smiling softly across at him.
"I did not forget," Ilya murmurs, casting his eyes downward, "I just—"
"Need a moment," Shane smiles back, "I get it."
"I make you come so hard…" Ilya breathes, placing his hand on top of Shane's on his chest. "In minute."
"I've never seen you this taken out," Shane says softly. "It really got you, huh?"
"I told you it would be hot," Ilya groans, his eyes half-lidded. "You pissed on yourself!" He squeezes Shane's hand, nodding happily. "I died. You have killed me."
Shane has the decency to blush, biting his lip. "I didn't know that was going to happen," he murmurs.
"That means it is even hotter," Ilya growls, taking a deep breath before rolling back on top of Shane. "Okay, I am back," he grins, pecking Shane on the lips, "what do you want? Anything at all."
He doesn't get that offer very often. He has so many options available to him—roughly fucking Ilya's throat, getting Ilya to edge him until he cries, jerking himself off against Ilya's tight little hole—but there's really only one thing he wants right now.
"I want the sound back," he whispers, "I want you to jerk me off while you fuck me with it. It's… all I can think about."
Ilya's hand slides up to cup Shane's cheek, rubbing his thumb across the smattering of freckles there. "Perfect," he murmurs, kissing Shane softly, "you are perfect."
Shane has to blink back surprised tears as Ilya shuffles back over to the nightstand. He's pretty sure Ilya is the perfect one, actually, as he watches the younger man don a fresh glove. He carefully wipes the sticky, dried lube from the second sound using a spare paper towel, before applying a new sachet along the metal. Ilya is calmer, now, less frantic, but just as careful as he knee-walks back over to Shane.
He runs a soft fingertip along the underside of Shane's straining cock before wrapping his hand around it, lifting it to meet the end of the sound in a cautious kiss.
"I won't last long," Shane warns, and Ilya just gives him a knowing glance.
It feels just as crazy the second time, and Shane shoots a hand out to grasp onto Ilya's thigh as the metal slides into him.
"You promised," Shane gasps, his eyes already half-lidded in blissed out pleasure, "that you wouldn't go easy on me."
That's all the permission Ilya needs, and Shane feels a scream tear from his throat as Ilya pounds the rod into him, his other hand squeezing and jacking his cock out of time.
"Fuck, shit, fuck, aaaaah, FUCK, Ilya," is all Shane can hear, surely spouting from his own mouth as his other senses start to shut down in self-preservation. He can feel his nails digging harshly into Ilya's thigh as his vision starts to blur. "Fuck, I'm—" he yells, his body convulsing on the bed, "Ilya!"
The sound is ripped from him in one swift motion, Ilya's hand tugging him hard and fast, and Ilya's unexpectedly calm, deep voice says, "Come."
That's the last thing Shane remembers.
He blinks his eyes open, and Ilya is curled up against his side, his head resting on Shane's chest.
"Um," he croaks, his voice hoarse, and Ilya immediately sits up, leaning over to grab a glass of water from the nightstand.
"Shh," Ilya hushes, helping Shane to slowly sit up. Shane's stomach is still splattered with drying come, so he can't have been out for long. "Drink." He presses the glass into Shane's hand, watching him as he takes a sip.
He starts to hand the drink back but Ilya shakes his head, flicking his eyes towards the glass.
The unspoken down it is clear. Shane nods, his hand shaking a little as he chugs the rest of the water.
"Better," Ilya murmurs, putting the empty glass back. He smiles, looking Shane up and down, "Was good, huh?"
"I blacked out?" Shane asks, chuckling incredulously, "Fuck."
"Was only for a minute," Ilya shrugs, planting himself sideways across Shane's lap and tugging him in for a hug. "I was not worried."
"You were right," Shane concedes with a sigh, leaning his weight into Ilya's strong frame, "I did, in fact, like that a lot."
Ilya smirks softly, tilting his head to kiss Shane on the lips, "You remember this," he says, "next time you are scared. Ilya is right."
"Shut up," Shane rolls his eyes, shoving uselessly at Ilya's shoulder, but Ilya isn't wrong.
Ilya always knows what's best for him. He'll do better to remember that.