One day at the cottage, Shane and Ilya wake up super early and they're both hard, so obviously they have lazy morning sex about it. Then they fall asleep and when they wake up again they go for round two, then a third one in the shower.
"Three rounds before breakfast," Shane comments while they're drying off. "That has to be a personal record."
As soon as he's said it, he and Ilya lock eyes, the same idea occurring to them both.
This is how they end up spending the whole day trying to wring as many orgasms out of each other as physically possible.
It's fun at first, a little bit aggressive in a playful way. They try out new positions and chirp each other ("That's five for me, try to keep up Hollander!") and just generally have a great time with it.
As it takes them longer and longer to get hard after each round, the mood shifts. They are nearly constantly touching and it should get to be too much, shouldn't it, but instead it's like something's been unlocked for them, a bottomless hunger kept at bay for years because they never had enough time to satiate it.
They have time now and they are gorging themselves. It's desperate, almost frenzied, and they're not even talking in between rounds anymore, too busy kissing every inch of each other they can reach.
Eventually, they start to get tired. They've been sore for hours and it's starting to get painful now, so again the mood shifts. The touches turn gentler. Ilya spoons Shane and fucks into him, hips just barely moving because it's painful for the both of them but neither one wants to stop.
That last round lasts forever and by the time they finally come, they're both crying. Shane turns around as soon as Ilya slips out of him, giving him the softest, most tender little kiss.
"I really don't wanna get up to shower," he mutters, the first clear words spoken by either of them in hours. "I don't know if I can even walk right now. This was a terrible idea."
Ilya laughs. "It was maybe not a good one," he agrees. "I think my dick might fall off."
"Mine too," Shane groans. He tucks his face in the crook of Ilya's neck, where he is warm and sticky with sweat. It would gross Shane out if he wasn't also sweaty all over. "At least we broke double digits."
"It was a worthy sacrifice."
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