Archive of Our Own

Shane’s in his bed, flat on his back, legs pulled up, thighs tight to his chest.

One arm is thrown over his face, huffing into it softly, his other hand pumping a dildo in and out of himself at a pace that has his arm burning.

“Shit—“ He whimpers, the pleasure approaching him in waves, trying to push through the burn to find that spot—

The position alone makes his stomach tighten a little, a faint echo of something deeper, something heavier—of Ilya. But it’s hollow, just the outline of it, the memory of a feeling instead of the feeling itself.

His breathing pulls in uneven drags, shallow in his chest, the lewd sticky sound of lube and the slick slide of the dildo making his hips twitch.

Technically, it does feel good. There’s sensation—enough to make his toes curl faintly, to pull a quiet broken exhale from him when he shifts his hips, chasing something that almost lines up.

Almost.

His head tips back into the pillow, eyes squeezing shut for a second as he tries to focus, tries to narrow everything down to just the feeling. But it slips, it keeps slipping.

“…Fuck,” he breathes, already frustrated, the word soft and breathy and annoyed all at once.

He keeps going.

Adjusting, shifting his position, trying a different angle, a different rhythm—anything that might recreate it. That might bring him back to that exact, overwhelming place he hasn’t been able to get out of his head for days.

His fingers tighten in the sheets beside him, knuckles going pale as he tries to force it, tries to find it.

A soft whimper escapes him before he can stop it. His breath catches as he almost finds it, a flicker of that deeper pleasure, closer, so close he can almost grab it.

“Fuck, please—“ He begs quietly, as if he could will the feeling to stay.

But then it’s gone.

The tension drops out of him, leaving him stranded halfway there, his rhythm faltering.

“…No—” he exhales sharply, frustrated.

It’s just not Ilya. It’s not the weight of Ilya pressing him into the bed, his palms hot against Shane’s skin. The heat of his body, overwhelming and impossible to ignore. His voice, right there, right against his ear—

good boy. good fucking boy, Shane.

Shane inhales sharply, his entire body reacting to that alone, a pulse of heat hitting him deeper than anything the dildo’s actually doing.

“Ugh,” he groans, the frustration bleeding through it.

He pushes harder, deeper, trying to override it, trying to replace the memory with something real—but it’s like his body won’t let him.

“…This is so—” he cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, dragging a hand over his face, trying to reset himself.

He sighs. He can’t do it. So he stops, he pulls the dildo out, and lets his legs fall against the mattress. 

The room rushes back in around him—the quiet, the low flicker of the TV, the faint hum of nothing happening.

Too quiet.

Too empty.

He’s left there, chest rising and falling, skin flushed, body still half-wound up with nowhere to go, nowhere to put it.

Shane stares up at the ceiling, jaw tight, his throat working as he swallows down the frustration sitting there.

“…Need him so bad,” he mutters.

His hand rests uselessly against his stomach, fingers twitching once, then he exhales sharply through his nose, turning his head to the side.

His phone is right there.

He can see the screens light from the nightstand, the edge of it catching his eye every time he shifts.

He doesn’t reach for it at first. Would asking be weird? They’re still friends, that hasn’t changed. Ilya was just nice enough to help him, like friends do…

He could just come over. Shane thinks.

Just hang out, like normal. Ilya in his room again, they could watch something, laugh and talk like usual.

Shane swallows.

That same restless, unsettled feeling crawling back under his skin.

Then he grabs his phone before he can overthink it, tapping Ilya’s name and hitting call, bringing the phone up to his ear.

It rings once.

Twice—

“Hello, Hollander.”

Ilya’s voice comes through, easy and playful. Like always. Shane exhales a little, his shoulders loosening.

“…Hey,” he says, trying for casual. It mostly works. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” Ilya says. “Why?”

Shane shifts slightly on the bed, his free hand coming up to rest behind his head, like he can force himself into something more relaxed, more normal.

“I was just—” he starts, then pauses, huffing a small breath. “Bored, I guess.”

“Mm,” Ilya hums, listening.

“You wanna come over?” Shane says, a little quicker now, not wanting the moment to pass. “We could watch something. Or whatever.”

There’s a moment of silence from Ilya. Shane notices it, and his stomach tightens slightly.

“…Really? It’s one a.m.” Ilya asks, a hint of something amused slipping into his voice now. Shane rolls his eyes even though he can’t see him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Is that illegal or something?”

Ilya lets out a quiet huff, like he’s smiling.

“No,” he says. “Just asking.”

Another moment passes.

“I’ll come over.” Ilya says. Simple. Easy.

Shane nods slightly even though Ilya can’t see him.

“Okay. Cool.”

“Give me maybe thirty minutes,” Ilya adds.

“Okay.” Shane says, shifting again, his fingers tapping lightly against his arm, restlessness still sitting under his skin.

“…Bring something to watch,” Shane adds, like an afterthought.

“Mm,” Ilya hums. “I will see what I have.”

A small smile tugs at Shane’s mouth now.

“Mkay.”

A pause.

Neither of them hangs up right away.

Then—

“See you, Shane,” Ilya says.

And the line clicks.

Shane lowers the phone slowly, staring at it for a second, his pulse picking up again, that same tight, anticipatory feeling settling low in his chest.

He exhales.

Drops the phone onto the bed beside him.

“…Fuck,” he mutters.

Then he sits up, reaching for his clothes.

About twenty minutes later, Ilya comes knocking. Well—not really.

He does—once—but it’s quick, lazy, more of a formality than anything else, and then the door’s already swinging open before Shane even fully gets to it.

“Wow,” Ilya says as he steps inside, dragging the door shut behind him with his foot. “You left me knocking at the door.” He jokes, monotone. “That’s rude, Shane.” He says.

Shane rolls his eyes immediately, smiling a little, stepping back to let him in. “Shut up,” He throws back lightly. “Hi to you too.”

Ilya’s already looking around the apartment like he hasn’t been there a hundred times before, settling in with that unbothered presence he always has. Pajama pants, loose hoodie, hair a little messy like he didn’t care enough to fix it.

Shane’s gaze catches low at Ilya’s pajama pants, eyeing the very obvious print there. His eyes linger for just a second too long before he forces it away. 

Is he even wearing underwear? Shane thinks.

Ilya’s always had a big dick, and Shane’s always been able to see it bulging like that, but now it feels different. Because before, he didn’t know what it looked like, what it felt like, how it tasted.

Shane clears his throat, locking the door behind him. “You got here fast.”

“I drive fast, you know this,” Ilya shrugs, already making himself at home, kicking his slides off and making his way further into the apartment like it’s his.

Shane huffs. “Right,” He acknowledges. “What movie did you bring?”

Ilya glances back at him, making his way towards Shane’s bedroom, Shane following him. “It’s Scarface, good movie.”

“Never seen it,” Shane shoots back, following him toward the bed. “What’s it about?”

Ilya drops down onto the mattress with a groan, leaning up on his elbow, tossing the DVD to Shane.

“It’s like action movie,” he says. “This guy is mafia or something.”

Shane scoffs, turning toward the tv to get the movie started, his back to Ilya. “You sound like you don’t know much about this movie.”

“Meh,” Ilya says, shrugging his shoulders, his eyes dragging over the backside of Shane. “I know it’s good.” He says absentmindedly.

Shane shakes his head a bit.

“Better be.” He says.

There’s a moment of quiet as the opening scene plays, the room settling—TV noise, soft light, Ilya shifting to sit against the headboard, sinking further into Shane’s bed. He stretches his legs out, glancing over again.

“You have popcorn?” he asks.

Of course.

Shane lets out a small breath through his nose, pushing himself up from where he just sat on the bed. “Yeah. I’ll make some.”

Ilya hums, satisfied, watching him walk out.

Shane heads to the kitchen, trying very hard not to think about the fact that Ilya is in his room again. Sitting on his bed. Watching his TV. Like always.

Like nothing’s different.

Except…everything is.

He grabs the bag, shoves it into the microwave, leaning his hands against the counter as it starts up, the low whir filling the silence.

His mind drifts again.

Back to the last time Ilya was here.

Back to—

Shane exhales, shaking his head slightly trying to physically knock the thought loose.

It’s just a movie.

Just hanging out.

Just—

“You take long time,” Ilya calls from the other room, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Shane sighs. “It’s been like thirty seconds!”

“I am starving!” Ilya yells out, completely serious.

“You’ll survive,” Shane shoots back.

The microwave beeps.

Shane grabs the bag, shaking it out a little before opening it, the smell immediately filling the space. He dumps it into a bowl, fingers brushing the edge just to keep himself grounded for a second longer before heading back.

Ilya’s exactly where he left him. Sprawled out, relaxed, completely at ease.

He watches Shane come back to the bed with the popcorn, a small smug smile stuck to his face. Shane hands him the bowl without a word, sitting back down beside him, a little closer than necessary.

Ilya takes a handful immediately, popping it into his mouth, moaning in delight, his eyes on the tv now.

“Its good,” he says around it.

Shane huffs a quiet laugh, leaning back against the headboard, crossing his arms loosely.

“Yeah, I know.”

A few minutes go by. Another long and painful stretch of quiet. The movie plays, Ilya chomps on popcorn beside him, and Shane keeps his arms crossed, his hands tucked into his armpits.

Shane isn’t really watching.

He can feel Ilya next to him. Every shift. Every small movement. The heat of him, even without touching. It’s distracting, more than distracting. He feels like candy is being dangled in his face.

Shane finally reaches for the popcorn, fingers brushing against Ilya’s for half a second.

Just that touch makes his pulse hammer, he pulls back a little too quickly.

Ilya notices, but he doesn’t say anything.

Shane really tries to focus, leaned back against the headboard, bowl balanced between them, eyes fixed on the screen like he’s actually following what’s happening. People are talking, moving, something about the plot unfolding—but it all feels distant. Flattened. Like background noise.

Ilya shifts slightly, reaching into the bowl again, his arm brushing Shane’s just enough to register—light, casual, nothing. Giving Shane goosebumps.

His fingers pause for half a second before he forces himself to grab a handful of popcorn, chewing like that’s what he’s focused on.

Ilya isn’t even doing anything, but the hairs are standing up all over Shane’s skin. He’s cold and hot at the same time. His mouth is watering. 

He lets his hand drift back into the bowl again. Slower this time. Not moving it out of the way as quickly.

He lets it graze against Ilya’s fingers when he reaches in too.

Once. Then twice.

Like it’s accidental.

It could be accidental.

But Shane knows it isn’t.

His stomach tightens, something low and warm settling there as his mind immediately runs with it—stupid, unhelpful, dangerous thoughts slipping in before he can stop them.

What if Ilya notices.

What if he doesn’t.

What if—

God I just want him to fuck me. How do I get him to fuck me right now? 

Shane exhales quietly through his nose, forcing his attention back to the screen.

Onscreen, one of the characters says something—quiet, teasing, leaning into someone else’s space—and Shane catches just enough of it to register the tone.

“…you’re not even watching this,” Ilya says suddenly, his eyes not leaving the screen.

Shane’s head snaps slightly, like he’s been caught.

“I am,” he says automatically.

“You’re not,” Ilya replies, not even looking at him, just tossing another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “You missed like—everything.” He says, muffled.

Shane huffs, defensive. “I didn’t miss anything.”

“Okay,” Ilya says easily. “What just happened?”

Shane opens his mouth—

Closes it.

“…That’s not the point,” he mutters.

Ilya snorts softly.

“Yeah,” he says, finally glancing over. “I know.”

Shane feels it immediately—that shift. Subtle, but there. Ilya’s energy starts to feel slower, softer, silky. 

Shane tenses a bit.

“What?” he asks.

Ilya looks again, a little longer, studies him for just a second longer than necessary, eyes flicking over his face, then lower—quick, not obvious, but enough that Shane feels it.

“You are acting weird,” Ilya says.

“I’m not acting weird,” Shane shoots back, too fast.

“Mm,” Ilya hums, unconvinced, grabbing at more popcorn.

“You called me over,” he adds, tone lighter but pointed. “To watch movie,” He continues. “But you are not watching movie.”

Shane’s eyes dart away, he feels caught. “I said we could watch something, yeah.” He says awkwardly.

“And we are not watching,” Ilya replies.

Shane exhales, looking back at the TV, then away again almost immediately.

“…So what?” he mutters.

Ilya shifts beside him, leaning over a little closer, their arms pressed together, Shane can feel Ilya’s breath fanning the side of his neck if he thinks about it.

“…You bored?” Ilya asks, quieter now.

His voice is lower, smoother, hard to hear over the movie. Shane fights the urge to turn the tv off so he can hear him better.

“…No.” He says, confident enough.

A second passes..

“…Maybe.”

Ilya huffs a quiet laugh, leaning his head back slightly against the headboard for a second before turning his gaze to Shane.

“I knew it,” Ilya says.

Shane glances at him, brows pulling together slightly. “Knew what?”

“That this is not about movie,” He replies.

Shane’s stomach drops just slightly.

“You don’t know that,” he says, but there’s no weight behind it. He can hear his attempts at defending himself slipping through his fingers.

Ilya keeps looking at Shane, whether he’s looking back or not. Shane’s gaze flickers between Ilya and anything else in the room.

“So what is it about?” Ilya asks.

Shane hesitates. Ilya grabs the remote, muting the tv, and the quiet that washes over the room makes Shane hold his breath.

Another moment passes. 

“…You’re thinking about it,” Ilya says softly.

Not a question. Shane’s breath catches.

“…About what?” he deflects, weaker this time.

Ilya doesn’t answer right away.

He just watches him.

Takes in the way Shane won’t quite meet his eyes, the way his fingers tighten and pick slightly around the edge of the bowl, the way his breathing isn’t as steady as it should be.

“…Last time,” Ilya says.

Shane stills. A chill goes through his body, but he tries not to show it. Ilya caught him.

For a second, neither of them moves.

The TV keeps playing silently in the background, flashes of bright imagery flickering over them. Shane’s ears are ringing loud through the silence that’s suddenly stretched too tight between them.

“…I didn’t say that,” Shane mutters.

“You didn’t have to,” Ilya replies.

Another pause.

The air is thickening now, like honey. Shane’s getting stuck. He’s already been stuck. Even if he wanted to pull away, he couldn’t.

Shane exhales slowly, setting the bowl aside without really thinking about it, his hands suddenly restless again, not knowing where to go.

“…It’s just—” he starts, then stops, his jaw tightening.

Fuck.

Why did he say anything.

Why did he call him.

“It’s nothing,” he finishes weakly.

Ilya doesn’t buy it. He turns more toward Shane and leans in slightly.

“You can tell me,” he says.

Shane shakes his head once, small, but he doesn’t move away.

Doesn’t create distance.

“…It’s just different,” he admits, quieter now.

Ilya’s gaze flickers, interest sharpening.

“Different how?”

Shane stays where he is, fidgeting, looking down at his hands.

“…I can’t—” he starts, then huffs a small breath, frustrated with himself. “I tried earlier. To—“ He gestures vaguely, implication obvious. “It’s not working… doesn’t work...”

Ilya goes still for half a second.

“…Yeah?” he says.

Shane nods, barely.

“…Yeah.”

“What doesn’t work?” he asks, tone lighter than it should be, like he’s just making conversation.

Shane glances at him, annoyed now. “Ilya—”

“What part?” Ilya presses, still calm, still watching him too closely. “What is wrong with it?”

Shane’s jaw tightens.

“You know what I mean.”

“I want you to say it,” Ilya replies.

Shane huffs, shifting slightly, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s just— it doesn’t feel the same.”

“Same as what?” Ilya asks, immediately.

Shane shoots him a look. “You know what.”

“Mm,” Ilya hums. “Say it anyway.”

Shane’s stomach twists, irritation mixing with something warmer, something heavier.

“You’re being annoying,” he mutters.

“I know,” Ilya says, not even pretending otherwise. “What do you need, malysh?” Ilya murmurs.

Shane doesn’t answer, he can’t, it’s stuck somewhere in his throat. Something about Ilya’s demeanor just makes his entire body lock.

Ilya’s close enough that Shane can really feel the heat of him, his presence, the way it changes the air between them.

“Shane,” Ilya says, soft.

Shane doesn’t look.

A hand comes up, firm, Ilya’s fingers settling against Shane’s jaw, turning his face back toward him before he can pull away.

“Look at me.”

Shane’s eyes flick up—just for a second—then dart away again.

Ilya exhales quietly.

“Aht,” he murmurs, tightening his grip just slightly, guiding his face more towards him. “No.”

His thumb presses lightly at Shane’s chin, Shane starts to soften in Ilya’s grip.

“Look me in the eyes, malysh.”

Shane looks, his gaze locking in on Ilya’s—reluctant, a little shaky, but there. Holding on.

“What did you call me here to do?” he asks slowly, no room for Shane to hide.

He knows the answer.

Ilya knows the answer.

Shane exhales shakily, his fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, his pulse pumping faster and faster as he holds eye contact with Ilya.

His eyes flutter once—

And he can’t hide anymore.

“To fuck me.”

The words come out soft, but honest, making Ilya’s stomach coil in pleasure. He didn’t expect Shane to be so direct.

He lets his thumb drag once, slow, along Shane’s cheek, his mouth curving into a soft smile.

“Goood boyy,” Ilya drags, soft and warm, leaning in to press his mouth against Shane’s. 

A soft, involuntary whimper slips out of Shane before he can stop it, his shoulders dropping.

Fuck, yes. Shane thinks, his hand coming up to grip lightly around Ilya’s wrist.

He hates how much this does to him, but he can’t hide it. Just a kiss makes him want to give in, want to follow, want to let Ilya do whatever he wants to him because it feels like this—too much, too good, too easy to get lost in.

Ilya pulls back slightly, their lips pulling apart with a smack.

Shane follows without meaning to, chasing it for a second before catching himself, his lips parting slightly, breath uneven.

Ilya watches him. “All you had to do was ask,” he murmurs, voice low, brushing right against Shane’s mouth.

Another kiss, just as slow, the sound just as sticky when they break apart.

“You get what you want when you ask.”

Shane exhales softly, his head lolling just slightly, Ilya’s hand holding him up, his eyes half-lidded, still caught in it, still trying to catch his breath.

“Mhm,” Shane hums, losing words.

And Ilya leans in again, kissing him deeper this time, just for a second—sliding his tongue through Shane’s mouth, pulling that same soft, needy sound out of him.

It would be so easy to stay there. To keep going, for Ilya to keep pressing his lips against Shane’s, keep taking him, and Shane would let him.

But Ilya pulls back fully this time, a small groan leaving him as he forces himself out of it on purpose, his hand dropping from Shane’s face to settle briefly at his side, grounding the both of them.

“Show me,” he says.

Shane blinks, still dazed, his brain lagging behind the shift. He honestly didn’t hear what Ilya had said after the kissing.

“…What?”

Ilya’s gaze drops, his hand grazes along Shane’s lower abdomen, slipping just beneath his waistband.

Shane shivers.

“Show me what’s wrong,” he repeats, quieter, pecking Shane’s lips one more time. “We’ll fix it.”

Shane’s fingers tighten slightly against the mattress, his gaze dropping for a second, heat creeping up his neck.

“You mean—“

“Touch yourself,” Ilya cuts in, sharp, shifting until he’s between Shane’s legs again, his hands running up Shane's thighs.

Shane just hesitates.

“…You’re just gonna watch?” he asks.

“Yes,” he says simply.

His hands find Shane’s hips, firm, gripping. Shane’s hands come up to Ilya’s shoulders, resting there.

“Show me what makes you feel good,” he says, voice lower now. “What you do when I’m not here.” He murmurs, leaning in again.

Shane’s breath stutters. Ilya kisses him.

“Ilya—”

“C’mon,” Ilya murmurs, not impatient—just certain. His thumbs press lightly into Shane’s hips, relaxing him. “Show me what you do when you think about me.”

Shane swallows, his stomach tightening at the way he says it—like it’s obvious. Like he knows Shane does.

Before he can say anything, Ilya starts to tug on Shane’s pants. 

“It’s what you called me here for,” he says, softer, kissing Shane again as he pulls his pants down. “To make it all better.” He says against Shane’s lips.

Shane nods slightly, but he tries to just focus on the kiss, his pulse is everywhere now—fast, loud, impossible to ignore. 

He’s cooperating, lifting his hips, letting Ilya take his pants off. Because he wants to. He’s already there. Already halfway gone just from the way Ilya’s looking at him, the way he’s talking to him.

“…Okay,” Shane mutters, small and breathless, as Ilya pulls back and takes Shane’s pants off completely.

Before Shane can fully settle, Ilya’s hands are already back on him.

Warm, gentle, needy almost, taking his time mapping Shane out again—his hands drifting over his thighs, up under the hem of his shirt, fingertips dragging just light enough to make Shane twitch. 

Shane shifts slightly, instinctively drawing his legs in, a small reflex he doesn’t even think about.

“No no,” he murmurs, firm, voice low, one hand pressing lightly against Shane’s thigh, guiding it back open again. “You let me see you.”

The words settle heavy.

Shane exhales, a soft, shaky breath, his body responding before his brain can argue with it, easing back open under Ilya’s touch. 

“Yes sir.” He breathes.

Ilya’s hand slides again, slower now, lingering, like he’s enjoying the way Shane reacts to every little thing, he gives him another little kiss for reward.

“You listen so well…” He smiles against Shane’s lips. “Where is it?” he asks, almost casually.

Shane’s a little slow to catch up. A little slow to do anything right now.

“What?”

“The thing you use,” Ilya says, glancing at him briefly, his hand drifting and brushing over Shane’s torso. “Show me.”

Shane swallows.

“Oh—” he huffs quietly, a little embarrassed again, shifting to reach toward the nightstand. “It’s—hold on—”

He leans over, bracing himself as he pulls the drawer open, ending up a bit more on his stomach as he searches. He tries not to think about how his ass is probably in Ilya’s face right now, though it’s hard when Ilya keeps touching it.

Shane exhales, grabbing his dildo and lube and sitting back up, settling again in front of Ilya, a little more flustered now, more aware of everything.

Ilya takes it from him without hesitation.

Turns it over once in his hand, studying it like he’s assessing something.

“This what you use to fuck yourself?” he asks, glancing up at Shane.

Shane nods, small. “Yeah.”

Ilya hums.

“And lube to get it wet?” he asks.

Shane nods again. “Yes.”

Another hum. He takes a second to think. “We try something else.”

Shane’s stomach tightens.

“Like what?” he asks, quieter.

“Use your spit,” Ilya says.

“Spit doesn’t usually work that well.” Shane responds. 

Ilya just smiles a bit. “It will work,” He reassures, bringing the dildo up to Shane’s mouth and rubbing gently. “Suck on it.” 

They make eye contact, and Shane immediately wraps his mouth around the head of the dildo, bobbing his head slightly.

It’s a little awkward, Ilya staring right at him, and he’s still not so good at this, but he listens.

“That’s it,” Ilya murmurs, his gaze flickering between Shane’s plump lips around the dildo and his needy eyes. 

“Pretend it’s me. Remember what we did,” Ilya says, Shane whimpers around the dildo, bobbing his head deeper.

“Good boy,” Ilya praises. “Get it wet, Shane.” 

A chill runs down Shane’s spine. He lets his eyes flutter closed, taking more of the dildo in his mouth. 

Ilya watches intensely, Shane’s pretty little mouth taking it so good, trying so hard.

He pulls the dildo out of Shane’s mouth, letting it rest against his lips. “Spit on it.” He tells him.

Shane obliges, taking a moment to gather the spit in his mouth before sputtering over the tip of it, it immediately runs down the side.

“Good,” Ilya says. “Now keep going.”

Shane takes it into his mouth immediately, it’s wetter, smoother, easier. He enjoys having his mouth full, and although it’s not Ilya—not real, warm skin—he moans softly around the length of it.

Ilya starts to gently push the dildo into Shane’s mouth as he bobs his head, working it deeper into his mouth.

“Drool on it malysh,” He says, fucking it slowly in and out of Shane’s mouth. “I know how wet that mouth gets, c’mon.” He coos.

Shane’s mouth waters a bit at the words, his eyes opening again, looking directly into Ilya’s, his brows furrowed, whimpering. 

“Suck that cock,” Ilya tells him. “I know you love it.”

Shane’s cock twitches at the words, his legs twitching closed instinctively, trying to hide it naturally, but he keeps his legs open, he keeps being good.

Ilya pushes the dildo a little deeper into Shane’s mouth, then deeper, and Shane chokes, his eyes water, his stomach tensing as he gags a bit, his hand coming up to grip weakly at Ilya’s hand. But he starts drooling, and that's exactly what Ilya wanted.

“Fuck…” he murmurs, softer now, but it lands heavier. “Look at that.”

Shane’s eyes flutter, his chest rising faster, something in him tightening and then giving again, chasing that tone, that approval. 

Ilya’s thumb brushes lightly along his jaw, keeping him right where he wants him. 

Then he does it again, slowly pushes the dildo into the back of Shane’s throat, and Shane doesn’t stop him, he just breathes, relaxes, lets himself gag, lets Ilya choke him with his own dildo.

Then Ilya pulls it out completely, and watches Shane breathe heavily, a string of spit still connecting his mouth to it.

“Did so good,” Ilya praises, quieter. 

Then Ilya brings the dildo toward himself, spitting over the tip of it, handing it back to Shane. 

“Now use it.” 

Shane just stares, breathless, feeling a faint ache in his throat. The dildo is fucking dripping in spit, his and Ilya’s. 

He grabs it silently, sliding himself into more of a laying position, his legs opening wider without needing to be told again, his body already remembering what to do—what it wants. The room feels warmer now, heavier, like every breath is thicker than the last.

Ilya doesn’t say anything, just shifts to give Shane more room and watches closely.

His hands come to rest at the backs of Shane’s thighs, pushing gently keeping him open, exposed, unable to pull away even if he wanted to.

Shane exhales, slow, a quiet sound slipping out of him as he rubs the dildo over his hole, spanking it against himself softly.

Ilya can see Shane clenching softly around nothing, before he pushes the dildo into himself slowly. 

Shane lets out a small moan as he pushes it in, letting himself sink into the feeling, his cock twitching against his stomach as he gets it deeper. Ilya bites his lip watching Shane’s ass swallow the dildo inch by inch.

“Fuck—” Shane breathes as he gets the entire thing in.

Ilya’s grip tightens just slightly.

Shane immediately starts to thrust the dildo in and out of him slowly, his free hand moving to hold Ilya’s thats on the back of his thigh.

“Fuck yourself just like that,” Ilya says, clenching his jaw, his breathing picking up as he watches. “Open yourself up for me.”

Shane moans, his stomach clenching, hips shifting, still chasing that pleasure. It’s better with Ilya here, but it’s still not Ilya.

“That feel good?” Ilya asks, his eyes flickering up to Shane’s face.

“Not—” he exhales, a soft, broken sound following it, his fingers tightening around Ilya’s. “Not as good as you.” He whines. 

Need Ilya.

Need Ilya’s cock.

Need daddy’s. 

Ilya’s gaze sharpens, flicking over him—taking in every small reaction.

“…Yeah?” he murmurs, quieter now.

Shane nods, quick, almost desperate, his hand still moving but uneven now, like he’s losing the rhythm.

Ilya’s hands drift, rubbing along Shane’s inner thighs.

“What else do you do?” he asks, focused on Shane. “You touch yourself here too, yes?,” he clarifies, gesturing at Shane’s cock.

Shane’s breath catches, his stomach tightening again, heat crawling up his neck.

“…Mhm,” he admits with a nod, softer, barely there.

Ilya hums, like he expected it.

“Then do it,” he says simply.

Shane swallows, then his hand moves—almost automatically—following the instruction, stroking himself slowly.

His breath hitches, a moan slipping out of him as everything stacks.

“Better?” Ilya asks, watching closely now.

Shane’s head tips back slightly, his brows pulling together. “…A little,” he admits, breathless. “But—”

His voice breaks off, frustration creeping back in.

Ilya’s hands just keep dragging along Shane’s thighs, thumbs pressing lightly here and there, not letting Shane slip away completely.

Shane’s rhythm stutters again.

“…It’s not—” he exhales, shaking his head, more insistent now. “It’s not good like this— it isn’t—”

Ilya tilts his head slightly, watching him unravel.

“Mm,” he hums. “Not good like this?”

Shane shakes his head again, more urgent this time, his voice breaking through the frustration.

“No—” he breathes. “I need—”

He stops for half a second—

then it spills out anyway.

“I need you.”

Shane’s fingers tighten where they are, his whole body tense with it now.

“…Need the real thing,” he adds, speeding his rhythm up with the dildo, trying.

His moans get a little louder, and his breathing gets deeper, it feels good but it’s not Ilya. It’s not. It’s not it’s not it’s not.

“Need you—“ He gasps. “I need you now, now Ilya please.” Shane begs, the words coming out rougher, harder, as if he’s getting frustrated.

“Don’t want this stupid— fucking dildo—“ He chokes out. “Want you—“ 

“Fuck, come here Shane,” Ilya cuts him off, unable to hold back anymore, moving Shanes hand away. He pulls the dildo out of Shane himself and tosses it aside. 

“On your stomach,” Ilya pants, patting softly but urgently at Shane’s side. Shane turns, and Ilya gets his own pants off, giving his hard cock a few lazy strokes.

Shane turns, up on his knees, leaning forward into the bed, hugging the pillow in front of him. The anticipation alone makes him tremble slightly, he’s been waiting so long.

Ilya immediately gets his hands on Shane’s waist, taking in the image of Shane arched like this for him. 

Fuck.

Ilya slows himself down a little, kneads his hands into Shane’s hips, his thumbs dig into Shane’s back dimples, then to his ass, groping, kneading, pulling his asscheeks apart and watching his hole stretch.

“You’re so perfect,” Ilya says absentmindedly. Shane whimpers in response, wiggling back into Ilya again. “Need me so bad don’t you?”

“Yes sir—“ Shane pants. 

Ilya hums, spitting into Shane’s ass, watching it run over his hole, down the seam of his balls and dripping onto the duvet.

“You don’t even know what you do to me.” He says, then he does it again, spitting over his asshole, Shane clenching a bit this time as it runs over him.

Then Ilya leans in, pulled, needing it more than he can fight it, and kisses Shane’s asscheek, slow and wet.

He licks up Shane’s ass, let his lips and tongue draaagg and drag, warm and wet up to the curve of Shane’s back, licking into his back dimples, kissing each of them.

Shane whines, oh my god he’s licking me he thinks, surprised and antsy and desperate all at once.

Then Ilya shifts back down, his mouth hovering right over Shane’s puckered hole. He stays there for a moment, letting Shane sit in anticipation, watching him start to squirm.

“Ilya please—“ He hears, soft and desperate. “Please just— I can feel you—“ Shane says, pushing back, making Ilya pull back more.

Ilya’s driving Shane fucking crazy, he’s right there but he feels so far away, Shane’s heart is hammering against his chest.

Then, Ilya leans in slowly and presses a firm wet kiss right to his asshole. 

Shane’s hips jerk forward a bit, away from Ilya, moaning in surprise. 

“Oh my god—“ He cries out, a pleasuring wave rolling up his back, gripping tighter into the sheets. “Shit Ilya—“ He gasps “More—” He breathes, pushing back.

Ilya hums, sticking his tongue out flat against Shane’s hole and licking up, then rolling his tongue back down. Shane moans, Ilya’s tongue is so hot and wet, feels so good against him. 

Ilya gives his hole another kiss, sucking softly, before pulling off with a soft pop and spitting into him again, his tongue getting back to work, licking, swirling, flicking.

“Oh my god your tongue…” Shane whines, slurred. “So fucking good… fuck..” he huffs into the pillow, his thighs quivering. 

“Let me hear you, malysh” Ilya groans, slurping against Shane, drooling into him, pressing his tongue in deeper. 

Holy shit. Shane thinks.

He’s weak against the pillow, can’t even try to hold his moans back. He didn’t know it’d feel so good to have Ilya’s tongue in him like this.

moremoremoremore

His hand comes back to curl in Ilya’s hair, rocking back against his face. “Deeper—“ He moans.

Ilya listens, pushing in as deep as he can, bobbing his head and tongue fucking Shane. His jaw is starting to hurt but he can’t be bothered, he just needs to make his Shane feel good. He loves it anyway, the taste of Shane on his tongue, the pretty noises he makes.

Shane reaches down to jerk himself off, short quick strokes, shuddering at the extra pleasure.

Shane’s stomach pulls tight again, that familiar, deep, coiling pressure snapping into place, spreading out through him, up his spine, down his thighs—everything tightening, everything pulling inward.

“Ilya—” he chokes out, barely able to get the name out through the way his breath is hitching. “I’m gonna cum— fuck—”

Ilya smacks a hand against Shane’s ass, encouraging him.

Cum cum cum. Cum on my tongue malysh.

Shane’s hips jerk helplessly, chasing it, unable to stop himself anymore, his body’s already gone past the point of listening.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” he begs, voice breaking apart, desperate, barely there.

The pressure spikes, sharp, blinding—and then it collapses.

Shane lets out a near squeal, back arching deeper into the bed, hand gripping and tugging harshly in Ilya’s hair, a strangled sound tearing out of him as everything finally breaks, the tension snapping all at once.

“Fuck—!” he cries, the word dragged out, wrecked, the orgasm rolling through him—wave after wave, his body jolting with it, his grip tightening, his legs trembling as he tries to ride it out but can’t quite keep up.

Every pulse feels deeper than the last, pulling another sound out of him, softer now, broken, like he’s completely lost in it.

“Oh my god—” he breathes as he starts to come down from it, barely more than a whisper now.

His hand loosens in Ilya’s hair, head falling forward into the pillow, chest heaving, his whole body still twitching through the aftershocks.

For a second, he can’t think. Can’t move.

Just feels it—everything still echoing through him, slow and heavy.

“…fuck,” he exhales finally, weak, spent.

Ilya lets Shane ride it out—lets the last of it pass through him, still sensitive, breath coming in uneven pulls.

Then slowly he pulls back, slow and careful.

A quiet breath leaves him as he leans up, his mouth pressing gently against the middle of Shane’s back.

A slow kiss.

Then another.

Working his way up, bringing Shane back down to him.

“Hey…” Ilya murmurs, voice low, calmer now, the edge gone from it.

Shane’s still catching his breath, face first into the pillow, his arms wrapped loosely around it. His whole body feels loose and heavy at the same time, like he can’t quite hold himself up anymore.

“…Mhm,” he hums weakly, the sound barely there.

Ilya’s hand slides up his side, slow, reassuring, his thumb brushing lightly over his skin as he leans down to press another soft kiss to his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter.

Shane nods a little into the pillow, breath hitching once before it steadies.

“…Yeah,” he manages, voice rough. “Yeah, I’m—” he exhales softly, a small, disbelieving huff slipping out of him. “I’m good.”

Ilya hums, his lips move higher, brushing up the back of his neck—slower now, softer.

“Good,” he murmurs.

There’s a pause.

Shane’s breathing starts to even out more, his body settling, the tension draining out of him in waves. He’s still warm, still sensitive, but it’s not overwhelming anymore—just… lingering.

Ilya’s hand drifts again, resting at his waist.

“You liked it?” he asks.

Shane lets out a small breath, almost a laugh, the answer feels obvious.

“…Yeah,” he says, his voice going a little softer. “Felt really good.”

Ilya’s mouth curves faintly against his skin at that.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

Shane nods again, slower this time, his cheek still pressed into the pillow.

“…It’s a lot,” he admits after a second, voice a little dazed. “But—” he exhales, a small, shy smile tugging at his mouth. “Good. You’re really good.”

Ilya lets out a quiet breath, something pleased in it.

“Thank you,” he says, kissing the side of Shane’s head.

I just want to make you feel good.

His hand squeezes lightly where it rests at Shane’s side—before he leans in and presses one last slow kiss just behind his ear.

“Fuck me please,” Shane says abruptly, shifting up onto his hands, pressing his back into Ilya’s chest, seeking his warmth. “You didn’t cum.”

Ilya stills for a second, the request cutting through the soft moment they were just having, but a small smile lands on his face anyway.

“You are ready?” He asks, wrapping his arm around Shane’s waist, pulling him back into him. “You sure?” He asks again.

Shane nods. “Please.” 

Ilya hums and kisses his shoulder one more time. “Down.” He murmurs, his hand pushing gently on Shane’s back, pushing him forward, his other hand gripping Shane’s hip, keeping his ass in the air.

Shane’s whimpering softly into the pillow, still reacting to every small shift from Ilya behind him.

“I missed you” Shane exhales, softer this time, needy, honest. “Missed your cock.”

The words slip out before he can stop them.

Ilya huffs a quiet breath behind him, something pleased in it.

“Yeah, malysh?” he murmurs, grabbing the bottle of lube, squirting some over himself. “You missed me?”

Shane nods quickly, even though Ilya isn’t looking, his fingers tightening in the sheets.

“Yeah—” he breathes. “Missed you so much—”

Ilya groans softly at the words, pouring more lube over Shane’s hole, his grip tightening just slightly at his hip.

“Missed you too, Shane,” Ilya breathes, grinding his cock in the crack of Shane’s lubed and sticky ass, desperate for some friction, groaning a bit as he slides himself through the slickness. 

“Missed this fucking ass,” He groans, smacking Shane’s ass a little harder and watching it recoil softly. “Feel so good, malysh,”

Shane whimpers, his head is spinning, Ilya’s cock right up against him, hot and hard, it makes him tingle. He’s so eager but he doesn’t want to rush it, he just wants Ilya to take him, ruin him.

“Show me,” Ilya says, lining himself up with Shane.

Shane hesitates. “What?”

“Show me how much you missed me,” Ilya says, pushing himself into Shane slowly, both of them moaning simultaneously. He stops about halfway. 

“Show me how much you missed my cock,” he continues, “Fuck yourself on me.”

Shane gets a little nervous, the growing expectation on him. 

“Push back on me,” Ilya says, patting gently at Shane’s hip. 

Shane stays still for just half a second longer before doing what he’s told, rocking back on Ilya slightly, his body already giving in again without a fight.

“That’s it,” Ilya murmurs, voice dropping lower, more focused now. “Baaack and forth,” he drags as Shane moves. “Just like that, malysh.”

Shane’s breath stutters as he takes more of Ilya, Slow at first—careful, testing—rolling his hips back slightly. His grip tightens on the sheets as he tries to find a rhythm, just happy to have Ilya inside him again.

“Yeah…” Ilya exhales behind him, voice low and rough. “Good boy…” 

Shane swallows, his movements a little hesitant, a little unsure—but his body is responding, remembering.

He rocks back again.

A little deeper this time.

A soft moan slips out of him, his head dipping forward as the sensation hits harder than he expects.

“Fuck yes—” he breathes.

“Good,” Ilya murmurs, his hand firm at Shane’s hip, guiding him just enough without taking over. “Keep going.”

Shane nods weakly, even though he’s not looking at him, his movements picking up slightly—still a bit inconsistent, still learning—but more desperate. 

need it. need it. need it. Shane thinks with each rock backwards.

He pushes back again.

Harder.

“Fuck—“ Shane chokes. “Give it to me—“ He babbles, absentminded.

His breath catches as it hits deeper, sharper, then he starts to feel himself slamming against Ilya’s pelvis, taking all of him.

“Oh—” he chokes out, his voice breaking a little.

Ilya groans softly behind him, the sound rougher.

“Just like that malysh,” he encourages. “Make yourself feel good.”

Shane’s stomach twists in pleasure, that same deep pull, and he rocks back again, faster this time, less careful, less shy.

“So good Ilya holy shit—” he cuts himself off, his words dissolving into a broken moan.

“Take what you need from me,” Ilya mutters, more strained now. “C’mon—”

Shane’s movements get messier, more urgent, his rhythm slipping as he chases it, his body already starting to give in again.

“Being such a good boy, Shane,” Ilya praises, starting to pull Shane back against him gently, but still letting him control most of the pace.

Shane reaches back blindly, his hand finding Ilya without looking—gripping onto his thigh.

“Feels so good daddy—” he babbles, breathless, his voice falling apart between each word. 

Ilya’s hand cracks down against Shane’s ass, watching the skin tint red, kneading his hand into it to soften the sting.

“Better than that fucking plastic?” Ilya teases. 

“Yes—!” Shane cries out without hesitation, the answer immediate, wrecked, and Ilya’s composure slips.

“Fuck,” His grip tightens hard at Shane’s waist, fingers digging in. “Let me—“ He starts, losing his composure, abruptly pinning Shane in place and snapping his hips forward. 

“Oh my—“ Shane starts, getting cut off as Ilya starts pounding into him, hard and deep and fast, making his eyes roll.

Shane’s body just responds—dropping forward slightly, giving in, limp under Ilya, choking as the rhythm shifts, as everything changes from his control to Ilya’s.

“Ilya—” Shane gasps, the sound punched out of him, his voice breaking as the pace picks up, as the pressure builds faster than he can keep up with.

The sticky clap of the lube and skin against skin makes Shane feel hotter, it sounds so obscene, so nasty, like he’s in a porno.

“There you go,” Ilya breathes, groaning. “That what you needed?”

“Oh— fuck—” Shane chokes out, his words falling apart completely now. “Yes— Needed— Needed you—“ He groans. 

Ilya leans over him slightly, his hands still clutching onto Shane’s waist, keeping him there, holding him firm, his voice rougher, less controlled than before.

“Such a cockslut already,” Ilya groans, disbelieving. “Taking me like you were made for it,” He grits. “You love it don’t you.”

“Hngh— Yes,” Shane nods, panting, his eyes closed and mouth parted, whiny little noises escaping him consistently. “Love it— Love your cock. Love taking you like this—“ He babbles.

“Yeah?” Ilya pants. “Showed you how much you love dick now you can’t get enough.” He teases. Shane just whines, agreeing and partially shy. Ilya’s not wrong, but it’s a little embarrassing to say outloud.

Such a fucking slut Ilya thinks. Shane goes a few days without dick and now he’s rattling off about how much he loves it. 

Shane can’t help but love it, he feels like he’s getting fucked through the mattress, his body keeps jerking involuntarily, pleasure dragging through him, harder, faster, deeper.

“Ilya—” he breathes, barely holding onto the word.

And Ilya doesn’t slow down, watching himself disappear in and out of Shane, wet and warm and soft. It’s mesmerizing.

He starts to feel Shane clenching tighter around his cock, can see his thighs shaking harder, the way his body starts to betray him before he can say anything—before he can even realize it himself.

“You gonna cum, Shane?” Ilya asks, voice lower now, roughened at the edges.

Shane doesn’t answer.

He just keeps moaning—loud, unfiltered. Ilya exhales through his nose, knowing.

“Yeah, you’re gonna cum.” Ilya whispers to himself, like he’s taking a mental note.

The pressure building, coiling, pulling tighter and tighter in Shane and Ilya’s stomach alike, spreading like fire, nowhere left to go, nowhere to escape it.

All Shane can think about is Ilya.

IlyaIlyaIlyaIlya.

The feeling of him. The weight of him, pressing down on him right now holding him against the mattress, the heat of him, the way his cock fills every inch of Shane’s awareness until there’s nothing else left.

He doesn’t want it to stop. Doesn’t want Ilya to pull away. He wants to just stay here and keep taking it, and taking it, and taking it. 

His fingers tighten in the sheets, a broken sound tearing out of him as he gets closer. He can barely breathe through it.

don’t stop 

don’t stop

don’t stop

Ilya can feel it too, the overwhelming need for release. He pauses just for a second to reach his hand forward and curl it into Shane’s hair, tugging Shane off the bed and back against his chest.

“Come here.”

Shane gasps as he’s pulled upright, still spread open, his back hitting Ilya’s chest. Ilya’s hand leaves Shane’s hair, wrapping around his throat, not tight—just enough—tilting his head back until it falls against his shoulder, exposing him.

He leans in closer, still fucking up into Shane, his voice dropping, right against his ear now—

“C’mon…” he murmurs, rough, coaxing. “You’re right there, I can feel it.”

Shane’s response isn’t words—just a broken sound, dragged out of him like it hurts to hold it in. His hands reach back to hold onto Ilya.

Ilya’s hand tightens around his throat slightly, keeping him there.

“Don’t hold it,” he says, softer now—but firmer, pressing a kiss to Shane’s exposed neck. “Let it go. Let me see it.”

Shane shudders hard under him, his body going limp, lolling a bit as his orgasm starts to hit.

“Yeah… just like that,” Ilya breathes, kissing his neck again, voice dipping lower, almost a whisper. “Let go for me, malysh… I’ve got you.”

That’s all Shane can take.

He clenches hard around Ilya, his entire body tightening, pulling in on itself for half a second like he’s trying to hold it together—

and then he can’t.

“Oh fu—“ He chokes, his breath catching, body shaking through it, completely overwhelmed, cum spurting out onto his stomach, dripping onto the sheets. 

Ilya’s not far behind him, groaning softly into his ear and stilling inside him, his hand gripping Shane’s hip harshly as he cums. 

They stay put, letting everything settle, holding onto each other, breathing rough, filling the space where everything else has gone quiet. Shane’s body feels heavy, loose, Ilya’s still right behind him—warm, solid.

Ilya’s hand lingers at his hip, his grip loosening slowly as he exhales against the side of Shane’s neck.

“…fuck,” he murmurs, softer now.

Shane lets out a weak huff of a laugh, his head tipping forward slightly, blinking, eyes half-lidded, trying to come back to himself.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

Then Ilya leans in, pressing a small, absentminded kiss just under Shane’s ear. Then another, slower this time, his lips brushing along his skin like he’s still a little caught in it. 

Shane shifts faintly at that, leaning into it without thinking, making a small noise of protest as Ilya pulls out of him.

“…you’re getting my duvet dirty again,” he mumbles with a smile after Ilya’s all the way out, feeling himself leaking.

Ilya huffs quietly, amused, his nose brushing lightly against Shane’s jaw.

“It was probably already dirty,” he mutters back.

“It was not,” Shane shoots back, a little more awake now, though his body still feels like it’s melting into the bed. “You literally—every time—”

“You were busy before I got here,” He cuts in. 

Shane lets out another breath, something between a laugh and a groan. “I didn’t invite you to ruin my bedding.”

“Mm,” Ilya hums. “I think you did.”

Shane rolls his eyes, his fingers twitching slightly against the sheets.

“…you’re so annoying,” he mutters.

“I know,” Ilya says easily.

Another quiet moment settles between them—but it’s different now, soft.

Ilya presses one more light kiss to Shane’s shoulder before shifting back a little, giving him space without fully letting go.

Shane immediately feels it.

That tiny bit of distance.

His brows pull together faintly, his head turning just slightly like he’s about to look back—

then he hesitates.

“…you like this?” Shane asks, quieter now, maybe a little more honest than he should be right now, he’s not sure.

Ilya pauses for half a second.

Then—

“Yes,” he says, just as simply.

Shane exhales softly, something easing in his chest at that.

“…me too,” he admits, almost under his breath.

Shane shifts again, finally turning his head enough to glance back at him, a little hesitant, a little unsure—but not pulling away.

“Can you stay?” he asks.

Ilya watches him for a second—then he smiles, just a little.

“Okay,” he says.

“…Okay,” Shane says with a small smile and nod, happy, but trying not to show it. “Now go get a towel.”