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“Shane.”
Shane turns his head to Ilya but doesn’t move his eyes from where he’s staring out at the lake, watching the waves rise and fall. There’s a point in the distance that’s holding his attention, far away and non-descript. He doesn’t feel like looking away from it, mind latched on to this point as his thoughts race.
“You are thinking so loudly, it is ruining the view.”
Shane can see Ilya in his peripherals, but he doesn’t want to lose his focus on his spot in the distance, so doesn’t try to perceive what sort of look Ilya is giving him.
Shane hears more than sees Ilya placing his plate on the table, empty of the sandwich Ilya had devoured in what he called ‘second lunch’; he had pouted an unreasonable amount when Shane hadn’t taken up his offer to participate. Shane wasn’t going to start thinking about bulking up again for the pre/season until he was back in Montreal in two weeks. The thought of his easy and familiar apartment, the promise of routine and structure, should make him happy but instead he frowns.
“Shut up,” Shane replies, absentmindedly.
He thinks of the suitcases already lined up by the door for tomorrow, Ilya’s still half opened because he refused to commit to an airport outfit, whining that the weather could unexpectedly change and he wanted to keep his options open. He thinks of the shorts and tank that Ilya left behind, saying he’ll wear them next summer and that he has no need for them in Boston when he spends nearly all of his time in an ice rink.
Shane tries to reach for the warmth he’d felt when Ilya had said that, but all he can think of is what the cottage is going to sound like after Shane drops Ilya to the airport, his immediate absence outweighing the years Shane has spent here alone.
A touch on his arm startles him from his thoughts and he loses concentration on his point of focus. Ilya’s hand wraps around his wrist, perfectly lining up with the fading bruises he left there two nights ago. Shane hopes he’ll squeeze hard enough to burst the blood vessels again; give him more than just the memory of it before he goes.
“You are sad,” Ilya says, sure.
Shane shrugs, it’s not exactly right but it’s close enough.
“You should know better than me, Mr. Sponsorship. If you had told me about cottage sooner, maybe I wouldn’t agree to do stupid Red Bull commercial. But, alas, I need money so that my super rich boyfriend does not think I am gold digger.”
Shane doesn’t bother to let him know that telling Ilya about the cottage sooner would have only made him run; they are both well aware of how close this was to never happening. The less Shane thinks about the fragile balance their relationship has always existed in up until now, the better.
He knows Ilya is just saying this shit to make him smile, to get Shane to tell him to fuck off, and Shane loves him for that. Shane loves him. He clenches his teeth and ignores how his eyes burn.
“So sad,” Ilya coos and Shane looks away, his lip jutting out against his will. He gets a pinch on his cheek for his efforts. “I will help, hm?”
Shane side eyes him. “And how exactly are you gonna do that?”
It’s not hard to figure out what Ilya is thinking, not when he bares his teeth and winks at Shane, so beautiful it makes Shane’s breath stutter in his chest.
“I know a few ways to get you out of your head, I think.”
And Ilya doesn’t waste any time, gesturing to the floor with an eyebrow raised.
Shane swallows, heat collecting in his stomach already and fists clenching at his sides. He’s not that easy. Usually.
“Shane,” Ilya says and the hint of impatience in his tone is enough to have Shane sliding off his chair and onto his knees.
He stares at where his skin presses into the groves of the decking, already aching slightly. He wonders if he will bruise, if Ilya wants it to bruise. He clutches the hem of his shorts with his hands, chest still tight.
He startles, gasping, when his hair is yanked and he’s forced to look up.
“You know Daddy does not like it when he can’t see your pretty eyes,” Ilya frowns, not lightening his grip at all.
Embarrassingly, tears are already burning at Shane’s lash line. He feels off balance, he thought he knew where this interaction was going – sex is always how Ilya is able to get Shane out of his head, good, rough, so intense he feels it for days type of sex. But this… it’s so unexpected. Like Ilya has thrown a hook out into the lake and it bullseyed precisely into Shane’s hidden desires, sharp and unyielding. Now Shane is left reeling, open and exposed under Ilya’s perfectly poised control.
He starts to tremble. Daddy, he thinks, reverent even in his own mind.
They haven’t spoken about the incident in Shane’s apartment, where his throat was raw and sore for days longer than it should have been. Hazy memories of a condescending tone mixed with sweet words of comfort, prodding and teasing at Shane until he gave in.
The buzz of it had followed Shane for days afterwards, keeping him up at night, so sure he was going to get a text from Ilya saying that actually, no, he couldn’t keep sleeping with someone who was such a pervert. It never came, but it was also never brought up again. So Shane did what he always does, quickly tucked away his pressing need for more until he could ignore it.
Now, stripped bare in front of Ilya in every way imaginable, it makes sense this would come out too.
Shane takes a shuddering breath, whining already.
Ilya smiles, the light of the setting sun doing nothing to mask how Ilya’s eyes darken and the corner of his lips curl meanly.
“Your thoughts are too loud, hm? You need Daddy’s cock to shut them up,” Ilya says, tugging so the sharp pain lights up across the roots of Shane’s hair.
Shane gapes dumbly up at Ilya, tongue pressing uselessly against his teeth as his mind fogs up, his focus slipping already. He wants to nod but can’t find the function to do so.
“Tell me,” Ilya’s smile disappears from his face, expression settling into something more neutral.
Shane flounders, his breath picking up in his chest. He can’t, he can’t say it. The words squeeze his throat shut, clogging his speech.
“I need it,” he says instead and tries not to flinch when Ilya frowns, tutting.
“What do you need?”
Shane tries not to blink, the tear collecting on his lashes would fall if he does. His pulse thuds in his ears and he digs his nails into the skin of his knees, the pin pricks doing little to clear his mind.
“Your— ah!”
Ilya backhands him across the face so quickly that it forces the tears out of Shane’s eyes, his head thrown to the side but it can’t move far because of Ilya unrelenting grip on his hair. The pulling of his hair hurts immediately but the sting of the slap takes a moment to spread, his cheek smarting and hot as his tears continue to fall and track trails down the reddening skin.
It’s probably only a second, but to Shane it feels like hours before he pulls himself back enough, the traces of his reluctance fractured around him.
“Daddy, please,” Shane cries, pathetic.
Ilya coos, finally letting go of Shane’s hair. He rubs his thumb against the sore skin of Shane’s cheek and Shane whines as he swipes away his tears.
“Come here” Ilya pats his knee and Shane scrambles his way off of the floor, climbing clumsily into Ilya’s lap.
He buries his head in his shoulder, sniffling. “Daddy...”
“Poor you,” Ilya presses a kiss to his smarting cheek and Shane whimpers. “Was that so hard?”
Shane shudders in his lap, nuzzling further into his shoulder.
He feels—fuck, he doesn’t know how he feels. So completely unlike himself, fragile and small. Cradled in Ilya’s lap, his big hand slipping under his shirt and soothing up his spine. Shane mouths at the collar of Ilya’s shirt, needing something to focus on. It’s like he’s drunk, his thoughts sluggish in his head; he can’t grasp onto a single one, his focus narrowed down to Ilya’s breath tickling his neck as he laughs and his fingers pressing against the muscles of his shoulder blades.
“Daddy,” Shane says again, barely audible through the fabric in his mouth, just to feel the shape of the words.
Ilya hums, warm and deep in his chest and Shane feels it vibrate through him. He's drooling, the damp spot he’s leaving behind on Ilya’s shirt growing as he fails to control himself. His cock is throbbing in his shorts, sticky with precum and he tries to squeeze his thighs to relieve the pressure and get some relief but Ilya’s hip keeps his knees spread open.
He squirms, pressing himself even closer to Ilya; Shane wants to crawl inside him, curl up safe and warm and happy in his rib cage. He wants to be caught in Ilya’s maw, torn apart until the shreds of him can be gathered and sown into something wholly consumed and owned.
He pants, breath humid on his own face. He wants to cum.
“Daddy doesn’t like being mean to you,” Ilya says and Shane twitches, the words washing over him like a touch. “But sometimes, dumb babies like you need it.”
Oh. Oh. Shane clenches his eyes closed, his groin tightening. He’s not going to cum, he can’t cum. He grinds his teeth into the knitted fabric, shaking and shaking. He’s floating, tethered only by Ilya’s hands on his body, touching everywhere, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“I need it, Daddy,” Shane thinks he says, but he can't hear anything over the loud thump of Ilya’s heart beat in his ear and the static clouding his mind.
A pinch to his side makes him jump, releasing the shirt from his bite. He glances up at Ilya through his eyelashes, damp with tears. He wonders what Ilya sees when their eyes meet, his gaze is so warm, looking down at him like one would a beloved pet. Fond, slightly in awe that a creature whose brain is so small can still manage to do something that surprises you.
“Good boy,” Ilya says and the sincerity makes Shane dizzy. “It wasn’t that hard in the end, no?”
Shane squirms, his insides twisting and turning, pleased but embarrassed. He gets distracted by the feeling of Ilya’s bludge pressing against the curve of his ass and he rocks his hips, looking down to see if he can catch the print of his hard cock through their bodies, feeling silly because of course he can’t.
A firm tap to his already sore cheek gets his attention again, and Ilya raises an eyebrow at him but it’s softened by the fond curve of his lip. “Daddy asked you a question, baby.”
“Um,” Shane sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, he hasn’t stopped the motion of his hips and Ilya’s hands are resting on his waist, doing nothing to halt him.
“No, Daddy,” he says, mostly because it feels like the right answer.
Ilya laughs and Shane stares, transfixed at the captivating image Ilya’s easy joy makes. Shane smiles, happy to be the cause of something as special as Ilya’s laughter. Ilyas sighs something in Russian under his breath, too low for Shane to even attempt to phrase, and reaches a hand up to cup Shane’s neck.
“You are so lovely,” Ilya says, smacking a kiss on Shane’s lips, “You are so precious. Daddy loves you a lot.”
Shane’s toes curl as pleasure coils up in his chest, sweet and heavy.
“You’re gonna take Daddy’s cock now,” Ilya says, already pulling Shane’s shorts down.
Shane nods. “Yes Daddy.”
Ilya kissing him again, his hand groping the newly exposed skin of Shane’s ass. Shane moaning, arching into his touch as Ilya hums a pleased rumble. His hands feel so huge, his thumb digging into the dimple at the base of his tail bone, and Shane’s thighs tremble as his cock is also freed from the fabric, the damp spot embarrassingly large.
“Messy baby,” Ilya tuts when he notices and Shane flushes.
His cock is shiny, the head wet and dripping. He’s so hard it hurts, his balls full and tight, and Shane clenches his eyes shut at the obscene picture it paints between his legs.
Ilya flicks his leaking cock, “Cute.”
Everything feels so slow, his focus dripping like syrup, a dream-like haze to his vision. Shane clings to Ilya’s shoulders, his fingers curling when a teasing finger starts to stroke over the soft skin of his hole, still a little loose from the activities of this morning.
“Daddy,” Shane whispers, drool collecting on his bottom lip, dripping down his chin because he’s too out of it to suck it back into his mouth.
Ilya stares at him, his pupils blown and Shane can feel the hitch in his breath, just as affected by the atmosphere.
“You want it?” Ilya asks and Shane’s nodding before he even finished the question.
“Please Daddy. I wan’ it, please.”
Ilya swears under his breath, shifting his hip and Shane squeaks but Ilya’s grip is sure. He manoeuvres just enough to get his own shorts down and past his hip, his cock slapping against Shane’s ass and making him flinch. He guides Shane to sit up on his need so he can get his cock into position and Shane moves easily for him, whimpering at the strain of his thighs but quietening when Ilya shushes him.
A hand appears under Shane’s chin, “Spit.”
Shane’s mouth is already wet, so it’s easy to let out and spit, hungry shame in his chest as he watches Ilya rub his fingers together, reaching behind Shane again and rubbing over his hole, getting him wet. He dips a fingertip in, spreads the saliva around and then Shane feels the blunt head of his cock pressing up.
“Ngh! I’m not ready,” Shane protests, eyes wide. It’s too big, it’s going to split him apart. He’s not wet enough. “Daddy, it won’t fit.”
Ilya groans, his eyes rolling back and he shifts his hip, the shape of his cock insistent as he uses more pressure. “Shh, is okay. Daddy will make it fit.”
“Noo,” Shane’s hips shift, bearing down even as he shakes his head, thighs trembling at the effort it takes to keep himself in position. His body knows what it wants though, unthinkingly trying to coax Ilya’s cock inside with every twitch of his muscles and Ilya can clearly tell because he laughs and spanks Shane quick and fast.
“Noo,” Ilya mocks him, exaggerated pout on his face. “You are such a little slut. ‘I’m not ready’ he says, while greedy hole tries to suck me in dry. Hah.”
Shane cries out when the head pops in and big, fat tears drip down his cheeks. One of Ilya’s hands grip his asscheek, using the other to guide his cock in. It hurts. The drag is just on the wrong side of too dry and the friction makes his rim burn, his cock leaking steadily where it’s pressed up against Ilya’s stomach, throbbing. Shane trembles as he tries not to cum on the spot.
It’s too much, too intense. Shane feels like he’s about to shake apart, Ilya’s cock is pushing inside and carving into him. His cheek is still swollen from the hit early, metallic tang on his tongue from where his teeth cut his cheek and now Ilya’s taking him apart from the inside
“Daddy…” Shane begs. For what, he doesn’t know.
“Let me in, baby,” Ilya kisses the side of his face, licking his tears away and feeding them into Shane’s gaping mouth with his tongue. “Be good. Keep Daddy warm in here, yes?”
Ilya’s cock is so big that even just the head has Shane’s eyes crossing, feeling full to the fucking brim with it. He loses control of his muscles and sinks down an inch with a squeak, Ilya’s grip turning harsh as his cock is swallowed up eagerly by Shane’s body.
Shane keens, high and whiney, slapping Ilya’s chest with all the strength of a newborn kitten, shaking and trembling around the stretch of Ilya’s girth.
“Greedy,” Ilya says and his hand reaches between them to pinch Shane’s cockhead, just hard enough to make Shane squeal and dribble precum across his fingers.
“I…ngnh,” Shane gives up, mouth weakly at Ilya’s neck, his nerves sparking with every unconscious clench of his hole around Ilya’s cock sheathed inside him.
Ilya smooths his hands down Shane’s flank, like he’s soothing a startled animal, before gripping Shane’s waist and forcing him down onto his cock.
“That’s it, just like that. Good boy.”
It’s tearing him apart. Ilya’s cock is spearing him open and even though he’s done this so many times before, the feeling never fails to make Shane breathless.
“Daddy.”
Saying it makes Shane dizzy with want and shame and too many other emotions he can’t place. It feels good though, to say it and watch how the word hits Ilya, making him grip a little tighter and his cock grow somehow fuller inside of him.
Ilya responds by pulling him the rest of the way onto his cock and Shane's mind fills with static, his hands and feet going numb with pleasure and pain – too much, too full, not enough. He is open and bare for Ilya to take. He never wants this to end.
Something in his chest cracks open.
“Don’t leave,” Shane cries, clinging onto Ilya’s shoulders, moaning brokenly as Ilya jerks his hips, his cock fucking up in short little bursts that have Shane’s toes curling. “Don’t go, Daddy. Please.”
,Ilya sighs, “Shh.” He’s squeezing Shane like he’s trying to fuse them together, their skin sliding and sticking together. “Daddy’s got you now, yes?”
Shane sobs, leaning back so he can clumsily smash their mouth together in what could barely be considered a kiss. Ilya licks into his mouth, all consuming as he always does, across his teeth, against the roof of his mouth, and Shane does his best to take it.
“Let Daddy take care of you, okay?” Ilya presses their foreheads together and then starts to really drive his cock into him, using his strength to hold Shane up and Shane loses the ability to think anything at all.
“Oh, god. Oh–fuck, Da–”
“You’re taking it so well, baby,” Ilya pants, the grip of his hands is bruising and Shane arches into it. “Gonna feel it for days.”
Shane gurgles against his shoulder, his head heavy and his vision basically gone, so out of it he can barely recognise the noises spilling from his mouth as his own. Every hit to his prostate throbs hotly through him, his cock twitching and drooling from where it's caught between their bodies. He needs to cum, he’s so fucking close his teeth ache with it. And Ilya is unrelenting; his words and his cock are targeting every point of pleasure in Shane and lighting him up from inside.
“You want Daddy to plug you up after, yeah? Keep my cum in you, stay nice and full and wet.”
“Ilya–Daddy.”
Pressure builds and builds, heat sparking up his spine and Shane’s whole body tenses, his hole clenching around Ilya’s dick tight enough to make him grunt. Shane shatters as his cock spasms between them, cum coating them in thick hot spurts that feel like they’re never going to stop.
“Fuck, that’s it. Look at you, making such a pretty mess for Daddy. Good boy.”
Ilya keeps nailing his prostate and Shane keeps cumming, his cock twitching weakly as it continues to dribble.
“Daddy, daddy, daddydaddyy–” Shane chants.
Ilya swears harshly, biting the meat to Shane’s shoulder. “Gonna cum, gonna fucking fill you up–fuck.”
The sound of their fucking is wet, nasty. Slapping skin and frantic panting. Shane’s lost his words, whimpering pathetically as Ilya takes what he needs from Shane’s over sensitive body, his chest hitching with sobs. Slap, slap, slap. Ilya drives his hips up hard enough that it stings, hitting Shane’s ass hard and making him choke.
Ilya stills abruptly and comes with hot groaning pulses buried so deep inside Shane he swears he can taste it.
They hold each other, panting as they come down, Ilya licking over the bite mark he left on Shane’s shoulder, big hands rubbing up and down Shane’s trembling back, leaving goosebumps in their path.
It’s quiet, the moment tender compared to the frantic fucking from before, they simply exist joined together while they catch their breath. The breeze from the cooling evening air is nice against the drying sweat on Shane’s back; he would be more self conscious of the fact that they’re outside, completely exposed, but Ilya has made him very familiar with fucking in all sorts of place over the past two weeks. Shane breathes in a huge breath, nose pressed into Ilya’s shoulder and he sighs at the combined smell of their sweat and bodies, shuddering weakly.
“You are such a perv,” Ilya chuckles and then hisses when the movement jostles his sensitive cock inside of Shane.
“Shuddup,” Shane slurs, burying his nose deeper.
He’s so floaty and soft, unaffected by the usual embarrassment he would feel at being called out for his gross tendencies. He shifts his hips a bit, swallowing at the sore feeling of Ilya’s soft cock still stretching him open. Everything down there feels wet and sloppy which causes heat to simmer lowly in his belly.
“M’gonna miss you,” Shane says wobbly.
Ilya sighs, guiding Shane’s head up so he can look into his eyes. A thumb, gentle and so loving, wipes at some of the mess on Shane’s face and over the freckles at the apple of his cheek. He looks a little misty eyes too, his gaze is soft and Shane can barely stand to look at him. He can’t believe he gets to have him, that Ilya can look at all that Shane has to offer him and still stare at him with enough love that it fills Shane up completely.
Ilya kisses him and Shane chases his mouth when he pulls away. “Daddy will miss you too.”
Shane can’t help but to wrinkle his nose, embarrassment flushing his cheeks red.
Ilya pinches one of his hot cheeks, “Do not be like that, is hot.”
“Ilya,” Shane warns.
“What?” Ilya has the audacity to look offended, “My Father is dead and you do not call yours Daddy, so is not like it is weird.”
Shane gags, “Gross, don’t talk about my Dad when your cock is inside me.”
“Ah,” Ilya says, “so you can say Daddy but—”
Shane slaps a hand over his mouth, “Rozanov, I swear to fuck.” He gets a lick for his trouble and Shane drops his hand, wiping it on Ilya’s chest.
“Ouch, I am not Ilya or Daddy anymore. So mean,” Ilya pouts.
“Maybe I’ll bring you to the airport now. That Red Bull money should be enough to afford an early flight.”
Gasp, “Wow, Shane. So cold.”
“Fuck. You. Now bring me inside, I’m cold and the cum is getting tacky already.”
“Bossy…” A beat. “Maybe I should be calling you Mommy instead.”
“Ilya!”