Chapter Text
Shane hadn’t quite been expecting this.
Sure, it’s already a little out of the ordinary because they don’t usually meet up the day before games like this. They wait until after the final horn, when the adrenaline and aggression is still flooding their bodies— two things they can gladly take out on each other. But Shane had barely blinked when he got the text from Lily inviting him to come over. He’d just made his excuses to Hayden and hurried out the door.
This is fucking weird, though, he has to admit.
It hadn’t started that way, Shane thinks, mind running over the events of the afternoon. He’d walked in, admired Rozanov’s place, then tugged him towards where he assumed the bedroom would be. All normal.
Then Rozanov had crowded him up against the wall in the living room and just… looked at him for a moment, eyes roaming all over Shane’s face, not saying a word. But then he’d leaned in to kiss him and Shane brushed it off. Or Rozanov’s warm, skilled mouth wiped it from his mind. Either way.
He lets Rozanov grip his jaw and angle his face so he can lick into Shane’s mouth gently and Shane’s toes curl against his will. It’s infuriating that Rozanov’s kisses do this to him, make him senseless, desperate for more. For whatever Rozanov will give him. But there’s something unfamiliar in the way Rozanov holds him now. There’s purpose threading through his touch that feels somehow both heavier and softer than usual.
Shane shakes it off and does the next logical thing. He drops to his knees and looks up at Rozanov pleadingly through dark lashes.
Rozanov makes a soft, amused sound. “Desperate for it already, yes?” he asks quietly, grabbing Shane’s hands from his thighs and guiding them up to the waistband of his pants. Shane is just far gone enough to shamelessly nod his agreement— he is desperate for it, he always is— as he tugs Rozanov’s joggers halfway down his thighs.
Before he can do anything else, Rozanov’s hand is in his hair, guiding his head back to rest against the wall. His other hand wraps around the base of his cock.
Shane licks his lips. Opens his mouth eagerly.
“Fuck,” Rozanov breathes, guiding his cock into Shane’s mouth slowly, inch by inch. Shane’s eyes flutter closed and his mind goes blissfully blank immediately. Rozanov uses his grip on his hair to pull him forward, then to keep him still as he fucks his mouth slowly, infuriatingly gentle.
Shane whines. Grips onto Rozanov’s hips, digs his nails in, tries to urge him to go faster, to make him choke on it.
“Shh,” Rozanov soothes, tugging on Shane’s hair until he pulls back a little. His other hand falls to Shane’s face, fingertips brushing almost imperceptibly against his cheekbone. It’s devastatingly tender.
Through the haze, Shane’s brow furrows in confusion. He gets the overwhelming sense all over again that something is fucking weird.
He glances up at Rozanov. Doesn’t know how to react when he’s already staring down at him, something soft and affectionate in his expression.
And the weird thing is— well, one of the weird things is— a big part of Shane just wants Rozanov to keep looking at him like that. Wants to nuzzle into his hand, press kisses into his palm.
A slow wave of panic starts rising in him at the realisation, but Rozanov chooses that moment to pick up his pace, tighten his grip on his hair, and Shane can’t focus on anything else when he’s on his knees like this, not even the impending panic attack he can feel building in his chest.
“Fuck,” Rozanov groans quietly when Shane takes him deeper, swallows around him. “Been thinking about you for weeks….”
There’s something there, in those words, mixed with the way Rozanov is gently petting his hair, that makes Shane think he should be paying closer attention. But Rozanov just rocks his hips forward again and all thoughts, all concerns slip into the void.
“You look so fucking pretty like this,” Rozanov says a little shakily, his hold on Shane’s hair going almost painful until it forces Shane to look up at him. “On your knees for me, my cock down your throat, fuck.”
An involuntary moan rips out of Shane’s throat at the praise. Rozanov pulls him off abruptly, gasping for breath, and helps him back up to his feet, directly into a kiss that makes his head spin.
“Bed?” Shane asks, a little desperately, and Rozanov nods, pulls him down the hall in between more frantic kisses.
When they make it to the bedroom, Rozanov pulls back just long enough to tug Shane’s shirt over his head. Shane expects him to just toss it to the side but—
Rozanov fucking folds it.
He’s too stunned to do anything but stand there when Rozanov finishes and starts working on getting Shane out of his jeans.
He’s still a little freaked by the time he’s completely naked and pressed face down into Rozanov’s mattress, but the feeling fades as soon as Rozanov starts kissing his way down his spine.
The noise he makes when he feels Rozanov’s hot breath on his hole is humiliating, completely undignified, but it’s nothing compared to the strangled cry that escapes him when he feels Rozanov’s tongue a second later.
“Ohfuckplease,” he gasps, rocking back against Rozanov, against his mouth, before he can stop himself.
Rozanov teases him with gentle licks for a while, barely-there pressure all around his rim, not stopping until Shane is mindless and incoherent.
“Fuck, I can’t— p-please, I need— it’s too— oh fuck—”
Rozanov pulls back just long enough to spit directly onto Shane’s hole. It’s filthy, absolutely obscene. It’s also stupidly fucking hot and it short circuits Shane’s brain. He bites down on the pillow underneath him to muffle his sobs when Rozanov starts licking his spit into him, tongue pressing in slow and patient, working Shane open.
"Oh my fucking god,” Shane whines, and he can’t stop his hips from grinding back, riding Rozanov’s tongue.
Rozanov chuckles, low in his throat, hands gripping Shane’s hips tighter as he buries his tongue deeper and Shane suddenly loses the ability to hold himself up anymore. His arms give out and he collapses face first into the pillow.
“Mm, not done with you yet,” Rozanov says, and practically yanks Shane’s hips back so he can get his mouth back on him. This time, Rozanov doesn’t pause, plunging in deeper, greedier, driving Shane out of his fucking mind.
“Fuck!” Shane chokes out when Rozanov adds a finger alongside his tongue. “Gonna come, fuck, please.”
The finger and the tongue both pull back abruptly and Shane whines, trying to press back in search of Rozanov’s mouth again.
“Ah, I think no,” Rozanov says, sounding almost apologetic. He runs a soothing hand down Shane’s sweaty back.
Shane blinks hazy, unfocused eyes and fights the urge to look back at Rozanov over his shoulder. To beg. Instead, he takes a deep breath and waits.
Rozanov doesn’t stop touching him, hands running up and down Shane’s sides, petting his hair, kissing his back. After what feels like an eternity, Rozanov presses two spit-slicked fingers against Shane’s hole, rubbing gently for a moment before sliding inside slowly.
Shane groans and tries to press back, to take more of Rozanov’s fingers, but Rozanov presses him into the mattress, holding him down by his hip. “Be good boy and stay still for me,” he murmurs.
Part of Shane wants to bristle indignantly— good boy?— but the other, much bigger part of him is so fucking turned on by it that he can’t think straight.
“Please,” he manages to choke out, and Rozanov’s fingertips brush against his prostate for just a split second.
“Please what?” he asks. “Use your words.”
“Need you,” Shane pants, hating himself a little for admitting it. For needing it at all. “Need you to fuck me.”
Rozanov makes an approving noise and lets go of Shane’s hip to gesture towards the nightstand. “Top drawer,” he instructs, and Shane obediently reaches to open the drawer, but before he can grab the handle—
“Oh, fuck!” he gasps, hand slamming down on the top of the nightstand instead when Rozanov’s fingers start moving again, hitting his prostate mercilessly. Shane collapses back down onto the bed, knuckles going white around the edge of the nightstand.
“I thought you want me to fuck you,” Rozanov goads, fingers going still again.
“Fuck— you’re such— an asshole—”
“Top drawer,” Rozanov orders again, and Shane lets out an involuntary whimper as he reaches for the drawer again.
He’s anticipating it this time, but it doesn’t make it any easier to focus on his task when Rozanov starts fucking him with his fingers again. Still, Shane manages to yank the drawer open violently, hand searching blindly for lube and a condom.
“Fuck, here,” he grits out, practically throwing the items behind him. Rozanov grabs them with one hand, never breaking rhythm as his other continues working inside Shane, making sparks shoot up and down his spine.
“I’d like to look at you tonight, I think,” Rozanov says after a moment. “You on top?”
Distantly, in the very back of Shane’s mind— the part of him that isn’t just focused on Rozanov’s dick— he adds that to the list of weird things he’s noticed about today. Still, face hot, he nods. Gets up on shaky knees and lets Rozanov help him up and into his lap.
Warm palms settle possessively on his thighs, holding him steady as Rozanov gazes up at him like he’s never seen anything so perfect. Shane flushes and averts his eyes. Focuses on less confusing things, like getting Rozanov inside him as soon as possible.
He thinks Rozanov starts swearing in Russian when Shane finally sinks down on his cock, but he can’t be sure. No matter what he’s saying, the sound of it drives Shane crazy. He closes his eyes and just lets the sound wash over him. At least, until he catches English mixed with the Russian.
“—so fucking beautiful—”
Shane’s cock twitches while his mind fucking reels. It shouldn’t— isn’t the fact that they’re even doing this together proof that they find each other attractive? This isn’t news.
But they don’t say things like that to each other. And this entire day has felt kind of like they’re not quite stepping over the line, but definitely walking right along it, like a tightrope over the Grand Canyon. And Shane has no idea if there’s a net waiting to catch him if he makes a wrong move. When he inevitably falls.
Rozanov’s hands find his hips and tug him down to meet his thrusts. Shane’s mind goes fuzzy again and he bites down on his lip against the fucked out sounds that are trying desperately to escape.
“Ah, no,” Rozanov says, gentle fingers coming up to tug Shane’s lip out from between his teeth. “Those pretty noises are mine, I want to hear them.”
“Jesus fucking christ,” Shane breathes, brain stuck on the word “mine” like a broken record. He hates that he likes it. “Fuck, I think— I’m gonna—”
“No,” Rozanov says simply, and uses his hold on Shane’s hips to keep him from moving. Shane whines loudly, fighting his grip.
“What—? I need— fuck, please,” he babbles, and Rozanov shakes his head. He brings one hand to Shane’s hair, threads his fingers through it, then grips it tightly and pulls Shane down into a surprisingly gentle kiss. He doesn’t pull away until Shane starts whimpering into his mouth, trying to rock his hips again.
“Have you ever been edged before?”
Shane swallows hard. Shakes his head.
“Even by yourself?” Rozanov presses, and Shane’s face goes hot again. He tries to turn his head, avoid eye contact, but Rozanov’s hand in his hair stops him. “No?”
Shane shakes his head again.
Rozanov smiles, almost triumphant, then pulls him in closer, his breath ghosting along his jaw as he whispers something low in Russian that makes Shane shiver in his lap. “Keep riding me,” he adds in English, and Shane obeys immediately, glad to be allowed to move again. But Rozanov’s hand remains in his hair, preventing him from setting his own pace. Instead, he controls every motion, forcing him to move slower than he wants.
Rozanov lets him speed up every once in a while, lets him get so close his thighs start shaking, then makes him stop again, pulling him into a slow, soothing kiss to take his mind off of the torture.
“God, how many times are you gonna—”
“Until you say my name,” Rozanov says, and there’s something in his voice that sounds like a challenge.
Shane accepts immediately, and he’s determined to win.
Okay, he thinks, this is easy. So ‘Rozanov’ is like a safeword or something. I can do this.
He sets his jaw. Gives a tiny nod. Rozanov smirks at him like he knows exactly what he is thinking and gives a little nod back, then flips them without warning. He pushes Shane’s knees up to his chest.
“Oh, fuck,” Shane groans, back arching off the bed.
“Good?” Rozanov asks, like he doesn’t already know the answer.
“Deep,” Shane replies instead. Rozanov laughs, a low sound, then shifts his hips with purpose, thrusting even deeper inside. Shane gasps sharply, fingers scrabbling at Rozanov’s back in shock. He bites his lip, eyes clenched shut, unable to form words.
“Look at you,” Rozanov says, voice warm with praise. “Making a mess, leaking all over yourself….” He reaches for Shane’s cock and slowly strokes him base to tip once, collecting precome on his fingers as he pulls away.
Shane’s eyes fly open when he hears a wet sucking noise and, sure enough, Rozanov’s fingers are in his own mouth. He slams his eyes shut again, covering his face with his arms. Fuck, he’s close.
“Jesus christ, Roza—” He stops himself. Peeks out between his arms to see Rozanov’s reaction.
A slow grin spreads across Rozanov’s face.
“Shut the fuck up,” Shane mutters, without any heat behind it, and covers his face again. Rozanov pulls back slowly, almost pulls out completely. He waits until Shane starts whimpering, starts trying to rock his hips, then fucks back in hard enough to make him cry out louder than he has all night. “Oh, holy shit, like that, fuck, just like that!”
Rozanov grabs his wrists, tugs his arms away from his face, pinning his hands above his head.
He feels it building, feels the fireworks sparking in him with every thrust, and wonders briefly if he can get away with not telling Rozanov how close he is. If he can get away with finally coming. He wonders if Rozanov would punish him somehow, maybe, and hates how appealing the idea is.
“Going to come on my cock?” Rozanov asks, smirking at him like he’s reading his mind again. “Going to scream my name and come all over yourself for me?”
Shane grits his teeth. Fights the painfully strong urge to start begging.
“No,” he insists instead. He’s absolutely not going to be saying Rozanov’s name— there’s no way Rozanov can fuck him for longer than he can hold out, and Rozanov always makes sure he comes first.
Rozanov slows down yet again, barely pulling out before grinding back in.
“Is okay,” he says, leaning in for another kiss and sucking on Shane’s tongue until he squirms. “You’ll say it soon enough.” A muscle jumps in Shane’s jaw as he resists, but Rozanov just smiles wider.
“Wanna bet?” Shane rasps, defiant despite the tremor in his voice as Rozanov’s hold tightens a little. As far as comebacks go, it’s not great, but his brain isn’t cooperating right now. He’s actually pretty sure it’s currently leaking out of his dick.
He bucks up helplessly when Rozanov twists his wrists, unable to stop himself. The shift in Rozanov’s grip grows rough, control barely threading through his motions as Shane gasps beneath him. Heat radiates between them, sweat beading off Rozanov’s chest and onto Shane’s chest and Shane feels like he’s on fucking fire.
Rozanov kisses his way down Shane’s neck, then his chest. His lips wrap around Shane’s nipple and Shane shudders as he licks and sucks and bites gently at it. Shane’s cock twitches between their stomachs.
Rozanov pulls out abruptly, leaving Shane whimpering and clenching desperately around nothing. He doesn’t even have time to complain before Rozanov is moving down the bed and fucking him roughly with three fingers, swallowing his cock down in one smooth motion.
Shane chokes on a sob, hips rocking up involuntarily. Rozanov just takes it, humming his approval, and Shane’s thighs start trembling again. He can feel tears streaming from the corners of his eyes, sliding down past his temples and into his sweaty hair, and he knows he’s going to give in. He’s about ten seconds from coming his brains out and he doesn’t know if he can handle Rozanov stopping again.
“Please,” he says finally, voice breaking as he gives in. “Fuck, please, Rozanov, I’m gonna—”
Rozanov pulls all the way back, mouth releasing his cock with a noise that makes Shane’s hips rock up into nothing.
“Rozanov,” he begs again.
“Hmm?” Rozanov asks, kissing his shaking thigh gently. “You need something?”
“You— fuck— you said I could come,” Shane says, trying to keep the accusatory note out of his voice.
“Mhm. When you say my name, yes?”
“I did!” Shane insists, just a hint of a whine in his tone now. Rozanov smirks at him.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says. “My first name.”
Shane goes completely still. The panic from earlier comes back full force, alarm bells ringing in the back of his head.
What?
Saying ‘Rozanov’ was a game he could handle, a fun little challenge.
This doesn’t feel like a game at all, it feels like Rozanov just casually tossed him a grenade.
And— christ, did he just call him sweetheart?
Rozanov is still staring at him, watching his eyes as though they have subtitles there for what Shane’s thinking.
“Is too much?” he asks quietly after a moment, and the look on his face just about shatters Shane’s heart. He looks braced for rejection.
But is it too much? Shane isn’t sure.
On the one hand, they’ve been doing this for almost a decade at this point. Saying Rozanov’s name once isn’t going to kill him or ruin… whatever it is they have going on.
On the other hand… it feels a hell of a lot like taking a big ol’ intentional step right off the tightrope. And he’s not entirely sure he’s ready for that. It feels like a confession Shane isn’t ready to make.
Except the look Rozanov’s giving him makes him want to reassure him. Say no, of course it isn’t too much.
He gives the smallest shake of the head, avoiding eye contact.
As soon as he gives the go-ahead, Rozanov’s mouth is back on him. He’s gentle this time, licking around the head slowly and then working his way back down, his fingertips twitching against Shane’s prostate the entire time.
It takes Shane a minute or two to get back into it, to get his mind off of the fact that he just agreed to say Rozanov’s name, but soon his hips are twitching again as he seeks out more of the wet heat of Rozanov’s mouth.
“Mm, fuck, Rozanov,” he groans. “Your mouth is so fucking good.” Rozanov hums his agreement and Shane’s hand flies down to grip his hair. “Fuck, stop, I’m gonna come.”
“Not ready to scream my name yet?” Rozanov teases, voice a little hoarse.
“Fuck you,” Shane snaps back breathlessly. “Not gonna scream anything.”
“We will see,” Rozanov replies, then swallows him back down.
“Fuck!” Shane gasps, arching up so quickly that Rozanov almost chokes and has to hold his hips down. “Stopstopstop—”
Rozanov pulls off, starts pressing messy, wet kisses along Shane’s thigh instead. The fingers inside of Shane go still. “You okay?” he asks in between kisses.
“Fuck me,” Shane demands instead of answering, grabbing at Rozanov’s shoulders and tugging insistently. Rozanov huffs a laugh and lets himself be pulled back up the bed.
“Needy thing,” he teases, finally replacing his fingers with his cock, and Shane nods frantically.
“Yes. Need you. Now, please, more,” he replies, clawing at Rozanov’s biceps hard enough to make him hiss.
“Going to mark me?” Rozanov asks breathlessly. “Show everyone that I—”
He breaks off, averting his eyes, but Shane hears the end of his sentence as clearly as if he’d shouted it and it hits him like a sucker punch.
Show everyone that I belong to you.
“Oh, fuck!” he shouts, and that’s it, he gives up, it’s too fucking much. His entire body is trembling, tears are leaking from his eyes, and he’s so hard he can’t think straight. “Ilya!”
Ilya’s eyes snap to his as though he can’t believe what he just heard, like he didn’t expect Shane to actually say it at all.
“Fuck, Shane,” he groans. He grabs a fistful of Shane’s hair and tugs. Leans down to crush their mouths together. “So fucking good for me,” he pants in between messy, desperate kisses.
“Please, Ilya, can I—?”
“Come for me, sweetheart,” Ilya orders.
Shane comes so hard his vision whites out. It feels like it goes on forever, painting his stomach and his chest. Somewhere, distantly, he hears sobbing and thinks it might be him, but he can’t make himself stop, everything just feels so overwhelmingly good.
Ilya keeps going, fucking him through the aftershocks until Shane is whimpering and shoving weakly at his shoulders.
“Shh,” Ilya soothes, rubbing his hands down Shane’s sides until he stops shaking. He leans down to kiss him, but Shane’s mouth won’t cooperate enough to kiss him back. His head is all floaty and warm and he can barely feel his body at all. Still, he tries his best to suck on Ilya’s tongue when he licks at his open mouth.
“Ilya,” Shane mumbles, and Ilya leans in close, presses their foreheads together.
“You back with me, мой хороший мальчик?”
“Mmm,” Shane replies, completely out of it, and Ilya chuckles affectionately.
“I will take that as no,” he says, and presses little kisses into Shane’s hair and all over his forehead. “Is okay, I’ve got you.”
Shane comes back to himself slowly. He blinks the tears out of his eyes and glances up at Ilya. Whatever his expression is, it makes Ilya smile softly at him. Shane smiles back, suddenly feeling a little shy, which is ridiculous because Ilya is literally still inside of him.
And, god, still so fucking hard. Shane groans at the feeling. He’s oversensitive already, but he desperately wants Ilya to keep fucking him.
“Ilya,” he whines, somehow managing to move his arms. He grabs at Ilya’s hips and pulls him forward until Ilya takes the hint and grinds in deep.
“Want me to keep going?” Ilya asks, and Shane nods quickly.
“Want you to come on me.” The hand in Shane’s hair tightens.
“Fuck. Not yet,” Ilya replies. “Shh,” he adds when Shane looks like he’s going to complain, “you were so good for me, солнышко. Don’t you want your reward?” The hand that isn’t in Shane’s hair wraps around his oversensitive cock.
“I— oh, fuck— I can’t,” Shane gasps, hips twitching away from Ilya’s hand. “Ilya, ‘s too much.”
Ilya’s hand stays wrapped firmly around the base of Shane’s dick. “Do you trust me?” he asks, and Shane is nodding before he can even stop to think about it.
Ilya drags his slick hand loosely up Shane’s cock— just enough friction to make his breathing go a little harsher. When he finally stops twitching with every stroke, Ilya starts fucking him again, every thrust slow and so deep it makes Shane groan.
Despite his protests and squirming, despite the tears welling in his eyes at the overstimulation, it doesn’t take long at all for him to get hard again.
“Oh my fucking god,” he pants, starting to rock up into Ilya’s fist again. “Harder, please— wanna still be able to feel you tomorrow….”
Ilya obeys immediately, letting go of Shane’s hair to settle loosely around his throat as he fucks him harder.
He scrabbles for Ilya’s hand, pulling it so it’s a little tighter. Ilya gives the tiniest experimental squeeze and Shane chokes on a sob, precome leaking steadily from his cock and onto the knuckles of Ilya’s other hand. A new urgency sparks in Ilya’s eyes, his thrusts growing messier as he watches him unravel.
“You want to still feel me?” he repeats, smirking down at Shane. “Want to remember this feeling when I slam you into the boards tomorrow?”
“Yes, yes, fuck, please, Ilya, wanna feel you forever,” Shane babbles. He’s still fucking into Ilya’s hand but he’s having trouble keeping a steady rhythm with how much he’s shaking.
“I’ve got you,” Ilya soothes, tightening his fist just a little, stroking him just a bit harder. Shane inhales sharply, one tear slipping down his cheek as he starts to come undone, gasping Ilya’s name through clenched teeth.
Ilya leans down, catching the teardrop on his tongue, possessive hunger sharpening his expression. He kisses Shane fiercely, devouring the sound of his ragged breathing as he picks up his pace. Shane presses closer, desperate for every scrap of friction Ilya can give him.
Shane arches under him, sobbing out a broken moan as Ilya drives into him harder, the heat between them overwhelming every other sensation. Suddenly his body goes rigid, his back bowing as another orgasm crashes through him, shaking him with brutal intensity. “Ilya,” he whines as he comes. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to ever come again without Ilya’s name in his mouth.
But Ilya doesn’t let up, relentless as Shane’s muscles twitch helplessly beneath him. He shifts his grip, forcing Shane’s thigh up higher, making every thrust angle rougher. Ilya’s body shudders; sweat drips from his jaw as he loses control, chasing release with wild, ragged thrusts.
“Where— fuck— where do you want it?” he asks finally, and Shane’s face goes hot. “Come on, baby, where do you want my come?”
Shane averts his eyes, entire face burning, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ilya’s knowing grin. Perceptive fucker.
“Hmm,” Ilya says, feigning thoughtfulness. “Here?” he asks, fingers coming up to trace Shane’s lips. Shane shakes his head.
“Here, maybe?” Ilya continues, fingers sliding down to toy with Shane’s nipples. “All over your pretty chest? No,” he decides finally, and his fingers trail down to where they’re still joined.
Shane’s reaction gives him away entirely. He shudders, hard, and an involuntary whimper escapes him. “Please,” he gasps, mindless. “Need it.”
Ilya curses, rough with urgency, as he fucks him harder, the bedsprings creaking beneath their bodies. Shane claws at his shoulders, desperate, while Ilya buries his face against Shane’s neck.
It isn’t long before he’s pulling out of Shane roughly, stripping off the condom, and manoeuvring him over onto his hands and knees. Shane moans loudly, arching his back.
“Ilya, oh fuck, Ilya, please. Need you. Need you to come on me, need—” He breaks off into a gasp when he feels Ilya press his cock right up against his hole.
Ilya could fuck back in so easily, could come inside him so deep he’d feel it leaking out of him all day—
He bites the pillow under him hard so he doesn’t start begging for Ilya to fuck him bare. He’s already so hard again, it wouldn’t take much….
“Fuck,” Ilya groans, and then Shane feels it. Hot come pulsing right against his entrance. He whimpers, tries to keep still until Ilya is done, but he can’t help but rock back into the feeling.
Eventually, Ilya slumps down over Shane’s back, boneless, breath still shaky as the aftershocks wrack him. He presses gentle kisses everywhere he can reach along his back, then traces tentative fingers down his spine.
“Do you want…” he starts, and his fingers press oh-so-lightly against Shane’s hole. Shane presses back against them before he can even think about doing anything else.
"Yes,” he breathes, and Ilya presses in slowly.
It’s so fucking wet and Shane can’t get over the mental image of Ilya finger fucking his come into him. He’s shaking again, trembling apart on Ilya’s fingers, but he can’t stop. Everything is sensory overload.
Ilya stops way too soon, leaving Shane gasping into the pillow.
“Ilya,” he whines, but Ilya shushes him.
“I made such a mess of you,” he says, and the tone in his voice has Shane glancing back at him over his shoulder. He looks wrecked. “I should help clean you up, yes?”
“I… what?” Shane asks, brain lagging. But then Ilya is lowering his head and—
If Shane had thought Ilya’s mouth on his hole before had felt filthy, it was nothing compared to Ilya licking his own come out of him.
The slick heat pushes Shane closer to the edge, his thighs already giving out beneath Ilya's relentless tongue. But Ilya doesn't stop, holding Shane close, his fingers bruising Shane's hips as he keeps going.
“Jesus fucking christ,” Shane whimpers, one hand coming back to tangle in Ilya’s hair and pull him closer. Ilya makes a surprised noise against him, but goes willingly. “Ilya. Ilya, fuck, I’m— oh my god, Ilya, I’m gonna come—”
Ilya hums and presses his tongue in just a bit deeper and Shane shudders violently, white-hot pleasure ripping through him as he explodes right there, clenching desperately around Ilya’s tongue. Ilya doesn’t stop, mouth unrelenting as Shane comes. He only slows when Shane’s thighs start to jerk uncontrollably. He finally pulls away, licking his lips, his eyes wild, and Shane collapses onto his back, not even caring that he’s on top of sweat and come soaked sheets.
“Fuck, I love seeing you like that,” Ilya says, then leans up to kiss Shane deeply, letting him taste them both on his tongue.
Shane groans helplessly into the kiss, clinging to Ilya’s shoulders for grounding. Concern flickers across Ilya's face as he pulls back and brushes sweat-soaked hair from Shane’s forehead.
Shane swallows. He can vaguely feel the panic from earlier trying to claw its way back into his chest, but he’s too relaxed, too boneless to do anything but let Ilya hold him close, reassuring him with gentle touches.
“I should go,” he says eventually, though he makes no move to get up.
“Or you could stay,” Ilya says simply, but he’s watching Shane’s eyes carefully for a reaction.
“I told Hayden—”
“Is Hayden your mother?”
Shane huffs a laugh. “No.”
“No, he’s not? Who cares what you told Hayden?” Ilya leans in close to kiss at the sensitive spot he knows is on Shane’s neck. “Stay,” he adds, and Shane gives in. He has all day tomorrow to freak out as much as he wants. He grabs Ilya’s arm and wraps it around himself, right around his waist.
A nap next to Ilya sounds so good right now.
“Fine,” he says through a yawn. “But you’d better not snore.”
The last thing he feels before he falls asleep is Ilya pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.
“Sweet dreams, моя любовь.”