Archive of Our Own

They finally arrived at the party after a few hours. Shane eased the car into park in front of the house, the engine ticking slowly as it cooled down. Music was already bleeding through the walls. Red solo cups were already trashed around the yard. A few people were even scattered outside– having a cigarette, laughing at nonsense. Some couple was arguing over something definitely unserious.

“Jesus,” Shane muttered, glancing up from the wheel. “How many people did Wyatt invite?”

Ilya let out a soft incredulous laugh. “Be grateful. You remember Luca’s birthday? Was a total nightmare.”

Shane snorted under his breath at the reminder. It was Luca’s first party, way too overcrowded, and somehow he ended up plastered all over social media, a series of him skinny dipping into the pool, taking shots with people he definitely didn’t know, and managed to get into his first fight with a random guy from English. He was the talk of the town for a bit after that.

He reached for the mirror, tilting it down to fix his hair. It was stupid– he knew. But he still ran a hand through it anyway, pushing it into something slightly more intentional than “I just made out with my boyfriend for the past hour, what about you?”

When he glanced back over, Ilya was already watching him.

Shane could feel the burn of his gaze onto his own. He paused, speaking up. “What?”

Ilya didn’t look away. “You always fix your hair before you go somewhere.”

“I do not.”

“You do,” Ilya said with a grin, like it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen before. “Every time you get into here.” he said, reaching out to tap Shane’s head gently with his index finger twice, before gently caressing the locks.

“That’s not why I do it.” Shane said, a pink blush creeping onto his cheeks. But more so him just being fond over realizing how deeply Ilya noticed him, rather than embarrassment.

“Mm.”

That sound alone was enough to make Shane want to lean over and shove him. But affectionately.

“Are you done talking about my nervous tactics?”

Ilya stayed put, gently massing small circles into Shane’s hair. “You are nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“No? Just fixing your hair because you are what– bored?”

“It’s called making an effort.”

“Is called lying.” Ilya corrected.

Shane finally looked at him properly. Ilya was sitting back in the passenger seat like he had nowhere else to be in the world, like a packed house party with strangers and loudness was just another hallway he had to walk through. Annoyingly composed, with that familiar smirk already hinting on his face.

Shane hated that it worked so easily on him.

“I’m good. Okay?” Shane said, taking the hand that Ilya had in his hair and intertwining it with his own, squeezing it once.

Ilya’s mouth twitched, like he was deciding whether or not to push it further. Then he just leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Shane’s knuckles before giving a slight squeeze back.

“Okay. Come on,” Ilya said simply.

Shane barely had time to unlock his seatbelt before Ilya was already out of the car.

The crisp air hit immediately when Shane stepped outside, sharp enough to sting his cheeks for a second. Music pulsed through the walls hard enough to vibrate under his shoes. Someone on the porch from their team yelled Ilya's name the second they spotted him. He lifted a hand in acknowledgement without breaking stride.

Show off.

Shane followed him up the steps, trying his best not to trip over crushed cans scattered everywhere. Wyatt’s house looked worse than usual somehow– windows fogged up, lights flashing through curtains, people packed shoulder to shoulder near the entrance like they were waiting for concert tickets instead of cheap alcohol.

The second they finally stepped inside, the noise doubled.

Music. Laughter. A bottle shattering somewhere in the kitchen followed by cheering.

“Okay,” Shane muttered. “This is definitely worse than Luca’s.”

Ilya looked delighted by the possibility.

A few people shoved past them, Ilya’s hand instinctively resting at Shane’s waist. Someone caught his shoulder on their way through.

“Hey, Hollzy!” Troy said, the face turning familiar when Shane gave a brief smile and wave in acknowledgement.

Wyatt appeared a second later like he’d been summoned by property damage alone, already halfway drunk and grinning way too hard.

“There you assholes are,” he said, grabbing the back of Shane’s neck briefly before turning to Ilya. “Rozanov, tell your boyfriend to answer his texts.”

“I answer them,” Shane defended. Ilya laughed softly, squeezing his waist slightly.

“Three to five business days later.”

“That’s still answering.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Kitchen. Drinks. Move.”

Then he was gone immediately, disappearing into the crowd with the energy of a man seconds away from getting his security deposit revoked.

Shane glanced over at Ilya just in time to catch the familiar curve of amusement on his face.

“What?”

“You hate this already." Ilya stated.

“I don’t hate it.”

“You have your hockey face on.”

Shane looked at him like he just said something ridiculous, he did, “My hockey face?”

“The one where you look like you’re mentally preparing for violence?”

Shane scoffed. “I always look like this.”

“No,” Ilya corrected casually, turning to face him before caressing his freckles gently. “Usually you look softer.”

That–

That was unfair, actually.

Shane felt warmth crawl up his neck almost instantly at the gesture. “You’re annoying.”

“And you love me anyway,”

Unfortunately, that was true too.

Before Shane could come up with a response, Ilya leaned in, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. Shane followed his lips instantly, nearly smiling into it already.

“Lovebirds!” Wyatt shouted from the kitchen, separating the kiss. “Get in here!”

Ilya rolled his eyes, groaning into Shane’s shoulder. Shane laughed quietly under his breath before tugging Ilya further into the party and towards the kitchen.

The kitchen was already full when they got there. Luckily, mostly with people they actually knew.

Wyatt was behind the counter, pouring shots. Bood was laughing way too loudly near the fridge at some obnoxious joke. And Rose was perched on the counter like she’d been there for hours already.

“Shayna!” Rose shouted the second she saw him.

Shane barely had time to register before she launched herself off the counter and into his arms.

He caught her automatically, stumbling half a step back. “Okay– hi–”

“You’re so warm.” Rose declared, completely unprompted.

“That’s… good?”

“I love you.” she added immediately.

“Okay. And I love y–”

“I love you more,” she corrected, tightening her grip like it was a competition.

Behind her, Luca was leaning against the counter with a drink in his hand, watching the scene unfold like it was normal.

“How much has she had?” Shane mounted around Rose’s shoulder.

Luca didn’t hesitate, whispering back. “Enough to make some terrible decisions.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you need.” Luca answered, before Rose snapped her head back at the conversation, leaving the hug.

“Are you guys talking about me?”

Svetlana stepped up, holding her wrist gently. “No, babe. Come on, let’s help Wyatt finish setting up beer pong, yes?”

She nodded, immediately sliding back into reality for half a second with a smile.

When she walked to the counter, Svetlana stepped away to stand on her tip-toes briefly, pressing a quick kiss to Ilya’s cheek.

“I’ll be back,” Svetlana said. “Don’t party too hard without me.”

Ilya nodded, letting her go back to entertaining Rose.

Across the room, Troy and Harris were very obviously making out on the couch.

Shane pointed vaguely. “Are they–”

“Yes.” Luca confirmed.

“Still?” Ilya asked.

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

Rose stumbled back over. “Okay. I’m literally gonna pee my pants.” she announced. “Hold my drink? Thanks–love you bye!” she said, shoving the drink into Shane’s hand and disappearing before he could even respond.

Shane laughed under his breath, setting the drink down carefully onto the counter. He covered the top instinctively with his hand, just to make sure nothing happened to it while he engaged back into the conversation with the others.

But Ilya was staring. Not at his face.

At his hand.

Shane frowned slightly. “What?”

Ilya exhaled, slow. “Fuck.”

“Hello?” Shane blinked. “What did I do?”

Ilya pointed, very seriously, at the cup Shane was still covering. “You are so fucking hot.”

Silence.

Shane paused. “I’m sorry?”

“Like–” Ilya gestured vaguely, struggling for English. “That. That thing. Covering the drink like that.”

Shane stared at him. “...what?”

“What?”

“You cannot be serious.”

“You are such a sexy feminist.” Ilya added, his cheeks heating up.

“Oh my god. You are dramatic.”

Ilya looked over, leaning his head onto Shane’s shoulder, whispering. “You cannot get my dick hard right now,”

“Jesus, Ilya–” Shane said, shoving him off playfully. “Control it.”

He huffed into Shane’s shoulder, like that was personally offensive, but he didn’t argue further.

Svetlana stood at the end of the dining table as she finished setting it up for beer pong. Cups were set, teams were forming, and Wyatt was already loudly declaring himself as the referee, despite literally pouring drinks for one side.

“Okay,” Svetlana said, coming back to the group. “Play.”

That single word was enough, they all gathered around the table.

Rose appeared out of nowhere again, already climbing into the stool and forgetting about her drink.

“Wait, wait, wait–” Rose said. “Beer pong is happening and nobody told me?”

“You were using the bathroom?” Ilya stated, more so like a question.

“I was grieving.”

“Grieving what?” Shane added.

“My absence.”

“That isn’t how grief works.”

“It is for me.”

She didn’t wait for permission, just wedged herself into the nearest gap at the table, nearly knocking Luca’s elbow in the process.

“Rose.” Luca said flatly.

“Luca.”

Svetlana took the drink Rose gave to Shane, quickly dumping the remains down the drain and filling it up with water.

“Drink this, zaychik.” Svetlana said, handing her the cup.

“Love you,” Rose said, sipping from the cup.

Shane exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head as everyone began to play.

“Teams,” Wyatt called, already pointing like this was a draft selection. “Haas, you’re with Rose. Because that feels like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“Rude,” Rose said, sliding onto the edge of the table anyway.

“Rozy, you’re with Shane. Obviously.”

Shane nodded, Ilya smirking insufferably like he knew they were gonna win already.

“And then that leaves Sveta and Bood– you two cool with that?”

“If he’s ready to win.”

Bood raises his hand up like he’s ready to fistbump, or give some kind of awkward handshake. Or both.

“Don’t do that again.” Svetlana said, standing closer to the table. Bood nodded in defeat, standing next to her.

“What about you?” Ilya asked.

“I just said this! I’m the reff! Listen up, people,” Wyatt said, clearly taking advantage of not playing and just taking more shots for himself.

***

The first round started messy.

Too much talking, too much laughing, cups getting rearranged because someone insisted the triangle wasn’t symmetrical enough to be “fair.” Rose was narrating the game like it was some sort of sport.

“And Hollander takes the shot– oh my god, he missed. Tragic turn for team Hollanov.”

“Rose, please. I’m right here,” Shane said flatly

“My commentary still stands.” Rose added.

Across from them, Luca was already mid-argument with Wyatt about “house rules,” which apparently did not exist and therefore meant everything was allowed. Ilya didn’t talk much.

He just played. Annoyingly good.

Every time he threw, the ball landed with the kind of confidence that made people groan before it even touched the table.

“Of course,” Rose said, watching one go in. Svetlana laughed. “Of course he’s good at this.”

“He’s good at everything annoying,” Shane replied.

They won the first round easily.

Mostly Ilya.

Shane barely even needed to throw his last shot.

“Well,” Wyatt said, already refilling cups. “That was expected.”

“Shut up,” Shane said automatically.

“Make me.” Wyatt teased, earning a glare from Ilya.

“I’m literally going to deck you.”

“You’re so defensive for someone who just won,” Rose added.

“I didn’t win, he did,” Shane corrected, nodding toward Ilya.

Ilya just shrugged. “Same thing.”

“I made one shot. You made the rest, so,”

It somehow got louder. More chaotic. Rose started stealing ping pong balls for “momentum.” Luca started sabotaging Wyatt’s pours. Someone turned the music up again and now the bass was shaking the cups slightly off-center.

Shane lost his rhythm halfway through. Missed two shots in a row.

“Shane,” Rose said dramatically. “You are betraying us.”

“I’m not even on your team?”

Ilya, on the other hand, stayed annoyingly consistent.

Which meant they still won.

Again. But Barely.

“Okay,” Wyatt said, pointing at them after the second win. “That’s rigged.”

“It’s called skill,” Ilya said.

“It’s called luck,” Shane corrected.

Ilya looked at him. “You are jealous.”

“I am not jealous.”

“You are a little jealous.” Ilya added.

“I’m not jealous of beer pong.” Shane defended.

“You are jealous of me,” Ilya said, like it was obvious.

Shane opened his mouth—

Closed it again.

“…you’re insufferable.” Shane said while rolling his eyes.

“I know.” Ilya smirked.

The game kept going

Losing round after losing round, winning round after winning round. At some point, cups were refilled wrong. Someone started making rules up mid-throw. Wyatt declared “emotional fouls” a real penalty.

It stopped being organized at all. It just became noise. And laughter. And too many hands on too many cups.

By the time Bood missed a shot so badly it bounced off the table and hit the floor, he groaned loudly and stepped back.

“Okay,” he said, wiping his face. “Fuck this. I’m getting high.”

That immediately shifted the room.

Rose cheered like it was a championship announcement.

Wyatt didn’t even look up. “Don’t burn the house down.”

Bood ignored him, already reaching into his pocket.

And Ilya— Ilya perked up instantly. Like something in him had just snapped into focus.

“I’m coming,” he said.

Shane blinked. “You smoke?”

Ilya finally looked at him. “Da. Well—sometimes. I haven’t in a while.”

Shane hesitated, and Ilya spoke up again. “You?”

“Sometimes,” Shane admitted, and immediately felt his cheeks heat up for absolutely no reason.
Ilya smirked. “You are lying,”

“I’m not, asshole. I just rarely do.”

Ilya laughed under his breath.

“I will watch this time.” Shane exhaled, shaking his head.

Ilya bumped his shoulder lightly. “Is okay. Come on, malysh.”

They made their way through the party, and into Wyatt’s sunroom. Bood went beside the couch, grabbing his bookbag and unzipping it.

He sat down, pulling out the bong that was assorted colors of blues, purples, and greens. Beside it was a small bag of weed, a few nuggets left in the bag.

Bood set the bong down on the low table with the same careless precision he’d had all night, like he knew exactly how far he could push the moment before it turned into a mess.
The sunroom had settled into a quieter version of the party outside, the bass of the music reduced to a dull pulse behind the walls, and the air felt heavier here in a way that made everything slower, more deliberate.

Shane stayed standing near the couch instead of sitting, hands loosely at his sides, watching the way Bood moved through the ritual of it without really thinking about it anymore.
Ilya, on the other hand, watched like it mattered.

He had shifted slightly forward on the couch, elbows resting on his knees again, attention fixed on the glass as if it was the only thing in the room worth tracking.
Bood packed it slowly, talking under his breath more to himself than either of them, grinding everything down with practiced ease before tapping it into place and adjusting it once, then twice. The flame clicked once when he lit it, the small sound cutting cleanly through the low noise of the house, and the first pull filled the chamber with a soft glow that reflected briefly in Ilya’s eyes before he even moved. The bubbling noise of the bong filled the room gently through the music.

Shane watched intently. He watched Ilya’s lips. He watched him inhale the smoke. He watched it all. Almost too obviously.
“Want some, Hollander?” Bood asked, taking another hit.

“Not tonight, I really gotta piss though,” Shane said, straightening himself up before standing up and leaving for the bathroom.
Ilya smirked, like he knew the effect he was having on Shane without him even saying it. He smiled to himself after, continuing to hit the bong.

***

After 20 minutes pass by, the bathroom trip was well over done now.

It had been long enough that the sunroom didn’t feel like the center of anything anymore.
Shane only ended up looking back there by accident at first, caught mid-conversation by Rose dragging him toward the kitchen and then abandoning him the second something shinier appeared in her line of sight. When he finally had a moment to breathe, he drifted back toward the hallway without thinking about it, just enough space between him and the noise that he could see into the sunroom again through the open doorway.

It took a second to register what he was looking at.

Ilya was still on the couch.

Same spot. Same loosened posture from earlier, like the weed had settled into him fully now and taken the edges off everything without actually dulling him. His head was turned slightly toward someone Shane didn’t recognize at first, someone leaning against the arm of the couch with an easy kind of familiarity that didn’t belong to strangers at parties.
Then Shane saw the profile.

Tyler. Ilya’s English class. Always talking too much in group discussions, always smiling like he already knew the answer before anyone else finished asking the question.
He was talking now.

Not loudly. Not performing. Just close enough that Ilya didn’t have to lean in, which somehow made it worse.

Ilya was listening. Really listening.

Not just that polite half-focus he gave most people, but fully there in a way Shane had only really seen him do when it was something he cared about. His head tilted slightly as Tyler said something, and then Ilya laughed with that loose kind of sound he only made when he actually found something funny.

Tyler said something else, and Ilya’s expression shifted again, softer at the edges, like he’d been caught off guard by it in a good way. He leaned in a little this time, just enough that the space between them disappeared into something casual, familiar-looking from the outside in a way that made Shane’s stomach tighten before he could name why.
Tyler smiled. And Ilya didn’t look away.

Shane realized he’d stopped walking.

Just standing there in the hallway, watching through the doorway like he hadn’t meant to be looking at all.

Ilya said something back, something Shane couldn’t hear over the house but Tyler laughed, and Ilya smiled again, slower this time, like it was easy.

Too easy.

Shane exhaled once through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite, and turned his head slightly like he was going to leave again. But he felt his phone buzz the second he wasn’t looking towards the sunroom.

“Okay. I think we’re gonna head out. Ilya isn’t feeling too well.”

Ilya smirked at that, clearly blowing their cover. Shane pinched his waist behind his back and he instantly straightened up.

“Was it the weed?” Bood asked, clearly feeling somewhat guilty.

Wyatt chimed in. “Guys. They’re clearly leaving to fuck. Use your brains.”

Rose and Svetlana grimaced in sync. Shane nearly choked from the suddenness of it all. Ilya just laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

“Goodnight. Please stop.”

“Wear protection!” Luca shouted, Shane flipping him off as they left.

As they walked to the car, Ilya was still laughing, opening the car door and immediately laying back in the passenger seat.

Shane started the car, putting his hand on the back of Ilya’s seat to watch as he backed out, beginning to drive.

It immediately escalated from there.

Ilya whined, grabbing at Shane’s arm that was still resting on the passenger seat.

“Ilya.” Shane warned, but he was too late. Ilya was already tugging his hand towards his print through his sweatpants.

“Jesus—“

“I need you. Fuck, Shane. It hurts.”

“You can wait.” Shane warned, looking away from the road for a split second, looking at Ilya who looked like he already wanted to.. cry?

“Please. Can’t you see? I’m fucking dying,”

“It’s a fifteen minute drive and I’m driving. Have some self control.”

“Am I being punished or something?”

Shane laughed softly. “Punished is a crazy word for what is actually happening.”

“What else would you call it? I plead, I beg, I’ll literally do anything for you to touch my dick. Nothing.”

“I’d call it not trying to kill us on the highway because you’re too fucking needy and can’t control yourself.”

Ilya paused.

Not in confusion. Not in anger. Not in sadness.

Shane taking control, it made something switch in him completely. His dick twitched in his sweatpants, Shane felt it before pulling away. A small wet spot forming from the precum already leaking just from the thought alone.

“What?” Shane asked, like he was already putting the pieces together in his head, but wanted to hear him say it.

“No. Nothing.” Ilya said, looking out the window very obviously.

Shane raised an eyebrow, before looking back at the road. He felt heat creep onto his cheeks. He now knew Ilya liked this, but in all honesty? He fucking loved it too.

Too much. He was gonna have so much fun with this.

He thought about it some more, feeling himself grow hard in his pants as well.

A whimper tore him away from his thoughts, he stopped caring about the road, looking over to see Ilya, his hand in his pants, touching himself.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?”

Ilya looked over, his eyes wide. Pupils dilated.

“What?”

Like he said, he was gonna have so much fun with this.

“You heard me.”

Ilya moaned again, slowing his movements down. “No.”

“No? Then what’re you doing?”

“Shane..” Ilya said, almost unable to stop himself as he sped up again.

“Stop. Or you won’t cum at all.”

Ilya threw his head back, his lips wet as they parted, another soft sigh escaping the back of his throat. He clearly wasn’t used to this.

Shane looked ahead, and saw an empty parking lot of a closed store. He sped up, and instantly pulled into the gravel, slamming on brakes. The car jolted slightly as it stopped. Ilya looked over.

“You wanna do this? Fine. Put your hands behind the headrest.”

Ilya’s mouth went dry, his cock twitching again. “…what?”

“For someone so desperate, I shouldn’t have to repeat myself.”

Ilya obeyed almost instantly after that, lifting his hands and placing them behind him, behind the headrest.

Shane tore off his jacket, immediately placing the warm sleeves over Ilya’s hands as he tied a strong knot with the cloth.

Shane can’t help but smile to himself when he sees the look of pure confusion and eagerness written all over Ilya’s face.

“I should leave you like this. For touching, or for making us leave the party you dragged me to—“

“No,” Ilya whines, his hips bucking up against his clothed dick. “Please, I’ll— I’m sorry, Shane, мой дорогой Шейн,”

“Oh, you are?”

Ilya nods in an instant, a small layer of sweat glistening on his forehead, his eyes blue and wide.

Shane ignores him though, getting his own dick out of his pants, the relief hitting him easily.

Ilya didn’t catch on at first, he just assumed he was next, but when Shane reached his hand over, it didn’t go low, it went to cup around his jaw, where Shane’s lips were so close, but every time Ilya went to kiss him, he’d turn.

“What the fuck?”

“Spit in my mouth.”

Ilya’s eyes flicked down automatically, the sight of Shane tilting his head up slightly with his mouth parted, all with the gentle stroke of his thumbs against his jaw. It was all so hot.

Ilya gathered saliva into his mouth, pursing his lips together before spitting a generous glob directly onto Shane’s tongue. He kept his eyes open, watching it all, and he only felt himself grow impossibly harder.

“Thank you, baby,” Shane said, leaning back to his seat, before looking Ilya directly in the eyes, and taking two of his own fingers into his freshly lubricated mouth.

“Bohze moy— Shane..” the desperation in Ilya’s voice was enough to have a small bead of precum escape the head of Shane’s cock as it twitched.

He sucked for a few seconds longer, enjoying the look on Ilya’s face while it all unfolded. How he could tell he was minutes away from breaking.

When he finally withdrew his now wet fingers, he wrapped his hand around his aching cock followed with a loud moan, instantly.

“Fuck, that’s it..” Shane said, closing his eyes as his head hit the headrest.

Ilya bites his lip so hard, he thinks they might start bleeding. His chest rises and falls as he watches Shane. Everything feels more sensitive. The cloth around his dick would never feel like this normally.

He continued to watch as Shane touched himself with ease, like he had all the power in the world.

“Please. I wanna help—“

“I know, baby.” Shane said as he sped up slightly, nothing but the slick sound of his hand and small whimpers filled the car.

Ilya’s cheeks were flushed. Veins popping out at every given surface. His eyes were so glassy, he felt like he was gonna burst into tears at any given moment. He had never felt like this before.

“Fuck. Shane, please.” Ilya said, his voice cracking softly.

But he was ignored, of course, as Shane distracted himself further, moving his hand at a steady pace.

Ilya let out a shaky sigh, as he began to rut up into his own underwear.

The first brush felt like nothing. Just cloth to skin. He looked fucking useless. But he kept rutting into the air softly, gathering a rhythm.

The continuous strokes of the tight cotton against his flushed head of his cock, he was leaking precum like a faucet now. His mouth hung open slightly. He had to look absolutely fucking pathetic at this point, but he couldn’t bring his intoxicated mind to care.

His hands gripped around nothing as they stayed bound behind the headrest. His breathing became quicker— and he managed to peel his eyes open to watch Shane, who to his surprise, had stopped touching himself, and was just fully watching Ilya now. He instantly stopped the movement of his own hips.

“Keep going,” Shane said, clearly not kidding with his tone.

Shane admittedly was loving the power he had over Ilya right now, watching as pure desire painted over the features of Ilya’s face, his lips, red from being bitten, were hanging open followed by a whimper, as Ilya twitched his hips up further, selfishly seeking more.

Shane watched in awe as his hips bucked up more desperately in uncontrolled thrusts, he could see his abs clenching through his shirt, as uncontrollable moans were ripped from his throat.

He felt an overwhelming sense of vulnerability settle deep into his bones as Shane watched. Watched him rut into his own fucking underwear like he was a teenager. What would’ve usually made him embarrassed, made him impossibly turned on right now.

“Can you— fuck, talk to me..”

Shane’s mouth curved up, his voice gaining a new level of confidence. “Do you think you can cum just like that? From humping the air like a fucking puppy in heat?”

Ilya moaned again, nodding as he sped up the motion of his hips. “Fuck,”

“I know. Cumming untouched is intense, but you can do it, I know you can,” Shane said, watching in awe as his own cock throbbed against his stomach.

“Touch me. Please— I can’t. О Шейн, я не могу этого сделать..”

“I like to close my eyes and let it wash over me. Just close your eyes,”

“Please, Shane,” Ilya said, starting to just speak pure gibberish and a few Russian phrases.

“You think Tyler would make you do this? Hump the air while he watched? Would you let him?”

“No, nonono, I don’t care about Tyler. I was joking—“

“I know. Who’s taking care of you?”

“You..” Ilya whimpered in response, the weed made every touch against his dick feel more intense. Every point of contact was impossible to ignore.

“Speak up.”

“You, Shane. It’s only you— it’s always been you, please fuck!”

“Okay, baby. I’ve got you,” Shane said, leaning over and freeing him from his boxers, his hand covered in Ilya’s precum.

“I’m sorry—“

“Why are you sorry?”

“I feel so fucking pathetic right now,”

Shane took Ilya’s cock in his hand, stroking it once, earning a loud moan from the back of Ilya’s throat as he opened his bloodshot eyes, looking down as Shane stopped and squeezed the base.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thank you, thank you Shane, I love you—“

“Use your hips, take what you want,” Shane said, keeping a firm, but loose fist around Ilya’s cock, his tip an angry red color. “Gonna fuck my hand?”

Ilya nodded as he moved his hips again, snapping them to meet Shane’s fist in gentle, sharp strokes as he moaned.

“That’s it, you look so fucking hot,” Shane said with pure desire as he watched, “Go faster.”

“I need more,” Ilya whispered between pants, his legs beginning to tremble. His hands were clammy around the tight cloth around each wrist.

“What was that?”

“More, Shane. Fuck— please, just fucking do something—“

Shane cut him off, slapping his thigh, sharp enough to leave an immediate sting. Ilya immediately moaned, sinking his head deeper into the headrest.

“You don’t need more. You’re doing so well, using my hand like this,”

Ilya felt his eyes glass over for the last time, his vision going blurry before a single tear slipped from his eye, between the weed, the alcohol, and the intensity of the moment, it was all too much.

He still obeyed, snapping his hips up faster to meet Shane’s hand as more words and pants left his mouth. He felt like he was on fire, as he felt the familiar pressure swirl up in his lower abdomen.

“Любимая моя, единственная моя... о боже, ради бога, пожалуйста…” Ilya murmured, his hips slowly down as he neared his orgasm.

“Close?” Shane asked, even though he already knew.

“Yes. Fuck— I’m gon—“

Shane tore his hand away, leaving Ilya in a state of pure shock as a sound almost close to a sob tore from his lips, something Shane had never heard from him before, and it only made him grow even harder.

“You are going to kill me, is that what you want?”

“Maybe. You deserve it.”

Ilya sniffled, like he already gave up and realized he was in way too deep now.

“God..”

“God can’t help you now, baby,” Shane said, before crawling directly onto Ilya’s lap.

Ilya attempted to reach out, nearly forgetting about being restrained through the daze of the weed and being edged.

“I wanna touch you,”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

Shane leaned in, kissing him roughly for the first time.

Their teeth clashed almost instantly. The kiss was messy, Ilya felt it all. Despite being floaty, he felt his lips tingle like actual fireworks were going off between the movement of their mouths. He panted, letting his tongue drape over his bottom lip while Shane just kissed his open mouth. Shane pulled back, a string of spit leaving trailing from their lips as he spit into his palm, and looked down.

“What’re you—“ Ilya said, cut off with a moan when Shane wrapped his wet hand around both of their cocks, starting at a steady pace.

“Fuck— fuck, Shane. You can’t— I’ll cum, I’m still close..”

Shane ignored him, arching his head at the roof of the car as he moaned, moving his hand at a brutal pace.

“Please,” Ilya begged, another tear slipping down his cheek.

“You can hold it,” Shane warned with no intention of stopping. “Fuck, you feel so good, you barely fit into my hand,”

“Shane. Please, if I can’t cum, please let me touch you, О боже мой!”

“You can’t touch, and you can’t cum. Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Ilya whined, bucking his hips to match Shane’s rhythm of his hand. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Then shut up and take it. You wanted this,”

Ilya nodded, holding back every ounce of self control he had left, as the car filled with soft pants and loud moans.

“My.. pocket,”

“What?” Shane said, biting his lip to restrict another moan.

“My back pocket,” Ilya repeated with a whine, and Shane stopped moving his hand, giving Ilya a chance to catch his breath and moan to himself.

Shane exhaled deeply, wondering what could actually be so important right now.

“Lift your hips,” Shane ordered, and Ilya listened instantly as Shane reached behind him to feel in his pocket.

A blunt. Pre-rolled in a small plastic bag, slightly smushed but still in good condition from what he could see.

“What do you wanna do with it?”

“Smoke it with me.” Ilya said, looking between both of Shane’s brown eyes in pure desire. “I want us to both be high when we cum.”

Shane took it out of the bag, holding it between his fingers, still trembling slightly from the event that was occurring before.

“Who gave you this?” Shane asked, scared for Ilya’s response, and for the sanity of his own jealousy.

“Bood. I swear,”

Shane looked at him, and he could tell he was telling the truth. Not that Ilya would lie, but still.

“You have a lighter?”

Ilya sighed in relief. “I left one in the console last week,”

Shane looked confused. “You said you haven’t been high in a while?”

Ilya bit his lip, knowing he’d been caught. Not from weed. He didn’t even have to say anything, before—

“Did you smoke a cigarette last week?”

“Shane. Now is not the time to talk about my nicotine habits when our dicks are literally hugging right now—“

He was cut off by another harsh slap to his thigh, this was landing firmer than before. Ilya sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, while a bead of precum spread out of his head and down his shaft.

Shane rolled his eyes, leaning over to open the console, and surely enough, there it was. A simple black lighter.

Shane leaned back, pulling Ilya’s bottom lip open, and his mouth parted slightly where Shane placed the joint directly between his lips as Ilya closed them softly around it.

Shane struck the lighter once, then twice, then three times before a flame appeared, and he hid his hand around it, leaning forward towards the small joint, lighting the end of it.

Ilya sucked in, drawing in the thick smoke, before Shane withdrew it from his lips, holding it. He let the smoke curl and travel down his lungs with ease, or without even a slight reaction.

Shane looked at it once, before doing the same, inhaling the smoke and beginning to grind his hips and his dick against Ilya’s.

“Oh fuck—“ Ilya blurted out, moaning with ease at the contact.

Shane took the hit carefully, using his free hand to grip the side of the seat as he grinded into him with urgency. The car began to rock slowly.

Shane blew the smoke out, followed with short gasps and moans from the both of them as they moved in sync.

Shane pressed the joint back to Ilya’s lips that were slick with both of their saliva, and Shane left it there so he could focus on the pleasure he was feeling for a moment.

He looked up, watching Ilya’s eyes close in pure bliss. His eyebrows creased together, the blunt sitting perfectly on his lips, still smoking, as he took another hit.

Shane moved his hips more urgently, taking another hit from the blunt. The car was mixed with both smoke from the weed, and pure heat radiating off of their bodies and sticking onto the windows.

“Moya lyubov, please, I’m so fucking close, I can’t—“

“Shut up.” Shane said, moving his hips faster, knowing he wasn’t even far behind.

Ilya sobbed at that. An actual cry leaving his lips, and if Shane wasn’t so turned on right now, he’d stop immediately to ask if he was okay, but he knew he was.

“Color?”

“Green,” Ilya cried, sniffling and moaning at the same time. “Fuck.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

He held the blunt between his fingers, leaning in, and licking a long stride of the salty tears across his face. Ilya whimpered at the contact, moving his mouth to follow his tongue before clashing into another messy kiss.

They stayed like that for a while, just moaning into each other’s mouths and they moved.

Before Ilya even knew it himself, he was painting rope after rope of white between them, cumming so hard he genuinely thought he saw stars. A groan eventually tore from my throat as he threw his head back.

Shane paused, leaning back to look at Ilya, who was already staring intently, not sure how to feel.

“Shane. I’m sorry, fuck— I’m so fucking sorry, malysh. I didn’t—“

“What did I say?”

“I know. I’m sorry. I love you, I love you so much I’msofuckingsorry—“

Shane loved hearing him ramble like he was the only man in the world. Like Shane held every ounce of power against him, like everything was in his hands.

“Hit me.” Ilya said, tearing Shane away from his thoughts.

“…what?”

“Slap me. Like you do with my thigh,”

“Slap your thigh?”

Ilya shook his head, still panting from the intensity of his own orgasm.

Shane lifted his hand, grazing his cheek that was still damp with tears.

“Here?”

Ilya nodded quickly, whining softly.

“Are you sure?”

Ilya nodded again, and Shane watched his reaction to make sure nothing looked uncertain.

It didn’t.

Shane lifted the blunt towards Ilya’s lips after taking a hit himself, and Ilya wrapped his lips around the brown paper.

Shane slapped his hand directly across his cheek, ash dumping slightly across the middle console from the impact, and Ilya fucking whimpered, already growing hard again just from the strike.

“Again?” Shane asked, before he even finished, Ilya was nodding in the same desperate expression from before.

And so Shane did again, he thought about doing the other cheek, but he stuck with the same one as before, leaving a soft red mark on his beautiful skin. It was so fucking hot.

Shane felt Ilya harden beneath him, looking down as he watched, before he took the joint back and took the final hit, blowing the smoke into Ilya’s mouth as they kissed.

“You are so perfect. I love you. You’re okay,” Shane murmured between kisses.

Ilya nodded, moving his lips with ease. He was fully hard again at this point.

“Cumming before I even use your dick?”

Ilya nodded again, fighting for somewhat dominance with his tongue.

“You want me to ride you?”

Ilya whined in response, bucking his hips. Shane bit Ilya’s lip, hard, earning a moan from Ilya that traveled directly into Shane’s mouth.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, sweetheart, please. I need you.”

Shane crawled off of his lap, sitting back in the drivers seat.

“What’re you—“

“I need to open myself up first,”

Ilya’s eyes went wide. His mouth ran dry at the thought.

“I can do it. Please, I promise,”

“No,” Shane said instantly. “You can watch.”

“Shane.”

He ignored him. He spit onto his fingers, circling his rim before pushing a singular finger into himself.

Ilya whined, looking away like he almost couldn’t take it. He had never felt so useless in his life.

“Shit—“ Shane moaned, moving his finger with ease just right. He stayed like that for a bit, just working the one for now.

“Shane. Sweetheart.”

“Hm?” Shane said between moans, slipping another finger in.

“Let me help.”

Shane shook his head, arching his back when he crooked his fingers just right, not directly over his prostate yet, but enough to make Ilya believe he had.

“Feels so good, almost better than yours,”

“No. Fuck,” Ilya said, tugging his hands again. “That’s not true. I’ll prove it.”

“Mm-mm,” Shane said, moaning when his fingers brushed his prostate.

Ilya literally drooled at the sight, fighting internal demons as he watched.

Shane continued to open himself up, moaning louder and louder with each thrust of his fingers. By the time 2 minutes passed, Ilya tugged at his hands hard enough that the jacket slipped from his wrists and behind the seat.

Before Ilya had the chance to move, Shane slipped his fingers out of himself, and placed his palm firmly onto Ilya’s chest to hold him there.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted. “You’re lucky I’m ready.”

Ilya whined, staying silent as he watched Shane crawl back over onto his lap.

His cum from earlier was now dried onto his abs. He was sweaty, his shirt clinging to his skin.

Shane pulled his own shirt over his head, before pulling at Ilya’s, who lifted his arms in ease to help.

They were now both naked and definitely both high, and Shane grabbed Ilya’s dick to position himself.

He teased him, gliding the slickness of both spit and precum around his hole in a slow manner.

“Please,”

“Beg harder,”

“Please, Shane. I’ll do anything. I’ll be so good, I’ll do whatever you want. You’re my love, moya lyubov, Единственный человек в этом мире, для которого я создан…”

That was enough for Shane to sink down onto him, inch by inch at first, before he was fully seated.

They moaned in relief in sync, Shane letting his sweaty forehead rest on Ilya’s shoulder as he sighed. He felt Ilya’s hand grip his hips, his thumbs caressing the skin there.

“Thank you,” Ilya moaned. “Thank you, Shane. Thank you.”

Shane nodded as he whined, picking himself back up before sinking back down, finding his rhythm.

They moaned together, the smoke from before still lingering slightly in the air. Ilya felt every hug of Shane’s entrance around him. Every touch, every thrust, everything. All at once.

“Fuck, baby,” Shane moaned, leaning forward to suck Ilya’s neck as he rocked. “So good, you’re so good,”

Ilya helped, and Shane didn’t stop him this time. Moaning louder as Ilya pushed his hips to help meet the brutal pace they both chased.

Shane lazily left small trails of red and purple bruises along his neck as they moved, the car still rocking slightly, god forbid anyone saw the sight of this right now.

“Sweetheart,” Ilya moaned, leaning his neck to give him more access, already feeling himself get closer again. Shane was right there with him. He was basically the victim of tonight’s events, and he still hadn’t cum.

“Who makes you feel like this?”

“You know it’s only you, Shane,”

“Tell me Tyler couldn’t do this.” Shane said, biting his neck gently.

Ilya hissed, opening his mouth slightly wider as a moan of pure pleasure left his lips.

“Only you, moya lyubov,” Ilya managed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Who can take you all at once like this?”

Ilya whimpered, opening his eyes when he felt Shane’s gaze on him.

“You’re so perfect. It’s only you,”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yes. I’m gonna cum—“

“Cum inside of me. I wanna feel your for days,”

Too fast for anyone to even process, Ilya made the decision to move his hand beside him and roll the seat back entirely, rolling Shane underneath him in one swift motion.

Before Shane could protest, he was sliding back into him at a relentless pace that nobody could argue. There was nothing to beat.

Shane cried out, lifting his legs up to give Ilya access to push them higher as he snapped his hips with each thrust. Ilya lifted one hand to brush through his messy curls, before kissing him.

“Gonna fill you up, gonna make you mine,”

“Oh fuck— jesus fucking christ, Ilya,”

“I love you.”

“I love you.” Ilya said back, before he was cumming for the second time, and Shane the first.

They both came so hard, Ilya was still spilling after 10 seconds. Shane was a pure mess. There was cum on his chest, his chin, his eyebrow, and dripping slowly in between his legs.

He fucking loved it. It was filthy, and he loved it.

Ilya let out a final groan, trembling slightly as he licked Shane’s face somewhat clean like he was a fucking animal. They were both too fucked out to care about anything else.

“Holy shit.” was the only thing Shane could manage as he caught his breath, feeling Ilya lift him back up to lay on top of him now.

He caressed his boyfriends skin, leaving a few gentle kisses in various places, despite how sweaty and sticky they both were.

“I have leather wipes in the console,”

Ilya laughed at that, wiping his eyes and forehead.

“Could’ve guessed that.”

Shane perked his head up from Ilya’s chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, malysh. Is okay. You are just so cute.”

“I’m cute after what I just did? I deserve a fucking trophy,”

“Ah, yes. I will order you trophy for “best murder of boyfriends dick.” okay?”

“You are actually so annoying,”

“If I am annoying more often, can we repeat what just happened more often?”

“You liked it?” Shane asked, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world.

Ilya nodded, kissing Shane’s head as he rested his hand in his brunette locks.

Shane lifted his hand lazily, drawing an S, and then a + I, onto the now foggy window. Ilya thought his heart was gonna burst. And his dick too, if he could ever recover from what just happened.

“I love you so much.”

Shane leaned up, kissing him gently on the lips. “I love you too.”

After a moment of just pure silence and slightly heavy breathing, Shane spoke up again.

“How are we getting home? I’m high now,”

“I will drive. Is okay.”

“You’re high too, asshole. Jesus, how could we be so stupid?”

“Shane. It is okay, I can drive,”

“Yeah, it’s really okay when we end up in a ditch too.”

Ilya laughed, really laughed.

“Is something funny?”

“We just had the most intense sex of both of our lives and you are worried about this now?”

“I’m serious.”

“Okay. Want me to call Wyatt? Prove his point?”

Shane opened his mouth, then closed it. Hesitating.

“You can drive. Drink some water.”