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Morning came in grey and blue, soft through the curtains, the lake beyond the cottage still hidden under mist.
Shane woke feeling warm.
That was the first thing he registered. Warmth beneath him, around him, Ilya’s big body stretched out under the sheets like he’d been built for Shane to use as a mattress. One heavy arm was hooked lazily around Shane’s waist. The other was flung above his head, wrist bent against the pillow, dark hair rumpled, mouth parted in sleep.
Shane watched him for a while.
He did that sometimes. More often than he would ever admit. Let himself have these quiet, greedy minutes where Ilya was only his. Not Rozanov, not a legend, not a headache, not the most infuriating man in hockey.
Just Ilya.
His Ilya and no one else’s.
Shane sucked on his bottom lip as he became aware of his cock, trapped against Ilya’s thigh, bare and aching. He was warm all over, loose-limbed, still tender between his legs from the night before. His first thought was to get up, to let Ilya sleep. He remembered the one time he had actually done that, moving himself to the living room, playing with himself on their couch and thinking about all the other things they had done there. Ilya had woken to an empty bed, ventured out half-naked and furious, only to find Shane with his knees spread, hand fisting his cock, fingers buried inside himself.
“Fuck is this?” Ilya had said, raising a hand in genuine disbelief. “You hate me now?”
Shane had whined, unable to stop, too close and too embarrassed, even as Ilya came to stand over him.
“You were sleeping.”
“So fucking wake me up,” Ilya had snapped, like Shane had committed some unforgivable betrayal. Then he’d hooked his arms under Shane, lifted him easily, and carried him back to bed with Shane still slick and open and squirming. “Stupid boy, you are. Touching what is mine without me.”
Shane knew better now.
He shifted, slow and careful, already half-hard where he was pressed against Ilya’s hip. Ilya made a rough sound in his throat, eyes still closed, hand tightening automatically on Shane’s waist.
“Mm,” Ilya grumbled. “You are awake too early.”
“It’s almost nine.”
“This is too early.”
Shane smiled despite himself and dipped his head, pressing his mouth to Ilya’s chest. One kiss, two. Then lower, tongue dragging over the firm swell of Ilya’s pec, where he sucked for a moment, teeth grazing skin.
Ilya let out a breath, gravelly and pleased, lashes fluttering.
“Ah,” Ilya murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Now I understand.”
Shane glanced up, breathing against the wet mark he’d left.
“I understand you want something.”
Shane bit him lightly.
Ilya laughed, low and sleepy, then groaned when Shane shifted higher, straddling his hips. Shane reached back to feel himself, still loose and slick from the night before, tender enough that the brush of his own fingers made his breath catch. He watched Ilya’s sleepy expression, could see him almost drifting off again, smug even half-conscious.
With a hum, Shane lined Ilya’s half-hard cock up with his hole and sank down onto it slowly.
His body gave around the thick head of him, still easy from the night before but sore enough that the stretch burned sweetly. Shane’s thighs trembled. His hands flattened against Ilya’s chest, fingers splayed over muscle and warm skin, as he took him inch by inch until Ilya was seated deep inside him.
Ilya’s eyes opened at once.
Dark. Heavy. Awake now.
A look of wanting so total it still scared Shane, even after all these years. Heavy-lidded, almost amused, hedonistic in essence. Like Shane was something precious and ridiculous and impossible for him to ignore all at once.
“Malysh,” Ilya sighed, hands sliding to Shane’s hips. “You wake me up like this, and then you make this face.”
“What face?”
“The face you make when you are thinking too much.”
Shane rolled his hips in answer, feeling Ilya get harder inside him, swelling and filling him until Shane had to bite back a sound. Leftover lube from last night wasn’t ideal, but Shane loved the drag of it. Loved the ache. Loved that Ilya was big enough that even like this, even already loose, Shane still felt stretched around him.
Ilya’s head tipped back into the pillow, Russian curses slipping from his lips, his fingers a vice on Shane’s hips.
Once again, Shane reminded himself that he needed to learn. Needed to remember to do his lessons, to call back that tutor he’d found—though he was certain no reputable teacher would repeat any of the words that left Ilya’s mouth. Not when they were like this. Not when Ilya sounded filthy and wrecked and half-feral beneath him.
It didn’t matter much.
Shane could always tell from the tone what Ilya was getting at. Whether it was a pet name Shane would probably hate, or something emotional he wasn’t ready to say in English, or something rude that he knew Shane would scold him for, Shane could usually get the gist. Knew when Ilya was teasing, when he was praising, when he was too far gone to bother translating.
Shane liked that best.
He moved slowly at first, feeling lazy, using Ilya the way he knew Ilya liked. The cottage was quiet around them. It was summer. Beautiful summer, where they had no alarms, no schedules, no team obligations to tear them away from each other. Just this. Being together. Ilya’s hands on his ass, thumbs digging in as he helped Shane grind down against him, not quite thrusting yet, just rocking deeper and deeper.
“Look at you,” Ilya muttered. “So pretty in the morning.”
“Shut up.”
“Always bossy when you are full of my cock.”
Shane moaned before he could stop himself, his fingers curling against Ilya’s pecs. Ilya grinned beneath him, canines flashing, obnoxious enough that Shane couldn’t bear to look.
And maybe that was what did it.
The grin. The easy confidence. The way Ilya was so sure of him. Of them. Like there was nothing Shane could ask for that would make him flinch.
Shane had been thinking about it for a long time.
Too long, probably.
He had thought about it in hotel rooms, when Ilya had him folded open and helpless beneath him, fucking him so deep Shane forgot his own name. In the shower, after a day of swimming in the lake, watching water run over the powerful slope of Ilya’s sun-kissed back. Whenever Ilya stretched out naked in bed, smug and boneless after fucking Shane within an inch of his life, one hand on his stomach like he was proud of what he’d done to him.
He had thought: what would it be like?
It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy with the status quo. God, no. He loved being under Ilya. Loved being held down, spread open, taken apart and then put back together. Loved the obscene size and heat of him, the way Ilya knew exactly how to make Shane stop thinking. Loved being filled by him, ruined by him, made soft and stupid and needy. Loved the way Ilya looked at him when he was inside him, like Shane was the only thing in the world worth spending any time on.
But sometimes, in the shadows of his mind, Shane wondered what it might be like on the other side of things.
Mostly, he thought about what it would feel like to make Ilya look like that.
Like Shane did when he was stuck on Ilya’s cock.
Would Ilya be a mess, too?
Would his voice break?
Would he curse in Russian and grab the sheets?
Would he let Shane see him like that?
His hips slowed.
Ilya noticed the change in pace immediately, watching his face closely like he always did. His hands stilled on Shane’s ass, no longer guiding, only holding.
“Thinking so loud today,” he murmured, voice rough. “Talk to me.”
Shane swallowed, rubbing Ilya’s stomach. He could feel the muscles there shifting beneath his palm. Feel Ilya inside him. Feel how hard he was, how deep.
“I want to try something.”
Ilya’s expression softened in a way that made Shane’s chest hurt, interest flaring in his eyes.
“What?” Ilya groaned, still buried deep inside him, still hard and hot and unfairly distracting. His hands flexed on Shane’s ass. “I will give you anything you want, malysh.”
Shane wasn’t sure that was true.
Or maybe he was sure, and that scared him more than anything.
He pressed his palms against Ilya’s chest, fingertips feathering over his nipples. Ilya’s breath caught. Shane looked down at him, at the ridiculous breadth of him, the strong line of his jaw, the mouth that had said every dirty, tender, awful thing Shane had ever wanted to hear.
“Would you let me fuck you?”
Ilya went completely still.
His hips stuttered under Shane, one involuntary little jerk that dragged a helpless sound out of both of them. His eyes snapped up to Shane’s face, sharp now, fully awake.
For one stretched-out second, neither of them moved.
Then Ilya exhaled.
“Would you want to fuck me?” he asked, voice lower.
Shane’s face heated. He hated that. Hated that even after all this, Ilya could still make him feel like he was nineteen and caught wanting something he didn’t know how to name.
“Yes.”
Ilya watched him. His mouth curved like he had a secret, a little cruel, a little teasing.
“But look how happy you are on my cock,” he murmured.
Then his hands tightened and he dragged Shane down hard, grinding up into him.
Shane’s eyes fluttered. Pleasure punched through him, hot and stupid, his body clenching around Ilya like it was trying to betray him.
Ilya hummed. “Filling you up, hmm? You are sitting on me so nice, dorogoy. You are already dripping for it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yes,” Ilya said, mockingly. “This is what you are asking.”
Shane laughed despite the blush that spread across his cheeks, breathless and embarrassed, then moaned when Ilya rolled his hips again.
“I’d like to try it,” Shane said, determined now, even with his thighs trembling and Ilya’s cock making it difficult to sound dignified. “Just once.”
Ilya’s gaze moved over his face. Searching, maybe. Considering. Shane couldn’t tell.
He expected a joke. A dodge. Maybe another filthy comment designed to make him lose his nerve.
Instead Ilya reached up and brushed his thumb over Shane’s bottom lip.
“Okay.”
Shane blinked. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Ilya repeated. “Tomorrow?”
Shane stared at him blankly.
Ilya’s grin finally broke through. “What, you want to do now? You are busy.”
Shane choked on a laugh, then rolled his hips again because he could, because he was relieved, because Ilya had said yes. He moved faster, suddenly overwhelmed by it. By Ilya. By the fact that he could ask for something and be given it.
Ilya grunted, hands gripping Shane’s ass, helping him take what he wanted.
“Faster, yes,” Ilya muttered. “Take it. Make yourself come on me, greedy boy.”
Shane did.
He rode Ilya until his thighs burned, until Ilya’s hands were bruising on his hips, until the wet slap of his ass meeting Ilya’s thighs filled the quiet cottage. Until Ilya was muttering filth in Russian beneath him, thrusting up to meet him, making Shane bounce harder, deeper, taking and taking because Ilya had said yes.
Because tomorrow, Shane would have him.
The thought broke him.
Shane came over Ilya’s stomach not long after, shaking and flushed, cock pulsing between them, Ilya’s name caught somewhere between his teeth and his tongue.
Tomorrow, he thought, as Ilya held him through it.
Tomorrow.
By the time tomorrow came, Shane was a wreck.
He tried very hard not to be.
He told himself, several times, that he was a grown man. He had won Stanley Cups. He had been hit by men twice his size and gotten back up. He had survived playoff overtime, coming out to his parents, Ilya’s mouth, and every single humiliating thing the internet had ever said about him.
He could do this. He could fuck his boyfriend. Normal people did it all the time.
Except nothing with Ilya had ever been normal, and Shane really should have known better.
Ilya figured him out within thirty seconds.
They were in bed again, dusk settling in, freshly showered after an afternoon hike. Shane had tried to act like he normally would. He had kissed Ilya first, trying to ignore the nervous sweat beneath his arms, on the palms of his hands. Pushed a hand into Ilya’s hair and, instead of climbing into Ilya’s lap like he normally would, slotted between Ilya’s spread thighs, looming over him like Ilya often did, hoping it looked right.
Ilya didn’t comment.
He only spread his legs for Shane with a very particular kind of smile.
Shane knew he was biting his tongue.
And he continued to do so, right up until they had undressed, and Shane was left fumbling with the lube he couldn’t open because of his shaking hands.
Ilya started laughing.
Shane froze. “Shut up.”
“I say nothing.”
“Ilya.”
“I am innocent.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I am enjoying you.” Ilya propped himself up on his elbows, naked and shameless and far too pleased. “Ah, Mr Nervous now that it is time to put your cock in me, huh?”
Shane glared at him. “I’m not nervous.”
“No?”
“No.”
Ilya’s eyes dropped meaningfully to Shane’s hand, which was gripping the bottle hard enough to dent it.
Shane tossed it at his chest.
Ilya caught it, still laughing. “Is not hard, Hollander. You have done it before.”
“That was different.”
“With girls, yes?”
Shane’s stomach tightened. “A couple times.”
“Mm.” Ilya’s mouth twitched. “Did they survive?”
“Fuck off.”
“I am only asking. For safety.”
Shane made a strangled noise and tried to roll off him, but Ilya caught him by the wrist and pulled him back, laughter fading into something warmer.
“Hey,” Ilya said.
Shane looked at him reluctantly, his hands resting awkwardly on Ilya’s splayed thighs. He didn’t even know where to put them.
Ilya’s thumb moved over his pulse. “You are allowed to be nervous.”
“That’s not—” Shane stopped. Looked away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Something shifted in Ilya’s face.
Shane thought it might be surprise, but soon it turned into tenderness, the kind Ilya tried to disguise as amusement because he was terrible.
“Shane,” he said, quieter now. “You think I would let you hurt me? You think I won’t tell you?”
Shane huffed. “No.”
“No,” Ilya agreed. “I will tell you what to do.”
That, more than anything, settled him.
If there was anything Shane knew how to do, it was listen to Ilya. Do what Ilya said. Of course even like this, even giving Shane this, Ilya would still be Ilya.
He kissed Shane once, hard and slow, licking into his mouth, then leaned back on the pillows.
“Come here.”
Shane did, inching closer on his knees, gaze dropping to Ilya’s cock, half-hard and heavy against his stomach, the thick curve of him flushed at the tip. Lower, to the heavy weight of his balls. Lower again, somewhere Shane had never been, had never dared.
Ilya took the bottle from him, slicked Shane’s fingers himself, then spread his thighs like he had no shame at all.
Shane’s breath caught despite everything.
Ilya was beautiful. That was the problem. He was always beautiful, but like this it was almost unbearable. Big and muscled and relaxed against the pillows, cock hardening under Shane’s attention, eyes dark as he watched Shane take him in.
“Do not just stare,” Ilya said. “Touch me.”
Shane’s pulse kicked. “Right.”
Ilya’s grin flashed. “I know, I am so beautiful I distract you, make you stupid—”
“Ilya.”
“What? I am helping.”
He was, unfortunately.
Helping Shane feel normal. Less awkward. Less scared of the unknown. This was Ilya, his big love, and they could do anything together, no matter how nerve-racking Shane found it.
Shane touched him carefully at first, too carefully, the pad of his index finger brushing over Ilya’s hole. Ilya sighed with exaggerated patience.
“Hollander.”
“What?”
“I am not made of glass.”
“I know that.”
“Then stop touching me like I am virgin at prom.”
Shane scowled, cheeks burning, and pressed firmer, one slick finger pushing past the tight ring of muscle.
Ilya’s mouth parted. His eyes closed for a moment. His breath left him in a slow, controlled exhale.
Shane went still, mesmerised.
Shane wanted to ask so many questions. Have you done this before? How long ago? With who? Do you like it? Do you want it? Does it feel good?
It wasn’t the time, he thought. But he would ask. Maybe after.
For now, he watched Ilya’s face as he worked him open. Watched Ilya’s lashes lower when Shane found a rhythm. Watched his jaw flex when Shane added more lube, when he pressed deeper, when he finally did something right and Ilya’s breath punched out of him.
“There,” Ilya said, voice rougher. “Keep hitting there.”
Shane’s whole body reacted to the praise. His fingers grew more sure, a smile tugging at his mouth despite himself.
Ilya blinked lazily at him.
“Ah,” he murmured. “You still want to be good for me, even like this.”
“Shut up.”
“Kakoy zhe on dlya menya khoroshiy mal’chik.”
Shane flushed. He knew that one.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” Ilya’s voice was smug, but his thighs were tense around Shane’s hips. “Another finger.”
Shane obeyed.
The second finger was harder. Ilya breathed through it, chest rising beneath Shane’s free hand, lips parted, eyes fixed somewhere over Shane’s shoulder. Shane took his time, working him open slowly, adding more lube whenever Ilya told him to, pressing and curling and learning the shape of him from the inside.
It became easier after that.
Not easy, exactly, because he was still painfully aware of everything. Of the size of his own hands. Of how tight Ilya was around his fingers. Of the trust they were both falling back into. Of the fact that Ilya, who gave up control to almost no one, was lying beneath him and telling him where to press, how slow to go, when to stop and when to keep going.
“Third,” Ilya said after a while.
Shane looked up sharply. “What?”
Ilya’s mouth curved. “You heard me.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Do not be sweet now. It makes me want to fuck you instead.”
Shane swallowed hard.
Ilya saw it and laughed, filthy and fond.
“Later,” he promised. “Now open me up.”
Shane’s cock throbbed hard at that.
He slicked a third finger, pressed in slowly, and watched Ilya’s composure strain. This time Ilya gripped his own thigh, holding himself open for Shane, his other hand fisting in the sheet. His head fell back, throat bared, jaw tight.
Shane forgot to breathe.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Ilya.”
“Stop,” Ilya warned, voice strained but amused. “You look like you are going to fall in love with me again.”
Shane pressed his fingers deeper, deliberately.
Ilya’s laugh broke into a groan.
“There,” Shane said, a little breathless. A little mean. “That?”
Ilya’s eyes opened.
For a moment, he only stared. Then he smiled.
“Better.”
Shane’s stomach flipped.
It was the closest he had come to feeling in control. Not because Ilya had stopped directing him. He hadn’t. He was still telling Shane exactly what to do, still bossing him around while spread open on Shane’s fingers. But Shane could feel him now. Feel the way his body gave. Feel the flutter around his knuckles. Feel the slick heat of him, the tension in his thighs, the way his cock had grown fully hard against his stomach.
Ilya wanted this.
Maybe not the way Shane did when he was under Ilya. Maybe not the way Shane needed it. But he wanted it. That nearly undid Shane completely.
“That’s enough,” Ilya said finally, breathing harder now.
Shane’s head snapped up. “Are you sure?”
Ilya gave him a flat look. “No, Shane, I am lying here for fun.”
“I just—”
“I know.” Ilya’s expression softened again, annoyingly. “Come here.”
Shane moved between his thighs, heart pounding so hard it felt stupid.
Ilya reached for his cock, slicked him up with efficient strokes that made Shane’s stomach jump. Shane’s hips fucked forward into Ilya’s fist before he could stop them.
“Poor thing,” Ilya murmured. “You are going to last one minute.”
“I’m not.”
“No?”
“No.”
“We see.”
Then Ilya guided Shane to his hole.
“Now,” he said, as if they were discussing hockey drills. “Push my legs up.”
Shane stared.
Ilya lifted an eyebrow. “You need diagram?”
“Shut up.”
But he did it. Hands under Ilya’s thighs, pressing them back toward his chest. This was Shane’s favourite position when he took Ilya, and he wondered if Ilya thought of that. If that was why they were doing it this way. Maybe Ilya wanted to feel it, to think that this was what Shane felt whenever they inevitably ended up like this.
It was a nice thought.
From this side, the position made something hot and possessive uncoil low in Shane’s stomach. Ilya’s body opened for him, powerful and vulnerable all at once. His cock lay hard against his stomach, leaking at the tip. His hole was slick and loose from Shane’s fingers, and still so tight-looking that Shane’s mouth went dry.
Ilya’s breath caught, but his eyes stayed on Shane.
“Line yourself up,” Ilya ordered.
Shane did, trying not to shake as he pressed the head of his cock to the slick mess he had made.
“Slow,” Ilya said.
His tone made Shane pause.
There was a little bit of panic in it. A little bit of fear, maybe, as Ilya stared down between his own legs.
“We don’t have to,” Shane started, hesitating now. “We can stop.”
“I said slow, not never, Hollander. Is like you don’t even know English sometimes, I—”
Shane pressed in.
The sound Ilya made nearly ruined him.
It was sharp, sucked in between his teeth, his hands gripping the sheets as Shane breached him. Shane froze immediately, every muscle locked.
“Ilya?”
“Keep going,” Ilya said, voice strained. “Slow, but keep going.”
Shane listened.
The heat around his cock was unreal. Tight and slick and overwhelming, gripping Shane so hard his vision blurred at the edges. He had thought he knew what it would feel like. He had thought about it too many times not to have some abstract idea.
He had been wrong. So, so wrong.
It wasn’t just the physical sensation threatening to drown him.
It was Ilya’s face. His throat working. His thighs trembling slightly under Shane’s hands. This huge, maddening, indestructible man letting Shane inside him. Letting Shane push into the most private part of him, opening around him, taking him.
Shane had to stop halfway in, breathing through his nose, fighting not to come immediately.
Ilya’s eyes opened, hazy and knowing.
“Oh,” he said, and his mouth curved. “This is problem?”
“Don’t talk.”
“You are going to come already?”
“No.”
“You look like maybe yes.”
“Ilya, shut up.”
Ilya laughed breathlessly, then hissed when Shane pushed the rest of the way in, his abdomen flush with Ilya’s ass.
They both went still.
For a moment Shane couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but stare down at him, at Ilya spread beneath him, chest rising and falling, cock hard and flushed against his stomach.
His big strong man.
His ridiculous, impossible man.
Full of him.
“Fuck,” Shane whispered.
Ilya’s gaze flickered. For half a second, something almost shy passed over his face.
Then he ruined it by opening his mouth.
“Okay,” he said hoarsely. “Now you move.”
Shane tried.
It was not graceful.
He pulled back too far and pushed in too shallow, then overcorrected and made Ilya grunt. His rhythm was awkward, his elbows locked, his entire body too tense. It felt good, but strange. Almost too much and not enough at the same time.
He was inside Ilya, which should have been everything, but his own body kept waiting for the thing it knew best.
For the stretch. The fullness. Ilya’s weight above him, which was not possible, because Ilya was beneath him, spread open and panting and somehow still smug.
Ilya watched him with infuriating patience, daring to look a little bored.
Then, because he was Ilya, he said, “You fuck your girlfriends like this?”
Shane’s eyes narrowed.
Ilya’s grin widened. “You fuck Rose Landry like this?”
Shane gripped Ilya’s arms, using them as leverage to thrust harder.
Ilya’s grin vanished into a grunt.
“Better,” he said, pleased.
Shane felt a vicious little thrill. “Yeah?”
“Mm. Still terrible, but better.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Yes.” Ilya’s hands slid to Shane’s hips, not taking over completely, just guiding. “Angle more. No, not like—Shane. Malysh. Listen.”
“I am listening.”
“You are not.”
“I’m concentrating.”
“You are fucking me like teenage boy.”
Shane would have argued, but Ilya tilted his hips and suddenly the next thrust punched a rough sound out of him.
Shane liked that. A lot.
“There,” Ilya said. “Again.”
Shane did it again.
Ilya’s mouth fell open.
“Oh,” Shane breathed, because he saw it that time. Saw the way Ilya’s body reacted, the way his stomach tightened, the way his fingers dug into Shane’s hips.
“There?” Shane asked, a little disbelieving.
Ilya’s eyes flashed.
“Do not sound so full of yourself.”
Shane thrust again, harder.
Ilya’s head tipped back.
“Yebat,” he rasped.
Shane smiled.
It got better after that. The rhythm, once he found it, felt good in a different way. Good because Ilya’s face changed every time Shane moved right. Especially good because Ilya’s voice went deeper, rougher, his hands tightening when Shane hit something that made his thighs tense.
Shane braced one hand beside Ilya’s head and held his thigh with the other, pressing him open, watching his cock disappear into him. Watching the slick stretch of Ilya’s body around him. Watching Ilya take him, inch after inch, thrust after thrust.
It was filthy.
It was intimate in a way Shane hadn’t expected.
He had seen Ilya naked more times than he could count. Had had Ilya inside him, on top of him, behind him, under him. Had taken him in hotel rooms and locker room showers and this very bed. Had let Ilya see every desperate, greedy, embarrassing version of him.
But this felt like seeing something new.
Ilya stripped down beneath him in a different way.
Not submissive, exactly. Never that simple. He was still giving orders, still watching Shane like he owned him, still somehow making Shane feel like the one being handled.
But his body was open. His breath was uneven. His cock was leaking on his stomach. And Shane was inside him.
“Ilya,” Shane said, voice rough and almost pleading. “Fuck, you feel—”
“I know,” Ilya said, cocky. His mouth curved, panting. “You are very impressed with yourself.”
“Shut up.”
“You like it,” Ilya said. “You like seeing me take your cock.”
Shane’s rhythm stuttered.
Ilya’s grin went sharp.
“I said shut up.”
“You like knowing I can take it. You like thinking you are big man now.”
Shane thrust hard enough to make Ilya grunt.
Ilya laughed, breathless and delighted. But Ilya could read him too well. He always could, since the beginning.
His thumb stroked Shane’s hip, almost gentle. His eyes were dark and amused and fond and Shane was mad at him before he even opened his stupid mouth.
“Look at you,” Ilya murmured. “You miss it, don’t you?”
Shane’s breath caught.
Ilya’s smile turned wicked. “Are you sad I am not inside of you, malysh?”
Heat shot through Shane so fast he almost lost his rhythm.
“Shut the fuck up, Rozanov.”
Ilya laughed, low and pleased, then reached blindly toward the sheets for the lube. Shane barely had time to realise what he was doing before Ilya’s slick fingers were reaching around, sliding between Shane’s cheeks.
His hips staggered.
“Ilya—”
“There we go,” Ilya said softly, watching his face with devastating attention.
One finger pressed into him.
Shane moaned, humiliatingly loud, his thrusts faltering as pleasure lit through him in a familiar, blinding line. His body clenched around nothing, then around Ilya’s finger, and for a second he couldn’t remember how to breathe.
Ilya’s expression went unbearably smug.
“Is that better?”
Shane dropped his head, panting. “Fuck.”
“Answer me.”
“Yes,” Shane snapped, then moaned again when Ilya crooked his finger. “Ilya.”
“Mm. Now you look happy.”
“You’re so—fuck, don’t stop.”
“I know what you like.” Ilya’s voice was rough now, his own control fraying at the edges. “Move, Shane. Come on. Fuck me.”
The words nearly ended him.
Shane moved.
This time the rhythm found him. Or Ilya found it for him, fingers working inside Shane as Shane fucked into him. The two sensations tangled until Shane couldn’t separate power from surrender, giving from taking. He was inside Ilya, and Ilya was inside him, and somehow that was exactly what he had wanted without knowing how to ask for it.
Ilya’s face had gone flushed and open. His mouth parted on every breath. He looked wrecked in a way Shane had never seen, but his eyes stayed on Shane’s face.
Always on him.
“Good,” Ilya rasped. “That’s it. Come on, dorogoy.”
Shane shook his head, helpless.
“Yes,” Ilya said. “Come for me.”
“Ilya.”
“Come inside me,” Ilya murmured, filthy and tender all at once. “Fill me up.”
Shane made a broken sound.
Ilya crooked his finger again, pressing exactly where Shane needed it, and Shane came apart.
He came inside Ilya, hips jerking, hands clutching at Ilya’s thighs as pleasure tore through him. His cock pulsed helplessly, buried deep, spilling into him while Ilya watched his face like he wanted to memorise every humiliating second of it.
For a few moments there was nothing but heat and Ilya’s voice under him, low and pleased, coaxing him through it in Russian and English both.
“That’s it. Good boy. Khoroshiy chertov mal’chik. Give it to me.”
Shane shuddered so hard he nearly collapsed.
When he could move again, he pulled out carefully and fell beside him, face burning, body boneless.
For a while neither of them said anything.
Shane stared at the ceiling, dazed and embarrassed and still twitching faintly from the aftershocks. Beside him, Ilya cleaned himself up somewhat with the blanket, which Shane knew he should probably object to, but couldn’t find the strength.
I should be doing that, Shane thought vaguely.
You haven’t even come yet.
Then Ilya rolled his head on the pillow to look at him.
“You like?”
Shane covered his face with one arm. “Shut up.”
Ilya started laughing.
It wasn’t mean, not really, though he did have a tendency to be a bit mean sometimes. But there was something lighter about this, about the way his stomach shook, his cock still hard against it, his whole body loose and delighted.
Shane kicked him weakly. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“Was good experiment.”
“I said shut up.”
Ilya rolled onto his side, still grinning, and smoothed a big hand over Shane’s chest and belly. The gesture was so gentle that Shane forgot to be annoyed for half a second.
“You were good,” Ilya said.
Shane peeked at him from under his arm.
Ilya’s smile softened. “Very careful. Very sweet. Very bossy.”
Shane groaned. “I’m never doing that again.”
“No?”
“No.”
Ilya’s hand slid from Shane’s chest to his cheek, then his jaw, then the side of his throat. “Okay.”
The immediate agreement made Shane look at him properly.
Ilya only shrugged. “You ask, we try. You do not like, we do not do again.”
Shane’s chest tightened.
He hated, sometimes, how easy Ilya made it. How impossible and obnoxious and smug he was, and then how he could say something like that, like loving Shane was the simplest thing in the world.
Shane looked away.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it.”
Ilya’s grin crept back, curious and seeking. “Ah.”
“Never mind.”
“Tell me, malysh.”
Shane mumbled into the pillow. “Your fingers were nice.”
Ilya went very still. Then he made a pleased sound deep in his chest. “Mm.”
Shane’s stomach flipped.
Ilya rolled closer, hand sliding down Shane’s side now, over his hip, then back. His fingers traced the slick, sensitive place between Shane’s cheeks, still open and wet from him. Shane shivered.
“I have something nicer,” Ilya said.
Shane’s breath left him.
Ilya was still hard, thick and hot against Shane’s thigh. He hadn’t come. Shane had been too overwhelmed to even notice properly, too caught in his own experiment and his own embarrassment.
That really said a lot about the whole thing.
But Ilya was looking at him now with that expression.
Possessive. Patient. Hungry.
His fingers flexed against Shane’s skin with the urge to grab and pull.
Shane turned onto his side before he could think better of it, pressing his ass back against Ilya’s cock.
Ilya hummed.
“Jesus,” Shane whispered, already needy again. “Okay. Just—”
“I know.” Ilya’s hand slid over his ass, spreading him open. “I know what you need.”
He pushed in slowly, but Shane was open for him, slick and aching, and the stretch hit like relief.
Shane’s eyes fluttered shut.
“Oh,” Ilya breathed against the back of his neck. “Net nichego luchshe etogo.”
Shane made a sound he would deny later.
Ilya filled him completely, one arm coming around his chest to hold him close. This was different. This was known. This was Ilya’s breath hot against his ear, Ilya’s body heavy behind him, Ilya’s cock seated deep like it belonged there.
Ilya didn’t struggle to find rhythm, to find Shane’s spots, the places that made him feel good. He just did, like a magnet finding north, always destined to turn the same way. The reality was, he’d been learning Shane’s body for a decade. It was a bit of a head start.
Shane melted. The tension bled out of him so fast he nearly laughed.
Ilya felt it too. Shane knew by the way he kissed the back of his neck, slow and languid, his hips rolling deeper.
“This is better, hmm?”
“Don’t brag.”
“What is bragging? I never do this.”
Ilya thrust into him, deep and deliberate.
Shane’s mouth fell open.
“I am happy,” Ilya said. “Different thing.”
Shane reached back blindly, fingers tangling in Ilya’s hair. Ilya took the invitation and fucked him slowly at first, holding him close, giving him exactly what he had been missing.
The angle was perfect. Ilya knew his body like it had been made just for him. He knew how deep to go, how to make Shane gasp, how to pull nearly all the way out before pushing back in until Shane was trembling around him.
“See?” Ilya whispered, filthy and soft. “This is how you fuck someone.”
Shane groaned. “You’re awful.”
“I am excellent.”
“You’re fucking obnoxious.”
“Yes,” Ilya said, biting gently at the side of his neck. “And you are so fucking full.”
Shane clenched around him.
Ilya groaned.
“Fuck, Shane.”
That was enough to make Shane stupid again.
He pushed back into Ilya’s thrusts, shameless now, taking him hard and deep and exactly how he liked it. Ilya’s hand slid down his stomach, wrapped around his softening cock, and stroked him back to aching interest with slow, dirty patience.
Shane whined.
“Mm, krasivaya veshch’,” Ilya murmured. “Still can give me more, yes?”
“I just came.”
“I know.” Ilya kissed beneath his ear. “It’s still leaking out of me.”
Shane’s face burned.
“Ilya.”
“I liked it.” His voice went rougher. “You coming inside me. Looking so surprised. Like you didn’t know it could feel so good.”
Shane could barely answer. Ilya’s hand was firm around him, his cock filling him, his mouth hot against his neck.
“I hate when you talk.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” Shane admitted, breathless and wrecked. “I don’t.”
Ilya rewarded him by fucking him harder.
With the steady, possessive force that made Shane’s thoughts go white at the edges. The bed shifted beneath them. Ilya’schest stuck to Shane’s back. His breath came harsh against Shane’s skin.
Shane’s second orgasm built differently.
Softer, deeper, coaxed out of him by Ilya’s mouth on his neck and Ilya’s murmured praise against his skin. By the drag of Ilya inside him. By the filthy wet sounds between them. By the knowledge that Ilya had let him try, had let him have that, and now knew exactly how to give Shane back to himself.
“Good,” Ilya whispered. “So good for me. Always know what you need.”
“Fuck,” Shane breathed. “Ilya, please.”
“I have you.”
He did. He always did.
Shane came again with Ilya buried inside him, shuddering through it as Ilya held him steady, one hand spread over his stomach, the other gripping his hip. It was weaker than the first, wrung out of him, but it still made him go boneless and stupid, clenching around Ilya until Ilya cursed against his shoulder.
Ilya followed soon after, losing rhythm at last, groaning Shane’s name into the curve of his neck as he came deep inside him.
After, they were quiet.
The cottage settled around them, sheets tangled at their knees, morning light stronger now through the curtains. Ilya didn’t pull out. Shane didn’t ask him to. They stayed locked together, sticky and overheated and absurdly comfortable.
Ilya kissed Shane’s shoulder.
Then, because he apparently had no survival instinct, he murmured, “I liked this.”
Shane groaned. “Shut up.”
“We learned many things.”
“Ilya.”
“One, you are nervous top.”
“I will elbow you.”
“Two, you like my fingers in your ass when you are nervous top.”
Shane reached back and smacked him weakly. Ilya laughed into his skin.
“Three,” Ilya continued, voice warm with satisfaction, “you are happiest full of me.”
Shane should have argued. He really should have, just on principle.
Instead he closed his eyes and muttered, “You’re so annoying.”
Ilya’s arm tightened around him.
“We do again.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” Shane grumbled, more definitively this time.
Ilya hummed, kissing just below his ear. “Okay.”
A long silence passed.
Shane was nearly asleep when he added, barely audible, “Maybe.”
Ilya’s laugh shook them both, soft and delighted, and Shane let himself be held through it.