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He’s always been particular about how he likes it.
He’s not a thing like Shane in this respect; Shane loves the stretch of it, loves being worked open to take it, loves the performance aspect of being able to accommodate Ilya’s cock and enjoying it so much that he can come from it alone. Ilya fucking hates it — the discomfort of the stretch always makes his heart race in the wrong ways, his muscles tighten and reject, his thoughts instantly off track of pleasure and on track of worry. The one time he’d bottomed (for Sasha, at that, who didn’t even have enough to make the stretch painful but enough to unnerve him) he’d been stuck in his head the whole time, barely able to find any pleasurable sensation until Sasha had gotten what he’d wanted out of it and put his mouth to use on Ilya instead. He remembers the vulnerability of it, uncomfortable with the idea of being seen like that and even less comfortable with the feeling of being fucked at all, and he remembers his shallow breaths and his eyes squeezed shut and the complete and utter lack of interest in continuing.
He’s never given these details to Shane, but he’s confessed before that he’d given it a shot and hadn’t enjoyed it. Shane isn’t the type to argue, considering he’s not interested in giving up his position in bed, and it works for them.
All that to say — they’ve experimented. Despite having no interest in a repeat performance of that first and only time bottoming, he’s open-minded in bed, and if there’s anyone he can trust with curiosity, it’s Shane. Shane, who’s finally attuned to all the variations of pleasure that can be received through anal play. He might not want to fuck Ilya but he does want him to feel good, and Ilya would be hard-pressed to turn down the offer of a new way to orgasm. So now Shane licks him out on the regular and eases one wet finger inside of him occasionally, slender enough that Ilya never has to feel the stretch and only ever gets the striking, knee-jerk shock of delight when Shane strokes lightly over his prostate.
He’s good with that, now. He likes it, now, only so long as it stays there. Shane had tried two fingers one time and Ilya instinctively shrank away from it as soon as he felt that stretching sensation. Shane, ever attentive, backed off and didn’t try again. Ilya doesn’t even want it all the time; he still always prefers Shane’s mouth on his cock, and he knows he’ll never find anything quite as good as fucking Shane bare. His cock is more sensitive than his ass, and Shane’s the opposite, and it works.
So he’s characteristically nervous when Shane shyly confesses that he bought a vibrator, and that it’s not for his personal use, but for Ilya.
“Shane.”
“Just try it?”
“I don’t know-,”
“You won’t know until you try.”
“Did I say something?” he asks, hyperaware of the fact that he’s probably not coming off nearly as chill and relaxed as he’d like to about this. It took him long enough to agree to Shane eating him out, and even longer still to agree to one slim finger. He’s not feeling very sex-positive right now. “Something that implied I wanted to try a vibrator?”
Shane huffs, rolling his eyes. “No. I want you to try a vibrator. Have you ever?”
“No, Shane, surely this is not a surprise to you. You know I do not like things like that.”
“That’s not true,” Shane argues. “You like being fingered-,”
“Barely!”
“Ilya,” he laughs, moving in closer and cupping his face with those tender hands, eyes bright with affection like he’s sweetly enthused by Ilya’s resistance to this. “You haven’t even let me show you.”
Ilya’s a little too lost in the flush of sex under his lover’s freckles to notice Shane’s gaze drop, and then he’s pressing a small box into Ilya’s palm. Ilya looks down at it, finds that the lid has already been removed, and there in the foam of it is a small, black, slender toy with a slight curve at the end of it. It doesn’t look much like a vibrator at all, with the exception of the discrete buttons on the end of it. It looks more like a smaller version of the plugs that Shane likes. He’s grateful to see how thin it is, but he’s no less nervous about the prospect of using a toy.
Shane is clearly pleased with himself. “I do know you, believe it or not,” he states, hand settling modestly on Ilya’s bare thigh. “I know you don’t like anything big. This shouldn’t feel like anything more than my finger, it’ll just… vibrate.”
Ilya stares at it.
“If you really don’t want to-,”
“You really think I will like this?”
Shane shrugs one shoulder. “I think you could. It’ll probably be more intense for you, but we’ll start it low, of course. And if you don’t like it, we never have to use it again.”
Ilya has to stare at it, head blank, for another moment before he lets out a sigh of resignation. He can feel Shane’s eyes spark without even seeing it. “Fine,” he surrenders. “We try once. Once.”
“Once,” Shane agrees, and then he’s kissing Ilya before any more resistance can come out of his mouth.
And yeah. Okay. Shane’s skilled at getting Ilya out of his head. It’s no different this time — he puts his mouth and his hands to work on Ilya’s neck, his nipples, the insides of his thighs, and only his cock when he’s gotten Ilya amped up and eager. For years now, he’s been the best with his mouth that Ilya’s ever had; it’s evident that he loves doing this and Ilya got the grand luxury of being able to teach him to be exactly what he wants. He knows how to use his tongue in coordination with his rhythm, he plays with speed and suction, and he always gives up control so easily when Ilya weaves his hands into that long hair and starts to press him deeper and deeper and deeper. He’s prettiest with his mouth pressed all the way down at the base, eyelashes fanned out overtop of those pinked freckles, nose buried in the hair and throat fluttering sweetly. He goes under so fast like this, eyes glazed over and darkened when Ilya asks him to look up. Shane’s a fucking sub, through and through, and Ilya still can’t comprehend the honor it is to be given the trust of handling his pleasure.
Shane only lets himself go fully under if he doesn’t have a mission, though.
For a brief moment, Ilya thinks maybe he’s gotten him too far gone to remember what his goal was, and he’s fine with that. He’ll happily fuck Shane’s throat until he comes and delay this whole business with the vibrator. Shane’s too determined for that — it’s one of Ilya’s favorite qualities of him, his determination, though maybe not his favorite today — and he only lets himself float in that space for a few minutes before he pulls away, shooting Ilya a flaming, devious smile before he moves down and licks against his hole.
“Oh,” Ilya gasps, the way he always does with the first contact. This always surprises him, the same way Shane’s always surprised by the first press of Ilya’s cock inside of him. His body has never adjusted to the initial punch of pleasure of this. The nerves about anal play have stuck with him, even after learning that he does like aspects of it, and somehow he can’t ever wrap his head around the trust that it’ll feel as good this time as it did last time. Like every time is a fluke. But Shane, despite having never said it, has clearly picked up on this fact about him, and he’s mapped out all the things that make Ilya gasp and moan and sink. So of course it’s good. It’s good every time, and one day maybe Ilya’s brain will start to anticipate the goodness instead of the uncertainty. “Mm, fuck. Yes. You’re so good for me, darling.”
Shane likes firm contact in bed. He wants to feel it all the way down to his bones, whether it’s Ilya’s tongue pressed flat upside the head of his cock or licking inside of him or his fingers crooking hard on his prostate, and even then he’ll be asking for more, asking for harder, asking for hit me. Ilya’s the opposite; he falls apart for a touch so light that it makes him shake, especially with anal play. Shane barely even touches him when he eats him out, just uses the tip of his tongue to flick delicately over him until his cock is leaking and he’s dizzy with want. He’s the same with his finger, stroking so gently over his entrance that Ilya’s eyes roll back in his head, and then employing the same approach after he slips it inside, wet with lube and unobtrusive to tease his prostate for Ilya to spread his legs, arch his back, and moan up to the ceiling for it.
He’s so good at this that Ilya’s afraid to sacrifice the pleasure of it in favor of trying something new.
“You still want?” Shane asks, cheeks flushed and cock leaking between his thighs where he’s ignored himself. He makes it hard for Ilya to focus when he’s circling his fingertip on his sweet spot with a touch so light Ilya could probably convince himself it wasn’t even there, but god. It’s good. He’s hot all over and devastatingly hard and Shane could easily bring him to orgasm right now if he’d put a hand on his cock, but he won’t. Because Shane is thinking about a fucking vibrator.
“I suppose,” he gets out, though he’s nervous again already, shameful over how distressed a tiny piece of plastic makes him. But Shane wants to, and Shane swears it won’t feel different than his finger, and Ilya’s fucking loving his finger right now, so he’ll do this. For Shane. Once.
Shane eases his finger out (Ilya’s least favorite sensation of all of it, he dreads it every time) and Ilya throws an arm over his eyes, breathing in sharply and holding it. He hears Shane moving, hyperaware of what’s coming, and then there’s an unexpectedly soft kiss being pressed to his lips. He doesn’t even have time to return it before it’s gone, but Shane nudges his arm away from his eyes to look at him, curious and open. Ilya says nothing, but he lets out the breath of air.
“You’re nervous.”
“… And?”
“We don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Shane assesses him. Shane, who’s typically so bad at reading body language and social cues, who stresses over missing something that he should’ve picked up on, has tuned himself to Ilya — he’s memorized the cues. Even the ones Ilya tries so hard to hide, Shane can suss them out. It’s a skill forged out of love if Ilya’s ever seen one. “Okay,” he agrees, after deeming that Ilya’s really telling the truth, that he is nervous but he’s not saying no. “Just… tell me, okay? If you want to stop. You don’t have to like it.”
“Okay.”
Shane must realize that that’s about all he’ll get out of him right now. He graces him with another kiss, teeth grazing along Ilya’s lower lip in the way that always, without fail, sends heat down to his cock. Then he’s pressing the slick vibrator between Ilya’s thighs and it slides in with no fanfare, no resistance, because Shane was right and it’s really no different than his finger. And Ilya feels silly for being so unbearably nervous about this.
“It’s okay?”
“Is fine.” He likes Shane’s finger better. The toy is curved but it’s not on his prostate, maybe not at the right angle, and Shane never makes him wait for it, like he knows he can’t stand to just feel the pressure of something inside of him and he needs the immediate pleasure before he can get too in his head about it. The toy doesn’t offer that compassion and Ilya is very, very focused on the feeling of it.
“Do you… do you want a minute, or do you want me to turn it on?”
Ilya’s not sure he wants either. He blinks at the ceiling like it’ll give him a revelation. “Ah — just, let me — will you lay down? Let me do something. I need to be distracted.”
He’s already nudging Shane down onto his back against the pillows, moving down to settle between his hips. He’s much less convinced of the toy’s potential for pleasure when he can feel it shifting in him as he moves; it’s odd and not in a way that he’s enjoying all that much. He likes giving Shane pleasure, though, and that’s a more predictable way to please himself too, so he’s happy to take the head of his boyfriend’s cock in his mouth and focus on that instead. Shane’s happy with that as well, by the sound he makes.
And that’s all, for a few minutes. Ilya puts his skills to use until he’s no longer thinking about the little toy inside of him, until he’s no longer even feeling it, because Shane’s got his fingers tangled up in his hair instead and Shane’s cock is leaking in his mouth and Shane’s saying his name in that soft, pretty way he does. This is when sex and pleasure feel easy and exciting. Until Shane — tragically now an expert in reading Ilya — murmurs, “Can I turn it on?” and Ilya’s thinking about it again.
This was inevitable, though. Of course Shane would ask that. The whole reason he bought a fucking vibrator was to make it vibrate. Ilya nods after a beat, and he watches as Shane unlocks his phone. Because of course it’s controlled by a fucking app and not just the buttons on the base of it.
Shane presses something on the screen and Ilya jolts.
It’s low, as promised, and it’s not bad, but it’s not great either. It’s just very there. Almost numbing in the way that a massage gun dulls his nerves after enough time on one spot. “Okay?” Shane asks, pupils blown out and glittering as he watches.
“Is fine.”
He goes back to giving. It’s easier. He’s not motivated to seek out potential pleasure with this toy. He just wants to make Shane come, and then maybe get Shane’s mouth back on his cock so he can come too, in a way that’s guaranteed to satisfy him. It’s such a rush to get to touch Shane at all, even after all this time — he’s easily the most beautiful person Ilya’s ever had the luxury of being with. He never tires of wrapping his hand around those thick thighs as he sucks him off. Or watching his abs flex when he comes. Or seeing the tight pull of his eyebrows as he gives in to his climax, and the satiated smile that he always has for Ilya when he’s come down from it.
Shane turns up the vibration and Ilya makes a noise of surprise around him. It’s still not quite pleasure, and he’s not quite enjoying it, and he’s notably not enjoying the awareness that he has of it. It’s just not enough to turn him on or turn him off. He’ll see this through for Shane’s sake, not his own.
Then — as he shifts down a little with every intent of eating Shane out until he’s crying and has forgotten all about the stupid app — he adjusts his leg and just like that, the toy slides right over his prostate.
“Oh,” he gasps, hips jerking as his cock throbs, heat spilling down his spine, and with the newfound sensation that is good, really good, he’s finding himself grinding slow on the sheets with the rhythm of the toy. He’s moaning into the inside of Shane’s thigh, noise he’s never made before, or at least not so authentically. It blooms a new, deeply carnal response that he’s never experienced: pleasure, now stripped down to his simplest, most animalistic desires. His mouth seeks out Shane’s cock again, erotic and lost in it, finally. All at once, the flavor of Shane’s precome feeds something primal in him, eyes slipping closed as he tastes him, an unintentional mmm purring from deep in his chest. Hips rotating on the mattress, hand gripping his boyfriend’s muscular thigh, Shane’s cock settled on his tongue, and yes. Okay. He does like this.
“Jesus,” he hears Shane whisper, followed by one hand petting sweetly through his curls. “Fuck, Ilyusha.”
It’s different than the featherlight touch of Shane’s finger. The vibrations hold steady but the pressure waxes and wanes as Ilya’s hips rock back on it, and he can feel himself clenching around it as his cock pulses out precome. He’s barely even actually sucking Shane’s dick anymore, mostly just holding it in his mouth and using his tongue to taste, satiated by the eroticism of it. He wonders what it’d be like to fuck Shane with the toy in, let it vibrate like this while he’s got Shane’s tight heat wrapped around him. He might come within a minute of it but he suspects Shane would get off on that.
“You’re so…” Shane trails off in disbelief; Ilya can barely hear him through the blood-rush in his ears as he sinks into the ecstasy. He glances up at Shane through lidded eyes, well aware that he looks drunk off it now and knowing Shane loves to see him like this. He’s right this time too, watching Shane’s breath catch in his chest at the sight of him, especially when he pulls off his cock to mouth wetly along the side of it and flash a lazy grin up to him. Shane’s eyes flare and Ilya manages a weak laugh, tilting his head into the crook of his boyfriend’s hipbone. Shane’s fingers tense in his hair. “God, you’re so beautiful like this,” Shane says under his breath, earnest in a way that used to scare Ilya and now only serves him. He has half the mind to be embarrassed by the vulnerability of this — visibly and audibly desperate for it — but more of him is controlled by the sensation. Shane loves to see him like this, too, all fucked out and wild and moaning without restraint. It’s only so often that he really loses himself like this. “You’re so pretty.”
Shane turns up the toy by one more notch and Ilya is so done for.
He usually isn’t all that loud in bed until he’s actually coming, but the vibrator at this level, positioned just right on his sweet spot, has him burying his face in the junction of Shane’s hip and thigh and calling out. He’s fully fucking the mattress now, unable to control himself, and his hand on Shane’s thigh is so tight that there will surely be bruises. Distantly, somewhere beyond his own loud oh, oh, oh, fuck — fuck, yes, ahs he can hear Shane’s sweet voice coaxing him into it, murmuring that’s it baby, let yourself come on it, c’mon Ilyusha, show me how good it is and between the smell of sex and sweat on Shane’s skin, the relentless pleasure from the toy, the friction on the sheets, and Shane’s permission, Ilya’s gone for it. He usually clenches his jaw shut when he comes but it’s the opposite this time, mouth falling open against Shane’s skin and moans punching out of him as he builds, his hole tightening and throbbing around the toy, and when he comes, he ignites — he’s never come without a hand on himself, and yet the friction of the sheets proves enough stimulation on his cock to have his orgasm cutting through him, hips fucking back on the toy and into the sheets as he cries out Shane’s name, nails biting into the flesh of his boyfriend’s thigh. It’s easily one of his longest, most powerful orgasms; his eyes roll back in his head and he thinks he ascends his body for a minute or two before he comes back down, shaking and gasping and still grinding through the aftershocks.
It takes several minutes to catch his breath before he realizes that Shane’s been petting his hair and murmuring sweet nothings to him. The toy has turned off. When he opens his eyes, delirious and dazed, he sees that Shane has come too, a wet mess all over his abs and his cock softening. Ilya wishes he’d seen it. He turns his head, blinking up at Shane as he tries to come back. “Hi,” Shane whispers, practically beaming at him. His fingers stroke down Ilya’s cheekbone, smearing wetness there that he hadn’t been aware of before they come down to pet reverently over his lips. Ilya presses a kiss to his fingertips. “You okay?”
He nods. They lay for another few minutes, Ilya unwilling to part from his position at Shane’s hip, until Shane reaches for the tissues to clean up the mess on his stomach. Then they readjust, Shane easing the toy out of Ilya (still his least favorite part, even after all that) before they come back together, needy and sensitive as they are after intense sex. The bone-deep exhaustion takes over Ilya before he recognizes it coming.
When he wakes up, Shane is wrapped around his back. Not asleep, but not awake either, just resting in that sated, calm way that he does after sex. His eyes open when Ilya turns back to look at him, corners crinkling around a smile that Ilya can’t see from his viewpoint over his shoulder. “Hi,” Shane murmurs into a kiss on his bare skin. “Good nap?”
Ilya hums agreement as he turns over, tucking himself into Shane’s chest with a sigh. “You did not shower yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you dying?”
Shane’s laughter rumbles against him. “Yes,” he admits, weaving his fingers through Ilya’s hair. “I thought we could take a bath together.”
“Mm, yes. Sounds nice.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“I will get us wine.”
“… Wine?”
“Yes,” he confirms, gathering as much energy as he can to roll away from Shane and drag himself to his feet. “Wine in the bath. Is very powerful experience. And we will order dinner because I will simply not cook tonight.”
Shane’s smiling at him like a man in love. Ilya’s overwhelmed at the concept of being the recipient, but he’s selfish enough to absorb it anyway. To pay it back, he leans in, cups Shane’s face with one hand and kisses the bridge of his perfect ski-slope nose. “Go start bath. I will bring you wine.”
With dinner ordered and glasses of wine poured and the bath filled, they rest against each other in the water, wine glasses settled on the ledge. Shane’s taken it upon himself to light a candle, too, a small luxury that they don’t often indulge in because Shane will always wake up in a panic in the middle of the night, convinced they never blew it out. Ilya is always the one to get up to check, despite always knowing that it was blown out hours ago. There are few things more relaxing for him than this, though — sinking into a warm bath with his lover and a good glass of wine. He won’t admit this out loud, but wine and vodka are on similar playing fields in his life now, since meeting Shane’s parents. And it’s one of the few alcohols that Shane can appreciate, though he still makes a face with the first sip of wine whenever he does indulge.
“So,” Shane says, wine half-finished and cheeks pink from his low tolerance. Ilya loves him. “You liked it?”
He looks so hopeful and smug with himself that Ilya wants to tease him, wants to push his buttons and downplay the pleasure he received from that just to see Shane argue with him, but he’s too soft to muster up the energy for it. Instead, he sinks into the safety of this relationship and smiles, sleepy and reverent. “Yes, Shane,” he agrees. “I liked it.”
“You’d do it again?”
“Mm… yes. Not always, but yes.”
Shane’s clearly biting back his pride. “Okay,” he agrees brightly. “Sometimes. I’ll take it.”
“You liked it?”
He laughs and Ilya melts. This is the danger of wine and sex — wine softens him down to nothing more than his secret lover-boy self, enamored by everything Shane is and does, hopelessly caught in his vortex. He’s spineless like this, and he also has no desire to ever leave. “It was so hot,” he admits. “When you got it in the right spot — god. I’ve never seen you like that.”
Ilya hums into his wine, a bad attempt at coyness. “Was good, yes.”
“And watching you come like that, on the sheets, with your face in my leg… Yeah. I loved that. You’re so pretty when you let me do that.”
“Let you do…?”
“Yeah, y’know. Finger you. Lick you out. Use a toy on you, now. I know you haven’t always liked it with other people before, so… I like that you like it with me. Even if we don’t do it often.”
“Mm… was not other people. Was one other person. And no, it was not good.”
He sees it when Shane fixates on something. He’s learned the look, the twitch of his eyebrows and an interested light in his eyes and the tilt of his head. He’s baited him, accidentally, and Shane is so easily baited. “You don’t really talk about it.”
Ilya shrugs. Swallows some wine. “Not much to talk about.”
“Why was it so bad?”
“Ah… many reasons,” he disclaims, shrugging one shoulder again. “I was young, which did not help. Not a lot of experience knowing what I liked or how to tell someone. And I was in Russia, so I was at risk of getting caught. Felt scarier to be on bottom getting caught than be on top. The man I was with was also young and inexperienced-,”
“Was this your coach’s son?”
“… Yes. We just did not know what we were doing and we rushed it. Not enough foreplay, not enough prep. I was not turned on for most of it. Was no one’s fault, really, but did not make for a good experience. And I do not like the feeling of being stretched. I like not feeling it.”
“But you like the feeling of it when it’s good.”
“Yes, but only if I do not feel the stretch. You like that part. I do not.”
Shane tries to hide his smile. “I do like that,” he agrees. “But yeah. Okay. Small things only. I don’t really want to fuck you anyway, so that’s fine.”
“Wow. My own boyfriend doesn’t want to fuck me. That is harsh, Shane. Very cruel.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“And now verbal abuse-,”
“Drink your fucking wine, Ilya.”
Ilya can’t even try to resist the urge to kiss him, and he can’t pretend he’s not smiling into it either. He knows feeling safety in love is a work in progress, but there's a reason he and Shane communicate so well through sex. They're both left sleepy and vulnerable afterwards, tempered enough to ease into each other without second-guessing. Ilya can't do much else than revel in the peace of it.