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Shane settles into the business class seat like someone trying not to be perceived. Not invisible, he has accepted long ago that invisible is not something that happens to people who have the job he has. The seat is wide and upholstered in dark fabric that still smells faintly new. The overhead lights, dimmed, glow soft and golden instead of the harsh white.
The cabin is calm in that expensive, curated way that tries very hard to make flying feel like a lounge and not a metal tube about to launch itself violently into the sky. Muted voices. The soft thud of luggage going into overhead bins. Glassware clinking somewhere near the galley.
Shane likes it. He likes predictable spaces. Controlled spaces. Spaces where he can sit by a window and press his shoulder against the wall of the plane and pretend the rest of the world only exists on one side of him. He slides his bag under the seat in front of him and pulls the provided blanket over his lap immediately. It’s soft and slightly weighted and it helps anchor him in place.
He adjusts his headphones around his neck. Phone on the tray. Water bottle in the cup holder. Everything arranged neatly. Then he looks at the seat next to him. Empty.
Shane tries not to react, this the most dangerous moment. Hoping the seat next to him stayed empty for the rest of the flight. But Shane was aware that hope only invites disappointment. He glanced out the window watching as suitcases were loaded onto the airplane.
His attention is diverted to the movement down the aisle, as more passengers trickle onto the plane, moving slowly, dragging suitcases behind them like reluctant pets. There are a lot of seats left, most people walking past the first class cabin making their way to the economy section. Maybe– , he stops himself and where his thoughts were leading him.
Don’t do that, he told himself, he has flown enough to know that the universe has a particular talent for punishing optimism. Yet the seat next to him remains empty. Shane sunk back into the seat slightly. Eight hours. If it stays empty for eight hours he might actually survive this flight without feeling like his skin is too tight.
Crowded spaces are not ideal for him. Fashion shows are an exception only because they’re choreographed chaos. Everyone knows where to stand. He knows where to look. When to move, how to pose. He didn't have to overthink his every step and his every move.
Airports are the opposite, there's too many unpredictable people, too many accidental touches. Shane never felt like he was in control when in an airport and he hated not feeling in control. Too many conversations with strangers that start normal and then veer sharply into uncomfortable territory the moment someone recognizes him.
So an empty seat would be perfect so he watches the aisle without looking like he’s watching. A man walks past. Then another. A woman with an enormous coat. They keep going. The overhead bins slam shut one by one. A flight attendant passes with a polite smile.
Shane lets himself relax a bit. Maybe this time he would be lucky, maybe he wouldn't be forced to make small talk for eight hours. Maybe he wouldn't have to brush past whoever was sitting in 6B everytime he got up for the bathroom. Maybe–
He was brought out of his thoughts when a shadow fell over the empty seat. Of fucking course. Just when he had let himself begin to hope.
Shane keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the safety card in the seat pocket like it has suddenly become the most fascinating document in human history.
A deep voice says beside him, “Excuse me.”
The accent hits him immediately, Shane isn't too sure where the accent is from. Definitely eastern European though, maybe Russian . The man's accent was thick, rough around the edges, like the words are being pushed through gravel.
Shane looked up and then immediately forgot every normal thought he has ever had. The man standing beside the seat is–, well, Shane’s brain supplies several words in quick succession. Hot. Sexy. Gorgeous. Sex on legs. Oh no.
The man was tall, first of all. Tall enough that he had to duck slightly under the overhead bin when he stepped into the row. Broad shoulders stretching the dark fabric of his shirt in a way that suggests he is not unfamiliar with physical labor or gyms or both. Shane recons that he could probably pick him up and toss him around. Jesus Christ. He could not be thinking like this.
His hair is dark golden blonde color, his curls slightly messy, like he ran a hand through it sometime after security and boarding the plane and never bothered fixing it. His jaw is sharp. And his eyes– Shane notices those last, pale, greyish blue. He could see himself getting lost in those eyes. They meet Shane’s for exactly one second before the man gestures to the seat.
“Is mine, I think.” His accent makes the sentence sound heavier than it should. "6B right?"
“Mhmm.” Shane nods, great start he thinks to himself, very articulate.
The man slides into the seat beside him with a quiet rustle of fabric and suddenly the empty space Shane had been enjoying so much is gone. Replaced by a whole lot of man.
He smells faintly like something clean and woody. Cedar, maybe or something expensive trying to imitate cedar. Shane keeps his eyes on the safety card again, acting like if he looked at the man next to him he'd fall at the mans feet.
The man adjusts the seat, testing the controls, the seat slowly reclining before bringing it back to an upright position. His forearm brushes the armrest. Shane can't help but look, it's a very nice forearm. His eyes followed the line of it to the mans hand, broad palm and long fingers relaxed against the leather, and Shane caught himself quietly admiring just how good those hands looked. His fingers would probably look better somewhere else.
Shane immediately looks away from it, this is not productive. He focuses on the window, the runway lights blur faintly in the evening haze outside. The cabin door closes with a heavy metallic sound somewhere behind them.
No escaping now, he all of a sudden becomes very aware of the man next to him shifting slightly as he gets comfortable. Shane can feel the warmth of him even though they are not touching which is very distracting.
The man glances at him after a moment. Shane can feel the mans eyes on him before he even looks. He tries to not squirm under the mans gaze, keeping his eyes focused on the window. The man studies him for a second, not in a creepy way, just observant.
“You are model.” It’s not a question rather than a statement. The words come out harsher than the man probably intended due to his accent.
Shane exhales through his nose, giving a half hearted smile “Is it that obvious?”
The man’s mouth tilts slightly.“A little.”
Shane glances down at himself. He’s wearing loose black trousers, boots, and a coat his stylist insisted would photograph well in airports. Maybe it had been that obvious.
There’s a small pause, then the man holds out his hand.
“Ilya Rozonov.”
The name lands heavy and Shane stares at the offered hand for half a second longer than socially acceptable because his brain is still stuck on the accent. Then he takes it. His handshake is quick and slightly awkward and his hands are far too clammy and sweaty.
“Shane Hollander.”
Ilya repeats it slowly. “Shane Hollander.” Like hes testing out the name and the way he says it makes Shane's stomach do something deeply unhelpful.
The plane begins to push back from the gate. Engines hum louder beneath them. Shane looks back out the window, but now his brain is buzzing slightly in the uncomfortable way it does when there’s a new variable in his carefully controlled environment.
He is sitting next to a very large, very attractive eastern european man with a voice that sounds like gravel and honey. This was not ideal for Shane.
Shane knew he wasn't the best when it came to flirting and he knew he definitely was not good with attractive strangers. He tends to say the wrong things or panic and say nothing. Or panic and say too much.
Ilya shifts slightly beside him. Then he casually asks, “First time in Paris?”
Shane shakes his head. “No. I have been before.”
Ilya nods again. “Paris fashion week?”
“Yeah” Great, shane thinks to himself, one word, what a stellar conversational contribution. A social genius. “Im walking a show tomorrow night,” he quickly added.
“What brand?”
“Im walking for Balenciaga” Shane tells him.
Ilya raises his eyebrows. “Ah.”
Shane suddenly becomes aware that Ilya is still looking at him, not intensely. Just curious. And Shane has the deeply uncomfortable feeling that he is about to say something weird. Which happens often his brain rushes ahead of his social filter like a dog escaping a leash.
“So, uh–” He gestures vaguely toward Ilya. “Are you Russian?”
Ilya stares at him for exactly one second before he laughs. It’s a low sound, warm and amused. “Yes,” he says.
Shane immediately wants to crawl out of the plane mid-flight.
“Right. Yeah. That was–” He gestures uselessly. “I mean obviously.”
Ilya’s smile widens. “You are nervous flyer?”
Shane blinks. “Uh no.”
“Then why are you so nervous?” Ilya asks, leaning back in his seat smile not leaving his face.
“Im not nervous” Shane objects
“Ok Shane” Ilya says and it's obvious to Shane that the man does not believe him.
"How old are you?" Shane blurts out before his brain can comprehend what he is saying
"I am thirty seven" Ilya responds with an amused smile
"Oh"
"Oh, as in I look older or oh as in I look younger?" Ilya asks raising a brow at Shane
"No as in you look younger, you look good. I mean for your age. Not that thirty seven is old" Shane stumbled out not very eloquently. Shane sinks slightly deeper into the blanket. Fantastic. Eight hours next to the hottest man he’s seen in months and he has already established himself as socially malfunctioning. Perfect. Absolutely perfect start to this flight.
"You are young, da?" Ilya says, ignoring Shanes embarrassing panicked words.
"Not that young, I'm twenty three"
"Practically baby"
Shane wasn't sure what to respond to that, turning to glance out on the runway as the plane prepared for take off, trying to hide the heat creeping up his neck.
The plane lifts off with a long, heavy roar that vibrates through the entire cabin. Shane presses his shoulder into the window and watches New York dissolve into scattered lights beneath them. The city looks smaller the higher they climb. Less overwhelming, more manageable.
Beside him, Ilya says nothing which Shane is extremely grateful for. Conversation during takeoff feels like an unnecessary challenge, like someone asking him to perform basic arithmetic while the ground disappears beneath his feet. His brain is busy doing other things. Like making sure the blanket is arranged correctly across his lap. Like making sure his breathing is normal. Like pretending he is not sitting next to the most unfairly attractive man he has seen in a long time, which is saying a lot since Shane job practically requires him to be around attractive people.
The engines settle into a deep, steady hum once they level out. Seatbelt signs stay on for a while. Shane keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the window, he can feel Ilya beside him. The presence of another person always sits strangely in Shane’s awareness, like a new object placed suddenly in a carefully arranged room. He keeps noticing it. Keeps adjusting around it. He risks a glance.
Ilya is looking straight ahead, one arm resting loosely on the armrest between them, the other holding a glass of water the flight attendant must have handed him while Shane was staring at the clouds. Even his profile is distracting. The sharp line of his nose. The faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. The calm, almost sleepy expression on his face like long flights are something he’s done a hundred times. Shane looks away immediately.
Two minutes later he forgets himself and glances again this time Ilya is already looking at him. Their eyes meet just for a second. Shane immediately turns back to the window heat creeping up his neck. He pulls his blanket slightly higher on his lap like that was always his plan. Why does eye contact feel like being caught doing something illegal?
The cabin lights dim further as the plane settles into cruise altitude. A quiet announcement from the captain drifts through the speakers, calm and practiced, mentioning flight time and weather conditions over the Atlantic.
Shane hears none of it; he is too busy thinking about the man sitting twelve inches away from him. He tells himself not to look again, he lasts approximately forty seconds. Ilya is reading something on his phone now, brows drawn slightly together in concentration. Shane studies him for exactly one second longer than appropriate.
Ilya looks up again directly at him. Shane’s brain immediately shuts down like an overloaded circuit. He looks down at his own hands like they are suddenly fascinating.
“Can I help you with something?” Ilya asks with an amused smile
“What?” Shane asked, confused.
“You keep looking at me. Is there something you want?” Ilya clarifies
“No, no, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to stare” Shane stumbled over his words, mortified that he had been caught. He is twenty three years old. He walks runways in front of hundreds of people, cameras flash in his face constantly. And yet making eye contact with one attractive stranger on a plane has apparently reduced him to the emotional stability of a nervous rabbit.
Shane becomes hyperaware of the exact distance between them. The quiet warmth radiating from Ilya’s shoulder. He keeps his eyes glued to the screen trying his very best to avoid eye contact, but failing miserably. Stupidly, he glances sideways again. Ilya doesnt look away this time, his expression is calm, slightly amused. Shane is the first to break eye contact, looking away so fast his neck almost snaps.
Ten minutes pass, maybe fifteen. The cabin grows quieter, some passengers have already reclined their seats into beds. The overhead lights dim further until everything is bathed in soft blue darkness meant to simulate nighttime. Shane relaxes slightly under the blanket, he feels safer when the lights are low, less observed. He opens a movie and lets it play without really watching.
At some point the flight attendants come down the aisle asking the men what they would like to drink. Shane asks for a bottle of water, thanking the flight attendant, all while avoiding to look at the man next to him. Which is difficult because Ilya thanks them in Russian accented English that does that annoying thing to Shane’s nervous system again.
Shane sips his water and stares at the movie playing on the screen. Eventually, curiosity wins again and he glances sideways.
Ilya is already looking at him like he expected Shane to be looking at him. Shane freezes. There is a moment, brief but very real, where neither of them looks away. Ilya’s eyes are lighter up close than Shane first thought. Grey-blue, almost silver in the dim cabin lighting, his eyes were calm. And Shane has the strange feeling that Ilya is not embarrassed by this silent game of accidental eye contact the way Shane very much is.
Shane breaks first and looks back at the screen. His ears felt warm and he could tell that his face was red. How can holding eye contact with a stranger for less than 30 seconds affect him this much?
This repeats itself over the next two hours, not constantly. Just enough to become a pattern. Shane looks, Ilya catches him, or Ilya looks first and Shane accidentally meets his gaze. Each time it lasts a second too long. Each time Shane panics slightly afterward and pretends to be very interested in whatever is happening on his screen.
At one point he glances over and finds Ilya sleeping or he thinks he’s sleeping. Head tilted slightly back, eyes closed, mouth slightly ajar arms crossed loosely over his chest. Shane studies him for a second longer than he should the relaxed lines of his face and the slow rise and fall of his breathing. God he is beautiful.
Ilya’s eyes open staring directly into Shane’s. Shane jerks his gaze back to the screen so fast the headphones around his neck shift. He pulls the blanket higher and sinks deeper into his seat. Beside him, Ilya shifts again and that's when Shane hears it.
A low chuckle.
Shane stares stubbornly at his movie, which he has now completely lost track of two hours into the flight. They have barely exchanged words but somehow Shane has managed to embarrass himself at least six different times.
By the fourth hour of the flight, Shane has forgotten about sleep. Ilya being the one to strike up conversation, they talk quietly, their voices low so they don’t disturb the sleeping passengers around them. The conversation moves easily, drifting from one subject to another without much effort. Ilya talks about where he grew up in Russia, long winters, summers spent in cities Shane has never heard of, stories about snow that piled higher than the windows of his childhood home. The way he describes it is calm and matter of fact, but Shane finds himself picturing everything vividly, the grey skies and quiet streets buried under snow.
Shane listens more than he talks at first, partly because he likes the sound of Ilya’s voice, partly because he’s slightly afraid that if he talks too much he’ll say something stupid again. But the longer they speak, the easier it becomes. Shane tells him about modeling, though he feels strange describing it out loud. Most of the time the job feels surreal even to him, flying between cities, walking runways in clothes that cost more than cars, being photographed under blinding lights while strangers adjust his hair and clothes like he’s a mannequin.
Ilya seems genuinely curious about it, he asks questions that aren’t the usual shallow ones Shane hears at parties. Not who have you worked with or what brands. Instead he asks what the shows actually feel like. What it’s like to stand backstage before walking out. Whether the lights are blinding. Whether Shane ever gets nervous. Shane finds himself explaining things he’s never really articulated before.
The chaos backstage before a show. The smell of hairspray and steam from clothing irons. Stylists shouting across crowded rooms. Models standing around in robes, half dressed and barefoot on cold concrete floors. He describes the strange moment before stepping onto the runway when everything goes quiet in his head. The sudden brightness of the lights, the feeling of hundreds of eyes watching him walk.
Ilya listens closely, not interrupting, just watching him with those pale, steady eyes. The attention makes Shane slightly nervous at first. There’s something about being listened to that carefully that makes his chest feel lighter.
Shane learns that Ilya works in architecture, designing buildings in different countries. The way he talks about it is thoughtful, almost careful, as if he’s trying to explain something that’s difficult to put into words. He describes cities the way some people describe people, talking about the personality of different places, the rhythm of the streets, the shapes of buildings against the skyline.
The longer he sits next to him, the more aware he becomes of small details. The way Ilya gestures slowly when he explains something, his hands moving through the air like he’s sketching invisible shapes. The way he pauses mid sentence when he forgets a word in English. The faint crease that appears between his eyebrows when he concentrates. The occasional flash of amusement in his eyes when Shane says something unexpected.
Shane finds himself reacting to it in ways he can’t quite control, his stomach flips occasionally when Ilya looks at him a certain way. He becomes very aware of his posture, the position of his hands, the way he’s sitting. He catches himself smiling more than usual.
It made his chest feel tight in an unfamiliar way, like a mix of nerves and something warmer that he wasn’t quite ready to name. The attention made him hyperaware of everything, how close their seats were, the quiet space between them, the way Ilya’s voice dropped slightly when he spoke directly to him.
Shane tried to focus on the conversation, but his eyes kept drifting. Down, just for a second to Ilya’s mouth, his pink lips. His lips curved slightly when he talked, and Shane found himself watching the shape of the words before he even realized what he was doing.
Then Ilya stopped talking and Shane blinked and looked up. Ilya was watching him and there was a slow, knowing smile on his face.
Shane felt heat rush up his neck instantly. “I wasn’t staring,” he said quickly.
Ilya lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t say you were.”
Shane looked away toward the window, suddenly very interested in absolutely anything else. But after a moment he looked back again and somehow his gaze drifted down again without permission. Ilya’s lips. This time when Shane caught himself and looked up, Ilya was still watching him, amusement flickering in his eyes.
“You’re doing it again,” Ilya said quietly.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Of course you weren't."
“I am not.”
Ilya leaned slightly closer, studying his face with obvious interest. “You know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “your freckles look even prettier when you blush.”
Shane immediately sat up straighter. “I’m not blushing.”
“You definitely are.”
“I’m not.”
Ilya’s smile widened, like he was enjoying every second of Shane trying and failing to look composed. For a moment he didn’t say anything, just held Shane’s gaze long enough to make the warmth in his cheeks spread even further. Then he leaned back in his seat and unbuckled his seatbelt.
“Well,” he said casually, standing up, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
He stepped into the aisle, then paused just long enough to glance back at Shane. The look he gave him was unmistakable. Almost a quiet challenge. Then he turned and walked toward the back of the plane. Shane sat there for a moment, staring after him, his heart beating faster than it had any reason to.
Shane took a deep breath, waiting, two, three, four, five, seconds before unbuckling his seatbelt and with shaky legs walking towards the bathrooms. Shane knew this was a bad idea, what if Ilya hadn't even meant for him to follow. Or worse they would get caught by some flight attendant and they would be put on some type of no fly list and would never be able to travel ever again. Shane tried to swallow the lump in his throat away as he approached the one of the bathroom doors, it was the only locked one so Ilya must be in that one.
He took one final deep breath before gently knocking on the door, it didn't take too long for the door to open and before him stood a smirking Ilya, smug as if he was one hundred percent sure that Shane would follow him. Ilya grabbed him by the wrist pulling him inside closing the bathroom door behind them.
“You followed me?” Ilya says with a smirk as Shane locks the bathroom door. The bathrooms were slightly bigger than the ones in economy, the difference wasn't that big, the space was still too small for two six foot something men.
Shane could feel the heat working its way up his neck, “I thought that’s what you wanted”
“I want” Ilya confirms, taking a step towards Shane.
Shane took a step back letting Ilya barricade him with his arms against the sink. Their chests pressed up against one another. Shane swore that if Ilya paid enough attention he’d be able to feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest.
“This is a bad idea” Shane breathed, glancing towards the bathroom door
“What is?”
“This”
Ilya brings his hands to curl around Shane's neck and the back of his head and pressing his lips to Shane's. The kiss was soft at first, just a brush of lips but Shane could feel Ilya's tongue dragging against his bottom lip, before nudging his mouth open. Shane willingly parted his lips allowing Ilya to deepen the kiss, pressing his tongue to Shane’s.
Shane was overly aware that they were currently 40 thousand feet in the sky in a cramped bathroom which anyone could knock on any minute now. But his dick didn’t seem to be concerned as he began to feel himself grow harder. Shane whined into Ilya's mouth when he wedged his thigh between Shane’s legs, pushing against his hardening dick.
Ilya ran his hands up and down Shane’s body, finally stopping at his waist, squeezing and encouraging Shane to grind down on him. They pulled away for a breath as Ilya began kissing Shane’s neck, nipping at his pulse point.
“No marks,” Shane moaned.
Ilya didn’t reply as he moved his kisses down from his neck to his collar bones. Ilya could feel himself quickly growing hard in his trousers and Shane could feel Ilya's erection digging into his hip, he let out a moan tipping his head back against the mirror behind him.
“Shh” Ilya hushed, pressing his middle and index fingers to Shane's lips, “You want them to hear you?”
Shane shook his head, opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around Ilya's fingers, letting out a moan as he sucked and letting his tongue curl around the digits as Ilya pressed the pad of his fingers down on his tongue.
“You need something in your mouth to keep you quiet?” Ilya teased, making Shane moan around his fingers.
Shane released Ilya's fingers and began placing wet kisses down his neck. He slowly lifted Ilya's shirt as he travelled further down his chest, placing scattered kisses and bites along his ribs, causing him to let out breathy moans, fisting his hand in Shane's hair.
Shane began kissing along Ilya's waist band, softly biting the skin there, causing him to groan. Ilya pulled Shane back up so he could kiss him again, already missing his lips on his, tongue licking into Shanes mouth.
Ilya could feel Shane’s hand playing with the waistband of his pants, almost like he was waiting for permission to go further.
“Can I?” Shane asked, panting against Ilya's lips, who quickly nodded.
Shane put his hand into Ilya's pants, palming him over his boxers and slowly working him to full hardness. It didn’t take too long. Ilya let out breathy whines, throwing his head back giving Shane access to his neck. Shane continued kissing and nipping at his neck while he palmed him.
Shane began to feel Ilya's precum leak through his boxers, he helped him pull down his trousers and boxers and watched as his cock sprung free, the heavy weight of Ilya's cock slapping against his stomach, causing him to groan. Shane felt his mouth go slightly dry, licking his lips slowly as he traced his fingers up and down the length, causing Ilya's cock to twitch.
“Like what you see?” Ilya asked with a smug smile.
Shane just rolled his eyes, grabbing Ilya's cock and lightly squeezing at the base, making him let out a groan. The drag was dry and leaned towards being painful until Ilya grabbed Shane's hand pulling it up to his mouth. Shane couldn’t help but moan as he watched the Russian man spit into his hand.
Shane went back to wrapping his hand around Ilya's shaft, the glide still slightly dry but Ilya didn’t mind. Shane’s pace was slow and teasing, pressing his thumb into his slit, spreading the precum making the glide easier.
“Fuck,” Ilya breathed out, closing gis eyes. Shane took the opportunity to bite down on Ilya's shoulder, making him tighten the grip around Shane's hips.
“You want to suck my dick?” Ilya whispered into Shane’s ear, who quickly nodded.
“Please” Shane said, embarrassed about how needy he sounded.
Shane began kissing down Ilya's chest, licking and biting his nipples, earning him a groan. His kisses traveled south until he was face to face with Ilya cock.
Shane slowly began placing soft kisses and kitten licks on the head, tasting ilyas precum. Moaning at the taste of him. Shane dipped his chin down, taking the head into his mouth, suckling on it and licking along the slit, getting him wet.
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya moaned, shutting his eyes. Shane took Ilya further into his mouth until he could feel him at the back of his throat. He then began to bob his head up and down, keeping a steady pace. Ilya fisted shanes hair, clenching his jaw and trying to not fuck up into the models throat.
Shane looked up to Ilya, who already had his eyes on him, his blue irises barely visible anymore, his pupils lust-blown. Shane put his hands on the back of Ilya's thighs pulling him forward, giving him permission.
Shane takes him deep again, nose bumping against his pelvis and Ilya doesn't hold back as he begins to fucks Shanes throat. Its sloppy and desperate and so fucking filthy that the sounds alone would be enough to alert the flight attendants to what was going on inside the bathroom. Wet gagging, slurping, the slap of Ilya's balls against his chin. Shane's own cock is aching, leaking in his pants.
Shane whimpers putting his hands on Ilya's thighs digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise.
"Such a good boy." Ilya starts to fuck his mouth properly now, holding his head still by his hair and using his throat. Shane moans at the praise, and the vibration makes Ilya curse.
“Fuck Shane, you were made for this, da?” Ilya whispered as he began speeding up his thrusts into, “made to suck my cock”.
“So good at this. I should take picture of you, like this. Better than any photoshoot” Ilya said, breathing heavily. “Made to be on your knees”
Ilya panted heavily as he began thrusting harder into Shane's throat, feeling how Shanes throat fluttered around his dick.. “You’re so good, so pretty,” he looked down towards Shane, who had spit running down his chin and tears soaking his lashes.
Ilya felt the all too familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach, his mouth going dry and his heart rate increasing. “Shane, I’m gonna cum,” he stuttered, trying to pull him off.
Shane shook his head no as best as he could with a mouth full of Ilya. He began to fuck his throat onto Ilyas cock, reducing Ilya to a grunting and moaning mess. His hands fisting in shanes hair pulling at him. Ilya could feel his orgasm building and slowly reaching its climax.
“Shane fuck, I’m so close,” Ilya moaned. Shane pulled back and began sucking on the head as his hand kept stroking the rest of his length. Ilya let out a deep grunt as he began cumming into Shane's mouth, who kept his lips tight around Ilya's head as he swallowed. He worked Ilya through his orgasm. Afterwards, he removed himself from Shanes mouth and gripping the sink to steady himself
“God Shane , you’re amazing,” Ilya panted, looking at Shane’s messed up hair and swollen lips.
Shane pulled on Ilya's calf pulling his leg forward as he shuffled closer to Ilya's leg. Shane buried his face in Ilya's crotch nuzzling at his cock as he began shamelessly grinding against his legs. Shane didn’t care how pathetic he looked humping the older man’s leg.
“Fuck Hollander, you’re that desperate for it?” Ilya asked, grabbing him by the hair, tilting his head to make Shane look at him.
Shane let out a needy whine as he continued to hump Ilya's leg.
“You are like puppy” Ilyas voice clouded by arousal, seeing the younger man this needy from just sucking dick. Shane just let out a whine, his hips moving faster and harder. Ilya could tell he was close just by the whiny moans and how Shane's hips began to lose rhythm. Shane dug his nails into Ilya's thigh, burying his face in his crotch as his hips began to stutter before coming to a halt. Shane spilled into his underwear, letting out an embarrassingly loud moan.
Ilya quickly pulled Shane up into a bruising kiss, he could still taste himself on Shane's tongue. Ilya just deepened the kiss moaning into Shane's mouth.
Ilya pulled away, paused, and looked at Shane whose eyes were still shut, slow hot breaths leaving his mouth. “Shane,” Ilya whispered, not too sure what to say.
“I never come that quick.” Shane said face red with embarrassment
“I have that effect” Ilya says smugly.
“You're such an asshole.” Shane laughed, no venom behind his words. “Now my underwear are all dirty”
“I can clean them for you” Ilya offered wiggling his eyebrows
“What does that even mean?” Shane asked, hands still cradling the back of Ilya's neck.
“I think you know what i mean” Ilya says, pulling Shane to his chest, making him laugh.
“You’re disgusting” Shane says, pushing at his chest, Ilya's hands tightening around his waist not moving an inch. “Just go back to your seat, i need to clean up”
“I will be waiting” He said, pressing a quick peck to Shane's lips before exiting the bathroom.
Shane gripped the sink taking a couple deep breaths, he could not believe that he had just done that. Gone into a bathroom with a man he only met a few hours ago, got on his knees in a dirty airplane bathroom and sucked his dick. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes bloodshot, his lips pink and swollen, his hair a tousled mess. He kind of loved how he looked, if anyone were to see him it would be completely clear what he had been doing.
He squirmed as he remembered the cum drying in his boxers, the wet sensation driving him mad. He quickly took his pants off, his boxers followed suit before he threw them in the trashcan. I guess I am freeballing the rest of this flight, he thought to himself. He washed the dried tears, spit and cum off of his face before fixing his hair. He looked somewhat presentable before exiting the bathroom, he made eye contact with a flight attendant who was working in the galley. She shot him a disapproving look, as if she knew exactly what he had been doing in there.
Shane could feel his ears burning as he turned his heel walking back to his seat, he didn't make eye contact with anyone else as he did so. He quickly brushed past Ilya who was smirking up at him, before sitting down in his own seat. His face is still burning, the heat crawling all the way up to the tips of his ears. He keeps his eyes fixed very intensely on the seatbelt sign. The quiet hum of the plane fills the space between them, along with the distant movement coming from the galley.
He can still feel Ilya’s mouth on his which is absolutely mortifying. Shane clears his throat and adjusts the cuff of his sweater for the fourth time in ten seconds. A slow smile pulls at the corner of Ilyas mouth as he settles back into his seat, stretching one arm along the armrest between them. “You’re very quiet suddenly.”
Shane’s eyes snap toward him for half a second before darting away again. “I– I’m not quiet,” he says quickly, which would maybe be more convincing if he wasn’t blushing like he’s been set on fire.
Ilya chuckles under his breath. “Shane.”
“Hm?”
“You humped me like a puppy five minutes ago.”
Shane chokes on air.“I did not–”
“In the airplane bathroom,” Ilya adds casually.
Shane groans and covers his face with both hands. “Oh my god, I never do stuff like that. Go into bathrooms with strangers”
Ilya laughs, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “You’re the one who followed me.”
“I thought you were– I don’t know– I thought it was what you wanted!” Shane says through his fingers.
“I did want”
Shane drops his hands into his lap with a defeated sigh. For a moment neither of them speak. Shane stares out the window, trying very hard to act normal while his brain replays the last thirty minutes on an endless loop.
Ilya studies him for a second, amused. “You are cute when you’re embarrassed.”
Shane lets out a strangled noise, lying “I am not embarrassed”.
“You’re blushing again.”
“I am not!”
“You are.”
Shane glares at him and Ilya just smiles wider. Then he tilts his head slightly, voice softening just a little. “Relax. I’m not going to tell anyone you sucked a strangers cock”
Shane groans again and sinks lower in his seat “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
Shane opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Ilya leans a little closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Besides, we are not really strangers anymore. You sucked my cock, humped me like a dog”
“God you're never gonna let that go are you?”
“Never” Ilya says. “But, it would be a shame if we only did that once.”
Shane’s brain short circuits,“What?”, he chokes out.
Ilya shrugs casually, though the glint in his eyes gives him away. “You’re going to Paris. I’m going to Paris.”
“What are you suggesting?” Shane stares at him.
“I’m suggesting,” Ilya says, “that when we land, we get a drink.”
“A drink?”
“Yes.”
“In Paris.”
“Yes, Shane. That is where plane is going.”
Shane huffs out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m there for work.”
“I know, Fashion week, did that orgasam make you brain dead?”
“Fuck off, Rozonov”
“What about after work?”
Shane glances at him again. Ilya’s watching him with that same amused, steady expression that makes Shane feel like he’s being very carefully studied.
“And if I say no?” Shane asks weakly.
Ilya leans back in his seat, completely relaxed. “Then I’ll spend the entire rest of this flight reminding you that you humped my leg like a dog.”
Shane stares at him “You are such an asshole”
Ilya smiles “And you are boring”
“I am not” Shane protests
“Then get a drink with me”
Shane exhales, shaking his head a little “Fine. Okay. One drink.”
Ilya’s smile widens just slightly “Good.”
Shane looks out the window again, trying very hard to ignore the way his stomach flips when Ilya smiles at him the way he does.
By the time they exchanged numbers there was only thirty minutes of the flight left, Ilya and Shane spend the remaining time talking about what they're looking most forward to during their stay in paris, the discuss the hotels they will be staying at, realising they're only a ten minute walk away from each other. Ilya winks at Shane when he informs him of that and Shane just rolls his eyes at the implication while trying to hide his blush.
****
Shane’s show had gone better than he’d dared hope. Two days of fittings, rehearsals, nerves, and then suddenly it was over, lights, music, cameras, applause. Now the adrenaline had faded into a jittery kind of energy that hadn’t quite left his body. Which was how he’d ended up texting Ilya, the day after his show, something about celebrating the show and having a drink at the hotel bar, before very casually adding that his room had a better view anyway.
A completely normal invitation, definitely not transparent at all. The room itself was almost obnoxiously Parisian, tall windows with heavy cream curtains, a little balcony overlooking glowing yellow streetlamps and slate rooftops, soft golden lamps, a couch that looked like it had been chosen by someone who said the word curated a lot. Shane was wearing jeans and a loose sweater, but somehow that felt worse, too normal, too obvious.
There was a knock at the door, Shane opened it and immediately forgot the very normal sentence he’d planned.
Ilya leaned against the frame like he had all the time in the world, dark jacket, simple black t-shirt, hands in his pockets. Casual and annoyingly calm.
“Hey,” Shane said, trying to sound like his heart wasn’t suddenly beating way too fast.
“Hello,” Ilya said, stepping inside, his eyes sweeping the room once before landing back on Shane.
Nice hotel rooms apparently came with terrible lighting for people trying not to blush. Shane gestured vaguely toward the small bar cart. “I thought we could–uh–have a drink. Since the show went well and were both free. And the bar downstairs looked kind of crowded.” It was possibly the worst lie ever spoken. Ilya watched him for a second, slow smile creeping across his face.
“Mm,” he said thoughtfully. “So that’s why you invited me up here.”
Shane busied himself with the glasses. “Yes. Obviously.” Behind him, he heard Ilya take a few steps closer.
“You are a terrible liar, Shane Hollander.”
Shane turned around, already red. “I’m not–”
Ilya was close now. Not touching, just standing there with that amused, knowing look.
“I mean,” Ilya said lightly, “I’m still happy to have a drink.” A beat, then his gaze flicked to Shane’s face again. “But we both know that is not the real reason I’m here.”
Shane opened his mouth, closed it again, and looked like he might spontaneously combust. Ilya’s smile widened slightly, taking a step closer, until shane could feel his breath on his face.
Ilya put his hands on Shane's hips, pulling him with force so their chests were pressed up against one another, the feelings of Ilya's hands alone made him bite back a moan threatening to escape his mouth.
“I think real reason you invited me is because you want to hump my leg like a dog again” Ilya whispers in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.
“Fuck off Rozonov” Shane says, trying get out of his grip, but failing.
After what felt like an eternity of just staring into one another's eyes, Ilya finally leaned in, pressing his lips to Shane's. Their warm lips moved against each other, bodies flushing against one another. Ilya licked Shane's bottom lip, asking for entrance, before sucking Shane's tongue into his mouth. He moaned at the taste and pressed him up against the wall, tilting Shane's head back by his hair, hoping for a better angle.
“Missed this,” Shane breathed against his mouth. He wrapped his arms around Ilya's neck and pulled him in closer. Ilya placed his hands on the model's waist in return, caressing his sides gently.
“Me too, missed your pretty mouth.”
“Are you gonna fuck me?” Shane asks breathlessly while Ilya's kisses move to his neck.
“Yes, but first I think you should get on your knees”
Shane quickly scrambled to his knees and Ilya had to close his eyes to try and not come just from the sight alone. Shane began mouthing at Ilya's jeans over the growing bulge, placing hot, wet opened mouth kisses, wetting the fabric. Ilya gripped his hair pushing his face into his crotch, Shane letting out a moan and trying to inhale the older man's scent through his jeans. Shane could feel Ilya's dick twitch as he nuzzled his face into his crotch.
“Please” Shane whined looking up at Ilya, eyes begging for permission. Ilya nods, giving him the go ahead and Shane is quick to undo his belt and flyer, pulling his jeans and boxers down in one go.
Ilyas dick sprung free, not fully hard yet, but somehow it was still the biggest shane has seen before. Shane didn't waste time leaning forward to lick the precum spilling out of Ilya's slit, causing the man above to groan. Shane placed soft wet kisses on the underside of Ilyas shaft, while stroking him with his hand trying to work him to full hardness. It didn't take him too long to get there, especially when a skilled hot young man was working him over. Shane takes the head into his mouth slowly suckling on it, the groans and russian words spilling from Ilya's mouth encouraging him as he slowly takes Ilya further into his mouth.
“I swear Hollander you were made for this” Ilya says, pressing his thumb into the hollow of Shane's cheek, feeling himself in his mouth.
Ilya slowly guides Shane's head up and down, eyes not leaving Shanee once, he wanted this image burned into his eyes. He would die a happy man if this is all he ever saw again.
“You look so pretty for me on your knees”
The words cause Shane to moan around Ilya's dick. “You like when I call you pretty?” Shane preens, nodding his approval at the pet name.
“Such a pretty little puppy,” Ilya says.
Ilya lets himself thrust into Shane's throat a couple of times, before pulling out and pulling Shane up for a kiss. Ilya helped Shane out of his sweater and jeans between kisses, pressing him up against the wall, thigh slotted between Shane's legs pressing up against his erection. Shane couldn't help but grind down against Ilya's thigh, the jeans hard drag and the fact that Ilya would not stop calling him puppy. Ilya pulled his thigh away making Shane whine in protest, he wrapped his hands around the back of Shane's thighs picking him up off of the floor, Shane let out a surprise laugh at that. He knew he wasn't small, he was strong and ilya only had maybe two inches on him, so the fact that Ilya could casually pick him up as if he was as light as a feather, really turned him on. Shane went back to kiss Ilya, moaning into his mouth as Ilya walked them over to the bed. Ilya picked Shane up and gently tossed him onto the bed.
“Fuck that was hot,” Shane watched as Ilya began to remove his clothes. He couldn't keep his eyes off of his abs, it was absurd, nobody should look that good. His eyes travelled down to Ilya's dick, it was unfair really, how did he get to look like that and have a dick like that?.
“Dont worry it will fit” Ilya says with a knowing smirk.
“Fuck off”
He walked over to the bed crawling towards Shane and placed himself on top of him, caressing his face, fingers tracing along his lips. He tried to capture this image of Shane in his brain, his beautiful freckles, his hazel eyes which were now a lot darker than when he had first arrived, his pink swollen lips.
“So pretty,” he whispered. Shane smiled, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. Ilya was quick to deepen the kiss, Shane going pliant under him as he ran his hands over his chest. He thumbed one of his nipples, making Shane cry into the kiss.
“So sensitive,” Ilya whispered, continuing to kiss down his neck, nipping at the skin.
“You smell so good baby,” Ilya moaned, burying his nose into his neck as he began stroking his cock, trying to bring him to full hardness.
Ilya kissed his neck, down to his chest, latching his tongue on Shane's nipples while he twisted and pulled at the other one with his fingers . He sucked each bud to full attention, causing Shane to whimper and grab a handful of his hair. Shane sounded so sinful, he had barely done anything but he was already so gone.
He moved his kisses down to Shane's stomach, almost worshipping every inch of his skin. He moved again down to his thighs, nibbling the soft skin there before leaving wet kisses on the inside of his thighs. Shane moaned loudly. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Shane's boxers get wetter from the precum.
“You are so wet Hollander, like girl” He said dragging his fingers over the wet fabric.
“Fuck off” Shane moaned.
He dragged his lips up and down Shane's thighs, feeling the goosebumps on his skin, nosing upwards towards his boxers, savouring Shane's smell. By now, Shane was whining and kicking his legs, urging Ilya to touch his dick. He placed one last kiss to his navel and began to pull Shane's boxers down.
Shane let out a moan that sounded awfully close to a scream when Ilya's lips wrapped around his head. Ilya didn't move further down, he stayed there sucking on the sensitive head while pressing his tongue into Shane's slit, lapping up the precum. Shane tried to lift his hips up from the mattress, to push his aching dick further into Ilya's mouth. Ilya held him down by his hips, pinning him down so he couldn't thrust into his mouth. Ilya gave his hips a harsh squeeze instructing him to stay put. He slowly began taking Shane further down into his mouth, one of his hands slowly stroking Shane at the base of his cock while his other hand fondling his balls.
Shane thrashed his head around, trying his best to keep his hips still and not thrust into Ilya's mouth. “Ilya, fuck, stop im gonna come” Shane warned. Ilya pulled off him, looking up at Shane who had his arm covering his eyes while his other hand gripped the sheets.
“You have lube?” Ilya asked, his accent sounding rougher now.
Shane quickly nodded, leaning over to the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms. Ilya laughed amused as he picked up the strip of ten condoms. “You think it will be enough?”
“Shut up” Shane groaned
“That is no way to speak to the man who is about to fuck you” Ilya says, tusking at shane.
“Well I don't see much fucking going on, so why don't you get on with it?”
Ilya laughed sitting up on his knees, he grabbed Shane by the back of the knees pulling him towards himself, making Shane let out a yelp. Shane's thighs barricaded Ilya's hips, before pushing them forward bending him in half, almost like a pretzel.
“Hold” was all Ilya said and Shane understood, gripping the backs of his knees pulling them closer to his chest, exposing himself for Ilya. He poured some lube onto his fingers, pressing one finger against Shane rim just circling, trying to get Shane to relax under his touch. He slowly pressed his finger into Shane, up to the second knuckle making Shane let out a breathy moan.
“This is okay?” He asked, his finger stilling inside Shane.
“Yes, please just do something,” Shane begged. Ilya complied as he began to fuck him with his finger. Shane pushed back and tried to ride his finger. “More,” he begged, pressing his face into his knee.
Ilya didn’t reply, just added another finger in, slowly scissoring and stretching him open. He pushed deeper, trying to find Shane's prostate. He tried different angles, knowing he found it when he let out a satisfied moan.
“There?”
“There,” Shane confirmed, “Please more”. Tiny whines escaped his mouth, hands pulling at his knees, head thrown back against the pillow, his dick hard and drooling precum on his stomach.
By the third finger Shane was begging for more, pushing back trying to ride Ilya's fingers. He held him by the hip, trying to still his movements, while also kissing him everywhere his mouth could reach.
“You are so desperate hollander” Ilya laughed, “Want my dick that bad?”
“Please”
“Maybe we should stay like this, see how long you can take my fingers before you cum. Maybe i will eat you, add my tongue with my fingers. Have you beg for my cock”
“Please Ilya, want you,” Shane begged, pulling on Ilya's hair with one hand the other gripping his leaking dick.
“Such a slut for it” Ilya says, making Shane moan and his slit leaking more precum onto his stomach. “Want you to ride me,” Ilya murmured, biting Shane's ankle while still working his fingers in and out.
He glanced up at Shane, seeing him bite his bottom lip and nod eagerly. He removed his fingers, crawling up the bed and laying down in the middle, Shane stumbled over his own hands trying to crawl up to Ilya. "You really are like puppy, can't even walk properly" Ilya laughs before pulling Shane onto his lap.
He kissed him, sucking his tongue into his mouth and gripping his waist as Shane began to slide his ass over Ilya's dick. The glide was too smooth, causing Ilya to groan, “Fuck Shane. I need to be inside you. Now. Right now.”
Shane grabbed Ilya's leaking cock and slid a condom on, applying more lube to it. Shane was glad to do all the work, looking over his shoulder before guiding Ilya to his hole, slowly sinking down.Ilya was big, bigger than any one else he has been with, the stretch was still painful despite all the prep, Shane tried to breath through, slightly enjoying the stretch and the heavy weight of Ilya's cock. He held onto Ilyas shoulders, throwing his head back, whining loudly the further he sank down on to Ilya's dick.
“Fuck Shane, so tight” Ilya moaned, sitting up a little to attach his mouth to Shanes nipples.
“So big. Why are you so big,” Shane whimpered, finally fully seated on Ilya's cock.
“It is okay?” Ilya asked, looking at the expression on Shane's face something between pleasure and pain. Shane nodded, reassuring Ilya he just needed a moment to adjust.
Shane slowly began moving his hips in circles, grinding on Ilya. His arms were tightly locked around Ilyas shoulders, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving marks.
“Such a pretty cockslut, ah? ,” Ilya said, biting at Shane's pulse point. Shane let out a string of whines, moving his hips back and forth and letting Ilya's cock rub against his prostate. Ilya wasn't a very patient man, he couldn't take the agonising slow grinds, Shane squeezing his cock every time he brushed against his prostate. Planting his feet onto the mattress gripping onto Shane's thighs as he began snapping his hips upwards, fucking into Shane
Shane touched his lower belly and moaned loudly. Ilya paused and looked up. “What is it? That feel good?”. Shane nodded as Ilya tried to recreate what he did, eyes tearing up from the sudden pleasure. He guided Ilya's right hand towards his lower belly. His eyes widened when he realised what Shane was referring to. He could feel a slight bulge on Shane's belly every time he thrust up into him. He tested it a few more times, right palm still caressing Shane's navel. The bulge could be felt with every thrust.
Just the thought of being that deep inside Shane made Ilya want to spill into the condom, he quickly brought his hand down to the base of his dick, squeezing trying to make it last longer. Shane whimpered loudly as began lifting himself before sinking back down, beginning a steady pace. Ilya held his ass, spreading his cheeks and pulling him down onto him harder, meeting his thrusts.
It wasn't long before Shane's thighs began to shake, his breathing became heavier. Ilya noticed and caressed his thighs, pulling him down into a kiss. “Such a good slut for me, taking my dick so well” Ilya praised, “You like when i call you slut?”
“Yes” Shane whined as a particularly hard thrust made him topple forward burying his face in Ilya's shoulder
“Fuck, yeah, right there,” he cried, biting Ilyas skin where his shoulder met his neck. It made him thrust up even harder. Shane slid his hand between their bodies, trying to stroke his leaking cock. Ilya grabbed his wrist and put both of his hands behind his back. He held both wrists with one hand. “Wh-”
“Want you to come on my cock only. Can you do that?” Ilya grunted.
“Fuck. Yes. Please, Ilya. Please. Don’t stop.” Shane whined, trying to rub his cock against Ilya's stomach, needing some friction. Ilya continued to fuck him, in and out, loving the view of Shane looking flushed all over.
“Can you come hands free? Can you come just from feeling my cock inside your Pussy?”
Ilya felt Shane's entire body shiver, his ass squeezing his cock tighter. “Yeah Hollander, You like that?” He continued his brutal thrust. “You like having your hands tied up while i fuck you?” Shane stopped making sense a while ago, all coming out of his mouth were a string of whiny moans, nonsense and the occasional harder.
“Such a slut for it Hollander” Ilya said again
“Ilya,” Shane cried out. Ilya could feel Shane’s cheeks burning hot as he buried his face in the crook of his neck. He felt tears streaming down Shane's face, pants becoming heavier. His cock was leaking and his body continued to shake.
He thrusted into Shane's hole, again and again. He licked his earlobe, placing wet kisses down his neck. “So good at riding,” he whispered. Shane let out a whimper. “Such a good whore, so hungry for it, da? ” Shane nodded.
Suddenly Shane's breathing was coming fast and hard, he didn’t realise how close he had been. Ilya calling him a whore tipping him over the edge. Heat pooling in his gut and balls drawing up. Shane couldn’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed about how loud he was being.
He heard Shane let out a loud moan one more time as his body shook, ultimately reaching his orgasm, white ribbons shooting out of his neglected cock, a streak even reaching Ilya's chin. Ilya was so surprised by Shane suddenly coming at hearing the word “whore” that a second later, he began to feel the all too familiar heat pooling in his stomach. It wasn't too long before Ilya also reached his orgasm spilling inside the condom. Both of them panted heavily as they rode out their orgasms, Ilya still thrusting in and out of Shane before stopping and slowly pulling out.
“Fuck” Shane let out a breath, rolling off of Ilya and laying down next to him.
“Theres wet wipes in the bed side table”
“Ah, so you were prepared for this?” Ilya teased, reaching over to grab the wipes.
“Fuck off” Shane said, his already flushed cheeks turning even more pink. He took the wipes Ilya handed him, wiping himself clean, Ilya doing the same, both missing the trashcan as they tossed the wipes across the room.
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside the tall windows and their breathing slowly evening out.. Paris at night glowed softly beyond the balcony, streetlamps, distant traffic, the low murmur of people somewhere far below.
Shane laid on his side staring at Ilya's side profile ,one hand tucked under his face, the sheets tangled around his legs. His hair was a mess and there was a faint pink flush still lingering across his cheeks. Beside him, Ilya looked completely relaxed, stretched out on his side like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Shane exhaled slowly. “Well.”
Ilya glanced at him. “Well.”
Another quiet moment passed. Ilya turned his head toward him, Shane nervously chewing on his bottom lip. The confidence he’d had earlier, well, whatever version of confidence had gotten him to invite Ilya up, was completely gone again.
“So,” Shane said carefully, “Was this just a Paris thing?”
Ilya raised an eyebrow. “A Paris thing?”
“You know.” Shane gestured vaguely toward the room, the city outside, the whole situation. “Fashion week. Hotel rooms. You find some model who can't keep it in his pants. ”
Ilya’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh, “You are asking if I do this all the time?” he said. Shane groaned quietly and dragged a pillow over his face.
“I feel like you're making fun of me.”
“I’m a little bit making fun of you.”
Ilya shifted closer, propping himself up on an elbow. “No this is not something i do all the time, specially not with pretty boys like you” Ilya clarified.
“I’m going back to New York on Monday,” he said. “For work. Castings and stuff.”
“Too bad, I go back on Sunday. If we were on same plane again i would be more prepared so I can fuck pretty stranger next to me in bathroom”
Shane groaned, running his hands over his face, still embarrassed over the fact that he had given a blow job in an airplane bathroom. Ilya laughed at the slight distress on the model's face, finding the whole situation slightly amusing and very hot.
“How about when you are back in New York, you text me and I give you my address and you come to my apartment and ill let you hump my leg, ill let you blow me and whatever else you want” Ilya suggests
“Let me?” Shane asks unamused
“Da, let you”
Then a small smile started to creep onto Shanes face. “Okay,” he said.
Outside, Paris kept glowing quietly in the night while Shane tried very hard not to look too pleased about the fact that this wasn't a one time thing.