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When Shane wakes, he notices three things.
The first is the hot, wet mouth lapping at the taut skin between his jaw and neck. The mouth alternates between tongue-heavy kisses on his warm skin, and light nips of teeth which leave his mind reeling.
The second is the smell of alcohol emanating from the heavy body draped over him, something strong that knocks his senses, as though he could get second-hand drunk off the aroma of sharp vodka which permeates into the room. Shane doesn’t drink much, and so the scent is almost overpowering as it enters his bloodstream.
The third - and the thing he suspects arose him from his slumber in the first place - is a hand tucked between their bodies, sliding lazily over the front of his boxer shorts, only seldom curling in to grasp at the hardening length beneath the fabric with every few strokes. It’s a hold which is intentional yet casual, almost absentminded, but something about it is so very tellingly-
“Ilya,” Shane breathes, his lips parting around the whisper in a gravelly, sleep-drunk state.
He is rewarded with a light hmmm from the body on top of him, teeth nipping once again at the skin of his neck before a pair of plush lips suck an apologetic kiss into the tender flesh, speaking a million different variations of hello hi wake up i miss you i love you i want to fuck you.
Shane’s heavy arms reach up blindly to curl his fingers into Ilya’s blonde hair, carding through the strands with care. He’s been awoken like this many times, Ilya lain over him like he’s a predator, already set on devouring Shane and riling him up, up, up from his sleep to take what he needs.
This is especially true since they moved in together last year, now wed, no longer stealing kisses and trading illicit touches beneath the glow of some dated lamp in a Hilton hotel room. They come home to one another now.
And nothing feels more safe.
Hence Shane’s low, satisfied moan as Ilya tightens his grasp on his dick, holding him tight for three pumps above his boxers, before retreating his fingers up Shane’s body to cradle his face in his hand. Ilya moves up from the expanse of Shane’s neck, a grin playing on his lips, and looks down at Shane’s drowsy face where it lays on the pillow.
“I missed you,” Ilya mumbles, thumbs caressing Shane’s cheekbones. He drops closer to slot his and Shane’s lips together, returning to one another in the dark.
Ilya immediately moves his tongue along Shane’s lower lip, pushing into the welcoming cavern of Shane’s hot mouth. As they kiss, slow and tender, Shane recognises the taste of Ilya; tonight, it is strong, undoubtedly coated with hours worth of hard liquor, though there’s a touch of peppermint floating above the cutting alcohol on his tongue. Ilya must’ve brushed his teeth before joining Shane in bed, he realises. Good boy.
Shane tightens his grasp in Ilya’s hair, pulling his husband closer and closer against him, each atom separating them an affront to God. He would crawl into Ilya’s skin if he could. If the laws of physics would let him.
One of Ilya’s hands comes to massage softly at Shane’s pec, eliciting a mewl into the kiss from Shane. As Ilya pulls away, he’s smiling wide.
“The boys missed you, too,” Ilya says, voice deep into the air between them, a slight slur framing his words.
“Don’t call our teammates the boys,” Shane breathes, ever the pedant, but - really, these are a dozen six-foot tall, two hundred pound hockey players who could max out a boxing machine at a gaudy beach carnival. They’re not boys. Distinctions matter.
Ilya glosses over Shane’s contrarianism, electing instead to deepen his kneading of Shane’s pec and drop a trail of kisses along his cheekbone down to his temple. “Had nobody to celebrate our win with,” Ilya breathes into his ear, teeth tugging at the lobe. Shane shivers. “Such a pity. No pretty boy to take home.”
Shane pushes his fingernails into Ilya’s biceps as Ilya’s mouth makes its home once again on the side of Shane’s neck. He sucks, hard, a bruise no doubt blossoming on his skin from the burst blood vessels below, and Shane’s heavy cock flexes involuntarily with the tantalising pain-pleasure of it all.
After a few minutes of marking Shane’s neck up, all but writing mine on the skin in a sadistic bruised-up iteration of braille, Ilya moves his mouth down to trail past Shane’s collarbone, and down to the pec he’s been relentlessly groping.
As he licks a hard brown nipple into his mouth, Shane instinctively arches his back up further into Ilya’s touch, fingers tightening in his hair and mouth parting in a soft, breathy moan. Shane can feel the way Ilya rolls the bud around in his mouth, his hand still grasping and squeezing at the tender meat of his pec rhythmically.
Nestled between his open legs, Shane can feel Ilya’s own hard cock, still constrained by the fabric of boxers, begin to rock against his own. He lets out a whimper, one hand grasping at Ilya’s waist, a silent direction of, Yes, God, Yes.
Shane is on the precipice of floating up to that headless space he often finds himself occupying during trysts with Ilya, his sense of touch dialled up to eleven, focused solely on the pleasure he gets from surrendering himself to Ilya’s desires.
Then, a moan escapes Ilya’s throat as their hard cocks rub against each other through the fabric. He circles his tongue against Shane’s nipple, sucking it back into his mouth with fervour, and mumbles a drunken, “Mommy,” whinily against Shane’s skin.
Shane freezes.
Ilya doesn’t.
In fact, Ilya only rocks his hips harder against Shane’s, eyes screwed shut and chasing his own pleasure, letting further moans escape from between his lips as he lolls his tongue around Shane’s puffy nipple.
Shane’s fingers are trapped where they’re gripping Ilya’s hair tightly, breath caught tight in his throat. He feels as though if he makes a single move, he will either spook Ilya away like a frightened little fawn or implode on himself entirely.
Maybe he misheard him. Maybe it was no more than a drunken misfiring of a synapse doused in a week’s worth of alcohol from a sweaty club. Or perhaps just an old-fashioned accidental Freudian slip. There are plenty of explanations. Ilya has never called him that name before - why would he? Within their dynamic, there was a distinct lack of women in the bedroom.
Shane lets himself exhale shakily, hand rubbing soothingly at Ilya’s side, aiming to calm his now racing mind.
Ilya continues massaging the strong muscle of Shane’s pec, lifting his mouth to move to his other nipple and dragging his tongue around it. He’s still grinding against Shane’s hips below with soft groans emanating from his throat.
Through a mouthful of flesh, Ilya murmurs into the skin of Shane’s chest, “Fuck, mommy, feels so good,” using his teeth to bite lightly at the swollen bud of Shane’s nipple.
Shane finds his hands tightening once again in Ilya’s curls, though this time the same spark of fear doesn’t ignite itself in his stomach.
This is intentional. This is real. Ilya is humping Shane like a dog in heat, sucking Shane’s nipple into his hot, cavernous mouth and calling him mommy.
A breath is knocked out from deep within Shane’s chest, and before he can think twice about the next course of action, he uses his vice-like grip on Ilya’s hair to pull his husband’s mouth off from where it’s been suckling on him and brings them face to face.
Ilya’s lips are swollen, eyes glassy and flushed deep scarlet as he stares down at Shane. Shane crashes their mouths together in a wholly undignified kiss, all tongues and teeth clacking.
Shane feels as though every nerve end in his body is ablaze, hands almost shaking as he pulls away ever so slightly from the kiss and whispers into Ilya’s mouth, “You want to make mommy feel good, baby?”
Ilya whines into the infinitesimal gap between their lips, hips bucking against Shane’s cock instinctively. He nods dumbly, then swallows and slurs out, “Want you to come, mommy,” tilting his head and sticking his tongue back in Shane’s mouth.
Shane tugs at Ilya’s hair once more, pulling him back from the kiss with a groan, taking to this new dynamic like a duck to water. “You’re going to fuck me, okay?” Shane instructs, and Ilya simply nods, dazed. “You’re going to fuck mommy, and make me come on your cock.”
Ilya drops his head to Shane’s shoulder, biting along his collarbone as he nods frantically.
The whole room feels as though it has been draped in heavy velvet, every sound and touch amplified between the two men. Their movements are sluggish - Ilya’s particularly - as he mouths down Shane’s toned body with open-mouthed kisses and peels Shane’s underwear off, cock springing free, already leaking precum freely.
“So wet for me, mommy,” Ilya breathes, holding Shane’s cock at the base and swallowing him down in one go. Shane bucks his hips up, hands flying to Ilya’s shoulders to steady himself as the tight, hot pleasure surrounds him.
Ilya sucks his cock fervently, obviously undone with the alcohol flowing through his veins and the cloud of mommy swirling relentlessly through his feverish mind. He just wants to make Shane feel good, so good.
Good boy, Shane thinks once more, moaning brokenly into the warmth of the room as Ilya twists his fist at the base as he slides his lips up and over the head, tongue tracing at the prominent vein, before suckling Shane’s length back down again.
After eliciting increasingly frantic, high-pitched moans from deep in Shane’s throat, Ilya pulls his plush lips away from Shane’s hard cock and swiftly brings his hands to the back of Shane’s knees, pushing up and folding him in half.
Shane lets out a surprised huff at the change, but any pushback dies in his throat as Ilya hollows his cheeks, ducks his head, and drops a glob of spit directly on Shane’s hole.
“Fuck,” Shane breathes out instinctively at the sensation, soft whimpers falling from his parted lips, angling his gaze to watch as Ilya drops his face down.
“Want to taste you,” Ilya says, licking a thick stripe across Shane’s hole, tongue flat and slow as it moves along his perineum. Shane’s voice cracks as he moans loudly at the sensation, one arm hooking under his own knee for leverage and the other tangling through Ilya’s hair.
Ilya presses his tongue against the ring of Shane’s tight muscle, licking and sucking at the rim to open him up. The drunkenness may have inhibited his speech, but as he fucks his tongue into Shane’s tight hole, Shane sees stars and thanks any endless combination of the lords above that Ilya’s mouth is as fucking amazing at taking him apart as always.
Using his muscular arms to hold the bottom of Shane’s thighs around his face, Ilya thrusts his tongue in and out of Shane’s hole, fingers scrambling for purchase around Shane’s leaking cock and jerking him off. Shane is whining and whimpering so loudly from the feeling and overwhelming lust permeating the room, he wouldn’t be surprised if people could hear him all the way up on Parliament Hill.
Ilya peels himself back briefly, face flushed and covered in sweat and spit, and stares into Shane’s eyes as he says, “Lube,” before going straight back to eating Shane out.
Shane nods blindly with a whimper, his shaky hands darting to grasp at the bedside table where there is a half-full bottle of lube standing proudly by the lamp. You can’t fault Shane Hollander on much, but you can criticise his feng shui.
He tosses the plastic bottle down to Ilya, who pulls back once more, just enough to pop the cap and drizzle the lube on his hands to warm it up. Shane’s chest heaves as he stares down the bed at a startlingly present Ilya, slowly pressing a finger through the well prepared ring of muscle.
Shane’s head instinctively knocks back heavily to land on the pillow with a deep moan, his hips canting towards Ilya’s strong touch. Every time, without fail, he’s floored by Ilya’s ability to know exactly how to untangle every mess of nerves tensed up within his body.
Ilya knows what Shane needs, even if Shane doesn’t even know it yet.
“Always so fucking wet for me, mommy, fuck, so beautiful,” Ilya moans breathily, gaze transfixed on his finger as it pumps in and out of Shane’s tight hole, looking every bit like a man possessed. Shane grasps at his own cock, thrusting into his tightened fist and shutting his eyes tightly at the euphoria that washes over him.
As Ilya adds a second, then third finger, obscene sounds reverberate throughout their bedroom and Shane arcs his back up and lets Ilya open him wider and wider. Shane’s moans are desperate by this point, the feeling of Ilya twisting his long fingers inside him, eager digits bumping against his prostate and drawing out high-pitched whines and spurts of pre-come to drool across his stomach.
Ilya’s entire chest is flushed, breaths heaving as he eventually withdraws his fingers. Shane whimpers at the loss, throwing an arm over his eyes to hide his vulnerability. He feels, then, rather than sees the bed dip as Ilya rids himself of his own underwear.
As Shane looks down from behind the arm slung across his face, he’s met with the golden sight of Ilya between his thighs, one hand getting ready to push one of Shane’s knees back to his chest, the other pumping his thick, red cock with lube.
A long, low whine escapes from Shane’s lips at this immaculate vision, eyes fixed so religiously on Ilya who folds him in half again, one hand coming to press down on the mattress next to Shane’s splayed out hair, the other directing his hard cock to Shane’s waiting hole.
Shane’s body jolts as he feels the fat head of Ilya’s cock press against his hole. It’s a wondrous sensation. Ilya taps it a few times for good measure, lightning zapping through Shane’s nervous system as he clings to Ilya’s biceps.
Ilya’s warm breath fans out across Shane’s face as he begins to push in, gaze moving up to meet Shane’s once the head pops past the rim.
Ilya lets out a frankly pornographic moan, and Shane copies him, throwing his head back as he finally, finally, begins to feel full.
“Going to fuck you so hard, mommy,” Ilya promises, voice shaking from holding himself above Shane in a half-plank and trying with every might not to begin jackhammering into Shane’s tight hole with reckless abandon from the get-go. “Fuck, so tight for me, mommy, so fucking tight…”
With another moan, Ilya drops his head against Shane’s sweaty shoulder as he slowly inches his hips forward, rocking in and out slowly, until he’s bottomed out entirely against the man beneath him.
Shane tries desperately to level his breathing, his body screaming from being stretched and filled so deep, even after all this time. He’s dancing on that thin line between pain and pleasure that seems to become blurred beyond recognition on nights like these, when he and Ilya both test each other’s limits.
Shane strokes his fingers up and down the vast expanse of Ilya’s back as he lays on top of him, pressing in hard enough to draw out deep groans from Ilya’s throat, but not enough to leave scratches. Not yet, at least.
“Such a good boy,” Shane whispers into Ilya’s ear, receiving a whimpered mewl in return. “You’re being such a good boy for mommy. So good at giving me what I need.”
Ilya bites at Shane’s shoulder then, rolling his hips once to punch out an exhale from Shane.
“You going to fuck me, baby? Fuck mommy like a good boy?” Shane continues breathily, emboldened by the clear physical effect that this is having on his sweet husband.
“Fuck,” Ilya nearly cries at the praise, nodding dumbly into Shane’s sweat-soaked skin. “Want to be a good boy for you, mommy,” and he begins to thrust, weakly at first, just rolling his hips in circles between Shane’s tight, wet heat.
“Do it, baby,” Shane whispers and Ilya keens, thrusting hard into Shane, setting a fast pace.
The moans are punched out from deep within Shane as he holds tightly on to Ilya’s back, clawing at his toned shoulder blades. He feels Ilya’s cock retreat before slamming back into the hilt once more, all sweat and lube between them making the pair slide together seamlessly.
It’s Shane’s favourite place in the world.
He locks his ankles behind Ilya’s hips, forcing the angle deeper, and Ilya grunts as he brings one hand up to steady himself against the mattress, the other curling around Shane’s throat.
Shane gasps at the sudden pressure around his windpipe, shutting his eyes so hard he sees stars with each thrust of Ilya’s relentless pounding into him.
“Ah,” Shane whimpers out, his voice tight and constricted from Ilya’s grasp. “So- so fucking good, such a good boy, fuck.” The blood is violently thrumming through his ears, every inch of his body on fire as Ilya fucks him deeper into the sheets, taking what he wants.
“Fuck, mommy,” Ilya gasps and lowers his mouth to Shane’s. The pair kiss messily, no more than desperate tongues exchanging saliva and broken moans into one another. Shane isn’t sure he’s ever felt this close to Ilya in his life; there’s not an inch of them that isn’t wrapped up in the other.
The rhythm Ilya has set is harsh and unforgiving and, under other circumstances, Shane might have pleaded for something slower, softer, more sustainable. But in the deep throes of this electric pleasure, Shane’s brow is furrowed tight as he takes Ilya’s thick cock thrusting wildly into him with nothing but desire.
“I want to come inside you, mommy,” Ilya moans as he removes his hand from around Shane’s throat and instead brings his fingers up to caress Shane’s sharp cheekbones, holding his face delicately in his hand. It’s such a tonal change from the animalistic way they’re fucking each other that Shane pries his eyes open to stare at his husband.
Ilya looks totally fucking gone. He gets into sex every time, of course, giving it his all, but this… This look that he’s giving Shane, like he’ll fucking die if he doesn’t get to come inside, like it’s all he needs, all he’s ever needed, nearly sends Shane over the edge.
Shane moans, eyes transfixed on Ilya’s glassy gaze and the curls that are now sticking to his forehead with sweat. He lifts one of his own hands to hold tightly on to Ilya’s face, fingers squishing his cheeks so he looks like a little flustered cherub.
“You gonna come in me, yeah?” is all that Shane can breathe out, utterly mesmerised by the man fucking so hard into him. “Gonna be a good boy and fill me up?”
Ilya groans now, dropping his head for a brief second and scrunching his eyes closed, before looking back up again and nodding. Shane feeds him his thumb and Ilya takes it in his mouth enthusiastically, hollowing his cheeks and sucking around the digit.
“Want to fuck a baby into you, mommy,” Ilya slurs around Shane’s thumb, some of the syllables lost but the meaning still entirely there, hips beginning to take on more of a staggered rhythm as Ilya hurtles them both closer to the edge. “Fuck, I need to, mommy.”
“You’re such a good boy,” Shane breathes seriously. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so in love. Here, in this bed, limbs tangled as he and Ilya give each other exactly what they need. “Such a good boy for me, you can come in me. Come in me, baby.”
Ilya whines and bites, hard, around Shane’s thumb, but the pain is secondary to the sheer pleasure as Ilya grabs at Shane’s hips and fucks as hard as he can into the heaven of Shane’s tight, wet heat.
The pair are reduced to nothing more than skin, bones, and pure ecstasy as Ilya thrusts deep and hard into Shane’s prostate. It doesn’t take more than a few more uncoordinated rocks of his hips against Shane’s for Ilya to be shaking and moaning, brows drawn together as he focuses on making good on his promise of coming inside his mommy.
Shane feels Ilya’s cock pulse inside of him where it’s buried to the hilt, a wet heat filling his insides up. That sensation is all that he needs to join Ilya in coming, hands free, his thick cock spurting ropes of come up onto his stomach and chest. It’s one of the most intense orgasms Shane can remember ever having, his tight hole clenching around Ilya’s still hard cock as he climaxes, drawing guttural moans out from the two of them and milking Ilya dry.
Almost instantly, Ilya all but collapses on top of Shane, a two-hundred pound, one-of-a-kind Russian weighted blanket. Shane huffs out a breath, feeling his heart rate begin to slow to something of an acceptable rate. He lays with his eyes closed, head leant back against the pillow, drawing absent lines along Ilya’s strong back.
It’s only when he hears a sniffle that he flutters his eyelashes open.
Shane looks down to see Ilya’s head buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder, softly rubbing his face against the shiny skin. He can’t see Ilya’s face, but the skin feels damp there all of a sudden.
“Hey,” Shane whispers, voice hoarse from all of the whining and moaning Ilya had reduced him to. Ilya doesn’t stir. Shane reaches his hand up to tap on the side of Ilya’s face furthest from him. “Hey, Ilya?”
Another sniffle. “‘M fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Ilya looks up at him then, eyes glassy. But there’s a soft smile playing on his lips, one reserved for Shane and Shane alone. “Da.”
“Okay,” Shane whispers, tracing his fingers through Ilya’s wet curls and pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “As long as you mean it.”
“Da, pravda,” Ilya promises. “Was just… A lot.”
“Yeah,” Shane agrees, then briefly wonders if they went too far. Should they really have been experimenting with new avenues while Ilya was in such a hazy inebriated state? Did Shane take advantage of Ilya’s lowered inhibitions? Was he a freak in the sheets for this?
As if he can read minds, Ilya interjects before Shane can spiral into any further form of catastrophisation. “Was very good, Shane. Was perfect. You are perfect.” He leans over and softly slots his lips against Shane’s; it’s so tender and loving, Shane can hardly breathe with it all.
“Okay,” Shane repeats once Ilya pulls back slightly. “Do you… Want to talk about it?”
With a hum, Ilya shakes his head. His eyes seem unfocused and drowsy. Well, Shane’s not surprised. “We can talk tomorrow, if you like. I am… Fucked out.”
Shane huffs out a laugh from his nose. “Yeah, me too. We have to shower, though.”
Ilya hides his face again and groans petulantly into Shane’s skin. “No.”
“Yes,” Shane admonishes, and Ilya knows he’s not going to win in this argument. “I’m covered in lube and come, and your dick is still inside of me, so-”
Lifting his head, Ilya groans again as though life has just dealt him the most unfair hand, as though he isn’t the primary architect of the tangled mess of sheets and sticky substances the pair now find themselves strewn across.
“Fine,” Ilya deadpans. He looks up at Shane, smiles, and then ducks his head to Shane’s chest to press a flat tongue and lap up the puddles of cum settling there.
Shane crinkles his nose at the sight. “You’re gross.”
Ilya makes a noise of affirmation around a swallow and a grin.
“I love you,” Ilya says with an air of true clarity, his eyes shining into Shane’s.
Shane rolls his eyes, but a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, whatever.”
It’s implied.