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When the door swings open, Shane is standing there with his hands in his pockets and a pathetic little expression on his face.
‘I fucked up so bad,’ it says, because he can’t.
Ilya tilts his chin up at him, crumples the bag of food in his hand before thrusting it towards Shane. The freckled man flinches, Ilya chuckles at the irony.
“Your favorite,” he notes as he brushes past Shane into the house.
The door closes behind him while he toes his shoes off and sighs heavy. He peels his sweatshirt off by the collar, tossing it also to Shane, who catches it with one hand and a sour little frown.
“For you, crybaby,” Ilya mutters, walking further into the house.
He flops down on the couch like he has a thousand times, picks up the remote, and browses the options they would not be watching for very long with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. Shane is beside him, eyes glassy and red-rimmed like he’d been crying. He eyes the spot beside Ilya on the couch for a moment before the blond tugs him down by his wrist.
“Didn’t come over for you to stand there and be sad,” he explains, eyes still on the tv.
Shane sits, tucks his foot under his ass and pulls the sweatshirt over his head. He’s similar in size to Ilya, but Ilya prefers his hoodies to fit a little boxier. The fabric swallows him up; it smells like Ilya. He opens the bag and hands Ilya the food they both know is for him, then unwraps his own and takes tentative bites.
Shane scoots closer to him after a few silent moments, Ilya’s head tilted back against the couch while he watches the movie he’d put on. His curls are pushed back from his forehead, arms crossed over his broad chest. Shane eyes the vein at the front of Ilya’s bicep - thinks of sinking his teeth into it.
“M’sorry,” he mutters after a while, tossing the trash into the brown paper bag and pulling his knee to his chest.
He rests his chin on his knee, eyes flitting across Ilya’s relaxed form on his couch.
Where he belongs, Shane thinks.
Ilya’s eyes slide to him slowly, expression tight - stern. He says nothing.
“I’ll pay for your window.”
That I broke, his mind supplies him.
“Wyatt fixed it," Ilya replies, voice terse, expectant.
Shane’s eye twitches at the mention of the other man. Ilya notices and sighs.
“Don’t fucking start.”
The freckled boy relaxes slightly, forces himself to. He picks at a thread on his sock, head hanging and hair covering his eyes.
“Why’d you come over if you’re still mad?”
“Because you said you were going to fucking kill yourself, Shane.”
Shane’s head snaps up at the edge to Ilya’s voice, eyes welling up and sparkling with fresh tears.
“Don’t start-“
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Then why’d you-“
“You fucking know why.”
Shane clamps his mouth shut, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes flicker to Ilya’s necklace - Ilya’s mother's necklace. His stomach twists, heart aches behind his ribcage.
“I wouldn’t do that…to you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry Ilya,” he babbles, sniffling softly.
Ilya looks back to the tv, jaw clenched as he chews the inside of his cheek.
They sit in silence for a bit longer as both men let their tensions ease. It’s entirely expected when Shane moves closer - their colognes mixing. He rests his chin on Ilya’s strong shoulder, waits a second, then noses at his jaw softly.
“M’sorry…sorry Daddy,” he whispers, breath warm on Ilya’s neck.
Goosebumps rise to the surface. He curses internally when his dick perks at the affection. Shane is whining quietly, nuzzling his face into Ilya’s neck and his dark hair tickles over Ilya’s ear.
“Don’t like it when you ignore me Daddy,” Shane huffs, a little indignant. “Please.”
Ilya glances at him out of the corner of his eye, sees Shane’s arms crossed over his chest petulantly. He doesn’t have much mental fortitude to resist Shane when he’s like this - sweet and quiet and begging. His cock starts to fill in his pants.
“Yeah?” he breathes out, wills his voice to stay tense. “You’re sorry?”
Shane’s body trembles, face still hidden. He presses soft kisses to Ilya’s neck, skin salty there.
“Show me how sorry you are.”
Shane all but springs into action.
He drags his lips down Ilya’s neck and over the collar of his shirt on the way down his chest, breathing already shaky by the time he’s nuzzling his warm mouth over the tenting in Ilya’s joggers. He rubs his lips and cheek over the hard length of him with a soft sound, repositions his legs underneath himself to kneel on the couch. Plump lips press a kiss to the spot that twitches at the attention.
Ilya’s hand comes to rest over the nape of his neck, fingers dipping below the collar of the sweatshirt. He lifts his hips when Shane tugs at his waistband, cock bobbing free. He catches the head with his lips, sinking down halfway after hooking his cheek over it and gliding the soft muscle against the leaking tip. Ilya always tastes so good here.
Ilya groans above him, spreading his legs further and sliding down on the cushion to give Shane more space. Shane hums around the length, coming up so just the tip is in his wet mouth. He flicks the tip of his twitching tongue against the sensitive underside of the head, hums and closes his eyes when it gets the reaction he wants.
“Yeah, fuck,” Ilya huffs, one hand coming to card his thick fingers through onyx hair.
Shane knows what comes next - he tucks his thumb into his fist and squeezes. Ilya guides his head down slowly at first, pressure growing with each bob of his boyfriend’s head. The tip leaks down Shane’s throat when he goes far enough, Ilya’s happy trail tickling at the corner of his mouth. The blond tightens his grip, hips rolling up the slightest bit each time until he finally presses Shane’s head down far enough to make him cough around him.
The abuse is welcome, more than welcome.
Shane sputters, spit bubbles seeping out of the corners of his mouth. He coughs around Ilya’s cock in his throat, a wet sound that makes the spasm of slick muscle around the tip clench. Ilya repeats the action, stomach quivering while he fucks Shane’s mouth and draws out more wet sounds - coughs and moans alike.
“Yeah? You are sorry?”
Shane nods.
“You fucking sorry now? Acting like that all the time, fuck Shane.”
Shane’s hand tightens over his pant leg, a keening noise low in his throat.
“You’re fucking lucky I love you. Say sorry with my dick in your throat. Go on, try.”
Shane moans, eyebrows knitted as the taste of Ilya’s cock slides down his throat over and over. He tries to speak, mouth stuffed. Ilya pulls him up so just the head is past his lips, holds the base. Shane takes a big breath, eyes glassy and hazy like his brain. When he goes to speak, lips brushing the tip, Ilya shoves his head back down and chuckles meanly at him.
Shane’s cock is embarrassingly hard in his shorts, wet spot forming over the light colored fabric. He trembles as Ilya keeps using him like this, talking down to him and fucking his face - stuffing his mouth to keep it quiet for once. He tightens his grip on his boyfriend’s thigh, lips and chin messy with spit in the way he knows Ilya likes.
“Try again,” Ilya pants, yanking Shane’s head up so that the shiny tip of his cock leaves his mouth and bobs against his already messy lips.
Shane coughs, eyes red-timmed and fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. Ilya swipes one away with his thumb, pressing the spiraled pad of it into the pocket of fat there gently. The touch makes Shane lean into his hand more, cheeks pink with exertion.
He grips the base of his cock with that same hand and lowers Shane’s head more, guiding half of the length back into the cavern while more little gasps and whimpers fall from Shane’s lips.
“Sorry,” he tries to gasp around the intrusion, tongue flickering over the head in sweet little licks. “M’sorry…so sorry Daddy. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for being bad, I-“
Ilya pulls his cock free, ignores the whine it garners.
“Yeah? Need Daddy to wipe your tears?”
He shoves Shane’s head downwards and wipes the wet patches under his eyes with the head of his cock, smearing precum and saliva over the already wet, tacky area. Shane closes his eyes to avoid any accidental poking, breathing shaky little puffs against Ilya’s knuckles.
“See? Daddy will take care of your bratty fucking ass. Should Daddy throat-fuck you until it knocks your brain loose?”
He uses his hand already gripping Shane’s hair to nod the boy’s head for him, an action that always goes over well when Shane’s brain is foggy like this. The freckled man sniffles, eyes peeking open to look up at Ilya. He curses and shoves Shane by his chest back onto the couch cushions.
There’s lube underneath them, Ilya is over here enough that they keep some in places like these so he can bend Shane over whenever he wants.
He digs around in the cushions for it while Shane peels his sweatshirt and shirt underneath it off. He digs his heels into the couch and lifts his hips to pull his shorts down, Ilya’s hands joining to help once he has the little bottle secured. Giddy, Shane sniffles and smiles, biting his lip while Ilya yanks the rest of his clothes off his tanned, toned body and hurls them aside.
Ilya is smirking fondly down at him, shaking his head slightly.
He lubes up two fingers and sinks one into Shane with no warning, other hand gripping his thigh and holding him in place when he squirms.
“Fucking hold still,” Ilya mutters, entranced by the way his long, thick digit disappears into Shane. “You wanted this, so fucking hold still.”
Shane grips the back of his thighs, folding himself in half while Ilya wriggles a finger in him unceremoniously.
“Acting crazy as fuck, look at you now,” he scoffs, watching Shane’s face twist and chest rise and fall quickly as he bullies in another finger alongside the first. “Happy you got what you want? Hm?”
Shane throws his head back when Ilya crooks his fingers, sweaty column of his throat on display.
“I asked you a fucking question.”
“Yes, happy…happy, fuck, Ilya.”
Ilya pulls his fingers almost all the way out, steadying Shane’s hips with his other forearm and leaning over him to trap him.
“Who? Not what you call me,” he snaps, setting a mean pace of his arm while he finger-fucks Shane.
The freckled boy grabs at the arm pinning his hips down, voice breaking while he cries out and kicks one leg out. He doesn’t want to cum like this; he deserves to cum on Ilya’s cock.
“Daddy, no,” he moans out, nipples hard and chest flushed. “Need - need, fuck! Need-“
“Need what? Can’t talk? Hm? Already fucked stupid?”
Shane nods, it’s all he can manage to conjure up in the form of an answer.
“Fucking telling me ‘no’, you’re funny Shanya. You don’t tell me ‘no’.”
“I don’t - I don’t tell you ‘n-no’, no, fuck.”
He’s babbling, crying because of how desperately he needs Ilya’s cock in him. Sometimes Ilya takes pity on him, he hopes this will be one of those times.
His legs lock up when he gets close - Ilya has noted this among other tells that Shane has when he gets close. He pulls his fingers free with an obscene wet sound and Shane makes a miserable, garbled noise at the loss. Ilya slides his lubed hand over his dick and lowers himself over Shane’s shuddering body, the tv casting a blue glow over him.
It makes him look extra pretty when Ilya lines himself up and slams into him with no grace or decorum. Shane cries out again, hands coming to grab at Ilya’s chest, biceps - anything he can reach. His blunt fingernails dig into the skin riddled with moles and other various marks.
There’s one on his clavicle that Shane - admittedly, accidentally - gave him when he threw his phone at him. The hate-fucking was especially rough after that one, with a bandage and a kiss pressed over the bleeding mark before Ilya shoved his face up against the wall and used him like a fleshlight with sound effects.
“That what you need?” Ilya grunts, seated inside of Shane and feeling his body spasm and clench around the rough intrusion. “Did Daddy finally shut you up? Hm Shanya?”
Shane nods, heels digging into the back of Ilya’s thighs and pulling him impossibly closer. Ilya leans down to press his lips by Shane’s ear, breath searing-hot - Shane feels like a cornered prey animal. He loves it.
“Gonna fuck you up. I’m gonna fuck you until your brains are mush, then, after you cum, I’m gonna flip you over and use you like a fucking doll. And you’re gonna take it all. Got it?”
Shane nods, lips twitching into a smile as he turns his head and looks at Ilya with teary, doe-like eyes.
“Yes, please, please Daddy.”
Ilya grins at him, sharp canines nipping at Shane’s cheekbone before he pulls away the slightest bit and sets a pace so brutal the legs of the couch scrape against the floor.
“Good boy. After all the shit you put me through,” Ilya forces through pants for air while he uses Shane. “You better be a good fuck doll for me at least. Choke on it whenever I tell you. Bend over and spread your fucking legs for me.”
Shane nods, spine arched so pretty while he tanks Ilya’s brutality with hearts in his eyes.
“F-for you, fu-u-uck! Be g-good for you, Dad-ddy!”
“Yeah, see, you got it. Not so fucking braindead after all, huh?”
Shane can only moan in reply, one hand coming to grasp tightly at Ilya’s bouncing curls above him.
“Maybe not. Already fucking gone for me, aren’t you cum-for-brains?”
Shane’s legs tense, thighs twitching and body clenching so tightly around Ilya he has to pause his thrusts to feel the wave of Shane’s orgasm rock through him.
“Say it.”
“Gone, gone f-for you.”
“What else?”
Shane’s pumping cum all over his stomach and chest between them, broken whines and moans leaving his throat. His voice sounds hoarse from the yelling.
“I’m - fuck - I’m your cum-m-f-fo-for-brains-s-s…whore, Daddy.”
Ilya kisses his sweaty forehead, feeling the once tense muscles gripping him and holding him tightly start to slack. He pulls out and shoves Shane onto his front, uncaring of the smearing of cum over the couch as he rids himself of his pants and underwear completely. He yanks Shane’s hips up into the air, the swiftness at which he glides his wet cock back inside of him earning a shuddering gasp.
He readjusts - sits up straight and thanks God that he stretched at the gym today as he presses his foot against Shane’s head and pins him there this degrading way. Shane makes a pathetic noise as one of his hands comes to grasp at Ilya’s ankle. Ilya fucks him hard, snapping his hips in and out of his already raw, puffy hole.
It doesn’t take him long like this, while Shane is mewling and holding himself open with his free hand. He’s being so good for Ilya, wanting to prove how sorry he’s pretending to be at the events that transpired. Ilya should be a better man and stop replying, stop forgiving. It’s hard to stay away from Shane. Impossible.
He cums with a grunt, grinding his hips forward and fucking his spend into his boyfriend’s ass as hard as he can manage with the slightly awkward angle. He digs his foot harder against Shane’s head in the process, listening to how much he loves getting degraded and filled up like this.
Ilya pulls out slow, watches the way Shane clenches around nothing just as warm seed starts flooding out of him. Ilya huffs, finally sitting on both of his knees and pressing his sweaty forehead to Shane’s back between his shoulder blades. He presses wet, open-mouthed kisses to the skin.
“Fuck,” he breathes, hands smoothing gently up and down the other’s sides. “I love you so fucking much.”
Shane makes a happy noise, body trembling and skin pickling with goosebumps. Ilya kisses up his spine, meets where his head is turned and kisses him deep. It isn’t filthy like what they’d just done - it’s warm and slow and sweet.
“Love you,” Shane mumbles against his wet lips. “So much. I love you. Love you.”
“Love you. My baby. Always love you,” Ilya mirrors, and means it.
They’re it for each other.