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There were very few things better than being under Ilya Rozanov.
Winning a game with him, that’s one. The high of being the greatest and proving it time and time again to entire arenas, the years of fueling the machine of his body for the craft and performing well because of it, all beside the love of his life was certainly one. The fact that it was with Ilya saved even the most brutal of games, the games where they fought tooth and nail against the dirtiest of players, the close calls for a loss. It truly was worth it with him. Felt good.
Ilya’s true, genuine laugh was one, too. It took over his whole, usually stoic-leaning face, and Shane couldn’t help but smile too when it happened. Sometimes, he would just sputter and grip Shane’s shoulder hard, or bury his face there, soundless giggles wracking him. Other times, it was what could only be described as a dad laugh if Anya tackled him in their backyard or one of the perfect Pike children shoved fake lipstick in his mouth as he talked. Once, while at Bood’s with the team, they offered to be “good guncles” and get baby Mack’s snack to bring outside. In the kitchen, Shane offered her a piece of banana while Ilya hunted for those little fruit bars she liked. Mack unexpectedly smushed banana all over Shane’s mouth, though, with both chunky little hands and to this day, the laugh that came out of Ilya in response is one of his favorites in all their years of being together.
The first bite of the indulgent cookie he allowed for Christmas was another, and typically soft baked snickerdoodle. Perhaps it wasn’t better, but it was most definitely a notable contender. Butter and cinnamon would melt on his tongue, empty calories be damned for ten perfect seconds, as he chewed and swallowed.
Being on top of Ilya Rozanov was, unironically, maybe top of the list actually. Hands pressed to his chest or clinging hard to his shoulders or fuck, maybe buried in his hair if the position allowed. Ilya pressed deep and deeper still, Shane’s thighs shaking with the effort of not coming in two minutes flat with his chest heaving. Watching Ilya’s face contort and mouth slacken from the same, gripping him hard enough to bruise, abs flexing as his hips rise to meet Shane’s and moans rumbling from the back of his throat between rough breaths.
No maybes, he decided. That was definitely number one. But where Shane found himself now — caged in and pinned under the weight of Ilya, legs tangled and tongues too — was pretty damn good too.
Shane loves kissing Ilya. It’s a simple thing, but true all the same. Ilya kisses him like he has infinite time, like they could do it forever, careers and responsibilities unimportant in every capacity. A slow drag of his lips over Shane’s, sometimes hungrier, but always as if saying I love you, and you’re mine with every one. A sharp bite to the plush of his bottom lip, a confident tongue sweeping the ridges of his mouth, soft hums and exhales in between each kiss. It was dizzying, really, and made his head swim a little.
Shane’s hands were on him, one at the side of Ilya’s neck, thumbing the hinge of his jaw and feeling it work, and one buried in the lengthier curls at the back of his head. Shane found he liked it a little longer, and figured Ilya did too; he’d shut his eyes with this soft, contented smile when Shane shampooed his scalp, scratching gently with blunt fingernails, and his eyes fluttered shut with every sharp tug in bed. Even now, when Shane pulls it a bit in the grip of his fist, Ilya moans into his mouth, the deep rumble of it going straight to Shane’s dick.
Ilya breaks the kiss, humming as he glances down, watching himself clumsily ruck up Shane’s shirt. His eyes track the movement as he smooths his big, calloused hand over the ridged expanse of his abs and chest, and Shane flinches when his fingertips graze over his nipples. Ilya lifts his head and his lips meet Shane’s again, brushing over the now hardened nubs on purpose this time. Shane feels himself buck up into Ilya before he can think not to, and Ilya’s hand falls away to grip his thigh, squeezing and sliding up under his shorts, dangerously close to where he’s already mostly hard.
“Feel good?” Ilya asks against his mouth. He kisses the corner, just to the right, and then his chin, and Shane forgets the question.
“What?”
Ilya huffs a laugh through his nose, mumbling something in Russian before kissing him just once more. “I like it when you’re a bit needy,” he says, and Shane makes a soft dissenting sound.
“Not needy,” Shane breathes, “I just—“
His breath catches when Ilya shifts against him, making his own hardness known against Shane’s hip, and Shane grinds up into him again.
“Want,” he finishes, unhelpful and admittedly a bit needy. Ilya slides his hand to the underside of his thigh and grazes his fingernails.
"Want what, moy pupsik?"my baby?"
“Too much. Just kiss me.” Ilya’s eyebrows quirk, subtle and quick to an untrained eye, and Shane swallows hard, adding on, “please.”
Ilya does, humming in approval at Shane’s good boy manners as their lips meet. They didn’t always explicitly play this way — Ilya rewarding clear, nicely made requests — but Shane knew Ilya liked it regardless and always. Liked it so much, in fact, Shane could feel Ilya seeking friction against him as they kissed, evidently wound right up just like him. Shane would find being like this more embarrassing if it wasn’t blatantly mutual.
“Fuck, I just—“
In a swift, albeit slightly clumsy, motion, Shane flips them. It’s unexpected, and Ilya doesn’t even have a chance to respond in any way, can’t with the way his brain tries to simply commit this feeling to memory and blocks everything else. Shane grips his wrists, pinning them beside his head at first, and moves around to settle himself between Ilya’s thighs. Impulse takes over as he roughly ruts against him, drawing a surprised "oh fuck" from Ilya, his eyes never leaving Shane’s face even as Shane moves his hands a fraction higher.
Ilya knows what it means for Shane to relinquish control to him routinely, what a gift it is to allow Ilya to use him as he wishes. He’s also well aware Shane could probably send him through a layer of the Earth with his full, unchecked force, the fact of which burned Ilya up in theory alone. For just a fraction of that strength to be turned onto him in actuality, though, Shane easily taking a bit of control back selfishly for this, makes his cock throb incredibly in a way that’s got him a bit lightheaded, genuinely.
“Shane—“
“You like this? Me trapping you like this?”
Yes, Ilya wants to tell him, I do, actually. You could even put me in a little cage, like a puppy. Make it literal. I want it with you if you want it, too. The image of a collar on his neck flashes in his brain, the tag reading he belongs to Shane and nothing more, not even his own name. A short chainlink leash locking him here. Fuck. The Shane in his brain is making him crazy, clearly.
Shane in real life fucks against him again, and Ilya makes a noise that’s only mildly embarrassing, not that he cares. Shane buries his face in Ilya’s neck, his breaths warm and ragged and shaking, and Ilya closes his eyes, reveling in it all. He feels Shane press kisses to his jaw, grazing teeth, and lick up his throat, lighting him up. Ilya wants to touch him, sink a hand in his hair or pull his face up to suck on his tongue, but he wants Shane to have this more. For Shane to feel good.
“Your heart’s beating so hard,” Shane comments, dragging his lips over his carotid and letting up on his movements. He presses a kiss there, and when Ilya turns his head to look at him, his eyes are earnest.
“That’s because,“ Ilya starts, pausing to swallow, “ty moye spaseniye.“you are my salvation. You make me more alive."
“Mmh. When’d you get so poetic?”
“Not poetic. Is just the truth.” Ilya leans up, placing a ghost of a kiss to his cheek before testing Shane’s grip again. He doesn’t let up. “Want to touch you.”
Shane shakes his head and shuts his eyes, humming a soft no.
“Could have it all. My mouth, my hands, my fingers. Whatever you want.”
“God. Please stop talking,” Shane says on an exhale, and hides his face against Ilya’s shoulder once more.
He unfortunately finds himself considering those options as he continues grinding their clothed cocks together, and each thought drives him more insane. Ilya’s mouth on him, sucking him whole and swallowing around him before pulling off slow, hollowing his cheeks in the most perfect suction to make Shane lose it. Ilya biting and sucking bruises into his inner thighs. Maybe putting his mouth even lower than that, sloppily sucking Shane’s balls into his mouth as he jacks him with a lubed palm and firm grip, and using the pad of his finger to roughly tease his taint. He thinks of Ilya flipping him to his stomach, yanking his hips up and spreading him, his tongue working over and prodding into his hole. The spit-slick, obscene sounds of it all, coupled with Ilya’s moans, as if Shane is the most decadent thing he’s had in his life. Perhaps he’d even slap his ass as he did it, hard enough to leave a handprint. Handprints.
“Je-sus,” he croaks, his hips stuttering. “Ilya.”
“I love when you do this,” Ilya mumbles, “take what you need from me.”
Shane can’t even begin to formulate an answer to that. Too many images floating around in his brain and the star of every single one is directly under him, in his grip, breathing his air. Shane feels like he’s burning from the inside out, impossibly craving more of him still.
“You can have everything,” Ilya continues, swallowing hard. “Everything you want.”
“You—fuck—you are everything I want,” Shane tells him, voice slightly shaking. He picks his head up just enough that their noses are touching, and looks into Ilya’s eyes to repeat, “you’re everything.”
Ilya makes a sound, low from the back of his throat. Shane’s heartbeat thump, thump, thumps in his ears and Ilya’s eyebrows furrow, his lips parted slightly as he breathes audibly, eyes flitting around Shane’s face, taking everything in. He swallows hard, and his hands clench to fists, the tendons of his wrists contracting under Shane’s palms.
“Tell me I can touch you.” Ilya’s voice teeters on pleading, and Shane doesn’t even deny him anymore. He releases his wrists, and Ilya wastes no time running his hands down Shane’s chest and over his sides before settling on his ass, squeezing and grinding up more intentionally. It’s rougher and more precise and just more in the best way, making them both groan. Ilya’s eyelashes flutter a bit, and he whispers a reverent fuck that makes Shane shiver with a full body chill. “You can come like this?”
“Mhm,” Shane whimpers before letting out a breathy, half moan of a sound, “I think yes, even—even if all you did was look at me. And told me to.”
And Ilya is a simple man. Unfortunately, so simple that the admission overloads his brain, throttling him a breath away from orgasm. Ilya shuts his eyes, gripping Shane’s ass hard enough to probably bruise as he groans.
“Ilya, I—“
“Oh fuck,” Ilya rasps suddenly, “mmh, fuck.”
Ilya comes; Shane feels it. He watches as Ilya’s head tips back, exposing the smooth, biteable column of his throat as his eyes fall shut. Shane can’t help but press a kiss there, two actually, the skin slightly sticky with sweat and very warm against his lips. Low, droning moans come from the depths of Ilya’s chest on each deep exhale, and Shane watches him in equal parts lust and awe as he comes apart beneath him.
He already was close, but with the sounds coming from Ilya coupled with the feel of his solid body tensing as his release wracks his body, it only takes two more deep grinds of his hips to send Shane over the edge too. His brain goes blank, and he isn’t even sure if he makes any sound or not. He is only sure of Ilya’s hands on him, keeping him tethered to this bed and not ascending into the stars. His own hands gripping the sheets, pulling them up a bit by Ilya’s ears. Vaguely aware of the way his body jerks against Ilya, and the way he feels like he’s vibrating.
Time passes, neither of them sure exactly how long. Shane relaxes his hands and opens his eyes (although unsure at what point he closed them) to meet Ilya’s, sated with his pupils still slightly blown. His breaths are coming slow and shaky from his mouth, and his eyes drift to Shane’s slightly parted lips before licking over his own.
“Kiss me, Hollander,” Ilya says, voice low with an edge of demand. As if Shane would say no right now, anyway.
Shane places his hands onto Ilya’s chest, leaning down and giving him a quick kiss. Ilya makes a soft sound of disapproval as he moves away, and Shane breathes out a soft laugh through his nose, kissing him once again, and Ilya’s hands squeeze his sides a bit.
“Can’t,” Ilya starts between kisses, “can’t get enough of you.”
Shane feels warm all over again from it and can’t help the smile that starts taking over his face. He breaks the kiss, moving to sit back on his heels. Ilya’s eyes track the movement as he does, and he starts to prop himself up onto his elbows. It's Shane’s turn to get a good eyeful once he settles. His hair is mussed, his lips are kiss swollen and red, the hem of his shirt is folded up on his left bicep and his stomach, and he’s…seemingly amused by it. Of course he is.
He and the man he loves so dearly just rubbed off on each other like two horndog teens and Ilya is amused of all things. There’s a small, stupid grin forming on his beautiful, perfect face that’s a little sweaty and pink on both cheeks. He’s not even bothered by the fact that their pants are so gross right now and they need to now get up for laundry and a shower all because they couldn’t control it.
Shane makes a small, tortured sound and drops his face into his hands as it hits him in real time how ridiculous this is.
“This is so stupid,” he says, starting to laugh. “Why do you do this to me?”
“What,” Ilya asks, “make you horny like teenager? Is same for me. We’re in love. This is allowed.”
The simple truth of it is what makes Shane take his hands down, revealing his soft smile underneath. He wasn’t sure if it was a welcome byproduct of the Russian-to-English, but Ilya always has a way of packing a punch with few words. You’re so good, he’s told him. You are brave. You make me more alive. And now this — we’re in love. Simple and true like always.
“We are in love,” Shane agrees with a small smile and his voice softer, smoothing hands up his chest. “I do love you. So much.”
“And I love him,” Ilya jokes, nodding at Shane’s crotch. He smiles obnoxiously wide as he says it.
Shane sucks his teeth and heaves a sigh, rolling his eyes as he climbs off of Ilya. Yet another perfect laugh escapes Ilya when he does, and Shane fights hard not to smile as he lays a hard slap on his thigh and tells him, “Let’s shower, asshole. Get up.”
And of course, Ilya immediately makes moves to follow him. Ilya would follow him anywhere.