ilya day-long birthday stuffing. he's so full in the end that he can't even fuck shane properly and he's just in fucking bliss as shane rides him and rubs his poor, stuffed belly.
i figured we could do with some chubby ilya for his birthday today. it's what he deserves.
Anon I wrote this on the clock today, I hope you're happy lmao
Ilya tries to fuck Shane. He really does. He uses his weight to throw him around, pin him facedown on the mattress, but he’s slow, grunting with the effort of moving, already breathing post-workout hard even though all he’s done all day is eat and get his dick sucked.
It’s Ilya’s 42nd birthday and Shane had been servicing his every whim from the moment he woke up until about fifteen minutes ago, when Ilya had finally conceded defeat after eating a little over half of his own birthday cake. He’d insisted that he could still fuck Shane even after all that, and Shane had been very happy to let him try.
It’s hot like this, with Ilya unable to get a good thrust in without whining in pleasure-pain, burping not-quite-muffled into his fist. The soft weight of his belly is resting on the small of Shane’s back.
When Ilya all but collapses on him, Shane’s breath shoots from his lungs. He’s so fucking heavy. So big. Ilya’s breath is hot and strained between Shane’s shoulder blades. Shane reaches back and grabs a fistful of his hair, scratches at his scalp. “Do you want to lie down?”
A little whiny, thrusting shallowly, Ilya insists, “Mm, no, I can—fuck you—I can.”
“I know. But you don’t have to. I can make you feel good. Lie down, okay?”
Ilya flops onto the bed beside him. He’s pouting when Shane turns to look at his face. Shane hides his laugh in Ilya’s shoulder and then pushes himself up to straddle his wide hips. The leverage is off, his legs spread too wide. “God, Ilya. You’re so big,” Shane says. “Getting hard to do this.”
But the view is gorgeous. Ilya’s belly arches over him, cradled between Shane’s thighs, his massive breasts spread to the side to rest against thick, strong biceps. Shane reaches behind himself to position Ilya’s cock and slide down over it nice and slow. He doesn’t want to jostle Ilya around too much, in his state. The stretch of it filling him up is heaven. It’s at times like this that Shane can almost understand what makes Ilya do this, to eat and eat until he can hardly move, incapacitated, nearly unable to perform. He’s so full.
Shane moans, feverish. He would never tell Ilya this, but he looks a little pathetic underneath him, brow creased in the discomfort caused by his own voracious appetite, one hand clutching his full belly while the other grabs uselessly at Shane’s thigh, unable to move him. He knocks Ilya’s hand out of the way so he can replace it with his own. Shane wants to press in, to shake it, to feel it jiggle where it’s pressed against his cock, but he doesn’t. He’s gentle with him, soothing the ache. Ilya is so full, Shane can feel the exact shape of his tight, round stomach even under all that fat.
Mouth open and panting, Ilya’s eyes are hooked on Shane’s face, wide and rapturous. His own face is red all over. From the exertion or from embarrassment, Shane isn’t sure. Just in case, he whispers, “It’s so hot that you’re too full to fuck me.”
Ilya moans raggedly. “And when I am too fat to fuck you, what then?”
“Oh, god, unh.” Shane’s breath shudders out of him, he leaks precome all over Ilya’s belly and Shane thrusts against it as he rocks back on Ilya’s cock, helpless to do anything else.
“Don’t worry. I will find a way, always,” Ilya gasps. “I know you need this.”
“Yeah, fuck, Ilya. I need it, I need—“
Ilya moans and then belches, low and rumbling, from deep in his gut. “Fuck.”
Shane curls over him, needing to get closer, to kiss him, wet and filthy. The pressure on Ilya’s stomach makes him burp again, right against Shane’s mouth. Shane moans into it. The tiny movements of his hips, it shouldn’t be enough to get him off so quickly, but he’s getting close. Closer when he catches sight of something in the corner of his eye and looks over to it—the baby pink, shiny cake box on the nightstand.
When Shane looks back down, Ilya’s eyes are blown and glassy with pleasure, barely ringed by blue. He growls, “You want to feed me more, Shane?”
Shane is shaking. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to." Ilya pants, crazed, pawing at Shane’s hips and his back and his ass. “Mmm, you would feed me that whole fucking cake if you could. When I am already so stuffed. And you call me a sadist.”
“Ah, but you do. Is okay. I want it, too.”
Slapping his own gut, sending ripples across the whole surface of it, Ilya says, “Do it. I am ready for more.”
Shane can hardly keep his eyes open, can hardly think. “Jes—Jesus—“ He grabs Ilya’s belly, harder than he means to. “You sure you can fit anything else in here, Rozanov?”
Ilya grabs his jaw in one big hand, squishes his cheeks together, and says, “It is my birthday Shane. I said, feed me more.”
