Archive of Our Own

Shane’s room is dim like usual, the sun has gone down and the only source of light is a standing lamp illuminating a warm yellow over the room. There’s takeout on his desk, half-open containers, the faint smell of soy sauce and something fried still hanging in the air. The TV’s on, but muted, flickering light over the walls, the room completely silent besides the shuffle of his duvet and Ilya’s talking.

Ilya’s always talking.

“…and she looks at me like I am problem,” he’s saying, sprawled across his bed, one arm tucked behind his head. “Like it is my fault she cannot keep up.”

Shane huffs quietly from his sitting position against the headboard, his arms crossed. “I’m sure you were great.”

“I am always great,” Ilya shoots back without missing a beat.

There’s a grin in his voice. You can hear it even when you’re not looking at him.

Shane doesn’t respond to that. He never really knows how.

There’s a rhythm to this—always has been. Ilya talks, fills the space, says things Shane would never say out loud. Shane listens. Occasionally pushes back, but lightly.

Ilya shifts beside him, propping himself up from his laying position onto his elbow, turning his head.

“My turn is done,” he says. “Now you.”

Shane’s stomach tightens immediately, glancing awkwardly to Ilya. “No.”

Ilya snorts. “No?”

“I don’t have anything to add.”

“Everyone has something to add.”

Shane picks at the seam of the duvet under his fingers. “Not really.”

There’s a pause.

Shane can feel it—the way Ilya’s looking at him now, focused.

“…You’re serious,” Ilya says slowly.

Shane exhales through his nose. “Drop it.”

“No, wait.” Ilya sits up fully now, interest sharpening. “No way.”

Shane squeezes his eyes shut for a second, then opens them again, staring harder at the floor next to the bed, hoping it would swallow him whole.

“Shane.”

“Don’t.”

“You have nothing?” Ilya presses. “No stories, no—nothing?”

Shane shrugs, small, tight. “It just hasn’t… happened.”

Silence.

Then,

“What about a kiss?”

Shane’s throat feels dry. “No.”

Ilya lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand over his face. “Jesus, Shane.”

“Can we not—” Shane starts to lean up.

“Wait, wait.” Ilya leans forward, hands on Shane’s knees, staring at him like he’s something entirely new. “Never? Not even once?”

Shane shakes his head.

There’s heat creeping up his neck now, ears burning, skin too tight. He hates this—being looked at like this. Like something is wrong with him.

But Ilya doesn’t look like he thinks something’s wrong.

He looks… fascinated.

“You’re like super virgin,” Ilya mutters, almost to himself.

“Shut up,” Shane says, but it comes out softer than he wants.

Ilya huffs out a quiet laugh, but it fades quickly. His expression shifts, something more thoughtful settling in.

“…You want to?” he asks.

Shane blinks. “What?”

“Kiss someone.”

The question makes Shane’s brain short circuit.

Shane swallows. “I mean—yeah.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“I don’t know.” Shane shrugs again, shoulders tight. “Timing. People. It’s just… not something I think about like that.”

That’s not entirely true.

He does think about it. Just in a different way. Abstractly. Like something other people do, but not he himself.

Ilya watches him for a long moment.

“I could show you.”

Shane turns his head so fast his neck cracks a bit. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Ilya says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s not complicated.”

Shane stares at him, his heartbeat picking up. “That’s—no. That’s weird.”

“Why?” Ilya shrugs one shoulder. “It is just a kiss. You are acting like I am asking to marry you.”

“We’re just friends, Ilya.”

“Right,” Ilya tilts his head, studying him again, slower this time. “You trust me, no?”

Shane hesitates.

He does trust Ilya, trusts him a lot. Ilya’s his closest friend and has been for three years now. 

“…Yeah,” he admits.

Ilya’s mouth curves, small and pleased.

“…Okay,” he says. “Then I show you.”

Shane lets out a breath, shaky and quiet. “Are you serious.”

“Yes it’s like lesson,” Ilya shrugs. “Like practice.”

“Practice?”

“Yes practice, it’s important,” Ilya interrupts easily. “You are twenty years old, I can't let you be a loser.”

Shane huffs a small laugh.

In reality, Ilya just wants to kiss Shane. Wants to kiss him so bad, and has felt this way since he first met him. His lips are so perfect, they look so soft, so—

Ilya has to stop himself from leaning in already.

He hasn’t said yes.

He hasn’t said no..

Ilya is still looking at him, and now the room feels smaller. 

“Are you okay with it being a guy?” Ilya asks after a moment, voice lower now, careful, in a way Shane doesn’t hear from him often.

Shane’s throat tightens.

He thinks about it.

About the idea of kissing someone—anyone—and how unfamiliar it sounds. How strange. How it’s always been something that exists outside of him.

Then he looks at Ilya.

And, in reality, Shane has always wanted to kiss Ilya. Shane’s always admired Ilya’s skill and experience in this kind of thing. Kissing, sex. He always hated hearing about Ilya with other people, but he loved hearing about the things Ilya liked to do. 

One time they were at a party, and Ilya had gotten drunk and started making out with a girl he’d found. Shane couldn’t stop looking. The way Ilya’s mouth glided against hers, devoured her. He could see Ilyas tongue slipping into her mouth, Ilya was so into it. So into her.

Shane frequently thought about Ilya wanting him that same way. That same all consuming way. 

Now Ilya sits here, offering himself to Shane. Looking at him and not joking for once.

Shane wants to try him.

“…Yeah,” Shane says, quieter. “It’s fine.”

Ilya watches him a second longer.

“Fine?” he repeats.

Shane exhales, forcing himself to hold his gaze. “Yeah. I mean—I trust you.”

Something in Ilya’s expression shifts at that. It’s subtle, quick.

“Okay,” Ilya says softly.

Then he moves, Shane watches him inch closer, the quiet creak of the bedframe. The way the light catches on his hair, and his presence closing in makes the air feel like it’s thickening.

Shane shifts his position so Ilya can be closer to him, which just so happens to land Ilya right between his legs.

Shane’s pulse is picking up, loud in his ears. Too loud. His legs are spread around Ilya, he’s close enough that Shane can see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his lips press together like he’s thinking.

“First,” Ilya says, voice low, his hand resting on Shane’s thighs, “you do not overthink.”

Shane’s never had someone else touching him so high on his thighs before. It makes him tense, a pulsing heat rushing through him. 

He ignores it and huffs weakly. “That’s not helpful.”

“I know,” Ilya says, almost amused. “But still true.”

His gaze drags over Shane, his right hand rubbing circles gently into his thigh until it slides up and settles at his waist, his left hand coming up to rest just under his chin.

“Just relax,” Ilya murmurs. “Let me have you.”

Easy for him to say.

Shane’s entire body feels locked, hyper-aware of every point of contact—where Ilya’s hand grips his face, the tight hold at his hip, his thumb settled deep in the crease where Shane’s thigh meets hip, right where his legs fall open around him, the heat of him leaning so close.

Shane’s mind can’t help but drift, Ilya’s perfectly lined up with his cock right now, his hand is so close to it as well, if he just pushed in a little more— or shifted his hand a few more inches—

Kissing. 

This is just kissing.

“We start simple,” Ilya says.

His hand shifts, tilting Shane’s chin just slightly.

“Not rushing,” Ilya murmurs.

Shane nods, barely, and for a second nothing happens.

Just that space and tension held between them. That unbearable, suspended moment where it could go forward or stop entirely.

Where Shane could pull back, or Ilya, but neither of them do.

“Too tense,” Ilya murmurs, more to himself than anything.

Shane huffs a quiet, irritated laugh. “I wonder why.”

when is he gonna fucking kiss me? 

Ilya’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t tease him for it. Not this time.

Instead, his hands shifts—sliding along Shane’s jaw, down the side of his neck, slow enough that Shane feels every inch of it. The warmth of his palms, the light drag of his fingertips.

“Relax,” Ilya says again, softer now.

Shane’s shoulders are practically up to his ears, his whole body stiff like he’s bracing for something. For what, he doesn’t even know.

“Here,” he says, quieter still.

His hands settle on Shane’s shoulders, firm. He presses his thumbs in just slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to—

“Mmph—“ Shane moans quietly.

It’s involuntary.

Ilya’s thumbs press deep into his muscle, melting the tension right out of him and promptly replacing it with heat. 

Fuck

the thoughts come immediately.

More, I need more

More of this, more of him.

Ilya’s fingers shift, dragging down slightly, massaging into a different spot, and Shane’s stomach tightens, a soft exhale slipping out of him before he can catch it.

His hands feel so good.

Shane’s fingers twitch at his sides, he doesn’t know what to do with himself as this becomes increasingly more intimate than he thought it would.

He’s just your friend Shane reminds himself, as Ilya’s thumbs dig into him, loosening him up, pulling more involuntary sounds out of him.

Fuck I can’t stop moaning

Why do I want him so bad?

Shane’s breath stutters again. His mouth feels dry and wet at the same time, a heaviness settling low in his chest, spreading out, making it harder to think about anything else.

Ilya hums, low, approving. “Better.”

His hands move slowly, working out the tension in small, firm motions, to the outside of his shoulders, it feels so good, the kind of good that makes his thoughts go a little fuzzy around the edges.

“It’s okay?” Ilya asks quietly.

“Yes…” Shane responds, brows furrowed, eyes closed.

“You are noisy.” Ilya points out, Shane gets a bit embarrassed at having that pointed out but he just whimpers in response, something in him not really caring.

“Look at me.” he says.

Shane does, and Ilya leans in, slowly, giving him time. Shane doesn’t move, he can’t, he feels paralyzed, his eyes half lidded. 

Is this what it feels like to be under Ilya’s spell?

Their breaths mix first—warm, uneven.

Shane’s chest rises a little too fast, but he doesn’t have time to think about it before Ilya closes the distance between them, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

It’s not what Shane expected, there’s no rush, no force, no tongue nor spit. Just a soft press of Ilya’s lips against his own.

So soft it almost doesn’t feel real.

Ilya’s lips are warm. Plush. Softer than Shane thought they’d be, especially with the faint roughness of stubble brushing his skin.

Ilya then pulls back, their lips break with a soft and slow smack, and Shane just blinks, dazed.

Ilya stays close. His hand resting against Shane’s face.

His thumb moves—light, almost absentminded—brushing across Shane’s bottom lip, like he’s testing the shape of it, or memorizing it.

“See?” he murmurs, voice low, almost pleased. “Not so hard, hm?”

Shane swallows, his lips still tingling, his eyes haven’t left Ilyas mouth. He wants it again. Again, and again, and againandagainand—

“…No,” he says quietly.

Ilya’s gaze flickers down again—to Shane’s mouth.

Lingering.

He exhales softly through his nose, thumb tracing once more across Shane’s lip, slower this time.

“…Good,” he says, almost to himself.

“You’re doing good,” he says, a small smile pulling at his mouth, looking back up into Shane’s eyes. “You wanna try again?”

Shane nods.

Ilya leans in first again, his hand sliding to cradle the side of Shane’s face, pressing another soft kiss to his mouth—just a gentle press, nothing more, letting it linger a second before pulling back again.

“Easy.” he states, patting at Shane’s face.

Shane swallows, watching him.

“…Yeah.”

Ilya’s hand doesn’t leave his face.

“Your turn,” he says quietly.

Shane blinks. “What?”

“You kiss me.”

Shane’s stomach flips.

“Oh—” he breathes, his eyes darting briefly before settling back on Ilya. “Okay—”

He leans in, a bit clumsy, his lips press against Ilya’s, not quite sure what he’s doing—but it feels right, he feels Ilya’s lips press back.

Then he pulls back, the smack feels like it echoes through the quiet room.

Shane’s face warms, his eyes flicking up to check Ilya’s reaction.

“Was that good?”

“Yes,” Ilya murmurs quietly. “You did really good.”

And he means it.

Shane smiles a bit, he did good. 

“You’ll get better,” Ilya adds, softer now. “Just have to keep doing it.”

Shane nods, a little shy, a little pleased despite himself.

“…Okay.”

A moment passes. 

“I wanna get better at it.” Shane says. Ilya smiles. 

“I knew you would say that,” He sighs. “You want to be the best at everything you do.” He comments. 

Shane’s breath catches, he ignores it.

“Yeah,” Shane says quietly.

And for a second—

Ilya just looks at him, admiring, trying to decide what to do next.

Even after pulling back, he’s still right there—close enough that Shane can feel the warmth of him, the faint brush of his breath every time he exhales.

It’s overwhelming in a quiet, creeping way.

“…Okay,” Ilya says softly, like he’s thinking it through as he goes. Then, a little more certain, “Follow my lead, yes?”

Shane nods, barely. His voice feels unreliable right now.

“Mhm.” He hums softly in agreement.

Ilya’s mouth curves, just slightly.

“Good.” he murmurs again. “Just let it happen.”

Shanes pulse is everywhere—too loud, too fast—and Ilya’s just inches from his face, lips still so close, pulling Shane toward them like a magnet.

“Stick your tongue out,” Ilya whispers.

He shifts closer—if that’s even possible—his voice dropping.

“Just a little,” he murmurs. “Come on.” He coaxes.

Shane hesitates for half a second, then listens.

It feels awkward, at first. Unfamiliar. He doesn’t quite know what he’s doing or why.

Ilya watches him do it, eyes fixed on Shane’s mouth with an intensity that makes heat crawl up Shane’s neck all over again.

“…There you go,” Ilya says approvingly.

The praise settles in his stomach, deep and warm, he can feel himself hardening just at the anticipation.

Shane’s breath stutters as Ilya leans in again, slow and focused, swirling his tongue against Shane’s before pressing a kiss right on it.

Shane starts to drool a bit from his tongue being stuck out for so long, Ilya pulls back and watches it drip from the tip of Shane’s tongue, groaning softly.

“Fuck..” Ilya whispers, his gaze still fixated on Shane’s mouth.

He sticks his tongue out to catch the dripping spit, dragging it up the length of Shane’s tongue and pressing into his mouth, kissing him again.

A quiet moan slips out of Shane, soft and surprised, and his hands come up, gripping lightly at Ilya’s arms. 

Ilya presses in closer, his hands finding Shane’s waist and pinning him further into the pillows as he licks deep into his mouth.

Shane feels like he’s being devoured, Ilya’s tongue is so wet and soft against his. The room is so silent all Shane can focus on is their heavy breaths and the wet smacking of their lips against each other.

Ilya eventually pulls back, both their lips wet from kissing. 

“…You’re doing so good,” he says quietly. 

His gaze moves over Shane’s face, taking in the result of it. Shane’s glistening mouth, his heavy breathing, the way he’s looking at him like he needs him.

“I am?” Shane asks innocently, his voice soft, cheeks warm and pink.

Fuck. Ilya thinks. So good for me. 

He wants to rip Shane’s clothes off and just fuck him already, his eyes drift over his body quickly as he entertains the idea, getting stuck when he sees Shane’s boner.

“Mhm..” He hums distractedly in agreement, staring at Shane’s hard cock. Shane follows his gaze and he gasps softly.

“I—” he starts, his hand flying down to cover himself. “I’m sorry Ilya I—“

“It’s okay,” Ilya cuts him off, leaning back completely from Shane and leaving Shane feeling exposed, Ilya’s body heat gone.

Ilya grins, grabbing Shane’s wrist gently and moving his hand out of the way. 

“It’s natural,” he adds, voice low. “You kiss very pretty man with good mouth. You get aroused. No big deal.” 

Shane lets out a shaky laugh, ducking his head just a little, embarrassed and… something else. Lust coiling in his stomach.

“I’m hard too, Shane.”

Shanes eyes snap back up to Ilya’s face, then down to look for evidence, and he finds it. Ilya’s just as hard as he is, and just seeing the tent in his sweatpants makes Shane’s mouth water.

“You like kissing me?” Ilya asks teasingly.

Shane’s throat feels dry. Obviously He thinks. But he doesn’t argue. He nods, small but immediate.

“Let me hear you,” Ilya says, leaning over him again. 

“Yes,” Shane says, quiet, honest.

Ilya’s mouth curves, satisfied.

“Yes?” he repeats, soft.

Shane exhales shakily, his hands resting against Ilya’s chest. 

“Did you like kissing me, too?” Shane asks. 

Ilya just smiles. 

“Maybe too much,” He says. “Your mouth is perfect,” He leans in to peck Shanes lips again. “And you taste good.” He says.

Shane blushes. His fingers curl faintly against Ilya, he doesn’t know what to do with himself now that everything feels so heightened.

“You want me to show you something else you might like?” Ilya asks, barely above a whisper.

“…Yeah,” Shane says with a shiver, almost immediately. Then, softer—more certain, more vulnerable, “Please?”

Ilya nearly moans outloud at the plea. God, he needs him begging for the rest of the night.

He pulls himself together and leans in, pressing another kiss to Shane’s lips. “Mm,” Ilya murmurs against his mouth, quieter now. “Such good manners, Shane.”

He kisses him again.

Light. Lingering.

Then pulls back just enough to look at him, eyes half-lidded, focused entirely on his face.

“Say it again,” he says softly.

“…Please.” Shane whimpers.

Ilya exhales slowly through his nose, something dark and pleased flickering across his expression.

“Again,” he murmurs, even quieter now.

Shane swallows, his voice smaller this time, but steadier.

“Please, Ilya.”

Ilya’s hand tightens slightly on his thigh, grounding, approving.

“…Good boy,” he says, low.

He leans in just past Shane’s mouth, his lips brushing along his jaw, soft at first. Barely there. Like he’s testing the reaction, wanting to see how Shane responds to something different.

Shane exhales, shaky.

He tips his head back automatically, giving Ilya more space.

Ilya’s mouth curves faintly against his skin before he presses another kiss there, then another, unhurried, trailing down to his neck.

He starts soft at first, just a series of light kisses, each one lingering a second longer than the last.

Shane’s breathing starts to change.

He doesn’t even realize it’s happening until it’s already too heavy, soft little exhales slipping out of him every time Ilya’s lips find a new spot.

It feels different from the kissing. The kissing to his lips, anyway. It feels more sensitive here, it’s making him tingle.

“Here?” Ilya murmurs quietly against his skin, pressing his lips there again. “You like this?”

Shane nods immediately, his voice catching when he tries to answer. “…Yeah.”

Ilya hums, low, pleased.

He does it again, same spot, a little slower this time, a little wetter, letting his tongue slide across the skin first. Shane’s fingers twitch at his sides, he doesn’t know what to do with the feeling.

“Mm,” Ilya murmurs. “Good.”

The kisses start to deepen. Ilya keeps dragging his tongue along Shanes neck as he kisses it, and suckling softly here and there. 

Shane’s cock is becoming increasingly harder to ignore, Ilya’s mouth is lingering in just the right places that pull the softest moans out of him. 

And Shane can’t help but moan.

Quiet little sounds he doesn’t mean to make, breaths that catch and stutter, that tell Ilya moremoremore without him having to say it.

Ilya notices.

“Feel good?” he asks softly, barely pulling back before pressing his lips there again.

Shane exhales, his voice softer now, less guarded. “…Yeah, feels good.”

Ilya hums again, deeper this time, like he’s settling into it, his body sinking lower and lower against Shane’s as he relaxes into it himself, their chests pressing together now.

“You taste so sweet” he says.

His hand comes up to Shane’s neck, thumb resting just under his jaw, holding him there gently as his mouth lingers—sucking, wet, drawing the feeling out instead of rushing through it.

Shane’s hands move, hesitant at first, he’s not sure what’s too far right now. His fingers brush lightly over Ilya’s back, his arms, barely there contact that feels more like testing than anything else.

Like he’s asking permission.

“You can touch me,” he hears Ilya say quietly.

“Don’t be scared.”

The words settle into Shane’s chest in a way he doesn’t expect, and the tension in him loosens again.

His shoulders drop just a little, his hands resting more firmly this time against Ilya’s arms instead of hovering there.

Ilya slows down a bit.

It’s subtle—but Shane feels it immediately. The way his mouth stills, the way his hands stop moving for just a second.

He lifts his head, just enough to look at Shane properly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, kissing Shane’s cheek.

Shane blinks, a little dazed, his breathing still uneven, lips parted like he forgot how to close them.

“…Hm?”

Ilya studies his face, slower now. Checking.

“It’s okay?” he asks quietly. “You’re okay?”

The question cuts through the haze just enough to ground him.

Shane swallows, nodding quickly. “Yeah—yeah, I’m fine.”

A small pause, then, quieter—

“I wanna do more…” Shane says hesitantly. “If that’s okay.”

There’s something vulnerable in the way he says it. Honest. Not trying to hide it anymore.

“I trust you,” he adds on.

Ilya’s expression shifts—just slightly—but it’s there. That flicker of deeper arousal, but the edge of needing to make sure Shane’s okay.

“You want to?” Ilya murmurs.

Shane nods again, his voice softer now. “I like… the kissing. Your lips feel good,” he looks away from Ilya, a little embarrassed, shaking his head faintly. “I just—yeah. I want more.”

Ilya exhales slowly through his nose, steadying himself.

“You’ll get more kisses,” he says quietly.

His thumb brushes once along Shane’s jaw again—reassuring, grounding.

“We can try something else too.”

Shane’s breath catches.

“…Okay.”

Ilya leans in again, pressing a softer kiss to his mouth— lingering just enough to make Shane lean into it instinctively.

Then he pulls back completely, sitting up, his eyes falling to Shane’s cock again.

Shane follows his eyes without meaning to—and immediately feels the heat flood his face again.

Oh shit.

There’s no hiding it.

Not now.

The thin fabric of his light grey sweatpants does nothing to conceal how worked up he really is, the shape of it obvious, the little darkened wet spot giving him away.

Shane inhales sharply, his hand instinctively moving—

but Ilya is faster.

His fingers settle there first. Lightly, just using two of his fingers to rub against it, and still Shane jerks. 

A soft, startled sound slips out of him as his whole body reacts instantly, the contact travels straight through him. He’s been aching for so long, just this touch could make him cum.

“Ilya—”

It comes out breathy. Unsteady.

Ilya’s hand stills for just a second, feeling the reaction, watching it happen.

Then his fingers press a little more deliberately.

“Fuck—“ Shane breathes.

“Mm,” Ilya hums quietly, almost thoughtful. “Been wetting yourself for me.” He coos. 

Shane’s breathing picks up again, uneven, his head dipping slightly, he doesn’t know where to look anymore. Yes, he’s been precumming all over himself while Ilya kissed his pretty lips. he just couldn’t— he couldn’t—

“Couldn’t help it,” he whines, his hips grinding up into Ilya’s touch.

Ilya lays his hand flat against Shane’s pulsing cock, giving it a light squeeze and stroking softly through the material, watching the wet spot grow, Shane still making a mess in his pants. 

Ilya’s gaze lifts back to his face, catching the embarrassment there, the way he’s trying to hide it, tries to muffle his moans.

“It’s okay, Shane,” he says gently, leaning up to give him little kisses. “I know you need me.” He says.

Shane’s breath catches again, sharp this time, his body reacting before he can even think about it. He does need Ilya, he needs Ilya so fucking bad.

Ilya reaches up to the waistband of Shane’s sweats, pulling it down just enough for Shane’s thick glistening cock to be freed.

Shane whimpers, he’s never been naked like this in front of someone else, so vulnerable, so exposed. 

Ilya takes Shane’s cock in his hand, stroking him once and watching his mouth fall open in pleasure, then he squeezes a bit around Shane’s slit, watching precum bead out.

“Fuck Ilya— please—“ Shane moans. “I can’t— I need—“ 

“You need more,” Ilya finishes for him. “I know,” He says, lazily jerking Shane off.

Shane’s near sweating already, his chest rising too fast, his whole body hypersensitive to every little shift of Ilya’s hand.

Shane’s hands find Ilya’s torso, lightly running over Ilya’s abs, touching, enjoying, curious. He lets his hands run lower, and lower, until they hover around his waistband. 

“You want to touch me too,” Ilya asks, already knowing the answer. Shane nods, small. 

“Go ahead.” Ilya encourages. Shane’s hand slides slow over Ilya’s skin, over his moles, lightly grazing down his happy trail. 

Ilya’s hips stutter slightly the closer Shane gets to his cock.

Fuck, c’mon Shane.

Soon after, Shane’s hand lands hesitantly over Ilya’s hot erection, and he immediately rubs his hand against it. 

Ilya exhales sharply, sitting still, letting Shane take what he needs as he needs it. Shane lets his hand roll over the entire length of Ilya, and fuck he looks big. He reaches up to tug Ilya’s pants down, and he actually moans upon seeing Ilya’s cock.

It’s so big, so thick, the tip red and angry, curved, a vein.

“Would you like a picture,” Ilya asks teasingly with a huff of a laugh. “You are staring pretty hard.” 

Shane can’t bear to joke right now, his mind is too clouded with lust.

“I wanna suck it.” He says, the words falling out of him before he can think about it. Ilya’s smile falters into something along the lines of shock, but he just leans into it.

“…Yeah?” Ilya murmurs, his gaze falling to Shane’s lips. So plump and perfect.

Shane nods, his hand doesn’t stop moving along Ilyas cock, he doesn’t even realize it’s still there, still touching, still learning the shape of him.

“…You think you can handle that?” he asks, voice low, a bit mocking, but mostly testing.

Shane whines softly at that, the sound slipping out of him without permission, his grip tightening just slightly like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“I—” he starts again, then stops.

Ilya leans in before he can finish, kissing him deeper. When he pulls back, it’s only an inch.

“Say please,” Ilya murmurs against his lips.

Shane doesn’t hesitate.

“Please.”

It comes out immediately. Breathless. Desperate in a way he doesn’t even try to hide.

Ilya’s mouth curves slightly.

“Please what?” he asks, quieter now. “Tell me what you want.”

“Your cock—” Shane swallows, his voice breaking a little as he tries to get it out, his hand still moving without thinking, still there, still exploring him. “Want it in my mouth—”

He looks up this time, just for a second.

Eyes blown wide. Completely open.

“Want you,” he says again, softer. “Please.”

The words spill out of him after that, messy, unfiltered, like he can’t stop them once they start.

“Just—wanna try,” he adds, quieter, his voice catching. “Wanna be good—”

He leans in again, kissing him—slower this time, deeper in a different way, savoring it now, taking his time with it.

“You are,” Ilya murmurs against his mouth.

Another kiss.

Warmer.

More certain.

“You’re already good. Such a good boy.”

Shane makes a soft sound at that, his head tipping slightly, like he’s leaning into the praise as much as the touch.

“Good boy..” Shane whimpers back to Ilya, parroting him mindlessly.

Ilya’s lips drag briefly along his jaw, down to his neck again—just for a moment—before he pulls back.

“Mhm,” he hums, kissing Shane’s lips again.

And then, he leans back, pulling Shane with him—

“C’mon.”

The shift is smooth, Shane follows immediately, not even questioning it.

Ilya tugs his pants off, tossing them off the bed, settling back against the pillows, one arm coming up behind his head, the other reaching down to grip loosely at his cock—stroking slowly, his eyes never leaving Shane.

Shane feels the weight of his gaze as he lowers himself between Ilya’s thighs, the expectation.

His heart is pounding so loud he’s sure Ilya can hear it, his hands hovering for a moment like he doesn’t know where to start now that he’s actually here, now that this isn’t just talk anymore.

Ilya notices.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, soft.

Shane looks up.

Ilya looks back at Shane, focused. His hand coming from behind his head and running through Shane’s hair, resting at the side of his face.

“Don’t think so much,” he says quietly. “Just use that pretty mouth, okay?”

Shane’s breath catches.

He nods, small.

“…Okay.”

“Good,” Ilya hums.

His hand comes down, guiding, fingers gripping lightly along Shane’s jaw.

“Come here,” he says, guiding Shane’s face closer to where Ilya’s holding his cock. “Kiss it.” 

Shane swallows, trying to steady himself, trying to remember how to breathe. Everything feels too big, too intense, but he can’t pull away. 

He leans in, kissing the tip of Ilyas cock softly. Ilya hums, slapping it softly against Shane’s lips, listening to the little wet spank.

“Open,” Ilya says, his thumb tugging slightly on Shane’s chin.

Shane’s mouth immediately goes slack, he sticks his tongue out right against Ilya’s tip, and gives it a kitten lick. He kisses it again.

“That’s it…” Ilya groans a bit. “Show me what you learned.” 

Hesitant at first, he keeps licking. He licks up Ilya’s shaft and swirls his tongue around the head, tasting the salty precum gathered there.

Ilya moans, and it goes straight to Shane’s dick. To hear Ilya moaning because of him, because he’s doing good makes him eager to keep going. 

His confidence flickers, just slightly.

“…Like that, Ilya?” he asks, voice barely there.

Ilya hums low, something approving settling into his tone.

“Da,” he murmurs. “Like that. Keep going.”

His fingers curl lightly at the back of Shane’s neck, just resting there.

“Don’t be scared,” he adds, softer. “It’s just me.”

Shane exhales, shaky, and something in him loosens again.

He lets instinct take over and leans in more, wrapping his lips around Ilya’s cock, bobbing his head slowly, feeling his mouth fill. He can taste his musky skin, feel the vein under his tongue, it makes him drool.

“So wet..” He hears from Ilya. “Fuck.” 

Ilya’s brows are knitted together, his mouth agape as he watches Shanes lips drag against him. He can feel his soft hot mouth around him, and the drool escaping his mouth and running down the side of his cock. 

Jesus

He thought Shane would be too nervous to drool so much, his soppy wet mouth catching him by surprise.

“Yes…” he murmurs, voice lower now. “Faster.”

His thumb brushes lightly along Shane’s neck, slow and absentminded, like he’s rewarding him without even realizing it.

“Just breathe,” he adds. “Don’t tense up.”

Shane nods faintly, even though he’s not sure he can do either of those things properly right now. 

He bobs his head faster, the slickness of his mouth making it easier than he thought it might be. He can’t take all of Ilya in his mouth, he’s far too big, but somehow he’s getting pretty damn close.

“Use your hand,” Ilya says, grabbing his wrist gently “Here.” He places Shane’s hand around the base of his cock, and Shane starts stroking the rest of Ilya. 

Ilya exhales again, a little rougher this time, his hand tightening just slightly where it rests.

“That’s my good boy,” he grits. 

The praise makes Shane moan around him. His chest tightens, heat settling low in his stomach, and he leans into it more without even realizing it—into the touch, into the guidance, into him.

Ilya’s head tips back slightly against the pillows, his breathing uneven now in a way that mirrors Shane’s.

“So pretty with me in your mouth,” he groans, quieter now, more to himself than anything else. 

“No one’s ever had you like this before,” He says, thoughts flowing out of him unfiltered. “No one’s ever felt this tight fucking mouth,” He says breathlessly, Shane humming and looking up at him as he keeps bobbing his head. 

“You’re just letting me stretch you open,” He hums. “Do whatever I want…” 

Shane makes a soft sound in response—something between a breath and a whine, grinding his own cock into the mattress. 

Do whatever you want Shane thinks, his eyes fluttering closed and his hips grind even harder. 

Use me.

And Ilya feels it, he feels Shane’s determination pick up, his throat relaxing. 

“Mmph— Shit,” he moans, lower. “Learning so fast.” 

Shane whimpers more as he grinds himself into the mattress, his rhythm stuttering around Ilya as he gets lost in his own pleasure.

“So easy for me,” he murmurs, voice low with something almost amused. “Just sucking my cock has you humping the bed.”

Shane’s face burns, but it only makes it worse—his rhythm falters, then picks back up again, like his body’s already decided for him.

Ilya’s hand shifts, fingers threading more firmly, steadying him just enough.

“You need some attention,” he adds, softer now, almost under his breath. “Need me to make you feel good?”

Shane makes a small, helpless sound in response.

Ilya exhales slowly, like he’s trying to hold onto control—and failing, just a little.

“Up,” he murmurs finally, gentle but firm. “Come here.”

Shane pulls back, a little clumsy, catching his breath as he lifts himself up, eyes flicking to Ilya’s for half a second before he leans in again.

Ilya meets him halfway.

Their lips smack against each other instantly, Shane more confident now, pushing in with his tongue, Ilya catching it and sucking softly. Shane’s hands grip onto Ilya’s shoulders as he presses in completely on top of him.

Ilya’s hands roam up and down Shane’s sides, down over his ass, squeezing and kneading his hands into his ass, landing a sharp smack against it.

“Ilya—“ Shane yelps, surprised, jolting against Ilya a bit and breaking the kiss. Ilya’s hands immediately come up to his waist. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Too much?”

Shane’s breath is still uneven, the surprise of it lingering in his body. He lets out a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head.

“No—no, it’s okay,” he says quickly. “I just—” he exhales, a little embarrassed. “It scared me.” Then quieter. “But I liked it.”

Ilya grins, pleased and reassured.

“Okay” he murmurs.

Then he leans in again.

The kiss comes easier this time—their mouths meet slower and deeper.

His hands slide down again, settling over Shane’s hips, then lower—familiar now, confident, squeezing lightly like he’s testing the way Shane reacts to it.

“I want to fuck you,” Ilya says simply. “You want to?”

Shane stills for a second, processing.

“I—” he swallows, his breath catching slightly. “I want to, yeah.” 

The words come out honest, he pecks Ilya’s lips again, calming himself down.

“I’m just… nervous,” he admits, quieter now.

Ilya’s expression softens again, just slightly.

He leans in, pressing another kiss to his lips. “It’s okay,” he murmurs against his mouth.

Another kiss.

“We don’t have to rush.”

His hand drifts again, exploring, letting Shane feel it, get used to it. He takes his fingers and runs them up the crack of Shane’s ass, pressing in around where he thinks his asshole might be.

Shane exhales shakily, his head tipping slightly as he leans into him.

“Do you touch yourself here?” Ilya asks, his fingers still dragging, pressing.

“Sometimes.” Shane responds, rocking back into Ilya’s hand a bit. 

“It’s just like that,” Ilya explains, kissing Shanes chin. “Just like when you touch yourself there.” He reassures.

“We go slow, you tell me what you like,” Ilya adds, pressing more wet kisses on Shane’s neck and jaw and cheek. Shane whimpers and nods. 

“I want your fingers.” Shane admits. Ilya hums. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice dropping softer, rougher. “You want that?”

His fingers press just slightly, just enough to make Shane feel it again, to remind him what he’s asking for.

Shane exhales, a small sound slipping out of him, his body leaning into the touch despite himself.

“I know,” Ilya sighs to him, kissing along his jaw again. “I’ll take care of you,” He says between kisses. “Take care of my good boy.”

Shane nods immediately.

“Please.”

Ilya shifts.

It’s smooth, controlled, guiding Shane down onto his back again and following him down, settling over him, back between his legs.

He immediately gets his hands on Shane’s pants, pulling and sliding the material off of him until there’s nothing left between them.

For a second, Shane tenses, that flicker of shyness again. 

holy shit i’m naked in front of someone. 

holy shit i’m naked in front of Ilya.

holy shit i’m about to have sex.

But it doesn’t last.

Not when he’s already this far gone. Not when Ilya’s still right there, watching him like that.

Shane exhales shakily, letting his hands grip onto Ilya instead of trying to cover himself this time.

He wants this too much.

Ilya’s hands move again, slow and grazing, brushing over Shane’s hips, his thighs, mapping him out and learning every reaction.

Shane’s body reacts instantly—small, involuntary movements, his breath catching, his muscles tightening and relaxing under Ilya’s touch.

Ilya’s fingers drift lower again, slow enough that Shane feels every inch of it, the anticipation almost worse than the touch itself.

Then his hand passes over Shane’s bare hole, making him twitch, a soft sound slipping out of him, his body reacting before he can stop it.

Ilya stills.

Watching.

“…Sensitive,”

Shane’s head tips back slightly, his breath uneven, his body betraying him in small, obvious ways he can’t hide anymore.

Ilya leans down, pressing a slow kiss to his mouth.

“You have lube?” he asks.

Shane blinks, a little dazed, then nods quickly.

“Y—yeah,” he says, voice unsteady. “Bottom drawer.”

Ilya pulls back just enough to reach, opening it without breaking the rhythm of the moment, his other hand still resting against Shane like he doesn’t want to lose contact completely.

He finds it easily.

A small bottle.

He turns it over in his hand, glancing at it briefly before looking back at Shane.

“We will probably use all of this,” he says simply.

Shane lets out a small, breathy laugh, still flushed, still trying to catch up.

“That’s… a lot of lube,” he mutters, half-nervous, half-dazed.

Ilya’s mouth curves faintly.

He leans back in, pressing a slow kiss to Shane’s lips—warmer this time, more certain.

“I like it wet,” he murmurs against his mouth. “And easy.”

Another kiss.

“You’ll like it too.”

The words land differently.

Heavier.

Shane really thinks about it. About whats about to happen, and how far this has gotten. 

His breath catches, sharper this time, his chest tightening all over again.

“…Fuck,” he breathes, quieter now.

There’s a quiet sound—soft, almost insignificant—but Shane hears it anyway in the quiet of the bedroom. The faint slickness as Ilya lubes his fingers, the subtle shift of air as he moves back into position.

“Spread your legs,” Ilya says gently.

Shane spreads them, hooking his arms under his knees and pulling them back toward his chest. 

Ilya’s hand settles against Shanes hole, rubbing a bit, letting Shane feel him there, before pushing in slowly. 

“Breathe,” Ilya tells him.

Shane’s fingers grip tighter at the backs of his knees, his head tipping back slightly as he forces himself to stay open, to not tense up the way his instincts want him to.

Ilya moves gradually, biting his lip at the feeling of Shane’s hot tight hole around his fingers, clenching. Shane’s breath catches immediately, a soft sound slipping out of him before he can stop it—surprise, pleasure, deep pleasure.

Oh my god this feels so good

“So tight,” Ilya groans to himself, looking at Shane’s face. “You’re okay.” He coos to calm him down.

Shane nods weakly, even though his head is spinning, even though everything feels sharper than he expected.

“…Oh my god—” Shane breathes.

“Just breathe,” Ilya murmurs. “I’m here.”

His fingers pump in and out of Shane, slow, then faster, the lube squelching when he moves at a certain angle.

“Fuck, Shane,” he asks. “listen to yourself make all that fucking noise.”

“Feels so good…” Shane responds, his lips parted, rolling his hips down. “Holy shit—“

Shane’s hands roam, gripping onto Ilya, onto the sheets, onto anything, his body reacting in ways he can’t control, his breathing uneven and shallow.

“…Fuck,” he breathes, a little louder this time.

Ilya leans forward again, pressing a line of slow kisses up his stomach and chest—grounding, reassuring, pulling him out of his head and back into the moment.

“Doing so good,” he murmurs against his skin as he speeds his fingers up.

Another kiss to Shane’s chest, the smack of it getting drowned out by Shane moaning louder.

“Oh my g— fuck me faster—!” Shane moans breathlessly, the dirty plea coming from seemingly nowhere. 

Shane groans as Ilya speeds up more, the lube squelching and popping, his head falling back into the pillows as he lets himself feel every sensation, every sticky slide of his fingers, every quiet word Ilya feeds him to keep him there.

His body keeps reacting—tightening, loosening, trembling—like he can’t keep up with it, he’s not even in control anymore.

“Right there—” he chokes out, the words tumbling over each other, “please—pleasedaddyplease—”

It slips out of him. He doesn’t even realize it at first, doesn’t hear himself. But Ilya does

He slows his fingers.

Not stopping—but easing to a slow massage, his focus snapping sharper as he watches Shane unravel under him.

“…What did you just say?” he asks, voice low and teasing.

Shane’s breath shakes, his head shaking weakly, his face flushing harder, his thoughts slipping through his fingers like he can’t hold onto them long enough to answer.

“I— I don’t know—” he whines, embarrassed and wrecked at the same time. “m’sorry— didn’t mean it—”

His voice breaks, another sound pulling out of him as his body reacts again, his grip tightening around Ilyas wrist, pulling his hand in, silently begging him to speed up.

“Please don’t stop,” he adds quickly, more desperate now. “Don’t stop—”

Ilya leans over him, pressing a slower kiss to his mouth—he’s not going anywhere.

“You said something,” he murmurs against his lips, not letting it go.

Shane shakes his head again, breath uneven, his chest rising too fast, his whole body caught between embarrassment and the overwhelming pull of arousal.

“I don’t know—” he says again, softer now, almost pleading in a different way.

Ilya watches him.

Really watches him.

The way he’s falling apart.

“Yes, you do,” he murmurs, his fingers still pressing in, Shane still losing his breath.

“C’mon,” Ilya says, quieter, firmer now. “Tell me what you said.”

Shane whines, louder this time, his head tipping back, his fingers digging into Ilya like he’s trying to hold on to something real.

“I don’t wanna—” he breathes, embarrassed, overwhelmed. “I didn’t mean to—”

Ilya exhales slowly, something sharper settling into him.

“Keep being good for me,” he murmurs, voice low, controlled. “And tell me.”

Shane’s breath stutters again, his whole body reacting, his thoughts completely gone.

“I’m making you feel good, yes?” Ilya adds, quieter.

Shane nods immediately, helpless.

“Yes—”

“So you tell me,” Ilya says, steady.

A pause.

Shane looks at him.

Really looks at him, eyes blown wide, dazed, completely gone.

“…Daddy,” he whispers.

Ilya tilts his head slightly.

“Mhm. What was that?” he murmurs. “Couldn’t hear you.”

Shane swallows, his lips parting, his voice catching again.

“D—daddy…” he says, softer, almost slurred.

Ilya’s gaze darkens, just slightly, speeding his fingers up again.

“Louder.”

Shane’s body tenses again, another wave hitting him, his breath breaking as he looks at Ilya, completely undone.

“Daddy—!” he moans properly, then softer, breathless, “called you daddy—”

His head falls back, his body still reacting, tightening and loosening in uneven waves as he loses himself in it, one hand coming up to his mouth, biting down just to muffle the sounds spilling out of him.

“Oh m’gonna cum—“ Shane whines muffled around his hand.

Ilya kisses Shane again, then pulls his fingers back. “Hold it.” He says.

Shane groans in frustration, his whole body tightening at the loss, the feeling being ripped away from him too soon.

“Ilya— please—” he breathes, voice strained, hips twitching.

Ilya’s mouth curves slightly, watching him.

“Ilya?” he repeats, softer this time. Questioning.

Shane stills.

Just for a second.

Then it clicks.

His breath stutters, his grip tightening, his voice smaller now—but more certain.

“…Daddy.”

Ilya exhales slowly, something pleased settling into his expression.

“Good boy.”

Shane whimpers at that, his head tipping back again, the praise hitting just as hard as everything else.

“Please—” he adds, softer now, almost desperate. “Need you—”

Ilya leans in, kissing him again, not giving him what he wants just yet.

“No,” he murmurs against his lips. “Not like that.”

Shane makes a small, frustrated sound, his hands gripping at him, pulling him closer.

Another soft kiss.

“I want to feel you cumming on me, not my fingers.”

Shane exhales shakily, still chasing, still wanting, his body tense with it.

“Yes sir—” he breathes, immediate, helpless. “Yes—okay—”

Ilya pauses for half a second, watching him. Yes sir?

“You’re full of surprises,” he says, almost amused.

Shane lets out a weak, breathy laugh that turns into another sound entirely, his hands still clutching at him.

Ilya shifts again, leaning back and grabbing the lube again, pouring some over himself, and more on Shane as well. 

“Relax,” He tells Shane, lining himself up with Shane’s hole, guiding himself into him. Shane feels the stretch immediately.

His brows furrow as he groans, Ilya’s hands hooking under his knees and holding him open, pushing so deep into him.

“Oh my god—!” 

Shane’s hands come up instinctively, pressing lightly against Ilya’s stomach—not pushing him away, just slowing him.

“Wait—” he breathes, overwhelmed, his voice catching. “Just—”

Ilya listens immediately.

He stills, leaning down instead, pressing soft, steady kisses across Shane’s face—his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.

“That’s it, Shane,” he murmurs against his skin. “Just breathe.”

Shane exhales shakily, nodding, trying to stay with him.

“You feel so deep already,” Shane breathes. “Right here.” he whines, his hand resting over his lower abdomen, pressing gently. “Feel you right here.” He points out.

A tingle runs through Ilya’s abdomen, his hands settle again, firm but not forceful, grounding him where he is, keeping him open.

“Jesus christ,” he murmurs quietly. “Feel me in your stomach?”

Shane nods again, his head tipping back, his body adjusting slowly, every sensation hitting sharper than expected.

“Gonna fuck you for hours, Shane,” he breathes, softer now. “Train you to take my cock, ruin you for anybody else.”

Nobody else can have you after this

Ilya huffs a quiet breath against his neck, something low and pleased in it.

“Fuck me,” Shane murmurs. “Ruin me.”

Ilya groans at the words, pushing into him the rest of the way, feeling Shane's hands tighten slightly at his sides, then pulling out about halfway, and pushing in slowly again.

Shane feels it immediately—the difference, the weight of it, the way it fills him in a way nothing else has—and his breath catches hard in his throat, his fingers tightening against Ilya’s stomach.

“Oh—fuck—” he gasps, the word breaking out of him.

Ilya stays slow, feeling the way Shane’s body reacts, the way he tenses and then tries to relax, tries to take Ilya even as it overwhelms him.

“So good.. that’s it—,” Ilya murmurs, voice low, controlled, pushing in deeper. “Don’t fight it.”

Shane nods weakly, even though his whole body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve lit up, Ilya’s thick cock pressing into him, the sensation too big to fully process.

“…Okay—” he breathes.

Ilya thrusts again, slow, not pushing past what Shane can take.

Shane’s back presses into the bed as he exhales shakily, his head tipping back, his hands sliding up to grip at Ilya’s sides, needing something solid to ground himself.

It’s so different.

So much more.

He can feel it everywhere as Ilya speeds up—deep, overwhelming, the kind of sensation that makes his thoughts blur at the edges.

“Oh my god—” he breathes, softer this time. “More…” he pants.

Ilya huffs a quiet breath, pleased.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “There it is…” he groans, his voice low and breathy, feeling victorious as Shane gives in to him little by little.

His hands shift slightly, still steady, still holding Shane open, keeping him exactly where he wants him.

“You feel that?” he adds, lower now.

Shane nods immediately, his voice barely there.

“Yeah—”

Ilya leans down again, kissing him along his jaw, his cheek, grounding him again as he keeps moving at that same controlled pace.

“I’m gonna fuck you harder,” he tells Shane, thrusting a little faster, a little deeper, the lube squelching again. “You’re gonna make a mess on me,” he continues. “Gonna make you cum all over yourself.”

Shane clenches around Ilya in response, his filthy words are too much for Shane, he says it like a statement, like it’ll happen no matter what. Shane’s already at his limit with Ilya rocking him up the bed.

“You like that don’t you?” Ilya teases in his ear.

“Y-yes sir..” Shane gasps, letting himself relax into it, just a little more, his body slowly giving in instead of fighting it, his breath evening out just enough to keep going.

And Ilya feels it happen, the exact second Shane stops resisting and starts taking it.

“Yeah,” he murmurs again, softer this time. “Just like that.” He keeps thrusting. “Good boy.” 

“Thank you, daddy,” Shane pants mindlessly. 

Ilya’s breath catches—actually catches—and for a second, he goes completely still, like his brain has to catch up with what he just heard.

“…fuck,” he exhales, low and wrecked.

His hand tightens instinctively, pulling Shane a little closer, like he needs to feel him more.

“Didn’t know you were such a slut, Hollander,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, something darker creeping in under the softness.

Shane makes a small, broken sound in response, not even fully processing it himself.

“Look at you…” he breathes against his skin. “Where’d that come from, hm?”

There’s a faint edge of disbelief there, but it’s swallowed quickly by something hotter. Hungrier.

He finally gets balls deep in Shane, the deep thwap of skin against skin like music to his ears. 

Shane gasps, the sound catching in his throat, his body tensing before slowly giving again, trying to follow, to keep up. Ilya’s really in his fucking stomach now.

Ilya presses another kiss to his cheek, then to his mouth, Shane moaning against his lips. Their tongues drag, and Ilya adjusts his angle, and Shane shudders against him, keening.

“Right there?” he asks, low, focused now, like he’s locked in on him. “That’s the spot?”

Shane’s response is immediate—messy, breathless.

“Yes—yeah— right there—”

Ilya’s hands shift from holding his legs to his waist, gripping him hard, the intensity building, slamming into him, Shane letting out choked breathless sounds with each thrust. 

“fu—uck mm— mm— mm—“ Shane whines. 

Shane can’t keep up with it anymore.

Not the rhythm, not the feeling, not the way everything is stacking on top of itself, wave after wave, until there’s no space left in him for anything else.

The pleasure is deep, heavy, pulsing through him, dragging tight in his stomach, coiling low and hot until it feels like it might snap. Every movement hits that same place again and again, sharper each time, making his breath hitch, making his body jerk under it.

“Oh—fuck—” he chokes, his voice breaking, dissolving into something softer, needier.

His hands clutch at Ilya, gripping onto his shoulders, his arms, pulling him closer like that’s going to help, like it might steady him—but it only makes it worse.

His stomach tightens again, harder this time, the pressure pulling up through him, making his whole body tense, his back arching off the bed as another sound tears out of him, louder, less controlled.

He can hear the rough edge of Ilya’s breathing and moaning above him, the low sounds slipping out of him, the deep wet spank of Ilya thrusting against him, the heat of it—it all blurs together, loud and messy and overwhelming in a way that makes Shane’s head spin.

His mouth falls open, his breathing uneven, his lips wet as he tries to catch air and can’t quite do it.

“Feels—so—good—” he manages, broken between breaths, his voice barely holding together.

Another wave hits him.

Stronger.

His fingers tighten, nails pressing into Ilya as his body reacts again, tightening, trembling, like he’s right on the edge of something he can’t hold back anymore.

“Gonna—” he gasps, the words catching in his throat.

His hips lift without thinking, chasing it, needing more, needing that exact spot again, needing to cum.

“Gonna—” he tries again, breathless, his voice wrecked.

His grip tightens.

“Gonna cum—” he finally gets out, softer, more desperate this time.

His head tips back, his body already starting to give in to it, every muscle tensing as the pressure builds higher and higher—

right there—

right there—

“Good fucking boy Shane,” Ilya grits “Cum for me like a good boy.”

He’s clinging to Ilya like no other, being such a good boy, gonna cum all over himself just like daddy told him too.

Ilya can feel it building as well, the pull deep in his stomach, the twitch of his cock in Shane.

“Let me have it,” Ilya leans into his neck, kissing him there. 

Shane goes completely still for half a second, then falls, his body giving out all at once, shuddering hard, his grip tightening harshly before it all just lets go.

A groan rips out of him as he goes limp, completely overwhelmed, hot cum pumping out onto his stomach.

Ilya’s right there against his ear, reaching down to jerk Shane off, to milk as much cum out of him as he can.

“Thaaat’s ittt,” Ilya breathes, soft and dragged out and awed. “There you are…”

Shane twitches slightly, still sensitive, still overwhelmed, his body still reacting even after the peak, Ilya still squeezing small beads of cum out.

“Ilya—“

“Shh,” Ilya murmurs softly, steadying him. “It’s okay… c’mon… just give it to me…”

Shane jerks slightly again, a weak, overstimulated reaction, his head tipping back with a quiet, helpless sound.

“All of it…” Ilya whispers, finally letting go of Shane’s softening cock once he got it all out.

“Keep going,” Shane pants out, kissing Ilya’s shoulder “Want you to cum.” 

Ilya moves immediately, thrusting into him again quickly, Shane letting out small breathless pants, giving Ilya little kisses wherever he can reach. 

The thrusting now is overstimulating, but Shane just wants Ilya’s cum in him, it’s the only thing on his mind. 

“Use me,” Shane whimpers, “Use me— please—“ he begs, clenching around Ilya. 

“Oh i’m cumming—“ Ilya groans, stilling on top of him. Shane can feel it, Ilya’s cock pulsing and twitching inside him, a soft bloom of warmth filling him. 

He nearly gets hard again feeling Ilya cum inside him like that, but he just breathes through it, distracts himself from the thought.

Ilya huffs against his neck and sits up slowly, pulling himself out of Shane. 

“It’s dripping, Ilya.” Shane says, his hand coming down to try and catch it, noticing his whole ass is completely slick from lube and now cum. 

Fuck

Ilya just moves Shane’s hand, no point in that. “We’ll wash the covers,” He says dismissively, leaning up to kiss Shane again.

“You okay?” He asks, bringing his hands up to massage Shane’s sides, he knows his hips must be stiff from his legs being held back so long. 

“i’m okay.” Shane says, kissing Ilya one more time.

“You’re not a virgin anymore.” Ilya says. Shane blushes, nodding.

“Guess so.”

“Now you can tell me about your sex story.” Ilya jokes.

Shane laughs, shoving softly at Ilya’s shoulder.

“Oh my god get off me!” He groans.