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The first time the guy walks into the library, it’s almost closing and there’s hardly anyone else in the library. Shane is immediately nervous. Ilya Rozanov is a Russian import who, despite only being a freshman back then, was instrumental in the university’s hockey championship win last year.
He’s also the most beautiful man Shane has ever laid eyes on.
Shane has seen him in a couple of his classes, has watched him on the ice during their home games, but has never really interacted with him beyond the friendly nod when they pass each other in the halls or in the cafeteria.
He watches as Rozanov stands just in front of the library doors, scanning the room with his sharp eyes like the Terminator, until they land on him behind the loan desk. It’s too late for Shane to look away, and he starts to panic as Rozanov makes a beeline for him. When he stops in front of the desk, though, he looks uncertain and maybe just as nervous as Shane feels.
“Uh…” he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck as he furrows his brow.
“Um…” Shane answers back, just as flustered. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Rozanov says, sounding relieved and nodding as he shoves his hand into his jacket pocket. He fishes out a scrap of paper that looks like it’s been folded and refolded several times and slides it over to him on the desk. “I want…I borrow these?”
Shane takes the paper from him, ignoring the jolt of electricity that shoots up his arm when their fingers brush against each other, and reads the titles. For a second, he’s distracted by how nice the handwriting is, and assumes some girl wrote them out for him.
“Let me check if we have them,” he says, turning to the computer and typing out the first title. He writes down the code, section and shelf number next to the first title, then proceeds to do the same for the other four. He hands the paper back to Rozanov, who takes it back and reads what Shane has written. Then he looks up again and raises his eyebrows at Shane.
“Here,” Shane says, leaning over the desk. Rozanov steps closer, holding the paper out so Shane can explain the codes and where the sections are. When he’s done, Rozanov just stares at him, blinking those beautiful blue eyes in confusion.
Right. Fuck. The guy probably didn’t catch a lot of that. The few times Shane has heard him speak, he sounded like he was still struggling with English. He feels guilty for talking too fast, but he’s too nervous at being that close to Rozanov.
He checks his watch and sighs. It’s fifteen minutes before closing, and there’s no way Rozanov will find these books in time to make it back to the loan desk. They’re spread out all over the place, and even he, who’s only on his second week working as a student librarian, gets lost between the stacks here.
He looks around at the library, and nods. There are only a few people left, and no one seems to be needing his help, or wanting to check out anything.
“Here, I’ll help you,” he says, lifting the desk partition that led out to the library floor. “We have to hurry, or you won’t make it before closing.”
This happens again on Friday. Rozanov returns the five books he borrowed on Monday, then slides a piece of paper where three books are listed that he wants to borrow. Shane again has to hurry around the library with him in search of the books. Both times, Ilya follows him around, thanking him for every book he hands over.
When it happens again on Monday the following week, Shane is already a little pissed off. He doesn’t mind helping, of course not, he helps students look for books all the time, but Rozanov always comes by when they’re about to close, and Shane absolutely hates feeling rushed about anything. It makes him jittery and nervous, like it would be his own personal failure if he doesn’t find these books and scan them for Rozanov before closing.
“You know you can make requests on the website,” he says as he hands Rozanov his ID (the fucker looks like a model in his picture, of course) back after scanning his books on the next Friday. “That way I, or any of the other librarians, can look for them ahead of time, and checking out will be so much easier for you.”
And me, Shane wants to add.
“Okay,” Rozanov says, smiling as he gathers his three books and puts them inside his backpack.
And yet.
Monday comes, and there are no requests from Ilya Rozanov in the system. He comes in instead on his usual time, hands his three books over, and then his list.
“Website is confusing,” he says with a shrug, not looking the least bit apologetic.
So this becomes Shane’s life as a student librarian. Where Rozanov’s presence in the library once excited him, it now mostly annoys him. The guy is hot, yes, but just once, Shane wants to spend his last minutes on his Monday and Friday shifts reshelving books so he doesn’t have to stay too late past closing.
“Oh, is this all, Wadji?” Shane sarcastically asks the junior smiling up at him over his desk after she drops a large stack of books in front of him and hands him her ID. Her wild dark curls are swept up into a high ponytail today, reminding the librarian of Ms. Frizzle. She’s dressed in a pastel colored dress patterned with what look like narwhals in chef hats. Yeah, she’s not beating the Ms. Frizzle allegations in Shane’s head.
“What? This is way below the limit,” she says with a shrug.
“This is…“ Shane pauses his scanning to count her books. “25 books.”
“Still under a hundred.”
“Most of these have a two week borrow limit,” Shane chuckles. “Do you even get to read everything you borrow? You’ve never gotten a single fine.”
“Of course I read them, you think I lug these things around for fun?”
Shane shakes his head, continuing scanning her books. She taps her finger on the desk, which really grates on Shane’s nerves, but he simply clenches his jaw and tries to tune it out.
“So, has he been in yet,” she asks conspiratorially.
“Who has been in yet,” Shane asks, feigning confusion. He knows exactly who she’s talking about. She was the one who pointed out the pattern after all.
“You know,” she says, standing on her toes to lean over the desk. “The hot Russian dude. Your stalker.”
“Shut up, he’s not,” Shane says, the beginnings of a blush building up on his cheeks. He hates how easily he blushes.
“Not what? Hot, Russian, or your stalker?”
Shane levels her with a bored look before turning back to his work. This only makes her giggle like a little girl. She looks up at the clock on the wall behind Shane.
“It’s still early,” she says. “It’s still 25 minutes before closing.”
“Ugh,” Shane grumbles, pushing her books back to her and effectively shoving her off the desk. “Why does he always show up right before closing?”
“Oh, you’d like it if he showed up earlier, huh?” She starts loading her books into a thick canvas bag with the words Spread Sheets, Not War on the front. “You want to ogle him longer?”
“No,” Shane says with a roll of his eyes, turning to the stack of books on the trolley next to his desk. He still has to put them all back in their rightful shelves. Rose, his roommate and fellow student librarian, would have put them off for the next morning, but Shane couldn’t do that. It would only itch away at him when he got home, knowing there were still books left unshelved for the weekend librarians to sort through.
“I’d just like it if he didn’t make me run around collecting obscure books from opposite sides and different floors of this place five minutes before I need to close.”
“He’s not that bad,” Wadji argues. “He usually–“
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. The guy in question—Ilya Rozanov, sophomore, university hockey star, and okay…hot Russian dude—casually strolls through the library doors. He’s chewing on a red plastic coffee stirrer, hands shoved into the pockets of his gym shorts. He’s wearing a black cut off shirt that showcases the biceps that he so obviously works very hard on. He’s obviously just had a good workout, because his mole-speckled skin is still glimmering with a light sheen of sweat. Shane licks his lips and sucks the lower one into his mouth without realizing it.
Wadji looks up at the clock again, grinning, and continues, “–arrives 20 minutes before closing. Guy can keep a schedule.”
Ilya grins at Shane as he approaches the desk, reaching behind him for his backpack, and Shane definitely does not watch his deltoid and triceps ripple at the movement.
“Enjoy,” Wadji stage whispers just as Ilya stops next to her. She smiles sweetly up at him. “Hi, Ilya. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Hello, Wadji,” Ilya says, returning her smile as he fishes through his bag for his books. “I see you have borrowed 82 books again.”
“Just 25 tonight,” she quips, grunting as she slings her book bag on her shoulder. “See you around.”
“Da,” Ilya nods, attention already back on his great exploration of his bag. He starts piling things onto the desk—a ragged moleskin with a pen slotted through the cover, a water bottle, his wallet—before finally producing the five books he borrowed at the start of the week. Honestly, Shane would be impressed if he’s even opened one of them. He strongly suspects the guy just borrows books to make the girls he takes back to his place think he’s not like the other jocks who can’t read anything if there weren’t pictures on it.
Shane starts scanning the books, adding them to the pile he still has to return to their shelves, as Ilya fishes out his list from his pocket.
“I need help finding these, too,” he says, sliding the paper across the desk, like Shane hasn’t been doing that for the past three months already. Of course.
Shane stands there for a second, tapping his finger on the piece of paper without looking at it, and just stares at Ilya. He really is hot. No, not just hot. Ilya Rozanov is beautiful in the way that movie stars and models are beautiful. He has soft brown curls that sometimes turn golden when the light hits them just right. His face is perfectly sculpted, all high cheekbones and the most perfect jawline Shane has ever seen in real life. His lips are pink, his Cupid’s Bow so perfectly outlined, it’s as if an artist drew it on his face. His skin is tanned to perfection, speckled with moles that Shane can’t stop thinking about when he’s alone at night, wondering where they extend to underneath what little clothing Ilya usually wears.
And his eyes. His blue eyes are kind of mesmerizing. They always have that glint of mischief in them, but sometimes, he would look at Shane and they would go a little soft, like he was studying Shane closely. It’s the same look he’s giving Shane now, and Shane refuses to let those baby blues sway him from his annoyance.
Ilya may be a living, walking Renaissance painting, but he’s still a fucking asshole.
He clicks his tongue before finally raising the piece of paper to read the book titles. The list is shorter than his last visit, just three books, because it’s Friday. The pattern hasn’t changed since Ilya first started coming to the library. On Mondays, Ilya will come in to take out 4-5 books. He’ll return them by Friday, and borrow another 2 or 3 books, which he will then bring back on Monday to start the cycle again.
“You know all the books you borrow have a 30-day borrowing period right,” Shane says, as he types in the titles of this weekend’s Obscure Book By a Long Dead Author to check which sections and shelves they were in. “You can just borrow a bunch, like Wadji, and return them at the end of the month.”
Ilya shrugs. “I don’t mind coming back weekly. If I have too many of them in my place, I feel pressure to read them all immediately. I want to make sure I only take out what I can read in a week.”
This surprises Shane. Not only that Ilya actually does read these books, but that their school’s hockey star lets books pressure him somehow. Being in the same year as Ilya, he knows for a fact that the guy barely goes to his classes because of the endless training. He passes all of them, though, since most schools generally give their star athletes a lot of breaks. Nobody is pretending that people like Ilya are in uni to learn anything. Someone of Ilya’s caliber is destined for the pros; he’s not there to become a doctor or an engineer.
“Besides,” Ilya continues, and that soft look is replaced by that mischievous glint again. “I like coming by here. I get to start and end my week seeing you.”
Shane huffs, scribbling the locations next to the titles on Ilya’s list. Ilya is the biggest flirt Shane has ever met. He flirts with everyone. He’d probably flirt with a squirrel if it stayed still long enough.
“Come on then,” he snaps at Ilya as he steps out from behind his desk. “We’re closing in 15 minutes and I still have a bunch of books to reshelf.”
Ilya leans over the desk, looking at the trolley with all the books. “I can help you put them back.”
Shane stops walking, almost tripping on his feet as he looks back at Ilya over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “You’d help me?” This man, who’s done nothing but make Shane’s job harder than it’s ever needed to be, wants to stay past closing to help him reshelf books? On a Friday night? When he could be out partying with his friends and teammates and hooking up with countless women?
Ilya shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Da. You help me find books before closing, I help you put books back after.”
Shane opens his mouth to decline the offer, but for some reason that has nothing to do with the way that coffee stirrer bounces up and down as Ilya chews on it, or the way his arms flex as he shoves his things back in his bag and zips it up, he says,
“Yeah, okay.”
Ilya’s face splits into a wide grin and Shane has to practically tear his gaze away. Whenever Shane sees Ilya on campus, he’s always scowling or frowning unless he’s flirting with someone, but when he smiles like that, he looks…
Well, he looks like a kid who was plucked from his home country and forced to learn a new language, a different culture. It tugs at something in Shane’s chest that he refuses to feel for someone so obnoxious and annoying.
Shane leads them through the now emptying library, up to the third floor, having already worked out the best route to get all three books quickly. He keeps his eyes on the brass labels on each shelf, making sure he doesn’t miss the right one. Next to him, Ilya has his hands in his pockets again, his gait a lot more relaxed than Shane’s. His long legs make it easy for him to keep up with Shane, though, and Shane hates him a little bit for that. He’s going to be out of breath by the time they make it back to his desk, but Mr. Star Athlete over there will no doubt be just fine. Now, Shane is by no means out of shape, he goes to the gym, and working at the library ensures he does a lot of walking. Lugging trolleys laden with heavy books also keeps his arms toned.
He just sometimes forgets to breathe whenever he’s hurrying to get these books for Ilya. Because he’s working on a deadline, he tells himself, and not because Ilya’s proximity makes him a little bit dizzy most of the time.
He turns a corner, walks past three shelves, then walks between the fourth and fifth ones. He runs his fingers through the spines of the books, muttering under his breath as he moves down the narrow space, and stops abruptly when he spots the first author’s name. Ilya, whose eyes are scanning the shelf above the one Shane is focused on, bumps into his back.
And Shane’s heart stops. He can feel the heat from Ilya’s body, smell the cardamom and woodsy vanilla scent of his perfume laced with a hint of his intoxicating sweat. Shane turns his head involuntarily as he takes a stuttered breath.
“Sorry,” Ilya says, voice low and far too close to Shane’s ear. Goosebumps rise on Shane’s skin where Ilya’s breath touches him, and he hears more than sees Ilya swallowing thickly.
“That’s…um…” Shane forces his eyes back on the books, snatching the one on Ilya’s list and shoving it against Ilya’s chest. “Here’s your book.”
Ilya, who hasn’t made a move to step away, covers his hand over Shane’s on the book and holds him there. Shane’s feet betray him completely as he turns around, looking straight into those intense blue eyes. He can’t hold the eye contact for too long, his gaze dropping down onto their hands. Ilya’s thumb is now rubbing back and forth against his knuckles.
Ilya turns, and like a fucking satellite pulled by Ilya’s gravity, Shane’s body adjusts until his back hits the shelf he’d just taken the book from.
“What are you doing?” he asks, and it’s too breathless to sound scandalized the way he intends it to. He watches Ilya’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows again.
And that fucking scent! Shane’s head is swimming with it, and he resists the urge to shove his nose under that perfectly sculpted jaw to satisfy his craving to smell more, to taste Ilya’s sweat.
“If you let me kiss you, I’ll stop coming around so close to closing time,” Ilya whispers.
Shane gasps, his eyes darting up to Ilya’s mouth. He wonders where the coffee stirrer disappeared to as Ilya licks his lips.
“Okay,” he croaks, meeting Ilya’s gaze and adding his mouth to the long list of his body parts that have betrayed him since the first day he met Ilya Rozanov.
Ilya closes the distance between them, his free hand coming up to lightly graze Shane’s jaw as he places a tentative kiss on his lips. Shane stands there immobile, eyes closed as he finally confirms how soft Ilya’s lips are. Ilya pulls back, but when Shane tilts his chin up, chasing the kiss, Ilya kisses him again, deeper this time, tongue darting out to trace his lower lip.
And Shane opens up for him like a goddamned flower in spring. Ilya’s tongue slips past his teeth, a low moan escaping his throat as he explores Shane’s mouth.
The book drops between them, but Shane’s librarian mind has already clocked out, and he can’t find it in himself to care as Ilya grabs his waist to pull him in closer. The fabric of Ilya’s shorts are too thin to hide how affected he is by the kiss, but Shane isn’t any better. His own cock stirs between his legs as their hips move against each other.
“Oh fuck,” Shane gasps when they pull apart for air only for Ilya to start kissing down his neck. His own hands finally start working again, roaming up those bare arms. He grips the curls at the back of Ilya’s head with one hand, the other squeezing Ilya’s shoulder. “What’s happening?”
“I’m finally getting what I really come here for,” Ilya murmurs against his neck, and it’s such a mindfuck for Shane.
Because what do you mean the university’s star athlete comes to the library in the hopes of making out with Shane between the stacks? What do you mean Ilya Rozanov, manwhore extraordinaire, has been spending time he could be using fucking more girls in making Shane’s life miserable just to be near him? What do you mean?
He raises his other hand to grip more of Ilya’s hair to tug his head back, his cock twitching at the deep groan the action elicits from the Russian. Ilya looks at him with half lidded eyes, pupils blown wide.
“Are you telling me you’ve been borrowing all these books just to get in my pants?” Shane asks, biting his lip as their hips continue their movements.
“I’ve been reading them too,” Ilya assures him, slipping one hand under the hem of Shane’s shirt to feel his skin. “Am I getting into your pants tonight?”
“Fuck,” Shane grumbles, closing his eyes in an attempt to get his head on straight. It’s hard to think clearly when Ilya’s looking at him like that, when he can feel how hard Ilya is right now, when his own cock is starting to leak precum just from kissing and grinding.
He opens his eyes again to find Ilya staring at his mouth, teeth biting down on his own lip.
“What will you do if I let you?” Shane asks, and Ilya meets his gaze again. His mouth stretches into a slow smirk.
“Fuck you again,” Ilya says smugly. “And again. And again. In my bed, preferably.”
Ilya’s thumb grazes over Shane’s swollen lip, and he has no idea what possesses him to do it, but he parts his lips and catches it between them, sucking it into his mouth. Ilya’s smug look melts into one of awe, his own lips parting in wonder as he watches his thumb slide in and out of Shane’s mouth. Shane closes his eyes even as his hand slides past the waistband of Ilya’s shorts, his fingers wrapping around his thickening cock.
“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya groans before pulling his hand away and dropping his backpack on the floor. A displeased whine escapes Shane at the empty feeling in his mouth, but Ilya starts fumbling with his belt, and his mind ceases to function completely.
Ilya shoves his pants and underwear down before flipping him around, pressing his chest against the shelves as he slots his hard cock between Shane’s asscheeks. He reaches around to stroke Shane’s cock, humming appreciatively when he rubs his thumb over the slit and finds the moisture there.
“Already so wet for me,” Ilya murmurs against his ear, moving his hips to rub his shaft along Shane’s entrance.
Shane feels Ilya’s other hand reaching into his pockets, hears the crinkling of packets.
“You really…go to the gym…with–“
Ilya places a condom on the shelf in front of Shane, then holds a packet of lube in front of him.
“Only when I come here,” he admits. “Just in case. Now open this up for me.”
Shane takes the packet of lubricant with shaky fingers, squeezes half its contents onto Ilya’s waiting fingers. Ilya rubs his fingers together to warm it up, mouthing at Shane’s neck, before moving back to slip his finger between Shane’s asscheeks. Shane gasps as he feels the finger circling his rim, neck arching as Ilya pushes in.
“When’s the last time you’ve been fucked?”
“Last night,” Shane answers without thinking, and Ilya pushes his finger in deeper.
“Who?” Ilya grits out, sounding almost angry, curling his finger inside Shane, searching.
“No one, fuck!” Shane grunts, his head dropping back onto Ilya’s shoulder. “My fucking dildo.”
The finger in him stills. Ilya turns his head, pressing his nose under Shane’s jaw and licking at his neck.
“What color?”
Shane huffs, pushing his hips back, needing Ilya to start moving his finger again.
“Is big?” Ilya pushes.
“Shut up,” Shane grumbles, but he can’t help chuckling. “Just fucking get on with it.”
“Greedy,” Ilya teases, but he pulls his finger out only to push two back in.
Shane hisses at the delicious stretch, fingers digging into the shelf in front of him. He has enough blood left in his brain to keep the open packet away from the books with his other hand. He turns his head towards Ilya, who presses his cheek against Shane’s gasping mouth as he scissors his fingers inside Shane.
“Relax for me, malysh (baby).”
Shane melts at the Russian word. He has no idea what it means, but it sounds so good coming from Ilya’s mouth. Ilya seems to catch on to the effect it has on Shane, because he starts murmuring in Russian as he continues to stretch Shane open, adding a third finger. He turns his fingers around Shane, pressing up and Shane sees stars.
“Fuck, Rozanov,” he whimpers as he starts shaking. Ilya wraps his other arm around his waist, holding him up. “Fuck me, please. Now.”
Shane reaches blindly behind him, shoving Ilya’s gym shorts and underwear further down.
“So impatient, kotenok (kitten),” Ilya chuckles against his ear, but he pulls his fingers out of Shane and snatches the condom from the shelf. Shane watches over his shoulder as Ilya tears it open with his teeth, and he has no idea why he finds that simple act so hot.
When Ilya’s rolled the condom onto his cock, he holds his hand out for Shane again and he empties the rest of the lube onto his palm. He watches over his shoulder again as Ilya slicks himself up, then turns back around to brace himself with both hands on the shelf.
“Breathe,” Ilya murmurs, kissing behind Shane’s ear as he lines himself up. He squeezes Shane’s hip then pushes in, and Shane moans.
“Oh god!” He leans forward a little, pushing his ass back as he clenches around Ilya’s cockhead. “Fuck, that’s…you’re so fucking big.”
“You okay?” Ilya asks, squeezing his hip again and waiting.
Shane inhales deeply and breathes out through his mouth, resting his forehead on the back of his hand as he gets used to the stretch. He’s used his dildo on himself a lot, more often than not imagining it was Ilya’s cock, but the reality is so different from his fantasies.
Ilya is big and strong and hard. Even just the tip is enough to make Shane weak in the knees. He wants all of it inside him.
“More,” he gasps, nodding his head. “Give me more.”
Ilya hums, pushing in further before pulling out again, leaving just the head inside Shane. It’s so fucking good.
“Who do you think of when you fuck yourself with your dildo?” Ilya asks as he pushes even further in.
“No one,” Shane lies.
“Liar,” Ilya whispers, nibbling at his earlobe. He pulls almost all the way back out again, and then stills his hips. “Tell me truth, or I pull out.”
“Fuck you,” Shane grunts, then grabs Ilya’s hip when he feels him starting to take a step back. “You, asshole! I think about you!”
When he glares at Ilya over his shoulder, he finds a satisfied smile on his face, like hearing that Shane thinks of him is the most delightful thing he’s ever heard. Then, without warning, he drives his cock all the way in, pelvic bones digging into Shane’s ass.
“Oh my god!” Shane cries out before Ilya clamps his hand over his mouth.
“Ssshhh,” he whispers, as he bends his whole body over Shane, the heat of his chest pressed against Shane’s back. “Guards might hear you.”
Shane whimpers against his palm when Ilya circles his hips, his cock grazing him on that spot it usually takes Shane a few tries to find by himself. He bites his lip under Ilya’s palm to keep from making any more sounds, embarrassed and afraid of being heard, as he adjusts to the feeling of being filled this much. Playing with his dildo has definitely not prepared him for how big and glorious Ilya’s cock is. His walls tremble around the not unwelcome intrusion, his entrance clenching and unclenching as he works to get used to the sensation of being stretched open.
Ilya starts moving his hips then—really moving them—and Shane can’t help gasping and moaning quietly. Ilya’s grip on his hip is tight, his strong fingers digging into the flesh hard enough that Shane knows they’re going to leave bruises. He wants them to. Wants to wake up tomorrow and see them, and feel them.
All his life, he’s been the good boy society expects him to be. He’s Asian, he must be smart, he must be responsible, he must be orderly. He’s played his part as much as he can, constantly pushing himself to be at the top of his class, giving up things he wants to do simply because they might interfere with his academics. He studies, he works at the library, and on the weekends, he skips the parties to study even more.
But this—Ilya inside him, warm breath on his ear, fingers on his skin—he wants to have this. He wants to keep this for as long as he can. So he hopes he gets bruises, and he hopes he aches the whole day tomorrow.
“Harder,” he mumbles against Ilya’s palm. “I want you deeper.”
Ilya’s hips stutter as he curses in Russian. He lowers the hand over Shane’s mouth to cup it around his jaw, tugging until Shane can look at him over his shoulder.
“You are trying to kill me, Hollander,” he says, snapping his hips harder, faster, filling the library with the slap, slap, slap of skin hitting skin. Shane’s jaw slackens, his breathing turns to panting, as Ilya’s cock thrusts in and out of him. Ilya’s thumb finds its way into his mouth again, and Shane sucks and moans around it. It makes Ilya growl under his breath, eyes dark and intense as he watches Shane’s mouth.
“Fuck,” Ilya grunts, pulling his hand away from Shane’s face to grip his hips with both hands.
“Don’t stop,” Shane protests when Ilya pulls out of him completely, and he’s just about to grab Ilya’s dick when he’s manhandled by those strong hands. He’s whipped around so fast, he almost topples over. There’s no hesitation when Ilya kisses him now, his tongue no longer asking for permission into Shane’s mouth. He licks into Shane like he’s staking his claim, possessive and hungry and hot.
Shane’s aching, leaking cock presses against Ilya’s hip, and he whimpers when Ilya wraps his hand around it and strokes him. His calloused thumb swipes over the slit, rubs over it and presses down and Shane bites down hard on Ilya’s lip at the sudden burst of intense pleasure. They both moan loudly, hips bucking against each other.
“Here, come,” Ilya mutters against his mouth. He lets go of Shane’s cock to push his pants and underwear further down, tapping Shane’s thigh until he steps out of them, leaving his loafers tangled inside the legs. Ilya then grabs him by the backs of his thighs, and casually hauls him up like he weighs nothing. He’s approximately 200 pounds, but Ilya acts like he weighs as much as his fucking backpack.
Shane can’t dwell on this too much, because Ilya’s guiding his legs around his waist, and if Shane thinks too much about it, he might blow his load right then and there.
“Hold on,” Ilya says as he pushes Shane’s back against the shelves, and there’s a look in his eyes that tells Shane he means it. He quickly grabs the shelf above his head with one hand, stretches his other arm to grasp the one that’s level with his shoulders, as Ilya guides his cock back inside him.
Shane’s thighs quake around Ilya as Ilya pulls him down inch by inch onto his cock.
“Fuck, so tight,” Ilya coos. “Look at you…you take it so good.”
Shane’s whole body tingles at the praise even as he fights to relax around Ilya. Gravity does what it does, and Ilya is, indeed, deeper inside him. He looks down at where they’re connected, and fuck, he’s not even fully in yet.
“What the fuck are you,” Shane gasps, digging his heels into Ilya’s asscheeks to pull him in closer. “Jesus!”
“Still okay?” Ilya asks, and he sounds worried now.
“Yes, fuck…feels good…you feel…”
He relaxes his shoulders and that drops him even lower onto Ilya’s cock until Ilya bottoms out. It’s so perfect, Shane wants to cry. He never thought pleasure like this existed. He didn’t realize how empty he was until this moment, when Ilya’s filled him up so good.
Ilya moves his hips again, looking down to watch his cock disappear and reappear from inside Shane. He doesn’t build up to it this time, just starts thrusting into Shane, fast and hard, until Shane is bouncing up and down, the wooden shelf dragging across his back. He belatedly regrets not taking his shirt off, regrets that his back won’t be scratched up by the shelf.
“This what you want?” Ilya grunts in a low voice.
“Yes,” Shane gasps. “Fuck, like that. Right there. Make me hurt tomorrow.”
This spurs Ilya on even faster, every muscle in his arms flexing as he drags Shane up and down his cock in time to his every thrust. Shane arches up just as Ilya changes his angle so that every drag of his cock against Shane’s prostate makes him cry out.
“Roz–…shit Rozanov…” Shane’s whole body is trembling now, and he feels his orgasm building up faster and faster each time Ilya hits his prostate. “I’m gonna’–“
One of Ilya’s hands lets him go long enough to push his shirt up, exposing his clenched stomach, just before he cums.
“Oh my god,” Shane gasps, arching up, his whole body clenching around Ilya, as thick ropes of cum paint his torso. His inner walls tremble and tighten around Ilya, and his thrusts turn frantic before his hips still and his arm pulls Shane down on him. Shane feels him pulsing inside him as Ilya’s orgasm hits him.
“Fuck,” Ilya pants, moving his hips again slowly, chasing more pleasure, before pulling out and setting Shane back down. His knees buckle, but Ilya holds him up by the waist, dropping to his knees and licking Shane’s cum from his stomach. Shane trembles beneath him, whining pathetically when Ilya’s tongue makes its way down to his cock. He wraps his lips around the overstimulated head, sucking gently and making Shane curl forward around him. His whole body is on fire, the unrelenting heat spreading in pulsing waves from between his legs. His fingers scrape Ilya’s scalp as his body tries to pull away, but he’s shaking too much, and it feels too good.
“Ilya,” he begs, the name involuntarily slipping out of him. “Fuck, oh my god…shit.”
Ilya finally lets him go, swirling his tongue over the slit one last time, then looks up at him. Shane’s fucked out brain thinks Ilya looks like he’s worshipping at his altar with that awed look on his face. Ilya tugs him down on the floor with him, dragging him closer to press sloppy kisses all over his face.
“Your book,” Shane says weakly when his brain has rebooted. The book is laid open on the floor next to Shane’s pants, and his librarian brain aches for it. He reaches for it as Ilya ties off the condom and pulls his cock back into his shorts.
They quickly get Shane dressed, looking all around them to make sure they’re still alone as they scurry past the shelves. When Ilya makes to throw the condom into the first bin they pass, Shane chokes and panics.
“Not there!” He hisses, wrapping his hand around Ilya’s wrist.
“Where do you want me to throw it then?” Ilya asks, tilting his head. “You want to keep it for souvenir?”
“Shut up,” Shane huffs, his mind reeling. What the fuck was he thinking, letting Ilya fuck him in the library like that? Now there’s no where to get rid of the evidence.
“I am not putting this in my pocket,” Ilya assures him. He swings his backpack away when Shane eyes it. “No! Not in my bag either.”
Shane grips his hair tightly with his free hand, like an idea will present itself if he yanks at it hard enough. He starts humming, and Ilya wraps his free arm around him.
“Okay, okay,” he says soothingly. “Is okay, don’t panic. I’ll get rid of it.” He presses a kiss to Shane’s temple before leading them down the stairs, Shane still clinging to his wrist like he doesn’t trust Ilya not to leave it on one of the shelves.
“Go to your desk, I’ll be right back,” Ilya orders him when they reach the first floor. Shane’s grip on his wrist tightens. “I will throw outside of library.” Ilya’s tone is reassuring, like he’s talking to a child throwing a tantrum. “And then I will come back and help you reshelf books, yes?”
Shane lets him go reluctantly, rooting himself to the floor as he watches Ilya hurry to the door. He waits until the doors swing shut behind Ilya before heading back to the loan desk, his hands still shaking as he runs them through his hair. He’s not sure if it’s from the mind shattering orgasm, or his panic. He supposes it’s both.
He sits on the stool behind his desk, staring at the screen of the computer until Ilya shows up again. He doesn’t protest when Ilya casually lifts and walks past the partition to stand in front of Shane.
“Is gone, okay?” he says, cupping Shane’s cheeks in his hands. He kisses Shane softly, and he can’t help but sigh and lean into it. “Now we put books back so I can take you back to my place.”
A small, confused noise escapes Shane’s throat as he looks up at Ilya, who just smiles at him.
“I’m not done with you yet,” Ilya says, pouting his lips, and Shane can only huff and smile.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get your books,” Shane says later as they walk through the stacks, Ilya pushing the trolley, Shane placing the books back in their shelves. “I can’t have the system logging borrows past closing.”
“Is okay,” Ilya shrugs, his arms resting on the trolley handle. “I have better plans for the weekend now.”
“Oh?” Shane asks, taking another book. “Big party?”
Shane turns when Ilya doesn’t answer right away, and finds Ilya blinking at him with furrowed brows. He tilts his head, as if assessing Shane.
“Yes,” he says slowly. “In your ass.”
It takes Shane a second before he fully understands what Ilya means, and his face heats up.
“The whole weekend?” he croaks.
“And then some, hopefully,” Ilya says, smirking.