double dumbass on you!

8th April 2020, No. 2 - David Hockney ,  2020.

British , 1937-2026

Whenever they go out with the Centaurs after games, Shane will find a table and Ilya will head to the bar. That's how it has been since Shane signed with the Cens and none of the guys really think twice about it anymore, it's just the way they do things. Division of labour or whatever. But even as the night goes on, no matter how many rounds they get, Ilya is always the one who goes to the bar to order.

The reason behind it is simple. Whether Shane will be drinking tonight, what he will be drinking, and how much is Ilya's decision. It's his responsibility.

Ilya knows that if the decision was up to Shane he wouldn't really drink at all during the season and, most of the time, he respects that. The majority of the time, he'll return with a beer for himself and a ginger ale for Shane. But sometimes he'll bring over a beer for Shane as well. Shane will usually wrinkle his nose a little at the first sip but he'll always thank Ilya, regardless. Ilya usually makes do with one round for him but sometimes it's two or three and with every beer he brings over, Shane dutifully thanks him and drinks it.

A few times, Ilya has brought shots. He'll never bring Shane shots during times where they would truly impact his performance; never the day before a game, never when the pressure of the season is ramping up. But when their schedule allows for it and the mood strikes, Ilya will bring him shots. For no other reason than because he wants Shane to take them. He wants to watch the way his face scrunches up, like he bit down on a lemon. He wants to watch him sputter at the burn of the alcohol. He wants to hear him thank him for something he knows he didn't want. He wants to watch him get loose and sloppy. Sometimes he just wants to see Shane drunk. And Shane is his. If Ilya wants to see him drunk, then he'll see him drunk.

On nights when Ilya buys Shane shots, he usually stays sober himself. At most, he'll have one beer before switching to Cokes. He wants to stay alert enough to make sure he doesn't make Shane overdo it and he wants to stay alert enough to get to enjoy Shane's lack of inhibition. He also knows that if both of them got drunk, they'd likely end up with a public indecency charge, because drunk Shane loves nothing more than putting his hands on his husband's body. He'll stroke up Ilya's chest, run his fingers through his hair, he'll hold his hand and hardly ever let it go. On more than one occasion he has fully crawled into Ilya's lap and stuck his tongue down his throat without any prompting.

—

“Fuck, I need you inside me, like, yesterday.”

Ilya gives a short, breathless laugh into Shane’s neck, biting his bare shoulder. “Wow, wow. So desperate for it, you can’t even wait to give me proper hello.”

“This is your hello, asshole,” Shane grits out, his hands pawing at Ilya’s clothes, as clumsy and greedy as Ilya feels. They’ve barely made it two steps inside their home, Ilya’s bag dropped carelessly at their feet. 

“No ‘welcome home, my wonderful husband’,” Ilya pants, squeezing one of Shane’s pecs. “No ‘how was your trip, love of my life, tell me everything’...”

“Later,” Shane hisses, with a sinful roll of his hips. Ilya growls, crowding him back into the wall of their entranceway, and Shane draws him into his rhythm so they’re grinding like teenagers.

Ilya’s so fucking hard. He’s been hard since the goddamn taxi from the airport, since Shane started texting him all Really missed your dick and I need to be filled so bad, in that matter-of-fact way of his.

“Baby, please,” Shane moans, tipping his head back, eyes gone soft and glistening as his long lashes flutter, pretty pink lips hanging open all swollen and wet. It’s unfair, really.

“Yes, yes,” Ilya manages, nodding jerkily. “I know. You need this cock. I will fuck you like you deserve, lyubimyy.”

A bead of sweat trickles down the nape of his neck, beneath his jacket and t-shirt. Something about being fully clothed with Shane in only his favourite worn-soft grey sweatpants drives him out of his mind. Shane’s cock twitches against Ilya’s hip through the thin material, and Ilya knows he’s wearing nothing underneath. Beautiful, eager little slut.

Ilya’s stomach tightens, balls tingling, electricity thrumming through him. Shit, he’s in trouble. He should pull back. Take a breath. But he just—can’t find the strength to tear away.

They kiss messy and open-mouthed, smearing spit over his lips and chin, and Ilya’s hips thrust clumsily with a mind of their own. He moans at the filthy friction of it, at the solid warmth of Shane’s body under his. He’s missed it. He needs it.

He shoves his hands down the back of Shane’s sweats, hauling him closer and shamelessly groping his ass.

“Fuck, yeah, yeah, please,” Shane moans, clinging to Ilya’s shoulders and trying to wrap a leg around him. “C’mon, baby. Fuck me.”

Ilya’s eyes squeeze shut as his cock kicks, pulsing a hot spill of pre-come into his boxers. He can’t stop grinding forward, chasing that too-much-not-enough, Shane squirming and whining as they pant into each others’ mouths. Ilya grips his ass tight enough to bruise, shakes his cheeks a little to feel them jiggle, then parts them.

His fingertips brush Shane’s hole, and oh, fuck. It’s soft and open and so fucking wet, and it yields so sweetly under his touch—

“I got ready—” Shane gasps, and that’s it.

The orgasm slams through him, stealing his breath and leaving him humping forward gracelessly, driving Shane into the wall with the force of it. He buries his flushed-red face into Shane’s hair, moaning when the familiar scent of his shampoo sends another violent pulse through his body. It feels endless, spilling and spilling into his pants, the filthy-wet slide of his boxers over his sensitive cock only drawing it out as he mindlessly ruts against Shane.

“Oh my god,” Ilya groans weakly.

“Oh my god,” Shane echoes in disbelief, but he holds him close as he quivers through it, shoving his knee up for Ilya to ride it out. His big hands sweep soothingly over his back.

Ilya swallows when the aftershocks fade out and a quiet pause settles between them. It’s Shane who pushes him back, forcing him to meet Shane’s eyes. There’s an apology on his lips, but Shane kisses it away, cupping his face with both hands and laughing sweetly into it.

“You laugh at me,” Ilya complains, but he’s smiling too, dazed and stupid and lovedrunk.

“No.” Shane shakes his head, rubbing the tips of their noses together. Ilya winces a little as his oversensitive dick twitches at that. Fuck, he really is in love. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

Ilya smiles wider, chest puffing up, and pulls Shane into a deep kiss. Shane sighs into it, languidly sliding his tongue along Ilya’s, before he pushes at Ilya’s chest again.

“So, wait… which one of us were you calling desperate?”

—

Anniversary of APOLLO 11 MOON LANDING

On July 20, 1969, 109 hours and 42 minutes after launch, Neil Armstrong and Edwin ‘Buzz’ Aldrin entered the lunar lander ‘Eagle’, made a final check, and the Eagle undocked from the lunar orbiter ‘Columbia’, where the third member of the crew Michael Collins, stayed in orbit around the moon. Partially manually piloted by Armstrong, the Eagle landed 0 degrees, 41 minutes, 15 seconds north moon latitude and 23 degrees, 26 minutes east moon longitude. Armstrong stepped out, and Aldrin followed 20 minutes later: human beings stepped on the moon for the first time. The two men spent 21 hours and 26 minutes on its surface. One of the astounding aspects of the mission was the seeming simplicity of the technology used to get man to the moon. According to Oliver Gassmann, professor of Technology Management, the mobile phone in your pocket has one million times more memory than the Apollo 11’s computer. Same about the procesor: the latest phones typically have more than 100,000 times the processing power of the computer that landed man on the moon 50 years ago.

“It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn’t feel like a giant. I felt very, very small.” –Neil Armstrong

They're always in and out of the water – lake swims, pool swims, hot tub, showers – so doing his curl routine each time would be crazy when he could be spending that precious time sucking his boyfriend's dick.

Shane's not the biggest fan of how Ilya's styling products feel. He'll tolerate it, but Ilya can tell by his face that the texture isn't his favourite. Less product = more hair touching.

Shane's hands are always in his hair. When they're kissing. When they're watching a movie. When they fuck. When Ilya sits with his head in Shane's lap. When they're napping on the couch together. Shane's hands are usually full of a handful of Ilya's curls.

Shane seems to really like it. One time Shane said Ilya's fluffy hair made him look like a duckling and he's been chasing that high ever since.