#ink writes

You prop yourself up on one elbow just to watch Jon sleep. Your eyes trace the scars by his eye, the stern brow that furrows even in his sleep, the slope of his nose, the pout of his lips. You lift a hand, trailing feather-light fingertips down his cheek, rubbing your thumb along his bearded jaw. He shifts, turning into your touch and mumbling in his sleep. A soft smile comes to your face — you love when he's soft and unguarded like this, and you so rarely wake before him.

You let your hand drift lower, gentle over the scars on his chest. Your throat tightens as it always does when you see them — you hate the reminder of how close you'd come to never getting to be Jon's at all, you hate that he'd had to go through such a thing. You tuck yourself into Jon's side, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He stirs, his arm winding around your waist to pull you closer. He kisses the top of your head, lingering there for a beat.

"Mornin', love," he says softly. A shiver travels down your spine at the sleep-rough rumble his voice is this early.

"Good morning," you reply softly, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Did you sleep well? You came in late."

"Aye," Jon says. His hand rubs over your arm idly, and you see a smile curve his lips as you press soft kisses to his shoulder. "The trade agreements with the Free Folk needed finalizing so I can send them to Castle Black this morning."

You frown against his skin. "You still need your sleep, love. Trade agreements are nothing to your wellbeing. And you've been so stressed lately."

Jon lifts your chin and kisses you. "You take my stress away, just being here."

If asked, you'll blame your next actions on Jon's work, on the fact that being King keeps him away from you so much. You let your hand drift down Jon's torso, smiling as the muscles of his stomach tighten under your touch the lower you go. Your fingers dance over his morning hardness, and Jon's breath hitches.

"Love…" His voice sounds strained. "I've got meetings this morning, I have so much to do…"

"Shhh," you murmur, slipping your hand into his smalls and wrapping around the heated flesh. "Let me take more of your stress." You nip at his earlobe, voice barely a whisper. "Just relax. We've time enough for this."

Jon's entire world narrows to the weight of you at his side, your soft breathing against his neck, your hand around his cock. It's agonizingly slow, the way you stroke him — perfectly tight, a slight twist on every pull, your thumb pressing just under his head in that way that sends lightning zinging up his spine. He groans softly, turning his head to bury his nose in your hair.

"You're so good to me," he mumbles, a little in awe as always that he gets to have you. "Faster, please." A soft chuckle makes a confusing mix of dread and arousal pool in his gut. His hips rut up against your hand, and he groans again as your ministrations pause. "Sweet girl…"

"Just relax, Jon," you laugh. You lean up, kissing the curve of his frown. "You do so much, just let me take care of you."

You wait until he's stopped trying fuck your hand, and then resume your slow, steady stroking. Jon's arm tightens around you, pulling you closer as if to fuse you to his side. You drop your mouth to his shoulder, kissing along his collarbone, letting your teeth scrape ever so slightly against the curve of his neck. He jerks in your hand, leaking steadily, easing your grip. He's a mess of visible need, just the way you wanted, and the bitten off moans, the twitching hips, are making your own need grow into a pool of liquid heat.

You let Jon's cock fall back to his stomach, trailing feather-light fingertips down the shaft, painting circles on his sensitive inner thighs with the slick pre your fingers are damp with. He shivers at the touch, his legs spreading to give you more access.

"So good for me," you murmur absently, delighting in the full-body shudder and the wonderful moan that tears from his throat. You make a mental note to try such words the next time you make love, to see if the reaction to your praise is just as lovely when Jon is buried in you. "So beautiful like this."

Your fingers find his sack, and you roll his stones between them, a gentle fondling that makes Jon bury his face against the top of your head and his hands clench onto your upper arm and waist with a bruising strength. The thought that you'll carry his handprints with you all day makes you ache deliciously, and you surge upwards to kiss him properly.

"Gods, I'm so close, love," he mumbles quickly against your lips. His hips buck and you think he might actually whine when you move your hand away. "So close, just a little faster, plea—"

You shake your head. "I quite like you like this," you inform him. "I have no desire for it to end so quickly."

"A menace," he grumbles, but the tone is undercut by the desperate edge of his voice and the way his eyes roll back when you squeeze him in retaliation.

The morning drifts into a syrupy sort of warmth, hazy and dreamlike. Jon is a squirming mass of need — he wants so badly for you to pick up the pace, he itches to have the weight of you on top of him, but surrendering is its own kind of pleasure. You stroke him with a lazy sort of exactness, and he will never admit it, but the soft praises falling continuously from your perfect mouth, searing into his skin where you press gentle kisses, make his stomach tighten and his veins heat better than any quick release could.

When Jon finally comes, your eyes are locked on his face. He's quieter than usual, coming like this, as if he doesn't want to shatter the tranquil moment. His mouth falls open on a low, strangled groan, his pretty brown eyes shutting tight. You kiss his pulse, smiling as you feel it flutter under your mouth. He's so beautiful, you could watch him come forever.

It makes your mouth water a bit, watching the way his seed splatters up his stomach, painting his abs in ropes of pearly white. You work him through his high, until he's wrapping a large hand around your wrist and pulling your hand away. You lift yourself up onto your elbow again, watching him pant for breath.

"Good?" you ask, idly swirling your fingertips through the mess of his abs.

"What have I done to deserve you?" he asks instead of answering. He's still a little breathless, and the intensity of his gaze on you — like you're the only thing worth living for — makes your cheeks heat.

You shrug. "Who says you had to do anything?"

You lift your come-covered fingers to your mouth and lick them clean — maybe you should have started the morning by sucking him, you do enjoy the way he tastes. Jon groans, and you yelp in shock as you suddenly find yourself underneath him.

He kisses you fiercely. "You drive me mad, woman."

You giggle, looping your arms around his neck. "I thought you had meetings?"

"No meeting is more important than thanking my beautiful wife for taking such good care of me," Jon says in a low voice that has your thighs squeezing together. He kisses his way down your body, and your pulse picks up in anticipation. "They can all wait."

You have enough time to be thankful you locked the door earlier — no interruptions — before Jon descends upon you, and the ability to think of anything but his mouth on your center and your hands in his hair quickly leaves you.

Neither of you leave the bedchamber until well into the day.

It still greatly disturbed 1x1x1x1, learning about the fact that his older sibling was alive. Maybe not well,but they were alive…that's what mattered.

The Spectre had revived them. Intended on twisting (Y/N) into something they weren't. Something like him. But its plan had gone awry, all based off of the fact that his lovely sibling was simply far too pure to be tainted in such a way. Perhaps the nature of their resurrection contributed to this incorruptible phenomenon as well…

But that didn't matter now. 1x1x1x1 couldn't care less, honestly. He was just happy to have them back…to be able to be held by them, comforted by them. To be reminded of the fact that he wasn't alone. It was so…freeing.

And now here he was, finally relaxing for once and…cooking in the kitchen? Was making food one of the only things he was passionate for (other than killing people)? Maybe. But it was a far more healthy outlet than slaughtering the masses, let the man cook in peace.

The other killers were sitting a ways away, most of them only musing eating to distract themselves until the next round. Azure, Jason, Noli, and John Doe didn't even need to eat, and c00lkidd enjoyed eating because it made him feel like he was normal. So why not cook for them? It was almost like an enrichment activity for 1x1x1x1 in a weird, silly way.

In the meantime, basically everybody was getting used to the fact that (Y/N) was actually living withthem now. None of the other killers perceived them as a survivor, so there wasn't any real risk of them being attacked, but it wasn't like they were a killer either…the strange in-between had caused majority of the other killers to distance themselves from (Y/N). Excluding 1x1x1x1 and-…c00lkidd, surprisingly enough.

(Y/N) was entertaining c00lkidd as 1x1x1x1 cooked up breakfast- lunch-…whatever time of day it was. Did it even matter anymore? Anyway- (Y/N) was letting c00lkidd play with their respawn rings, carefully watching the 'little' boy as he spun them around and pushed and pulled them together.

As this happened, (Y/N) glanced up at 1x1x1x1, calling out pleasantly to their younger brother. "1x? What are you even cooking? It seems kind of…impossible to obtain ingredients here."

1x1x1x1 turned around slowly at the sound of his sibling's voice, his single red eye flashing menacingly for a moment before softening the tiniest bit. He glanced over at them almost in disbelief, as if every fiber in his body still refused to believe in the fact that they actually existed.

His gaze then drifted back down to the bubbling pot on the stove, filled with a…questionable mix of ingredients. The Spectre had provided them with an assortment of uhhhhh. Maybe edible things. Maybe. Things that shouldn't exist, and things that don't really make sense in the first place. Did anything truly make sense anymore, though?

1x1x1x1 shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm making a secret recipe. One that I made up. It's…" He paused, contemplating his options. 1x1x1x1 wasn't really sure how receptive (Y/N) would be hearing the list of weird materials- errr, 'ingredients'- in the stew.

No. Best to keep that to himself. The specifics could wait. "Just some local ingredients. Like…uh…"

1x1x1x1 paused, wondering what he could say. Eventually he just cleared his throat, settling on dodging the question entirely. "It's almost done. Don't worry about it."

He turned back to the stove, carefully stirring the dark, viscous liquid. With the way he hunched over the burner it kind of looked like he was a witch making a potion of unimaginable evils. And the broth kind of made it look like a potion of unimaginable evils too. But...that wasn't the case. It was just a meal. A really…really questionable meal, sure. But a meal nonetheless.

As 1x1x1x1 stirred, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of warmth. Of comfort. There was a certain aura that (Y/N) had, one that put him at ease. It made him feel...alive. In a way that the mindless slaughter he'd become so partial to never could.

"…like…I'm not eating dead people, am I?" (Y/N) asked, clearly joking but still having a slightly suspicious edge to their tone. They sent a sidelong glance to the killers sitting across the table from them, squinting slightly before turning their gaze back to 1x1x1x1. Their spawn halo spun slowly above their head, as if it was reacting to their emotions and reflecting their somewhat accusatory thoughts.

"Don't get me wrong! I'll still eat it anyway! But like…you know…I like knowing what I'm eating. It's up to you, though! You don't need to tell me what's in it. Just…curious, is all." (Y/N) then backtracked quickly, waving their hands with a nervous grin as they shook their head and huffed softly. It was simultaneously kind of funny and cute how much they wished to not hurt 1x1x1x1's feelings despite him being…well, the manifestation of Shedletsky's hatred.

1x1x1x1 blinked slowly, his single red eye flickering as he processed (Y/N)'s question. For a moment, he considered folding and just telling them the actual list of ingredients he had used to create this culinary abomination.

Instead, a smirk spread across his face. Not one of genuine malice, just playfulness. Perhaps even a hint of teasing. It was genuinely odd for the other killers to see 1x1x1x1 acting like this, but nobody dared voice these thoughts aloud. "Wouldn't you like to know?" 1x1x1x1 replied simply, snorting quietly as he did so.

He turned to face (Y/N) fully for a moment, the crossing his arms over his chest and squinting at (Y/N) in a clearly joking manner. The chains hanging from his frame clinked softly together with the movement. "It's a super secret recipe, (Y/N). I can't just tell you when the other killers could overhear…"

His gaze drifted to the killers sitting nearby, his face genuinely falling for a moment as he scowled at them. The others were minding their own businesses, trying to avoid 1x1x1x1's ire (nobody wanted to deal with a pissy manifestation of hatred, after all).

Turning back to (Y/N), 1x1x1x1's smile returned as he chuckled at them. "I can assure you, older sibling, that there aren't any wayward souls present in my cooking. At least, not that I'm aware of." He then deliberately paused, jokingly letting the tension rise for a moment as he leaned in conspiratorially."Don't worry. It won't bite."

His tone was joking, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity to it. 1x1x1x1's attempt at being comforting was a bit misplaced, but that didn't mean that (Y/N) couldn't appreciate it at least a little bit.

"…'not that you're aware of' implies that you don't know what you're cooking with…" (Y/N) mumbled, although they lost that train of thought when c00lkidd clambered onto their lap and starting begging for their attention. They dutifully turned their attention to the boy now sitting on their lap, thinking for a moment before offering to play Rock, Paper, Scissors with c00lkidd, chuckling softly at his eagerness to play.

(Y/N) had managed to collect another younger brother after being introduced to the killers, that being c00lkidd. He found them utterly fascinating for some reason, and (Y/N) was more than happy to indulge in c00lkidd's little games and roughhousing (although 1x1x1x1 absolutely detested it whenever his older sibling engaged in said roughhousing, worried they'd get injured or worse).

…c00lkidd was lucky that 1x1x1x1 actually thought he was silly and somewhat tolerable, otherwise he might've personally strangled the little boy for taking up so much of his precious sibling's attention.

1x1x1x1 watched as (Y/N) played with c00lkidd, a strange feeling stirring in his chest. Jealousy? No, that couldn't be right. He didn't get jealous. At least, never in this sense.

But seeing his sibling so happily going along with c00lkidd's whims, almost like they were pretending that they were actually related to the little red idiot. Playing with that little brat like they were best friends, hell, he'd seen them comforting c00lkidd after the little boy had a nightmare! It pissed him off. Irrationally so.

1x1x1x1 shook his head, banishing the thoughts. No. He couldn't be mad, not at that…his childhood might've been ripped out of his hands, but that didn't necessarily mean that c00lkidd deserved the same treatment.

Besides, c00lkidd was unfortunately cute. In an annoying, obnoxious, hyperactive way. But it was clear that the kid had grown on him. Only a tiny bit. He would never admit that he was beginning to tolerate and maybe even like c00lkidd.

1x1x1x1 shook his head, focusing back onto the absurdity that he called a meal. It was thick, viscous, and had mystery chunks suspended in its black depths. It actually kind of looked like tar. 1x1x1x1 blinked, now having second thoughts about serving this to his sibling…before shaking off his hesitance and pouring a few bowls of it for himself and the others.

The bowls clinked as he set them down on the table, and he noticeably placed down (Y/N)'s bowl more carefully. As he did so, he heard the sound of c00lkidd giggling loudly. 1x1x1x1 rolled his eyes, suppressing a sigh. The kid was insufferable…not as bad as the others, since his behavior was entirely innocent and unintentional, but it still pissed 1x1x1x1 off.

Even with the gentle placement the dark liquid sloshed slightly, threatening to spill over the sides. It actually started bubbling when it finally settled, steaming and uh…looking slightly inedible. Only slightly. Only a little bit.

"Here," he said, his voice gruff. "Eat up. Before it gets cold."

He sat down across from them, eyeing his own bowl suspiciously. He wasn't even sure if it was any good, or if it was even food in the first place…but he hoped (Y/N) would like it. They had good taste, both in food and in people.

1x1x1x1 glanced up at his sibling, catching their eye. "Enjoy. Please."

(Y/N) held 1x1x1x1's gaze, staring at him with furrowed brows and a strained smile. They glanced between the bowl and their younger brother before taking in a deep breath, and he couldn't tell whether or not they were holding in laughter or were about to start crying. It truly was a 50/50 with (Y/N). "…1x…I love you…but…are you trying to feed me petroleum?"

The question hung in the air, mostly joking…but the part that was serious sounded genuinely a bit grossed out by the thought of trying the uh…the soup. Yes, soup, that's…definitely what it was.

c00lkidd held no such reservations. He'd eaten 1x1x1x1's cooking before- hell, the kid enjoyed it. So when he noticed (Y/N)'s hesitation he started digging into the bowl that 1x1x1x1 had served them, happily chowing down on the slop as (Y/N) watched with an expression that could only be described as aghast.

1x1x1x1 blinked slowly at (Y/N)'s question, his single red eye flickering. Petroleum? Hardly. He may be a monster, but he wasn't trying to kill his own sibling. Not intentionally, at least.

He watched as (Y/N) eyed the bowl of soup suspiciously, seeing their expression bordering on being sick. Even 1x1x1x1 had to admit, it didn't look appetizing. At all. It certainly did look like petroleum with chunks of [MYSTERY INGREDIENT] inside of it, but he was also pretty confident in his cooking. c00lkidd liked it, why wouldn't (Y/N)?

1x1x1x1 glanced over at c00lkidd, who was happily slurping away at the stew of insurmountable evil. The boy's enthusiasm was genuinely amusing, especially since the other killers gave him a 'look' before reluctantly pretending to eat. 1x1x1x1 turned back to (Y/N), a dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"No, not petroleum," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "I've already told you, it's a secret recipe. How many times must I repeat myself, dear sibling?" He paused, then added with a shrug, "Don't worry, c00lkidd seems to like it well enough."

He watched as (Y/N) hesitated, still not reaching for their spoon. He could see the conflict in their eyes, the way that their emotions were a confusing tangle of love for him and their revulsion at the thought of tasting his cooking.

1x1x1x1 reached across the table, tapping his finger against the wood next to the ceramic object with a small, pleading frown."Try it," he coaxed softly. "I made some for you, after all. Don't waste my cooking."

There was a strange undercurrent to his voice, subtly begging his older sibling to at least acknowledge the attempt at pleasing them. Almost like he was asking them to accept this strange and heavily fumbled attempt at expressing affection.

He watched them intently, his eye boring into theirs. Waiting. Hoping. For them to take a chance on his food. On his cooking. On...him.

"I…" Oooooh…(Y/N) couldn't bring themself to deny the meal now. Not with 1x1x1x1's gaze and urging, and they gently pulled their bowl away from c00lkidd to at least have a taste of it.

With a lot more hesitance than really necessary (in 1x1x1x1's eyes, at least), they slowly picked up their spoon and brought a spoonful of the mystery sludge up to their mouth. It looked like (Y/N) was physically struggling to tamp down their self-preservation skills before they finally bit the bullet and shoved the spoonful into their mouth, shutting their eyes tightly and swallowing as fast as possible to reduce the chances of them coughing up the concoction.

It took a moment, but a small shudder ran through their body, and everybody at the table genuinely expected (Y/N) to get sick on themself. They just sat there silently for a few moments, halo spinning wildly over their head and eyes shut tightly.

Eventually they silently set their spoon back down, pushing the bowl back towards c00lkidd and sitting there with their eyes still closed…it kind of looked like they were lamenting all of the choices that had led up to this moment.

"It's…something." (Y/N) finally wheezed out, genuinely having a coughing fit the moment their mouth opened. They finally opened their eyes, tears pricking the corners as they glanced back at 1x1x1x1 with guilt. "…sorry. Just ahhh…not…not my taste…you know…?"

1x1x1x1 watched as (Y/N) struggled to choke down the spoonful of his special soup, their face contorting in a mix of revulsion and determination. He could see the battle playing out across their features - the war between their love for him and their gag reflex's desperate pleas for mercy.

When (Y/N) finally managed to swallow the uh…chunky oil, basically, 1x1x1x1 felt a perverse sense of pride swell in his chest. They had done it. They had eaten something he had made specifically for them. Even if they had looked like they were going to retch their lungs out in the process.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched (Y/N) recover from their near death experience. If it was anybody else 1x1x1x1 would've been calling them pathetic or a weakling, but in this case he felt a pang of guilt follow his initial pride. They looked like they were genuinely suffering. Oops.

When (Y/N) spoke, their voice hoarse and strained, 1x1x1x1 felt another wave of sadness flow through him. His cooking wasn't something that would agree with (Y/N), it was something that he knew deep down would be true. He was also 90% sure that the only reason why c00lkidd liked his cooking was because the boy couldn't taste for shit anymore, but that was an entirely different can of worms to open…

Still, hearing them say that it wasn't to their liking stung more than he thought it would. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he stared at (Y/N) intensely.

"I see," he murmured, his single red eye glinting in the dim glow of the overhead ceiling light. "Well...I'm glad you tried it." His voice was low, almost gentle. Like he really did appreciate the attempt, even if he was hurt by it too. "Everyone's taste is different, after all."

He glances over at c00lkidd, watching as the boy gleefully slurped up the last of the soup, not a care in the world. His gaze lingers on the child for a long moment before flicking back to (Y/N).

"Just...tell me what you did and didn't like about it," he encouraged quietly, almost looking visibly reluctant to ask. "I want to improve. For you." His gaze bored into theirs, like he was trying to read their very soul for answers and pry them out forcefully.

(Y/N)'s eyes widened when 1x1x1x1 said that, and they fell utterly silent as they glanced away. Clearly they had…comments to make. But instead they bit their tongue, content with attempting to not hurt their younger brother's feelings…

At least, that was until they remembered that c00lkidd was eating this too. They weren't aware of the fact that c00lkidd's tastebuds didn't work anymore, but they were certain that they didn't want the little fella getting an upset stomach trying to eat motor oil for breakfast.

With that realization, their gaze hardened as they glanced back at 1x1x1x1 with a frown. They opened their mouth to say something, closed it, schooled their expression into something far more gentle, and then reopened their mouth to talk to their younger brother in an almost playful manner. "You know…I could just teach you how to cook my way, right? When you were a little bitty I was the one that cooked for you, not Shedletsky…he was always too lazy to…or he was off doing 'important business'…"

(Y/N)'s offer might've been upsetting to anybody else's egos, but it was surprisingly well-received by 1x1x1x1. The memories of their cooking were not lost to time…especially their signature chicken noodle soup. That was just…chef's kiss.

1x1x1x1 felt a flicker of something warm and nostalgic stir in his chest at the mention of (Y/N)'s offer. Memories of his lovely childhood before Shedletsky fucked it all up resurfaced, the pure and loving soul that embodied (Y/N). He remembered the way Poinsettia's cooking had tasted, the comforting, homey flavors that had filled the old (but still massive) kitchen. 1x1x1x1 also remembered adamantly refusing to be taught how to cook by (Y/N), and he cringed at the memory before shaking it off with a sigh.

He leaned forward, his single red eye widening slightly as he searched (Y/N)'s face for any sign of joking or deceit. But there was none, only a genuine and loving offer, tinged with a hint of playful teasing. It made him feel warm, a gentle heat that spread through his chest and soothed the anger in his bones, even if only temporarily.

"You...remember that?" 1x1x1x1 asked softly, sounding unconvinced of the fact that (Y/N)'s mind still managed to linger on the gentle memories of their past. "I...almost forgot." Almost forgot the simple joys of childhood, the little moments of happiness and innocence prior to his seemingly endless suffering.

1x1x1x1 glanced over at c00lkidd, watching as the boy gleefully slurped up the last of his stew. The child seemed oblivious to the weight of their conversation, far too focused on literally cleaning his bowl out to notice the sadness that seemed to have suddenly enveloped 1x1x1x1.

Turning back to (Y/N), 1x1x1x1 felt his throat tighten with unspoken words and longing to fix the past. He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge that unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling. It threatened to remind him of the fact that he could never go back, he'd never be the same again…

"I...would like that," 1x1x1x1 managed to choke out, finally looking down to his entirely untouched bowl of soup taunting him from the table.

"I'll take up your offer this time, sibling." He glanced back up at (Y/N), his eye glinting with a tentative hope. "I know that I've got a long way to go…but I'll do it for you." It was a small admission, but a significant one for a creature like him. It was the first loving words he'd said in a long, long while.

~

*feeds you motor oil*

I refuse to believe the propaganda that 1x can cook. he burns down the kitchen. no. nothing else. his main (and only) dish that he can cook is the 'Sludge Supreme' and literally only one person has the capacity to enjoy it (c00lkidd).

also (Y/N) is collecting family like Pokémon. protective and loving older sibling aura is too strong.

Ilya Rozanov lays over top of him, panting into his mouth, and every point of contact between their two bodies burns so violently, Shane might as well have laid himself across a bed of hot coals.

His heart slams against his ribs hard enough that he’s convinced Ilya must be able to feel the reverberation from where he’s groping Shane’s tit over the top of his muscle tee with one strong palm. When Ilya licks into his mouth, his head starts spinning into the stratosphere. He can’t even stop a moan from ripping from his throat straight into Ilya’s mouth as the other man scrapes a single nail over his quickly pebbling nipple. Ilya smiles so hard that he breaks the kiss, humming pleasantly.

“Such pretty noises,” he murmurs, twisting the nipple in his hand. Shane writhes, his breath caught in his throat, and Ilya pets his hair in a way that would be almost condescending if Shane’s cock wasn’t so hard that he’s got a single neuron concerned about the potential mess he might make in his shorts in T-minus three minutes.

In half-baked attempt to gain the upper-hand, Shane fumbles for Ilya’s hips and pulls him down with a desperate grip, bucking his own hips up to grind against the hard line of Ilya’s cock in his sweatpants. Ilya groans, ducking his head down into the crook of Shane’s neck.

His grasp on the situation doesn’t last long with the way Ilya rolls his hips down with precision. Shane chokes on his own breath, throwing his head back. Maybe he’s better off just taking it. Maybe that’s just his role in all this. Ilya takes the extra space to run his nose up and down the delicate skin. Shane’s chest stutters but some part of him must still demand control because his hand flies up, gripping the back of Ilya’s neck and scruffing, hard.

Without a second thought, Ilya grabs his wrist and moves Shane’s hand into his hair. “No, no, mister Alpha,” he scolds lowly, mouthing at the juncture between Shane’s shoulder and the base of his neck, setting Shane’s hand into his curls, “you are not in control here.”

“Sorry,” Shane gasps, screwing his eyes tight and letting his Omega maneuver him freely. “Sorry, sorry, I know- I know we- fuck-”

“Sweet boy,” Ilya murmurs, teasing his teeth across Shane’s gland. Sickly-sweet pheromones pulse into the air in time with the pulse of his dick pressing against Ilya’s thigh and his voice cracks with the high-pitched whine that rips from his throat. “My sweet, sweet boy,” Ilya croons, “he listens so well to me. He learns so quickly.”

“Bite me, please- oh my God-”

Ilya chuckles, gently pinching skin between his teeth before letting it snap back against the bone. Not enough to leave a mark or break the skin, but enough to make his head dizzy from the blood rushing to his dick. He has zero idea how Ilya is keeping it together, is so glad to be underneath. Ilya licks across the pseudo-bite soothingly, palming a tit at the same time. Shane clenches his jaw together as another squeaky whine threatens to worm its way out, but he can’t stop his head from lolling back across the pillows with a relieved groan.

With no warning, Ilya’s head lifts and Shane blinks blearily at the loss of contact. “Huh?”

A hand shoots up, releasing the comforting hold on his chest, to grip Shane’s face between his thumb and his first two fingers. Ilya looks startlingly stern and Shane’s heart sinks. “Did I…do something?” he asks cautiously, starting to pull his hand out of Ilya’s hair. The other man doesn’t say anything, but his stare somehow gets more intense. “Look, I’ll fix it, I will, just please tell-”

Ilya’s fingers squeeze, forcing Shane’s jaw down and forbidding any further words. He tilts his head as he considers Shane and Shane so desperately wants to shrink away and bask in the attention simultaneously. Ilya leans in close, squeezing his fingers closer and opening Shane’s mouth further. The proximity brings their cocks closer together and Ilya rocks their hips and there’s nothing Shane can do to stop the shocked, garbled moan from leaving his mouth. He rolls together again, harder, and another choked sound escapes. Ilya presses their foreheads close and tugs Shane’s swollen bottom lip into his mouth, but his grip refuses to budge. There’s a small wet pop as Ilya lets Shane’s lip go, but he doesn’t move an inch. “You make beautiful sounds,” he says lowly, his voice a crackly gorgeous imitation of the growl Shane could never accomplish. “You will not hide these pretty sounds for me, yes?”

Shane’s eyes fall shut, and he nods frantically. He squirms, gasping as his dick drags against Ilya’s leg and he ruts pathetically, chasing the friction. Ilya’s thighs clamp down, forcing Shane’s lower body still. His eyes roll a little too far into the back of his head at the denial and he’s convinced his whole body pulses with arousal. Ilya doesn’t relent, pressing his fingers harder into Shane’s cheeks. “Did you hear me, принцесса? Do you promise to be a good Alpha for me? Make pretty Alpha sounds?”

Tears well up behind Shane’s eyelids and he nods again. Ilya lets go just enough for Shane to eek out “yes, Omega,” and the other man groans loudly, sealing their mouths together and rutting into Shane’s lap with single-minded focus.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Ilya says in the rare moments they break apart for air. “You drive me insane, you have no idea-”

A hand trails down Shane’s torso, rucking up his muscle tee up and over his chest and nailing kiss after wet kiss down Shane’s face and neck until he wraps his lips around Shane’s left nipple and sucks hard.

“Fuck!” Shane exclaims, yanking Ilya’s curls tight in his hand as the sensation zaps like lightening from his chest down to his toes. Ilya groans around the nipple and Shane’s chest heaves. Ilya’s head bobs up and down with his breathes, slurping noisily before switching to the other nipple and diving in with equal intensity. “Oh my God, oh God, you have to fuck me now, please, you haven’t even touched me-”

Ilya lets go of Shane’s nipple with a harsh pop, smiling deviously. “Are you that desperate?”

“Yes, damnit, I know you know that.”

Ilya settles his chin on Shane’s chest, peering up at him through his long, golden eyelashes. Shane’s heart stutters. “Desperate for my Omega cock?”

Shane chokes and his cheeks burn – he forces himself to look away. Ilya’s hand snaps out, grabbing him by the chin, and pulling him back to center. “No, no, do not deny it,” he pouts, sticking out his lip dramatically. Shane tries to pull away, whining slightly, but Ilya knows better and holds on tighter. The façade turns on a dime and he leans in close. “Say it, Shane,” he says, his tone deathly serious. “Say that you are desperate for my cock, for an Omega to bend you over and fuck you until you cry-”

Shane breaks almost instantly, the words bursting from his lips without any control. “Yes, okay, fine! I’m desperate! I’m an Alpha and I can’t get off unless my Omega fucks me in half, so if he could please just do that already-”

Ilya surges forward and gives one single harsh bite to Shane’s most prominent scent gland, forcing Shane to cut himself off with a whine that cracks his voice in two, before pulling Shane’s shirt up and over his head and reaching with haste for his waistband.

“All you have to do is ask, моя любовь, you just have to ask,” Ilya pants into Shane’s skin, wiggling Shane’s running shorts and boxers down his legs. Shane’s cock slips out with ease, already streaked with a truly ludicrous amount of precum. Ilya doesn’t even look at his cock, ignores it completely, in favor of stripping himself of his sleep shirt and sweatpants. He tosses everything off the side of the bed; Shane makes a noise of concern (everything will be so wrinkled later-) but quickly finds himself distracting by something wet and slimy dripping down onto his thighs.

Ilya’s thighs bracket Shane’s as Ilya sits as straight up on his knees as he can. His cock, inches smaller than Shane’s, is purple at the tip and hard and just as wet as his hole must be, given the way his inner thighs glisten in the light of Shane’s bedside lamp. Shane’s mouth goes dry, and he inhales through his mouth heavily, soaking in the scent of Ilya’s arousal that’s starting to choke the air out of the room. His hands lay at his sides, clenching and unclenching. He can only touch when his Omega says he can. He has to be a good Alpha, a good, sweet boy for his partner. He has to, he has to.

His heart beats to the rhythm of this mantra as Ilya looms over him and strokes his own cock once, twice, letting the precum drip down onto Shane’s pubic mound. It tangles in his pubes, mixes with his own wetness, and Shane swallows audibly. The urge to swipe his fingers through it and stick them in his mouth is too high. The likelihood of him passing out soon, equally high.

“Are you ready for me, принцесса?” Ilya asks, stroking himself slowly.

“Always,” Shane croaks.

“Do you want me to get you open?”

“Always.”

Ilya grins, letting go of his cock and reaching his hands towards Shane’s knees, pulling them up and pushing them back to expose Shane’s hole. “My pleasure.”

The energy in the room immediately bursts and Shane snorts. “I’m never taking you to Chick-fil-a ever again.”

“It is a good phrase,” Ilya defends, pressing Shane’s legs back and maneuvering his hands to hold them in place. “I am very pleased to fuck you. It is my pleasure.”

“I can’t take you seriously when you say it.” Ilya raises an eyebrow. Shane frowns. “That was not meant to be a challenge. Please don’t make it a challenge.” (He kinda wants Ilya to turn it into a challenge).

“I will not turn it into a challenge. I am not so easily baited,” Ilya huffs, grabbing a random pillow and plumping it enough to shove under Shane’s hips. “But…” Ilya folds at the waist, his back flat in a way that Shane knows must be from Ilya joining him for yoga, and sucks the tip of Shane’s cock into his mouth. Shane inhales sharply and his eyes slam shut. He pulls off within a second, licking his lips noisily as he lifts back up. “I am very good at pleasure.”

“You are such an asshole,” Shane mutters. “Please, finger me already.”

“My pl-“

“Don’t say it.”

Ilya chuckles and Shane smiles to himself, relaxing further into the pillows behind him and below his hips. He expects the weight across his legs to shift as Ilya reaches for the lube in Shane’s bedside table, but Ilya mysteriously plants a hand on Shane’s chest and leans forward. Shane cracks open an eyelid and his jaw drops.

Ilya’s upper body is parallel to Shane’s own from the waist up, his left hand braced on Shane’s chest supporting most of his weight. Shane’s gaze trails up to Ilya’s face – his eyes are shut and his lips are pressed together firmly. His body rocks back into something Shane can’t see and Ilya pants gently, before swallowing a groan. He follows the motion of Ilya’s body, notes the way his right hand is reaching all the way beneath, the way Ilya’s thighs have spread so wide on the bed, and Shane’s mind goes blank.

Ilya is fingering himself above him.

This is new. That’s the one thing Shane can’t even begin to think about. They haven’t done this before. Barely tried the first time when figuring out the tab A-slot B dynamics between them before Ilya had shoved him onto his back and sucked the soul out from him through his dick. Shane tries to think about Ilya riding him and everything blue-screens from there. He’s got no possible idea where this is going from here.

His chest tightens, the unknown starting to scare more than excite him, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Ilya beats him to the punch. His partner sighs in satisfaction from above him, bringing his right hand forward and right to Shane’s exposed rim. Ilya presses his fingers to Shane’s hole and they’re- wet. Soaked. They are covered in Ilya’s own slick. His dick twitches fiercely against his stomach, adding to a growing puddle of precum.

Ilya’s eyes open, looking down at where he’s sliding one finger in and then up at Shane’s face when he gasps at the warm intrusion. It’s nothing like their cold, smooth lube. It’s warm, unnaturally so, and feels almost silky against his rim. “It’s good?” Ilya asks, and Shane looks up to see Ilya just barely worrying his lip between his teeth. Shane brings his head up, cupping Ilya’s cheek and bringing him down to kiss him firmly.

“’s so fucking hot,” he breathes, and Ilya huffs amused into his mouth, but his shoulders relax minutely. Pressing his forehead to Shane’s, Ilya rocks his finger in and out experimentally, before withdrawing completely and reaching back again. Shane watches with wide eyes as Ilya’s hand drags through the mess between his thighs and collects the slick he’s produced, the arousal that Shane has inspired, and drips it down between Shane’s two cheeks, fucking in what pools around Shane’s hole with two, gentle fingers.

Shane lets his head hang back, groaning softly. Ilya kisses along Shane’s chin, dipping down to just barely graze Shane’s swollen scent glands. “Fuck, you can’t do that, I will cum so fast,” Shane whines.

“I better hurry up then,” Ilya teases, pumping a third finger in and sucking the moan right out of Shane’s throat.

It’s a few minutes of this, with Ilya mouthing delightedly at Shane’s neck, nosing down to Shane’s nipples and then being yanked back up before Shane came from his tongue and fingers alone. Shane runs his hands up and down Ilya’s side, squirming against Ilya’s fingers and occasionally letting his leg fall to the side to tug at Ilya’s cock and spread his watery precum down his length. Ilya hums, letting his eyes fall shut, and fucks into Shane’s tight fist in time with his fingers. On the last pass, Ilya reaches in just a bit further, spreading his fingers out, and grazing Shane’s prostate. Shane’s tell-tale whine stutters out into the quiet space, his voice cracking as Ilya presses hard into it. “Please, please, please, please,” Shane begs, rocking into it and squeezing Ilya’s cock in turn. “Oh, fuck, Ilya-”

“I know, sweet boy, I know,” Ilya soothes and yet- he pulls his fingers out.

Shane whines loudly enough to be embarrassed and lets go of Ilya’s dick to fruitlessly to drag Ilya’s hand back to his hole. Ilya just laughs, pulling away completely to hold himself above Shane, and tuts mockingly. “Alphas will take what their Omegas give them,” he scolds. “Hands to yourself.”

“Please,” Shane gasps, his cock twitching. “Please keep touching me-”

Ilya, to his credit, keeps on firm, comforting grip on Shane’s thigh, as he adjusts his hips hovering above Shane’s. He sinks the fingers that he’d just had shoved deep into Shane’s ass directly into his own hole. The sound of it is so wet and obscene and Shane can’t hide his sharp inhale or the moan in the back of his throat. “God, you’re so hot,” he whispers and Ilya smiles, grinding against his fingers.

“Do you like this?” Ilya asks, his voice hitching as he presses deeper inside. “Your Omega above you like this?”

“Yes,” Shane gasps, staring wide-eyed up at Ilya, “yes, I love- I love you, please, please-”

Ilya surges forward, catching Shane’s mouth with his own. There’s a slick sound Shane can’t quite recognize, but he’s distracted by Ilya growling, “you are so fucking irresistible.” Shane grabs not the back of Ilya’s neck, but the mess of curls right above his scruffing point, and uses his free arm to push himself up and lick furiously into Ilya’s mouth. Ilya can’t stop speaking between their breaks for air, repeating “you drive me fucking crazy,” over and over and over. It’s a little bit of a headrush.

Shane breaks away, panting, and opens his mouth to say something, something affectionate or sexy or impatient, but the blunt, warm, wet head of Ilya’s cock presses against his hole and Shane’s brain whites out.

“Oh my God,” he keens and Ilya smiles smugly against Shane’s lips.

Without another word, he pushes in through the first ring of muscle. Shane wraps both arms around Ilya’s neck, grappling for whatever skin he can get his hands on. Ilya takes the chance to kiss down the wide open space of Shane’s neck and lave his tongue over the red and swollen scent gland. “Jesus, fuck, Ilya, if you don’t bite me-”

“Does the big Alpha want his Omega to bite him?” Ilya teases against his skin, sinking his dick another inch in. “Mark him up? Let everyone know who he belongs to?”

Shane’s nails sink into Ilya’s back and his teeth sink into his own bottom lip, trying desperately not to let out another pathetic, squeaky whine at the thought.

Ilya rocks his hips in a little further. “You didn’t answer, солнышко.”

“Fuck you,” Shane grits out, reaching his hands down and grabbing Ilya’s hips, trying to pull him closer.

“I think I am the one doing the fucking,” Ilya corrects, shifting his weight to one hand and uses the other one to pull Shane’s hands off his hips and press them against the pillows over Shane’s head. Shane’s chest heaves and Ilya presses a kiss just to the right of his scent gland right as he slides all the way in.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is their breathes, inhaling and exhaling in sync. Ilya keeps his nose tucked into Shane’s neck, his lips pressed against the skin. Shane shudders and his eyelids flutter shut, his whole body going boneless into the mattress as Ilya pets the soft skin of Shane’s wrist with one thumb. He feels so full.

“Is this okay?” Ilya asks softly.

Shane hums in affirmation, nodding. Ilya presses his thumb into Shane’s pulse, firm. “Words, Shane.”

“Yeah,” Shane responds breathless, twisting his neck just slightly to kiss the side of Ilya’s head. “You okay?”

Ilya lifts his head, his eyes soft and just a little wet in the corners, and noses Shane’s face gently. “Very okay.”

Shane takes the moment to smirk and clench around Ilya’s very warm, very hard dick snug in his ass and revels in his boyfriend’s punched out groan as Ilya drops his head back down into Shane’s neck. “Then get to it.”

“What,” Ilya growls, punctuating the start of his question with a roll of his hips and sending Shane’s eyes into the back of his head, “have I said about being in charge?”

“That I’m- hn- that I’m not-”

“Then why,” Ilya pulls out nearly all the way, before slamming his hips back in and Shane jolts up, “do you keep testing me?”

“I just- you’re so slow-” Shane tries, attempting nonchalant-ness despite panting heavily.

“Slow?” Ilya pulls his head up, raising an eyebrow. “You think I am slow?”

Shane’s wide-eyed and gasping in a way that is probably a little dumb-looking, but he just nods rapidly. “So slow.”

Ilya frowns. “We will see about that.”

Before Shane realizes what’s going on, Ilya’s pulled all the way out, grabbed him by the hips, and flipped him onto his stomach. His dick is squished between the mattress and his stomach and he can’t stop himself from rocking into the friction of the sheets. Ilya clicks his tongue in disapproval and hikes Shane’s hips up off the bed and pulling him back into Ilya’s pelvis. Ilya ruts his cock in between Shane’s cheeks, the head of his dick just barely catching Shane’s rim.

“Fuck, fuck me, please-” Shane gasps out, gripping the sheets with tight fists.

“Patience,” Ilya scolds, but there’s a deliciously slick sound as Ilya lets go of Shane’s hips to gather more arousal from between his legs and fist his cock with the handful of pure wet. When he grabs Shane again, his hands are covered in his own slick – warm and smooth. The head of his dick presses right up against Shane’s rim and before Shane can debase himself even further by begging for it, Ilya snaps his hips forward and sinks in

A crackly purr splits Shane’s chest in two, interrupted only by his pathetic, cracking Omega-esque whines every time Ilya pulls back and fucks all the way back in again. He can feel the way Ilya’s dick displaces his own slick from inside Shane’s hole, the way it drips down his thighs, mirroring Ilya’s own damp thighs. Shane’s dick is hanging heavy and painfully, bobbing every time Ilya fucks him into the bed. The sheets underneath are surely damp with how much precum he’s been leaking.

“You are so wet for me,” Ilya hisses, his own attempt at a growl underlying his words. “Such a good hole, so sweet for me.”

“Only for you,” Shane chokes out, “only- only for you, I’m yours-”

“All mine, sweet boy,” Ilya grits out, running a hand up Shane’s spine.

Shane arches into it, pushing back on Ilya’s cock. “Please let me touch myself,” Shane whispers. “Please- I can’t- I need to cum.”

“Oh, you need to, do you?” Ilya asks back, mockingly. He reaches around to Shane’s front, draping across Shane’s back and grasping the base of cock where his knot pops. Shane’s eyes roll back, his hips stuttering forwards, unsure which path of pleasure to follow. Ilya noses along Shane’s neck, whispering in his ear, “you need to be touched?”

“Yes- yes, please, fuck, Ilya.” Shane tries to fuck into Ilya’s hand, but his grip on his cock is too tight.

He can feel Ilya smiling against his skin and he thinks for a moment that maybe he’s convinced him, before Ilya nips Shane’s earlobe with a harsh “no” and letting go of his cock completely.

“Wait, no- Ilya, please-”

“Take what you get,” Ilya teases, pulling away and rutting slow and deep into Shane, leaving him writhing against the sheets. “You come on my Omega cock, with my slick in you, or not at all.”

“No- please,” Shane cries, tears welling up, “please, I can’t-”

“You can and you will,” Ilya snaps. “I know you can. You want to be my sweet boy, no? My sweet Alpha?”

Shane screws his eyes tight, burying his face in the mattress. “Fuck. Yes. Yes, I want to be your sweet boy,” he sobs, clenching tight around Ilya’s dick.

Ilya sucks in a breath between his teeth. “My sweet boy,” he whispers, before resuming a breakneck pace.

The headboard slams against the wall and the bed creaks beneath their weight. Every thrust is accompanied with Shane’s punctuated whines and Ilya pants with the exertion, their sweat and precum and slick mingling between them as Ilya fucks deeper and deeper into him.

The pleasure of it all pools in Shane’s gut, building and tightening and pulling him, his body, his mind taut until he’s a string ready to snap. It all comes to a head when Ilya shifts Shane’s hips higher, reaching further inside him, and slamming directly into his prostate. He can’t see it, but Shane knows the smirk that must be on Ilya’s face as Shane sobs into the sheets, his cock and mouth drooling messily. Ilya’s grip tightens and he miraculously picks up the pace, targeting that spot over and over until the string is pulled tighter and tighter, Shane’s whines go higher and higher in pitch, and it all snaps.

“Fuck, I’m- I’m gonna cum, please, oh God-” Shane begs, already far too late to stop anything as it happens.

“Come on, Hollander, you can do it,” Ilya grits out. Shane whines, shaking his head, and Ilya growls, using one hand to pull Shane’s head to the side and surging up to bite down hard along Shane’s pulsing, swollen scent gland.

The spark of pain shoots down to Shane’s dick and he chokes on his own spit as his brain whites out and he cums into the wet puddle of pre he’s already left in their sheets. His whole body bears down, his hole clenching tight around Ilya’s cock, and Ilya gasps wretchedly, pulling out and jerking off frantically over top Shane’s hole.

“No- no, please, inside me,” Shane begs, still shaking as his cock continues to twitch and drip, and groans loudly as Ilya fucks back into him, pumping hot, watery cum into Shane’s ass and panting wet and hard into his skin.

They stay like this for several long minutes, panting and desperately trying to catch their breath. The sheer euphoria slowly leeches from his body, but Shane’s brain is still left blissfully blank. There is nothing to him beyond the delicious exhaustion in every limb of his body and the warm pressure of Ilya draped across his back, his soft cock still nestled deep inside.

The sweat and cum quickly cools around them, and Shane winces as it grows sticky on his skin. He turns his head, about to ask for a wet wipe, but Ilya’s a step ahead of him already, gently pulling out and padding off to the bathroom. The tap runs for a moment before Ilya appears again, a stack of soft, wettened wash clothes in hand. He kneels by the bed, setting the stack down, and using a cloth to wipe down around and in between Shane’s legs. He drags the cloth over Shane’s rim, sending a shiver of overstimulation down Shane’s spine, and presses a kiss against Shane’s hip as he presses harder against his rim.

“You cannot get me hard again,” Shane murmurs, half-warning, half-stating.

“I’m sure I could get you to do anything I wanted as long as you got to come like that again,” Ilya teases and Shane snorts.

Ilya makes quick work of cleaning himself up, hissing lightly as he wipes down over his own puffy hole, and discards the washcloths in a pile. The sheets quickly join them, Shane rolling over just enough for Ilya to maneuver the new ones back on around him.

“I have no idea how you’re moving right now,” Shane groans, taking great care to stretch out his limbs one at a time. “That was brutal.”

“That was fun,” Ilya corrects, tossing a final sheet into the pile and crawling back into bed next to his boyfriend. Shane is quick to curl into his side, nestling his head into Ilya’s chest and letting his eyes fall shut.

Ilya wraps a strong arm around him and pulls him in tight, kissing the top of his head.

“Your knot did not pop,” he remarks casually.

Shane peeks an eye open, peering down at himself. “Huh. Guess not.” He can almost feel Ilya’s wicked grin. “You’re gonna make this a thing, aren’t you,” he asks dryly.