Chapter Text
Shane woke to a deep, throbbing ache.
It wasn't a bad pain. It was a full one. A saturated, heavy sensation that radiated from the very core of him, a deep muscle memory of being stretched and filled and used. His pussy felt swollen, sensitive. His inner thighs, when he shifted, protested with a soft burn of overworked muscles.
He lay still for a moment, blinking at the morning light slicing through the blinds, letting the fog of sleep lift and the memories of last night wash over him in vivid, liquid detail. He wasn't entirely sure how last went but from the soreness between his legs and his severe lack of underwear, his mind raced with a million possible scenarios. All of which sent a tingling warmth deep to his abdomen.
A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips. He turned his head on the pillow. Ilya was asleep beside him, one arm flung out, his curls messy against the white cotton. He reached out, stroked his fingers through the light dusting of hair on Ilya’s chest, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek.
Ilya mumbled, but didn’t wake.
Shane carefully extracted himself from the bed. The cool air of the room hit his bare skin, raising goosebumps. He found his underwear a few feet from the bed, a crumpled ball of cotton. He pulled them on, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the raw, used feeling against his pussy. Every step as he padded out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen sent a little pulse of reminder through him.
He put on a pot of steel-cut oats for himself, drizzling in honey and almond milk. For Ilya, he cracked three eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a splash of cream, salt, and a heavy crack of black pepper. He fried the bacon until it was crisp, set it on paper towels, then poured the eggs into the still-sizzling pan.
He was pushing soft, creamy curds around with a spatula when strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Warm lips pressed to the side of his neck, just below his ear.
“Morning,” Ilya’s voice was rough and sleeping, vibrating against his skin.
“Hey.” Shane leaned back into the embrace for a second, then nodded at the stove. “Don’t make me burn your eggs.”
“You wouldn’t.” Ilya kissed his neck again, then his cheek, before releasing him. He was wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants, his hair a glorious mess. He peered at the pan, then at the pot of oats. “Making yourself rabbit food again, I see.”
“It’s oats. It’s good for you.”
“Sure,” Ilya grimaces, opening a cabinet to get mugs. “You are my hero. Making me a man’s breakfast.”
Shane watched Ilya devour the eggs and bacon, mopping up the last bits with toast. Ilya finished, sat back with his coffee, and looked at Shane, his steady eyes thoughtful.
“Marleau's coming over this morning to watch the hockey game.”
Shane took a sip of his herbal tea. “Oh, yeah?”
“Sorry, should've asked. That okay?”
Shane set his cup down, a slow smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know, Ilya. You bringing your friends round uninvited is becoming a bit of a habit” His tone was light, sarcastic, but then he shrugs, "I'm seeing Hayden and his new baby this morning anyway."
Ilya laughed. “Ah yes, Pike and the baby factory.”
Shane’s smile tightened slightly. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not! I think he's building an army and that's admirable. Worried he might get you pregnant too.”
“I can't get pregnant, Ilya. We tried already, remember?” Shane said, leaning over with a smile and pecking his boyfriend on the lips. He stood, taking his empty mug to the sink. “I need to shower first.”
He felt Ilya’s eyes on him as he walked out of the kitchen. As he reached the hallway, Ilya called after him, “Want company?”
Shane paused, looking back over his shoulder. Ilya was leaning against the island, a predatory glint in his eye. Shane felt that familiar, low tug of submission, but he shook his head. “You have dishes. And you need to clean up before Cliff comes over.”
Ilya’s laugh followed him up the stairs. “I'll tell him to come late if it means I get to fuck you in the shower!" he calls but Shane just shakes his head and continues up the stairs.
Ilya finishes up the dishes, straightens up the lounge and heads upstairs to at least put a shirt on before his friend arrives. Shane is seemingly still in the shower as he hears the water running when he gets a message from Marleau telling him he was at the door.
He heads back downstairs, swinging the door open.
"Roz!" Marleau cheers, holding up a case of beers as he makes his own way into the house.
"Hey," he gestures his friend inside when he hears Shane coming down the stairs. They both turn to see Shane standing in a loose tank top and overly tight shorts.
Ilya looks him up and down with his eyebrow raised, "You're wearing that to Hayden's?" he says in almost a mutter.
Shane glances down, then laughs "No, something came up and he had to cancel so," he holds up the rolled up yoga mat that was under his arm, "I’m going to do my yoga on the patio instead."
His eyes then flick to Marleau, who has to divert his eyes back to his face, "Hey Cliff." he says with a light smile.
Ilya's gaze traveled from Shane’s smile, down the tank top, to the shorts that left very little to the imagination. “On the patio.”
"Yeah. It's a nice day." Shane nods and walked towards the sliding glass door. He unlocked it, slid it open, and stepped out onto the sun-drenched patio. He could feel Ilya’s eyes boring into his back.
He unrolled the mat, positioned it so it was perfectly centered in the view from the doors. He took a moment to stretch his arms overhead, arching his back, letting the hem of his tank top ride up to expose a sliver of his stomach. Then he began.
Reluctantly, Ilya and Marleau moved onto the couch but his eyes track Shane's movement as the game played on the big TV, pre-show commentary buzzing softly in the background.
Through the large window overlooking the patio, Shane moved with fluid grace, his lithe body twisting into a downward dog pose under the late morning sun. Sweat glistened on Shane's bare back, his yoga shorts hugging every curve of his ass as he held the stretch.
Ilya nostrils flare and he turns back to the TV, saying nothing as he has to watch his friend try hard to not glance to the side to watch the show his boyfriend is putting on.
His posture remained rigid, his jaw tight as he tries to focus on the puck.
Shane held the pose, then slowly, sensually, flowed into triangle pose. He reached one hand down his front leg, the other stretching to the sky, his hips thrust out. It was a blatant, promiscuous pose.
Marleau is then blatantly staring at this point, coughing loudly when he accidentally makes eye contact with Ilya. Sprawling out deeper into the armchair beside Ilya, letting out a low whistle, his beer bottle pausing halfway to his lips.
"You really hit the jackpot, huh, Roz?"
Ilya's jaw tightened. He shot a sideways glare at his friend but said nothing, forcing his gaze back to the screen again. The puck carrier dodged a check, but the play blurred in his periphery as Shane transitioned into a deep lunge, one leg extended, his chest heaving with controlled breaths. The window framed him perfectly, making him impossible to ignore.
Cliff chuckled, leaning forward as if to get a better view. "Your boy's more flexible than most girls. You ever fucked him like t—"
"Focus on the game, Marly," Ilya cuts him off shortly, his voice edged with irritation. He crunched a handful of chips, the crunch too loud in his ears. On screen, the goalie blocked a shot, but Ilya's mind snagged on Shane's form—strong thighs flexing, arms reaching skyward in a tree pose. It was distracting enough without commentary.
Cliff ignored him, eyes flicking between the TV and the window.
Shane moved into warrior one, lunging deep, arms stretching high. His tank top pulled tight across his chest. He transitioned to warrior two, opening his hips to the side, gaze over his front fingers. He was facing them now, in profile. He sank deeper into the lunge, feeling the stretch in his inner thigh, the same muscles that ached from last night. He let his head roll back, throat exposed.
"Fuck…" Marleau curses under his breath, Ilya watches his friend's knuckles turn white around his beer.
"I swear to fucking god…" Ilya snapped, volume spiking as a penalty was called on the ice. The ref's whistle pierced the room, mirroring his frustration. He rubbed his temple, heat rising in his chest. Ilya's irritation boiled—partly at the interruption to their game, mostly at Cliff's leering tone turning his boyfriend.
Cliff raised his hands in mock surrender, but his grin didn't fade. "Got ourselves a live-action highlight reel stealing the show from the pros." The game resumed, skates scraping virtual ice, but Cliff's gaze lingered on the patio a beat too long before snapping back.
Ilya exhaled sharply, willing himself to tune out the yoga session and the crude remarks. The score was tied, the clock ticking down, but the real tension simmered right in his living room, pulling at his attention like a magnet.
Shane finished his sequence, moving through a few more poses before settling into a final pigeon pose, a deep hip opener. He folded forward over his front leg, his face turned towards the glass. For a split second, he locked eyes with Ilya. And he winked.
He saw Ilya’s jaw clench.
Shane stayed in the pose for a long minute, then slowly unwound. He rolled up his mat with deliberate slowness, giving a final, full-body stretch that made every muscle and curve stand out, before sliding the door open and stepping back inside.
The air in the living room felt thick and charged.
“Hey, good game?” Shane said, his voice pleasantly neutral.
“Shane. Hey.” Cliff’s smile was a bit too quick. “Good… uh, good yoga session?”
“It was. Really loosened me up.” Shane walked past them towards the kitchen, feeling their eyes track him. He opened the fridge, pulled out the pitcher for another green smoothie. He poured it, leaning against the counter to drink it. He could feel Ilya’s stare from the living room like a physical touch.
The game ended. Cliff stood, gathering his things. “Good game,” he said. “Catch you later, Ilya.”
He walked toward the front door, passing the kitchen entrance. He paused, looked at Shane. “Nice seeing you,” he said. His tone was normal, but his eyes dipped, just for a microsecond, before snapping back up.
“You too,” Shane said, smiling innocently.
The front door clicked shut and the only thing that followed was a deep silence.
Then, the sound of Ilya getting off the couch. His footsteps were slow, deliberate on the hardwood floor. Shane kept drinking his smoothie, staring out the kitchen window, his heart starting to hammer against his ribs.
Ilya appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed. He didn’t speak for a long moment.
“So,” Ilya said finally, his voice quiet, dangerous. “You liked that, huh?”
Shane swallowed. “Liked what?”
“Putting on a show.” Ilya pushed off the doorframe and took a step into the kitchen. “Knowing he was getting hard watching my fucking boyfriend’s ass in those tiny shorts.”
Shane set his glass down, trying to keep his voice even. “I was just doing yoga. If you have a problem with where I do it—”
“I don’t have a problem,” Ilya interrupted, taking another step. He was close now, crowding Shane back against the counter. “I’m just curious. Did you get wet out there, Shane? Thinking about him seeing you? Thinking about him wondering what was under those shorts?”
“No,” Shane breathed, but it was a lie. His pussy was throbbing, a fresh, slick heat gathering.
“Liar.” Ilya’s hands came up, planting themselves on the counter on either side of Shane, caging him in. His face was inches away. His steady eyes were blazing. “You’re a fucking liar. You loved it. You wanted attention. You wanted to be looked at.” One hand left the counter and snaked down, palming the front of Shane’s shorts. “Because you're a slut.”
Shane gasped, hips jerking forward into the touch. “Ilya…”
“You want to put on a show?” Ilya’s voice dropped to a vicious, hungry whisper. His fingers hooked into the waistband of Shane’s shorts and underwear and yanked them down to his thighs in one rough motion. The cool air hit Shane’s exposed pussy, making him shudder. “Let’s see how useful that yoga has been.”
In one fluid, powerful motion, Ilya spun Shane around and bent him over the kitchen counter. Shane’s smoothie glass clattered to the floor. His chest and cheek were pressed against the cold granite, his ass in the air, his shorts and underwear a tangle around his knees. He was completely exposed, vulnerable.
Ilya’s hand came down on his ass, a sharp, stinging slap that made Shane cry out. “Look at you,” Ilya growled. His fingers trailed through Shane’s folds, gathering the wetness that was already there. He rubbed his slick fingers over Shane’s clit, a rough, circular motion that had Shane’s legs shaking. “You’re fucking dripping. But not for me, huh? For Marly and his hard-on.”
“No…” Shane whimpered, pushing his hips back, seeking more pressure. "For you…please."
“Please what?” Ilya shoved two fingers inside him without warning, curling them deep. Shane shouted, his back arching. Ilya fucked him with his fingers, hard and fast, the wet, obscene sound filling the quiet kitchen. “Please fuck you? Is that what you want? You want my cock in your greedy pussy?”
“Yes! God, yes, please, Ilya, fuck me!” Shane babbled, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick counter.
Ilya pulled his fingers out, slick and shining. He brought them to Shane’s mouth.
“Suck.” Shane obeyed, swirling his tongue around Ilya’s fingers, tasting himself. Ilya watched, his breath coming hard. “Good boy.”
He shoves his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock. It was rock-hard, flushed dark, jutting out angrily. He rubbed the head through Shane’s soaking folds, coating himself.
“But you don’t get fucked yet,” Ilya murmured, his voice deadly calm. He positioned the broad head at Shane’s entrance and applied pressure, but didn’t push in. “Not until you admit it. Say it. Tell me you did that all on purpose. Tell me you wanted him to watch you.”
Shane sobbed, trying to push back, to impale himself on the thick tip. Ilya held firm. “Ilya… please…”
“Say it.”
The denial crumbled. The need was too great. “I did it!” Shane cried, the words ripped from him. “I wanted him to look! I wanted him to see!”
Ilya’s smile was a dark, triumphant thing. “See? That was easy enough.” And he slammed forward, burying his entire length inside Shane in one brutal, deep thrust.
Shane lets out a loud and strangled moan. The stretch was immense, unbelievable. He was still puffy and sore from last night, and Ilya felt bigger, harder, more demanding. He filled him completely, a burning, perfect invasion. Ilya didn’t wait for him to adjust. He pulled back and drove in again, setting a punishing, fast pace right from the start.
“Is my attention not enough for you?” Ilya grunted, his hands gripping Shane’s hips hard enough to bruise. Each thrust rocked Shane’s entire body forward on the counter. “How about I bring more of my friends round? I’ll bring them all over. Let them line up. Let them all take a turn fucking this pretty little pussy of yours.” He punctuated each sentence with a savage snap of his hips. “Let Cliff have a go. Let him see what it really feels like.”
“No!” Shane gasped, but his body was clenching, welcoming the violation and the filthy words.
“Yes,” Ilya hissed, leaning over him, his chest hot against Shane’s back. “I’ll let them all use you. One after the other. Fuck you until you can’t remember your own name. Then you’ll finally learn.” He bit Shane’s shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to sting. “You’ll learn that I’m the only one. The only one who knows how to fuck you properly. The only one who knows how to fuck you until you’re crying. Until you’re fucking begging.” He shifted his angle, driving directly into that sweet, deep spot that made Shane see white.
Shane shattered. A ragged, broken whine tore from his throat as an orgasm ripped through him with violent, unexpected force. His pussy convulsed around Ilya’s cock, milking it, pulsing wildly. He shook, tears springing to his eyes, dripping onto the granite.
Ilya didn’t stop. He fucked him through the climax, his rhythm becoming erratic, brutal. “That’s it,” he snarled. “Come all over my cock. Make a mess. You’re such a fucking slut for it.”
Shane was sobbing, oversensitive, his body still quaking with aftershocks as Ilya pounded into him. He felt Ilya’s thrusts become desperate, frantic. Ilya’s fingers dug into his skin, holding him immobile.
“I’m gonna come,” Ilya gasped. “Gonna fill this cheating little pussy up. Mark it as mine. You want that? You want me to pump my come so deep inside you it leaks out for hours?”
“Yes! Fuck, yes, Ilya, please!” Shane begged, the words barely coherent.
With a final, guttural groan, Ilya slammed home and held there, his body going rigid. Shane felt the hot, liquid pulse of his release flooding inside him, jet after jet, filling the clenching, sensitive space. Ilya groaned, long and low, his forehead dropping between Shane’s shoulder blades.
For a moment, they stayed locked like that, panting, slick with sweat, Ilya’s cock still twitching inside him. Then Ilya pulled out slowly. Shane gasped at the sudden emptiness, at the sensation of wetness immediately trickling down his inner thigh.
But Ilya wasn’t done.
Before Shane could catch his breath, Ilya’s hands were under his thighs, lifting him clear off the floor with a grunt of effort. Shane yelped, his arms flailing. Ilya carried him, his cock, still slick and half-hard, bumping against Shane’s ass, to the large kitchen window that overlooked their quiet backyard. He pressed Shane’s back against the cool glass.
“Look,” Ilya breathed, his mouth against Shane’s ear. He hoisted Shane higher, his hands under Shane’s thighs, spreading them wide. Shane’s ass and pussy were pressed flat against the window. Anyone walking by in the alley behind their fence would see a naked man, held up, his most intimate parts displayed against the glass. “Look outside. Someone could be watching right now.” He nudged his cockhead against Shane’s used, wet entrance. “They’d see me. They’d see me shove my cock back into this well-fucked hole.”
He pushed in, just an inch, making Shane whimper. The glass was cold, the contrast with Ilya’s heat shocking.
“They’d wonder,” Ilya whispered, his voice full of dark amusement. He pushed in another inch, stretching Shane again, a fresh burn. “They’d wonder how many times I can come in you before I get bored. How many loads I can dump in this pussy before it’s finally enough.” He began to move, shallow, grinding thrusts that rubbed Shane’s clit against the hard ridge of his pubic bone. “What do you think, princess? How many?”
Shane’s head fell back against the glass with a dull thud. He was beyond words, a whimpering, pliant thing in Ilya’s grasp. He shook his head, tears streaking his cheeks.
“You don’t know?” Ilya fucked into him a little harder, a little deeper. The window pane rattled softly. “That’s okay. We’ll find out. I’ll fuck you against every window in this house. I’ll keep coming in you until you’re so full of me you can’t walk straight.” He kissed the side of Shane’s neck, a tender contrast to the possession of his hips. “You can take it, can’t you? You can take whatever I give you.”
Shane found his voice, a broken, desperate whisper. “Yes. Anything. I can take it. I can take all of it.”
Then there's a loud creak and what sounds like cursing from across the room. Ilya flicks his head round to see Cliff Marleau himself leaning down with his face angled towards them.
His eyes wide and guilty as he holds up his phone, "Shit," he curses again, "I just, uh, forgot my phone…" he scrambles for his excuse and contorts his face uncomfortably, and that's when he decides to look away.
Shane whines as Ilya chuckles against the back of his neck, his hand tensing on the back of Shane's head where he's being kept in place.
"Such an asshole…" he mumbles, before Ilya starts moving again.
"Mm, I know."