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It doesn’t take much for Shane to find Ilya attractive.
When they lift together in the gym, the temperature of the room seems to increase several degrees. Watching Ilya absolutely destroy other hockey players on the ice spikes Shane’s adrenaline, the result typically being him pressed against the wall just inside the front door while Shane drops to his knees. Simply waking up next to Ilya tends to get him going, his cock swelling as much as his heart whenever he takes the time to admire every single beautiful feature of his husband.
However, lately it seems like Shane is turned on all the time by simple things that Ilya does. Not that he would complain or question it, sex with Ilya is always enjoyable, but the frequency has started to become a bit of an issue.
1.
“Fuck, come on,” Shane growls, swiping his hand faster. He was so close, desperately searching for the perfect angle.
“Shane, why is the window making you so angry?” Ilya asks from behind him.
He whips around clutching the rag and bottle of glass cleaner, glare softening as his eyes land on the love of his life. “I’m trying to clean them and this stupid rag keeps leaving behind streaks.”
Ilya opens his mouth to offer a solution, but Shane feels himself get ramped up as he recalls the frustration he experienced this morning.
“And this is the only rag we have because I forgot to wash towels last week, but I can’t cycle them today because I already stripped our bed after you got up so I could wash the sheets. If I wait for those loads to be done, it’ll be several hours before the good rags are clean and ready to use, and that just throws off my entire fucking plan for the day.”
Shane rants for so long that he runs out of breath, not realizing until he feels Ilya hands rubbing over shoulders soothingly.
“Hey, sweetheart, it is okay. How about I help, hm? I already finished everything with Anya, I can take over some of the things on your list.” Ilya looks at him with so much love that Shane thinks he might explode, feeling the weight of his anxiety slowly lift away. Shane pulls him into a hug, squeezing tight and nuzzling into his neck.
When they pull apart, they smile at each fondly for a moment before Ilya turns away to walk toward the sink. He crouches, digs around in the cabinet underneath, then reappears with a spray bottle full of vinegar.
“Try this for the windows. It will clean them without leaving streaks,” he explains as he gives the bottle to Shane.
“Why haven’t you told me about this before?” Shake asks, staring down at the items in his hands.
“Because,” Ilya shrugs, “I did not want to try and change your routine. You liked that window cleaner and had no problems with it until now, so it was the perfect time to tell you.”
Shane stares at him, blinks, and turns to set the rag and bottle on a nearby table before facing him again. Curiosity covers Ilya’s face, darting his eyes between the table and Shane.
“Do you… want me to clean the windows?” Ilya asks quietly after a few seconds of Shane just staring in silence, raking his eyes over Ilya’s body like a man starved.
“After you fuck me against them, yes.”
Within less than a minute, Shane is pressed against the large window with his briefs around his ankles and Ilya’s tongue licking into him. Drool bubbles at the corner of his mouth, smearing across the glass next to hot breaths that produce fog, his brain dizzy from ecstasy and the leftover smell of cleaner.
“You’re still stretched from this morning,” Ilya comments as he pulls back for air, easily sliding two fingers inside. He spreads them into a V, allowing himself room to bob his head and fuck his tongue in and out.
“Ilya, please,” Shane cries out, bucking his hips against his favorite face in the entire world. The glass squeaks under his sweaty hands, fingers desperately clawing for a nonexistent grip. “I need you to fuck me.”
The words barely leave his mouth before Ilya gives one last messy lick and stands, shoving down his shorts and spitting into his hand to quickly coat his cock. He watches in awe as the tip slips past the rim, Shane’s body immediately sucking him in like they’re meant to fit.
One arm circles around Shane’s waist while the other crosses over his chest to hold him close. His pace isn’t slow by any means, hips slapping together as skin squeaks across the glass.
Moments like these make Shane grateful that they don’t have any immediate neighbors… or kids… or parents that like to drop by unannounced. It only took one instance for them to learn their lesson.
“Just like that, fuck,” Shane moans, bucking his hips back into Ilya’s thrusts. He can’t be damned to care about his previous work on the windows being ruined, not when Ilya is biting into the meat of his shoulder like a rabid animal.
“Feels so fucking good, lyubimyy,” Ilya growls against his skin, sliding the hand across his chest up to wrap around his throat. He’s careful to keep pressure off Shane’s trachea, focusing on pressing his fingers into either side of his neck against the arteries.
Shane tips his head back, eyes fluttering shut with a dazed smile that continues spilling out blissful noises. Not only is Ilya choking him, but he’s choking him safely and properly and that sends another pang of arousal down his spine.
“I can feel how close you are, sweetheart. Want to come for me?” Ilya whispers against his ear, sucking the lobe between his lips.
The only response he gets is a nod and a whimper, followed by a louder cry when his hand wraps around Shane’s weeping cock. It only takes two jerks of his fist before Shane is pressing his face hard against the window and pumping streaks of white onto the glass.
Before Ilya can pull out to finish in his hand, Shane reaches back to dig his fingernails into Ilya’s hip. “Come in me. Fuck, I want to feel it.”
Ilya curses under his breath, wasting no time burying himself as deep as possible and letting go. He plants kisses down Shane’s neck and across his shoulder until his orgasm finally subsides, ensuring every drop makes it inside. He finally pulls out after they catch their breath, slow enough to watch Shane’s hole stretch and clench around the emptiness.
“Christ, Hollander. Vinegar turns you on?” Ilya teases as he grabs a handful of tissues.
“What? No!” Shane laughs, leaning over to allow Ilya to wipe him semi-clean. Once he’s finished, Shane turns to wrap his arms around Ilya’s shoulders. “My sexy, helpful husband that always knows how to calm me down, is what turns me on.”
“Right,” Ilya grins, leaning in to kiss him softly. “How about you go rinse off, hm? I will clean the windows and we can work through the rest of the list together.”
Shane can’t resist kissing him one more time. “You’re the best husband ever.”
“I try,” Ilya mumbles against his lips.
2.
A good practice always puts Shane in a fantastic mood. His body feels delightfully sore under the rain of the locker room shower, tuning out the idle chatter of his teammates as he rinses and cuts off the water. Ilya is waiting by his locker as he approaches, handing him clean clothes with a kiss on his cheek.
“Some of the rookies are staying late. I’m going to check on them while you get dressed,” Ilya says, waiting for Shane to nod in acknowledgment before planting another chaste kiss to his lips.
Shane watches him leave with a doting smile, quickly changing while he makes small talk with Bood about their evening plans. Once he says goodbye to the rest of the players mingling around, he leaves the locker room to find Ilya. Like a dog, his ears perk up at the sound of his husband’s voice echoing from the side of the rink.
“Yes, exactly, but you need to make sure to time it right. So, whenever your stick is here, that is when you shift your weight, but here or here and you’re scraping ice too early. Your shot is fucked, you know?”
Somehow, after years of dirty talk that never fails to surprise him, this might possibly be the hottest thing Shane has ever heard come out of Ilya’s mouth. No amount of filthy whispers in his ear will measure up to hearing Ilya talk about hockey.
Shane watches from a distance as Eskola, a rookie out of Finland, mirrors the move in slow motion and looks to Ilya for approval. That… yeah, that definitely does something for him.
“Good. Now when you rotate your hips, you want to keep the stick about here with your body. There you go. Now set it up and show me a real shot.”
Eskola positions a puck on the ice and moves away far enough to gain speed before attempting the shot, everyone holding their breath as they watch the puck soar past the rookie goalie.
“Fuck yeah!” Eskola cheers, skating over to the side to meet Ilya for a fist bump.
“Good job. Keep working and you will be good enough to score against the big kids soon,” Ilya grins, turning when he finally catches Shane approaching in his peripheral vision. He greets him with an arm thrown around his shoulder and an obnoxious kiss on the cheek. “Hi, sweetheart. Want to see Eskola’s slapshot?”
“Sure. Let’s see it, rook,” Shane says politely. As soon as Eskola skates away to set up the shot, he leans further into Ilya’s embrace and turns to brush his lips against his ear. “Take me home immediately.”
Ilya tenses, inhaling deeply through his nose as his jaw clenches. He fights to keep his gaze focused on the rookie skating across the ice. Eskola’s stick barely touches the puck before Shane is tugging Ilya backwards by the hem of his shirt.
“Gotta run! Great practice today, boys! See you tomorrow!” Ilya giggles through the words, stumbling over his feet as Shane incessantly pulls him toward the door.
Instead of heading toward the exit, Shane turns down a hallway and guides them into the visitor locker room. They trip over each other as they fumble with their clothes, kissing hard as Ilya blindly walks them toward one of the benches.
“What happened to taking you home?” Ilya asks when they break apart to pull their shirts off.
“Too far,” Shane mumbles as he reconnects their lips, reaching out to tug Ilya’s shorts and briefs down his legs until they drop to pool at his ankles.
“So impatient,” Ilya teases, watching in adoration as Shane lowers himself to the bench.
Saliva gathers in Shane’s mouth before he lets it slowly drip onto the head of Ilya’s cock, looking up at him through his lashes as he spreads it over the length with his hand. Never looking away, he leans forward to flick his tongue over the slit, a move that always causes Ilya’s knees to buckle.
“Hmm, not wet enough. Can I have some more, please?” Shane asks sweetly, staring at Ilya with big pleading eyes as he sticks out his tongue.
Ilya huffs out a breath and shakes his head in disbelief, somehow still finding ways to be taken aback by his freakishly sexy husband. Once the wires in his brain uncross themselves, he leans forward to spit directly onto the waiting tongue. Shane moans at the taste, his eyes fluttering closed momentarily before taking Ilya into his mouth with ferocious intent.
Slurps and sloppy gags fill the silent room, echoing obscenely off the concrete floor, so loud that anyone walking down the hallway could probably hear it. Shane can’t bring himself to care, not when his husband—his captain—has every savory inch sliding down his throat. He swallows around Ilya’s cock to hold back a choke, looking up at him with wet eyes and rosy cheeks. Ilya twists a hand in Shane’s hair and quickly pulls him off, groaning as he grips the base to fight off his orgasm.
“You are too good at that. Who taught you how to suck dick?” Ilya asks with a breathless smirk, lightly shoving Shane’s shoulder as a sign to lay down.
“Oh, you know, this random hockey player that I did a commercial with once. I doubt you’ve met him.” Shane shifts to lay along the bench, watching with stars in his eyes as Ilya swings a leg over and shuffles closer.
“Sounds like a great guy.” Ilya leans over, planting a hand next to Shane’s head as he connects their lips. The kiss is sweet and slow, with small swipes of his tongue. “Do you have lube?”
“Yes, Ilya. I casually carry lube around in my pocket while we’re at practice,” Shane deadpans.
Ilya chuckles for a second before reaching up to grip Shane’s chin. “You really want to act like a brat right now when you were the one so desperate to be fucked that you couldn’t wait until we got home?”
Static immediately takes over Shane’s brain, glazed eyes staring up at Ilya. “No, sir.”
“Good boy.” Ilya releases his grip on Shane’s chin, patting his cheek twice before sliding down his body.
As if the sight of Ilya between his legs wasn’t hot enough, he sucks two fingers into his mouth while holding eye contact with Shane, licking and slobbering over them until drool runs down his hand. Never looking away, his hand lowers to where Shane needs him the most and spreads the spit over his entrance. The tip of his finger teases around the rim before pushing in, he takes note of the mouthwatering lack of resistance due to their activities the previous day.
“Hurry,” Shane whines when a second finger slips in, arching his back as they spread and stretch his hole.
Although Ilya would love to feel the tight heat of Shane around him, he could never bring himself to potentially hurt him. Certain levels of pain are okay, and often begged for, but Ilya is a stickler when it comes to proper preparation and ensuring Shane’s comfort.
With a third finger added, Ilya has to lean over to muffle the whimpers and grunts spilling out of Shane. It’s always intoxicating to hear the noises he can pull from him, soaking up the way his body reacts to every touch.
“Listen to me,” Ilya says lowly, pupils blown as he looks down at Shane. He hears the tiniest hum of acknowledgment, groaning at the dazed look on his husband’s face. His hand returns to Shane’s chin to force his attention as Ilya speaks. “We have no lube, okay? I need to go slow so you can still play hockey tomorrow. You have to be patient. Can you be patient, my Shane?”
Shane blinks slowly, as if his eyelids are covered in molasses, and nods without breaking his gaze. “Yes, captain.”
The breath gets knocked out of Ilya, a shiver running down his spine from the extra spike of arousal. He’d heard the title several times from a plethora of people, but he and Shane hadn’t really experimented with it in bed. He definitely seems to like it just as much as Shane does.
Ilya takes the three fingers he used to stretch Shane and brings them to his lips, using the heel of his hand to press down on Shane’s chin and force his jaw open. He shoves the digits to the back of his throat, eliciting a coughing gag that causes Shane to collect additional saliva in his mouth.
“Spit, zaychik.”
As always, Shane obeys. Ilya uses the spit to coat his cock, fucking the excess into Shane’s hole with his fingers. Familiar, blooming heat shoots down to Shane’s toes once the blunt head presses against his entrance. Ilya pushes in slowly, making Shane feel every inch as it splits him apart. He places a hand on Shane’s abdomen once he bottoms out, pressing down against the muscle.
“Feel that? You feel me inside of you?”
It’s unlikely that Ilya can feel himself through Shane’s stomach, but god can Shane feel him everywhere. He feels insanely full, stuffed to the very brim and somehow still wanting more.
“Feels so fucking good,” Shane breathes out, eyes rolling in the back of his head as Ilya begins to move.
Ilya grips his hips with both hands, gaining speed with his thrusts, mesmerized by the way Shane’s cock bounces between them.
“Look at this big, useless dick. Poor thing barely even gets used. Only good for getting sucked and making a mess all over yourself while your hole gets fucked, huh?”
Shane’s eyes fly open, the brown of his irises bordering on pitch black. His aforementioned cock twitches at the acknowledgment and, as if to prove Ilya’s point, pumps out a large bead of precum.
“Answer me. That’s all your dick is good for, right?” Ilya punctuates the question by adjusting the angle of his hips and speeding up his thrusts, punching Shane’s prostate head-on. (Pun intended.)
“Yes,” Shane chokes out, gasping when a loud slap echoes through the locker room and his left cheek stings in pain.
“Try again. Say it right this time.”
“Yes, captain.”
A loud groan rips through Ilya, one that seems to surprise him. Shane is sure that the skin of his back is rubbed raw from how hard Ilya fucks into him. Aftercare is a chore for later, the pain is an issue for tomorrow, right now all of his focus is on his husband.
“Fuck, I’m already close,” Ilya growls, gripping Shane’s hips harder as his thrusts speed up. Blissfully, Shane hopes that there will be ten bruises in the exact shape of his fingertips tomorrow.
“Give it to me,” Shane whispers, eyes half-lidded and lustrous. “Please, captain.”
“Gospodi.” Ilya squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head to try and stave off his orgasm. His efforts prove fruitless when Shane locks his ankles around his waist and drags his nails down the span of Ilya’s back.
One more hard thrust is all that it takes for Shane to feel warmth spilling inside of him, following the lead soon after. Ilya eventually pulls out and collapses on top of him, breathing heavily into the space above his collarbone.
“Holy shit,” Shane sighs, pressing a kiss to Ilya’s sweaty temple, who hums in agreement.
“So… captain?” Ilya smirks into Shane’s chest.
“Shut up.”
3.
One of the greatest pleasures in Shane’s life, aside from hockey and his marriage, is their garden. Through joint effort, he and Ilya have culminated a gorgeous bed of carrots, tomatoes, and beets. It makes Shane feel better when they cook, he loves having the option of fresh vegetables.
Taking care of the garden isn’t necessarily impossible, but it did take some effort to get started. While Ilya still enjoys helping out, Shane has become quite particular about caring for each plant, so he tries to stay out of the way.
Ilya is chopping up lettuce for their dinner salads when Shane comes in from the garden holding a basket full of freshly picked vegetables. Observant as ever, the first thing Ilya notices is the furrow of his brow.
“Problem with the garden?” He asks, reaching out to dry each vegetable as Shane’s washes them.
“It’s fine.”
Ilya just quirks an eyebrow and looks at him, moving into his line of sight to catch his attention. “How many times do I need to tell you that you are a bad liar?”
Shane sighs. “It’s nothing bad, just some weeds that are really annoying. They’re growing with the carrots and I can’t seem to get rid of them.”
“Let me take a look,” Ilya says casually, chopping up the dried vegetables to add to their salads.
“It’s fine, baby. Don’t worry about it. They’re not too bad, and they don’t seem harmful, just annoying.”
Ilya smiles at the pet name, but doesn’t push the issues further. Their dinner continues with idle chatter, eventually followed by a movie and mutual blowjobs before bed.
When Shane wakes up the next morning, he stretches and rolls over to snuggle closer into his husband. Well, he attempts to, but his arm lands in an empty spot beside him that is far too cold. His eyes crack open sleepily, confused as he looks around the room. Checking the time, he realizes that he slept in longer than usual. It’s already half-past seven in the morning, Ilya must’ve turned off his six o’clock alarm.
Shane pauses for a moment, even more confused. Ilya never gets up with Shane’s alarm. He’s become accustomed to his early bird of a husband and has developed the ability to ignore his alarms.
Shane slides out of bed, bare feet padding down the hallway as he searches for Ilya. Through the floor-length window of their living room, Shane’s heart squeezes when he sees Ilya knelt down in the garden.
“Why are you awake so early?” Shane asks as he opens the sliding glass door to their backyard.
Ilya jumps at the sudden presence, relaxing when he looks over his shoulder at Shane and waves him over. “Wanted to beat the heat. Come here, sweetheart.”
Mud and dirt cover Ilya’s arms and legs, evidence of digging around and pulling weeds. Instead of the weeds being in a trash bag, Shane hums in confusion as he sees them sitting in one of the baskets he uses to carry vegetables.
“So, I came out this morning to try and fix your weed problem.” Ilya pauses, snorting as the words leave his mouth. “Anyway, I noticed that they smelt a little like lemon and they didn’t seem to be hurting anything, so I looked them up and—”
“Hold on. You researched something?” Shane cuts him off.
“Yes, Hollander, I am very smart. Now listen.” Ilya stands and picks up the basket to bring it closer to Shane. “These are not actually weeds. Is called a purslane, a type of succulent, and they are very good for you! They have those omega things that you like in your food and some vitamins and stuff.”
“Omega-three fatty acids.”
“Yes, that. Whatever. We can eat them!” Ilya is lit up like a kid in a candy store, extremely proud of himself.
Despite the incredibly sweet gesture, Shane’s mind focuses on one thing: Ilya looks incredibly sexy while sweaty and covered in dirt. His arousal is definitely because of the sight and absolutely not because his husband took the time to wake up earlier than usual, research a random plant that Shane thought was a nuisance, and figure out a solution for it only because it was mentioned in passing last night. And also knows the word succulent. Nope, Ilya just looks hot.
Before his brain catches up with his body, Shane drops to his knees right there in the backyard and looks up at Ilya with dark eyes.
“Sweetheart, I am filthy. Let me shower, hm?” Ilya says shakily, his cock already growing in his shorts.
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I want you, right here, dirty and smelly and whatever the fuck else.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Shane tugs Ilya’s shorts and briefs down in one quick motion, swallowing him down to the base.
Ilya chokes out a surprised moan, hands flying to Shane’s hair to steady himself. It’s no surprise that Shane loves to give head, but Ilya sometimes wonders if there’s still a competitiveness in him that wants to be the best at it, especially given his current enthusiasm.
Shane buries his nose in Ilya’s pubic hair, swallowing around the cock in his throat, and looks up at him with watery eyes. He feels Ilya twitch inside his mouth, moaning at the sensation and slurping around him.
“Shane, fuck.”
The filth of it all adds an extra layer for Shane; the fact that they’re outside, he has drool spilling down his chin, and Ilya’s mud-riddled hands are tangled in his hair. He should be bothered by it, but he can’t bring himself to care.
“Fuck my face,” Shane rasps once he pulls off to breathe, diving back in tongue-first.
“You are trying to kill me,” Ilya mumbles breathlessly, pulling back to snap his hips against Shane’s face in the way that he likes.
As always, Shane takes it like a champ with an open throat and little resistance. He lets his eyes flutter shut as his mind begins to float, allowing himself to sink into that familiar feeling of just being used by the man that he loves.
“That’s a good boy, you take it so fucking good.”
Shane hums around him, relaxing his jaw impossibly further. Ilya shoots down his throat with no warning, pulling Shane’s face flush against his groin, and nearly collapses when Shane swallows it down easily.
“Hollander, the sun is barely in the sky. What was that all about?” Ilya asks once he catches his breath.
Shane leans back with a relaxed smile, wiping the spit away from his chin. “Just my way of saying thank you for helping with the garden.”
+1.
Ilya putters around the Hollander’s kitchen, helping Yuna carry dishes over to set the table, while Shane chats with David outside by the grill.
They try to do this at least once a month, a nice family dinner with good wine and better conversation. It’s always fun to catch up.
Once the steaks are done, Shane helps David transfer them to a pan and carries it inside to the dinner table.
“Smells good,” Ilya comments, kissing Shane on the cheek as he sets down a bowl of diced sweet potatoes.
“Touché.” Shane turns for a chaste kiss on the lips before heading back outside to help David clean up.
With the table set, they all sit and engage in their usual banter as they eat. David asks about Anya, Yuna asks about Ottawa, and Ilya adds commentary between bites of food. The same routine every time they meet, but Shane and Ilya always leave with happy hearts and full stomachs.
“Listen, it’s like when Detroit won the cup back to back in ‘97 and ‘98 then didn’t win again until 2009,” Shane says as he debates team statistics with his parents toward the end of the meal.
“Actually, sweetheart, it was in 2008 that they won. Pittsburgh won in 2009,” Ilya corrects quietly.
Shane’s stomach drops, but not for the reason he anticipated. Usually, he would feel extremely embarrassed for mixing up a historical fact about hockey of all subjects, but… something about Ilya correcting him… and the fact that he knew that fact off the top of his head…
“Right, yeah. I must’ve mixed up the years,” Shane mumbles, looking down at his plate. Everybody notices the mood shift, Shane is just the only one who truly knows why.
“So, David, how is everything with the treasury board going?” Ilya pivots, glancing at Shane from the corner of his eye.
As David answers, Shane excuses himself to the restroom. He’s only gone for a few minutes, enough time to splash water on his face and attempt to distract the blood rushing to his crotch. He needed to get fucked by his husband as soon as possible, dinner be damned. When he finally returns to the table, three pairs of concerned eyes land on him.
“I think something isn’t sitting well. Do you mind if we head out earlier than usual?” Shane asks, placing a hand on his stomach for extra measure.
“No, honey, of course not. Do you need some medicine?” Yuna is already moving to stand before she even finishes the question, but Shane stops her gently.
“It’s okay, mom. I can manage until we get home.”
They rush through the goodbyes, promising to talk soon so they can plan next month’s family dinner. In the car, Shane silently stares out the window as he fidgets with a loose thread on his shirt. He’s on Ilya the second they pull into the garage and the gear is shifted to park.
“Whoa, I thought you were sick?” Ilya reluctantly leans back, Shane chasing the touch and desperately trying to reconnect their lips.
“I’m fine,” he answers, apparently too quick for Ilya’s liking. A hand on Shane’s chest stops him from leaning over the center console again.
“Ah, no. We left family dinner early because you didn’t feel good, you are not fine. Come on, let’s go inside and I will make you tea for your tummy.”
“Oh my god, Ilya,” Shane groans. “I was lying because I wanted to come home.”
Ilya just stares, eyes wide and jaw slack, the corner of his mouth perking up slightly. “You are telling me that Shane Hollander decided to lie about being sick just to leave somewhere early?”
“Shut up.”
Rather than waiting for a rebuttal, Shane decides to shut Ilya up by pressing their lips together. They both moan into the kiss as their tongues slide along one another, Shane barely getting a hand in Ilya’s hair before he’s being pushed back again.
“Wait, did you want to leave early just so we could come home and fuck?” Ilya asks with a toothy grin.
“Well, yes, but now I’m regretting it because you keep interrupting me.”
Shane leans in again, only getting a couple of nibbles on Ilya’s bottom lip before he’s being pushed back once more.
“Hold on. You left the table right after I corrected you about Detroit’s cup wins…”
“Yeah, and?” Shane is slowly losing patience as his cock grows harder in his jeans, twitching at the reminder of the incident.
“Shane, did you get turned on by that? Me correcting you?”
He doesn’t answer, only diverts his gaze to his lap.
“No, no, no. Don’t get shy on me now.” Ilya reaches across the console to pinch Shane’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing his attention back on him. “Admit it. You got hard because I corrected you.”
“Fine.”
“And that’s not it, is it? The windows, that day after practice… Oh my god, the garden! You love that I am smart! You get hard when I show that I know things!” Ilya is absolutely giddy, teeth on full display.
“Okay! Fine! Yes, I get turned on whenever you do things really well or remind me how smart you are. Are you happy now?” Shane’s bottom lip juts out in a pout.
“Very happy,” Ilya grins, practically jumping across the console to kiss him again. Without breaking apart, Ilya reaches down to slide his seat back and tug on Shane’s arms to encourage him into his lap.
“Here? Why don’t we go inside so you can actually fuck me?” Shane mumbles against his mouth.
“Fine. Get in the back.”
Shane clambers into the backseat with no hesitation, grabby hands reaching into the front to drag Ilya back with him.
“Take your pants off,” Shane says as he yanks off his own clothes.
“So impatient,” Ilya tsks, but obeys the command anyway.
With their clothes out of the way, Shane swings a leg over to straddle Ilya and reconnect their lips. He feels insane, craving Ilya’s touch like an addictive drug and he’s going through withdrawals. He grabs Ilya’s hand and brings it to his mouth, sucking the middle and ring finger between his lips and swirling his tongue around the digits. Ilya groans, brows furrowed in arousal at the sight.
Shane slips the fingers from his mouth and guides Ilya’s hand behind him, the message loud and clear of what he wants. He brings his own hand under his chin, staring into Ilya’s eyes as he lets a dollop of spit slowly drip into his palm. They moan in tandem as Shane wraps it around both of their cocks, spreading the slickness over the lengths. Only once he gets a rhythm started does Ilya press his fingers inside, the stretch burning delightfully.
“This what you wanted?” Ilya asks, curling his fingers to send a shiver through Shane.
“Yeah,” Shane breathes out, slowly riding Ilya’s fingers as their cocks slide together. “Yes, sir. So good, baby.”
Ilya thrusts up into Shane’s grip, adding more friction to the wet glide. “That’s my good boy, my pretty Shane.”
“Oh my god,” Shane cries out, lifting his hips faster and burying his face in Ilya’s neck. His hand jerks faster, pulling them both closer to the edge. “Gonna—oh fuck—come, Ilya. Please. Gonna come, gonna come, gonna—”
He cuts himself off with a loud sob, shooting his load between their bodies and bringing Ilya right there with him, savoring the warmth of their mixed spend covering their skin.
Ilya slowly removes his fingers and just holds Shane close, rubbing soothing lines up and down his back. He glances around, chuckling softly at the fogged up windows of the car.
“Ready to go inside?” Ilya asks, placing a kiss right behind Shane’s ear.
“Carry me?” Shane grumbles weakly, face still pressed into Ilya’s neck.
“Always, sweetheart.”