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i.
“Of course you had that prepared,” Shane huffs as he bends over the kitchen counter, referring to the packet of lube that Ilya had seemingly produced out of nowhere. It’s an attempt to distract from how he feels more than a little awkward right now, with his pants pooled around his ankles and his button up shirt hiked up to above his navel. This would be so much easier to do with both of them naked in Shane’s master bedroom. Why had he agreed to this, again?
“Mm. Came in handy, no?” Replies Ilya, and suddenly Shane can’t bring himself to regret this ridiculous exercise when Ilya’s rough, callused hands start massaging his ass, kneading, then spreading his cheeks.
Shane doesn’t look back—can’t look back, really—because he doesn’t want Ilya to see how red he’s getting already. He sucks in a breath upon first contact of cold, slick fingers against his rim, and braces himself for what he thinks will be some brief prep before the main event.
He could not be any more wrong.
Ilya takes his sweet time with the first finger, which really should’ve clued Shane in to his intentions. But no, Shane just whines a bit impatiently and says, “‘M ready. Gimme two.” To emphasize the point, he also shakes his ass a little.
He hears a choked off breath behind him and can’t resist the upward quirk of his lips.
Ilya inserts the second finger. He spends even more time like this, fucking into Shane with two fingers, scissoring, while planting kisses at the base of Shane’s spine. Then, his hand shifts so as to change the angle. Then, again, as if searching for something.
Shane doesn’t know what must be possessing Ilya right now—because he’s never done this. Usually, Ilya would be halfway to lining up his cock against Shane’s hole by now, always eager to be inside him. And, obviously, Shane loves it as much as Ilya does. So, why exactly is he trying to find Shane’s prostate with his fingers right now?
Shane finally turns to look at him. “What are you—fuck.” The question is cut off by Ilya locating his objective, the bundle of nerves that makes Shane moan in staccato uh-uh-uhs against the marble countertop. And, why was he going to complain, again? This feels so fucking good… but it would feel so much fucking better if it were Ilya’s cock hitting him like this, pounding into him at the perfect angle as they both chase their own release.
“Ilya,” Shane whines. “Need you inside me. Now.”
That usually works, so Shane is a bit winded when Ilya just says, with a smile in his voice, “Oh, do you? But I thought I was doing good job.” All while not faltering in his rhythm in the slightest.
With every thrust of Ilya’s fingers sending all too pleasant shocks of pleasure up Shane’s spine, he finds it difficult to string sentences together, but he tries his damnedest. “You are—fuck, fuck, fuck. You are doing a good job. You’re gonna make me—ahh—make me come.”
Ilya’s free hand snakes up the underside of Shane’s shirt and finds his nipple, giving it a playful squeeze that makes Shane’s breath hitch. “Then what is problem?”
Don’t make me say it. “Surely you know,” Shane says, voice growing desperate.
Ilya chuckles. “How can I know if you don’t tell me, Shane?” He asks, fake clueless.
For a long moment, Shane chooses to focus on the pleasure Ilya is giving him right now—because dwelling on his words makes Shane want to strangle him if he didn’t die of embarrassment first between the two of them. But eventually, he wins over the mortification.
Shane takes a deep breath, pointedly not even trying to look back and meet Ilya’s eyes as he says this. Under his breath, he mutters, “I want. To come. From your cock.”
But Ilya’s rhythm doesn’t even stutter. “Mm. Not this time, pretty.”
Shane doesn’t think he heard that right. “What?”
Then, without warning, Ilya is taking Shane’s cock in hand and stroking in time with the thrusts of his fingers, fucking into Shane with more pressure than before. Shane’s nerves sing.
Shane’s orgasm doesn’t build up so much as it is ripped from him, suddenly and violently, by Ilya’s hands. Shane screams when he comes. He turns boneless against the countertop, utterly spent. But he forces himself to stand and face Ilya.
Shane glares at his boyfriend as he puts his pants back on. “What the fuck are you playing at, Rozanov?”
Ilya doesn’t even have the decency to look the least bit apologetic. “You looked so good, I wondered what it would be like to make you come just like that,” he offers by way of explanation.
Shane crosses his arms. “Is that what you get off to now? Embarrassing me?”
“Милый, do not be mad,” Ilya says, stepping into his space and reaching out to touch him. Shane half-heartedly swats him away at first, but quickly gives up and lets Ilya rub his back.
Shane sighs, uncrosses his arms, looks off to the side. “It’s just,” he starts. “I don’t like it when I’m feeling good all by myself… while you’re… y’know. Not.”
Immediately, Ilya’s eyes soften and he gives Shane a look filled with complex emotions that Shane can’t decode. “Shane… sex is not transactional,” he says, very seriously. “Sometimes I get more pleasure by making you lose yourself than by getting off, too. Do you understand?”
Huh. If he puts it like that, it actually makes sense. Kind of.
Shane nods. “Yeah. I think I’m starting to get it.” But it’s still difficult, especially knowing that Ilya’s words are likely borne out of his extensive experience, while here Shane is with his grand total of one serious recurring sexual relationship throughout his whole life.
“You are thinking bad thoughts again. I can tell. Stop them,” Ilya chastises, pressing a kiss onto Shane’s forehead.
Shane huffs amusedly. “All right. Stopped.” He taps his temple for emphasis.
Ilya kisses him again, this time a peck on the lips. “Good.”
ii.
This is payback, Shane thinks as he sinks to his knees in front of Ilya. Ilya, who looks adorably rumpled with his messy hair, black tank top, and sweatpants as he stands barefoot with his smartphone to his ear after having retreated to the cottage’s mini library to take this call. Ilya, who watches Shane and gives him a look that all but says Do as you please when Shane pulls his pants down. Ilya, who immediately threads his free hand through Shane’s hair the moment Shane starts mouthing at his cock.
Oh, Ilya. His Ilya. Sometimes, Shane still can’t believe he’s allowed to have him, much less have him like this. He presses feather-light kisses all over Ilya’s soft cock, not yet all that concerned with getting him hard at the fastest possible time. No, he’s doing this at his own pace. He’s going to enjoy this. Especially since it seems it’ll be a long phone call with Ilya’s coach.
“Yes, I understand. I will take care of it myself,” Ilya says, eyebrows furrowing.
Even with Shane’s playful, near aimless touches, Ilya is quickly stiffening under his lips. Shane, pleased with himself, swirls his tongue languidly around Ilya’s cockhead.
“No, I do not need help,” Ilya says. “I would rather handle things privately.”
One hand of Shane’s comes up to cup Ilya’s balls while Shane palms himself through his shorts with the other. He changes tactics, focusing near the base of Ilya’s cock now, licking and mouthing at the sensitive skin. He hears Ilya suck in a breath, but otherwise appear focused on his phone call were it not for the way he’s so obviously staring at Shane’s mouth.
“Yes, it will be a few more days,” Ilya says, frowning.
Shane licks a stripe up the length of Ilya’s cock, and Ilya stutters.
“Mm. I will c-come… as soon as possible.”
Shane smiles up at him, and Ilya smiles back, but there’s a sharp edge to it. Then, Shane returns to the glans to lap up Ilya’s precome, making sure to show Ilya his tongue before swallowing. Ilya gulps, the phone trembling in his hand for a moment as his eyes transparently broadcast his desire to absolutely wreck Shane for that if it weren’t for their current circumstances.
“No need to worry,” Ilya says, voice sounding a bit different from earlier. Strained.
Good, Shane thinks as he finally, finally takes Ilya’s beautiful cock into his mouth. First he starts with only the head, sucking and laving his tongue around it. He bobs his head shallowly, taking great care not to go any deeper just yet.
“Correct, I am not alone during summer,” Ilya says, voice definitely uneven. His fingers tighten in Shane’s hair as Shane gradually takes more and more of Ilya’s long length. Then, they start to move, guiding Shane forward and backward.
Suddenly, Shane’s cock is straining against his shorts. The idea of Ilya using him for his own pleasure like this is just too good to resist, so he stops moving on his own and goes slack, batting his eyelashes up at Ilya as if to say Well?
Ilya’s eyes flare with the thrill of power and he takes a deep breath before guiding Shane’s mouth all the way down to the base of his cock. When the tip of Ilya’s cock hits the back of Shane’s throat, Shane moans and Ilya closes his eyes.
“I-Is it such a surprise? Really?” Ilya asks, lazily pulling and pushing Shane’s head this way and that, fully in control of the manner in which Shane’s mouth takes his cock.
Shane is about to give up his silent battle and finally take his own cock in hand when Ilya stops him using his foot. He all but kicks Shane’s hand away from his erection, and then starts rubbing Shane through his shorts. Shane moans again, feeling so utterly used in the best way that his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head.
“No, I am not at my apartment.”
Ilya’s hand stops moving Shane’s head then, holding Shane steady with about half the length of his cock remaining in Shane’s mouth. Shane makes a sound a combination of surprise and confusion… and then Ilya switches to thrusting his hips forward into the wet heat of Shane’s mouth instead.
“Yes, it is none of your business.”
Ilya fucks Shane’s mouth with reckless abandon, thrusts fast and unforgiving, while his foot remains pressed firmly against Shane’s erection, and it’s just. So much. Shane knows he’s moaning again, and he knows Ilya can feel it by the way his face scrunches up in pleasure as he struggles to keep up with the phone call now.
“I will be there, ok? Now, we are d-done, yes?” Ilya says. Coming, he mouths soundlessly, only for Shane.
Ilya tries to pull Shane off, but Shane grips Ilya’s hips to keep him in place as he shoots rope after rope of come down Shane’s throat.
“Ok, yes, understood,” Ilya says, breathless, then he hangs up.
In an instant, he pulls a dazed Shane up to claim his lips in a bruising kiss, no doubt tasting himself on Shane’s tongue but not caring at all. Shane grips Ilya’s cheek with one hand and his curls with the other while Ilya’s hands wander to Shane’s shorts, taking his cock in hand. Ilya strokes Shane’s cock hard and fast, and in no time at all, Shane is coming with a groan against Ilya’s lips.
When their lips part, they’re both breathing heavily.
Ilya wipes at the corner of Shane’s mouth with his thumb, then uses the contact to cradle Shane’s face. He smiles something manic and full of desire. “Мой маленький дьяволёнок.”
Shane blushes. “Didn’t know I had that in me, right?” He guesses.
In lieu of an answer, Ilya just kisses him again, still smiling.
iii.
It’s late afternoon, not sunset just yet but close. One moment, they’re swimming, and the next, Ilya is pinning Shane down on the dock to kiss him stupid. Shane puts his arms around Ilya’s shoulders and kisses back lazily, letting Ilya control the pace as he determinedly licks into Shane’s mouth like a man starved. All the while, Ilya’s hands wander everywhere, to Shane’s chest as he squeezes his pecs, to Shane’s bellybutton, to Shane’s hips, to underneath Shane’s shorts to palm at his cock.
Shane whines in protest at that last action, parting from Ilya to ask, “Don’t you wanna do this inside?” It would certainly be more comfortable, for one. And less public, not that anyone’s watching them. Probably. Also, it’s where the condoms and lube are.
“No,” Ilya replies huskily. He presses one last peck on Shane’s lips before moving downwards to align his face with Shane’s crotch. He tugs at the waistband of Shane’s shorts. “Up. I want to taste you.” Very much wanting that, too, Shane raises his hips obediently so Ilya can take off his shorts. Before Shane can lower himself onto the dock again, Ilya grabs his towel and spreads it out under Shane’s ass.
Then, he gets to work on methodically taking Shane apart.
Ilya starts with getting his mouth on Shane’s cock, skillfully licking him all over and getting him fully hard in very little time. Then, he takes Shane into his mouth. And the sounds that come from that mouth are absolutely filthy, Ilya hollowing his cheeks and taking Shane’s cock as deep as it can go. Shane moans, unable to resist bucking upwards to chase that perfect suction whenever Ilya retreats just enough so Shane thinks he’s going to pull away, only to sink back down again.
“I’m close,” Shane says, grip tightening on Ilya’s curls.
The comment spurs Ilya on, and he starts sucking Shane’s cock even harder, his impeccable technique on full display as his tongue reduces Shane to garbled exclamations of “God, fuck, Ilya—” in between desperate moans. Shane can feel his orgasm building, and tells Ilya as much: “Fuck, I’m gonna—”
However, at that exact moment, Ilya retreats from Shane’s cock with a wet pop, sitting back to regard Shane with hungry eyes as he’s left rutting upwards into the open air. Shane whines at the loss of contact and looks confusedly up at his boyfriend, pleading with his eyes, Why’d you stop?
Ilya laughs, an airy sound. “Not yet, любимый,” he says softly. “I’m not done with you.”
Little does Shane know that this is only the start of the sweet, sweet torture.
When Ilya dives back in again, his mouth goes not towards Shane’s cock like Shane had been expecting, but lower, to tentatively lick at Shane’s puckered hole. Shane gasps at the sensation of Ilya tracing his rim with his tongue. Ilya also rubs soothing circles with his thumb on Shane’s thigh to try to get him to relax. Shane does his best, taking a deep breath, and Ilya hums approvingly and repositions his hands to be spreading Shane’s cheeks.
Then, Ilya starts fucking Shane with his tongue. He starts slowly and shallowly at first, tongue tensed up, but he soon unfurls it and swirls and licks Shane’s hole filthily. It’s weird and a bit ticklish, nothing like Ilya’s fingers or his cock, but it undeniably feels good, enough to leave Shane moaning and gasping at the pleasure. Ilya’s tongue works him up to regain his lost momentum, and soon enough, Shane is leaking pre and about to come again.
“Ilya, Ilya, fuck—”
And Ilya, the fucking bastard, pulls away again.
Shane covers his face with both hands. “I fucking hate you,” he tells him.
And the smirk in Ilya’s voice is damn near audible when he says, “I don’t think you do.”
“I really do,” Shane insists, which makes Ilya press a soft kiss onto his bellybutton in apology.
“Ready to go again?” Ilya asks.
Shane huffs. “Depends. Are you gonna let me come this time?”
“We shall see,” Ilya says diplomatically.
Ilya brings him to the brink two more times before abruptly retreating to leave Shane panting and desperate for the orgasm that Ilya just won’t let happen. Shane even begs for it, but Ilya is determined to see through whatever it is he has planned for Shane. However, on the third time, Ilya starts pumping Shane’s cock while he rims him, not moving away when Shane tells him he’s close. And, oh god, he’s close. This is it. He’s finally gonna come.
Shane’s orgasm hits him like a tidal wave of pleasure, every nerve in his body singing with the long sought after release. It’s the hardest he’s come in a long time, and he comes with a scream, his release coating Ilya’s hand as Ilya strokes him through it, until he’s right on the edge of overstimulation. Ilya peppers kisses on Shane’s inner thighs, praising him softly, telling him how good he’s been doing, how good he’s being for Ilya, how irresistible and sexy. Shane can only pant, completely spent from the most intense orgasm he’s had in a while.
“How are you?” Ilya checks in, hand absently rubbing soothing circles on Shane’s stomach.
“Mngh,” Shane says, hoping that will suffice.
Ilya chuckles. “Words, Shane,” he tells him gently.
“Shut up,” Shane says airily. “You did this to me. You wrecked me.”
A lopsided grin plastered on his face, Ilya agrees, “Yes, I did.”
iv.
It had finally happened: they were out of condoms.
This shouldn’t be so surprising, considering the frequency that Shane and Ilya have sex, but it’s still inconvenient. Fortunately, Shane remembers stashing a bunch in one of the guest rooms’ nightstands, and Ilya volunteers to go get it. Unfortunately, Shane neglects to tell him which guest room the emergency condoms are in, and when Ilya takes a long time, longer than Shane expects, Shane has… a feeling.
True enough, he finds Ilya in the guest room the condoms are not in, focused intently on the contents of the nightstand. Fuck.
Two dildos, a vibrator, and a buttplug are the drawer’s contents. Shane had gotten them one by one over the years, with the vibrator being the oldest (not counting the one singular dildo that lives in Shane’s Montreal apartment) and the buttplug being the newest. It was hard to get by without Ilya for months at a time, after all, and it wasn’t like Shane was going out to meet other men or ask strange girls to play with his ass. Thus, toys.
“Ilya… please just don’t say anything,” Shane pleads, trying very hard to keep his voice even through the insurmountable amount of embarrassment he’s currently feeling. He’s probably blushing right now, too.
“What? I did not know you had such a… collection,” Ilya says, clearly trying not to smile. To emphasize his words, he holds up the vibrator—an unassuming, dark purple thing—and Shane swiftly bats his hand to make him put it down.
“It’s your fault I even have these,” Shane blurts out before realizing that he’s just admitted to something even more embarrassing.
Ilya looks downright thrilled. “Is that so.”
And that’s how they end up with Shane on his hands and knees on the bed, thighs tucked together and buttplug in his ass, as Ilya lines himself up behind Shane’s thighs and slicks up his cock with the packet of lube he’s had in his shorts’ pocket this entire time (because he’s a maniac). When Ilya’s cock slides between Shane’s thighs, Shane sucks in a breath—because it’s almost too erotic. He feels himself clench around the plug and does his best to focus on keeping his thighs together so Ilya can get enough friction.
After some adjustment, Ilya starts fucking Shane’s thighs. He does so languidly at first, one hand on Shane’s hip and another on the small of his back. With every stroke, Shane’s neglected cock bobs against his stomach, and with one particularly hard thrust, Shane shudders at the feeling. It’s so intimate yet different from the sex they usually have. Shane finds himself watching the way Ilya’s cock appears and disappears between his thighs, and fuck, that’s hot.
Ilya repositions himself then, so that his chest is pressed all along Shane’s back, and the position is so familiar from the other times Ilya has fucked him like this that it’s all the more strange, the lack of him inside Shane’s hole. In time with his thrusts, Ilya peppers kisses onto Shane’s shoulders and nape, and the lack of direct stimulation almost makes Shane weep.
Likely getting close, Ilya devolves to just breathing hotly against Shane’s ear, and all of it is just too much and not enough at the same time. Ilya’s thrusts stutter and he stills, cock buried between Shane’s thighs as he comes on the sheets below. Shane clenches around the plug in his ass again and groans, his own cock impossibly hard against his stomach and begging for attention.
In seemingly no time at all, Ilya recovers from his orgasm. Shane looks back at him and watches him wipe sweat off his forehead with the back of a hand. Then, Ilya makes his way to the drawer to retrieve the bigger of the two dildos, navy-colored and ribbed, and returns to position behind Shane.
Shane, who had been hoping for his cock to get touched at some point tonight, quickly realizes what’s about to happen. Sure enough, Ilya takes out the buttplug only to replace it with the tip of the dildo, teasing. His hands are nowhere near Shane’s cock, and knowing Ilya’s habits, he’s probably aiming to make Shane come solely from his ass.
Ilya feeds Shane the dildo slowly and deliberately, and Shane moans because it’s so unlike when he does it to himself in that it’s undeniably better. Ilya simply knows just when to give him more, but also when to take it away. He fucks Shane with it skillfully, and Shane lets out a loud groan when Ilya finds his prostate. From there on, the rhythm is relentless, Ilya singularly focused on making Shane come, and Shane isn’t having it.
“Touch me. Please,” he says, referring to his neglected cock, hard and leaking.
“Touch you where?” Ilya asks cheekily.
“My dick. Come on, please,” Shane lays it on thick, knowing it’s what Ilya likes. Though, recently, the track record of success for begging has gotten somewhat lower.
Ilya smiles. “Anything for you, милый,” he says, and with a kiss to the base of Shane’s spine, he finally wraps a hand around Shane’s aching cock.
“Ohh, fuck, Ilya, Ilya—” Shane moans, needing to close his eyes as the dual pleasures in the front and back threaten to send him over the edge just like that.
“Come for me,” Ilya commands.
“Yes, yes, holy shit—” Shane makes a truly pathetic sound from the back of his throat as he comes at last, clenching around the toy and bucking up into Ilya’s hand.
Collapsing onto the bed, Shane laughs as Ilya cleans up. At Ilya’s raised eyebrow in question, Shane explains: “This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d do something like this.”
Ilya climbs into bed beside him and cages Shane between his arms. “Oh, so I was the one playing your game, then?”
Shane pecks him on the lips. “Yep. Played right into my hands.”
v.
At this point, Shane doesn’t even remember who started it—the suggestive touching during this movie—but based on track record, it’s probably Ilya. In any case, they end up turning the damn thing off, unable to focus on anything but each other.
Shane is the one who kisses Ilya first, aggressively pulling him in by his shirt collar, uncaring that his stretching of it will likely ruin the garment. And no matter how many times they kiss, it’s still always like fireworks are erupting all around him, much like they did since the very first time.
Ilya opens to him easily, his tongue plunging into Shane’s mouth and swirling around Shane’s own until Shane is drunk and borderline dizzy on the feeling. All the while, Ilya’s hands sneak underneath Shane’s shirt to feel up his body, making Shane moan when he rolls a nipple between his thumb and index finger.
They part momentarily to remove their shirts in short order, Ilya giggling when Shane’s collar gets caught on his ear, but then they’re immediately reaching for each other again. Ilya captures Shane’s lips in a bruising kiss, and then another, and then another—barely letting Shane breathe. When he finally does, though, Shane wastes no time and straddles Ilya, something he’s been wanting to do this whole time.
Their pants and underwear come off next, Shane getting his turn to huff in amusement when Ilya’s zipper gets stuck for a moment. Before discarding the garment, though, Ilya’s hand disappears into one of his pants’ pockets and reappears with two packets of lube and a condom. Shane isn’t even surprised. He leans over to take the condom and promptly throw it away while giving Ilya a look that says, Don’t even think about it.
Shane gets on his knees as Ilya slicks up his fingers using the first packet of lube. When Ilya circles one cold finger around Shane’s rim, Shane winces at first, but it disappears quickly as Ilya presses soothing, reverent kisses on Shane’s chest. Soon enough, the first finger is breaching Shane’s opening, fucking into him tentatively. Shane pushes back against it, encouraging, then nods at Ilya as a signal that he’s ready for the second one. It arrives fast, stretching and scissoring and plunging into Shane more deeply than before.
With two fingers inside him, Shane finds himself panting against Ilya’s shoulder now, unable to keep his legs straight. Ilya is murmuring encouragements to him, a “That’s it, beautiful” here and a “So good for me” there, and Shane preens with it. He leans down to kiss Ilya, filthy and wet and open-mouthed.
When Shane pulls back to tell him, “I’m ready. Give it to me,” Ilya complies like a soldier obeying his commanding officer and inserts a third finger. With it, Ilya’s rhythm relaxes somewhat, no longer actively trying to get Shane off and squarely back to the main objective, being that of simple preparation.
Figuring that it’s enough, Ilya removes his fingers from Shane’s hole and slides his hands up along Shane’s hips. “How do you want me?” He asks.
“Hold on,” Shane says, maneuvering somewhat awkwardly to turn the other way so that his back is against Ilya’s chest. “Like this.”
Ilya hums, hands returning to knead the meat of Shane’s hips—their favorite place to be, it seems. Meanwhile, Shane takes the second lube packet and drizzles its contents over Ilya’s cock, giving it a couple of firm strokes before lining it up against his opening. Ilya just watches, content to let Shane have the reins. The only sign that he’s even being affected by Shane’s ministrations is the sharp hiss he lets out when the head of his cock breaches Shane’s opening. Then, Shane wiggles his ass a bit, getting used to the sensation.
“Good?” Ilya asks after pressing a kiss to Shane’s back.
“Mhm,” Shane nods.
Slowly, slowly, Shane sinks down onto Ilya’s cock until he bottoms out.
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya says, slightly out of breath.
Shane would respond, if his mouth were not opened in a silent ‘O’ at the feeling of Ilya’s cock hitting him deep, exactly where Shane wants him. Experimentally, he raises himself up until only the tip of Ilya’s cock remains inside him… and then he slams his hips down hard. They both groan at the sensation. Then, Shane does it again. And again. He finds a rhythm, rolling his hips and fucking himself on Ilya’s cock with his hands braced at his sides on the sofa for leverage, and it feels fucking amazing.
“Shane, can I move now? Please, please,” Ilya damn near whines, and Shane can’t lie, he could get used to the sound of that.
“Sure, do it,” Shane pants, not faltering from his rhythm until— “A-Ahh, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Ilya snaps his hips, meeting Shane’s motions, and the angle changes in a way that has Ilya’s cock slamming against Shane’s prostate with every thrust. Shane’s moans are ripped out of him, uncontrollable, as shocks of pleasure hit him again and again and again. Ilya ruts into him frantically, like his life depends on it, and Shane can feel his legs and knees weakening at the relentless assault of pleasure.
“Are you close?” Ilya asks after pressing a kiss to Shane’s shoulder.
“Yes,” Shane breathes more than voices.
Then, inexplicably—to Shane—Ilya’s thrusts slow down to be replaced by him rolling his hips much more languidly.
“I don’t want to come like this,” Ilya explains. “I want to kiss you.” His voice catches on another whine, and fuck, does this man even know how weak Shane is to him?
Shane sighs. He stops moving, prompting Ilya to do the same, before raising his hips until Ilya’s cock is out of him completely. He turns around again so he and Ilya are facing each other. Then, he guides Ilya’s cock back into his hole where it belongs. “Happy?”
Ilya beams up at him. “Very.” And he proves it by fucking Shane with newfound intensity while—yes—also seeking Shane’s lips with his own, finally. They kiss, wet and messy, and Shane’s hands find a home threading through Ilya’s curls. Shane moans into Ilya’s mouth when Ilya finds his prostate again. Ilya’s thrusts grow desperate, chasing release, while Shane’s cock leaks against both their stomachs.
“Are you—?” Ilya asks, snapping his hips with an absolutely punishing rhythm.
“Fuck, yes,” Shane replies, his grip tightening on Ilya’s hair as he loses himself in the pleasure.
A few more thrusts is all it takes until they’re coming, foreheads pressed together, each other’s names on their lips as they climax. Shane comes hard, completely untouched, spilling his release on his and Ilya’s stomachs. Ilya is right there with him, his come filling the deepest part of Shane—and it’s all just wonderful.
Coming down from the high, they don’t stop kissing each other for a long time after that.
As they cuddle in the aftermath, Shane’s head resting on Ilya’s arm while Ilya holds him close, a thought occurs to Shane. “How many times have we done it, since we got here?”
“You did not count?” Ilya asks.
Shane did, but he’s not going to admit that. “You did?”
“Let’s say number at same time and whoever is wrong is… bad boyfriend,” Ilya jokes, but Shane takes him seriously.
“Sure. On three,” Shane says.
On three, they both say a number:
“36,” Ilya says confidently.
“36 times,” Shane says simultaneously.
They grin at each other.
“I knew it. You counted, too,” Ilya laughs, a wonderful sound Shane could listen to all day.
“Hey,” Shane says, suddenly serious.
“Yes, мой дорогой?” Ilya asks.
“I love you,” Shane tells him, then leans over to kiss Ilya’s cheek.
Ilya smiles, his eyes crinkling with it. “I know. I love you, too, Shane.”
Shane knows, too, of course, but it’s still nice to be reminded.
And while they may be leaving tomorrow, Shane thinks this bone-deep bliss will stay with him for a long, long time.