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Shane had thought there was no way in hell that Ilya would ever be able to top the gladiator costume. Now, as he looked at his husband on the dance floor, he knew he’d been wrong.
“Oh,” Troy said next to him. “That’s going to be a problem.”
“Keep your eyes to yourself, Barrett,” Shane said, flatly.
Troy snorted. “My husband’s wearing my jersey and eyeliner. You have nothing to worry about. I’m just saying.”
“Go say things somewhere else,” Shane said, and wove his way through the crush of Halloween revelers to Ilya’s side.
Ilya smiled at him, raking his gaze over Shane’s body, top to toe and back up again. “Well, howdy there, pardner.”
“Ilya.” He had to lean in to speak directly into Ilya’s ear, in order to be heard over the music. Ilya’s hands came to rest on his hips, pulling his body against him in an immediate slow grind.
“Shane,” Ilya murmured, his voice velvety.
“You’re basically naked,” Shane said. “Let’s go.”
Ilya ground against him again. The costume did nothing to impede him. “No.”
“No?” Shane held on to the ridiculous little cropped vest, which barely reached Ilya’s ribs and didn’t cover any of the wide expanse of luxurious musculature on display. Shane wanted to bite his pecs, to leave the marks of his teeth for all the admiring gazes to see.
“No,” Ilya repeated. The tiny briefs that looked stretched to bursting pressed against Shane’s own body. “We are going to dance, and spend Halloween with our friends. And then when you have been waiting all night, we will go back to our house, and this cowboy will ride his centaur into the sunset.”
There were no words left in Shane’s mind. Everything was fuzzy, and Ilya’s eyes were so beautiful and heated and sparkling.
Ilya kissed him, right there in the middle of the dance floor, in front of their team and the general public and God and at least three Spidermen.
~🏒~
By the time they got home that night, the fire underneath Shane’s skin was an inferno. They’d barely got in the front door before they were crashing against it. Shane shoved his tongue in Ilya’s mouth, and Ilya got his hands down the back of Shane’s pants. It felt like those feverish nights after games back in the old days, when there was curfew and a ticking timer and only so long before one of them would say I should go.
The urgency was both nostalgic and hot. Shane grabbed Ilya’s wrist and tugged, pulling him bodily towards their bedroom. He’d been promised something, and it wasn’t going to happen next to the shoe rack.
Ilya got the sex towels and put them down while Shane was stripping out of his costume. Then he grabbed the lube from the bedside drawer and laid himself out, posing with a knee pulled up. The hat, somehow, stayed on.
“Fuck,” Shane said, standing at the foot of the bed and staring at him.
“Get me ready,” Ilya said, a smile touching the edges of his mouth.
Shane folded to his knees and crawled up the bed to kiss him, deep and possessive. This was his husband, in their bed, asking Shane to fuck him. Everyone else could look, but only he got to touch. Only him.
He got his fingers underneath the waistband of Ilya’s tiny briefs. He didn’t bother pulling them down. He just pulled, and ripped them right off Ilya’s body, keeping his eyes locked on Ilya’s the whole time.
(Shane was pretty sure they were designed to be able to be ripped off that way, but that didn’t change the way Ilya’s pupils dilated, or the way he breathed a silent fuck that went straight to Shane’s cock.)
And then he was lowering himself down Ilya’s body, bringing the lube with him, and Ilya was spreading his legs so easily, so hungrily.
Shane wrapped his hand around Ilya’s cock, licking the head. His, and his the way that Ilya hummed, his chin tilting up and his eyes going hooded. Shane took him fully in his mouth, relaxing his throat and sinking down. Ilya tasted like sweat and skin. He was leaking already.
Shane considered making him come like this, then taking him apart while he was shaking and overstimulated. But the idea of having him rock-hard and desperate won out.
He came off Ilya’s cock, and pulled his cheeks apart, exposing his hole. Now here was something that was completely his. No other man. Never. Three months after the first time Ilya first asked him to fuck him, and it still took Shane’s breath away that Ilya wanted this from him.
“Shane, fuck,” Ilya said.
“You want it?” Shane asked, leaning close to breathe over his hole. “Ask nicely.”
Ilya sometimes took a while to let go, but tonight he was already strung out and wanting, the long night at the club taking its price. “Please. Fucking put your fucking tongue in me. Please.”
Shane licked him, and thrilled at the way Ilya shuddered, a full-body movement. He felt so powerful, with Ilya in his hands and under his tongue, devoting himself to Ilya’s pleasure.
Thirteen years after the first time, and fifteen years after Saskatchewan, and he was Ilya’s, and Ilya was his.
Ilya was quivering under him as Shane ate him out. It was the best meal Shane had had in months, and he didn’t let up. He kept it wet and hot, using the flat of his tongue and then the point, kissing Ilya’s hole and then thrusting against it. He made the motion of his tongue explicitly lewd, like a little cock exclusively for Ilya’s pleasure.
And then he shoved his face deep between Ilya's cheeks, and pushed his tongue inside him.
Ilya’s breath sobbed out harshly above him. “Fuck, Shane.”
Shane fucked him with his tongue for a few more strokes, before reluctantly pulling back. If he kept this up, it would all be over far too quickly. Another night he would take Ilya apart with just his mouth, maybe edging him until Ilya actually cried. He knew from the other side how good that was, how brain-meltingly it walked the perfect line between pain and pleasure. Ilya was an expert, and with a rush of pride Shane decided that he was becoming one too.
He warmed the lube, and then pushed a finger inside his husband. Ilya was loose and wet enough from his tongue to take him easily, but he still arched up, biting at his lip with a wordless whimper. “There you go,” Shane said, petting his hip. “That’s what you wanted.”
“Shut up,” Ilya said. “Another one.”
Shane gave him a second finger, listening to the hot filthiness of the squelch and feeling the way Ilya’s walls clenched him. He scissored his fingers, stretching Ilya, looking for the spot that he’d come to know over the last three months. They hadn’t done this that often – Shane still wanted to get railed by his husband ninety-five percent of the time – but Shane was a fast learner, and he liked to excel at everything he loved.
Now he fucked his husband with his fingers, and watched Ilya’s fingers spasm, holding on to the towels for dear life. He reached out with his free hand and picked up one of Ilya’s, putting it in his hair. He wanted to feel the pull.
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya said, the color high on his cheeks. He was so beautiful, lying in their bed, trusting Shane to take him apart. All those pretty girls had had him, and that was fine, but none of them had ever seen him like this. This was only Shane’s. Ilya was only Shane’s. Forever. His his his his his his.
Shane added a third finger. Always the hard one, always the one to make Ilya fall apart, babbling half-formed Russian and making the hottest broken sounds. Ilya was always teasing about making sex tapes, but Shane’s secret wish was that he had a soundtrack of Ilya in these moments. Back in the day when they were long-distance and missing each other miserably, he would have killed for it, to be able to put in his earphones and turn on his own personal porn track. Ilya’s moans.
But now Shane could have this whenever he wanted. As often he wanted. Without any hiding, or any long-distance, or any fear. He was living in his happy ending.
He thrust a few more times, testing the stretch, relishing the pull of Ilya’s fingers in his hair.
Then he kissed the inside of Ilya’s knee, right where a stray angry scrape was still raised. “You’re ready,” he said.
Ilya blinked at him, his eyes gone dark and sex-drunk, his mouth slack with pleasure.
Shane crawled up Ilya’s body and leaned most of his weight on him, claiming him with a kiss.
Then he pulled back and let a sharp grin spread slowly over his face. “Ride ‘em, cowboy,” he said, softly, and slapped Ilya's ass.
After a moment, Ilya grinned back at him, looking like he was gathering his brain cells together. “On your back for me.”
They traded places, Ilya grabbing the lube and then piling a few pillows behind Shane’s shoulders to get the angle where he wanted it. He straddled Shane’s lap, keeping his weight on his knees, and leaned down to kiss him. (Shane loved how no matter what they were doing during sex, they were always kissing. He never wanted to stop.)
“Ready?” Ilya asked, running a finger along the top of Shane’s ear.
“Ready,” Shane said.
Ilya knelt up, pouring lube into his hand and then reaching behind himself for Shane’s cock and giving it a couple strokes. He was still wearing the slutty little vest, and the hat. He looked debauched in the best possible way.
And then he was guiding Shane’s cock to press against his hole, and Shane was focusing all his scattered willpower on not forgetting to breathe.
Ilya sank down, his mouth falling open and his eyes fluttering shut.
Shane made a punched-out sound. He put one of his hands on Ilya’s hip and the other on his shoulder. Ilya’s skin was hot, his muscles bunching. The world had narrowed to this bed, and the man sliding down around his cock.
“Fuck,” Ilya said, and caught his bottom lip between his teeth. He took another inch, and another. Shane couldn’t look away from where his cock was disappearing into Ilya’s body.
Another inch, another. The urge to thrust up was overwhelming, but Shane forced it down. His hand on Ilya’s hip slipped around to his ass, palming the luxurious plumpness.
“Touch me,” Ilya said, between gritted teeth.
Shane immediately dropped the hand on his shoulder, reaching for his cock, which looked painfully hard, slapping against his belly as he bore down.
“No, no,” Ilya said. Shane let go. Ilya raised his head, looked him in the eyes. “Touch me there, Shane.”
“Oh fuck,” Shane breathed, his brain gone animal. But he obeyed, because Ilya always had the best ideas. He let the hand on Ilya’s ass slide down, let his fingers touch his cock and Ilya’s hole, let them stroke where they were joined.
Ilya gasped, and sunk down the last inches, his head falling forward.
Shane craned his neck up and kissed his chin and his cheek, panting against his lips.
They stayed for a moment frozen in time like that, fully joined.
And then Ilya breathed the air from Shane’s mouth and leaned back, a teasing smile breaking across his face. “Now,” he said, his voice strained and husky, “I show you how a cowboy does this good.”
Shane was going to die, but it would be a good death.
Ilya moved, riding him carefully at first, but gaining speed and confidence by the second. His abs rippled, and Shane dragged fingers across them, pinching a nipple to watch the way Ilya swallowed.
Ilya’s hips were weapons on the dance floor, and this was, after all, the oldest human dance. It was unsurprising that he quickly found fluency. Shane held on, his hands roaming, petting every part of his husband’s beautiful body.
Ilya’s head dropped, his cheek resting on the top of Shane’s hair. The hat toppled off, lost somewhere behind the pillows. His hips never stopped moving. Shane put his hands on Ilya’s hips and started thrusting, falling into an easy push-pull rhythm together.
He loved how Ilya had obviously intended to put on a show, only to lose the performer’s edge almost immediately. A cock up the ass would do that. Shane knew.
He could feel his fingernails digging into Ilya’s skin. Ilya would have marks tomorrow, bruises. Shane knew Ilya liked them. He’d stand in front of the mirror and touch them, smiling his little private smirk. Everybody would know that Ilya’s Shane had put them there.
Ilya rode him like it was the singleminded focus of his existence, like his sole goal in honing a perfect body had been to get it to this moment, here in this bed.
Shane’s cock was engulfed in addictive heat, Ilya’s walls fluttering and clenching around him. It was enough to drive Shane crazy, to make his thrusts stutter. Was there anything more heady, more perfect than this?
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya said, pressing an open-mouthed sweaty kiss to his forehead. “You feel –”
Shane’s grasp on language was tenuous at the moment. He pulled Ilya down hard, held him there for a moment as he thrust up deep, with a powerful grind of his hips. “Like what?”
Ilya moaned. “Take me,” he said, roughly.
Shane released a hand and wrapped it around the back of Ilya’s neck instead, pulling him into a kiss that might actually set their faces on fire. Their tongues met frantically. It was more a mauling than a kiss. “You take me,” Shane said.
Shane wasn’t sure if the look that crossed Ilya’s face was exasperation, fondness, or horniness. Maybe all three. Shane could tell that the ride was starting to get difficult now, Ilya’s muscles screaming.
Ilya kissed him one more time, then sat back and started to move. If he had been riding before, now he bounced on Shane’s cock at triple time. He pulled the little slutty vest off and threw it somewhere, his chest glistening with sweat. He rose up and slammed back down, setting a punishing pace, his walls clenching on purpose now. He met Shane’s eyes, and his gaze was a brand.
Shane threw his head back in the pillows, his breath sobbing in his chest.
“You want me to take you?” Ilya said. His voice sounded wrecked. He somehow sped up even more, and reached down to pinch Shane’s nipples, hard. “Let me hear you.”
The noises coming out of Shane’s mouth barely sounded human. He wasn’t human. He was feral, he was pure sensation, he was his cock in Ilya’s ass and his nipples caught in Ilya’s fingers and his heels planting in the bed to help his thrusts match Ilya’s rhythm.
The noises coming out of Ilya’s mouth didn’t sound human either.
“Fucking come for me,” Ilya said, twisting his nipple again, reaching up to slide two fingers into Shane’s mouth. “Fill me up.” A guttural moan came out of him as he dropped down again, into a particularly powerful grind up from Shane. “I want it to drip.”
“Fuck,” Shane choked around his fingers, and came.
Ilya made a triumphant sound and rode him through it, his hand frantically stripping his own cock.
Shane closed his eyes and felt the hot stripes land on his lips, his nose, his cheeks. He smiled – exhausted, fucked out, and utterly blissful.
Ilya collapsed on top of him, still joined, heavy and perfect. With the last of his strength, Shane put his arms around him.
~🏒~
“My hat got squashed,” Ilya said, pouting, turning it over in his hands.
Shane took it away and tossed it to the floor. “I’ll get you a new one.”
Sex towels in the wash already, they were cuddled together under the sheets, shower-fresh. Shane kissed the tip of Ilya’s nose, enjoying the way it wrinkled.
“My mean husband,” Ilya said, with that little smirk at the side of his mouth. “Once a Captain, always a Captain. Making me ride to failure.”
Shane kissed him again, little kitten kisses. “Well,” he said, running the side of his hand over Ilya’s shoulder, “you were so good at it. So good for me. Didn’t want you to ever stop.”
Ilya pulled him closer and kissed him, sweet and filthy.
Shane smiled, laid his head on Ilya’s chest, and let himself drift off to sleep, safe and cherished in his husband’s arms.
~🏒~