Chapter Text
The street is a row of identical townhouses, uniform white brick and tiny gravel front yards. Lined up along the pavement, there's a car or two for every house. Parking is a fucking nightmare.
Ilya drives uncharacteristically slow through the narrow gap between cars to find an empty spot. He circles the whole block. No luck. It's stuffy in the car and he's starting to feel hot and desperate. That's also uncharacteristic for Ilya, if you ask him. Don't ask anyone else. Because Ilya just drove 18 miles to fuck a stranger. He blames the heat.
Usually, the strangers come to him. He jokes that it's because he's very lazy, and then proves that's to be untrue, by fucking with the speed and endurance of a professional athlete. Fuck like the job you want not the job you have, or whatever.
Because he's not lazy. He parks a few streets away and walks. It's a beautiful summer's day; sun shining, birds chirping, horny men blowing up his Grindr notifications. Once he's outside, he drops the lucky stranger a text.
I'm here.
Like an idiot, he stands there for a minute before reluctantly ringing the doorbell. It just doesn't feel right. Like he's a Door Dasher but for dick.
When he finally answers the door, Ilya remembers he never got a picture of the guy's face, just the grainy torso picture from his profile, then the videos of him fucking himself on his fingers while he begged Ilya to come over. That's par for the course. Ilya doesn't care, he's here to fuck his face not stare at it.
Except he's already staring. Staring at possibly the prettiest boy he's ever seen. Dark hair and dark eyes, tanned skin with freckles on his cheeks. He smiles awkwardly, politely, his full plush lips disappearing into it.
"Hi, come in."
Ilya steps inside, but clearly too close for Pretty Boy's comfort, because he takes a long step backwards. He looks so nervous. It's cute, he'd talked a big game over text, about how desperately he needs a cock in his mouth and how he'd be on his knees for Ilya in an instant. Now, he's just standing in the hallway, apparently waiting for Ilya to make the first move. Fuck that, I drove all the way here, that was the first move.
"Thanks for coming, I was starting to worry you weren't gonna show up–" Aww, he really is nervous. "Uh, bathroom's this way."
Wait, what the fuck? Ilya thinks that he must have misheard him, that he got the words bedroom and bathroom mixed up. Until he's standing in the doorway of a cramped bathroom, and pretty boy is gesturing towards the shower. Harsh, but fair. I'm very sweaty but sluts like him usually love that.
He takes off his jacket, catches a whiff of his own body odour. Pretty boy is right, he probably does need to shower.
"So, the problem is it's constantly dripping, but, if you turn it on," he leans over the edge of the bathtub to demonstrate, his shirt riding up and showing the tiniest bit of skin, dimples at the small of his back. Cute. "Nothing comes out."
Ilya snorts. A moment of confusion later, pretty boy keeps talking.
"I've cleaned it out, it doesn't look blocked. Tried to fix it myself but Google said to get a plumber."
Oh. Is this supposed to be some kind of sexy plumber roleplay? Weird, but not the weirdest thing Ilya's done for a Grindr hookup. Ilya's pretended to be a teacher, a home intruder and a highly irresponsible dog owner. He can pretend to be a plumber.
"Let me take a look."
He slides past him and steps over the edge of the tub. He reaches up to look at the showerhead, for no other reason than to show off his body. The shower drips on him, splatters translucent patches on his white shirt. His bright idea is that when he tests the shower, he'll be drenched to the point his shirt is entirely see-through and clinging to him. It drives pretty boy wild, and of course he needs to get out of those wet clothes immediately.
Except the shower is actually broken.
So he takes another look, brings the showerhead off it's bracket and in front of him. Specifically, in front of his crotch, running his hand along it unnecessarily. Holding it in both hands, he twists and detaches the head from the hose. This cannot possibly be what does it for him.
"Just need to loosen you up," he jokes. Pretty boy doesn't laugh.
"Don't you need your tools?" He asked instead, looking genuinely confused, like he didn't set this whole thing up.
"No. I'm very good with my hands," Ilya smirks as the pieces come apart. I hope I didn't just break this guy's shower anymore than it already was.
As much as he wants his dick sucked, he can't help but notice the blockage is further down, and there's something wrong with the inner tubing. Since pretty boy hasn't made a single move in his direction, Ilya starts troubleshooting. Really, he has no idea what to do except spout off plumbing innuendo. It's a bizarre porn scenario and he usually skips this part of the video.
"There's your problem," he says plainly. "It's too tight. Water can't get through. I maybe can stretch it. But it needs a bigger pipe."
Jesus made wine out of water. Ilya makes sex jokes out of a collapsed shower hose. These are equally impressive feats. He keeps going on about pipes and valves and plugs until he has no idea what sex acts he's actually describing.
Is this what you wanted? He's blushing and he won't look at Ilya. So he's putting on the performance of a lifetime for nothing. Then something curious happens. Pretty boy just... leaves the room.
Ilya is lost. If the sexy men from Grindr want elaborate roleplay scenarios before they fuck, they should at least give him a script. He's standing in the sexy stranger's bathtub, fully clothed and half damp, a piece of showerhead in each hand. Not how he was expecting his day to go, but he's all in now.
It's weird foreplay, he still understands the appeal, the waiting and the anticipation. But he's bored. Impatient. He puts the shower back together again, hoping the click meant it was in place, and not that it had just snapped somewhere. He checks himself in the bathroom mirror before he leaves, still irresistible. I don't know what this guy's problem is.
"No luck," he says when he finds pretty boy sat waiting on his couch, perched on the edge of it, elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.
"Oh, really?" He asks flatly. It's not a sexy Oh really. Like Oh, really? What are you gonna do about it? or Oh, really? I guess you'll just have to shower me in your cum. But Ilya won't put words in his mouth.
"That's okay. Um, thank you. I'll let the landlord know."
He stands up. Ilya can see a singular wet spot on his shorts that's just too conveniently placed to be from the leaky shower. So this is actually what does it for him, huh.
"I can't fix your shower. But there's other ways I can get you wet."
"What the... What? I mean, yeah, the taps work. And I can shower at the gym but—"
"Looks like you've sprung another leak," Ilya interrupts, striding across the room.
"What?" he mouths, the sound barely makes it out.
"You've dripping everywhere, making a mess... That I can fix."
Pretty boy's doe eyes go even wider. His hands clasp together to cover himself. He can try to hide a boner, but he can't hide his face as it's blushes bright pink.
"What— That's not from— That was from the shower."
"Don't be embarrassed," he says softly. "It's okay."
Because he means it. Either this guy is a really good actor, playing clueless and closeted, or he's actually in real distress over this. Ilya isn't sure whether he wants someone to make it worse or make it better. He decides on the latter. Showers excluded, Ilya is good at fixing things.
"You want me to fix it, yes?"
"What do you mean?" he says through a shuddered breath.
Ilya takes another step closer. Close enough to smell him. He wasn't kidding about that shower being broken. Ilya leans down, breathes in the scent of stale sweat. His face hovers inches away from the prettiest one he's ever seen.
"I mean— you've got a big pipe that won't stop leaking. That's why you called me."
"Well, my landlord called you."
The steadfast commitment to realism isn't sexy, but it is endearing. The delivery was probably supposed to be deadpan, but his voice betrays him and shakes to a higher pitch. His mouth is hanging open like he has something else to say, or he's waiting for Ilya to kiss him. But he likes to make them wait. He cups his hand around his burning hot cheek, thumb running down his freckles to catch his bottom lip.
"You want me to fuck you, yes?"
A shocked moan is all he gets in response. It's not good enough. Pretty boy closes his eyes and tries to push forward, to kiss Ilya. He pushes back, holding his mouth in place with his thumb pressing further into his mouth, resting on his tongue.
"Look at you. So desperate for dick you'll take it from a stranger."
He moans again and wraps his lips around Ilya's thumb.
"There you go, suck it. Show me how bad you want it."
Instinctually, he starts sucking down to the knuckle. His eyes are still shut, but they screw tighter, his face scrunching up. He mumbles something, his teeth scraping Ilya's skin with the movement.
"What was that?" asks Ilya.
He pulls his thumb out to let him speak, smearing spit across his perfect soft lips. His other hand finds his cock, wet and straining against his shorts. He can't believe he hasn't kissed him yet.
"I need it," he repeats breathlessly, grinding against Ilya's palm.
It's the green light Ilya was waiting on, to give up his career in fake plumbing and do what he came here to do. He pushes the man back down onto the couch and yanks off his own shirt. Pretty boy follows suit. Ilya gets on his knees in front of him, hands exploring his torso, but when he grabs the waistband of his shorts he's stopped in his tracks by big, strong, trembling hands.
"Wait, stop."
Ilya stops, hands lifting and hovering over his waist. "What? What's wrong?"
"This is just... wrong." He speaks slowly. Wrong in a sexy way? Or wrong in a please-get-out-of-my-house-before-I-call-the-police way? Please be specific.
"I don't do this." His chest is rising and falling heavily. His eyes are shining down at Ilya, they look glazed over, as wet as the rest of him. "With strangers, I mean. I've had sex."
Ilya doesn't know if this is part of the act, but he stays in character.
"Let me show you how to do this. Better than any of your little boyfriends."
"Fuck," he groans, hiding his pretty face in his hands. When Ilya finally lets his hands fall back onto pretty boy's hips, he jolts.
"What's your name?" he asks.
One moment he wants me to be an anonymous tradesman, the next he wants to get a first name basis. I can't keep up.
"Whatever you want it to be, baby," Ilya purrs.
"I'm serious."
"You're gonna scream it for me, yeah?" He teases, one last time before he drops the act. "It's Ilya."
"Ilya," he repeats with a cute lazy smile on his face.
"Is that your name too?" Ilya pokes, already grinning at his own joke.
"Hah," he laughs shortly. "No, my name's Shane."
"Okay, Shane. Can I suck your dick now?"
"Fuck, yes," Shane hisses, keenly fumbling to get his shorts off.
Ilya grabs his hand, moves it aside. "Let me. Just lay back and let me do all the work."
Shane goes limp, melting into the couch when Ilya's hand wraps around his dick. The movement is smooth, just the perfect amount of friction. He doesn't need spit or lube because Shane is so wet. Ilya watches another drip of precum leak from the tip before he takes it into his mouth, lapping it up with his tongue. His lips stretch around Shane's cock, sucking and swallowing around the head.
The sound it elicits from Shane would be embarrassing, if everything leading up to this hadn't been completely humiliating. At least for Ilya, and he prefers to be on the other side of the humiliation. He takes Shane's cock deeper at a cruelly slow pace, revelling in the feeling of it twitching against his tongue. Shane is so patient. He doesn't grab Ilya by the hair or buck his hips. He's doing exactly what he's told, lying back and letting Ilya do all the work.
Shane's cock is big enough to hit the back of Ilya's throat, girthy enough that he can feel the stretch in his lips as his jaw. From down here the smell of sweat and cum is intoxicatingly strong, kinda disgusting. Ilya is painfully hard in his jeans, feeling the fabric brush against his dick when he shifts. He takes one hand off Shane to unbutton his jeans and tug then down just enough to free his dick. His head bobs up and down on Shane's dick as he strokes himself at the same pace.
"Oh my fucking god, that's so good," he gasps. "I'm close."
Already? I've barely gotten started. If Ilya hadn't already run out of patience, he'd stop now, edge Shane and tease him for being so easy. He doesn't. His effort doubles; picking up speed, pressing his tongue and sucking harder. Shane gets louder. His thighs shake. Ilya tries to hold them in place, keeping him still so he can every inch of him. Shane jerks under Ilya's steady hand, whines his name as he comes down Ilya's throat unannounced. There's a wet, gutteral sound where Ilya's gag reflex should be.
Ilya keeps sucking, swallowing every drop and licking up what had slipped down his cock. When Shane's moans start to sound more like cries, he relents. Looking up at Shane, Ilya's heart sinks, and his dick gets harder somehow. He's actually crying. Tears are streaming down his cheeks but he's putting on such a brave face.
"You're okay?" he asks, resting his palm on Shane's chest. He can feel his heartbeat and the tensing muscles in his stomach where he's holding back from crying.
"I'm okay," he sobs. He takes a deep breath through his nose, wiping away the tears. "I'm good. It's just, that was a lot."
"Oh, sweetheart," coos Ilya, climbing up on the couch. He wants to cuddle him and pet his hair and let him cry it out, however that's not a very casual Grindr hook-up thing to do. So instead, he grabs Shane's cheek again, licking up the tears. "You still want more, don't you?"
"Please," Shane breathes, nuzzling closer to Ilya and trying to kiss him. "Please kiss me."
Ilya takes pity. He kisses Shane gently at first, on his lips, his tear-stained cheeks, his sweaty forehead. It's weird for a first kiss, when he can still taste Shane's cum on his tongue. He runs his hands through his hair and tightens his grip slightly. Then he flicks his tongue into Shane's mouth, which falls open with a moan, letting Ilya deepen the kiss. He wants to make him taste it too.
Shane's hand fumbles between them, wrapping his fingers around Ilya's cock. Ilya bites down on Shane's lips, pulls away and lets it spring back with a pop. Desperately, Shane chases his lips. He tries to get a a leg over Ilya, to get on top. Ilya pushes it back.
"No no," he murmurs. "You're going to lay back and let me do all the work."
Shane settles back into the couch. Ilya guides him to lie all the way down across the cushions. He stands back up and kicks off his jeans from where they were hanging around his ankles. Without ceremony, he clambers back onto the couch and kneels over Shane's chest. He gives his cock a few slow strokes over Shane's waiting mouth.
"Think you can take all of this?"
Shane looks apprehensive, but he nods enthusiastically. It's just the tip at first. Ilya steadies himself, holding himself up by the arm of the couch and readjusting the angle to thrust into his mouth. He gets about two thirds of the way there before Shane chokes. It's not bad, but not quite the throat goat he'd made himself out to be.
"You're sure?"
Shane nods again, up and down Ilya's dick with an affirmative hum.
"You can do it. Breath through your nose."
He looks down, watches Shane's eyes flutter closed as he takes a deep breath. Ilya pushes deeper. Shane doesn't gag this time, so he holds still for a few seconds before pulling all the way out. He repeats the action, a little more each time until he's all the way in and he can fuck Shane's mouth just like he promised.
Inhibitions abandoned, along with the expectations of lasting more than 2 minutes, Ilya drives his cock down his throat faster. He's been waiting for this all day, touching himself to Shane's messages, not letting himself come because Shane wants to swallow it all.
"That's it," he rasps through laboured breaths, "You can take it. You needed it bad, huh?"
Shane whines around him and the vibrations drive Ilya insane. There's spit dripping down his chin, making a wet slapping sound against Ilya's balls. When Shane opens his eyes and looks up at Ilya, deep brown and sparkling with tears again, he can't hold back anymore.
He grips Shane by the hair, holding him down against the couch as he buries his cock in his throat and slowly pumps cum down it. Shane gags again, spluttering a mix of spit and cum between them. Ilya pulls out, the rest shooting across Shane's face.
Ilya sits back, sitting on Shane's stomach. Only a little bit surprised to feel Shane's cock, hard again already, tapping against his ass cheek.
"You made a mess again." He runs his hand over Shane's wrecked face, scraping cum from his cheeks into his open, panting mouth.
"Sorry," Shane gulps.
"Don't be sorry," he smiles. "Clean it up."
Shane sticks his tongue out, circling around Ilya's fingers and swallowing around them until there's not a trace left. Ilya is hypnotised. Thank God for oral fixations.
"Good boy," he says, dragging out the Y with a satisfied sigh. "You're hard again already, just from having cock in your mouth."
"Yeah," Shane breathes. "I liked it."
"Of course you liked it, fucking slut," spits Ilya.
He grabs Shane by his jaw, kisses him roughly. It's messy, his tongue probing and licking his own cum from Shane's teeth. Grinding back against Shane's cock, feeling wet drops slide down his ass, he leans back to watch Shane squirm beneath him. He gives him a gentle tap to the cheek. Not a slap, even though that's exactly what a slut like him wants from Ilya.
He shuffles down the couch on his knees. Shane's cock drags between his legs, against his taint and his unfortunately soft cock, before springing back against his own stomach and leaving a string of precum. He's hiding his face again, an arm crossed over his head. His biceps are huge, which is nice, but it's getting in the way of his pretty face.
"Touch me. Please, I need it."
"So needy," says Ilya, taking Shane's cock in his hand. His whole body twitches. "You gonna come for me again?"
"Mhm," Shane moans against his arm, biting down.
Ilya jerks Shane off relentlessly quick, eager to give him his second orgasm in what can't have been more than 20 minutes. He could take his time, blow him again and maybe even fuck him— if the lack of a shower doesn't make that a deal-breaker. But Shane needs it. He needs it so bad he's fucking into Ilya's hand.
Shane is murmuring expletives, still muffled but Ilya thinks he heard something. Something with softer syllables that sounds nothing like "fuck" or "shit". Shane is moaning him name.
Ilya swats Shane's arm out of his face.
"Let me see you," he says. Let me hear you, he means.
And it sounds so good. "Fuck, shit. Ilya. God. Fuck. Ilya." Different from the rest, he's sighing it out because he can't say it through gritted teeth.
If Ilya had a refractory period like Shane's, he'd be hard again. Instead, arousal manifests heavy in his chest. A boner of the heart.
Maybe he's noticed the effect it's having on Ilya, maybe he just likes saying it. But he says it over and over again as he spurts cum all over his chest and stomach. He's covered in it now, from his face to his dick. Ilya wipes what's left on his hands on Shane's thigh, just to add to the mess. He considers asking to take a picture, but decides on staring down at him at committing the image to memory.
This is usually the part of the video where he closes the private browser tab. But it’s not a corny plumber porno, it's a Grindr hookup where the guy came so hard he cried. So he gives him a kiss and collapses on his chest. Now he can cuddle him and pet his hair.
In the blissful aftermath, it's completely silent except the sound of their breath. Until, Ilya hears a drip echo from the bathroom. God, that must be driving Shane insane.
Shane must be out of his fucking mind. He's wondering when he's going to wake up.
He'd gone from irritated that his plumber was over an hour late, to nervous because of how hot his plumber is, to running away, rock hard and almost having a panic attack. He felt disgusting, not just physically unclean, but mentally. The guy was just doing his job and Shane's sick mind made it dirty. Except he wasn't imagining things, and suddenly, he had the hot plumber between his legs.
And he's still there. His head is resting against Shane's sweat-drenched chest, hands running through his greasy hair. There's hardly any room of the couch, so Ilya is laying on top of him. The weight is comforting, like it will stop him from floating away. In reality, it will stop him from running away, because anxiety is creeping back in.
"You're a very good actor," Ilya smirks.
"What?"
"The roleplay," he says, like that answers it. Shane's confusion must be showing on his face, because he tries to clarify. "Acting clueless like you weren't begging for my cock on Grindr this morning."
"Sorry, what the fuck? I don't have Grindr. I'm not..." He trails off. He knows it sounds stupid, given the circumstances. "I'm not gay."
"Okey," he chuckles. "Very good. You can stop now."
Shane shifts under Ilya, trying to sit up against the arm of the couch.
"I mean it, what are you even saying?"
Ilya's smile drops. He sits up, and Shane's out from under him the moment he's free. He sits with his knees to his chest defensively. Ilya is leaning off the couch to pick his jeans up, his phone drops out of them, he grabs it off the floor. He's tapping and scrolling for a second while Shane's panic attack picks up where it left off.
"Woah," is all Ilya says. He's reading and scrolling, eyes wide and lips pursed. "Oops."
"Oops?!"
"This isn't you?" he asks, turning his screen around.
The photo shows only a torso. Whoever the man is, he's toned and tanned like Shane, but he's definitely not Shane. For one, Shane doesn't take pictures of himself like that. Yeah, he has shirtless pictures of himself, but they're just him tracking his progress at the gym. He doesn't go around sending them to strangers. He doesn't have Grindr.
"Is this the only picture?"
"Well I'm not going to show you his dick."
"Are you actually insane? You just hook up with strangers with no idea what they look like?!"
"You thought your landlord had hired a plumber from a porno and I'm the crazy one?!"
It is the kind of scenario that only happens in porn. Shane should've realised that, he should've questioned it. But all logic had been thrown out of the window. And now, as the fog in Shane's mind starts to clear, logic comes storming through the door. His head is spinning and his mouth is dry. He can still taste Ilya in the back of his throat and he needs water to wash it away.
"I—" Shane gags on air. What do you even say to that? "I guess my real plumber is even later than I thought."
Ilya laughs. It doesn't break the tension but it puts a crack in it.
"And your shower is still broken?"
"Yeah, which is—" Shane gestures from his face down to his crotch. "—Worse now."
"I'll fix it," he says simply.
He looked like he was trying to fix it before, in hindsight he probably wasn't trying very hard. He'd just gone along with it, played the plumber from the porno without a second thought. Oh God, thinks Shane, I've just let a crazy man into my house. Another thing he should've realised earlier.
"Don't be stupid."
"Please, let me fix it. I feel terrible for this."
"You're not actually a plumber though."
"No, but I have tools in my car, I have YouTube tutorials."