#goldturnedgray

they both still have their eyes closed. they're nowhere but here. shane says, "yeah."

quiet noise of acknowledgment from ilya. "do you want my hand?"

shane breathes, "yeah."

"mmm."

ilya doesn't give him his hand. he drags it up shane instead, resting it on one of his pecs. gently squeezes the muscle—once, twice, slow. shane grunts and arches into it. ilya kisses his neck again. then he uses just his first two fingers to begin circling shane's nipple. shane moans, quietly. his cock gives a hard throb. one more.

ilya lifts his fingers to shane's lips, murmuring, "suck."

shane does. ilya's fingers are salty. and warm. he pushes them in and out of shane's mouth, along his tongue, in a slow fuck. when he withdraws, a string of spit extends from the tips of his fingers to shane's bottom lip. ilya either doesn't notice or doesn't care. just moves his hand back down, draping the spit over shane's chin as he does, and starts gently massaging shane's nipple with his wet fingers. shane moans again. longer now. ilya rubs his cock leisurely into the cleft of shane's ass, humming deep in his chest.

"you like that, kotik?" he rumbles. shane nods into his pillow, reaching back to tangle his fingers in ilya's hair. ilya's face nuzzles into his neck. "love touching your tits," he says into shane's skin. "your nipples. they are so hard for me. like your cock, mmm?" shane makes a quiet, plaintive noise. ilya pinches him. "you get so hard for me everywhere."

"yeah," shane breathes.

"yeah?" ilya echoes, and shane lifts his jaw to invite ilya to kiss along his neck. ilya obliges him. shane sighs.

"yeah."

they lapse into a brief semi-silence; shane breathing through ilya's attention to his nipples, ilya moaning low as he works himself up against shane's ass. when his hand finally leaves shane's chest, skating back down along his abdomen, shane finds himself holding his breath. his cock is wet inside his boxer briefs. and aching. ilya whispers into his ear, "breathe, moy lyubov" and shane takes some air in just as ilya pushes his hand beneath the fabric of his briefs and holds his cock, firmly.

shane lets out a sound like it's been shocked from him. his body curls inwards, around the point where ilya is holding him, and ilya laughs softly. presses his wrist into shane's pelvic bone, urging his hips back against his cock. "come back, malysh," he teases. his hand starts working over shane under his briefs, and shane starts moaning in earnest. ilya exhales roughly in his ear. "you are so eager," he murmurs, drawing out the "so". "so horny for me in the morning, hm? just woke up and already need to get fucked? my needy boy... fuck, you are getting me all wet, shane."

and shane whimpers because he can feel it. the way ilya's fist is becoming slick with his precum, easing his movements into an obscene glide. up, down. up, down. ilya draws his hand out of shane's briefs for a moment and tugs the waistband down, tucking it behind shane's balls before reaching back up for his cock. heat rises in shane's cheeks at the sounds ilya's hand makes around his newly freed cock—distinct, wet fwips that cause shane's arousal to spike so hard his body lurches towards the edge. ilya moans loudly, presumably just as affected by it. his hand speeds up.

"mmm, fuck," ilya says. smearing open-mouthed kisses over shane's ear. "does it feel good, kotik? hmm?" shane nods, beyond words. ilya bites his earlobe and shane whimpers. "you are... fuck, moy lyubimyy, you are like a dream. like I am still asleep and fucking you, and when you come for me I will just wake up."

shane rolls his head against his pillow in vague dissent. "no," he slurs. "'m yours, ilya. your—fuck. oh. oh, ilya. oh m'god—"

"shane. are you gonna come, sweetheart?" shane inhales raggedly, nods minutely. frantically. "good. good boy. come for me, baby." ilya's fingers pull quickly beneath shane's cockhead. "yes. shane. come for me now, sweetheart—ah—fuck..."

shane is releasing into ilya's hand. twitching against him. moaning desperately. ilya holds him, kisses him, murmurs a litany of praise and encouragement in his ear. that's it, moy lyubimyy. you are so good. let me have it. good boy, shane.

after, shane relaxes into ilya's arms. spent, panting. ilya kisses over whatever he can reach of shane's face. shane, eyes closed, smiles faintly. he shifted away from ilya in those final moments—now he moves back. finds ilya hard, still.

"are y'gonna fuck me now?" shane mumbles. he hears, and feels, ilya huff a laugh against his cheek.

"oh, if you insist," ilya says, and shane laughs, rolling over onto him.

at some point something happens on the tv that warrants a comment from shane, but it receives no reply from ilya. "ilya?" he leans forward to check ilya's face and he's sleeping. eyes closed, mouth open. he's making those little clicking noises on his inhales that teeter on the edge of snoring. shane feels an unbearable swell of affection for him and watches him for a bit. then he very carefully reaches over to check the time on his phone. it's late. as much as he doesn't want to disturb ilya, he has an early flight out of boston tomorrow, and he isn't going to get a good night's sleep sitting up on this couch.

shane scratches ilya's scalp gently. "baby," he says. no response. he scratches him again, rubs his shoulder and then his jaw. "baby." ilya makes a noise and frowns, stirring a little. shane thinks his heart is going to burst out of his chest. "baby, let's go to bed," he says. this time ilya turns onto his back but keeps his eyes closed. he lifts his chin, sleepily asking for a kiss. shane smiles and gives it to him. soft warm press of lips for two seconds. when shane pulls back ilya sighs and makes a satisfied "hmmh" sound, before going still again. threatening to fall back asleep. shane's cheeks hurt. he rubs the backs of his fingers under ilya's chin. "hey, sleepyhead," he urges gently.

finally ilya inhales the inhale of a waking person, sudden and sharp and deep, and buries his face in shane's—rather, his own—hoodie. then he lifts himself off shane's lap. shane lets him go, reaching for the remote to shut the tv off while ilya yawns and rubs at his face in his periphery. he has groggy eyes. shane gets up and extends a hand to him; ilya takes it. shane pulls him up and leads him by the hand through the house, as familiar to shane now as his own place in montreal.

"I need to—" ilya gestures at the lights that are still on in the kitchen and entryway. "I've got it," shane says, and leaves ilya to hit all the appropriate switches. when he returns ilya is looking at him in a way. "what?" shane asks.

ilya shakes his head. "is just nice," he murmurs. "this is a little like your house now too."