Work Text:
Ottawa in May was always beautiful. The air still had a chilly bite in the morning, though the sun was shining, and at night it had a buoyant nightlife finding its way out onto the streets again. The Centaurs had been kicked from Round 2 of the playoffs in 5 games against Detroit, a grueling fight that they still got the short end of the stick on. Shane couldn’t really be too upset, something that still surprised him to this day. They put in the work and the fight was hard, but getting to go home to his husband and begin the summer early with him was too great of a plan for him to be anything other than overjoyous.
The sun was setting low in the tall windows of their shared house, the tv playing some show that Ilya had put on. With his back to Ilya’s chest and his feet wrapped around his calves, Shane basked in the feeling of being snuggled up to his man. His brain, however, was wandering in other places as the gritty reality show played some club scene in front of him.
“You are thinking very loud,” Ilya grumbled behind him. Shane felt his voice travel through his shoulder blades, a small shiver knocking him out of his train of thought.
Shane tilted his head back and rested his temple against Ilya’s jaw, “No I’m not, I’m watching your show.”
“You have not looked at the screen in the last ten minutes,” Ilya countered, smirking. “You look like you’re doing a puzzle. What’s going on in your head?”
Shane smiled as his cheeks colored red, his hands gripping onto Ilya’s forearm that laid across his stomach to distract himself from the blue eyes staring down at him.
“I was just thinking…”
“About?”
“That, uh, old piece the Boston Sports Journal ran on you years ago.”
Ilya looked confused, his brow furrowing as he thought. “They ran many stories about me, malysh.”
Shane huffed and tore his eyes away from Ilya’s, the flush never leaving his cheeks as he glanced around the room for an escape.
“The one where they called you the Tsar of the Nightlife. Some, uh, fan account had posted about it today and it popped up on my feed.”
Ilya let out a long, theatrical groan, his hands tightening around Shane’s waist as if to pull him back from the conversation. “Bozhe moy! Do not look at those things. They are written by people who want to make me look like a savage.”
“You were a savage,” Shane teased, his tone light but daring. Ilya tsked his tongue as Shane continued. “There were photos, Ilya. Real ones. There was one of you in some club back in Moscow, and you were wearing this ugly shirt that was unbuttoned all the way. You had, like, three different girls hanging off of you, and this look in your eye like you didn’t even know what continent you were on.”
“I knew what continent,” Ilya swore, his chest shaking with a small laugh. “It was Europe!”
“Duh.”
“I was 22, Shane. I had more money than common sense. My knees did not hurt and make loud sounds every time I walked up stairs. In Moscow at that time, if you were big name - which I was, of course - they would just give you things for free. Free vodka, free cigarettes, free sex.”
Shane rolled his eyes, turning slightly so he could face Ilya fully. The light from the tv glowed sharp on his features, his eyes an even brighter blue from the flashing lights of the reality show. Shane scanned his face, looking for any hint of a further explanation. He spoke instead.
“It wasn’t just vodka and cigarettes, though.” Shane’s voice was soft as he stared at Ilya. “The article mentioned the rumors, your lifestyle. You didn’t exactly have a reputation for being a monk, Ilya.”
Ilya just grinned as Shane kept talking. “You slept around so much the league had to hire a PR firm just to manage the NDAs for the girls in Moscow. That’s not even including all of America!”
“Ugh, was different time,” Ilya said, his eyes closing as his head rolled towards the back of the couch. He didn’t deny it, but there was an underlying lilt to his tone that made Shane want him to talk further. “I was lonely, Shane. I did not have anything keeping me down. I didn’t know what life looked like outside of hockey. I thought if I kept going, drank enough, if I put enough things into my body, then I would not feel the emptiness here.” Ilya tapped at his chest, right over his heart where Shane’s fingers had found themselves fidgeting. “But then I could not get you out of my head. Now the empty space is full.”
Shane felt his chest tighten, a warmth covering his heart at the words his husband spoke to him. He leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to the corner of Ilya’s mouth, and another softly to his lips.
“I get it,” he said with a shrug. “But it’s still wild to think about. You used to be this… unhinged party monster. Drugs, and clubs, photos of you seen leaving at like 7am.”
Shane shifted his weight, silently egging Ilya and his stories on.
“Is true. I did many things, lyubimyy. Some bad, some very fun. The white powder in Moscow was so good at the time. Was pure and strong, made you feel ten feet tall and made of iron. You could go all night. No sleep, just music and… other things.”
Shane looked at him inquisitively, his fingers playing with the fabric on Ilya’s chest. Ilya lifted his head from the back of the couch, a smirk tugging on his features as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of Shane’s ear. He kissed once making Shane shiver, his voice speaking in a playful, intense whisper.
“Sometimes I think about it now, you know?” He placed another kiss right below Shane’s ear. “Silly, of course. But… I think… what if I did a line before I fucked you? Bozhe, Shane! I would last for hours. I would pin you down and fuck you so hard and so good your tongue would hang out of your mouth like little dog. Make you forget your own name.”
Shane stiffened immediately, a sudden flash of caution swallowing his features. Ilya pulled back with a smile, relaxing into the couch as he watched Shane begin to spiral.
“Absolutley not,” he said, looking Ilya dead in the eye. “I’m not touching that stuff. We’re in season in a few months, and drug testing aside, I don’t like it.”
Ilya’s grin softened instantly, the playful look in his eye replaced by an immediate compliance. Ilya held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, his tone reassuring more than anything. “Hey, is okay. Was just a silly joke, malysh. I do not do these things anymore. My party days are dead and buried under five feet of snow in Russia.”
Shane watched him closely, studying the sincerity of his words. He knew Ilya meant it, that Ilya wouldn’t do anything to compromise Shane’s trust. He knew Ilya would never steamroll a boundary that Shane wasn’t completely comfortable with. But as Shane sat there, looking at his husband who was massive and careful, a strange, dark curiosity began to curl in the pit of his stomach. He wondered what it would look like if Ilya tore through the carefully checked and controlled physical dominance. If Ilya wasn’t so tender with him.
The mental image of Ilya unhinged, driven by chemical euphoria and stripped of his usual careful restraint stayed lodged in Shane’s brain.
“Well…” Shane’s voice caught a shaky breath altering his choice of words.
Ilya looked at him confused and attentive, waiting for Shane to continue.
“I, um… I didn’t say we couldn’t do it,” Shane said slowly, his voice dropping into a whisper as his fingers twisted in the fabric of Ilya’s shirt.
Ilya blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”
“I said I wouldn’t do it,” Shane clarified, his heart beginning to beat a little faster against his ribs. “And I still don’t like it, like, I wouldn’t want it to be a regular thing. But… if it’s just you… I, um, I guess I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to you doing a line and… fucking me like that. Just once though! Just… to see what the Tsar of the Nightlife actually looks like.”
Ilya stared at him, his pupils dilating slowly as he processed the words. The air between them grew thick, what once was a joke suddenly becoming a heavy reality. Ilya’s hand on Shane’s stomach became hot, pulling Shane closer to his body.
“You are a dangerous man,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.
“I’m just curious,” Shane muttered, leaning down to press his lips against Ilya’s taut neck. “That’s all.”
Three weeks later, the conversation had seemingly been forgotten, swallowed by the grueling routine of off season training, team meetings, and the friendly outings that they couldn’t seem to get out of.
It was a breezy Thursday night when they decided to get out of the house on their own accord. The sun had already set as Shane drove them to a low lit lounge for a nice date night. L’Avenue had gentle jazz music, velvet booths, low brick ceilings, and an obscure clientele that largely ignored the two men sitting in the corner.
They had been there for close to an hour, sitting in the booth and chatting about whatever seemed to come to mind. Shane had lazily been working on a mixed drink he didn’t know the name of, something sweet to make enough of an excuse to claim there was actually alcohol in the drink. Ilya had his usual glass of vodka, though he had been sipping on it slower than normal.
Shane noticed that Ilya had been uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes tracking the smoke flitting off of cigarettes across the room, his hands drumming a rhythmic and restless beat against the wooden table.
“It was something that I- hey? Are you okay?” Shane cut his story off, instead concerned about the lack of attention from his husband.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Ilya said suddenly, sliding out of the velvet booth. He didn’t look at Shane as he said it, his eyes fixed on the narrow hallway toward the back of the bar.
“Okay,” Shane said, taking a sip of his drink. “Don’t fall in.”
Ilya didn’t answer as he walked away. Shane felt a little silly, wondering if he had done something wrong or if Ilya just simply wasn’t in the mood for them to be out tonight. It had been an impromptu date night, although it had been Ilya’s idea, and Shane thought they had been having a good time so far.
He continued to nurse his drink as he waited for Ilya’s arrival back. After five minutes, he didn’t really think much. After ten minutes, he wondered if Ilya had gotten sick. After fifteen minutes, Shane knew something had to be wrong.
Shane swallowed the last of his drink, setting the glass down as he prepared himself to stand up and go find his husband sick in the bathroom. Before he could stand, he felt a shift in the air, a massive hand gripping his shoulder from behind. The fingers sank into his muscle with an intense pressure that nearly made Shane wince.
“We need to go. Right now,” Ilya rasped, his voice a higher vibrating pitch that seemed to be frantic. Shane could feel the hairs on his arms raise.
Shane turned around in his seat to face Ilya, his brow furrowed. “What? Ilya, what’s wrong-”
The words died in his throat as he finally glanced at Ilya. He was leaning over the booth, his jacket open. His face was flushed, a hot pink covering his cheeks as his lips were pulled back into a massive grin that Shane had never seen on him before. It was his eyes that made Shane’s breath catch. The blue of his irises had virtually disappeared, small rings tight on the outside of blown out pupils that reflected the dim lounge lighting.
A tiny, almost microscopic trace of a white powder dusted the edge of his nostril, gone only a second later as Ilya aggressively wiped his nose with his thumb. His teeth clicked together in an involuntary stutter as he sniffled once, then twice.
“We need to leave,” Ilya repeated, his chest heaving with a sudden breath. His eyes tracked Shane’s face with a predatory intensity, “Shane, we need to go home right this fucking second, Move your ass, malysh.”
Shane’s heart did a violent thump against his ribs. The realization slammed into him with absolute certainty: Holy shit. He actually fucking did it. He had been gone in the bathroom for so long not because he was sick, but because he snorted fucking cocaine.
The Tsar of the Nightlife had returned.
Shane didn’t say a single word, sliding out of the booth as his legs shook slightly. Ilya grabbed his hand with force, locking their fingers together tightly as he sped walked them out of the lounge.
The drive back to the house was a blur of high speed adrenaline. Shane drove back through the streets of Ottawa like he was navigating a racetrack, his hands gripping the wheel at ten and two, his knuckles white. Neither of them spoke. The loudest sound was Ilya’s hot, rhythmic breathing through his nose. His fingers drummed on his thighs as he fought not to stare at Shane, his teeth clacking involuntarily often.
Shane parked the car as quickly and efficiently as he could, Ilya grabbing his hand to drag him inside their house. The second they were in the door, Ilya slammed it closed and pushed Shane up against it, the doorknob rattling from the force. Shane tried to clear the breath from his lungs, but Ilya’s body crushed him into the wood.
“Ilya-” Shane gasped, his hands coming up to clutch at Ilya’s shoulders.
“Shut up,” he growled.
He didn’t wait, his hand catching Shane’s jaw and digging his thumb into his cheekbone to force his mouth open. The kiss wasn’t sweet, it was hot and frantic, tasting like liquor and a bitter chemical tang that made Shane’s tongue begin to feel slightly numb. Ilya was trembling, a violent high frequency shudder going through his entire body. Shane couldn’t focus as Ilya’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once, tugging Shane’s shirt from his body with desperation.
“So good,” Ilya panted against Shane’s lips. He pulled back for a second, his blown out eyes scanning Shane’s face like he was trying to memorize every detail. Shane could feel the heat in his face, the straining in his jeans at the intense attention. “God, Shane, you are so fucking beautiful. I feel like I’m melting, like- like my brain is on fire.”
Shane opened his mouth to say something, instead being cut off by a gasp as he watched Ilya fall to his knees right there in the entryway. He gripped Shane’s hips with a force that Shane knew would leave fingertip shaped bruises in the morning, Ilya’s hands then tugging down Shane’s jeans and briefs until they hit the floor.
“Ilya, wait, the bed-”
Ilya ignored Shane’s plea, opting instead to take Shane’s cock into his mouth, devouring him with an insatiable hunger that Shane has never seen before.
“Oh, fuck! Jesus Christ, oh my god,” Shane cried out, his fingers wrapping tightly into the curls at the nape of Ilya’s neck.
Ilya swallowed him completely, his tongue lapping and tracing the vein on the underside, drool collecting at the corners of his mouth as he bobbed his head faster than he has before. He moaned as he sucked, the vibration making Shane’s knees weak as he fought to stand still. Shane felt like he was already seeing stars, groans tearing from his throat at each suckle to his tip. Ilya’s hands wrapped tightly around Shane’s balls, tugging and rolling them in the spit that had dripped down.
“Fuck, baby, I’m not gonna- God! It’s so much,” Shane whined, Ilya’s pace becoming even more frantic.
Ilya hummed, his hands sliding up and down Shane’s thighs as he hollowed out his cheeks around him. He sucked and sucked until Shane could feel his tip striking the back of Ilya’s throat, a whimper leaving his mouth as he felt the hot coil begin to stretch into his spine. His knees shook, his stomach tight like he had just done a thousand sit ups.
“Gonna come, fuck! Gonna come,” Shane breathed out, his hands tightening in Ilya’s curls. Ilya replaced his mouth with his fist, pumping his tight grip right at Shane’s tip.
“Come for me, sweetheart. Come on,” he cooed.
Shane closed his eyes, his head knocking back against the wooden front door as the white hot ecstasy snapped his spine in two. His knees knocked together as he felt his cock pulse into Ilya’s hand, his breaths caught in his chest making him feel light headed.
“Yes, good fucking boy! So fucking good,” Ilya growled, his fist still pumping the tip, coaxing the rest of Shane’s come onto his hand. Shane dropped his grip in Ilya’s hair, his back slumping for only a second before he felt Ilya’s clean hand flip him around, the front half of his body now pressed against the cold door.
“Wha-?” Shane mumbled before feeling Ilya pry his cheeks apart, something warm being pressed against his hole. A finger circled his rim until it pushed past with the lubrication of the warm liquid.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Shane blurted, the realization that Ilya was now fingering him with his own come.
“Mmm, such a filthy fucking boy. That feels good, hmm? Your own come in your ass?”
Shane shivered at the words, Ilya’s finger crooking into him at an impatient rate. He added a second finger, hooking it into Shane’s rim as he thrusted.
“So good,” Shane murmured, his face smooshed against the door as his fingers clawed at the wood to find some sort of balance. He felt so good, like Ilya had never touched him with such fervor and passion before somehow. Ilya’s skillful fingers worked in at his hole, scissoring apart, tugging at the rim, curling to hit his prostate every few strokes.
It was when he added the third finger that Shane couldn’t help but to arch his back, a wave of overstimulation driving him to flail against the door. Ilya bit his teeth into the round flesh of one of his cheeks as his fingers kept opening him up, a constant rumble coming from Ilya’s chest.
“Ilya, I- I can’t,” Shane whined about nothing in particular.
That was all it took for Ilya to pull his fingers out with an obscene wet sound, turning Shane around once more and throwing him over his shoulder before he stood up. Shane breathed heavily as Ilya stormed his way into the living room, throwing Shane on the couch below him, the same couch that only mere weeks ago had even discussed this exact idea.
“Ilya, please,” Shane gasped, his face buried in the cushions. His hips were tilted up into the cold air of the room as Ilya tore his jeans and briefs from where they had been stuck on his ankles. Shane was shivering, his body already sensitive from coming before.
Shane heard the rustle of a belt buckle behind him, then after a few quiet seconds was a sequence of sniffles.
“Fuck yes!” Ilya whooped, his hand coming down to smack Shane’s ass with a loud clap.
Fuck, he took more, Shane thought. A shiver tracked down his spine at the thought of Ilya high behind him, the sound of clothes hitting the floor only making his cock ache worse. Shane heard the drawer to the coffee table slide open, shutting quickly. A second later, Ilya’s massive body fell across his back, flattening him into the cushions. The sound of a bottle cap opening gained Shane’s attention, a cold drizzle of lube coating his hole as Ilya threw the bottle to the floor and set his tip against Shane’s fluttering hole. He gripped Shane’s waist with both hands, his fingers locking into his hip bones like iron clamps.
With a single, brutal thrust of his hips he buried himself to the absolute hilt inside Shane. Shane screamed out into the cushion, his fingers clawing at the fabric of the sofa. It was so fast, so deep, so hard. Ilya’s hips pistoned against Shane’s ass with a wet, heavy sound echoing off the walls. Ilya moved at a marathon pace, his balls slapping at Shane’s as his chest heaved from above Shane’s shoulder blades.
“You like that, sweetheart?” Ilya rasped, his teeth biting hard into the skin of Shane’s shoulder right above his scar. “You like how hard I fuck you? Bozhe, Shane. You’re so fucking tight, I can’t feel anything but you. I could fuck you all night.”
Shane moaned at the filthy words spilling from Ilya’s mouth, his brain unable to form any words of his own. His tongue was dry, hanging out of the side of his mouth as Ilya fucked into him harder than Shane thinks he ever had before. He could only cry out, a high pitched sound breaking past his lips with every heavy thrust.
Ilya continued to manhandle him, grabbing his hips and lifting them higher, turning him slightly to change the angle. His movements were devoid of his usual careful calculation, Ilya’s brain making Shane aware that Ilya was there to fuck and fuck and fuck.
It didn’t take long for the thrusts to Shane’s prostate to send him over the edge a second time, a throaty scream echoing against their walls as Ilya fucked him through his orgasm. Shane felt light headed, his breath heavy in his chest as he fought to keep his eyes open, the drool dripping from the corners of his mouth.
Shane’s body felt completely spent, his muscles trembling with a deep exhaustion, but Ilya showed no signs of slowing down. His skin was slick with sweat, his blue eyes still fully engulfed in black as he continued to drive himself into Shane’s body with a brutal consistency.
Then suddenly, he stopped.
He pulled himself out of Shane with a wet pop, Shane gasping from the sudden loss of warmth and fullness. He collapsed into his stomach, his hips aching and his chest heaving. Through the haze of overstimulation, he tilted his head up to follow Ilya’s movements. He watched as Ilya walked over to his discarded jeans on the floor, his hands steady but frantic as he dug through the pockets. He pulled out a small, clear plastic baggie full of a sparkly white powder. He didn’t use a surface, he simply opened the baggie and tipped a small amount onto the back of his hand.
Shane watched in a stomach churning awe, never having seen someone take substances like this so blatantly in front of him. Ilya leaned down, pressing his right nostril closed with his left hand, and snorted the powder with a sharp sniff. He repeated the action for the other side, his head reeling back as the drug hit his system, a long groan leaving his throat. His teeth clicked together as he shook his head from the feeling, a shiver obviously running up his spine as he brought his hand up to lick the back of it to get rid of any remnants.
Shane laid on the sofa, his heart pounding in his ears completely unable to take his eyes off of the sight. He looks terrifying, Shane thought, a sudden spike of pure lust hitting him. The absolute contrast in Ilya in his day to day domesticated life compared to the chemical animal that was standing naked and glistening in front of him forced Shane to admit that this may be the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed in his life.
Ilya set the baggie down on the coffee table and walked back towards the coffee table. His blown out pupils found Shane’s in the low light of the room, a wild, white grin on his face.
“Why are you looking at me like that, lyubimyy?” He asked, his voice a cracked whisper as he got closer to the couch. “You think I’m done with you?”
“Ilya…” Shane whispered, his voice completely shot.
“I’m not done,” he said, his hand reaching out to Shane’s ankle, dragging him toward the edge of the couch with a single effortless pull. “I’m just getting started.”
Shane felt his heart thump against his ribs, his hole clenched around emptiness at the words. His skin felt hot, his breath heavy as he stared at Ilya above him. Ilya flipped him over, settling him on his back on the couch, pinning his arms above his head with a single hand. He didn’t waste a single second, he separated Shane’s legs with his own before driving back inside of him with a heavy groan.
Everything shifted into something more intense. The drug made Ilya an unyielding and indestructible force. He wrapped his free hand around Shane’s throat, leaning down as he fucked into him to kiss Shane messily. Shane whimpered, his body aching and feeling so good, his tongue licking into Ilya’s mouth as he tasted the chemical left behind. Ilya kissed him hard before pulling away, his chest heaving with each thrust of his hips, his hand tightening around Shane’s throat.
Shane began to feel his head get fuzzy from the pressure on his neck, a sickening smile gracing his face as he stared up through hooded eyes to look at Ilya. Ilya was in his element, absolutely lost in the feeling, chasing the high that he hasn’t been able to reach yet.
He fucked Shane for another 45 minutes, his hips crashing into him with a relentless and punishing speed that had Shane crying out into the quiet of their house. He was completely overstimulated, his nervous system short circuiting under the sheer weight of pleasure and being ragdolled. He had come a third time solely from Ilya hitting his prostate, his body clamping down tight around Ilya’s cock, trying his best to take Ilya over the edge with him.
Ilya couldn’t get there, a deep, frustrating sound vibrating in his chest as he groaned, his pace growing even faster and more desperate as he chased his release through the chemical fog in his brain.
By four in the morning, four hours into Ilya’s drug fueled adventure, they had moved into the bedroom, the sheets already ruined and twisted into knots around their legs. Ilya had taken another hit from the baggie as they made their way into the bedroom, his body running on pure synthetic adrenaline at this point, his skin hot and leaking sweat.
He hovered over Shane in the dark of their room, his arms shaking slightly from the physical exertion of four hours of continuous high intensity sex. His breathing was ragged, shallow gasps, his eyes unblinking as he stared down at his tired husband.
“I can’t… I can’t fucking get there,” Ilya rasped, his voice raw and frustrated. He thrusted his hips again, but the muscle memory was far beyond an orgasm. “Is like- is like my body is made of stone, Shane. I… I can’t come.”
Shane looked up at him through the dark, his eyes soft as he could literally feel the desperate tension in Ilya’s muscles. He could feel how badly Ilya’s body was begging to come despite his brain edging him. A fierce determination came over Shane, aware that Ilya had only done this because it was some far away fantasy that Shane had that Ilya knew he could make come true.
“Get off me, Ilya,” Shane whispered, his hands gently pushing his husband off of him.
Ilya blinked down at him, his blown out eyes obviously confused, but complied anyway. He slid off of Shane, pulling out his cock as they both let out low whines. Shane didn’t let him move far, instead pushing him against the top of the bed, forcing Ilya onto his back. His body ached from the hours of physical handling, everything sore and tight.
“Stay there,” he ordered, straddling Ilya’s thick thighs.
He leaned down, his dark hair falling forward as he looked into the voids that had taken over Ilya’s eyes, his fingers wrapping around the base of Ilya’s rock hard and raw cock. It was hot to the touch and pulsing violently, the veins more prominent than ever. Shane didn’t use his mouth just yet, instead stroking him in a firm rhythm while his other hand reached up to trace the line of Ilya’s clenched jaw, his thumb smoothing over his lower lip.
“Look at me, baby,” Shane whispered, softly yet commanding. “Just look at me, focus on how good you feel, yeah?”
Ilya let out a long shuddering breath, his hands coming up to grip Shane’s waist, his fingers twitching against Shane’s skin. “Shane,” he breathed out. “I’m so fucking high. Even my blood is so loud. I just want to come.”
“I know, baby,” Shane murmured, shifting his weight down Ilya’s body until his mouth was hovering over his cock. He replaced his hand with his mouth, working at a slow pace with agonizing precision. He knew exactly what Ilya liked, he knew the specific pressure and angle that could have him crumbling at the seams.
He used his tongue to trace along the underside of the head, lapping lightly at the pulsing slit, the taste heady and thick. He took him in further, bobbing his head softly as he let his tongue do most of the work. He hollowed his cheeks out, drool spilling from his mouth as he moved. He kept eye contact the entire time, his hands tight on Ilya’s hips to keep him in place.
He sucked harder, breathing through his nose as he relaxed the muscles in his throat and took him down to the root in one long stride. He let his throat constrict around him, his tongue doing its best to lick small circles around the base. The blonde curls at his pubic bone tickled Shane’s nose, heavy breaths escaping his nostrils as he gagged and moaned with the cock in his throat.
“Sweetheart, oh my god,” Ilya croaked out.
Shane watched as the frustration on Ilya’s face seemed to melt into something else, the tension in his shoulders and thighs calming and lowering. Ilya’s head rolled back onto the pillows, his jaw clenching so hard that the muscles in his neck stood out like steel cables. A guttural growl began to build deep in Ilya’s chest, the signs of real pleasure overtaking him rather than synthetic adrenaline.
“Shane, malysh, fuck,” he choked on his words, his hands tightening in Shane’s hair at the scalp until it was almost painful.
His hips lifted off the mattress despite Shane’s grip to hold him down, but Shane didn’t slow down. He increased the pressure, his hand working the base so he could begin to focus on swallowing down his tip, his tongue flicking continuously at the sweet spot under the head. He focused everything on Ilya’s pleasure, replacing the ecstasy of cocaine with a real euphoria.
The rhythm changed, Ilya’s breathing turned from frantic gasps into long, ragged hitches. His chest expanded, his hips twitched, and his fingers dug into Shane’s scalp like talons as his entire body went rigid.
“Shane- Bozhe- I’m coming. Fuck! I’m coming!” Ilya roared, his voice cracking like a whip through the quiet of their bedroom.
Ilya’s body bucked against the mattress as he finally came, long hot white ropes shot their way down Shane’s throat, seemingly never ending as Ilya came and came. Shane moaned from the feeling, his own cock somehow stiffening from the taste despite how many times he had already come. A shattered groan left Ilya’s body as his eyes finally closed, his blown pupils hidden behind his eyelids as he finally crashed.
Shane stayed there for a long moment, keeping him in his mouth gently until the trembling subsided. He pulled away slowly, an exhausted smile on his lips as his jaw ached from being held open so long. He crawled up Ilya’s body, collapsing against his sweaty chest as Ilya’s arms wrapped around him instantly, his hands shaking slightly as he held Shane close.
“How are you feeling?” Shane asked, his voice scratchy from being used.
“So fucking good, sweetheart. Thank you,” he exhaled, kissing the top of Shane’s head and tightening his grip around him.
“I love you,” Shane mumbled, his face pressed against the rise and fall of Ilya’s pecs.
“I love you. God, I love you so much,” Ilya replied, his heart beat thundering against his ribs, the sound echoing in Shane’s ears. “What time is it?”
“Almost five,” Shane answered quietly, his eyes fighting to stay awake after the exhausting night.
“Bozhe moy. Long night for you,” he chuckled. He slowly slid Shane off of his chest and to his side, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. “Be right back.”
“Where y’going?”
“Gonna clean you up while I still have energy, gonna crash if I lay for too long.”
“‘M sticky,” Shane agreed with a small laugh, his eyes closing faster than he’s able to keep them open.
Not long after, Shane felt a warm wash cloth wipe down his body, Ilya soon crawling into bed next to him. He snuggled into Ilya’s chest, his head laying over his heart.
“I had fun meeting him,” Shane muttered out of nowhere into the silence.
“Hmm?”
“The Tsar of the Nightlife,” Shane giggled.
“Mmm, yes. He loved meeting you, too. But now he is Tsar of the Sleepy-Time,” Ilya responded with a chuckle, tugging Shane closer to him.
Shane hummed as he cozied closer, his limbs all heavy lead weights as his eyes closed and his breathing evened out. The Tsar of the Nightlife was gone again, buried back under the snow, leaving nothing but the heavy heartbeat of his husband beneath him. He hoped he’d meet the Tsar again in his dreams sometime.