rating: T | tags: soft middle-of-the-night happenings, cuddles, banter, domesticity
shane wakes in the night needing to pee. ilya is cuddling him from behind, one arm cushioning shane's neck and the other weighing down the dip of shane's waist, their legs criss-crossing and tangled in blankets. shane is loathe to move, but his bladder is full and insistent and he knows he won't be able to fall back asleep without dealing with it. so he begins the awful process of disentangling himself from ilya — unhooking an ankle from ilya's calf, removing a leg from between ilya's legs, lifting ilya's arm from his stomach. he does it all painstakingly slowly, not wanting to wake ilya, but his efforts prove futile. he's barely shifted away from ilya when he hears ilya inhale behind him, feels him stir.
sleepy hum, then, "shane?"
ilya's voice just woken up is like a dream. shane feels warm listening to it. the deep timbre of it. he finishes returning ilya's arm to him, though ilya seems unwilling to accept it, and looks over his shoulder as he does. in the dark he can make out only the broadest features of ilya's form—the bulk of his torso and the indistinct smudge of his soft curls. shane reaches in that direction and caresses his head briefly.
"just gonna go to the bathroom."
ilya grunts and sighs in one go, unhappy. shane leaves the bed. he shuts the en-suite door behind him quickly, not wanting the light to spill out for too long. the bathroom is blinding and cold after the bed and ilya's arms; shane rushes through his business, eager to return to both. before he comes back out he shuts the light off through a crack in the door.
as he approaches the bed again the slightly deeper dark of ilya's sleeping form moves. shane discerns a hand reaching out to him.
"come here," ilya mumbles. he sounds like half his mouth is squashed against the pillow. shane smiles, unseen by anyone. he begins climbing back in next to ilya, ducking under his outstretched arm.
"did you wait up for me?" he asks, settling onto his side facing ilya and pulling the blankets back over his lower half. ilya's arm comes around him, palm against his shoulder blades, and brings him in. shane snakes his arms around ilya's middle.
"yes," ilya says. "you take longest pisses in the fucking world."
"shut up, i take normal pisses." shane says this into ilya's neck, where the skin is thin and warm, and his heartbeat bumps up against shane's lips. all shane has to do is purse his lips to kiss him. he does. "you thought it was long because you missed me."
"yes," ilya says simply. shane lets ilya feel his smile. ilya shimmies down the bed a little, so shane's head is tucked more snugly between his chin and his shoulder, then slings one of his legs over both of shane's like a massive koala. shane really hopes he won't need to pee again until morning. ilya kisses shane's hair in several different places, quick and affectionate. mwah, mwah, mwah. then he settles down with a sigh.
"comfortable?" he asks. his voice is all around shane. shane hums.
"very comfortable."
"sleep?"
"sleep," shane agrees.
they do.
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TGISHOS (THANK GOD IT'S SUCK HIM OFF SUNDAY) 🙌 we're stepping directly into ilya's shoes for this one with some second person pov, mostly because i wanted the reader to have a specific visual of shane in mind as things are happening—the visual ilya would be treated to, up close and personal. perhaps this is a spiritual successor to my post about how unfair it is that ilya gets to fuck The shane hollander whenever he wants. i frequently imagine what it must be like to be so blessed. here is one particular imagining.
tags: blowjobs (obviously), facials, degradation (very light), second person pov, pov ilya rozanov
You're staring down the length of your body at Shane, who is kneeling naked at your feet—his hands behind his back, because that's where you told him to put them; his eyes unmoving from where your cock is nestled in your hand. The swollen tip of it hovers inches away from his pink, parted mouth. You readjust your grip just to see what happens when the head of your cock shifts to the side, and are rewarded by Shane subconsciously mirroring the movement, like a dog tracking its treat. You laugh low. Give yourself one long, unhurried pull.
"You want my cock, Shane?" you say, not really a question. Anyway he nods.
"Yes."
You hum. "How much?"
"So much." You swear he hasn't made eye contact with you since you took your underwear off. It's like when you're naked your cock becomes the window to your soul to him, instead of your eyes, and maybe there's truth to that. There's no hiding the way you harden there at Shane's proximity, no explaining away the precum that leaks in response to Shane's obedience. If he gets it right, he'll know. Shane likes knowing when he gets things right. "Ilya, I want it so much."
"You can be more specific than that," you murmur, and Shane whines.
"I—it's killing me, Ilya. I need you in my mouth now. Please. I'm so ready for you. I want you to fill me u—"
A heavy thwap cuts his pleading off definitively. Shane's eyes are wide and his mouth is frozen open. You can see a shiny smear of precum high on his cheek where you slapped your dick against it. Abruptly, he moans—apparently over his surprise. He's breathing heavily. He swallows, and you wait for him to say what he wants to say.
"Again," he says, in a small voice, and you groan.
"Shlyukha," you say, and swing your cock against his cheek again. This time his mouth falls all the way open at the impact, and seemingly before he can help himself he's turning his face against your cock, rubbing his cheek on it, mouthing along the vein on the underside. He looks absolutely gone. You curve your free hand around the crown of his head and fist your fingers in his hair, then tug him up to where you're throbbing at the head, nudging it against his bottom lip.
"Show me how much you want it, moy lyubimyy," you say.
For how eager he is he still starts with restraint, giving your head open-mouthed kisses, the same he'd give your mouth. You hiss softly at the feeling. His lips sliding soft around the head and his tongue moving almost curiously into the slit—as if he hasn't done this to you a hundred times. It's good, a teaser. But his patience only lasts so long. He pushes down further, and you moan deep in your chest.
"Fuck, like that, lyubimyy." Your hands aren't guiding anymore, just resting—one on the back of his head and the other over a warm, flushed cheek. Concentration pinches the skin between his eyebrows as he fucks your cock into his mouth. "You are so good at taking me. From front and back, hmm?" His rhythm stutters at that, and the moan he lets out vibrates down your entire length. You growl, low, and shunt your hips forwards. He gets the message. Keep going.
"Love your fucking mouth," you murmur. "Fuck. So fucking wet... you are drooling, Shane. So excited for your food? Hm?" He moans again, twice in quick succession, as if to say yes, yes. You laugh, but it's mostly air. "Bet your cock—is just as wet right now. Fuck... If you make a mess—hah—on the floor, you'll have to—clean it up."
Shane moans near-continuously now. Like he's the one getting blown to pieces. But the orgasm is coalescing behind your cock, drawing your balls in. You gasp, and grab Shane by the hair at the back of his head, and pull him off urgently. A delicate string of spit bridges the sudden gap between his bottom lip and your cock. Your fist takes over from his mouth, blurring with the ferocity of the movement, and for the first time since you began Shane looks up at your face. His eyes are sheened with tears. I love the face you make when you're coming, he said once. It's so fucking hot.
But there isn't time for that. "Close your eyes," you grit out, and he does, immediately. Because he's a good boy. The best.
He trembles as your cum paints his face. Some does go over his eye, catching in his lashes. Some lands across and in his gasping mouth. Beautifully, most ends up over his cheeks and his nose. When you're done, you reach a hand out and rub it into his skin, right over his freckles. He hums contentedly. So good.
"Okay," you say, lazily, noting the way his hands are still behind his back—you don't think he moved them for even a second. So, so good. "You can touch yourself now."
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