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“Are you curious?”
Ilya pulls back from their kiss, revealing Shane’s posture - inclined towards Ilya’s body, mouth open - to which Shane lets out a small sigh, likely in frustration. His hands had begun to travel wayward, haphazardly reaching any exposed part of Ilya before getting cut off.
“About what?”
“What fucking a man is like.”
Shane’s eyebrows rise up comically. “I thought that’s what we’ve been doing – is this not –”
“No. You misunderstand.” He points a finger to Shane’s chest, still clothed. “You, inside me.”
“Of course I’ve fucked people before.” His voice reveals his offence, and he shifts backwards off of his lap. Ilya almost chases after him, wanting to reel him back in, but lets the space linger between them on the bed.
“Not people. Men. Me.”
“I didn’t know–I didn’t think that was something you wanted.”
To be fair, Ilya didn’t, either. But he’d been thinking about it, more frequently than he’d like to admit. In excruciating detail, while he was alone, in the dead of the night, when his fingers just wouldn’t send the three word text he wanted to send - I miss you. He’d guess how Shane would respond, how quickly he’d blush. If he had the balls to put the idea out there in the first place.
He’s never let anyone fuck him. Purely preference, and some part protective. He ignores whatever it might mean for him to allow Shane to do this.
“Is it something you want?” He inches closer to Shane, almost crawling towards him. He lets their lips rest an inch apart, and notices Shane’s eyes are closed. He presses his lips to his waiting ones, and it triggers Shane to react abruptly–he pushes Ilya onto his back and kisses him deeply. The force of the kiss makes Ilya harder. When Shane draws back, he opens his eyes to a pleasantly surprised Ilya.
“You are getting headstart?”
(Shane doesn’t have a dominant bone in his body. He looks perplexed, and raises a brow, waiting for Ilya to keep talking.)
“Never mind. You know what to do next.”
(He doesn’t. He waits for Ilya to clarify.)
“You…” He loses his words, they dissipate right into the air. Shane is staring intently. “Start by relaxing me.”
“Relaxing you?”
“Yes. With fingers. You are very bad at this.” Shane immediately retracts, moving downward, encountering Ilya’s pants. “Usually, if you want to fuck somebody, you take their clothes off, yes?”
“Will you shut up and stop narrating everything? I know this part.”
Ilya shuts up, because Shane’s mouth is on him, and he’s missed the sensation of being swallowed whole by someone who knows exactly what works and doesn’t work. He’s missed his fingers in Shane’s soft hair, the firm grasp needed to exert just enough control when he’s close. He’s missed the little sounds that come from Shane, and mostly, above everything, how he looks up for approval. Maybe he’s observing what he does to Ilya. Maybe he gets a sick pleasure from watching Ilya moan. It doesn’t matter the means, he craves it.
Eyes meet eyes and Ilya’s breath is stuck in his chest. One of Shane’s hands crawl up his chest, and Ilya takes it, clutching it with his own. His grip on it tightens as Shane focuses on the tip, and he gasps in reaction to whatever the hell he has going on with his tongue. It only motivates Shane to go faster, and the feeling intensifies in his lower half dangerously.
“Hollander, you can’t end this so fast.” He gently lifts his mouth off of him, breathing heavily, admiring the strings of spit attached to Shane’s lips. His mouth shines.
He wants to kiss him, so he does. It’s that simple.
(Not really, nothing ever is for Ilya, but in this moment, he pretends.)
Grabbing him by the back of his neck, he crushes their lips together. Shane moans into the kiss, and Ilya, God help him, he moans in a far more desperate and needy way that would let anyone in their general vicinity know how horribly in love Ilya is.
“Enough soft stuff,” he says, mostly for his own sake. It helps, verbalising the helpless thought.
“Nothing about this is soft,” Shane points out, with a lot more confidence in his tone than usual. He fists Ilya’s length into his hand, letting out a laugh. He smiles into the next kiss, and the action digs itself deep into an untouched corner of Ilya’s chest. Please, stop smiling back. Be a little more stiff. Straighten out your lips and pretend you hate me.
But they are so far removed from that point it’s laughable.
“Alright, alright. Find the lube. Two fingers to start with if you are feeling adventurous.”
Shane’s eyebrows lift, but he obliges, almost running to the drawers to retrieve the lube. His enthusiasm is loud, he shuts the door a little too harshly, and he winces. No matter, Ilya thinks wryly, if his perfect apartment suffers, he’ll get it fixed right away.
There’s a precise hesitation, a worry underlying his actions, but he manages, coating his fingers liberally and inserting with a gentleness only Shane possessed with Ilya. He’s felt it before – this tender, unassured feeling – in the tips of Shane’s fingers as they grasp Ilya’s hair, or palm his face as he kisses him.
Watching Shane split him churns another chasm deep in his body that he isn’t sure what to do with. He fights to keep it off his face. But Shane has seen it all already, hasn’t he? He lets his mouth fall open, and doesn’t break eye contact. Shane looks like he’s thoroughly enjoying what he’s doing to Ilya, but enjoying being told what to do more – angle a little this way. Bite me there. Do it the way I do it to you.
After a while, he notices Shane’s cock straining for release of its own, and he pushes Shane’s hand away, pulling him by his arms to hover over him. He looks pretty on top. He holds his face, bringing it lower, until his lips graze Shane’s ear.
“I want you to stretch me with your cock.”
“Fuck.” Ilya feels the shudder racking through Shane. “Where’s the condom?”
“No need. I haven’t…” the revelation is harder to confess when Shane's gaze doesn't move from his eyes. “Have you…?” he prays Shane understands when words fail him. It’s too much to explain – he doesn’t know if he can get away with saying he doesn’t see other people anymore, not without burdening Shane with the very bad thing that’s growing inside of Ilya’s heart.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Can I, then? I need –”
“You need me. Yes?” he's being cocky, and he knows it, but it feels so good to know that Shane wants him, and only him.
“Yes.”
Ilya guides him in, and the feeling of Shane filling him is almost blinding. He’s always had an idea what it would be like, to be filled like this, but it doesn’t compare at all – his limited imagination has been severely lacking what it would be like to have Shane ruin him. Inside out.
He has to maintain his image – “How much longer can you last like this?” he teases, watching Shane struggle for control, his thrusts arrhythmic, breath shallow and fast. He’s been holding out well enough, but he’s losing this battle – his flushed face, the sounds falling out of his mouth – all pointing to the obvious.
“Can you not say shit like that when I’m literally inside you?” Ilya slaps the side of his face gently, and Shane pushes his hand away, mild annoyance being overtaken by a laugh. “Unbelievable.”
He pulls away, not without a swollen kiss, and steadies himself with a solid grip on Ilya’s thighs. The new angle draws a loud sound out of Ilya, and fascinated, Shane lets a hand drift down to his mouth.
Naturally, Ilya sucks on the fingers that push into his mouth. He hears Shane curse under his breath.
“Come on,” he says, the name Shane almost slipping out. He kisses his finger tips. Reverently. “Come on, Hollander. More.”
“Oh my god,” Shane says, voice low. He drops down to kiss Ilya, and they’re messy about it, clawing at each other, razor sharp and tugging at everything that comes under the pads of their fingers. Shane is thrusting harder now, nestled so deep Ilya can’t catch his breath, much less speak. Shane does. He babbles. “You feel so good, god, I can’t. You’re so –”
Something skips in Ilya's chest at the tone of Shane’s voice, so needy and addicting, and instead of confronting it, he does the next worst thing and kisses him deeply. How had he ended up here?
Sensing Shane nearing his limit, he says, when he breaks the kiss, “You are a good boy.”
“Rozanov.” His eyes shut tightly. "Don't bullshit me right now."
“I mean it. This is your first time and you are doing so well. Figures you are perfect at this too.”
"You're fucking with me and I know it." He softens into a moan as Ilya kisses his neck, sloppy and uncoordinated. He tongues his pulse, pleased with how fast it is. He holds onto Shane’s back tightly, moving to breathe into his ear, knowing how sensitive it is. He mouths his name - Shane. A ghostly word.
He whispers it a few moments later, unable to hold it in for even a millisecond longer, and Shane tenses, and comes.
It’s explosive, and it looks like it might have taken all of Shane’s energy for the next ten years, as he pulls out slowly, massaging Ilya’s thighs. He shakes his head at Ilya raising himself onto his elbows. Ilya feels a knot of panic dislodge from his chest, running through his arteries. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to –”
“Ilya. Stop. I’m not done yet.”
He’s not walking away, he’s shifting to his knees, crawling forward, and positioning himself in an all too familiar way over Ilya’s waiting body.
“What are you…” he trails off as it clicks. Shane sinks down on him, and it nearly kills him. “Oh my god, Shane, you –”
“I prepped earlier,” he whispers, bending low to say it to Ilya’s lips. One hand rests on Ilya’s chest, and he squeezes it tightly. “So shut up and let me.”
Sure, why not. He’s lost his entire English vocabulary anyway.
He rides him to completion, begging Ilya to finish inside of him. The reminder of Shane having been inside him just moments before drips down Ilya’s hole, and the ache of something missing, but being buried inside Shane drives Ilya near insanity. He holds him by his ass, as Shane braces himself with one hand against the wall. His mouth keeps meeting his, magnetically drawn together, their moans and whimpers blending together.
He’s shaking when he comes, gripping Shane tightly, whispering his name in a trance right into his lips.
And Ilya knows. This – this confusing, aching, never ending feeling – will come out of Ilya one day, in a messy, drawn out, embarrassing way. But it isn't tonight and it’s not right now, so he settles for holding Shane a little closer, tighter, than he ought to, and listening for when Shane repeats his name back to him.
Ilya.