#fihmf

His cock is swollen, flushed a furious red, tip smearing wetness over the mattress with every little twitch of his hips. Ilya wonders how long he’s been working himself up. Wonders if he’s there in Shane’s dreams, touching him or kissing him or feeding him his cock. 

Ilya glances up to Shane’s innocently lax face, squeezing his own dick through his boxers. It’s always indulgent watching him like this, so unguarded, suspended on the brink. He could lay here for hours tracking the stutters of his breath and the needy twitches of his cock.

Then Shane whines, quiet but so mournful that it tugs Ilya’s heartstrings. His brow furrows, fingers curling into the pillowcase. The way he’s angled, he’s barely getting any friction from the bed. 

Eyes trained on Shane’s face, Ilya inches closer until his thigh’s pressed more firmly between Shane’s legs. He reaches around with a careful hand on Shane’s back, easing him forward until his sticky-wet cock is pressed against him.

Shane’s breath catches, and for a second Ilya thinks he might wake up. But he only lets out a long, shaky exhale as he fucks forward, all clumsy and jerky. Ilya flexes his thigh, and Shane’s flush deepens as he ruts into that firm muscle, mumbling nonsense under his breath.

“Yeah,” Ilya whispers, awed. “That’s my good boy.”

Ilya presses at the small of his back, drawing him into a filthy-slow grind. Shane’s panting now, hot-wet and drooling onto the pillow. Fuck, maybe he’ll come like this—but as Ilya gazes at him he whimpers and sucks his plump lower lip into his mouth, worrying at it before dropping his mouth open again.

Ah.

With a knowing smile, Ilya shifts his weight to bring his thumb to Shane’s lips, tracing the bow of them oh-so-gently. Shane’s face scrunches and his head tosses drunkenly, chasing the touch. As soon as Ilya presses down on his lower lip, Shane sucks the tip right into his mouth.

“Blyat. You are perfect,” Ilya hisses, sliding his thumb all the way into that velvety heat and biting back a groan as Shane sleepily mouths at it. He pulls back to paint Shane’s lips with spit, leaving them shining pretty in the low light, and fuck, Shane’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, seeking Ilya out with a plaintive sound.

Ilya plunges his thumb back inside, petting over his soft tongue. He marvels at the reflexive way it curls around him, at Shane’s muffled happy noises. Shane suckles at Ilya’s thumb like it’s soothing him, and the mindless rhythm of it soothes Ilya too, dreamy contentment washing over him even as his cock throbs. Shane’s face smooths out into a blissful expression as he humps Ilya’s leg and settles himself with his thumb.

Yeah, this is what he needed. This is what he always needs.

Those pretty sounds climb steadily higher, breaths coming harsher from his nose as Ilya fucks his thumb in and out of his mouth. He’s trembling, goosebumps rising on his heated skin, hips juddering so messy and senseless. Precome pulses hot and slick over Ilya’s thigh, the head of Shane’s cock sliding over the coarse hair there. A rough moan escapes his throat—

He jerks awake, blinking unfocused eyes at Ilya.

“Good morning,” Ilya says, mouth quirking up at one side.

Shane garbles something like fuck and fumbles for Ilya’s wrist. When he wrenches Ilya’s thumb out, Ilya’s stomach drops—worried he’s overstepped—but then Shane’s shoving two of his fingers into his mouth instead, as deep as they’ll go, swallowing down as much of Ilya as he physically can and moaning like he’s still not satisfied.

“Oh, fuck,” Ilya whispers. “Humping my leg and sucking my thumb wasn’t enough, yeah? Want my fingers down your fucking throat, sweetheart?”

Shane groans, nodding frantically as Ilya fucks deeper, feeling out the shape of his teeth, rubbing over his tongue. His fingertips graze the back of his throat and Ilya relishes the soft click as he gags, loud in the hush of the morning. Shane’s eyes roll back. He squeezes his wrist and tries to pull him deeper still, knuckles bumping his chin. 

Ilya growls softly. “Need to be sooo full of me, hm? Shh, shh, I know. I know.”

Ilya pushes him onto his back and straddles him, shoving a third finger into his mouth. Shane moans, lips stretching wide and spit dribbling down his chin, slurping as he tries to hollow his cheeks.

Shane squirms and bucks and begs so gorgeously with those shining-wet eyes, so Ilya wraps his other hand tight around his cock. It only takes a couple of slick strokes before he's coming onto his belly with a muffled whimper, teeth clamping down on Ilya’s fingers like a puppy.

Ilya grins, leaning down to kiss his cheeks, his sweaty forehead, his lips still sealed around Ilya’s fingers. He draws his hand back slightly, questioning, but Shane shakes his tired head and holds on tight.

“Okay,” Ilya murmurs, soft and sweet, stroking Shane’s tongue as his eyes flutter closed again. “Whatever you need.”

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