Clouds at sunset

Listen- do you guys understand that Shane gets so comfy with Ilya that he starts to fidget and soothe with Ilya’s body. And like- he doesn’t even realise it half the time, it’s like his only little stims and subconscious movements he’s always done. Like how he rubs his feet together in small circles as he drifts to sleep, or taps his fingertips to his collarbones or presses the heel of his palm between his pecks when the locker room gets too loud, too much, how he presses his lips together, rolls them outward over and over as he reads, brushes the pad of his thumb across his Cupid’s bow as he sits scrolling through his phone. Or the more subtle ones, tapping his big toes up and down inside his shoes during interviews.

Anyway- all that to say when Ilya and Shane have been in love for a little while when Ilya’s body starts to kinda feel like an extension of Shane’s (maybe a short while before they fell in love too, but that he never really let himself think much into at all). And with this comes the gentle fidgeting, Ilya’s curls twisted in and through his fingers over and over and over. The edge of Ilya’s jumper, or the soft warm skin of his earlobe between Shane’s thumb and finger, rubbing slow circles over and over. Pushing his toes against the muscle of Ilya’s thigh, or his toes in rhythmic pulses. Shane’s folding his fingers of Ilya’s longer ones, opening and closing their hands together, presses the pads of his fingers down against the blunt press of his nails. The small motion of the rub is his cheek the very slight in and up nuzzling motion when they are cuddled up, against the shirts and jumpers and sweat pants of Ilya’s he likes most (over time more and more of them seem to become that lovely soft worn fabric that Shane enjoys most).

And it’s that too, resting his head in Ilya’s lap, slow deep breaths and running his lips against the seam of Ilya’s sweats, boxers (that turns into the other comfort too, Ilya’s cock in his mouth soft and warm and full for him, heavy on his tongue, something to let his mouth get wet and swallow around. His hand in Ilya’s treasure trail, pubic hair, fingers scratching through it, the extra soft downy hair that lives there. Sometimes when Shane’s body can find any of its other ways to push out its shuddering discomfort, energy that feedback loops from his toes to his scalp to his eyelids so over sensitive and shaking apart a little- nothing else pushes it out but Ilya inside him, keeping him stretched and open and full, Shane facing Ilya, bodies tangled, his thigh hitched over top of Ilya’s and barely there rocks of his hips, too small to do much but smooth out some of Shane’s buzzing between them both, and Ilya lets him spread it till it’s all gone, all lovely and syrupy and stretched out and out out out of Shane’s body, finally quiet and grounded.)