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Shane had never liked change.
Ever since he was little, barely old enough to accurately read the word ‘change’ typed out on paper, he’d hated it. Felt sick and off-kilter at even the slightest instance of unpredictability.
Change was, quite simply, a glaring reminder of his lack of control. The world pointing a spotlight at his inability to perfectly plan and prepare; a nudge from some cruel higher power that showed him that he was, indeed, unable to train himself for every possibility. It was terrifying and embarrassing and left Shane breathless, so he did everything to avoid it.
He planned, he ruminated, he made powerpoints and spreadsheets and stocked up on back-ups of back-ups of all of his favorite things.
But still. There had been many times in his life that a sudden, unplanned-for change had caught him off-guard and left him winded and sprawled out on the ice, completely vulnerable. Those were the scariest times.
Like when he’d been seven, and his favorite cereal had adopted a new look for the box, and he’d refused to eat it ever again, too put off by the new wrapping. When he’d been nine and his preferred skate brand had gone unexpectedly out of business, resulting in a depression that’d lasted months. When he’d been thirteen, and his coach had retired mid-season, ruining his skating for weeks.
Or when he’d been twenty-five and his casual, rival-with-benefits had made him a tuna melt and used his first name, and he’d bolted clear out of the city before he’d been able to think.
Because Ilya Rozanov was the most unpredictable asshole he’d ever had the massively uncomfortable pleasure of falling for.
Rozanov seemed to thrive in chaos, become his strongest self when surrounded by uncertainty and change. No plan? No problem. Rozanov could roll with the punches in life just as well as he could throw them on the ice.
He was everything Shane avoided. Everything he was supposed to hate.
Since he’d been a teenager and had decided (based on his mother’s recommendations) that it was high time he joined the dating world, he’d avoided people like him. People that everyone stared after longingly, people who drew too much attention, people who made Shane feel like he was out of control.
No.
When he’d had to date, he’d made sensible choices. People he could keep his head (and dick) in control around.
His high school girlfriend, Jessica. Rose Landry. People who made him happy and who made him feel comfortable and who were predictable and likable enough, as well as palatable enough for the masses. People who he got along with and enjoyed spending time with and who shared his interests and morals and goals.
People who didn’t make his heart race faster than he’d skated that one time at All-Stars while he clenched his fists together and tried not to scream in fury because they wouldn’t shut the fuck up after kicking his ass at hockey. People who didn’t make him want to slam them into the nearest wall and crash their lips together, public setting be damned.
People who didn’t make him want to fall to his knees and beg, cock shoved down his throat.
Shane was supposed to hate Ilya Rozanov. For all of the attention he received, for all of his unpredictability and assholery, for the way he kept him up at night, obsessing over every touch and feeling like he would die if he didn’t kiss him again soon.
It was, he supposed, why he loved him so damn much. Because Ilya had infiltrated his mind and changed him, in a way nobody else ever could. In a way he’d never wanted from anyone else.
It was why, now, he decided to do something completely out-of-character and suggest a change. Following Ilya back into the cottage after returning from his parents’ home and watching as his boyfriend (boyfriend! Fuck, that was a word he’d never thought would make his dick twitch so much) dragged him into the bedroom, kissed him filthily, and scrambled from a condom, Shane proposed the first spontaneous decision he’d probably made in his entire life.
Well, since he’d been nineteen, anyway.
“No,” he said huskily as he laid on their bed, body still a bit shaky from lust and also the mini panic attack he’d had earlier over his plate of pasta, reaching for Ilya and wanting more than anything to feel their chests pressed together again.
Ilya, hand still in the drawer of the bedside table, shirt already off, dick tenting in his shorts, did a double-take, lips twitching into a frown as his eyebrows furrowed adorably. “No? You do not want me to f–”
And oh, Shane loved him. Because Ilya’s body language had immediately changed. Even under the obvious disappointment he was showing at the possibility of not fucking Shane into the mattress, Ilya looked concerned. Eager haste twisted up with fiery desire suddenly shifting to confusion and nervousness. Even as he stood, hunched over the drawer and hard as a rock, it was clear that his first priority was figuring out where Shane’s head was at.
God, how far they’d come.
The thought made Shane even more sure.
“No,” he said, grinning a little despite himself, feeling the fond smile that he’d fought to keep at bay for so long pushing its way onto his face. “I want you to. God, fuck, I want you to. So much,” Shane clarified, reaching again for him and smiling a little more when Ilya’s body moved to face him, away from the offending drawer. “Just…without that.”
His voice shook, which was annoying because he was quite sure about his decision, even without a single pro-con sheet or spreadsheet to map out the possible consequences of his choices. He was confident.
That is, until Ilya gave him a rather shocked look, uncertainty flitting over his light eyes. It made Shane’s stomach drop, and he almost took the statement back, before--
“Shane, I am not fucking you without lube. My dick, it is huge, I will kill your asshole,” Ilya frowned, grabbing a bottle of lube and tossing it on the bed.
Shane let out a small shout of laughter, caught off-guard by both the miscommunication and Ilya’s boastful concern. “I’m not talking about that, Rozanov,” he said fondly, leaning forward to grab Ilya’s hand and pull him onto the mattress before he could fish out a condom as well. “I mean…y’know…a condom.”
And now, Ilya was utterly still, looking at him with an expression like perhaps he’d misunderstood the translation of a particularly difficult English word. “No…?” he asked, head tilting in a way that gave Shane an embarrassing amount of cuteness aggression. “Shane, you are not saying…?”
But then a thought occurred to Shane and creeping, sickly self-doubt ate at his lungs. Maybe he’d misunderstood Ilya’s intentions? Maybe he’d jumped too far ahead, made an ass out of himself? Swallowing thickly and avoiding eye contact even as Ilya hovered above him, half on his lap, Shane tried to stay calm. “Um, I mean, you said boyfriends, right? Back at my parents’? That…um…I mean, to me, that means that only us–” He risked a glance upward, only to see his boyfriend beaming.
“Yes,” Ilya interrupted, his smile wide and wondrous, eyes sparkling. “Yes, I mean only us, Hollander. I want only you.”
I want only you.
Shane resisted the urge to do something stupid like sing. Instead he swallowed, stifling a stupidly-large grin, and nodded, meeting Ilya’s eyes again. “Um, well, yeah. You said it’d been a while, right? Me, ah…me, too.” As if he’d ever made it a habit of hooking up with strangers. Or anyone at all. But whatever. “And the league does regular testing, right? So I’m guessing we’re both….unless you’re not…” God, he hoped Ilya understood even half of what he was saying because to him, it sounded like a whole lot of rambling and idiocy to Shane.
But somehow, Ilya understood. “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head vehemently, expression quickly turning sober. “I am clean. I test often. To be safe.”
A small amount of relief flooded through Shane at that. He’d always had a fair amount of trust in Ilya–he’d been fucking him for years, trusting him with his biggest secret in the world for fuck’s sake–but it was still nice to know that he was intentional about keeping all of his partners safe. “So,” Shane said simply, shrugging and blinking up at Ilya nonchalantly as if his whole body wasn’t crawling with want. “No condom.”
But even as Shane had managed to fake being casual, Ilya did not. The sound he let out was like a small whine, his expression staying unreadable but his face flushing scarlet. Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut and he let out a long breath.
Shane couldn’t help but grin, realizing, his own body reacting quickly to the sound. “You…you really want this, don’t you?” he asked, bucking his hips a little and hissing as their cocks brushed, even through layers of clothing.
Ilya chuckled darkly, desire making his eyes flash as he gripped Shane’s hips possessively. “Hollander, you have no idea how many times I have jerked off to the idea of coming in your asshole,” he muttered, already looking wrecked.
And now it was Shane’s turn to groan a little, his face flushing. “You should do that now. Please,” he breathed out before he could stop himself.
The way they moved together from there was positively, mind-blowingly overwhelming.
When they’d been younger–full of emotions they’d been unable to describe and terrified to disclose–a more-eloquent, more-emotionally-mature Shane might have described the way he and Ilya touched as incendiary: full of lust and passion and anger at what couldn’t be, combined with yearning for what they wanted so badly but thought they’d never have. Emotions slamming together and exploding into clashing teeth and marked skin and words left unsaid for fear of abandonment or reciprocation. Fire.
But now they moved like the waves.
Crashing into each other with familiarity, a comfort and confidence that caused the filthy, deep grinding roll of hips and the low, moaning whines of two people who needed each other more than anything else and finally knew that the other felt the same. Rocking in patterns that were familiar but never, ever boring, they were finally able to relax into the ease of knowing that they could have this. The comforting predictability of the tides. The intimacy of knowing that when they awoke in a few minutes, a few hours, a few days…it wouldn’t be to destruction. It would be to the same view of the shores.
So Shane, back arching, eyes screwed up in pleasure and legs spread obscenely wide, begged quietly for more as Ilya opened him up. The old intrusive thoughts that used to pop into his brain even mid-fuck, the worries about when Ilya might leave, what they were, what this meant–they were long gone. He could just focus on the way Ilya’s thick fingers thrust into him and pressed into his prostate, his whole body lighting up, flexing, melting, his heel moving to press into Ilya’s upper back as the other man moved to suck marks into Shane’s thigh.
“Ilya–” he gasped, feeling his cock drip and his fingers grasp at his fancy bamboo sheets as he lifted his head slightly to give the other man a look. “Fuck, I need–”
But Ilya’s answering grin was infuriating in the way that the other man clearly knew. He knew what he was doing. He knew what he was doing to Shane. “I know, malysh,” he crooned, smirking. “You want me so bad.”
Before Shane could think about doing something embarrassing like shoving his foot into his boyfriend’s shoulder or demanding Ilya go faster, damn it, or even agreeing with Ilya’s extremely true statement, the other man moved up, his now-naked body quivering a little as he reached for the nearby bottle of lube and slicked himself up.
It was when Ilya paused, the head of his completely bare cock pressing into Shane’s hole, that both men looked at each other with bated breath, eyes locked. And the whole world froze for a half a beat.
Then Ilya leaned forward, linking their hands together and pressing them into the mattress by Shane’s head before rocking his hips and filling Shane with one sure thrust.
And fuck. It felt like he was hit in the throat. Eyes rolling back, hips lifting a little, Shane groaned, gripping Ilya’s hand as he adjusted to his boyfriend’s considerable size. Unable to keep completely still, he moved his lower body, which was now pulsing with heat, in small circles, panting a little as he tried to give himself the time he knew he needed.
But as he adjusted, he felt. The smooth glide of Ilya’s cock inside him, the way Ilya squeezed his hip and hand so tightly he might’ve been holding on for dear life.
Yeah. It felt different. Even as neither of them moved a lot, as Shane kept his eyes closed and his body eased into the sensations he loved more than anything, he could tell it felt different. Closer. A small smile flitted its way onto his face. It was…nice.
But honestly, sex with Ilya was already so fucking amazing that it was like going from a perfect ten to an even-better eleven.
So, Shane opened his eyes, ready to meet Ilya’s heady gaze, ready to perhaps see Ilya admit the same thing–that having sex with no condom was fantastic, but sex was always great so it really didn’t make that big of a difference–only to see a look on Ilya’s face that he’d never seen before.
Ilya Rozanov looked destroyed.
Face red, eyes wide, pupils blown, muscles twitching, expression hazy and lost, he looked absolutely sex-drunk.
And now Shane felt a swoop of unadulterated lust, his body lurching and his balls pulling tight. “Ilya?” he whispered, shifting to get a better glance only to hear Ilya whine again.
“Shane,” Ilya groaned, his tone almost pathetic as he squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, body tense like he was waiting for a puck to drop.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
Shane fought the heady rush of emotions that overtook him–amazement, shock, awe, smugness, and so, so much lust. “You–it’s good?” he asked stupidly, licking over his dry lips and staring up at the shivering man inside him.
“Blyat,” Ilya hissed, sweat dripping down his temple as he began to rock his hips a little, eyes locking into Shane’s. “It’s–fuck–”
And this. This was a change that Shane could deeply appreciate. The obvious way Ilya was grasping at the fraying edges of his control, the way he seemed seconds away from bursting inside Shane. Ilya, who normally was able to pull Shane apart piece-by-piece, was clearly unravelling.
It was such a shift. Shane was normally the one working so hard to keep control of himself. To make this last longer. To stop himself from falling over the edge as Ilya expertly, confidently, ruthlessly guided him there.
But now Ilya trembled again as Shane experimentally rolled his body, cursing under his breath, biting on his plush lip as a vein made itself known on his forehead. “Hollander,” he whined almost admonishingly, head jerking away for a moment like he was afraid to look down at where they were joined. “You feel–Боже, ты ощущаешься просто охренительно идеально.”
Shane groaned, transfixed by the way Ilya seemed to be swept away, his whole body on fire. “Fuck me,” he demanded breathlessly, rocking his hips again. “Ilya. Baby, I–”
The broken whine that escaped Ilya’s throat would have been terrifying in any other context. Would have made Shane’s body freeze and go cold. But now, as Ilya curled over a little, one hand still pressing Shane’s palm into the mattress while the other gripped his hip, the noise just sent another hazy wave of desire over Shane, swooping down his spine and making his cock drip.
And then Ilya began to move, driving into him, his hips slapping into Shane’s ass as he continued to let out lewd groans and grunts, his movements erratic, off-beat, and full of fire. “Hollander–Shane,” Ilya mumbled, his expression almost scared as he glanced down at Shane, tone full of something akin to reverence. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good–I’m going to–”
It might have been embarrassing. Embarrassing for Ilya, that he was already so close, only minutes after entering Shane. I could have been fodder for Shane; material for so many chirps and jokes and teasing remarks later on. God knew that Ilya had teased him for being a quickshot in the past, for coming untouched and for being overly sensitive and needy.
But Shane was too far gone. Too hypnotized by the way Ilya was clearly dumbstruck by him. Too desperate for more to care about the stupid games they usually played to hide the fact that they adored each other.
So, he gasped brokenly, “Inside me. Come inside me. Now.”
Immediately, Ilya keened in response, hips jerking, losing his mind completely.
And up until this point, from an objective perspective, this probably hadn’t been Ilya’s best performance in bed. He’d certainly not been completely focused on Shane’s pleasure (though Shane didn’t mind) and Shane hadn’t been close to his release.
Until the warmth began to spread.
Until Shane realized, hips jolting in surprise, that that blooming heat was Ilya, deep inside him.
And he unceremoniously toppled over the edge.
Body tensing, balls drawing tight, cock spurting untouched, Shane shivered and groaned, choking out Ilya’s name as he came, his vision flashing white and his toes curling in the sheets. Fuck, Ilya hadn’t pulled out any of his normal tricks, but this, the feeling of his boyfriend marking him from the inside? He felt delirious with pleasure.
For a moment, he just rode the high, only able to focus on the intense bliss pulsing throughout his body, the way he and Ilya were so close, their sweaty skin pressing together, and the sounds of both of their labored breathing as they rocked into each other, riding out the perfect, dizzying waves.
And as the feeling slowed and Ilya pulled out gently, flopping half-on-top, half-next to Shane, he couldn’t even be bothered to be upset about the feeling of something sticky slowly trickling out of his hole. Not yet, anyway. For a few minutes, he just allowed himself to bask in the afterglow.
Ilya spoke first. “That was…ah…I am sorry,” he muttered, his face flushed pinker than it usually got after sex, his eyes flitting around the room. “Sorry I came quickly. Was new. For me.”
Shane tried very hard to stifle his reaction to that, even as he nearly floated away with happiness. Ilya had never come inside someone before? Finally Shane got to be his first at something. A growling, feral, possessive part of him purred happily in his chest. “I liked it,” he said simply, trying to go for nonchalant truth. “We could…uh…do it again.”
The other man brightened, grazing a hand over Shane’s thigh before touching it over his dripping hole. “Even with the mess?” he asked casually, tracing his puffy rim and smirking when Shane hissed a little.
“Fuck. Yeah. It was, uh. A good change, I think,” Shane nodded, squirming, half wanting Ilya to pull away and half wanting him to stuff the come dripping down his leg back into his ass where his hindbrain was screaming at him that it belonged. He settled for staying quiet.
Ilya looked at him hesitantly. “‘Boyfriend’ is change, too,” he pointed out, like he hadn’t been the one to say it for the first time only hours ago, in front of Shane’s parents, no less.
But Shane was even more certain about his answer to this. “Yeah,” he said, grinning. “Another good change.”
It seemed, sometimes, he did like change. Especially when it involved Ilya Rozanov.