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So it went, for a week, two. Any pretense—the video—dropped away, and it was just them, their hands, their mouths. Shane waited, more and more impatiently, for dinner to be over, for there to be an excuse to press up against Ilya as he loaded the dishes in the dishwasher. Ilya always said something in Russian Shane couldn't understand, but in a tone so teasing and lighthearted that Shane couldn't mind. Then Ilya would push Shane up against the kitchen cupboards, or against the table, and kiss him until Shane was so desperate he sometimes wanted to cry.
Shane hadn't forgotten the video, though, not entirely. He couldn't forget the sight of the dildo in the man's ass, the sounds he'd made at the sensation. Especially not with the way Ilya liked to punctuate his blowjobs with a finger pressed against Shane's taint, just centimetres away from—well.
Another week went by and Shane found himself distracted during their morning run, thinking about it. There were only two more weeks before training camp started, and maybe this thing, whatever it was, wouldn't survive the start of the season. Shane wanted to know—had to know—what it felt like.
There were probably mail order catalogues for this sort of thing, but Shane didn't know how to find them. So, one afternoon, after the gym, he dropped Ilya off at home mumbling something about having errands. Whether or not Ilya understood, he got out of the car and Shane could drive to an adult store in Passaic.
He came home with a brown paper bag in a plastic bag, sure that his cheeks would never stop being bright red. Ilya took one look at him when he got in the house and pounced, trying to catch the bag dangling from Shane's hand.
"Wait, wait," Shane said, breathlessly, laughing at the tickling fingers Ilya was digging into his ribs.
"Wait, wait," Ilya mimicked, and tore the bag out of Shane's lax fingers. "No wait."
Ilya stuck his hand into the bag, and pulled out the dildo, in all its beige glory. His expression shifted from one of glee to one of disapproval in an instant. Shane felt a wash of terror slosh through his body, up from his gut to his throat, and down to his knees.
"Shane," Ilya said and Shane held his breath. "Why?"
Every possible explanation fled Shane's mind. He shrugged, tried not to throw up. He'd misunderstood. He'd overstepped. It had been too good to be true, he should've known.
"Sorry," he said, swallowing hard. "I'll—"
"Shane." Ilya's fingers were on his wrist, stopping Shane from leaving the room. "Is okay. Not need this." He shook the dildo so it flopped back and forth a little.
"What—"
Ilya threw the dildo onto the couch, where it bounced twice before rolling to a stop next to a throw cushion. Then he took Shane's face in both hands, even though it was only midafternoon, and kissed him. The relief made Shane's knees weak and he clutched at Ilya's elbows to stay upright.
"Okay," Shane murmured when Ilya tipped their foreheads together. "I don't need it. This is good. You're right."
Ilya rubbed his hand up and down Shane's back, then stepped away. Shane tried not to feel bereft. Then Ilya glanced at the dildo again and made another face.
"No need," he said again, and grabbed his dick through his sweats. "Have this."
The couch was fortunately right behind Shane, so when he folded, it caught him behind the knees. He sat with a small oof as the implications slammed into him, several wallops of realization that left him breathless.
Ilya was proposing—that is, he was suggesting that he—that Shane let him— He couldn't finish the thought in words, only images from the video coming back, of the man's asshole opening as the dildo penetrated it. That was—that was gay, probably. No, it was definitely gay, to let a man fuck him with his dick. How could Ilya even suggest it?
Shane shuddered, covered his face with both hands. The thought insinuated itself, a carving tendril of truth. He wanted it, though. He wanted Ilya, like that.
"Hey," Ilya said, the couch shifting as he sat down next to Shane. He pulled gently until he could take Shane's hands in his own. "I want to fuck you."
It was maybe the first full sentence Shane had heard Ilya utter. It might be a terrible idea, but Shane was quickly getting used to giving Ilya what he wanted. "This is a terrible idea," Shane muttered and squeezed Ilya's fingers.
Shane only knew as much as the porn video—unrealistic—showed him, but he thought a shower was probably necessary. He washed everywhere, even between his toes, but paid special attention to his ass. He rubbed two soapy fingers along the cleft, over his hole and tried to imagine how Ilya would fit there. It made his cock firm up, just that little touch, and he stayed that way, half-hard even as he dried himself off and pulled on some underwear.
Ilya wasn't in the living room when Shane stepped out of the bathroom, and a search showed he wasn't in the apartment at all. Feeling ridiculous and disappointed, Shane got dressed. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe avoiding the terrible idea was in fact sensible. He was looking in the fridge to see what they could have for dinner when the door opened.
Ilya was holding a bag and looking very pleased with himself, as Shane crossed his arms, biting down on the question on the tip of his tongue. It didn't matter, anymore. He'd resolved to say no if Ilya asked again.
Ilya pulled a tube out of the bag, held it out to Shane. "Lubricant," he said, carefully pronouncing the word. Shane could feel the flush bloom across his cheeks. Ilya hadn't left, not really. He'd just gone to get—what they needed. What they needed for—
"Shane."
"Ilya," Shane replied automatically, trying not to flinch when Ilya crossed the distance between them, pressed his thumb on Shane's lower lip. Helplessly, Shane let his lips part, tongue slipping forward to lick. Ilya leaned forward and kissed him, then, and every thought of telling Ilya no fled Shane's mind.
Like always, they went to Shane's room, and like always, Shane closed the door even though they were alone in the apartment. It was too strange to leave it open, given that they were—getting naked. The light was all wrong, sunlight still streaming through the window. No shadows in which Shane could hide.
All the nerves came rushing back as Ilya stripped in front of Shane, all practicality, no hint of seduction. Shane played with the hem of his t-shirt, but didn't get any further than that before Ilya was naked, naked and hard in front of him. Shane swallowed, unable to look away from Ilya's cock. It looked impossibly big now; there was no way it was going to ever…fit.
Shane dragged his gaze up to make eye contact with Ilya, who was just watching Shane fidget. He took a step back, sat down on the bed, patted the space beside him. Shane went, sat down leaving a gap between their thighs. He looked at Ilya's hairy leg, startling when he felt fingertips touching the side of his neck gently.
Ilya murmured something in Russian, his nose brushing up against Shane's cheek. His lips were soft and Shane shivered. It was almost like Ilya was trying to seduce him. Shane tilted his head to give Ilya more access, and Ilya trailed kisses from Shane's ear down to the collar of his t-shirt.
Their fingers bumped, tangled at the hem of Shane's shirt, pulling together to get it up and off. Then Ilya pushed, pulled, rearranged them so Shane was lying back against the pillows, before settling on his knees either side of Shane's hips.
"Okay?" Ilya asked, once he was bent forward, mouthing at Shane's clavicle. Shane arched, and Ilya slipped down a bit further to grip at his pec, pull the nipple into his mouth.
"Fuck!"
"Yes," Ilya said, looking up and grinning.
Shane pushed his fingers into Ilya's hair, dragged him back down to his chest. He was hard now, nervous energy dissipating in the face of his rising arousal. It would be good, he thought, as Ilya plucked at the waistband of Shane's sweatpants. How could it be anything but good?
It wasn't long before Ilya was dragging his mouth down Shane's body, getting his lips around the head of Shane's cock. Ilya was drooling, spit sliding down Shane's cock to the ring he'd made of his fingers. He slid his mouth down, dragged his fingers up, and Shane arched. Everything felt so much. No matter how many times they did this, this time was the best. Ilya pinned his free arm across Shane's hips and Shane arched against it, knowing it was safe now to push up into the sensation. It was like nothing existed before this moment. Yet, it wasn't long before the rising tension was twisting everything tight, tighter in the bowl of Shane's hips.
"'M gonna come," he gasped, fingers spasming in Ilya's curls.
Ilya lifted his head and wrapped all his fingers around Shane's cock, pumping it faster. He said something in Russian, in a tone that could only be characterised as sweet, and Shane slammed his eyes shut as he came and came.
Shane was still breathing hard when he heard Ilya laugh, felt him press a kiss to the head of Shane's cock. He shuddered, clutching at the comforter with both hands as Ilya's fingers slid down, under his balls. Shane shifted, tried to spread his legs only to find that Ilya's knees were in the way.
"Wait," Ilya said, in an admonishing tone. He reached past Shane to the box of tissues on the bedside table and wiped his hands before dabbing gently at Shane.
"Okay," he said when he was done, and slapped Shane's hip. "Over."
Shane's cheeks were already hot, hectic, but he felt another flush at the implication. Ilya was going to—
Shane went, twisting, onto his hands and knees, pressed his cheek up against his biceps to try to cool it a little, but his arm was hot too.
"Go—slow—" Shane mumbled, head hanging down as he felt Ilya smooth his hand over his asscheek. He startled when Ilya kissed him—kissed his ass!—and looked over his shoulder. Ilya was smirking, and as Shane watched he lifted his hand and delivered a light smack to the other cheek.
Shane jolted, feeling the ache of his dick trying to get hard again. It hurt. It felt good. He dropped his chin and tried to remember how to breathe. There was some fumbling behind him, a wet sound, and then cold fingers sliding along his crack. Shane flinched, trying at once to get closer and get away from the sensation.
"Cold," he said, when the movement stopped.
"Sorry," Ilya replied, sounding not even remotely sorry. He rubbed his fingers across Shane's hole, petting. It felt strange and amazing. It was so sensitive there, Shane thought, as Ilya's fingertip pushed a little at his hole. Shane made a sound he tried to stifle, biting at his own arm in an effort not to beg for more.
"Is good?" Ilya asked, and Shane looked over his shoulder again to see Ilya looking very smug.
"Shut up," Shane grumbled, swallowing hard as Ilya pushed a little more with his finger. "Ah—"
It felt so weird, and so good at the same time. It only got more intense when Ilya cupped his balls, rolling them a little.
"Fucking—fuck—" he gasped, tipping forward onto his forearms so he could push back into the two sensations. Ilya's fingertip felt huge inside him, but Shane wanted it deeper, somehow. He wanted more.
Ilya said something in Russian, then followed it up with a kiss—again!—and a very Russian sounding "perfect."
Shane lost all sense of time. There was nothing but Ilya's hands keeping him anchored to the bed, the slow ease in and out of his finger pushing further in each time.
"Two?" Ilya asked, second fingertip teasing at the rim that now felt swollen somehow. Shane nodded, and Ilya tsked.
"English, Shane," he said and Shane huffed in frustration.
"Yeah, yes," Shane said with gritted teeth that turned into a gasp when the second fingertip eased in alongside the first. It burned, the stretch, and was somehow exactly what Shane wanted. He pushed back with his ass, hungry for more. Ilya gave it to him, rubbing in deep and pressing towards Shane's navel. The resulting jolt of pleasure had Shane crying out, his cock dripping.
"What—"
"Good?" Ilya said, in a tone that suggested he already knew that it was. He set about pressing and dragging his fingers in and out in no particular pattern, so good and so frustrating at once Shane thought he might cry.
Then there was more cold lube, shocking, followed by a third finger that felt like far too much. Shane rocked back into the sensation, teeth dug into his own shoulder. His fingers and toes were cramping and he was gasping as Ilya kissed next to his fingers.
"You can't—" Shane said, shocked. A kiss, there?
Ilya interrupted him. "Fucking now?"
"Oh my god," Shane muttered, pressing his sweaty forehead to the mattress. "Please, okay? Yes, please, okay?"
This earned him a sharp slap to his left asscheek, a distraction maybe at the sudden emptiness of his ass. He whined, craned to see what Ilya was doing. He was stroking his cock, which was shiny with lube, lower lip tucked in between his teeth. His chest glistened, abs too, like working Shane up got him hot. He looked—so good.
Shane ducked his head down, cheeks burning. Was he really going to let Ilya—
Abruptly, there was hot slipperiness against his hole. Shane instinctively shifted his knees wider. Ilya's hands were on his hips, anchoring, as he leaned forward. Shane felt pressure, gradually increasing until it was too much too much, impossible: then his body gave way. He gasped, echoed by Ilya, screwed his eyes shut. He couldn't get a breath in, gasped again. He was so full, it stung, it was so much.
"Ilya—"
Ilya replied in Russian, rubbed one hand in the small of Shane's back, and pushed in a little more. Shane was crying, tears mixing with sweat, dripping down from the tip of his nose. He rocked back into the sensation, even when he could feel the scrape of hair against his ass. It was so much. It was everything he didn't know he wanted.
Ilya folded over his back, nosing behind Shane's ear to press a kiss there. "Good boy," he murmured and Shane shuddered, cock jumping. And then Ilya started to move.
Whatever Shane thought about the sensation of Ilya in him, it was nothing compared to the feel of Ilya's cock dragging out, and pushing back in. The guy in the porn video hadn't been exaggerating anything, Shane thought, before the thought was knocked out of him by Ilya's cock.
Shane was drooling a little, breathing with his mouth open against the comforter, nose smushed. His vision was sparkling, that one spot inside lighting him up every time the head of Ilya's cock pushed past it, pulled out again. Nothing mattered except having more, more of Ilya hauling Shane back by his hips, more cock, more fucking.
"Shane, good," Ilya said breathlessly, driving in deep and leaning down to kiss the back of his neck.
"So good," Shane replied, mindlessly. "Ilya, fuck, fuck me—"
He was so hard. He was so hard but Ilya wasn't touching his dick, and Shane couldn't reach for it with the way Ilya was fucking him. Could he come anyway? He might.
Ilya folded over Shane's back, covering Shane's fingers with his own, easing them free of the fabric so they were interlaced. Shane shifted enough to be able to kiss at Ilya's knuckles, desperately wanting them in his mouth. He wanted to be full everywhere.
Ilya was fucking him harder now, steady and deep thrusts that rocked Shane forwards, over and over. It was certain now, he was going to come again, he could feel the sensations tightening, rising, rising.
"Ilya—god," Shane choked, clenching his fingers against Ilya's. Almost—almost—
He groaned, cock kicking up against his belly as he came.
"Shane?" Ilya untangled their fingers so he could get a hand around Shane's cock, laughing once at the wetness there. "Again?"
He'd stopped moving, and Shane squirmed, sniffled. It was too much now. But Ilya didn't seem to understand, because he rocked against Shane's ass.
"Ah—hh—"
Ilya murmured something in Russian, hand coming up to grope at Shane's pec, his nipple. Shane's cock jolted again, and he whined.
"Be good," Ilya said, pinching Shane's nipple as punctuation. Tears welled in Shane's eyes. Then Ilya straightened, hands back on Shane's hips as he started moving again, slow at first but then faster, harder until Shane couldn't see anything for tears. It should have been impossible, but his dick was getting hard again.
"Shane, are perfect," Ilya said breathlessly and then grunted as he pushed in deep. He stopped moving and Shane thought, he's coming. Shane hiccuped, sniffled. Ilya was moving again, slower now; everything was slick and wet. Shane never wanted it to end.
Of course, it was then that Ilya pulled out and Shane gasped at the sudden feeling of emptiness. He shuddered when Ilya's fingers petted at his hole, pushing in, dragging out again a few times.
Come slithered down the back of Shane's legs. He couldn't decide if he liked it or if it was disgusting. And then Ilya—Shane gasped. Ilya—Ilya kissed him there.
Later, Shane would not be able to determine if it was the sensation, or the idea of it, that made his dick blurt, getting more come onto the comforter. In the moment, though, all he could do was shake, shake and cry.
He came back to himself to find he'd been wrapped haphazardly in the comforter, with Ilya lying beside him on the fitted sheet, still naked. He had his head propped up on one hand, watching Shane. He smiled, and Shane found himself smiling back. He felt floaty, still.
"Good?"
Shane stretched a little, feeling the ache in his ass, and all the places where he was sticky. He grimaced. "I need a shower."
"But," Ilya said, smile a lot dimmer. "Okay?"
"Yeah," Shane replied, lips curving up almost without his permission. "It was good. I'm good." It was an understatement, really, but he'd come so much, other words were just not available.
Ilya's answering grin was one of pure joy.