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Ilya Rozanov considers himself lucky for multiple reasons, but the biggest is his pretty boyfriend.
And he does mean pretty.
Shane has smooth, fair skin and a smattering of freckles and those wide, brown doe-eyes. He has the perfect hips for holding and swaying and full, pink lips that Ilya never wants to leave his.
Ilya first saw him in one of their university lectures, when Shane was sitting alone in the third row, scribbling in his notebook in tiny, neat handwriting. He wore one of those big, grandpa sweaters and the sleeves swallowed his hands, and Ilya had to look away after a second because he was sure he’d get caught staring at the gorgeous creature that sat there obliviously. Ilya watched him the whole lecture anyway, and by the end of class he’d already decided he was going to get his number. He wanted to find out about him. Badly.
He caught Shane right as he was tucking his notebook into his bag and tried out a joke about the professor’s accent, which was too easy because everyone talked about it, when they weren’t talking about Ilya’s. Shane laughed though, honest and shy, and then did this thing where he ducked his head and looked up at Ilya through his lashes. Like he had any idea how pretty he looked, doing that. Ilya had a number in his phone before the next lecture, and a date at the library scheduled for the following Thursday.
As they began to date, he learned Shane was soft and smart, and didn’t go out of his way to go out. He was fun to spend time with though, and he talked a lot, and he flirted beautifully. Ilya liked that. He liked a lot of things about Shane, most of which he didn’t even realize until they were already happening. Such as, Shane’s habit of pointing out random history facts, or the way he’d always try to feed Ilya bites of his dessert even when he claimed he didn’t want any, or how he’d leave little love notes tucked into Ilya’ hoodie pockets when he left in the morning.
It wasn’t long before Ilya started rearranging his life around Shane. He’d set his alarm early so he could pick him up for morning lectures, dropping him off with a kiss. He’d swing by the cafe to grab Shane’s memorized coffee order. If Shane wanted to watch a documentary about the Roman Empire at 2am, they watched the damn documentary. If Shane offhandedly mentioned something he wanted at the store, Ilya would swing back around and buy it for him.
Ilya was never tripping over himself stupid because of a pretty boy before Shane, and he’s never been the type to be whipped. With Shane, though, it’s like the switch got flipped. One day he was chirping at his friends about how cute his new boyfriend is, the next he was cooking Shane dinner and running him bubble baths and letting him steal the covers without a word of complaint. When Shane texted him late to come home, Ilya came home. When Shane told him not to shave, he didn’t.
The thing is, Ilya can’t even be mad about it. He likes it. Maybe it’s because Shane’s so unassuming; he’s pretty and soft and wears fuzzy socks with cartoon cats on them, and he’s always polite to the waiters and never talks back to professors. He’s nerdy, he passes all his exams, he shows up to class early. He’s the last person you’d expect to have anyone wrapped around his finger. But Ilya knows better. He’s seen the look in Shane’s eyes when he wants something, the little smile he gets when Ilya is about to cave, Ilya is absolutely, completely ruined for him.
Everyone else sees the sweet, quiet version, Shane who’s always reading, Shane who blushes if someone compliments his shirt, Shane who volunteers at the animal shelter on weekends and always brings home stray cats until Ilya has to physically intervene. Shane who makes heart-shaped pancakes on Valentine’s Day and sends his mother a text every day. It’s the same thing every time Ilya introduces him to someone new, Oh, he’s adorable. Oh, he’s so polite. Oh, he’s a little shy, isn’t he? Ilya just nods and lets them believe it. He likes that people underestimate Shane. He likes that he gets to keep the real Shane for himself.
And the real Shane comes out on the night of his birthday.
Ilya has already let him sleep in for his day, hours past Shane’s usual time. That’s restraint, by his own standards. But even a steel trap can only hold so long, and he has pancakes to deliver and a birthday to celebrate and a boyfriend to kiss.
He tiptoes across the cold floor, his toes curling at the chill, and slides back under the covers with Shane, who is snoring softly with his pink lips parted. His hair is a disaster, sticking out like static itself, and his face is pressed into the pillow, making his eyelashes all clump together from sleep. He looks so much like an angel, it almost feels impossible to ruin it. Almost.
Ilya leans over and plants a soft, lingering kiss on Shane’s cheekbone. “Happy birthday, Shanya,” he says, right in his ear, then kisses him again, just as softly, below his jaw.
Shane moans and tries to burrow deeper into the mattress, pulling the duvet over his head. “No,” comes the muffled protest. “Sleeping.”
Ilya kisses his nose, then his earlobe. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to youuuu,” he hums, soft and off-key, just to be a pain.
Shane shakes his head under the covers, mumbling, “Not morning yet.”
“Is morning. Almost ten. I let you sleep in.” Ilya keeps up the string of kisses, now under Shane’s jaw, where his skin is warm. “Ten is middle of the day for people with jobs, you know.”
Shane peeks an eye open, blinking blearily. “You’re my job,” he accuses, but the corners of his mouth twitch. He’s already lost the fight and they both know it.
“Not true, I am angel,” Ilya says, wrapping his arms tight around Shane and rolling him over until he’s plastered to Ilya’s chest.
“Stop it,” Shane whines, clearly not meaning it. He hides his face in Ilya’s shoulder, fake indignant, and Ilya squeezes him closer, loving how Shane’s whole body fits so perfectly with his. “You’re heavy.”
Ilya laughs. “I have surprise for you,” he says.
Shane perks up a little at that, his lashes fluttering. “Is it a cat?”
“You’re the cat.” Ilya grins. “You sleep and you complain and you make cute noises.”
Shane pinches Ilya’s hip, but he lets Ilya haul him out of bed, protesting half-heartedly as Ilya tugs him by the wrist. “It’s too cold, and I’m barely wearing anything.”
“I like you like this,” Ilya says, eyeing the way Shane’s boxers are twisted from sleep, his thigh exposed. “You look very sexy, like model for Calvin Klein.”
Shane gives him The Look, so Ilya fetches one of his own hoodies, and pulls it over his boyfriend’s head, tucking it down over his thighs. He grabs Shane’s wrist, pulling him into the kitchen. It’s barely more than a counter and a table, but Ilya has gone all out. There’s a stack of blueberry pancakes, still steaming, with birthday candles stuck on top. A crooked bouquet of flowers sits in an old glass, and next to it, a lumpy pile of wrapped presents, the paper mismatched and held together with way too much tape.
Shane just stands there, blinking. “Jesus, Ilya,” he says, then turns to Ilya, his cheeks turning red. “All for me?”
“No, for my other boyfriend,” Ilya says, and Shane makes his murderous face. Ilya laughs, placing a hand on his lower back. “Of course for you, malysh.”
“Ilya, you didn’t have to -”
“I want to,” Ilya interrupts.“I like when you are happy.”
Shane shakes his head, but he’s grinning as he sits at the table, tugging the presents into his lap.
The first is a sweater Ilya knew Shane was after, soft and in a pale green that makes Shane’s eyes look huge and sweet. He hugs it to his chest, grinning in disbelief, then folds it carefully. The second is a card to his favorite bookstore in the city in an old brick building only a block from their usual coffee shop. The third, a shiny new water bottle, stainless steel, with a clip-on for Shane’s school bag. Fourth is a box of chocolate biscuits he loves, which Ilya will dig into undoubtedly. Fifth, a video game he wanted to add to their collection, and sixth, a little enamel pin shaped like a Roman centurion’s helmet.
Shane lines each one up in a neat row, looking more overwhelmed with every new gift. By the time he opens the pin, he’s staring at Ilya like he’s trying not to cry.
"Ilya, you spoil me,” Shane says.
Ilya shrugs, but he feels like his heart is going to explode. “You deserve it.”
Shane stands and walks over to wrap his arms around Ilya’s neck, hiding his face in Ilya’s shoulder. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Ilya holds him tight, swaying a little, hands creeping down to rest on Shane’s hips. “You like them?”
“I love them,” Shane says, muffled.
“I love you,” Ilya says, and nips at Shane’s earlobe. “I’ll make dinner for you tonight, too. Secret, but you will like.”
“I thought you had practice,” Shane says, pulling back to look at him.
“Don’t care. Is your birthday.” Ilya tips Shane’s chin up and kisses him, his hands sliding down to cup the back of his thighs, then his ass. Shane inhales sharply, then yelps when Ilya hoists him up, setting him on the counter with a thump.
“Hey -” Shane starts, but Ilya just grins, burying his face in Shane’s neck and kissing the skin there. He’s addicted to it. “We have to eat before class,” Shane says, but he’s already arching into Ilya’s hands, shivering when Ilya bites down softly.
“You are first,” Ilya murmurs. “Food second.”
Shane laughs, then, impossibly, manages to squirm out of Ilya’s grip, hopping off the counter and putting a hand on Ilya’s chest. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to be late for my lecture,” he says.
“Skip it. Is not important.”
“It’s a seminar, Ilya.” Shane takes Ilya by the back of his hair to tilt his chin up. “Hands above the waist until after dinner.”
Ilya smirks, letting Shane manhandle him. “Promise?”
Shane rolls his eyes, releasing him, then pulls him down by the collar for one more kiss. “Thank you. For all this.”
Ilya brushes Shane’s hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear, and says, quietly, “You are mine tonight.”
“We’ll see.”
──
“Close your eyes.”
Shane does. Ilya steps behind him and frees Shane’s hair from his collar, letting the pads of two fingers rest at the pulse at Shane’s neck. “Walk,” he says, guiding him inside the apartment. When Shane’s shoes come to rest on the rug they thrifted, just in front of the kitchen, Ilya murmurs, “Open.”
Light slips from tall candles, and three balloons cling to the far wall, tied with the thinnest red ribbon Ilya could find. Shane steps forward without checking whether Ilya follows as he tilts his head to take it in. And - Christ - he blushes.
“Birthday dinner for you, malysh.” Ilya grins, satisfied, as he gets Shane to the chair, pulling it out for his sweet boyfriend. Shane exhales an embarrassed laugh but the sound comes out delighted, his eyes moving from the sliced hearth bread still steaming, to the bottle of wine already uncorked, to the two plates of short rib and seasoned vegetables.
Ilya circles the table to pour wine, the red gathering against the crystal glass, and Shane lifts his, then raises his eyes to Ilya and takes the smallest sip. It freckles his lower lip, a kite-shaped mark of color that Ilya wants to lick off more than he wants his next breath. Instead, he sits at the table, reaching for silverware.
Ilya has angled the plate so Shane doesn’t have to shift forward. He’s figured out too well how the candlelight is kindest on Shane’s beautiful face. Shane parts his lips when Ilya touches the laden fork to them, feeding him a bite of buttered asparagus. He blinks twice, slow, the room’s gold sliding across his cheek as he nods at the flavor.
“Twenty-three, hm?” Ilya says. “Do you feel wiser now?” His thumb brushes the corner of Shane’s mouth to catch a fleck of salt. Shane opens enough to pull the thumb inside for just an instant, his grin crooked.
“I feel spoiled,” Shane answers.
“Good,” Ilya murmurs, kissing wine straight off his lips.
The short ribs release in one sigh when Shane lifts the lid under candle-vapor. Ilya has chosen a single creamy plate they don’t use except for company; he didn’t want the interruption of two dishes or the barrier of extra cutlery. Ilya slips the meat onto two forks, and raises Shane’s bite first. Shane’s lashes flutter as he chews, his eyes fixed on Ilya’s, and lets the smallest sigh escape when the richness spreads. Shane feeds Ilya a bite of bread, and Ilya bumps Shane’s knee under the tablecloth; Shane bumps back. Then Shane’s hand stays there, on Ilya’s thigh, both sharing a ridiculous smile.
Shane whispers, “Every birthday should have this,” and Ilya answers, “Watch me make certain.”
Once most of the meal is gone, Ilya kisses the air just to see if Shane will chase it, and he does, threading his fingers through the hair at the base of Ilya’s skull. The kiss is chaste by previous standards, but it lasts. Ilya could spend the rest of the night here, watching candlelight slip over the edge of Shane’s jaw. He could count each freckle, each micro expression that skims across Shane’s mouth as he takes a bite.
Ilya pulls back from his boyfriend’s mouth, and refills Shane’s glass of wine. When Shane sips, then pulls away, a line of wine beads at the corner of his lips. Ilya moves in, eyes on Shane, and licks the droplet from Shane’s lower lip. He doesn’t stop there; he licks again, tracing his entire mouth, then presses his own lips down, open and hungry, tasting the wine and the warmth and Shane’s mouth.
It’s nothing like the dinner-table kisses from before. This is filthy and tongue-heavy, Shane making a soft whine that Ilya swallows. Their tongues melt together, then glide, then Shane sucks on it. His fingers knot in the back of Ilya’s shirt. He pulls Ilya in hard enough to shift the chair, and their knees knock together under the table. The food is officially forgotten.
Ilya runs his hand up Shane’s jaw, his thumb pressing into the hinge, and then tilts Shane’s chin so he can get a better angle, can fuck in with his tongue and draw out every gasp that Shane tries to stifle. Shane moans against Ilya’s mouth, then finally breaks away, panting.
Shane watches him with those doe eyes. “D'you think I deserve one last gift?” he murmurs.
“Anything.”
Shane’s fingers drum along Ilya’s thigh, then curl tight. “I want you to be mine tonight. You’ll do what I say. You’ll let me use you.”
It’s not that Shane never takes control. Sometimes, when he’s really tired, or really in need, he’ll push Ilya down and ride his face, or put a hand over Ilya’s mouth and tell him to shut up and listen. But it’s rare, and something no one would ever expect from Shane-sweetheart-history-loving-Hollander.
Ilya looks up at him, his heart pounding, and Shane just runs a hand through Ilya’s hair, mussing it. “Gonna let me have my special present?” He pouts.
Ilya is powerless to deny him. “Yes…”
Shane tugs on a fistful of hair, forcing Ilya’s head back. “Just wanna see you beg,” Shane purrs, leaning down to say it directly in Ilya’s ear. “See how powerless I can make you.”
Ilya shivers, arousal blooming hot. “Da, malysh. Please.”
Shane grins, then lets go of Ilya’s hair and picks up his wine. “Good.” He takes a sip. “Shall we go unwind in the bedroom?”
They leave the dinner with the candles burning down to stumps, the wine bottle askew. Ilya follows, barely able to keep his hands to himself, and Shane leads the way, his hips swaying just enough to make it obvious that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Once inside the bedroom, Shane shuts the door and leans against it with his arms crossed. He watches Ilya with a look that’s half innocence, but mostly hunger, then slowly toes off his shoes. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting Ilya stand there, uncertain and waiting for the next move.
Then, with a tiny, devastating smile, Shane begins to unbutton his shirt. One button at a time, slow as molasses, making sure Ilya watches every second. When the shirt falls open, Shane’s chest is bare, smooth, his nipples small, pink, and already hard.
Ilya stares, of course.
Shane catches him, and grins. “Cute how you like to stare at my tits,” he says, blunt, and Ilya is stunned. “You want a better view?”
Ilya nods, because what the fuck else can he do?
“Get down,” Shane says.
Ilya drops to his knees. The floor is cold, but he barely notices. All he can see is Shane, his shirt hanging off his shoulders, chest exposed, the look in his eyes powerful and expectant.
Shane steps closer, until his knees are right before Ilya’s eyes. Then, without warning, he buries his hand in Ilya’s curls, and yanks his head back, hard enough to make Ilya gasp.
“Like them from down there?” Shane asks. He’s looking down, looming over Ilya gorgeously. Ilya never realized how much he’d like this. Ilya nods slowly, and Shane grins. “What about my cunt, want to be buried in it tonight?”
Ilya’s mouth waters. “Yes,” he says desperately.
Shane shakes his head, amused, and tugs harder. “Not good enough.”
Ilya doesn’t even hesitate. He’s never been above begging for Shane, and he’s certainly not going to start now. “Please, Shanya. Let me taste you. Please, I want you so bad, I’ll do anything. Please.”
Shane hums, satisfied, and lets go of Ilya’s hair. He steps back, peels off his shirt, then drops his pants. He’s already semi-hard, the tip of his cock glistening, but it’s not what he’s offering tonight. He sits on the edge of the bed with his legs spread, and crooks a finger at Ilya.
“Come here,” Shane says. “On the floor.”
Ilya crawls on all fours as instructed, the ground hard on his knees, but he doesn’t care. Shane’s thighs are bare, spread, and perfect, and he smells so fucking good down here. Ilya surges towards him, moving to wrap his arms around Shane’s thighs to hook his legs over his shoulders, his mouth pressing quick, wet kisses to his inner thigh. He nips at them as Shane gasps, one hand supporting his weight behind him while the other moves to Ilya’s head to comb his fingers through his curls.
“Eager…” Shane muses, unable to mask his moan as Ilya bites at his other thigh before his head drops lower. Shane’s head falls back with a sigh of relief when he feels Ilya’s warm mouth kiss his bulge over his briefs, his strong hands gripping the soft flesh of Shane’s thighs. “C’mon, don’t tease,” Shane tuts, and falls back onto his elbows, his own face flushing at the obscene way Ilya’s head moves about between his legs.
He blushes again when Ilya inhales deeply in the crease where his thigh meets his groin, a low moan floating up from Ilya’s mouth. He’s addicted to Shane’s skin down here. He inhales again, this time right over Shane’s briefs, then his deft fingers move to peel them off.
“Good,” Shane mumbles, and reaches out his palm, taking the briefs and tossing them to the side.
He presses his nose to Shane’s other thigh and groans through another long inhale, smelling him even deeper. Ilya’s fingers dig into Shane’s thighs as he presses soft kisses over Shane’s cock, before grabbing him in his hand, carefully holding him to the side to press his tongue over his hole.
Shane makes a soft, delighted sound, and spreads his legs a little more as Ilya wraps his strong arms around under them and grips his inner thighs as he really begins to dig in, hungry as he always is.
“Mmmh." Shane shivers through a moan as he nips on his bottom lip between his teeth. He fists the comforter in his hands, still leaned back on his elbows. “Perfect mouth,” he murmurs, and Ilya, encouraged, eats him with more fervor, a soft moan muffled against where Ilya’s tongue hungrily laps over his hole.
Ilya knows Shane is content to be slurped and tongue-fucked for as long as he sees fit, and that he certainly will be. Ilya’s tongue flicks and pokes past his rim slightly, making Shane’s toes curl and thighs tense in his grip.
“Fuck,” Shane says after a long while, Ilya now fully hard and dripping just from this.
Ilya continues, his eyes shut and his brows furrowed in concentration for a brief second, until he peers up at Shane while he tongue-fucks his cunt, his hand still holding Shane’s cock, but now stroking softly. It’s enough for him to throb in his hand, dripping pre from his slit.
“Alright, off,” Shane says, and sticks a foot out to push Ilya back by his forehead, fuck.
Ilya, of course, complies immediately. He pulls off, the lower half of his face glistening with saliva as he pants short lungfuls of air. He carefully releases Shane’s thighs and cock, blinking up at him while he catches his breath.
Shane runs his fingers through Ilya’s hair again with a lazy smile and sits up, supporting his weight on his hands once more as Ilya shifts backwards to accommodate the movement.
Shane tilts his head, studying Ilya like he’s considering his next move, then bats his lashes with deliberate innocence. “Stand up for me?” he says, his voice sweet as honey, but with an undertone that makes Ilya’s stomach flip.
Ilya scrambles to his feet, his knees protesting from the hard floor. His cock strains against his jeans, so hard it’s almost painful, and he can feel the wet spot where he’s been leaking. Shane’s eyes drop immediately to the obvious bulge, and his lips curve into a satisfied smile.
“Look at you,” Shane murmurs, still perched on the edge of the bed. He reaches out with both hands, his fingers hooking into Ilya’s belt loops, and tugs him forward until Ilya’s standing between his spread thighs. The position puts Shane at the perfect height to stare directly at Ilya’s crotch, and he does, unabashedly. “All worked up already…”
Ilya’s breath catches as Shane’s fingers undo his belt, the metal clinking softly. Those brown eyes flick up to meet his, and Shane bites his lower lip, keeping up the pretense of innocence. The belt slides free, and then Shane’s nimble fingers are at his button, popping it open. The sound of his zipper seems impossibly loud in the quiet bedroom. Shane takes his time, drawing it down slowly, his knuckles brushing against Ilya’s cock through his briefs with each downward motion. Ilya’s hips twitch involuntarily at the contact, and Shane’s smile turns predatory.
“Easy,” Shane says. His hands move to Ilya’s hips, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his jeans.
He pushes the denim down to Ilya’s knees, then sits back to admire his handiwork. Ilya steps out of the jeans when Shane nods toward them, kicking them aside. Now he’s standing there in just his t-shirt and briefs, the outline of his erection clearly visible through the thin cotton.
Shane’s gaze is hungry as it travels up and down Ilya’s body. “Much better,” he says, then reaches out to palm Ilya’s hard cock through his underwear.
Ilya gasps at the contact, his hips jerking forward instinctively. Shane’s hand is warm and firm, his fingers wrapping around his length through the fabric, and Ilya has to bite back a moan. He can’t believe how desperate sweet Shane has rendered him.
“Did eating my little hole make you hard?” Shane asks, making Ilya’s knees fucking weak. His hand gives a slow, experimental squeeze. “Did it get you all worked up for me?”
“Yes,” Ilya breathes. “Fuck, yes.”
Shane hums approvingly, then hooks his fingers into the waistband of Ilya’s briefs. “I can tell,” he says, tugging the fabric down slowly. “You’re practically dripping my Ilyusha.”
The briefs join the jeans on the floor, and Ilya’s cock springs free, hard, shining, and flushed. Shane stares at it for a long moment, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“God, look at that perfect cock that belongs to me,” Shane says, his voice filled with something like awe. “Might be my favorite birthday present of all.”
Ilya wants to touch himself, he wants to touch Shane, he wants to do something with the desperate arousal coursing through him. But he wants to surrender to Shane even more. Regardless of Ilya’s natural dominance, he's so turned on by Shane putting him on his knees, leashing him right around the neck.
Shane seems to notice Ilya’s restraint, because his smile turns pleased. “I think we need to do something about this,” he says in a low purr. “I think I need to milk you nice and slow.”
Ilya shivers, and Shane stands from the bed. For a moment they’re chest to chest, Shane’s naked body pressed against Ilya’s clothed one. Then Shane’s stepping away, walking toward their shared closet.
Ilya watches, transfixed, as Shane rummages through the hanging clothes. His ass looks incredible from this angle, and Ilya has to clench his fists to keep from reaching out. Shane seems to find what he’s looking for, because he turns around with one of Ilya’s ties dangling from his fingers. It’s the navy blue one with the subtle pattern, the one Ilya wears to job interviews and formal dinners.
“Turn around,” Shane says, twirling the tie around his index finger. “Arms behind your back.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
Ilya obeys, his head spinning in disbelief as he turns so his back is to Shane. He clasps his hands behind him, wrists crossed, and waits. Shane’s fingers are gentle as they position Ilya’s wrists, making sure they’re comfortable before beginning to wind the silk tie around them. He takes his time, looping the fabric in a way that’s completely secure. Ilya tests the bonds experimentally and finds he can’t move his arms more than an inch in any direction.
“Perfect.” Shane’s hands smooth over Ilya’s shoulders, then down his arms to check the circulation. Satisfied, he steps back around to face Ilya again, and the sight of him nearly takes Ilya’s breath away. Shane settles back onto the edge of the bed with his legs spread in invitation, his cock hard and beautiful between his thighs.
“Fuck, Ilya…” Shane whispers, his gaze traveling over Ilya’s bound form appreciatively. “Big and scary but all tied up just for me.” It comes out too sweetly.
Ilya’s eyes close for a moment, his dick twitching pathetically.
“I’m going to do the touching tonight,” Shane continues. “Just want to play with my favorite cock for a little bit.”
He bites his lip again, blinking up at Ilya so innocently that Ilya wants nothing more than to rip out of his restraints and fuck his throat until he cries. But he stays still. Of course he does.
Shane reaches a hand up, cupped, and Ilya knows what he wants. He leans forward and spits thickly, letting his saliva pool in Shane’s cupped palm. Shane brings his wet hand to Ilya’s cock, wrapping his fingers around the shaft just below the head. Ilya inhales deeply, his dick jumping at the warm, wet contact alone.
“Mm. Relax,” Shane murmurs, his free hand coming up to rest on Ilya’s hip, holding him still. “I set the pace tonight.”
It’s slow. Shane’s fist moves with agonizingly long strokes, from base to tip and back again, his grip just tight enough to feel good but not nearly enough pressure to get Ilya anywhere close to coming. It’s maddening.
“Malysh…please,” Ilya gasps after what feels like long minutes but is probably only seconds of this torture.
“Please what?” Shane asks innocently, his slick fist squelching as he pulls on Ilya’s cock, so, so fucking slow. “I’m touching you, aren’t I? Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Ilya just drops his head forward, Shane’s grip tightening fractionally, and Ilya moans at the increased sensation. But then Shane’s loosening his hold again, back to that barely-there pressure that’s driving Ilya out of his mind; a maddening game of give and deny.
“What if your friends saw you like this?” Shane taunts. “Tied up and desperate to cum for your little nerdy boyfriend?”
Ilya’s dick twitches immediately, a dribble of pre-cum pearling from his cockhead. The thought of his friends seeing him like this — bound and helpless and begging for shy, star student Shane Hollander — should be mortifying, and it is, but it’s so hot.
The tie around his wrists rubs against his skin as he pulls at it and pushes his hips forward, aching for more contact. Shane continues his lazy teasing, still slowly tracing his finger up and down Ilya’s throbbing cock.
“Would they laugh, maybe?” Shane asks with an upward inflection, raising his eyebrows. “Do you think they’d laugh at how easy you are?” He smirks. “Are you easy, Ilya?” He bats his eyelashes up at him with faux ignorance. Ilya clenches his jaw.
Shane slides his hand back down Ilya’s shaft, his thumb swiping over the head of Ilya’s cock to collect the moisture there, then he pulls off, his hand hovering. Ilya inhales through his nose, desperate for the friction, and Shane smirks as he tugs on Ilya’s cock again, his other hand fondling Ilya’s balls. Ilya moans, loud, his pelvis rocking forward helplessly, on the verge of coming all over himself.
But Shane’s hand stills completely, denying him once more. Ilya feels his thighs start to shake, and his cock bobs in the air, flushed and desperate, and he can feel himself twitching with the need for release, arousal molten hot in his stomach.
“Please,” he begs, not caring how pathetic he sounds.
“Poor thing,” Shane says, pouting theatrically in mock-sympathy, those shiny doe eyes softening with it.
Shane waits until Ilya’s breathing has returned to something approaching normal before reaching for his cock again. This time, his grip is even lighter, just the tips of his fingers trailing up and down the shaft. Ilya could cry. Shane’s free hand comes up to Ilya’s chest, his fingers finding a nipple through his shirt and pinching lightly. Ilya arches into the touch with a grunt, and Shane does it again, harder this time.
“So sensitive,” Shane observes. “I bet I could make you cum just from this, couldn’t I? Just from playing with your nipples while I barely touch your cock.”
The suggestion makes Ilya’s entire body flush with heat. Shane’s fingers are still twisting his nipple through the thin cotton, and combined with the feather-light touches on his cock, it’s almost too much to bear.
“Fuck, I can’t —“ Ilya’s cut off by his own moan as Shane’s grip tightens suddenly, stroking him properly for the first time in what feels like forever. Ilya can feel his orgasm building again, that familiar tightness in his balls, the heat spreading through his belly.
But Shane’s hand disappears again just as Ilya reaches the point of no return, leaving him gasping and twitching helplessly in the air.
“Aw, practically humping the air,” Shane coos, blinking prettily. “Got you so gone just for me.”
And Ilya is. His hips are moving of their own accord, seeking friction that isn’t there, his cock bobbing with each thrust. It’s embarrassing and desperate and exactly what Shane wanted to see, for his birthday.
Shane seems to take pity on him, because his hand returns to Ilya’s cock, this time with more pressure. “So good,” he murmurs, stroking with purpose now. “My big, helpless boy.”
Ilya throws his head back, his muscles clenching, and he can feel his orgasm approaching again, faster this time, almost agonizing.
“Think you deserve it now,” Shane whispers, jerking Ilya harder. “Gonna let me milk all that cum out for you?”
Ilya can only nod frantically as Shane’s grip tightens, pulling him off with genuine intent now, the slick sound of cock and pre-cum disgusting and beautiful. The sensation is entirely overwhelming after so much teasing — Shane’s hand moving in quick, decisive pulls that have Ilya straining against the silk tie, the fabric cutting slightly into his skin, but he barely notices anything beyond the slick heat of Shane’s fist fucking his cock.
Shane’s rhythm shifts then, slowing to long, luxurious strokes that pull from root to tip, his thumb swirling over the sensitive head on each upstroke. Ilya’s breathing becomes ragged, each exhale a soft whine that he can’t suppress.
“Please,” Ilya gasps, his voice barely recognizable. “So close, sweetheart…”
“I know,” Shane coos, and his grip becomes firmer, his eyes hot and intent on Ilya as he jerks his dick wildly.
Ilya’s orgasm crashes over him with an Earth-shattering force, his back arching as thick ropes of cum spill over Shane’s fist. Shane doesn’t stop stroking, milking every last drop from Ilya’s twitching cock as he gasps and shudders through it. The feeling borders on too much, but Shane’s grip gradually gentles, coaxing out the final waves of release until Ilya’s breathing begins to settle.
Shane brings his cum-covered hand up between them, his tongue darting out to lap at his knuckles. Ilya watches, transfixed, as Shane obscenely licks his own fingers clean, his pink tongue catching every drop hungrily. The sight is so filthy and innocent at once that Ilya feels his spent cock give another interested twitch.
Shane pulls off his fingers with a wet pop. “Did I do good?” he asks, blinking up at Ilya with those wide brown eyes, his voice high with such genuine sweetness that it makes Ilya almost buckle to the ground right there.
“You did so good,” Ilya breathes, leaning down as much as his restraints allow to capture Shane’s mouth in a kiss, tasting himself. “So perfect.”
Shane hums contentedly against his lips, then pulls back with a satisfied smile. His hands move behind to Ilya’s wrists, working quickly to unknot the silk tie. The fabric slides away, leaving faint red marks on Ilya’s skin that Shane soothes with gentle touches. Ilya flexes his fingers, coaxing feeling back into his hands.
Shane watches him, his head tilted back as he reaches for Ilya’s shirt. He tugs it up and off, letting it hit the floor, forgotten. His gaze travels over Ilya’s broad shoulders, down his chest, lingering on the dark hair that trails from his navel to his groin.
Shane leans back on his elbows then, never breaking eye contact with Ilya, and slowly spreads his legs, wide. Shane brings his fingers to his mouth, making a show of sucking on them, his cheeks hollowing as he coats them thoroughly with saliva. His tongue slides between each digit, ensuring they’re slick, his spit oozing down his fingers messily.
He pulls off and brings his wet fingers down to circle his hole, teasing himself with light touches before pressing the first finger inside. His back arches slightly at the intrusion, a soft sigh escaping his lips.
Ilya can only stand there and stare, his hands clenched at his sides, as Shane fucks himself open. The second finger slides in easily, Shane’s body accepting the stretch pornographically. He scissors his fingers, whimpering gorgeously, his other hand moving to pinch and roll his nipples. The combination has him moaning, his brows furrowed, his hips moving in small circles as he seeks more friction.
When the third finger joins the first two, Shane’s moans become higher, breathier, his head falling back against the mattress. He fucks himself on his own fingers with increasing urgency, the wet sounds impossibly loud in the quiet room. His cock lies heavy against his stomach, drizzling a shiny sheen of pre. Ilya is fucking dizzy.
“Do I look pretty getting ready for your cock?” Shane asks, his voice breathy with arousal. He curls his fingers inside himself, hitting his prostate and making his thighs tremble.
“You look so fucking perfect, malysh…” Ilya manages, his voice husky.
Shane preens at the praise, adding a fourth finger and stretching himself wider. His free hand continues to twist his nipples, pinching and tugging until they’re dark and swollen. The sight is so erotic that Ilya has to grip the base of his cock to keep from getting fully hard again so soon.
Finally, Shane deems himself ready. He sits up, his fingers sliding out with a string of slick, and pats the bed beside him. “Lie down for me,” he instructs, scooting over to make room. “On your back.”
Ilya complies immediately, settling onto the mattress with his head against the pillows. Shane straddles his waist, his hands braced on Ilya’s chest, and leans down to capture his mouth in another kiss. Shane sucks on his tongue noisily, their lips clashing wildly as they devour each other, Ilya squeezing Shane’s ass in his palms.
Shane kisses along Ilya’s jaw, then down his neck, leaving a trail of wet heat in his wake. When he reaches Ilya’s collarbone, he bites down gently, then kisses lower and lower, until he’s burying his face in Ilya’s armpit, inhaling deeply.
“Fuck,” Shane murmurs against the sensitive skin, and he inhales again, before pressing his mouth there.
Shane’s hot breath and wet tongue against such a sensitive spot has Ilya’s jaw dropping, his cock fattening up again. Shane seems to enjoy the reaction, because he spends long minutes there, alternating between gentle licks and firmer suction that leave Ilya breathless.
“Want the rest of my present,” Shane breathes, then looks up at Ilya. “Want you to lie there and let me take what I want…”
“Da, moya lyubov,” Ilya says, running his hand up and down his boyfriend’s back. “You going to sit on my cock? Use me to feel good?”
Shane moans with a nod, and he sits up to reach behind himself, wrapping his fingers around Ilya’s dick and guiding it to his stretched, glistening hole. The first touch of Shane’s rim against his cockhead has Ilya’s head dragging backwards, his hands coming down to Shane’s perfect, round hips.
“Stay still,” Shane commands, then begins to sink down slowly.
His jaw drops in a silent moan before one escapes its way out of his throat, his toes curling as he moves his hands to brace himself on Ilya’s chest, his hair falling into his eyes when he looks down at him. Ilya can’t help but bite his lip to stifle a potentially embarrassing sound at how completely debauched Shane looks.
“Mmfff,” Shane moans, and rocks his hips once, whining. Ilya doesn’t think Shane will ever get used to how big Ilya is, and if Shane sucks in, Ilya would be able to see himself in his boyfriend’s stomach.
Ilya writhes, his back arching when Shane rocks forward again, beginning a slow, rhythmic bounce. Shane gets a hand on himself, stroking slowly while his other hand moves to caress the side of Ilya’s face, swiping his thumb under his eyes.
“Do you feel how deep you are?” Shane murmurs, and drops onto his elbow, his mouth right beside Ilya’s ear. “You’re so fucking big, Ilya. Can hardly get you inside, sometimes. Afraid you’ll split me in half..”
Ilya groans, his fingers digging into Shane’s hips. Shane sits up after a moment to grab onto the headboard, tossing his hair back before he really begins to ride him. He impales his own prostate so hard his tits are bouncing and the spit on Ilya’s cock is squelching obscenely.
He takes one hand from the headboard and grabs one of his tits, massaging and squeezing the flesh through each bounce while Ilya gazes up at him longingly.
The fucking heat is incredible, Shane’s dripping cunt so tight and perfect that Ilya can’t help groaning.
Shane rides him even harder, panting in bursts, his delicious thighs shaking. Then, he suddenly pulls off, leaving Ilya’s dick to twitch against his abs. Shane spins around gracefully, presenting himself on his hands and knees with his ass high in the air. Stretchmarks line beautifully over his ass, his hole pulsing and glistening. He looks back over his shoulder with dark, hungry eyes.
“Come on,” Shane breathes. “Finish me. Fuck me like you hate me.”
The command snaps something inside Ilya. He surges forward, gripping Shane’s hips bruisingly tight as he lines himself up and drives back inside brutally. Shane cries out at the sudden fullness, his back arching beautifully, and Ilya doesn’t give him time to adjust before he’s setting a punishing pace.
His hand comes down on Shane’s ass with a sharp crack, the sound echoing in the room. Shane moans at the impact, pushing back against him for more, and Ilya obliges with another slap to the other cheek. The skin reddens under his palm, and Shane’s hole clenches around him in response.
“Harder,” Shane begs in a sob, his voice muffled by the pillows.
Ilya complies, fucking into him hard, his balls slapping with loud smacks. The bed creaks under the force of his thrusts, and Shane’s ass is jiggling so much that Ilya can’t look away, gritting his teeth as he groans.
“Ilya, fuck, yes, yes, yes,” Shane cries, fisting the sheets underneath him. “Gonna cum…please, please.”
Ilya reaches a hand down to stroke Shane’s cock furiously, panting obscene encouragement into his ear. Shane makes a strangled sobbing sound, his front half collapsing down onto the mattress, and he cums, dribbling all over Ilya’s fist.
“God, so good, love making you cum,” Ilya whispers breathily, leaning down to nip Shane’s ear, then kiss his temple, murmuring. “Birthday boy.”
Shane whimpers, and Ilya grabs him by the back of his hair, forcing him down as Ilya fucks him recklessly.
“Stuff me full of your cum,” Shane whines, panting deliriously. “Wanna be filled and — dripping…”
Ilya moans and pounds out a few more thrusts, then stills as he floods cum inside of Shane, his head thrown back in fucked out ecstacy, groaning lowly. He pants heavily, stroking Shane’s hair, watching his own cum drip down Shane’s gaping hole. After a minute, Ilya pulls out and leans down and sticks his tongue out, licking up Shane’s crack and collecting the cum dripping there. Shane knows what’s next, twisting so he can open his mouth, his tongue sticking out.
Ilya grabs his chin to pry his mouth further open, and spits Shane’s own cum into his open mouth. He seals it with an open mouthed kiss, their lips messily coated.
Eventually, Ilya gathers his boy in his arms, both of them settling into the mattress, Ilya immediately peppering Shane’s sweat-slick skin with kisses. He pets the side of Shane’s neck, and murmurs gently, I can’t believe you, my Shanya, so fucking perfect for me, God, I love you.
Shane is blissed out against him, his breath still coming in small, uneven waves, his dark hair damp at the temples and sticking to his cheek. Ilya smooths it back with his fingers, again and again, a slow and mindless rhythm.
“Did you like it?” Shane asks, blinking up slowly and biting his lip, all his shyness suddenly rushing back.
Ilya grins, pressing his mouth to Shane’s hairline and murmuring, “I loved it, you have no idea.” He moves to kiss his temple. “So good, my beautiful boy. You were so hot.”
Shane huffs a shy laugh, blushing, and kisses Ilya. “Best birthday ever,” he kisses Ilya again. “I love you so much.”
“I love you.” Ilya swipes a thumb over Shane’s freckles. “Let's take a shower, I will get us all cleaned up and then feed you your dessert.”
“I think I just had a lot of dessert.”
────
The morning has a blue quality that Ilya has come to associate with spring in this city, the sun slanting low through the bushy branches that line the path to the humanities building. Shane is bundled in the new green sweater, the cuffs already swallowing his hands the way Ilya knew they would, and his palm is warm in Ilya’s, their fingers laced tight. He keeps yawning. Ilya keeps watching him do it, the small, helpless flex of his jaw and the way his nose wrinkles after, and feels something stupid bloom in his chest.
“You’re walking too fast, Ilya,” Shane mumbles, tugging on his hand.
“You walk too slow. Like little turtle.”
A whine. “I’m tired.”
“I wonder why.” Ilya grins, and Shane goes pink, ducking his chin into the collar of the sweater.
Ilya squeezes Shane’s hand and brings it up briefly to press a kiss against the knuckles, and is about to say something else when a voice calls out across the courtyard.
“Rozanov!”
His friend Julia is waving from the steps of the library, their other friend Devin trailing behind her with a coffee in each hand. Ilya lifts his free hand in a wave, slowing his pace so they can catch up, and beside him he feels Shane straighten a little, his fingers tightening reflexively around his.
“Hi, hi,” Julia says, breathless, when she reaches them. She bumps her shoulder against Ilya’s and then immediately turns the full force of her attention on Shane, the way she always does. “Shane! Hi, sweetheart, happy belated, oh my God.”
“Thanks,” Shane says softly, and gives her that small, polite smile.
Devin lifts a coffee cup in lazy salute. “Twenty-three, right? Did you survive it?”
“Yeah.” Shane’s laugh is breathy. “Barely.”
Ilya runs his thumb along the back of Shane’s hand and tries very hard not to look at him directly, because if he looks he’s going to remember things he absolutely cannot remember in the middle of a courtyard with Julia three feet away.
“So?” Julia presses. “What’d you do, how was it?”
Shane opens his mouth, then closes it. Ilya watches him from the corner of his eye, the small movement of his throat as he swallows, the way his lashes drop, and he can feel the heat radiating off Shane’s palm like a furnace.
“It was —“ Shane starts. “Um. It was. Really —”
He stops. His teeth catch on his lower lip. Ilya feels the tug on his hand intensify, three small panicked squeezes, and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud at his ridiculous, beautiful boy, who, merely last night, had Ilya bound up in his own tie, and who now, in broad daylight, cannot string together a sentence about it.
Julia’s eyebrows lift, curious. Devin sips his coffee.
“He had nice night,” Ilya cuts in smoothly, swinging their joined hands a little. “His friends took him out. I made dinner.” He smiles.
“Aw,” Julia coos. “That’s so cute. Look at him, he’s blushing.”
“Yeah, he really liked his presents."