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Ilya Rozanov was maybe twenty, his hair golden brown and halo-like around his head in the dim lighting of the hotel room. It was slightly longer than usual, wispy around the nape of his neck, evidence that he must've been overdue for a haircut. His eyes were soft and hazy, tinged red with the implication of whiskey or maybe hits of someone’s blunt after a vague memory of a game.
To be fair, that was misleading.
In reality, Ilya Rozanov was nearly 28. A married man, on summer vacation in his husband’s cottage.
He was only still twenty within the snapshot of time that had been captured by someone’s low quality phone camera circa 2011. At this moment in his life, he happened to be nose deep into eating some woman out, and doing a damn good job at it too if visual finesse was a factor.
He remembered the night faintly, mostly that he’d allowed the girl to film him. She was nice, and Ilya remembered finding her funny. Trusting her. Her name was Kayla or Caroline or something along the lines of that.
The fact that he’d just watched this video from a Twitter drama account was less funny.
“Ilya.” A voice from behind him made Ilya snap out of it. His Shane was rushing in, about half of his usual amount of groceries quickly discarded at the door. He must’ve left in the middle of shopping. “Baby, fuck.”
Shane knew about this, then. His arms were quickly around Ilya, holding him close. Still feeling a bit outside of his body, Ilya turned his phone off and sat it on the counter, pulling Shane close to him.
“I didn’t watch it.” Shane said earnestly. “I swear I didn’t watch it, Hayden texted me when I was at the grocery store, I’m so sorry.”
“Pike watched my sextape?” Ilya’s brow furrowed as he spoke slowly.
“I-I’m sure he didn’t.” Shane tucked his face into Ilya’s neck, swaying the both of them back and forth. It was a bit too fast to be soothing. “He wouldn’t.”
“It would make him feel too inadequate. Because I am better.” He joked, but his tone fell slightly flat. Everything around and inside him had the unreal quality of a dream.
Shane pulled away, his sad kitten face in full effect. “Ilya, this isn’t funny.” He said softly.
Ilya felt a weird sort of ache in his chest, but for some reason he couldn’t exactly feel anything else.
“It was a very long time ago.” He said, frowning deeply. “Everyone knows we’re in a relationship now. I don’t… Surely I was not especially vulnerable in this video either.”
Not like he was with Mr. Hollander.
Shane seemed to take a step away from full crisis mode, glancing back at the shopping bags he’d abandoned for just a split second before looking back at Ilya. “You watched it?” He asked, a bit incredulous.
Ilya nodded. “Yes. Before you came in. Like I said, I was young. Very bad at sex, as you always told me, so I guess that is embarrassing.”
Shane scoffed, letting himself grin a little. “You know I never meant that. You were… uncoordinated, in the beginning. But not necessarily bad.”
He still spoke with a touch of hesitance, as if he was scared that Ilya’s nonchalance was an act and that he would break down any second. Doing no such thing, Ilya knocked him with his shoulder as he passed to get the grocery bags. “That is just another way to say bad.”
Shane followed and came to help, voice still riding on the edge of caution. “Probably.”
It was important to note that Ilya specifically got off on Shane telling him he was bad at sex.
With his back turned, an idea gradually began to form in Ilya’s head. Uniquely, it was kind that Shane tended to be the bearer of—absolutely insane sex shit.
“Or.” Ilya said, staring at the back of Shane’s head with a mounting sense of trepidation.
“Or?” Shane echoed, sparing him the briefest glance over his shoulder as he put away some paprika.
“We could, um. Watch.” Ilya crept into the kitchen with a bag in his hand, sitting it down to dig through zero sugar, zero calorie, zero artificial sweetener, zero anything Greek yogurt with a performative business. “You could judge for yourself.”
He physically heard Shane turn around and it made him wince. “You want to watch your sex tape with me?”
Ilya mumbled something vaguely affirmative, sitting a clear bag of cucumbers on the counter aimlessly.
“Ilya.” Shane snapped, voice low and serious. It was scary to hear on the ice at one point, but now it just made Ilya’s stomach drop in a way that was distinctly not fear.
If Ilya was Shane’s puppy in the Pavlovian sense, his cruelty was the bell and the food was his—
“Hm?” Ilya turned his head, batting his eyelashes. From here he was able to see the brief twitch in the lines around Shane’s mouth that indicated he was trying not to smile. It was like that, then.
Conditioned response: salivation.
“Don’t mumble. What’d you say?”
Ilya turned fully. “I said yes. To wanting to watch my sextape with you. T-To show you I’m good at it, Mr. Hollander.”
It was a dirty trick. Shane hadn’t regularly been Mr. Hollander to him in years—at least, not outside the bedroom and their playful teasing. His position as a senior player had been so intertwined with their sexual dynamic that one couldn’t help but reference the other.
Shane managed to not look as affected as he definitely was. This was undoubtedly the result of years spent training himself not to react to the things Ilya texted him.
“Fine.” Shane said. “Okay. Go turn on the TV I can cast my phone to. I’ll put the groceries away. My silly puppy has too much of a one-track mind.”
If Ilya had a tail, it’d be wagging. Instead he walked with a bit more vigor to their theatre downstairs.
The room was down the hall, across from a spare bedroom. Shane mostly came here to review old game footage, typically just for fun.
The TV was huge, and there were no windows in the room so it got completely dark. Some sort of pop art was on the other wall and there was one long couch in front of the TV.
He dimmed the lights and turned the TV on with the remote, searching through the settings that allowed Shane’s phone to cast to it. After finding the right input, he moved to one of the armchairs and sat with his hands in his lap. It was a faux display of politeness, something innocent.
Ilya stayed in that position for longer than he expected, but after all he was a good dog and knew how to stay. It let him collect his thoughts anyhow.
Everyone in the world knew that he was hopelessly devoted to Shane Hollander. This video being leaked didn’t compromise his relationship, or people’s perception of it. People also knew that he got around a lot when he was younger. This was nothing more but physical proof of that.
Still. It was a bit embarrassing. Ilya knew what shame felt like—a physical tightness in his chest—but right now that feeling was mixed with brimming arousal and it was an intoxicating sort of juxtaposition.
It was also one that he was extremely familiar with and simultaneously fond of. He’d been humiliating himself in front of Mr. Hollander for years, not only incidentally but on purpose as well.
Shane came down a few minutes later. He looked briefly confused at the way Ilya was sitting. His back was completely straight in an upright, professional position he hadn’t felt the need to take around Shane in years.
Ilya cleared his throat, blinking up at him. “I’m ready to review the footage, Mr. Hollander.”
He let his voice soften, the sound of each individual vowel naturally becoming less distinguishable from one another in the same way they had when the language was newer to him. This dialect came from a time when each word was a desperate plea to Mr. Hollander, independent of whether or not he was genuinely asking for something. As a rookie, nearly everything he did had been an appeal to him anyway.
Shane huffed, shaking his head at the absurdity. Ilya noticed the flush behind his freckles anyhow.
He then looked down at his phone, clicking a few buttons. The light coming from the TV changed from a dark blue to a flickery grey as a couple seconds from the video played from Twitter before Shane could pause it.
After he did, he sat down across from Ilya and patted one of his legs. It’d been years, Ilya knew what that meant by now.
“Hmm, Mr. Hollander.” Ilya batted his eyes coquettishly at him. “Do I really have to sit here? Is unprofessional, no?”
“Don’t pretend you ever cared about professionalism.” Shane narrowed his eyes at him.
“Okay, fair.” Ilya sat down with his back to Shane’s chest, the contact from behind warm and perfectly encompassing.
The video began to play again. The woman—Ilya was almost definitely sure that her name was Kayla now—was barely visible due to the fact that it’d been shot in first person. It made Ilya wonder if releasing it had been the intention the whole time. He’d probably never know.
Ilya was barely visible but his curls between her legs, the frantic movement of them as he sloppily ate her out. He’d said he wasn’t particularly vulnerable in this, but he seemed desperate nonetheless.
Shane took a moment to absorb what he was seeing before he spoke.
“Look at you.” He hummed, linking his ankles around Ilya’s and spreading his legs so slowly that Ilya would’ve missed it if his entire being wasn’t focused on where Shane touched him.
“You never said I couldn’t eat pussy.” Ilya grinned, watching as the woman’s thighs clenched around his head.
Shane tipped his head to the side. “Fair.”
To be reasonable, he picked his phone up again and fast-forwarded it to the point when Ilya pulled himself up.
The light from the TV shined onto Ilya’s face as he watched himself try to get his pants off eight years ago.
“This okay?” He said onscreen. God, he sounded so fucking young. No wonder Mr. Hollander had needed him so bad.
“Yeah, you’re good.” The phone shook as Kayla seemingly nodded. It caused Ilya’s head to snap up to look at her a bit clearer.
The praise seemed to spur him on, making him move faster to undo all the buttons on his jeans.
On the couch with Shane behind him, Ilya shuddered. He’d searched for Shane constantly since the first time they’d been together in one way or another. That was something he vividly remembered from this time in his life—the constant need for praise.
“Hm.” Shane said, though he seemed intrigued as his hands casually brushed under Ilya’s shirt. His hands were warm and big, always making Ilya feel so small even though they were roughly the same height and weight.
Onscreen he tried to wriggle his boxers down one-handed, the other rubbing circles into Kayla’s thigh.
Shane’s hands dipped under his waistband and he let out a choked noise. He was almost following the same motion as the Ilya in the video was.
“Damn.” Kayla laughed once his dick was out of his briefs. “You know what to do with all that?”
The camera briefly panned up to Ilya laughing bashfully. “Um, I’ve had mixed reviews.”
Ilya knew exactly what that meant, and Shane did too. It gave Ilya a sick thrill to know that he mentioned Mr. Hollander so casually.
“Way to talk yourself out of something.” Kayla teased.
“Noo.” Ilya pouted. It was a trick he’d first perfected with Mr. Hollander. “Please?”
Evidently Shane didn’t like the fact that he was seeing it on someone else’s sex tape, though.
Ilya let out a loud cry as Shane squeezed his dick painfully. It fucking hurt, like his most sensitive nerves were being sliced apart.
“Mr. Hollander!” He felt tears brim in his eyes. Shane’s ankles held him down tighter before he finally, finally pulled his hand away.
Ilya breathed heavily. “You are so jealous.” He choked through the pain.
“Shut the fuck up.” Mr. Hollander growled. “I wouldn’t have to be if you didn’t slut yourself out to any woman that touched you. Did you look at them all like that?”
Ilya hummed and leaned back a little more, pointedly not answering. “They were not as good as you. Ever.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
He sounded so angry. Angry kitten, Ilya thought, and blushed happily. Shane loosened the hand on his cock.
Kayla panned the camera slightly down to his dick again. “I’m ready when you are.” She said. “You’ve got a condom, you said?”
Ilya nodded. “Yes. And lube. Do you need it?”
Shane started stroking him again, smoothly curling his wrist on each downstroke. The change distracted him from the video and he inhaled sharply, eyes falling closed.
“Puppy.” Shane scolded once he caught wind of this. “Keep your eyes open. And here I am, trying to help you.”
His lashes fluttered as he watched himself.
Onscreen he tried to push in but slipped and missed, letting out a soft noise of frustration. A snicker was faintly heard from behind the camera and Ilya managed to laugh along, friendly instead of awkward.
He felt Shane’s fingers tighten on his dick almost painfully at the casual display.
“Stupid mutt.” Shane snarled. “Don’t know what to do with yourself.”
“She doesn’t seem to mind.” Ilya noted.
“At least I held you to some kind of standard. She’s letting you be sloppy.”
Somehow Shane managed to detect Ilya rolling his eyes from behind him, and stopped the movement of his hand for it. “This was a one time hookup.” Ilya continued anyway. “I never saw this woman again.”
He looked at the TV. He’d managed to actually get his dick in this time, and had closed his eyes as he carefully eased forward.
“Is this okay?” He asked, sounding suddenly more out of breath.
“You’re good.” Kayla nodded, lightly jostling the position of the phone. It made a younger Ilya preen a bit.
Shane hummed. “So greedy for it.” He observed.
Ilya blinked, not getting it. “Hm?”
“‘Hm?’” Shane mocked. “For praise, puppy. It doesn’t matter who, you’ll get down on your knees for anyone that calls you a good boy.”
Ilya shook his head. “That is not true.”
“I’ve seen it, what do you mean it isn’t true?” Ilya rolled his eyes again. “It’s in the way you act with anyone, really. Always trying to please people. Bending over backwards so maybe they’ll pat you on the shoulder.”
It was uncomfortably close to the truth. Ilya squirmed, and as a byproduct felt how hard Shane was behind him.
Onscreen he pulled out and jerkily pushed back in, hands jumping out to her hips. She let out a low, breathy moan he seemed to take as encouragement, thrusting forward again. It was erratic at best.
“Jesus.” Shane stroked him a bit faster. “Look at that. You really don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”
Ilya whined. “It is not that bad!”
“You’re not rolling it through your spine at all. Just humping forward with your hips and nothing else.” He spoke like a lecturer, like this was Calculus 3 and not a private sex tape viewing. “It was pointless to try and teach you anything.”
He was so very cruel. Ilya wanted nothing less, each word leaving him burning hot with embarrassment.
“And.” The light from the screen continued to shine on them. “You wanna know the worst part?”
“Yes.” Ilya nodded. He desperately did, more than anything, more than he even wanted to be touched.
Shane nipped him on the neck for the transgression like a fucking wolf. “Yes what?”
“Yes sir.” He corrected in a breath, forcing his eyes not to fall closed.
“Anyone can see this now.” Shane’s voice was careful, quiet. He gave the words a minute to settle, Ilya assumed to make sure he wouldn’t safeword or at least call yellow.
Strangely, Ilya didn’t. He had no urge to, despite the fact that it was the most humiliating part of all this, that everything Mr. Hollander said, every mean fucking word, could be thought or said by a complete stranger. Someone could look at him on the street and picture how incompetent he was, the mental image of all the ways in which he was pathetic ingrained into their eyes.
It was sick. He burned from head to toe with it, but the shame and arousal were two sides of the same coin and Ilya didn’t have a saw small enough to cut them apart.
He watched himself fuck a bit quicker on TV, as if somehow he had been connected to this realization nearly a decade ago.
Tears burned in his eyes again. This was insane, and so fucked up, but he wished the video was hours long so Mr. Hollander would keep talking.
“Poor baby.” Shane thumbed the tears away from Ilya’s eyes with his free hand. The other continued to touch him steadily. “All that posturing gone to waste. You tried so hard to be a womanizer, a party boy, but now everyone in the world knows that you can barely get hard without becoming fuckdumb.”
He whimpered. “‘M not fuckdumb.” He stared at himself, how glazed his eyes were, the shakiness of his shoulders.
Shane laughed out loud. Ilya wanted to hide his face in something.
“Come on.” Shane urged. “Just look at yourself. Your pretty eyes.”
It was a miracle Ilya hadn’t started crying on film too, his eyes watery where they were laser focused on the task.
“It’s pathetic, really.” Shane continued. His hand continued to stroke Ilya all the while.
Ilya watched as he tried to paw at Kayla’s clit with his fingers. She shifted, trying to meet him… somewhere. He was visibly shaking.
“Yeah, there.” She gritted once he seemingly found what he was looking for.
Ilya nodded jerkily and continued. There wasn’t any finesse, he was clearly just moving on instinct.
“You’re lucky I found you and at least tried to train you.” Shane hummed, running a finger over Ilya’s frenulum with a painfully gentle sweep (much like a clit of his own, he realized, and jerked forward notably). “This is laughable.”
Ilya felt hot, and weird, and tingly.
“How long do you even think you’ll last?” Shane tilted his head as he focused on the screen. “You could barely get the tip in when you fucked me without cumming.”
Ilya remembered it fondly. “I could barely kiss you. I just wanted to be good.”
He let out a choked whimper onscreen. It was remarkably puppyish. Ilya wondered if other people saw him in the way Mr. Hollander did. Did other people look at him and see a dog desperate to please?
Would they, now that this was out there?
“That’s all you’re capable of wanting.” Shane tapped him on the head. “No thoughts.”
Ilya wasn’t completely far gone yet. If he was deeper he’d probably just roll over. “I have plenty of thoughts.” He argued instead.
“Like what?”
Ilya blinked. “Mr. Hollander. Sir. Shane. Number twenty four. Hollander. Da—”
“Okay.” Shane cut that off, red faced and giggling. “Okay, sure. Smart puppy.”
These little breaks in scenes were painfully dear to the both of them, reminders that they really were just having fun. If anything it made Ilya sink a bit deeper with the reminder of who exactly the man taking him apart was.
The video continued to play in the background, muffled moans coming from the both of them alongside the frantic slapping of skin. All the while Shane kept jerking him off, his pace frustratingly methodical. They watched for minutes in silence beyond Ilya’s increasingly heavy breathing.
The only change came from when Ilya seemingly got closer to the edge onscreen. His breathing got faster and he stared at Kayla—and subsequently the camera—imploringly.
“Fuck.” His fingers on her clit were tense like they were cramping, but he still tried his damndest to continue moving them.
“Yeah.” She agreed breathlessly and Ilya smiled. He let himself fall back into a quick rhythm and her legs wrapped around his sides. Ilya let out a shaky noise and started moving a bit faster, expression pinched.
“Look at you.” Shane whispered, hushed.
On the screen, Ilya’s mouth had started opening and closing over and over, like it was trying to form some sound.
“What’re you saying, baby?” Shane hummed from behind him, the movement on his cock slowing down seemingly so he could focus. He still felt painfully close, red and straining.
Ilya squinted at the screen, trying to muster thoughts beyond the growing haziness in his brain. “I—” Ilya tried, staring at the few pixels of his mouth as hard as he could.
The realization crashed into him as he realized he was trying to form the sounds beginning the word Mr. Hollander.
“Ohfuck!” He cried, writhing as his orgasm shattered him from the base of his dick up to his stomach, breaking him into incoherent pieces. It came entirely out of nowhere, jetting up onto his shirt. Shane tightened his ankles around Ilya’s to stop him from twitching as much but he still thrashed to the best of his ability.
He came down slowly, huffing for breath as he slumped back against his husband. The video paused.
“Holy shit.” Ilya breathed. “That was so…”
Shane seemed to tense. “Was it too much? You didn’t use your word.”
Ilya waved him off immediately. “No. I meant in a good way.”
Shane grinned against the back of his neck, kissing the skin there. “Good. Are you ready to fuck me?”
Ilya shot up. As in his actual body, because his dick could do no such thing so quickly. There was no way. “Wait—” He breathed. “Wait, I thought we were—”
“Of course not.” Shane cooed, running his fingers along Ilya’s poor oversensitive cockhead. “You haven’t showed me you know how to fuck.”
More tears began to drip down Ilya’s red cheeks. “I can’t.” He whined. Shane’s fingers alone felt like enough to kill him.
“Puppy.” Shane scolded. Ilya hated the way disappointment sounded on him. It made his shoulders rise. “Come on.”
Ilya let out a whiny sound and wriggled himself away from Shane before pushing him to the couch so he was leant over him. Through a jumbled mess Shane’s pants and boxers ended up on the ground. Unfolded.
“Prep?” He murmured, sitting up a little higher to look at him better.
Shane shook his head. “I did it earlier.”
Ilya nodded unsteadily, leaning down a bit to kiss him after he was randomly overcome with the urge to. He loved this man so completely and entirely that sometimes it felt like lightning.
Shane met him with enthusiasm, naturally. He laved his tongue along Ilya’s lips, dragging him down and lining his cock up with a steady hand before pressing it in.
“There you go.” All the tension left Shane’s body as the familiar weight of Ilya settled. It was slightly tighter than it would’ve been if he’d been fingered another time since he’d prepped, but Shane seemed to enjoy the slight ache. “Come on. Roll it through your spine and hips like I taught you.”
The thing was, Ilya did know how to do that. He’d been doing it regularly for years. He was trying so hard, but everything was so fuzzy. All he could focus on was Mr. Hollander under him and the painful tightness around his cock. Instead of anything coordinated he fucked himself all the way in, shivering like a wet dog.
“Sorry.” He whined, shaking his head and pulling out to try again. He tried to go in slowly, but there was no rhythm, nothing but desperation. “You’ve already made me cum, ’s not fair.”
Maybe he was playing it up just a bit, leaning further into that heady innocence he’d never really had. But he was also extremely deep, floating somewhere almost completely detached.
“You’re the one who said you knew what you were doing.” Shane huffed. “Do you need me on top or something?”
Ilya shook his head. If he couldn’t control the pace Shane may actually try to kill him.
“Then do it.”
Ilya humped forward in one jerky motion. He was oversensitive, feeling like he was being electrocuted everywhere below the waist, but he managed to fuck.
There was zero kind of intention, not a thought in his head but the need to make Shane—Mr. Hollander—feel good. Every movement ended up as a sharp thrust forward no matter what he tried, angled in a way that nailed into Shane’s prostate over and over.
“There you go.” Shane ran his hands across Ilya’s hips. He sounded out of breath already, brows slightly furrowed. But really, the few words were all Ilya needed.
He felt like everything Shane said he was, sloppy and desperate, a dog, a whore, his, his, his.
Ilya had learned to appreciate going slow over the years, but he loved when he was allowed this sort of animal indulgence too.
“Fuck, Shane—”
Shane smacked him across the hip like he was breaking a horse.
“Mr Hollander.” Ilya corrected in a sob. “Mr. Hollander, please, can I cum?”
“I don’t know.” Shane pretended to consider the question, his hand working his own cock. Nonetheless Ilya choked on a wail and buried his face into his neck.
It made Shane huff a laugh, linking his legs around Ilya’s hips. There was less room for him to pull back now and it left him grinding his hips forward in quick succession. Thankfully it helped back him off the edge a bit.
“Am I good?” He breathed into his neck, hands grasping at Shane’s shoulders.
“At fucking?” Ilya jerked a nod, still grinding. “Mmh, yes puppy. You’re…okay.”
That was exactly what Ilya wanted to hear. He slowed down, trying to stave off his orgasm so he could hear Mr. Hollander continue to be mean to him.
“Noo.” He protested weakly, sitting up a bit so Mr. Hollander could see him pouting down at him. “I’m good. Y’saw on the video.”
Mr. Hollander glanced towards the TV again, at the paused film, Ilya’s eyes closed tight within it.
“Come on.” Shane laughed, rolling his eyes as he turned back to face his puppy. “You act like I don’t have a memory, sweet boy. You really didn’t know what to do with yourself.”
The words were saccharine, pooling at the base of his spine, every sound out of Mr. Hollander’s mouth concentrated to the point where his hips slowly ground forward.
“I was so—so in love with you, I think.” Ilya stuttered, brows furrowing as he panted down at him. “Since the first time. The coat room. Maybe—maybe when I first saw you on TV, I knew…”
Shane clenched around him tight, staring up at him with wide, yet focused eyes. His hand continued to move steadily over his cock all the while.
Ilya continued with a sniffle, words blurring together. “I think I have sort of, ah, loved you forever maybe.”
Ilya thought about how sometimes as a teenager he used to daydream about Shane holding him, brushing his hair from his eyes, ordering for him at a restaurant. It was every kind of weird, and probably telling of some word Galina would know, but Ilya truly believed that everyone’s perception of what love was came from what they missed as a child.
“Don’t—” Shane shook his head. “Don’t say that. Oh god, puppy.”
“Be mean to me again.” Ilya whined, dismantling his other theory. He had no lack of that as a kid, but Mr. Hollander loved him even when he was degrading. Was it the wiggle room in there somewhere he craved? Promise that even if he couldn’t fuck to save his life, Shane would still want him?
Shane unhooked his legs from Ilya’s hips and laid them flat. “Why don’t you do some work instead, hm?” He blinked up at him. “Hump, puppy. Go on.”
He felt fucking debauched but nodded, teary eyed, hunching himself over Shane and driving into him again and again.
Shane was letting out these breathy, punched noises from deep in his chest. Ilya made sure to hit his prostate each time, the perfect devotee.
It really didn’t take a lot, not for either of them. Ilya had already come once, and Shane had been on the edge for a while.
“So pretty.” Ilya whined, widening his eyes as to not miss any of the microexpressions on Shane’s face as his back arched. “Mr. Hollander, Mr. Hollander, fuck.”
The name, the honorific, the entire fucking mess of feelings it came with, were enough to tip Shane over, his legs tensing as he came over his fingers.
“Puppy.” He whined through it, and the sight alone made Ilya feel like he’d combust.
“Mr. Hollander.” He mewled again, the only word he could say, the only one that mattered. It was both a warning and a plea as his orgasm crested over him. He buried himself as deep as he possibly could in Shane and babbled nonsense, stretching towards the tightness that was shattering him from top to bottom.
It lasted for seconds longer than the last one, a rush of feeling that seemed to encompass his entire nervous system. He held his breath until the aftershocks were over.
“Good boy.” Shane ran his hands down his back through the extent of it. “My sweet puppy.”
Ilya felt soft and remarkably sleepy after. He slumped down forward even further, nearly folded in half with the effort to stay buried inside Shane and rest his head on his chest at the same time.
His curls were matted with sweat, but Shane ran his hands through them all the same, pressing kisses into his hair. “Bath?” He murmured.
Ilya shook his head. “Not yet.” He said firmly, pulling out and shuffling down the couch. Greedily, he started licking at the mess on Shane’s stomach.
“Oh.” Shane breathed. Ilya glanced up at him through his lashes, tongue lapping across his naval. It was a bit tart and bitter, sort of salty after he got to the sweat under.
He smacked a wet kiss to the area after, and grinned up at him. “So you don’t have to walk to the bathroom gross and sticky.”
Shane laughed at the display. “So sweet.” He breathed.
Ilya grinned and nuzzled back into his stomach. He probably had countless people to call back and a statement to give somewhere in his future, but he’d stay here for as long as he could.