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The candles Ilya lit earlier had now burned down halfway to nubs, with wax pooling in the ceramic holders. It was late out, and tonight was special. Special because Shane Hollander, the man he’s known for more than half of his life, his first love, and with pride he’d always say: husband, was turning a year older tomorrow.
He’d insisted on dinner, had shooed Shane away and told him to spend some time with his parents while he got his surprise prepared.
Now, their plates were nearly empty, with remnants of steak, roasted potatoes, and arugula salad that Shane had insisted on making even though Ilya had told him, “It’s almost your birthday, let me cook,” and waved him off, claiming he wanted to do something normal before all the partying and socializing all day with people came.
Now, they sat across from each other at the island of their kitchen, eating in the comfortable silence that can only come with years of marriage. Shane took a sip of wine from his glass, watching the dark red liquid catch in the dim lighting of the room. Is mood lights, to be sexy, Ilya said when Shane walked in, wiggling his brows and smiling. Tomorrow, he would turn thirty-five. Thirty five, almost two decades since Ilya came into his life. Ilya watched Shane eat, a smile creeping up on his face, which by now, Shane knew he was about to say something ridiculous.
“You know,” Ilya said, setting his fork down with a clink, “since you are halfway to seventy tomorrow—”
A groan left Shane’s lips. “Shut up.”
“—I think we should celebrate tonight. Properly.”
Shane snorted, and picked up his wine glass. “We just ate steak and so much salad. How much more proper do you want this to be?”
Ilya smiled again and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, chin resting on his joined hands. His cheekbones caught in the dim lights, highlighting the sharp lines of his face. “I want to make you cum thirty five times before midnight. Early present, yes?”
Shane choked mid sip. Wine sputtered across his lips, down his chin, and stained the white tablecloth. He coughed and wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stared at his husband like he’d suggested robbing a bank together. “Thirty five? Are you out of your mind? Like, actually?”
“I am being generous,” Ilya shrugged, unfazed. “I could have said fifty.”
“I’d die. They’d find my corpse in the morning with a note pinned to my chest that’d say ‘killed by my husband’s absolutely ridiculous and unrealistic sex goals.”
“Does not hurt to try..”
“Ilya. Baby, I love you, and I’m really happy I get to spend time with you, but that is not happening.”
Ilya laughed, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. You are right. Fifty is ambitious.” He tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. “What about three-point-five? Three and a half?”
What?
Shane blinked, trying to catch up with the sudden shift in conversation. “Three-point-five?”
“Three full orgasms,” Ilya counted on his fingers. “And then a half. It makes sense, since you are turning thirty-five.”
"A half." Shane set down his wine glass, his brain scrambling to process the casual way Ilya was saying all this. "You're being weirdly specific. And weirdly calm about it. What the hell is half an orgasm?"
Ilya’s smile widened and he shrugged, waving his hand. “That one is a surprise. I promise you’ll remember it, you’ll love it. Maybe even write about it in your journal.”
“I don’t keep a journal. And even if I did, I wouldn’t use a whole page to talk about coming three and a half times.”
“Maybe you will start.”
Shane leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. The wine was warming him up from the inside, loosening up the usual seriousness he carried. He studied Ilya's face—the playful arch of his brow, paired with the quirk at his lips. This was a game, and Shane was never one to resist playing.
"You think you can actually pull that off?" Shane asked slowly. "Three times in one night? And a half?"
"I know I can."
"And if you fail?"
Ilya pretended to think, tapping his chin. "If I fail, I will cook breakfast every morning for the next month. You can pick, I will not complain."
Shane let the thought linger in his head. Ilya was an amazing cook; his pancakes were always perfectly cooked and soft in the middle, his scrambled eggs fluffy and made at the right temperature. One of Shane’s favorite things Ilya did was randomly send recipes and pictures of food he found online, asking if he wanted it, and when he replied yes, in just a few minutes he’d hear the sound of footsteps and kitchen utensils. Or if Shane was out, he'd come home to the smell of delicious food wafting up his nose, drawing him in.
And so, he caved.
"Fine," Shane said, surprising himself. "You've got until midnight. That's.. three hours."
"Plenty of time." Ilya stood, pushing his chair back, and walked around the table. He stopped behind Shane, hands coming to rest on his shoulders, thumbs digging into the muscle there. “How does it feel to be old?”
Shane scoffed. “You have like, a month until we’re the same age.”
”Ah, yes, but you are still older than me. Wow, my husband is a cougar,” he purred in Shane’s ear.
“Ilya, oh my god.”
"Shhh. I have an idea,”
Shane tipped his head back, looking up at Ilya. "What?"
"Mm.. I want you to give me a show. What do you do when you’re needy and I’m not there?”
Red flush bloomed under Shane’s cheeks. “Jesus, Ilya. I don’t know, I fuck myself or.. pillows? I hump a pillow, I guess.”
“Good, I want you to do that. And I am going to watch.”
“..Okay.”
Ilya hummed, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and led him to the bedroom, his hand resting at the small of Shane’s back. The room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets. Shane took off his shoes while Ilya retrieved a pillow from the headboard—a firm one, the kind they usually fought over because Shane liked to fold it in half and Ilya insisted on sleeping flat.
"Face down," Ilya instructed, tossing the pillow onto the center of the bed.
Shane obeyed, lying on his stomach, his cheek pressed against the cool fabric of the duvet. The pillow was positioned beneath his hips, resting against his stomach.
Ilya's weight settled on the bed behind him, a hand landing on his lower back, pressing down. "Go on. You know what to do. Get yourself hard, I want to watch.”
Shane groaned, already feeling his cock begin to harden. He rutted forward, the pillow catching against his jeans. "This is ridiculous."
“Mm, but I thought you said you do this when I am not here?” Ilya clicked his tongue. “Ah, or are you shy? Is okay, lyubimyy, you are very pretty when you do anything, and everything. Now move, show me how you make yourself feel good.” He pressed down harder, humming in approval when Shane let out a noise and rolled his hips forward experimentally.
Shane felt a twinge of embarrassment, flush creeping up his chest.
“Do not think too much about it,” Ilya said softly. “Just pretend it’s me beneath you. Ride the pillow like you do to me, you’re always so good at it, sweetheart.”
The image of Ilya flooding his head allowed all previous hesitation to leave his body. Shane closed his eyes and imagined Ilya’s body beneath him—broad shoulders, lean muscle, the way his hips would jerk and twitch up to meet Shane’s. He pressed harder into the pillow, dragging his clothed cock across the soft material of cotton. The motion was clumsy at first, slow and awkward, but Ilya’s hand guided his movements, nudging him to keep going.
“Da, just like that, Shane. Keep going, find what feels good.”
Shane nodded and he tilted his hips, moaning when he found an angle where the pillow pressed against the base of his cock, beginning to move quicker. He felt warmth spread through the fabric of his jeans, his cock straining against his zipper, pleasure shooting up his body. He moaned, the sound muffled in the duvet. His hips moved faster, thrusts growing uncoordinated. The pillow was firm, and so it pushed back whenever he moved, but fuck, that made it feel even better and even rougher, creating friction that was just enough.
Ilya’s hand slid down, cupping Shane’s ass, squeezing the flesh through his jeans. “You look so pretty,” he murmured. “Keep going, I want to see you cum just like this. So good for me, doing exactly what I tell you.”
Shane's fingers curled into the sheets. He fucked the pillow with desperation, his hips slapping against the bed, his breath ragged. Pleasure began coiling in his stomach, tightening every muscle in his body. He could feel pre-cum leaking, dampening the front of his boxers, seeping to stain his jeans.
“Cum for me, Shanya.”
Shane nodded frantically and he cried out, his body jerking as his cock pulsed against the pillow. The cum soaked through his jeans and boxers, warm and wet, now staining the pillowcase. He kept moving, humping the pillow until he collapsed on the bed, panting, his hips still twitching.
Ilya rubbed his back, tracing slow, soothing circles over his skin. "One down. Two and a half to go." He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Shane's shoulder. "How do you feel?"
"Like I just came into a pillow," Shane said, his voice muffled. "So, embarrassed and also kind of turned on."
"Good. Stay here, I have something for you.” Ilya rolled off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom.
A few minutes later, he came back, with his hands behind his back. One of them was angled awkwardly, almost as if Ilya was holding something.
“I know you don’t eat sweets that much, but,” he moved closer, and gently set a slice of vanilla cake on a plate down on the bed. “Early birthday treat?”
Shane laughed, nodding. “Yeah, okay. Is this your way of telling me I need energy for what you're about to do to me?”
A smile graced Ilya’s lips. “Oh, yes, you will need lots of it.” He sat down on the bed where Shane was now lying down, and leaned back on the headboard, patting his lap. “Up, baby. On my lap.”
Shane sat up and moved closer, fitting comfortably in the space of Ilya’s thighs. He leaned back, and rested his head against Ilya’s chest, settling there.
“Lift your hips for me.” Ilya tugged at Shane’s waistband and planted a quick kiss to his forehead when he obliged, allowing his pants and boxers to pool at his calves. “Good. This is round two, yes?” He said, picking up the plate and scooping a generous dollop of frosting into his finger. “Is all me, just sit here and let me do everything. Open your mouth.”
Shane parted his lips, and allowed the sweet paste to slide into his mouth, the sugar spreading across his tongue. Ilya held his finger there and allowed Shane to lick it clean. At the same time, his other hand slid down, fingers curling around Shane’s cock, which had softened—and was slick with cum from before—but was already stirring again at Ilya’s words and the sight of his hands, wet and glistening in the dim light with his own release.
“Good boy,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Shane’s temple. Ilya had always been good with his hands, he knew exactly how much pressure to use, when to speed up, and when to slow down. He stroked once, slowly, base to tip, smearing pre-cum already beading at his tip with his thumb all over his length. Shane’s breath hitched, his hips twitching involuntarily, the combination of the sweet frosting and Ilya’s gentle touches making his head swim.
“Already?” Ilya teased. “You’re very sensitive.”
“Shut up,” Shane groaned. “It’s been ten minutes.”
“Yes, I know. Always so needy, look at my hand,” he ordered. A moan slipped past Shane’s lips when he glanced down to see Ilya’s hand wet and practically dripping with pre-cum, some of it pooling in Shane’s thighs.
Ilya fed him another piece, this time a bite of cake, and followed it with a kiss, licking a crumb from Shane’s lower lip. “You are so sweet,” he said, smiling against Shane’s lips. “My sweet husband. Almost your birthday.”
Shane swallowed, his cock starting to thicken in Ilya's hand. “It’s just the cake,” he murmured—a weak excuse.
“Shh,” Ilya’s hand tightened, stroking him faster. “Is not just cake, it’s you. You are sweet on your own.” He broke off another piece, held it to Shane’s lips, and waited. Shane opened his mouth and eagerly accepted the piece, chewing and savoring the taste.
Shane’s head fell back, eyes fluttering shut. It was almost too much—his cock was hypersensitive and flushed red, hips twitching with every fast stroke of Ilya’s hand that was relentless, working him quickly.
Praise fell from Ilya’s lips like a litany. “So good for me, Shanya, you take everything I give you so well. So perfect for me.”
Shane moaned, his hips rocking up into Ilya’s fist. Yes, Ilya, all for you, thank you so much, I could stay here for days, love you and your hands so much. Pleasure coiled in his stomach, building up.
“Close?”
Shane whimpered, nodding. “Uh-huh,” he slurred. “Close, please, baby,”
“Go ahead. Cum all over my fist, sweetheart.”
Shane tilted his head and buried his face into the crook of Ilya’s neck, mouthing wetly at the skin there as his stomach tensed. He came in thick spurts, cum splashing over Ilya’s knuckles, dripping down his fist. Ilya worked Shane through it, forcing out every drop, and then released him, letting Shane slump back against his chest.
Through half lidded eyes Shane watched Ilya bring his hand up to his mouth, licking Shane’s cum off of it.
“See? I told you, you are very sweet.”
Shane whined and retreated back to his earlier position, breathing heavily into Ilya’s neck.
“Beautiful,” Ilya murmured. “You still want round three?”
“Yeah. Wanna see what the half is.”
Ilya smiled, patting Shane’s hip.
Ilya set the plate of cake on their nightstand and eased Shane off his lap, guiding him to lay down on his back.
“Turn over,” he ordered. “On your stomach.”
Shane obliged, turning and pushing his hips up. Ilya’s palms smoothed over Shane’s back, down to the curve of his ass, giving the soft skin there a light squeeze. Shane groaned, his body already arching, presenting himself.
“I know, sweetheart. So needy, hm? You’re so eager for it,” Ilya observed, awe laced in his tone. Two orgasms and Shane was still wanting more—Ilya was sure Shane would end up accidentally killing him during sex one day.
Ilya leaned down, softly pressing his lips to Shane’s upper back. The kiss trailed downward, following the path of his spine until his lips reached the very base. Shane jerked when Ilya pressed his tongue to his hole, licking a stripe over it.
He gasped, his hands fisting the sheets. “Ilya..”
Ilya hummed in response and moved lower, shifting to press kisses to the soft skin of Shane’s ass, and then finally—Ilya pressed a first, open mouthed kiss directed to his hole. His lips sealed over him, tracing Shane’s rim with his tongue, sucking softly, and that drew a broken cry from Shane’s throat.
“Oh— So good, uh— Ilya, baby, keep going, please,”
And so, Ilya began to fucking devour him. His tongue lapped at him, sucking and licking and pressing his tongue flat against Shane’s entrance, the wet sound of spit and Ilya eating him out coming from beneath Shane, sounding vulgar in the room.
Shane’s hips rocked, pushing back against the sensation, seeking more. “Please, fuck, Ilya. Feels so good, need more, anything,” he babbled out, face pressed into the sheets.
Ilya, of course, gave him more—he was never one to deny Shane. His tongue dipped and entered, pushing past his rim. Shane’s back bowed, his head thrown back, a strangled moan tearing from his lungs. Ilya worked him open with his tongue, delving shallowly at first, then deeper, fucking him open. He took his time, and his rhythm was maddeningly slow, pushing in and out followed by Ilya flicking his tongue inside, pulling out, and circling his rim, teasing him.
Shane was losing his mind. Each stroke and probe of Ilya’s tongue sent pleasure sparking up his body, up his spine, the coil in his stomach winding even tighter. His cock, now half hard again, dragged against the mattress every time his body jerked, leaking and smearing pre-cum onto the sheets.
“Closecloseclose, Ilya, I’m— I’m close, please,”
Ilya pulled back, a string of spit connecting him to Shane’s entrance. “What are you begging for? Say what you want,”
“Wanna cum, please, can I? Please baby, oh fuck,”
Ilya shushed him, placing a kiss on his ass, rubbing his palm over it. He leaned down again, giving his rim kitten licks, before hooking his arm around Shane’s thigh and tugging him closer, and pressing a slicked fingertip—just the tip—into Shane’s hole, looking up to watch his face.
Shane moaned loudly and pushed back, hands clawing at the sheets. Ilya’s tongue returned to his hole, now pumping one of his fingers in and out while eating Shane out.”
“Yesyesyes, ‘m so close, yes baby, more, shit,”
Shane cried out when Ilya slipped another finger inside, scissoring him now, simultaneously lapping and fucking his tongue into him.
“You can take three, yes? I know you can, is because you’re good, all for me." A third finger pressed at his entrance and Ilya pushed deeper, sliding his fingers in to the second knuckle. Shane's hole clenched around them, hot and tight. Ilya sped up, curling his fingers to find Shane’s prostate.
Shane's cock twitched, leaking pre-cum. "Fuck, Ilya—"
"Not yet," Ilya said. He pushed his fingers in all the way, burying them inside and stretching him, the slick sounds filling the room. "You're going to cum on my fingers, and then I'll give you my cock."
Shane nodded, pushing back on his fingers and hissing when Ilya tongued his entrance again, moaning weakly as his body tensed, trembling and spurting thin ropes of cum on the sheets beneath him. Ilya pulled his fingers out slowly, oh god, his face was absolutely soaked with spit and slick. He wiped his chin and moved to sit next to Shane, brushing hair out of his face.
“That was round three,” he said.
Shane, through his haze, whimpered, “And the half..?”
“Da, baby, you still want it?”
Shane nodded weakly. He glanced over at the clock: 11:50 AM. Time always flew by whenever they spent time together, no matter the situation. It was both amazing, and unfair at the same time. “Ten minutes,” he muttered.
Ilya sat up and patted Shane’s hip, smiling when he lay on his back. He knelt in between Shane’s thighs, his own cock aching, but he didn’t move yet. “This is the half. Will be quick, I promise.”
Shane blinked through his fog, brows furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”
“You will see. Put your legs on my shoulders, sweetheart.”
Reluctantly, Shane complied, shifting forward and hiking his legs up.
“You want my cock, hm? Is what you have been begging for all night,”
Shane’s pupils grew wide at that and he nodded, his lips parting, mouth watering. “Yes, please.”
“Good boy,” Ilya replied, petting his head. He withdrew his hand to move to his pants, undoing his belt and tugging them down. He gave himself a few quick strokes, already hard and his tip already leaking pre-cum just from pleasing Shane, and lined himself up with his entrance. Ilya pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully buried inside, reaching up and curling a hand around Shane’s ankle. They both groaned, relishing in the perfect way their bodies fit together.
Ilya began to move, rocking Shane forward with each thrust. He angled his hips, hitting Shane’s sweet spot inside with every stroke. Shane buried his face in the pillows, his hands fisting the sheets, sobbing into them as overwhelming waves of pleasure washed over him with each movement.
"You feel so good," Ilya murmured, his voice strained. "So fucking tight. Taking my cock like you were made for it."
“Yes, Ilya, just for you, uh, love your cock, love the way you fill me up, mm,”
Ilya kept moving, and Shane's breath hitched as Ilya shifted, the head of his cock brushing right over Shane’s prostate every time. Pressure that was different, nothing like before, started to build up. This was deeper, pressure that built not in his cock but somewhere behind it. It was strange, almost uncomfortable, but it wasn’t unpleasant, almost strangely satisfying.
"Breathe," Ilya reminded him. "Let me take care of you."
Shane tried to relax, tried to surrender to the sensation. "I can't—" he started.
"You can. Let go. Is just us. Nothing to be embarrassed about."
"No," Shane gasped. "I can't cum again, I'm so close but—"
Ilya shook his head, smiling softly. “Shane, sweetheart. I don’t want you to cum again. Do you trust me?”
“Y-Yeah, I do, but—”
“Shhh. Then let it happen. This is your half, remember? Go ahead,” he sped up, cooing at Shane when his body jerked again.
"Ilya—I think—" Shane's voice broke. "I'm going to—"
Ilya didn't stop. He kept moving, watching Shane's face contort. "Let it go," he said, voice full of fondness. "Is okay. Let me see you."
At exactly 11:56, Shane's hands flew to his own cock, fingers curling around it. A stream of piss erupted from his cock, splashing onto his stomach, his chest, his thighs—he couldn't control it. It kept coming, gushing out of him, his hole clenching and unclenching rapidly around Ilya’s cock. The sound of it, the sheer loss of control—it was more intimate than any orgasm. Shane sobbed, his body shuddering, the piss finally slowing to a small dribble, then stopping.
Ilya groaned as he spilled deep inside of Shane, his hips stuttering and his rhythm faltering. He slowed down then stopped completely after a moment, turning his head to press a soft kiss to Shane’s ankle, and then leaning forward to press another one to his wet, flushed cheek.
When it was over, Shane collapsed, trembling, his face buried in the pillows. Ilya shifted him slowly, pulling him close, into his arms, and away from the mess on the sheets.
"Three-point-five," Ilya whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of his head. "Told you I could do it, and is 11:59, before midnight."
Shane laughed breathlessly. "You're a menace. A fucking menace."
"And you are my husband. Which means you signed up for this."
Shane turned in his arms, pressing his face into Ilya's chest. "I love you," he murmured, the words muffled against skin.
"I love you too. Happy early birthday, Shanya.”
They both stayed quiet for a while, before Ilya spoke again.
“Now that you are finally thirty-five and pushing forty, how does it feel to be a cougar and have such a beautiful, lovely, young and sexy husband?”
Shane snorted. “Great, I suppose.”
“Da, I know. I am very blessed to have millionaire hockey player Shane Hollander as mine. And since he is older than me, wait— does this mean I have a fucking sugar daddy now?”
“Ilya, please,” Shane groaned.
“Oh, wow. I think he’d buy me anything I wanted if I kept pleasing him like this, yes? I could send him whatever I want, and he’d tap his card for me.”
Shane laughed, shaking his head. “You do realize I’m one month older than you. Right?”
“That is what makes the relationship so scandalous! You use your fortune and your age to keep your young husband in expensive suits and designer tracksuits. It is very romantic. Like, ah.. like Pretty Woman.”
“I’m not buying you a red dress, Ilya.”
“No, but you will buy me that espresso machine I sent you a link to. Because you are my generous husband who wants to keep me at home and gift me things everyday. I am living the life, you know?”
“Unfortunately, you have been for a while. Since you realized the day your multi millionaire husband can’t actually say no to you.”
“It is a very good life,” Ilya agreed easily. “But the espresso machine will make it better. It comes with a frother too, for my morning lattes. You can make them for me before practice, is very domestic.”
“I’m a professional athlete, Ilya, not your barista.” Shane muttered, even though he was already thinking about gifting it to Ilya for his birthday.
“You are a professional athlete who is one month older,” Ilya reminded him, grinning. “Is your duty to take care of your youth.”
“Uh-huh. Today is my birthday though, so can we get please get cleaned up?”
Ilya laughed, pressing a quick kiss to Shane’s head. “Da, lyubimyy. Happy birthday, ya tebya lyublyu.”