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Shane knows that sometimes Ilya has hard days.
They’ve talked about it at length, made their peace with it. Shane has realized that it’s not really something to fix. And neither is Ilya.
The hard days—the depression—are simply part of him, part of the life he’s lived and the person he is. Shane wouldn’t trade a single piece of him away.
So when Shane wakes that morning to find Ilya still asleep beside him, heavy and unmoving, and when Ilya finally stirs only to roll over with a groan and pull the blankets higher, Shane knows immediately.
One of those days.
That’s okay. Shane knows the drill by now.
He reaches out, stroking a hand over Ilya’s shoulder before pressing a soft kiss against the bare skin.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
Ilya’s shoulders tighten.
Then he rolls over.
His eyes are wide and wet and unbearably sad.
Shane’s chest aches at the sight.
Oh, sweetheart.
“Hey, hey. What’s up?” Shane asks softly. “Not a good day?”
Ilya shakes his head.
“I—I am feeling… strange. I don’t know.” His voice catches. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry, Ilya. It’s okay.” Shane brushes a thumb across his cheek. “Do you want me to stay, or should I—”
“Stay. Please.”
The answer comes so quickly that Shane can’t help but smile.
“You want head scratches?” he asks knowingly.
Ilya nods.
Shane gathers him close, pulling him against his chest as his fingers disappear into Ilya’s thick hair. Gentle scratches trace across his scalp.
Ilya lets out a small hum and immediately presses closer, nuzzling into Shane’s warmth.
“I’ve got you, baby,” Shane murmurs, kissing the top of his head.
“It’s all good.”
They stay like that for what feels like hours.
Eventually, Shane shifts so he’s sitting up against the headboard, guiding Ilya with him until his head is resting comfortably in Shane’s lap. Ilya goes willingly, pliant beneath his hands, as though everything in his mind has gone thick and syrupy.
That’s okay. Shane doesn’t mind taking the lead on days like this.
His fingers work through Ilya’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp. When he finds a particularly good spot, Ilya lets out a soft, needy whine and immediately burrows closer, nose brushing against Shane’s crotch.
Shane huffs a quiet laugh.
“Baby,” he says fondly. “What are you doing down there?”
Ilya makes the sound again, small and plaintive.
“Need you.”
Shane scratches his head lovingly.
“What do you need, sweetheart?”
Ilya doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls Shane’s cock free from his sweats, nuzzling against it and breathing him in.
“Fuck,” Shane murmurs, already feeling his pulse quicken, his cock hardening in response.
But—
They’ve never…
Shane has always been too worried about Ilya to let things go in this direction on days like these. If he’s being honest, he’s still worried.
“Ilya—are you sure this is what you want?”
The question dies on a groan as Ilya takes him into his mouth.
Shane’s fingers tighten slightly in his husband’s hair as Ilya sucks gently, bobbing along his length. Affection and desire twist together in his chest, making it nearly impossible to think straight.
God.
He’s so sweet like this. So trusting. So desperate for closeness.
Shane’s breath catches as Ilya sinks down again, warm and wet and impossibly gentle. One hand stays buried in his husband’s hair while the other traces slow circles over his shoulder.
“Fuck, baby,” Shane whispers, his voice low and rough. “You feel so good. Just like that.”
Ilya hums around him, and the vibration shoots straight through Shane. His hips roll forward in a careful rhythm, shallow thrusts that let Ilya take what he needs while Shane keeps himself under control. Every soft suck, every flick of Ilya’s tongue, drags another quiet groan from his throat.
Shane watches the way Ilya’s lashes flutter, the way his body stays pliant and completely trusting against his thigh. The sight alone makes heat coil tight in his gut.
“Gonna come soon if you keep that up,” Shane warns, his fingers tightening just enough to guide Ilya’s pace.
Ilya answers by taking him deeper, cheeks hollowing as his throat relaxes around him. The wet sounds of his mouth fill the quiet room, mingling with Shane’s increasingly ragged breaths.
Shane’s thighs tense.
His grip in Ilya’s hair steadies him as the orgasm crashes over him, pleasure hitting hard and fast. He groans through it, hips jerking once, twice, while Ilya never pulls away.
Only when the last tremor fades does Shane gently ease him back, gathering him into his arms.
He presses a kiss to the corner of Ilya’s mouth before resting their foreheads together.
“Love you so much,” he murmurs, still catching his breath. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“Please, Shane,” Ilya whispers.
Shane frowns.
“What, baby? What do you need?”
“Need you to fuck me.”
The words come out small and fragile.
“Need you to make me forget I’m sad.”
Oh.
“Oh.”
Shane’s breath catches.
They’d experimented with switching roles once or twice before, enough to know they both enjoyed it.
But this is different.
Ilya has never been like this—so open, so needy, so willing to place himself entirely in Shane’s hands. The trust of it hits Shane square in the chest.
“You want me to fuck it out of you, huh?” he asks softly. “Help with all those bad feelings?”
Ilya nods.
“Okay, baby.” Shane brushes a hand through his hair and presses another kiss to his forehead. “I’ve got you.”
A faint smile tugs at Ilya’s mouth.
“Lay back for me.”
Ilya goes willingly, laying back on the bed, legs spread open for Shane. Shane starts undressing him—his soft t shirt, first, then, his boxers.
Shane strokes Ilya’s hard cock, thumbing the leaking tip before sinking lower.
Shane’s hand lingers on Ilya’s cock for another slow stroke, spreading the slick bead at the tip down the shaft.
Then he shifts lower, settling between Ilya’s spread thighs. He presses a kiss to the inside of one knee, then another, working his way up until his breath ghosts over Ilya’s hole.
He doesn’t dive in right away.
Shane lets his tongue trace a wet line from Ilya’s balls up to his entrance, tasting skin and the faint salt of sweat.
Ilya’s breath hitches, thighs twitching, but he stays open, pliant.
Shane’s hands slide under Ilya’s ass, lifting him just enough to angle him better. Then Shane flattens his tongue and licks a broad stripe over the tight ring, slow and deliberate.
Ilya makes a soft sound, almost a whimper. Shane does it again, circling the rim with the tip of his tongue before pressing in, shallow at first. He works the muscle open with patient laps, feeling it flutter and soften under his mouth. Every few strokes he pulls back to kiss the skin around it, then returns to push deeper, fucking Ilya open with his tongue until the muscle yields more easily.
Ilya’s hands fist in the sheets. His cock lies hard against his stomach, leaking steadily, but he doesn’t reach for it. He breathes through the sensation, eyes half-lidded, body relaxing further into the bed.
Shane keeps going, tongue working in deeper circles, saliva dripping down to slick the way. He reaches for the lube on the bedside table, coating his finger before adding it in alongside his tongue, sliding it in slow, feeling the tight heat clench around the intrusion.
He keeps the finger shallow at first, pumping it gently while his tongue keeps licking around it. Ilya’s hips rock down onto the digit, and Shane adds a second finger, scissoring them carefully. He curls them, searching, and Ilya’s whole body jerks when he finds the right spot.
“Fuck, Shane,” he cries softly.
Shane rubs there steadily, watching Ilya’s face as his mouth falls open on a quiet moan.
Shane takes his time stretching him. He adds more spit, works the two fingers deeper, twists them, spreads them the way he likes to do on himself.
Every movement is measured, precise. Ilya’s breathing grows heavier, his thighs trembling but staying spread.
His expression has gone soft, distant, the kind of look that says he’s slipping further under.
Shane murmurs quiet praise against his skin between licks—“That’s it, baby,” “So good for me”—and Ilya answers with tiny, needy sounds.
When three fingers slide in without resistance, Shane spends another long minute just working them in and out, curling and stroking until Ilya’s cock twitches untouched and a thin string of pre-cum stretches from the tip to his stomach.
Only then does Shane pull his fingers free. He wipes his hand on the sheet, coats his cock in lube, lines up, and presses the head of his cock against Ilya’s hole.
“You still want my cock?”
Ilya nods. “Please,” he slurs.
Shane pushes in slow, giving Ilya every inch at a careful pace.
Ilya’s breath catches, but he doesn’t tense; he just opens around Shane, taking him deep until Shane’s hips meet his ass.
Shane stays there, buried to the hilt, letting Ilya adjust. He leans down, kisses Ilya’s mouth, then his jaw, then the corner of his eye.
Still good?” Shane asks quietly, his voice low against Ilya’s ear.
Ilya nods, eyes glassy with pleasure. “Perfect,” he whispers, voice small and shaky.
Shane starts moving in long, deep thrusts that drag almost all the way out before sliding back in, every inch deliberate.
He has one hand braced beside Ilya’s head, the other stroking down his side, over his hip, gripping his thigh to keep him open and exposed.
He keeps every thrust controlled, hips rolling in a steady rhythm that lets Ilya feel every inch.
Ilya’s hands come up to clutch at Shane’s shoulders, not pulling, just holding on as his body rocks with each push.
“That’s it, baby,” Shane murmurs, voice warm with praise. “That’s my good boy. Taking me so well.”
Ilya moans softly, the sound slipping out before he can catch it.
Shane sets an unhurried pace, fucking Ilya through the first wave of trembling, through the way his cock leaks more steadily against his stomach, through the soft, broken sounds that spill from his lips.
When Ilya’s eyes slip closed and his mouth stays parted, lost in it, Shane leans in and kisses him again, swallowing the next moan.
He doesn’t speed up. He just keeps going, deep and steady, letting Ilya float in the feeling until the room feels smaller, quieter, and nothing exists except the slow drag of Shane’s cock inside him and the weight of Shane’s body over his.
Shane brushes his lips along Ilya’s jaw, voice rough but gentle. “You feel so good, sweetheart. Love having you like this.”
Ilya whimpers, fingers tightening on Shane’s shoulders as another slow thrust sinks in deep.
Shane keeps the rhythm even, hips rolling with precision. “That’s it. Let me hear you. You’re doing so good for me.”
The steady drag builds and builds until Ilya’s whole body starts to shake. His cock throbs untouched against his stomach, leaking steadily, and then he’s coming with a broken cry, pulsing hard around Shane’s cock as thick ropes of cum spill across his own skin.
Shane groans low, hips stuttering for the first time. “Fuck, baby—so pretty, coming on my cock.” He thrusts through it, chasing his own release until he buries himself deep and comes hard, flooding Ilya’s hole with hot pulses of cum.
He stays pressed close, breathing raggedly, still murmuring soft praise against Ilya’s neck as they both come back down.
When Shane finally lifts his head from the crook of Ilya’s neck, he reaches up to stroke his husband’s cheek.
Ilya is still floating.
His eyes are glassy, his mouth slightly parted, his whole body loose and heavy beneath Shane’s touch.
“I’m gonna pull out,” Shane whispers.
Ilya nods distantly.
They both hiss softly as Shane withdraws. Then he gathers Ilya against his chest, and Ilya goes willingly, melting into his arms without a hint of resistance.
Shane strokes slow, soothing paths up and down his back, pressing absent-minded kisses to his temple, his cheek, his hair.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks quietly. “Need anything?”
Ilya blinks up at him.
“Hug and a kiss,” he slurs, clearly not all the way back yet.
God. He’s precious.
“Of course, baby. C’mere.”
Shane wraps his arms around him and squeezes him tight. Then he tips Ilya’s chin up and presses a soft kiss to his lips.
“I love you,” he whispers.
He feels Ilya smile before he sees it.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya mumbles against his chest.
Shane’s heart nearly gives out on the spot.
He stays there as Ilya drifts off, holding his husband close. How much time passes, Shane couldn’t say. Minutes, hours, maybe only seconds.
Eventually, Ilya stirs again. This time, he’s smiling.
“Shane.”
Shane grins immediately.
“You’re back.”
Ilya nods.
“I’m back.”
Relief settles warm in Shane’s chest. He cups Ilya’s face, brushing his thumb across his cheek.
“Was that okay for you?” he asks softly. “I didn’t take too much?”
Ilya shakes his head.
“No. You gave me exactly what I needed.” A small smile tugs at his mouth. “It was perfect.”
Shane lets out a quiet breath.
“Good.”
“I feel much better.” Ilya reaches up to cover Shane’s hand with his own. “Thank you. For doing that for me.”
Shane laughs softly.
“You never have to thank me for taking care of my husband, Ilya.”
“Well…” Ilya hesitates. “It was a little different from what we normally do. I wasn’t sure if it was strange for you, me being like that, but—”
“I loved it.”
The words come easily.
“I love you like that.”
Ilya’s cheeks immediately turn pink.
“Oh.”
A deeper flush follows.
“Okay.”
Shane smiles.
“Yeah. You’re my good boy.” He teases.
The color in Ilya’s face deepens dramatically.
“Fuck,” he mutters, burying his face in Shane’s neck. “It’s embarrassing how much I like that.”
Shane laughs and wraps his arms around him tighter.
“Well, that’s good.”
“Why?”
“Because I like saying it.”
Ilya lets out a soft, helpless laugh.
“Love you.” He says.
Shane presses a kiss into his hair.
“Love you too.”
Then, quieter:
“Always.”