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i wish vegas bathroom wasnt so early in their hook up era a more seasoned ilya wouldve known he couldve made shane get on his knees on that dirty bathroom floor and beg to suck ilyas dick
and shane tries, he even tries to ask nicer and then ilya is humming in disapproval, touching his face and saying 'it would be nicer if u asked on your knees, yes?'
and shanes already gone, its muscle memory to get down on his knees for ilya at this point, he finds himself sinking down, tuxedo pants hitting the tile thats probably decently maintained but feels filthy to him now, because ilya said it was filthy, and thats playing in his mind and he barely manages out another plea for ilya to suck his dick, bc he was told to, and ilya laughs
'that is what you want?'
'uh, what? yes. Please.'
'you are the one on your knees, are you sure?' and ilya cups the side of his head and shane is swaying, barely succeeding in his effort to resist diving face first into ilyas crotch 'maybe you do want to suck my dick? you will still have to ask for it.'
and this position is all reflex for shane, hes salivating at the thought, fears of humiliation gone in favor of his desperate need to be good and he says 'please, rozanov? please can i suck your dick?'
And ilyas hand curls into a fist, gripping his hair unkindly and pulling his head back to look at his face, shane is flushed cheeks hooded eyes labored breaths, ilya is smiling, 'no.'
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16 year old Shane getting flustered from a chirp from a very attractive hockey player he’s facing off against . But then the guy misses a really easy goal & Shane gets the ick so bad it shoves him back into the closet for another year
There’s more to say about Ilya’s disappointment after tuna melt frottage. He’s still riding the waves of endorphins after their (synchronized!) orgasm. They way he’s kissing Shane and unable to suppress his smile, but you can see Shane shift and shut down and in that moment Ilya helps Shane pull his pants back up, but his eyes are darting. Uh oh, Shane is upset. They haven’t even caught their breath yet but Shane is already up. Ilya visibly tries to keep his arms around him and you can even hear a little noise of complaint from Ilya as Shane breaks the connection too soon. He just had him, he had him warm under his hands but now he’s gone. He watches Shane clean his hands on the napkin, then looks back at Shane’s face. Making decisions, but not quick enough though. Master of perception Ilya Rozanov didn’t predict this. His discernment is haywire when it comes to Shane. He doesn’t know what’s happening but he can fix it. Okay, chirp him, he loves that: You? Forgot team meeting? But Ilya isn’t smiling, isn’t sly, he’s revealing that he’s actually angry and hurt, and that just won’t do. Okay, revert to cavalier fuckbuddy: Hollander. (This was whatever. We’re just fucking around. Come back and it won’t be a big deal.) He offers an open hand. (You’re being stupid, actually, there was nothing happening, you’re making something of this, not me.) Hollander.
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the crazy thing is he already calls him up papi so “daddy” really isn’t that far-fetched for them to do casually
but did u see how sexy i did that papi? <- rent free in my mind. bouncing around in there like a screensaver. but did u see how sexy i did that papi...
hudson jokingly calling him papi while they're in bed fooling around and connor says shut up, no, i'm not your papi and hudson asks what are you then, my daddy? and connor inhales sharply, can't help the fuck that slips out as his hips stutter against hudson's and hudson gets an absolute shit eating grin, oh you like that, don't you daddy- before connor tells him to behave and hudson's pupils blow out as he realizes fuck, he really likes it, and by the end connor's got him begging please, daddy, please let me come, fuck, daddy
ilya pulls his softening cock from shane's hole, watching it emerge, appreciating how shane stretches a little more around the widest point, how the tip hangs onto shane's rim for a moment before slipping over the edge and letting ilya fall heavy between his thighs. ilya sighs in satisfaction. he sits back on his heels and presses his thumbs to either side of shane's hole, which is glistening at the edge and gaping around the space ilya left behind. ilya hums low and says, "show me how good your hole made me feel, kotik" and shane moans, indistinct in that way his sounds always are after a hard fucking. ilya watches shane's hole clench weakly—then takes in the sight he started imagining the moment that fucker in the ball cap attempted to buy shane a drink at the bar earlier: ilya's release, white and thick and slow, drooling from shane's hole. tracking the curve of his gorgeous ass down to the hotel sheets. something in ilya's chest purrs happily. finally. the visible sign of commitment around shane's ring finger is normally enough to nip ilya's possessiveness in the bud. but sometimes, when even that fails to deter shane's most helpless of admirers, ilya craves a more visceral reminder of his claim. there's nothing like this. ilya swipes two fingers through the trail of white and shane's mouth opens without prompting. ilya shudders. he hovers his coated fingers above shane's lips, asks, "who is this, malysh" and slides them in. shane moans. tastes. around ilya, he says, "you."
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Shane gives Ilya a piggyback ride. Thank you @martelldoran for helping inspire this ficlet.
“Ow! Fucking—fuck!”
Shane turns to find Ilya sprawled on the ground, hands wrapped around his ankle, glaring at the offending tree root that apparently caused him to stumble.
“Twisted my fucking ankle,” Ilya pouts.
“Let me see.” Shane crouches down next to him. His voice and hands are gentle as he checks Ilya over. Still, Ilya draws in a sharp breath at the touch.
Oh,” Shane frowns as he looks up from his examination.
“What? Is bad?” Ilya asks, face pale.
“I’m sorry, baby. I think they’ll have to amputate.” Shane’s voice is grave, but his eyes are light, and his mouth is fighting against a smile.
“Oh fuck off, asshole,” Ilya grumbles, arms crossed in a sulk.
“Looks like a mild sprain.” Shane dusts his hands off and stands. “We can ice it when we get home.” He extends a hand to help Ilya up. Ilya just looks up at him, dejected.
“Shaaane,” he whines.
“Oh, no,” Shane says, shaking his head. It’s not the first time Ilya’s asked for this on one of these walks.
“Shane…please?” Shane wants to stand firm, but Ilya’s fixing him with those puppy-dog eyes, and he's only human.
“Alright, fine,” Shane grumbles as he turns and crouches down.
“Yesss,” Ilya says, suddenly unbothered by the pain in his ankle as he hops onto Shane’s back, arms looping around his shoulders. He plants a big, smacking kiss on the side of Shane’s head. “C'mon. Giddy up!”
“Watch it, Rozanov,” Shane warns, but there’s no heat to it. He hefts Ilya more securely on his back and sets off down the trail. They’re not far from home, and Shane can carry Ilya without breaking a sweat. This walk is an easy one, just two miles out and back on a flat, looping trail. Shane finds himself enjoying the added burn in his muscles from carrying Ilya’s weight.
“How’s the ankle?”
“Terrible. I cannot believe my own husband would sabotage me like this.”
“Me?” Shane’s voice cracks, incredulous, as he tosses a glare behind him.
“Yes, Hollander. You convince me to go for a walk on this dangerous trail right before the season starts, and now I am injured. Sabotage!”
“Ilya, we play on the same team.”
“Ah, but you want to hurt my chances of beating your scoring record.”
Oh, that. They’ve been teasing each other about it for weeks. They have a deal: at the end of the season, the winner gets a reward. It’s Ilya's idea, of course. Even now, Shane’s all too aware of the sealed envelopes tucked away safely at home, “Shane wins” on one, “Ilya wins” on the other. He’s not allowed to know what they say inside. Despite all his whining and needling, all Shane can get Ilya to confess is that either reward will be “so, so good, malysh.” Every time he brings it up, Ilya’s eyes darken, and he fixes Shane with a sexy, wicked grin. Just the memory makes Shane’s pulse quicken, and the next step he takes is a bit too heavy to be natural.
“Focus, Shane.” Ilya’s voice is a hum in Shane’s ear. “Wouldn’t want you to drop me.”
Shane swallows hard. “‘M not gonna drop you,” he says, even as he adjusts his hold on Ilya's thighs.
“No, I know, Solnyshko. You’re so strong, carrying me like it’s nothing. Is hot.”
Shane’s stomach twists at the pride in Ilya’s voice. It is hot. He likes how Ilya’s draped over his back, lazy and loose, while Shane puts in all the work. Likes how his strength lets Ilya relax. He imagines what someone else might think if they saw them. Impressed, probably, at his stamina. Jealous, definitely, at his precious cargo.
Ilya always knows, somehow, what Shane is thinking, so he starts up a steady stream in Shane’s ear, telling him all about how big and strong and sexy he is, and praising him for how sweet he is to carry Ilya all this way, and asking Shane if he likes being this close, if it reminds him of the many times Ilya’s pressed up tight against Shane’s muscled back for very different reasons.
“Ilya,” Shane warns at that, shifting his grip to try and create some distance, but Ilya’s not having it. He sits up in Shane’s hold, pressing in closer, and Shane’s shirt rides up his back with the movement. Ilya’s jogging shorts provide only a thin barrier between them, and there’s no mistaking the heat of Ilya’s cock against his skin. Shane grits his teeth.
“Mmm, you like it so much, don’t you, sweetheart? Like being strong and saving me?”
“Ilya, don’t. Please,” Shane murmurs, but he knows his protests are useless. With one glance over his shoulder, he can see Ilya’s smug grin and heated eyes. There’s no turning back once Ilya is like this. God, Shane loves him so much.
“It’s ok. I like it too.” As he speaks, Ilya slips a hand down the neck of Shane’s shirt, fingers searching until they find a sweaty nipple to twist, and then Shane really does nearly drop him. He can’t do anything but whine as he steadies his footing. There’s just one more curve in the trail before their home comes into view. Shane huffs out a breath and tries to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.
“Oh, you’re doing so good, malysh. Just a little more, yes?”
This isn’t—it’s not fair, Ilya talking to him like this. Not when it’s the same words he uses when Shane’s open and eager and begging for him. Shane feels dizzy. It's too cool outside for him to be sweating this much, and he knows his cock is an obscene tent in his shorts. His heart is pounding so hard he’s sure Ilya can feel it against his chest, and maybe Ilya's thinking about that too, because he presses his palm over Shane's thrumming heart.
"As soon as we get home, I will give you a proper thank you for rescuing me," Ilya promises, lips hot against Shane's temple.
"Don’t worry, Shane. My ankle hurts, but my cock works just fine.”
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