#ilyuca

poolboy! Luca who works to get money for his hockey training trying to hide his fanboying over his latest client, retired hockey legend Ilya Rozanov. He also tries to hide his near constant hard on but that’s a bit more difficult when every time he comes around Ilya is either shirtless and in some low hanging sweats or wearing some mouth watering suit as he got back from whatever it is that retired yet still revered hockey players do in their spare time (he knew exactly what it was that Ilya did. Luca obsessively kept up with the news on the charities and camps that took up Ilya's time)

Anyway, Ilya fucks Luca in the pool shed.

Luca distantly registers how Ilya's hands are the only thing keeping him from face-planting onto the wooden floor of the shed. His briefs and pool shorts are bunched around one ankle and the pads of his beaten up sneakers barely touch the ground. Who knows where the fuck he shirt went.

Ilya's behind him, fucking him mercilessly. He knows the older man is still fully clothed, the shirt against his sweaty back, the feel of the well pressed pants meeting his bare ass with each thrust. It feels filthy, being fully naked, while Ilya only pulled out his dick to fuck him in the pool shed.

It also feels so fucking good.

Ilya whispers, rough and dirty, into his ear. Calling him a pretty, pretty boy, asking him if he likes his cock, if it feels good, if he wants more.

Luca is breathless. He's never had a dick as big as Ilya's before, and even if he had, no one has ever fucked him so good. Every drag against his prostate, every sharp thrust or roll of Ilya's hips, every kiss or bite Ilya places against the back of his neck leaves him dizzy. The only thing he can get out is nods and punched out whispers.

Yes, he likes Ilya's cock, Yes, it feels good. Yes, he wants more.

And Ilya gives it to him.

He plants his feet, hands firmly gripping Luca's waist as he brings them face to face. Luca legs tremble as the wrap around Ilya's waist. Ilya grins, "Good boy."

Ilya fucks him like a fleshlight. He moves Luca's body up and down his dick, giving him no time to think, to adjust. All he can do is feel. How Ilya stretches him, how it ignites the heat unfurling low in his stomach. Each drag has his dick rubbing against Ilya's abs, it's euphoric.

Luca must've moaned or whimpered. he couldn't tell you what. Whatever it was, it made Ilya chuckle. "That's right," the other man grunts, "show me. Let me hear how good I make you feel."

"Good. 's so good," Luca gasps out. "D-daddy you feel so, fuck, so good."

The title slips unbidden. Luca doesn't get time to take it back or to feel embarrassed. Ilya moans.

"Baby," Ilya's voice is rough, his sweat mixing with Luca's as he presses them forehead to forehead. "So fucking good for Daddy, yes?"

Hearing Ilya call himself that, it sends a rush down Luca's spine. His hands slip from where they had been tremblingly wrapped around Ilya's neck but it doesn't matter, not with the way Ilya presses their entire bodies against the shed walls. Not with the way Ilya keeps thrusting into him. Not with the way he turns Luca's face, whispers sweet nothings and licks the tears Luca didn't even realize were leaving him.

"Again," Ilya demands.

Luca doesn't refuse.

Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.

He whimpers, cries, yells. He comes with the title on his lips, Ilya's dick pulsing in him soon after.