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Shane awoke with a sharp twitch of his muscles. In the hazy blur of semi-consciousness, it took him a moment to register the biting cold against his skin.
“Wha-?” he mumbled. Running a hand over his stomach to brush the cold away, his fingers latched onto something firm — Ilya’s forearm, he recognised, even without opening his eyes. “What’re you doing?” he said, a little more clearly. As he shifted, he realised Ilya’s arm was wrapped around him, with Shane comfortably tucked into Ilya’s side.
“I’m cold, malysh,” Ilya said. “Warm me.”
At some point they had moved towards the back of the team bus, an unofficial ‘quiet’ area, after Shane had grown tired and overstimulated. Whereas Shane’s voice was sleep-rough, Ilya’s was notably clear; he must have let Shane sleep against him despite not being tired himself. Shane felt flush with happiness knowing Ilya had chosen to stay by his side instead of moving back to the front to hang with the team.
But someone like Ilya was prone to taking a mile when given an inch, so Shane said, “Warm yourself, you asshole.” He didn’t put much force into trying to pry Ilya’s hand out from under his hoodie and shirt, though, and his bare skin had mostly adapted to Ilya’s cold touch by, anyways. Besides, he craved Ilya’s closeness always. Even sitting next to each other, now that his slowly waking body knew that more was possible — not just side-by-side but skin-on-skin — he couldn’t let that opportunity go.
“Mm, but you are so much better,” Ilya said, silky-smooth against Shane’s ear. “So hot.” His fingers dipped down, causing Shane to hiss in a sharp breath as he breached the barrier of Shane’s briefs.
“Ilya —” Shane’s eyes flew open. As his vision adjusted, he registered only darkness in front of him and felt a small wave of relief.
“Is warmest part of human body,” Ilya said, sounding entirely too innocent as he fully palmed between Shane’s the legs. “And everyone is sleeping. Don’t you want to help me?”
“Not… not like this,” Shane managed shakily, even as he shifted a little against Ilya’s hand. The movement was betrayed by a squeaking of the stupid synthetic material of the seat against his back.
“No?” Ilya said, warm with condescension. His index finger curled, dragging intimately along Shane’s folds. “Does not feel like it. Were you always like this before we met, or is just for me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shane muttered, face burning because he very well did.
“So wet,” Ilya whispered, soft enough that Shane almost thought he might have imagined it. “I think is just for me.”
“Just you,” he said because at this point, it cost him nothing to admit but he knew it would mean everything to Ilya. In truth, before Ilya, he hadn’t really understood the appeal of sex. Outside of sports, he hadn’t ever felt at home in his own body.
When Ilya first crooked his finger and pressed inside, Shane squirmed, as if he expected a sudden gap between his back and the seat. But there was no escape to be found and he was left to make a soft, mewling noise at the cold intrusion.
Ilya’s other hand reached over to grasp Shane’s chin and tilt his head until his face was pressed against Ilya’s shoulder. Shane’s eyes fell closed as Ilya dropped a kiss to his forehead.
“Thank you, malysh,” he said. “Now keep going, okay?”
“I —”
Shane didn’t have the chance to respond before Ilya’s middle finger joined, followed achingly close by his ring finger. Ilya didn’t bother to rub his fingertips along the wetness at Shane’s entrance yet there wasn’t a burn, really; just a slight drag along Shane’s inner walls as his fingers found their way inside. It was a delicious stretch that left Shane almost breathless, save for a few choked sounds his lungs somehow found the air for.
“Shh, shh, malysh,” Ilya murmured. “You don’t want to wake everyone, do you?”
Shane opened his mouth to protest — to remind Ilya this was his fault, to tell him to stop, tell him it was too much even though they both knew Shane’s neediness meant his body was perpetually primed and ready for whatever Ilya deigned to give him — but then Ilya’s fingers curled dangerously within Shane, alighting his groin.
Then, there was nothing. Not even any movement to distract himself, leaving Shane to squirm against the intrusion of Ilya’s three fingers. He became aware of sweat gathering at the nape of his neck, despite the cool air in the bus. Just under his right shoulder blade, the fabric of his shirt had crumpled slightly and he suddenly itched to tug at the hem and straighten it out, but that was impossible with the way Ilya had him pinned. As he shifted uncomfortably against the seat, all he accomplished was rubbing his too-warm skin along the line of Ilya’s arm slung across his back.
He knew he should check everyone was still asleep, but he didn’t want to open his eyes again. It’s not like he could see over the seat in front of them, anyways. He waited until his breathing settled enough to listen to their surroundings. Aside from the lulling chug of the bus, he heard nothing.
As a final distraction, he took stock of his body. He flexed both feet. His left foot had that slightly prickly sensation on the edge of pins and needles, and he rolled his ankles a few times to encourage circulation. His breathing was still slightly elevated, as was his heart rate. His thighs were too warm and a little wet, and his belly hot and tight. He fucking ached between his legs and he tried so hard but he couldn’t help but squeeze, just slightly, around Ilya’s fingers. He heard the slightest hitch in Ilya’s breath and his stomach clenched as warmth spread through his abdomen and down his legs.
But none of it was unbearable. Ilya had made him sit through worse, and even sleep through worse.
Under Shane’s cheek, Ilya’s shoulder was warm and familiar. A deep breath filled his nostrils with a vaguely citrusy scent. Hotel soap. But even if he didn’t smell quite like home, the familiar softness of his worn hoodie was comforting. Shane made a quiet, sleepy sound as he resigned himself to falling back asleep with Ilya’s fingers resting inside him.
And then Ilya’s pinkie, which had contented itself with lying flat against Shane’s inner thigh, began to nudge at Shane’s entrance.
Ripped from the edges of sleep, Shane hissed, “Ilya.”
“Hollander.” Ilya’s tone was lightly scolding. “I told you, I am cold. You can fit one more finger, can’t you?”
It had been naïve of Shane to think Ilya could ever be satisfied. His fingertip prodded at Shane, right where Shane was stretched around his other fingers. Shane took a deep breath and on a slow, steady exhale, he focused on relaxing his muscles.
He could imagine the approving smile as Ilya pressed inside. The burn of the stretch had Shane turning his face more fully against Ilya’s shoulder, trying to smother his whine, but it was nothing compared to the warmth spreading across his chest and the heat in his core, knowing he was doing as Ilya had asked of him.
But Ilya had barely stilled, only just finished shaping his way within Shane, when a heavy sigh ruffled through Shane’s hair.
“Hollander, my hand is still cold,” Ilya said. “I think we have two options. Do you know what they are?”
Shane slowly blinked his eyes open. In the darkness, all he could see was Ilya’s legs and the back of the seat in front of them. “No,” he said.
“Okay, I will tell you.”
Ilya lifted his other hand to Shane’s head and started stroking Shane’s hair. In any other moment, Shane would have probably relaxed into the touch; now, each pass of his hand was heavy with uncertainty .
“Option one, you take my whole fist in your tight little pussy.”
The words were emphasised by the slow rub of Ilya’s thumb against Shane’s clit, which Ilya had steadfastly ignored up until this point. The shock of the touch made Shane’s body jerk and he bit down on his lip as his eyes squeezed shut once more.
“Ilya, I can’t.” Logically, he knew Ilya was just saying things to rile him up. They had never done something like that before — was it even possible? — yet failure was bitter on his tongue as the words struggled out of him. “You know I — that’s too much.”
“Option two,” Ilya said immediately, voice steady and unfazed, as if Shane had not spoken at all. Or, more likely, because he had purposefully given an outrageous first option so that the alternative would seem more reasonable. “You squirt all over me.”
Awareness of Ilya’s obvious tactic did not stop Shane’s knees from knocking together with how urgently he squeezed his thighs. A muscle deep in his stomach spasmed and his head lolled, rolling against the seat back as he tried not to pant.
Ilya’s fingers cruelly withdrew and Shane’s eyes snapped open, alarm on his lips, but then Ilya slid back in, so easily and perfectly, and curled to hit Shane at that sweet spot inside and Shane’s eyes fluttered as he released little more than a breathless moan. Ilya did it again and again, until Shane was mewling.
“Shh, I told you, be quiet.”
“What?” Shane said. He wasn’t being that loud. “But we’re — at the back.”
“I think you were already asleep when Troy moved, maybe,” Ilya said. Shane’s eyes widened as he slowly processed the words. “He is sleeping maybe one or two rows behind us.”
“One or two — what?” Shane hissed.
“Yes, so you should be a good boy and stay quiet.” Ilya’s head turned. The tip of his nose was ice cold as he rubbed along Shane’s cheek, journeying to Shane’s ear where he pressed a kiss. “Or maybe you want him to hear?” he whispered.
“No, I don’t, but I can’t —”
Ilya’s hand shifted again and Shane winced at the loud, wet sound it produced.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Ilya taunted. “Moya shlyushka. I bet he is jerking off to you right now.”
“Troy?” Shane gasped out, still trying to wrap his mind around this confusing line of conversation as Ilya’s fingers continued to push and twist inside him. He could feel the wetness starting to coat the rest of Ilya’s hand and warm his inner thighs. The sounds were growing ever louder, now.
“So naughty,” Ilya said. “Listen to you. So fucking wet.”
Shane moaned. Louder than he could afford, probably, but his muscles had seized tightly, on the aching edge of a precipice. Even Ilya’s disapproving tsk, sharp in Shane’s ear, only heated his burning-hot nerves.
“Suck your thumb, Hollander,” Ilya said. “If you can’t be quiet like a good boy.”
Shane’s left hand was tightly clenched against his thigh and the right still wrapped around Ilya’s forearm, clutching hopelessly. He tried, but he couldn’t move either; Ilya had to do it for him, grabbing Shane’s left hand and bringing it towards his face. As soon as the tip of his thumb hit his lips, his mouth immediately parted. He wondered if Ilya would be able to sense it, the aching desperation of his mouth, longing for something more substantial.
“That’s it,” Ilya encouraged gently. And, because he knew Shane so frustratingly, unerringly well, “I know you want my cock but this will do for now, yes?”
It was barely sufficient — especially as the wet sounds continued, making Shane ache more and more — and Shane had to smash the rest of his fingers and his palm tightly against his mouth to safeguard against any more sounds.
“Maybe he will record you to listen later,” Ilya said, and Shane’s muddled mind needed a moment to understand. And when he did —
“Ilya, fuck, fuck, god, oh.” The words burst through the tight seal of his lips around his thumb as he rocked his hips, desperately seeking release against Ilya’s hand.
“Fuck. You’re about to come to the thought of fucking Troy Barret getting off to you? To sounds of your greedy fucking pussy?”
Shane’s thumb was urgently not enough and thankfully Ilya agreed, ripping Shane’s hand away and shoving his own fingers into Shane’s mouth, deep, until Shane gagged. “Now you can keep both hands warm,” Ilya said, and Shane moaned.
Ilya’s thumb circled against his clit as his fingers pistoned relentlessly and Shane was soon shuddering and shaking and whining as his eyes rolled back. His jaw clamped shut around Ilya’s fingers, Ilya’s sharp hiss only making his muscles jerk even harder.
“All over my hand, da, like that,” Ilya encouraged. “Perfect boy.”
Making Shane squirt wasn’t enough; Ilya’s thumb circled and pressed and rubbed until Shane jerked violently, barely held back against the seat by Ilya’s forearm as he was hit with another orgasm. His thighs trembled, knees that were already locked together now sliding against each other as he jerked and squirmed and one foot kicked out. His nostrils flared with the effort to breathe but he couldn’t dare release Ilya’s hand. Throat tight, he was vaguely aware of the pathetic mewling sounds he was making as his hips continued to jerk, still chasing the delicious pressure of Ilya’s fingers.
The sensations washed away, leaving behind a bone-deep fatigue that weighed down his eyelids and made him slump against Ilya’s side. Ilya’s fingers teased open his jaw until they could slide out of his mouth. Then came the damp pressure of Ilya’s hand patting his head. When Ilya’s other hand began to slide out from within him, Shane’s whimpered loud enough that Ilya had to hush him again. He was aware of being pushed up and around and repositioned, and he found his face tucked against Ilya’s throat. His arms clumsily wrapped around Ilya’s shoulders but it wasn’t until he felt a familiar bluntness at his entrance that Shane fully registered that he was now straddling Ilya’s lap. His sweats and underwear were pulled down dangerously low on his thighs, leaving his ass exposed to anyone who might walk by. There would be no easy covering up, unlike a hand down the front of his pants. Yet he rocked forward, sighing happily at how easily Ilya slipped into him.
And then Ilya grabbed his hips and stilled him. “We’re not fucking,” he scolded. His voice dropping to a coo, he ruffled a hand through Shane’s hair as he asked, “What happened to my sleepy princess?”
“You fucking woke me up, you asshole,” Shane muttered. Pushing against Ilya’s chest, Shane blinked up blearily at him and gestured at his exposed lower half. “You can’t just leave me like this.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Ilya leaned in to steal a kiss from Shane’s pursed lips. “Take off your sweater.”
Shane frowned. “You take off your sweater.”
“Baby, you run so fucking hot and I’m so cold,” Ilya said. It was hard logic to argue against given it was Ilya’s supposed coldness that had gotten them into this mess to begin with. Shane grumbled but lifted his arms to allow Ilya to take off his hoodie, which Ilya then wrapped around his waist. It wasn’t the greatest cover but in the darkness, Ilya slumped down to accommodate Shane’s bent legs pressed against the seat’s back as Shane was plastered to his front, it should suffice.
“Maybe next time I will bring that little skirt you wear for me sometimes. Will be much easier,” Ilya murmured. He dragged his fingertips along the ridges and slopes of Shane’s bicep, and Shane tried not to shiver through his long-sleeved shirt.
In the future, he would scold himself for not insisting there wouldn’t be a next time. Instead, warm and lax and safe in Ilya’s embrace, he only said, “Just bring a blanket. ‘M not wearing that in front of everyone.”
“Okay,” Ilya agreed. “Now go back to sleep. Then I will use you.”
It should have been difficult to fall asleep, still throbbing around Ilya’s cock, muscles twitching and tightening intermittently. But Ilya’s hand stroked his hair in a steady, relaxing rhythm, and his arms were tight and comforting around his back, and Shane drifted off.
“Shenya. Wake up, sweetheart.”
Shane hummed groggily. “Home?”
“Not yet, baby. I have to clean you up.”
Shane hummed again, more displeased this time. He rubbed his face against Ilya’s warm skin. “’M so tired.”
“I know, baby. You’ve been so good to me, letting me use you so much.”
The words settled warmly in Shane’s chest, but it was not quite enough to convince him to move.
“Just quick trip to bathroom and then you can sleep, okay?” Ilya said. “I won’t even wake you when we arrive.”
The idea of sleeping now was far more tempting. Shane shifted, trying to get more comfortable, only to let out a small gasp as he clenched reflexively against a sensation between his legs. His thighs were sticky, which made his nose furl. Half-pushing up, his frown deepened at Ilya’s chuckle. Then he remembered Ilya’s voice, hushed against his ear, promising to use him once he fell back asleep.
“I know you don’t want to sleep like this,” Ilya said, annoyingly perceptive as always. “Come, malysh.”
Ilya pushed him to stand. Half-asleep and body well used, Shane was unusually unsteady. He had to let Ilya pull up his briefs and sweats and then hold his hand to guide him to the bathroom at the very back of the bus. Shane stumbled and tiredly rubbed at his eyes, still half-asleep as Ilya settled him in the bathroom. As Ilya cleaned up between his legs, Shane’s body jolted with heat each time he muttered about what a mess Shane had made, or how soaking wet he was.
He grimaced when Ilya redressed him in sticky underwear and sweatpants, but at least Ilya kissed him sweetly and promised to make it up to him.
They returned to their seat. Shane curled up sideways, legs bent over Ilya’s lap and Ilya’s arm warm around his back, keeping Shane tucked against him. As he drifted off once again, any thoughts of someone overhearing them were far from his mind.