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A slap across Shane’s face was so loud, it was a deafening clap of thunder.
His head lolled back, lips parted on a stunned gasp.
Ilya’s eyes were dark and sharp like daggers, peering into Shane’s face with a burning intensity. He was jittery, he wanted to climb out of his own skin and into Shane’s. Ilya was coiled like a cat in the middle of a fight, or a fuck.
Ilya was pushing Shane’s slick muscular back into the wooden headboard. Shane in Rozanov’s lap had nowhere to run, only to take his frantic thrusts, take all the heat Rozanov was bringing.
Ilya was trying to scratch an itch in his heart with his dick in Shane’s insides, and it wasn’t helping one bit.
“I hate you. I fucking hate you” - Rozanov gritted out, biting down hard on the plump muscles of Shane’s shoulder.
He wanted blood to wet and stain his teeth.
The air was thick around them.
It was a heady mix: Shane’s Aqua di Gio’s crystal clear blue smell, animalistic pursuit of the present moment… Shane’s expensive shampoo, that particular streak of pheromones that made Ilya feral, a hint of artificial cleanness of water-based lube.
Ilya couldn’t notice his own smell - the sour tinge of his anger, his lust, his fresh sweat on the skin, his own pheromones that smelled like home. His oud perfume was blooming in the air, musky and spicy.
The skin on his face was puffy and red and sweat-slicked after a game.
“Fuck you Hollander. Fuck. You.” - each word punctuated with a hard thrust into a tight hot body.
He was feeling like a rabid dog, frothing at the mouth, as he kept driving into Shane.
Shane was equally out of it, head lolling back in pleasure, eyes closed and mouth open on a string of moans, varying from high-pitched gasps to punched out grunts.
Ilya kept a fast pace, feeling like he would either throw up, or start crying, everything coming up to his throat.
«Господи… за что мне это…»
Shane just grasping at his shoulders, so utterly open and trusting, moving in time with Ilya’s brutality.
«Шейн….. зачем ты ко мне пришёл?»
Ilya dropped his forehead into Shane’s collarbone, blocking the light with Shane’s heart beating in his face.
«Шейн… не убивай меня…»
Ilya’s breathing was heaved, hot and dry.
«Не оставляй меня…»
Shane seemed to engulf him, open wide like an ocean wave, rising and then crushing Ilya underneath the warm waters.
He was just a small man in an endless blue sea, and he was drowning, with no shore in either directions.
«Шейн…»
The salt water was beating him in the face, streaking down to his lips.
Ilya was trying his best to keep swimming, but he was gasping for air in between the ocean sobs, curling and driving himself into Shane’s body like he would resurface from that alone.
He was drifting towards a far away place, not really aware of where he is, dazed.
“How fucking dare you…” - he choked out, to which the ocean just surrounded him tighter, holding steady.
That made Ilya whine, long and high-pitched, his lower lip wobbling pathetically.
That prompted another surge of anger that pushed him to fuck harder and slap Shane again, on the other cheek, with a back of his hand. It was a wide arch and a hard vicious slap.
Shane’s head lolled to the side again with a gasp. Red bloomed on his tan skin, eyelashes flattered, hole clenched. His head stayed facing the side, tilted a bit down.
Immediately, a sickly twist of satisfaction knotted Ilya’s stomach.
“Yes, don’t you even look at me, you haven’t earned the right, щенок» - Ilya snarled.
He pushed Shane’s head into the headboard, nails digging into the plush hot flesh of his cheek, thumb under his ear and pinky near the corner of Shane’s mouth.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” - Ilya growled right into his ear, seeing Shane’s hair stand up on the back of his shiny neck.
Shane’s red tongue peeked out of his mouth and swiped quickly over the pad of Ilya’s pinkie.
That stabbed Ilya in the heart with its innocent playfulness. It felt like he always wanted to have Ilya close, any part of him he was willing to give, even if it was just a tip of the pinkie.
“Get your dirty mouth away from me!”
He slapped Shane again, swatting his cheek from top to the bottom, rather than left to right.
Shane winced and relaxed a second later, unfazed, sliding up and down against the headboard with every thrust.
“Холландер, какой же ты пидрила» - Ilya spat at Shane, looking for reaction.
Now Ilya himself winced, words sounding a bit too familiar and a bit too real.
He continued throwing daggers at him nonetheless. Last one even made him chuckle:
«Слабак!»
«Тебя бьют и ебут в зад, а у тебя аж слюни текут от радости…»
«Может быть нам всей командой собраться тебя выебать?»
«Выебанный Холландеррррррр»
«Принц МХЛ действительно голубых кровей, прикинь?»
Ilya felt bile coming up his throat. He felt like the teenage version of himself - young, cruel, broken, hateful, hopeless. There was nothing good to anticipate. Just violence to endure and then inflict on others, not to crumble. See? You’re fine. If you can endure my violence, then I can endure mine too.
A second wave of guilt came. Shane is not to be touched with any filth from Ilya’s chasms of coal. He will clean these caves out eventually, or hide them forever, until they both die. Shane’s skin is too bright and clean for that part of Ilya’s soul.
Ilya slowed down, pulling out almost all the way and thrusting hard to the hilt. Hollander responded with a fucked out gasp, his head hanging straight down between them. His hands slid to Ilya’s biceps and held on, not even closely being able to wrap his fingers around it.
Ilya could smell Hollander’s hair, wet from the shower and sweat, a distinct sweet smell. He buried his face in it. He kept rubbing his face on it and landed a kiss on Shane’s temple. His tears started anew, thrusts now deep and slow, barely pulling out.
“Шейн, прости меня» - his voice cracked and face contorted.
Damn, he was a fucking kaleidoscope of fucked up today.
“Я не знаю что на меня нашло»
“Я так тебя люблю и не знаю что с этим делать”
Ilya contorted on a stifled sob, not letting it go through and just holding his breath, while his abs contracted. He exhaled shakily, hoping that Shane is too out of it to notice his tears.
Russian men don’t cry. They especially don’t cry during sex like a little bitch.
Another shuttering sob came to Ilya and he held his breath again, feeling lightheaded from a spike of pressure in his head. He could practically feel his veins bulging.
He kept fucking though, dutiful as ever, feeling disconnected between his head and his dick.
Shane seemed to read his mind and lifted his gaze to Ilya above him. Huge, wet, kind eyes, framed by wet lashes.
“Ilya”
Ilya could only lift his head and look away, thrusting in quicker.
Shane felt a new pang of pleasure, closing his eyes for a second, but still focused on his task.
He started sliding under Ilya, pushing him back until he was on his back and Ilya was towering over. He was even more at the mercy of Ilya like this. It was so safe and cozy.
“Ilya, look at me” - Shane asked quietly, looking up.
Ilya was holding another rocking sob, so he exhaled above Shane first and then looked at him with an annoyed scowl.
Shane’s eyes were so kind, open, trusting. Ilya could kill Shane and know that Shane would let him, if Shane determined that it would be good for Ilya.
“Look at me” - Shane repeated quietly, - “Don’t look away until we come.”
“We” was not lost on Ilya, like it was not even a question that they would be coming together, like they were one 4-armed, 2-cocked creature.
Only one part of the creature was good and tender, and another was an ugly monster, spitting venom on anyone smaller and weaker.
Even his looks were a matter of time. There’ll be a time when all his injuries would contort his body, cover him in ugly scars. His nose would break several more times, surely. His youth would fade. He would probably be huge and grey like Ovi, maybe he’d waste his money on cars and clubs enough that he wouldn’t have money to replace his teeth all the time. Will he be a cruel fat bald bastard like his father was? Probably. Then everyone would see that that’s what’s he’s always been.
And Shane would stay the perfect virginal wasian vision, adored by all, flawless and legendary. Will he keep Ilya around if he keeps him well-fucked?…
The flawless and legendary man is looking at him now with so much love and compassion, that the sob escapes on its own, too late to catch it.
“Ilya, moy lyibimiy, breath, baby. You’re okay.”
Ilya cringes at this show of care but forces himself to breathe.
That does not help with tears. Ilya wants to escape this situation, scrambles, looks around for something. More lube? His phone? What time is it?..
Shane suddenly clamps down on his dick, making Ilya gasp in surprise with the strength of the grip. It feels like his soul, his raw spine was gripped in a steady hand.
Shane reaches up and grips his chin in his hand, mirroring it.
Like a horse in the hands of an experienced rider, Ilya has nowhere to go other than where Shane wants him to go. He stumbles over the reins, hands of the rider unyielding.
“Iluysha. Look at me and don’t look away. Breathe. I got you.”
Ilya stills and focuses on breathing. If he’s breathing, he’s crying. His eyes are leaking steadily.
He looks into Shane eyes and faintly sees his own reflection. He doesn’t even see Shane in them, he just sees dark chasms. Shane’s eyes are dark like the abyss, and Ilya is falling
falling
falling
And then Shane’s face starts to transform, morph into someone else. Someone older, framed by grey hair and wrinkles. Ilya tries to blink away the tears. Then his features swim into a thinner, lighter face. Then someone simpler and fatter. These are all different people, suddenly here.
His face swims and morphs. The eyes stay the same, kind and steady.
It’s a spectacle, it’s an experience from beyond the veil. Ilya feels like he sees all the previous lives of Shane, and he loves each one achingly.
Maybe it’s just the tears blurring his vision.
A soul with a hundred faces searches his face in awe like he sees the same spectacle.
Their lips contort into a faint smile and utter:
“Your soul is beautiful”
Ilya inhales sharply and flinches.
Another minute passes in silence.
“You are good. Down to your basic being”, - Shane says slowly, each word heavy as a stone placed in a shallow clear stream.
“There is nothing inherently bad about you, baby.
You are so so beautiful.”
Shane searched for words for a second while Ilya’s whole body tenses in an attempt to reject whatever weird thing Shane is doing to him. He’s held down by Shane’s heat and Shane’s hand.
“You are a good being.” - Shane says resolutely.
“Anything that troubles you, you can solve and clear away.”
“Anything you can’t solve, we can solve together.”
Ilya whines in pain and feels his hands tremble. Every word is painful, as if it’s ripping the defenses in his chest and lodging itself there.
“I love you so much, Ilya.”
He doesn’t deserve it
he doesn’t deserve it.
he doesn’t deserve it!!
Not after how he treated people, not after what he said to Shane, not after what he’s done to this angel of a man.
“Ilya, I know what I’m talking about.
You are GOOD.
You are ALLOWED to be truly happy.
It’s your birthright.
Whatever troubles you, we can solve everything together.”
Shane shakes Ilya’s head to get a point across, his hand strong and steady.
Ilya pauses for a moment, clasping a string of his stubborn suffering ego. He painfully wants to let go. Will Shane catch him? Will he weaponize it against him later?
Fuck it, whatever happens, happens.
He finally cries, like a dam breaking, collapsing on Shane’s chest, sobbing and clutching him. Ilya distantly thinks that he’s acting way more dramatic than he should. Shane hugs him just as tight. His head is spinning, like a car swerving out of control.
Shane’s presence is steady through it all.
Hollander is a big man too - broad-shouldered, covered in scars, skilled, disciplined, increasingly steady as he ages and learns to deal with himself. He can take on Ilya’s burdens too, can take his violence when Ilya needs to blow off some steam. He can hold his hand through the storm and not let him float away.
Ilya cries, still inside Shane, his heat engulfing and comforting.
He cries and cries, grieving his mother, his cruel father, his old self, he cries about every cruelty he’s unleashed upon others, he cries about his laziness, he cries about how kind Shane is to him. His face pulls and contorts, and he hides it in the crook of Shane’s neck.
Shane just runs his fingers through his hair, soothing.
Perhaps, Ilya would not let himself break like that in the hands of a woman he could kill or hurt badly.
Ilya knows, in the depth of his heart, that Shane is faster and stronger than him, and that is such a comfort, he feels dizzy with it.
Eventually, the storm calms and the sea comes to a штиль - stillness. Attention drifts back to his warm dick, suddenly remembering that they are in the middle of sex, and he’s supposed to please.
Ilya moves his hips just a millimeter deeper, feeling pleasure radiating from the epicenter. Shane hums, being on the same page as him.
Ilya pulls just a fraction, and slowly pushes to a hilt, grabs Shane’s hips, then pushes even deeper, stretching Shane out on the base of his cock, the fullness shaping Shane’s mouth into an “O”.
He stays like that for a few seconds, taut like a string, then pulls back, only to try to bury himself whole into Shane again.
Shane feels his hole stretch impossible wider, tip of Ilya’s vicious dick reach further than it ever has, perhaps trying to touch his heart with its glistening tip.
It’s overwhelming, Ilya feels impossibly huge and deep inside him, hot and comforting, every movement letting the desire run in his ribs, his back, in his stomach, up to his nipples, down to his dick.
Shane has nowhere to rush, but he has an itch to scratch, so he plants his open legs on the mattress and starts shallowly fucking himself on Ilya’s heavenly hot spear. It fills him just right and keeps hitting the right spot. The tide ripples back and forth along the shore.
Shane pants and speeds up, getting lost in sensation. How sex can be this good even in the middle of a breakdown, is a mystery he doesn’t want to solve.
Shane hides his face into Ilya’s armpit and takes a deep breath, filled with his pheromones, filled with his dick, filled with love. Soon filled with his lover’s seed.
Ilya seems to get on with the program, sniffing absentmindedly and meeting the movement with his own.
Ilya loses himself entirely, juicily driving into Shane, both of them gasping and moaning.
They usually sound different, but today, Shane more and more urgent moans and whimpers are met with the same ones from Ilya, who temporarily abandoned any ideas about being tough, strong and masculine.
They chase their orgasm, moaning in unison, the wave of the ocean once again rising behind Ilya. He only feels its overwhelming shadow.
There is a beat of silence
until it crushes him, until Ilya thrusts hard and buries inside. His back arches like a pulled string, body shaking, scalp tingling with a flush, chest pushing out urgent moans.
His dick is shooting out cum inside Shane, trying to find a womb, trying to put himself whole into Shane, to immortalize their love in the faces of their children, and in their children’s children.
He tries, he tries so hard, and then collapses when there is nothing left to give.
He registers between heaving breaths, that Shane has come too, and thank God for that, because he is truly out of it today.
He wants to lick it from between their bodies. So clean and fresh-tasting, not a hint of bitter coffee or cigarettes in his essence.
They lay there for a few minutes, resting.
Ilya hears Shane’s heartbeat.
Ilya ponders on Shane’s strength and kindness.
Ilya feels so light, he can float away like a balloon if Shane lets him go.
Shane hums and chuckles softly after, it seems, a week of laying there.
“Jesus”
No, just me - Ilya thinks faintly but just hums in response.
“Sorry, I don’t know what was that about” - he says stiffly, hiding his face. Shane’s chest is so big and boundless, it feels like a wide grassy plain.
He knows exactly what it was about.
“It’s okay, baby. I’m glad you feel safe with me” - Shane replies sleepily.
Ilya rubs his face on the prairie, like a wild horse, just happy to roll in the fresh grass.
Truth be told, it’s dangerous for Ilya to let go. He wants to harm, to bruise, to cause physical harm when he lets go. He wants to kill those he couldn’t kill when he was small and they were big.
He wants to test if Shane is really such an invincible saint as he seems in these moments. He desperately wants to see him crumble and discard him as another weak being. Nobody knows anything and nobody truly loves him.
But no, Shane is towering over in his soft strength, firm yet soft. Unfazed by teeth and claws and rage Ilya brings, engulfing them in his tenderness.
Ilya prays at the feet of his enormous statue.
How lucky he is to sit by his feet and be allowed to be there, to touch it.
Ilya sighs.
«Святой ты человек, Шейн-глинтвейн. Я тебя не заслуживаю.”
Shane sighs and plants a kiss on his wet curls.
His heart blooms in love.
«Тебе не нужно заслуживать мою любовь, Илюша.
Я люблю тебя таким, какой ты есть».