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He can tell Ilya's bored.
He's not the best at entertaining himself, never has been.
They've spent the day lounging around the cottage doing nothing strenuous. (He's not counting him being bent over the kitchen island mere hours earlier as being particularly, 'strenuous.') It's been peaceful out in the silence of the countryside. Sometimes silence makes Shane squirm, like it's looming over him, threatening him with what's to come, but this silence with Ilya is silence like he's never experienced it. He wants more of it, craves it, needs it like he needs air to breathe.
From their sprawled positions on the couch, Shane strokes Ilya's curls, a smirk tweaking the corner of his mouth when indecipherable noises come from him, shifting between sighs and hums.
"I'm bored," Ilya declares and Shane's smirk morphs into a sharp laugh.
"Really? I couldn't tell, Captain obvious."
He moves his book to the side in order to peer down at a rather perplexed-looking Ilya over the rim of his glasses.
"I am the Captain of what?"
Shane fondly shakes his head, ruffling Ilya's hair before shushing him, "I'm reading. You need to be quiet."
"Shane," Ilya humphs, folding his arms across himself like a petulant child. "Reading isn't fun."
Surrendering, Shane sighs and removes his glasses. He snaps his book shut, throwing it to the bottom of the couch. He blinks down at Ilya, waiting for him to share with him his definition of fun.
Ilya's eyes come alight when he realises that finally Shane's attention is solely rapt on him. Shane can't help but feel a pang of affection over the immediate shift in Ilya's demeanour now that he's guaranteed uninterrupted Shane-time.
"What, to you, is fun?" Shane asks, watching as Ilya steeples his fingers beneath his chin in thought, no doubt brewing something ungodly and untoward in his mind.
The pads of Ilya's fingers drum together, scheming, and Shane gives him a mildly concerned look before Ilya suddenly awakens like how a wear wolf would at the sight of the year's first full moon, "We play a game."
It's a statement, not an invitation, and so Shane nods slowly, trepidatiously, waiting for what could very easily be the start of something dangerous.
Seldom does he get to see this side of Ilya, and it stings him to think of all of these aspects of Ilya that he's had little to no dealings with because of their tumultuous few years. He mulls on this thought for a moment before pushing it to the back of his mind. He doesn't want to linger on what could have beens or what should have beens. He wants to focus and drink in these precious, present moments with the person he's craved for what feels like eons.
Ilya's still pouting in thought.
"I don't know. How about you get naked and then I can figure out the game from there?"
Ilya follows up on his proposition by digging his fingers into the waistband of Shane's trousers, snapping them against his skin. Shane wiggles away from him slightly, inhaling sharply when Ilya reaches up to nibble his earlobe. He might be extremely responsive and sometimes maybe even a little desperate when it comes to bending to Ilya's every ministration. He's working on it, albeit feebly. Even now he wants to welcome those big hands around his cock, those plump lips sucking marks onto his neck. Instead, Shane digs deep into himself and he flips them. He does it so fast and with such ease he surprises even himself.
Ilya emits an exclamation before he blinks dazedly up at Shane who's now straddling him.
He pins Ilya's arms over his head before inching closer to Ilya's mouth, his eyes rapt on the curve of his lips when he purrs, "You first."
His eyes go dark when he watches the way in which Ilya's eyes go heavy, how he swipes his tongue across his lower lip.
"Make me," Ilya challenges, his light eyes glistening with mirth when Shane tightens his jaw as he feels every drop of blood rush from his head to his cock. He feels slightly dizzy when Ilya pulls him down by the nape of his neck, like the world has been knocked off-kilter. He groans Ilya's name, cursing softly when he grinds his hips down to feel Ilya's own hardness against his.
A sense of yearning gnaws at his insides, wrapping itself around his heart, sticking him where it hurts so good.
He crumbles so eagerly for Ilya, and it comes so naturally to him, to release his inhibitions and allow himself to be controlled and owned. He's never been one to be the leader in these cases. He's rather happy to be manhandled and roughhoused every day of the week, but there's something niggling in his mind, a small thought that formed and has now started growing legs, hurtling itself to the forefront of his mind.
Ilya's challenge plays on his mind. That growled, enticing, 'Make me.'
Ilya furthers his advances, his hands sliding down to Shane's hips and guiding them as their hips collide together. He stares up at Shane with dark eyes, enchanting him like a temptress, his lips parted in awe as their heavy breaths fill the room.
With newfound gutsy and a mild wave of madness, Shane grips Ilya's chin, tilting his head to the side as he mewls, "Undress."
Ilya's fingertips dig into Shane's hipbones hard enough to leave bruises. He growls back, "Undress me."
Shane's on his feet faster than his brain can catch up with what exactly is happening. He yanks Ilya's trousers off, and they giggle together as they struggle to remove them from around his ankles. Shane disposes of them and he hovers over Ilya, their eyes boring holes into one another when he removes his jumper, gesturing for Ilya to do the same.
Ilya shakes his head, beckoning Shane over with a wave of his finger. "You do it."
Shane clicks his tongue, feigning annoyance but he complies dutifully.
He'll never get used to being allowed to worship and taste Ilya's body. He's seen it in the light, in the darkness, in the dawn and in the dusk and still Ilya's body makes his stomach churn over how stunningly beautiful he looks. A chiseled God would have nothing on him. He's crafted by something otherworldly, created for the sole purpose of being taken in by Shane's eyes.
They tussle for a moment, mainly because Ilya's feeling playful and therefore finds immense glee in making it as difficult as can be for Shane to get his shirt off.
Shane combats his difficulty by jabbing him between his asscheeks, and Ilya yelps, his eyes widening before softening.
"Be careful. I might enjoy that," Ilya jests.
All Shane can muster is a blank stare. Monkeys clap their symbols behind his eyes.
He swallows audibly.
An intrigued smile slowly forms on Ilya's lips when Shane cautiously lowers himself next to him.
Ilya angles his body towards him, laughing, "Relax, Hollander."
He is relaxed. He's certain that if a coroner were to take his pulse there and then that he'd be clinically dead, that's how relaxed he is. He's not thinking about the intonation Ilya just muttered. He's not thinking about how his cock has become painfully hard, and he's most certainly not thinking about the possibility of taking control and burying his cock deep inside of Ilya.
His head leans back against the couch as Ilya softly runs his fingertips up and down his bare chest and he closes his eyes, hissing when the heel of Ilya's palm presses into the bulge in his boxers.
"Have I scared you?" Ilya asks quietly, and Shane peers at him out of the corner of his eye.
"I wouldn't say you've scared me," Shane explains, and there is a very stark imagine in his mind of him spooning Ilya, driving into him with a force so hard he feels his brain shake in his skull. He's the first to admit that he's less on the dominant side and more on the dominated side, but there's just something about the thought of breaking Ilya down and making him writhe, moan and whimper that makes Shane feel a heat broiling in his gut like he's never felt before.
"You've piqued my curiosity."
Ilya quirks an inquisitive eyebrow.
His expression is one of confusion and Shane watches as it slowly melts into one of understanding.
A dark, devious look passes over Ilya's face when he rises, standing in front of Shane before settling himself on Shane's lap.
He hooks an arm around the back of Shane's shoulders, whispering, his breath tickling Shane's ear when he asks, "Do you wish to fuck me, Shane Hollander?"
Kisses ensue, innumerable kisses and they're all too much and Shane's head is swimming.
"Y-yes," Shane whimpers, trying to maintain control, and he can't quite believe it. To think that he'd ever even want to be anything but the receiver floors him. If anything his cock aches harder over the thought of plunging into Ilya's heat. He gasps over every kiss Ilya places down his chest, leading to one place and one place only.
Ilya's teeth tug at the waistband of Shane's boxers, and Shane's toes dig into the fur of the rug beneath his feet.
Ilya pulls the material down with his teeth and it's a sight that feels so raunchy, so wildly inappropriate and crass.
"Ask me nicely," Ilya requests, gripping the base of Shane's cock and squeezing tightly as Shane emits a broken moan, his fingernails digging into Ilya's shoulder.
"Please," Shane obeys, even now, even when he's trying to assert himself, even when faced with the prospect of fucking the lights out of Ilya, Shane still maintains his steadfast obedience. He can't be blamed, not when Ilya's voice goes low and dark lust swirls deep in his irises. It takes great strength for him to focus, to quell his tendency to succumb to anything Ilya says. He accepts the thumb that Ilya hooks into his mouth, suckling around it when he whispers, pleads, "Let me fuck you, Rozanov."
Ilya all but growls, a deep guttural noise bursting from his abdomen as he watches Shane's lips engulf his thumb.
"I take cock so good," Ilya shines, and Shane whimpers, cursing softly when Ilya's free hand migrates to his cock. He strokes Shane languidly, his grip firm and lips quirked as he continues, "I've been known to take cock so well."
Shane guffaws, laughing breathlessly when Ilya's thumb swipes over the flushed, wet head of his cock.
"Known?" Shane repeats incredulously, finding it hard to grasp the thought of Ilya bottoming even once, let alone enough times for him to gain a reputation for his performance. "How many times have you done it?"
Ilya shrugs casually, batting his eyelashes like butter wouldn't melt, "Enough times."
"Enough," Shane interjects, "I'd like to not think about other men fucking you."
Ilya winks, a naughty twinkle to his eye when he whispers, "Who says it was just men?"
Shane's mouth pops open in awe. He shoves Ilya's hand away from him as he stands, feeling suddenly fiery.
"That's enough talking for you."
He yanks Ilya off of the couch, dragging him to the bedroom where he pushes him onto the bed with perhaps a bit too much force, but Ilya's ignited something dark in him.
Ilya lands in a heap, his eyes wide in surprise. He presses his hand to his chest, taken aback by Shane's sudden ferocity.
Ilya's demeanour shifts, and Shane stands tall at the end of the bed, his chest rising and falling with every laboured breath that leaves him. He's been imbued with desire, one that's formed itself deep in his core, and he watches Ilya as he shape shifts, as he rises slowly, carefully, his movements fluid and languid. He crawls across the bed like how a feline would tracking its prey.
He gazes up at Shane through the curls hanging over his eyes, holding unwavering eye contact with Shane as he taps his lips invitingly.
Shane obliges, and his knees go funny when he directs his cock into Ilya's mouth. He laps at Shane's cock so slowly, licking long stripes up and down the length of him, and Shane buries both hands in Ilya's hair, pulling fistfuls in order to gain balance and prevent him from careening off to the side out of sheer pleasure. Ilya's hands skim around Shane's hips to squeeze the meat of his ass, and Shane hisses, wondering how he'd ever survived living without any of this.
Ilya's head bobs and Shane's trying to mentally prepare himself for what's about to occur. This is a first, another of many firsts he's had with Ilya. Inherently, Shane loves to take it. He yearns for the intimacy of it, and truthfully, he likes how it feels almost like a sin, like he's not supposed to be on all fours taking it from behind. Sinful it might be, but fuck he'd rather be blasphemous than not take Ilya's cock morning, noon and night.
Ilya must sense his nerves because he suddenly stops.
A trail of spit leads from his lips to Shane's cock.
"Are you afraid?"
Shane can feel his heart throwing itself against his ribcage. He attempts to shrug nonchalantly.
Ilya frowns, clearly having none of Shane's act. He pulls himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. He taps the spot next to him.
They sit awkwardly for a moment before Ilya places a gentle hand on Shane's thigh.
"There is no pressure."
"I know," Shane assures, twiddling his thumbs, and he feels his cheeks burning in embarrassment when he mumbles, "I just want it to be good for you."
Ilya clicks his tongue loudly in admonishment, "You're too much of a worrier." He leans sideways, resting his head on Shane's shoulder, and already Shane feels more at ease and less like he's about to become a pile of goo and slip down between the cracks in the floorboards. Ilya's hands sidle up and down Shane's thigh, and he caresses Shane's balls, nuzzling into Shane's shoulder.
He can hear the sheer giddiness in Ilya's voice when he questions, "Are you afraid I will be better at fucking than you?"
"Ilya," Shane whines, swatting his chest hard when Ilya sniggers. "Not everything is a competition, you asshole."
They reposition themselves, spooning one another, and Shane rubs his hand along the sharp dip of Ilya's waist as Ilya scoots his ass back against Shane's cock. "I will get you a little gold star for your performance, baby. I will stick it on your forehead," Ilya jests, and Shane quickly shuts him up by reaching between their bodies, spit on his finger when he spreads Ilya's cheeks and rubs along the rim of his hole.
Words come less easily to Ilya with Shane's finger inside of him. He's notably less insolent, and Shane makes a note of that in his mind. He is capable of shutting Ilya Rozanov up sometimes. Noises, however, pour from Ilya like secrets he's been withholding since the dawn of time. It's orchestral to Shane's ears and his cock throbs at the sensation of the heat around his finger, at the tease of what's to come.
Ilya dips his head back and Shane mouths along the crook of his shoulder, sucking hard and cursing against Ilya's skin when he begs for more.
"Is this okay?" Shane asks, and Ilya nods vigorously, hissing loudly when Shane introduces his second finger.
Any qualms he once had have waned after witnessing Ilya in this state of sheer vulnerability.
Writhing, whimpering, even begging, which he is not one to do. It's a side of Ilya that's igniting a new kind of arousal deep in Shane's gut. Tendrils of fire tease the base of his spine when he reaches around Ilya's front, grasping his length in his free hand and Ilya ruts into the touch like some touch-starved animal. He praises Ilya, peppering sweet kisses along his shoulder as Ilya responds in-turn with a breathless request.
"Fuck me, Hollander."
Shane's fingers leave Ilya and Ilya shifts, his eyes glossed over and glassy when Shane takes him into a deep, gasping kiss.
His stomach has started to churn and twist with nerves as they rearrange themselves.
Interestingly, Ilya opts for all fours, which in and of itself is enough to make Shane's nerve-endings spark at an alarming frequency. He settles himself in behind Ilya, spitting obscenely into his hand before dragging the wetness along the length of his cock.
He pries apart Ilya's cheek with his left hand and guides his flushed hardness up and down the crevice of Ilya's ass. He responds with an audible gasp when Ilya hides his face in the duvet, groaning loudly, rutting back against Shane's hardness with fervour, "Give it to me."
Shane feels his cock throb in his hand as he stills, giving himself a quick pep talk before he watches in pure awe as his cock disappears further and further inside of Ilya, going so slow, giving his poor, leaking cock a chance to acclimate to this new environment.
Ilya makes a noise Shane has never heard him make before. It's somewhere between a whisper and a hiss and fuck, it's one of the hottest sounds that has ever graced his eardrums. Ilya's back goes rigid, the divot down his spine throwing dark and then light shadows across his skin as he readjusts and then pushes himself further down onto Shane's cock until their bodies are flush against one another. Ilya's hole is glorious. It squeezes his cock just right, providing heat and pressure like Shane's never experienced.
"Move," Ilya commands, head turned to the side from where his face is pressed into the mattress, "Give me more. I need you."
"F—fffuck," Shane cries, his hips stuttering as he pulls out just so before pushing back in equally as slowly, relishing in the new sensation. He shouldn't be surprised that even in a stereotypically submissive position Ilya still finds a way to be the one in charge, but Shane welcomes it, wants it even because there's something insanely tantalising about the thought of Ilya directing him and guiding him from a state in which he's somewhat limited.
Ilya knows no limit.
Shane should know better.
"Show me what you've got, pretty boy."
Electricity ignites Shane. His hips begin to move, his mouth agape as he gazes down in awe and wonder at the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of Ilya. Triumph suddenly courses itself through his veins. He feels powerful, like he's been dealt a hand of cards that no man should be dealt. He feels like he's a knight who's been knighted with the way in which Ilya responds vocally to him, but then Ilya starts moving his hips, meeting his thrusts, and Shane lays his palm flat on Ilya's lower back, gasping as Ilya takes the reins.
It's animalistic, the way in which Ilya grinds back against him, and Shane's brain goes terrifyingly blank as the heat at the base of his spine grows hotter and hotter.
He's tumbling towards the end, his cock feeling like it's going to simply explode and he stills Ilya's hips, his chest heaving as his torso bows forward.
He rests his forehead at the base of Ilya's neck, whimpering when Ilya circles his hips, his cock buried deep, deep inside of him.
"You're unrelenting," Shane gasps, cheek smushed into Ilya's skin as Ilya musters a breathless laugh. "I'm going to—Ilya, stop."
It'd be over too soon. He wants more, and now he simply needs to witness the expression on Ilya's face as he fucks him.
In one fell swoop, and with strength that Shane wasn't aware he had, Shane flips their bodies.
A yelp falls from Ilya and he blinks surprisingly up at Shane before his expression melts into one of tenderness.
Ilya caresses Shane's cheek, darkness swirling in his irises as he mewls, "Tell me how good my hole feels."
Shane bows his head, forehead against Ilya's as the other teases him by moving his hips, urging Shane to fuck him.
"Shut up."
Ilya clicks his tongue.
"Come on," he reaches down, and Shanes teeth dig into his lower lip as he watches Ilya stroke his flushed, weeping cock, "Use words."
Shane begins to build into a rhythm, one that sends him hurtling towards completion, and he buries his face over Ilya's shoulder, turning his head to mouth absentmindedly along the column of Ilya's neck. "You feel so fucking good, Rozanov."
Ilya hums, his nails skirting up and down Shane's back.
"Good boy," Ilya commends, and Shane feels a shiver trickle across his skin, one that makes his toes curl, "Making little beautiful noises for me."
"Fuck, Ilya," Shane gasps, his pace quickening, his composure crumbling. He fucks into Ilya with reckless abandon, the obscene noise of skin slapping against skin filling the room, intermingling with their breaths, their gasps.
"Just like that, just like that," Ilya chants and Shane is truly slipping away from reality now, he feels that familiar mounting pressure, and he's hyper-focused on just how fucking tight Ilya is around his cock, fuck.
He cries aloud as he crashes, as waves pull him asunder, and Ilya has the audacity to circle his hips in fervent movements, furthering Shane's crashing orgasm. He comes in hot bursts inside of Ilya, whimpering and gasping as his hand scrambles for Ilya's cock, wanting to follow through to the very end.
He strokes him hard and fast, whispering words of encouragement to him as Ilya's back rises off of the bed, his eyes screwed shut and a noise bursts from him, something Russian, something that Shane doesn't understand. Ilya's cries ring in Shane's ears as he releases, his cum splashing across the back of his hand, and his hands grapple with Shane, shoving at him. He swears loudly, nearly crying as he releases and Shane's eyes drink in every last detail of the moment. Ilya looks beautiful like this, all stripped apart, his lips swollen and his cheeks flushed red from pleasure.
He's seen him come before, plenty of times, but nothing like this, nothing as feral-sounding and vulnerable as this.
Eventually Ilya trickles down from cloud nine. He blinks slowly at Shane, seeming as if he's in a daze.
They stare at one another for a long minute before the two crumble, giggles wracking their bodies.
Shane licks at the cum on his hand, a gesture that has Ilya wiggling his eyebrows and reaching around his body to playfully slap Shane's ass.
After cleaning themselves up, Ilya beckons Shane to lay on his chest, kissing the top of his head. Shane settles into his side.
Shane traces lines around Ilya's skin, mapping an invisible path from one beauty mark to the next.
"Did I do good?" Shane ventures, cringing at how hopeful his voice sounds.
Ilya squeezes him, cooing at him, "My baby me fucked me good." Shane blushes, smiling wide when Ilya presses multiple kisses over his face. "I would give perfect score," Ilya tips Shane's chin up, guiding his gaze to him and his eyes soften when Shane smiles up at him, "Gold star."
"Wow," Shane croons sarcastically, "I pleased my lord."
Ilya's softness wanes momentarily, "Don't be weird."
"You first," Shane dares before Ilya's advancing on him threateningly, those large fingers of his poking and prodding him in every ticklish area he has.
When they head into town the next day, Ilya instructs Shane to wait in the car when he runs into what looks like an art and craft shop.
Shane messes with the radio, switching between channels to busy himself before Ilya returns, jumping into the car with a small, flat paper bag.
He frowns at the sheet Ilya pulls out, confused as to what he's doing.
With his tongue peeking out of the corner of his lips in concentration, Ilya shushes Shane when he goes to speak.
"I told you I would get you a star," Ilya explains, his smile the widest Shane has ever seen it when he peels a tiny gold star off of a sheet of about fifty stars. He plants it in the middle of Shane's forehead. Shane's lips pout, and he touches the star, his chest aching with love when he sees just how delighted Ilya is to give him his little star.
"Thank you," Shane whispers, leaning over to kiss Ilya gently.
"It's okay," Ilya assures, the lightest hint of redness to his cheeks when he continues, "I fuck Shane Hollander, and now, sometimes, he fucks me."
Shane doesn't miss the emphasis on the 'sometimes.'
Shane giggles, shaking his head fondly, "Poetic, Ilya. Very poetic."