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Like most sexual escapades between them, it all started out with a joke. Even calling it a joke was a stretch, it was more of a teasing remark made by Ilya when Shane started cleaning the table after dinner.
He took his and Ilya’s plates, stacked them and the silverware on top and carried it off to the kitchen. All the while, Ilya kept watching him as he placed everything in the dishwasher according to the order he nonverbally established during the time they lived together.
Knives went top left, spoons top right, forks bottom left and the smaller spoons and forks bottom right. Whenever Ilya sorted the cutlery and forgot to pay attention to every piece’s rightful place, the small furrow between Shane’s eyebrows would appear and he’d push Ilya aside to sort it himself.
Shane came back to the table, snapping Ilya from his thoughts. Just as he wanted to wrap his arms around his husband and pull him into his lap, Shane sidestepped him and started wiping down the table with a wet cloth.
Ilya was left tacking the circular movements of the cloth wiping over the polished wood.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he broke out in a grin. “Shane?”
Shane didn’t look up from his task, but he made a “Hm?” while rubbing insistently on a spot of dried sauce next to Ilya’s elbow.
“Why are you ignoring your poor husband’s affections?”
“Because I’m cleaning.”
As Shane spoke, an idea formed itself inside Ilya’s head. He couldn’t help but grin wider. “Hm, cleaning like my own, personal maid.”
Pausing his motions, Shane looked up and shot Ilya a look, eyebrows raised and eyes squinted. He ignored the flutter in his stomach at the sight of Ilya’s grin, the one that betrayed the mischief going on in his head.
Shane felt almost like pavlov’s dog, and the look on Ilya’s face was the bell signaling Shane getting bent over and fucked in increasingly creative and depraved ways.
Ilya must’ve noticed it, because he raised his eyebrows at him, his lips pulling into a somehow even wider grin.
“Fuck off,” Shane said, throwing the wet cloth at Ilya’s chest and disappearing into the living room. However, Ilya didn’t miss the way his cheeks and ears were tinted red.
If this moment after dinner was the seed, then the following days were it taking root in the debauchery of Ilya's mind. Ilya wasn’t blind to the fact Shane genuinely liked doing things for him.
It started out with that first time he ever came to the cottage. He still had those bruised ribs, so naturally Shane took his suitcase as well as his own and carried it to the front, not giving it to Ilya even when he asked for it and insisted he could carry it himself.
It was incredibly adorable, the way he was so quick to do small things to make the day easier for Ilya. But it also gave him a sort of power rush. The way Shane helped him carry things, clean the house or wash his clothes without even asking sent a heady rush through him.
And to add to that, Shane has a submissive streak in him, mostly when they had sex. Where Ilya was keen on taking control, Shane was eager to please, to push and to be put in his place.
It made him wonder just how far he could push him, at what point would shane tell him to fuck off? Would he even do that in the first place?
They were sitting on their couch in the living room, cuddling and kissing idly while a cheesy romcom Ilya picked was droning on on the tv.
Ilya was idly fiddling with the tv remote, something Shane tried hard to ignore. At least Ilya wasn’t bouncing his leg anymore, and Shane would a hundred times rather take the occasional clicking of the remote over the frantic up and down of Ilya’s knee.
Ilya had his other hand wrapped around Shane’s throat, just a loose touch as their lips moved together.
Shane adjusted the way he was half laying on top of Ilya, breaking the kiss. The remote Ilya was toying with fell to the floor with a dull thud.
When Ilya made no motion to get it, Shane tilted his head up to meet his husband's eyes, only to find him looking at him already.
“What?” Shane asked at the expectant expression on his face.
Ilya looked at him deadpan. “You’re not gonna get that?”
Squinting his eyes, Shane huffed “Why would I?”
“What happened to always doing things for me?” Ilya said, trying hard to keep himself from smiling. He was only half successful.
Shane had to keep his mouth from falling open at Ilya’s tone. Along with the almost arrogant, entitled words, a small smirk adorned his lips. The one Shane knew all too well.
With his teeth grinding, Shane untangled himself from his annoying husband and slid down the couch, kneeling on the ground to look for it.
Just as he wanted to reach for the sleek black plastic, Ilya moved his foot, kicking it further under the couch.
“Are you fucking serious right now, Ilya?”
“Hm? What is it? I wanna turn the sound up, can you get it already?”
Shane huffed, before bending over to shove his arm under the furniture. His hand brushed along some dust and he cringed internally; he really had to vacuum under there again.
Even with his full arm outstretched, Shane couldn’t quite reach it, so he ducked his head and shoulders along under the couch Ilya was still casually sitting on.
“Got it!” Shane exclaimed after a moment, words muffled from under the couch. He wiggled his legs to try and pull himself out again, but it seemed like he couldn't get his shoulder past where it was lodged into the crevice of the couch just right. The couch was too low, and Shane’s upper body simply too big. He was effectively trapped.
There was a beat of silence. “Ilya?” Shane’s voice came from under him. “Could you help?” His tone was flat, deadpan, the way it usually got when he was mildly embarrassed.
Ilya looked down. The view was honestly nothing to complain about; Shane, knees tucked under him so his ass was arched high into the air, upper body pressed to the floor and half disappeared under the couch. Quite the contrary. He couldn't believe his plan to just tease his husband a little took such a promising turn.
A chuckle escaped Ilya, and he moved his hand down to palm over Shane’s ass. He was wearing one of those sinful little shorts, the fabric stretched taut over his plump butt.
The contact made Shane yelp, before he said something else Ilya didn’t mind paying attention to, dismissing his muffled complaints. Instead, he took his chance to hook his fingers in Shane’s waistband, yanking the blue fabric over and down so his smooth ass was exposed.
He spread the globes part with both hands, eyes trained on Shane’s still slightly loose and puffy hole. It’s been just a few hours since Ilya had last been in there. Ilya swore that since they got to fuck every day Shane was looser, even when he hadn’t touched him in a while. God, as much as Ilya loved hockey seasons, spending the whole summer with his husband topped everything.
“Ilya?” Shane’s voice was somewhere between turned on and annoyed, a mixture Ilya was all too familiar with by now. He nearly forgot Shane was still under there, too entranced by the view of his sweet hole.
Happy Shane couldn't see his expression, which was full of gleeful mischief, Ilya shushed him. “Shh, I’m helping.”
Ilya sighed dramatically, like helping his husband was a chore, and stood up to position himself behind Shane on the ground. He kneeled behind him, hands settled on his hips, and tugged halfheartedly. It was lazy, as if he was testing if Shane was actually stuck or just pretending. The result was, as expected, no movement from Shane.
He stayed wedged firmly under the couch, his squirming legs still useless. The only thing it did was make the fat on his ass wiggle with him, which Ilya couldn’t complain about in the slightest. His shorts were still pushed down to under his ass, limiting his movement even more.
The sight was so good, Ilya had to pause to palm himself though his grey sweatpants, squeezing at the base so he wouldn’t shoot his load at the sight of his husband trapped and stuck alone.
After a deep breath to focus on the task at hand, Ilya patted Shane’s bare ass. “Hmm, it seems you’re super stuck under there.”
Shane’s only comment was an indignant huff, barely audible.
“But lucky for you, I have a better idea.” With that, Ilya pulled his own pants down enough to pull his aching cock out, the length springing free as soon as it was freed from its confines. Ilya wrapped his hand around it without hesitation, giving himself a few strokes while eyeing Shane’s trapped form.
Well, if backwards didn’t work, maybe forwards would.
The next thing Shane felt was Ilya’s cock, hot and probably flushed, tapping against his hole. He couldn’t help but clench down on nothing at the implication.
In his horny daze, Shane barely had enough brain power to help a quick “wait!”
To his surprise, Ilya actually paused, hand still settled on his hips and tip still resting on his hole.
“Lube,” was all that Shane got out through his woozy mind. The quick laugh Ilya barked did nothing to lower the arousal pooling low in his belly. If anything, the condescension made it even worse.
The contact disappeared, and Shane heard Ilya’s feet pad over to one of the drawers, rummaging until he found what he was looking for. “You know your safeword,” Ilya muttered as he got back into position behind him, lining up again. This time, his dick was covered in cool lube.
Shane only nodded in response, which Ilya couldn’t see, so he let out a small whine. His husband took it as an answer enough, because he pressed forward slowly but surely.
A gasp echoed from under the couch as Ilya breached his hole, slipping inside in one smooth glide. Ilya entered Shane effortlessly, his cock sliding into that well-used hole like it belonged there. Which it technically did.
Shane let out a low groan, his body arching slightly backward on instinct, pressing deeper onto Ilya. The action sent a thrill through Ilya, turning him on impossibly more.
Ilya matched Shane’s sound as he bottomed out, pausing for a second to adjust to the snug heat around his length. Entering Shane was always a revelation, no matter how many times they did it.
The hands on Shane’s sides lifted, and seconds later a rough hand clapped down on his cheek. Half from surprise, half from arousal, Shane wailed, unwillingly clenching around Ilya. The hand came down again, this time slapping the other side.
Shane heard Ilya’s surpressed “fuck,” at the sight of his ass bouncing from the impact. He was leaking into his shorts, his cock still trapped in the fabric. Ilya made no move to free him, he got whatever he needed for his own pleasure right in front of him.
One of Ilya’s hands landed on the couch cushion for leverage, the other still busy gripping Shane’s hips. It was the only warning he got before Ilya set a quick rhythm, hips snapping forward in short, controlled bursts. His grip turned white knuckled, surely leaving marks in the shape of his fingers on Shane’s tan skin.
The couch creaked under the increasing force of Ilya’s thrusts, the wet slap-slap of skin echoing loudly in the living room. The movie was forgotten in the background, Shane’s moans mixing with the sounds coming from it.
With the way Ilya’s fingers were digging into him and his hips pistoned in and out of Shane’s body, he felt almost like Ilya’s own, personal pliant cocksleeve he was keen on abusing.
The pace was brutal, just raw fucking as Ilya used the frame of the couch to drive into Shane harder, each slam making Shane’s body jerk forward.
Shane wasn’t complaining though, Ilya’s pushing rhythm made sure of that. Instead, his moans turned higher in pitch, interrupted by little uh uh uh’s very time Ilya bottomed out. The position and the angle Shane was bent into was for sure only intensifying the depth.
The force of Ilya's thrusts only served to shove Shane further under, his head pressed into the dusty floorboards and jostling like a ragdoll from every pump. Dust bunnies stuck to his hair, his nose brushed into something he didn’t want to know exactly what it was, but he couldn’t do anything but take it. Besides, he was too busy to think about anything but Ilya’s cock rearranging his insides.
Ilya didn’t let up, too lost in pleasure to spend much thought on the dust he was repeatedly shoving Shane into. He had his safeword, and so far the only sounds coming from him were high pitched moans and whimpers.
“Like that, Ilya, fuck-k.” The words were drawn out, Shane’s eyes rolling into the back of his head from how good it felt.
The rhythm was ruthless, by now Shane was basically a human punching bag for Ilya’s cock, trapped and unable to move as each bullying burrow of Ilya’s dick sent a shockwave of pleasure up his spine.
The only direction Shane could move in was backwards onto Ilya’s cock, meeting his thrusts halfway. Somehow, Ilya reached even deeper inside him like that, and Shane swore if he managed to bring a hand down to his belly he could feel him moving there.
“God, you’re such a slut,” Ilya growled, hand coming down on Shane’s flushed asscheek again. “Fucking back against me like a whore, look at yourself.”
Ilya hit that one spot inside Shane, causing him to let out a loud wail. Shane has always been vocal during sex, but the more gone he was the louder he got. Luckily, his prostate was perfect for bringing him there.
Every time Ilya’s cock nailed that spot dead center, the effect was immediate; a high moan punched out of him, muffled only slightly by the combination of the floor his face was pressed into and the couch cushions on top of him.
It was a symphony of beautiful sounds, raw and unfiltered. Ilya grinned like a predator that just found his prey’s weak spot, and angled himself to hit it again and again and again, relentlessly exploiting that sweet spot inside his already ruined husband.
Sweat was beading down Ilya’s back, the summer heat doing nothing to cool him down as he exerted himself on Shane’s body. The wet schlick-schlick sounds Shane’s sloppy hole made whenever Ilya pushed in was music to his ears.
Each thrust made Shane impossibly louder; more desperate and higher pitched every time Ilya’s massive cock dragged over his prostate. Like playing the world’s most erotic instrument; Shane’s body was the strings and Ilya was the one pulling them.
“Pathetic,” Ilya murmured under his breath. “Taking it like my bitch, it’s what you are, right?” He brought his palm down hard again to emphasise his point.
Shane yelped, before gasping a breathy “yes, yesss.”
Each precise hit to Shane’s prostate was like pressing a reset button for his head. It erased another fragment of coherent thought each time it landed. His brain melted further and further, until there was nothing left but static pleasure in his head and heat pooling low in his stomach.
He wasn’t even properly moaning anymore, just making dumb, broken noises. Little "ah!" "oh!" "mmph!" sounds. His mind was blank, body on autopilot for Ilya’s cock.
Shane was practically reduced to a drooling, twitching mess under the couch, completely at his husband's mercy.
Ilya exploited it mercilessly. Every drive aimed with surgical precision, turning Shane into a human stress toy that only knew how to make sweet noises and clench around him like a vice.
“Did I fuck you stupid now? Reset your silly brain to only chase cock, hm?”
As if to confirm Ilya’s words, Shane’s body moved on instinct now. His hips pushing back weakly, toes curling into the carpet, his cock leaking untouched between his legs into his still halfway pulled down shorts. All while his brain stopped trying to take over.
Ilya felt the telltale pulse and squeeze around his cock, Shane was seconds away from coming, teetering on the brink.
“You gonna cum for me? Without even touching your big, useless cock?” Ilya taunted, pace stuttering at a particularly harsh squeeze around him. He obviously wasn’t unaffected, if the groans he let out where anything to go by.
Shane only whined in response, a garbled “ye-es please,” coming from his drooling mouth.
It didn't make Ilya slow down, not even a little. If anything, he sped up, fucking his his husband harder and chasing that moment when Shane finally snapped.
A particularly deep thrust did it; Shane’s whole body locked up, his back arching as much as the couch would allow. He came hard, untouched and completely overwhelmed by sensation.
His orgasm hit Shane like a lightning strike, a near silent scream parting his lips as pleasure erupted through him in waves. Every muscle in his body tensed before going completely limp. His jaw went slack, drool connecting into a small puddle below his face. He barely registered it, too fucked out.
Ilya kept moving through it though, obviously not done yet. He rode out Shane’s high with relentless thrusts, aiming to chase his own climax now that he’d ruined his husband properly. He was uncaring about Shane now that he came, only focused on nutting as deep as possible inside him.
Shane was completely boneless after his mind shattering orgasm, but that wasn’t a hindrance to Ilya. He kept using Shane’s pliant body like a human cocksleeve, bullying his abused hole even further.
The overstimulation must’ve been insane for Shane. His overworked prostate was still getting pounded, little “ uh uh uh”’s getting punched out of him.
Ilya’s thrusts grew erratic, chasing his own release with rough, jerky movements. The tight heat around him and the aftershocks of Shane’s orgasm pushed him right to the edge.
“Inside, inside, ple-“ Shane slurred, too gone to form proper words.
Ilya had to bite his lip at Shane’s babbling, but the groan still echoed out of him. “Yeah? You want that? Nothing more than my greedy little cumdump?” Shane made a punched out sound, one that was probably supposed to be something like a “yes.”
Ilya nodded, even though Shane couldn’t see him. “Baby, I’m gonna cum, fuck, m’ gonna.” Ilya was torn between throwing his head back and keeping his eyes on where he kept disappearing into Shane’s slutty ass.
A deep, guttural groan escaped Ilya as he came, pumping into Shane without restraint. He filled him up, thankful for never wearing a condom as he emptied himself into Shane’s abused, sloppy hole.
The last few lazy thrusts were squelching, a mixture of lube and cum pooling out. Ilya pulled out to reposition himself, before fucking the liquids back into Shane’s limp body.
For a second, everything was still except for their heavy breathing filling the living room.
Ilya stayed buried inside Shane for a long moment, letting his orgasm pulse through him, savoring the warmth and closeness. Shane hadn’t moved an inch. Still too dazed, still stuck, but now also full of cum. His body was limp like a ragdoll.
Finally, Ilya exhaled and started to carefully pull out. He took a second to pull Shane’s puffy rim open with his thumb, pushing the appendage in once. As much as he wanted to play with Shane some more, he was still stuck under the couch. He reached under it to help finally extract his husband properly this time. With gentle tugs, he began maneuvering Shane free from his dusty prison.
As soon as he was freed, Ilya properly guided Shane onto the couch. Shane was basically dead weight, his limbs still trembling with aftershocks as Ilya helped him sit up. He pulled Shane's shorts off fully, discarding the ruined fabric on the floor, before wrapping both arms around his husband and hauling him snug against his chest.
Shane slumped against him heavily, his ear pressed right over Ilya’s racing heartbeat. The living room slowly came back into focus, the droning of the forgotten romcom on the TV finally cutting through the static in his head. He blinked lazily, his brain slowly rebooting from the absolute crash Ilya had just put him through.
He brushed his sweaty bangs from his face, ignoring the dust that clung to it.
“You did so good,” he muttered into his hairline, pressing sweet, chaste kisses there. “So beautiful, so amazing, I love you.” The kisses traveled down to his eyebrows, his closed eyelids and finally to his mouth.
Shane let out a breathy chuckle, leaning into the touch. “You’re fucking shameless,” Shane croaked, throat raw from the desperate sounds he’d been making just a few moments prior.
Ilya only smiled wider in return, kissing Shane’s nose sweetly as if he hadn't just destroyed his ass on their living room floor.
“Yeah, and you liked it,” Ilya wiggles his eyebrows, “even came hands free. Fucked that smart brain of yours right out”
Shane groaned, managing to lift his arm to softly punch Ilya’s shoulder. “Literally shut up,” he muttered, but still pressed a kiss to his lips.
Ilya traced his palm over Shane’s bare back, rubbing soothing circles into his warm skin. Grounding him as the last of his haze faded.
"You know," Shane mumbled against his skin, finally realizing what was tickling his nose. He pulled back slightly to fix Ilya with a tired glare. "I have dust bunnies in my hair. And there's cum oozing out of me.”
Ilya shrugged, utterly unapologetic. "Then my incredibly helpful, sweet husband shouldn't have gotten stuck. Besides, you're the one who usually vacuums. Consider it a quality check."
Shane huffed, rolling his eyes, but he couldn't hide the soft, dopey smile pulling at his lips. What better way to shut Ilya up than kissing him? He tilted his chin up, pressing a long, slow kiss to his husband's mouth.
“I’m never doing anything for you again.” They both knew it wasn’t true, but Ilya let him have his small moment of defiance.
They spent the rest of the evening cuddling on the couch after a thorough shower, lazily making out and nosing into each others’ skin.