disinterest practiced, but incomplete

picturing Shane pulling out his ornate little box for their now annual tradition and Ilya rewarding him with deep kisses. Ilya guiding him to his knees, pressing his cock between his lips. He needs Shane nice and hard for this to work and he knows it won't take long for him to be ready for him like this.

Before long, Ilya pulls him off and Shane shuffles back, obediently getting into position. His face is slick with spit and his eyes are blissed out, pupils like planets. Ilya will never get tired of seeing his Shane transform like that so quickly. The way his touch is such a potent drug to him, stronger than anything Ilya has ever tried — and he's tried a lot. He can't help but picture how Shane would respond to even the smallest taste of the hard stuff.

Dangerous to have those kinds of ideas when you have the tools at your disposal to test them out.

Ilya reverently retrieves the baggie and methodically empties its contents into a messy line along Shane's untouched cock. Shane whimpers at the light brush of fingers and plastic, desperate for the sensation but holding himself back from begging for more because this is supposed to be Ilya's birthday gift, not Shane's.

Perfect. Ilya pounces at the opening.

"Look at you so desperate for it. Can't even let me enjoy my birthday gift in peace hm? Need to be touched so bad? Is my special day and now you need a gift? Need to be treated like the stupid slut you are?" It's needlessly cruel but, well, it is his birthday.

Shane stifles another pathetic little sound by biting down on his lip hard before he braves speaking. "N—no. 'sfor you Ilya."

"What. Is?" Ilya lets Shane's cock rest on the palm of his hand. Not enough support to actually keep it still, but enough to remind Shane that any movement would ruin the gift he so generously prepared for him. He watches Shane's face twist as he tries to find his focus, tries to stop his body from writhing and trembling at the contact.

"Mm — me. I'm all for — for you," he forces through gritted teeth.

Ilya's cock seems to hear it before his ears have the opportunity, and he strains to keep his face neutral as he tries to push the rising heat within him back down. It's clear he can't keep this up for much longer.

"Look at you. Is all a little much yes?" He doesn't wait for a response, satisfied with Shane's desperate gasping. "Is okay. Here, I help."

Ilya feeds his middle two fingers into Shane's mouth, marveling at the immediate relief that washes over his face. He watches in wonder as his flush deepens and his eyes roll shut as he sucks his digits deeper. Ilya might be the luckiest man alive.

As beautiful as it is to behold, Ilya can already feel a stream of precum dribbling down his forearm, and he doesn't think Shane can keep this up much longer without spoiling his present. He hopes he's done enough to make this work.

Ilya extracts his fingers and picks up the baggie.

"Sweetheart, come here," he croons sweetly. "Come help me clean up, I want to make the most of your gift."

Shane's eyes blink open and he shifts his weight slowly onto one arm, keenly aware of how precariously "his gift" is resting between his legs. He takes the bag as instructed and holds it, allowing himself to be guided into position. Ilya sticks a wet finger into the bag, scouring the clear plastic for any remaining residue.

Once satisfied, Ilya lets the bag fall to the bed and inspects his returns. That should do.

Ilya lowers himself towards Shane's cock slowly.

As if on cue, Shane whimpers.

Ilya freezes and looks up, eyes fixed on his husband's perfect ruined face. The panic is written plainly in his eyes, as if he has committed a felony, not played straight into Ilya's hands.

"Shhhhh." Ilya raises his coke-covered fingers back to Shane's mouth and revels in the moan that escapes as he pushes them between his lips. Perfect.