It’s just that after he finally comes, Shane feels too good to hold himself up. It’s a slow, gradual thing, Ilya working him up to it in increments with deep rolling thrusts of his hips that Shane pushes back into every time until he is gasping and spilling across the sheets under him, and when he’s done Ilya just stays inside, pulls Shane into him and tells him how good he is and presses hot kisses to his back and neck and shoulders, to anything he can reach, and Shane melts into the mattress as Ilya’s mouth and words wash over him, and things get a little fuzzy after that, but then he knows Ilya’s hands are on him, brushing over the sweaty hair that’s fallen out from where Shane had tied it back, and Ilya’s saying “so messy, sweetheart” and pulling out the hair tie, and for a moment Shane thinks Ilya’s going to fix it for him, but instead Ilya simply gathers it all into his fist and uses his strong grip to lift Shane’s head from where it’s smushed into the pillow, and the tug on his scalp makes Shane’s mouth drop open in a whine, and then Ilya’s pushing his tongue inside for a filthy kiss, and Shane tries to kiss back but he feels a bit lost, anchored only by the two bright points of Ilya’s hand gripping his hair and Ilya’s cock that never pulled out, that’s hard again even though Shane’s kisses are messy and uncoordinated, and that realization makes Shane whimper. He wants to rock back into Ilya’s hips but he can’t, he feels clumsy and pinned down by Ilya’s weight draped over him and Ilya’s tight hold on his hair, and then Ilya’s saying, “need something baby?” and lifting Shane’s head a little more so he can meet his eyes, but all Shane can do is gasp out, “Ilya, Ilya.” And then Ilya’s groaning, his fist still gripping Shane’s hair and his hips moving now in perfect sharp thrusts, and Shane would push back to meet them but he’s boneless, a puppet with his strings cut, only able to beg, “please, Ilya, please, please,” and he’s not even sure what he’s asking for but Ilya somehow knows, and then Shane feels it again, the strong tug on his hair that cuts through the fog in his mind, and Shane’s body is moving now but not under his own control, it’s all Ilya. Ilya hauling him back, Ilya pulling him into each thrust of his hips, Ilya moving Shane just where he wants him, and all Shane has to do is feel. The pleasure-pain rolling through him makes everything murky. He’s about to come. No, he already came. No, he might never come again, just stay suspended here between Ilya’s fist and his cock. All he knows is that each sharp tug on his hair makes his balls ache, and each deep fuck of Ilya’s hips soothes his scalp, and then he hears Ilya’s voice cut through it all to say, “c’mon, fuck baby, come for me, you’re so good just let go, let me have it,” and because he trusts Ilya’s hold on him, he does.
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