Work Text:
It’s something he never thought they’d do.
Not that he had anything against it, but it's just not what they did. Not what they do.
And that was fine with Shane. Was because now he’s considering if maybe he’s been missing out all along.
He stares in between Ilya’s spread legs— splayed open with both of Ilya’s hands under the crook of his knees. Stares at Ilya’s hard cock leaking against his muscled abdomen and his tight balls pulled up over a perfect, pink furled hole framed in a smattering of golden curls.
It beckons to Shane. He never thought it would, but then he and Ilya had accepted an invitation to dinner with the other Homo Hockey Avengers, a term coined by Wyatt Hayes, and had listened to the group describe the wonders of topping.
For most of it, Shane had tuned them out. He and Ilya were comfortable in their dynamics and, to Shane, there was nothing like a prostate stimulated orgasm.
It’s not that he had no desire to fuck Ilya. He wanted to do everything with him. Give himself entirely, take Ilya wholly. But he was more than satisfied with what they were doing and why fix something that wasn’t broken?
But then Ilya joined in the conversation. Not in itself all that surprising; he was very open and explicit about sex in a way Shane wasn’t.
It was what he said that had shocked Shane and carried him home silently.
When they’d arrived, Ilya deposited the keys in the little bowl Shane had made for him in a pottery class he took with Rose and turned on him.
“Okay. What is the issue?”
Shane turned away, his cheeks burning. “I don’t have an issue.”
Ilya didn’t answer and when Shane looked at him he was faced with a disbelieving, unimpressed stare.
“Hollander.”
“Don’t Hollander me, asshole,” Shane huffed and, perhaps petulantly, stomped away. He was yanking off his scarf and unbuttoning his shirt when he’d felt two strong arms wrap around his waist.
“Sweetheart,” a gentle, tender kiss to the hinge of Shane’s jaw had him melting a little into the embrace and tilting his neck to allow Ilya more access to the sensitive flesh. “Let me into that head of yours.”
“You let Sasha fuck you.”
The kisses paused halfway down his neck, which Shane is sure was flushing hot in embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out that way, but he’d been stewing over it for the last hour.
“Yes,” Ilya responded slowly, his mouth open against Shane’s pulse point. “So?”
“So?”
Shane turned in Ilya’s arms so quickly it made Ilya stumble back with his mouth parted and his eyes wide.
“I’ve never fucked you.”
“Yes, Hollander, because you are greedy fucking bottom. I don’t understand. Why are you mad? Because of something I did so long ago, before we even met? Is not fair.”
“It’s not that,” Shane hissed. “It’s…”
He wasn’t sure what to say. Everything sounded a little ridiculous once that he’d started throwing a fit over it.
He’s not upset that Ilya has had past lovers. If anything, Shane is grateful to them because someone had to teach Rozanov to do that with his tongue. And Shane had his own share of sexual experiences outside of their encounters. So it's not that.
How does he explain that the thought of someone else knowing more about Ilya than Shane makes him so angry? Somewhere out there, Sasha remembers how tight and hot and wet Ilya was for him. He knows the sounds Ilya made; the first gasp of being opened around a thick cock, the quiet moans with each drag along his prostate.
He and Ilya had experimented with fingers and tongue, but that was something Shane had usually let Ilya come to him for. He never assumed he wanted it outside of a blue moon.
How does Shane tell Ilya he’s angry with himself—because what if he’s been missing all the times Ilya had wanted it and didn’t ask for it? Ilya had given Shane everything, gives him everything still, and it makes Shane—
“Oh my god,” Ilya laughed, which was probably the worst thing for him to do. Shane’s eyes narrowed and his stomach soured defensively. “You are jealous!”
Oh.
That was the word, the simplest of terms for the tightening he’d felt in his chest.
Feeling embarrassed and not wanting to expose his shame face to Ilya, he tried to brush past his boyfriend’s shoulder and escape to the bathroom; only to be caught by a gentle hand on his bicep.
He allowed Ilya to pull him to his chest and closed his eyes at the feeling of soft breath across his cheek.
“Stop it. Am not making fun of you. I understand, moy lyubimyy.”
Shane turned his face to try and gauge Ilya’s reaction with his own expression of doubt. Ilya’s face was open and gentle and soft the way it only is when he’s looking at Shane. His hazel eyes were filled with earnestness, with fondness.
It gave Shane the bravery to swallow around a lump in his throat and ask, “You do?”
“Of course,” Ilya shrugged. “You are possessive motherfucker, Shane Hollander, but I am the same. Would drive me crazy if I knew you shared with another man what you haven’t with me.”
“So you don’t think I’m, like, silly?”
Ilya kissed his temple, ran his hands through Shane’s newly long locks and gripped the shorter hairs at the back of his neck in a fond scruff.
“I think you are silly all the time, but not for this. Do you want to?”
Shane felt like he had whiplash, especially because he had found it increasingly hard to concentrate once Ilya’s hands had started roaming his hips and brushing his thumbs under the hem of Shane’s shirt.
“Want to— what?”
Ilya pulled him forward in one smooth motion. Their hips were flush together and Shane could feel his own erection bumping against Ilya’s.
“Do you want to fuck me, Hollander?”
Now they’re here and Shane is worried he might not last before he gets inside Ilya’s hole.
After Shane had admitted his desires, Ilya pulled him down onto their bed and spent the next hour opening himself up for Shane.
He wouldn’t let Shane touch, which was the best and worst part of it all. Shane had to sit back and watch as Ilya used fingers Shane had wet with his tongue to slowly scissor himself open.
The entire bedroom was filled with Shane’s panting, desperate breathing. He wanted it. He wanted to crawl across the bed and bury his face and then his cock in that hole.
His dick throbbed with it. The beating of his heart pulsed in his cock and made it bob indecently, begging to be touched. Begging to be buried in that tight, wet heat.
But touching himself would mean giving up some focus and all of his attention had been zeroed in on Ilya’s plump, open mouth and furrowed brows. Fuck. His rim opened and closed around his fingers like it was begging for something more, bigger, deeper.
And he talked, oh god he talked so fucking much that Shane thought he might not need hands on himself at all.
“Fuck, it’s been so long,” he’d sighed with the first press of one finger inside, quickly followed by a second. “I will need to take my time or your cock will split me open.”
“Yes,” he hissed when he finally found the spot inside of himself that made his dick jerk and dribble helplessly on his belly. “Shit, right here. Fuck, Shane, I need you deep.”
Shane had whimpered. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip so hard he was afraid he’d draw blood, but it was the only thing keeping him from shooting off already.
Ilya is sexy, Shane comes to realize, in every position. He’s sexy when he’s on top of Shane, his cross dangling between them as he bares his teeth with each forceful thrust. He’s sexy laying on his back, his hands linked behind his head, while he watches Shane bounce himself on his cock.
And he’s sexy now, with his spread legs and winking hole and red, pouty lips.
“Come here. Am ready for you.”
Thank god, Shane’s sigh trembles in relief. He crawls across the bed like he had been wanting to until he’s situated between Ilya’s spread thighs. They’re muscled and golden and gorgeous around Shane’s hips and their cocks bump and brush together.
He leans up to kiss the corner of Shane’s mouth. “Shane. You want this?”
Shane whimpers again. He can’t open his mouth or he knows babbling and begging will come out, so he just nods. Ilya smiles softly and claims his mouth.
Their tongues slide together in a sloppy tangle. Ilya commands his mouth with a hand gripping his cheeks, keeping Shane’s mouth open for him.
With his other hand, he reaches between them to grab Shane’s cock and press it against his entrance. Shane groans into his mouth, the anticipation of sinking into the hot flesh making him thrust his hips impatiently.
His cock slides away from Ilya’s hole and he almost sobs. No no no, he needs to be inside. He needs to be in that perfect fucking hole and he needs to fuck.
“Relax,” Ilya rubs a soothing hand over his chest. “You want it so bad you are shaking, sweetheart.”
He finds Shane’s cock again and presses it to his opening. This time he keeps his grip on it, steadying it against his own hole.
“Go ahead, Shane. Just the tip. You can do this much, yes? Go ahead.”
Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod Shane is going to fucking come. He feels it building at the base of his cock, electricity shooting up his spine, and he thrusts his hips forward to push through the tight ring of muscle just in time.
His mouth parts in a silent scream. It’s so different from a mouth; hotter, unyielding, it feels like a wet fist is squeezing down on the head and milking the cum from his dick. Somewhere in the distance he hears Ilya chuckling; a little mean, a lot fond.
“Oh, Shane,” he coos and kisses Shane’s open mouth as his hips twitch pathetically. “Look.”
Breathing hard, Shane’s arms tremble as he pushes himself up to look down at where just the first inch of his dick is buried in Ilya’s ass. Cum bubbles around his cock, which gives another weak spurt at the sight.
“Sorry,” Shane gasps. “Sorry, Ilya, I– fuck.”
“Good, yes?” Ilya is grinning, folds his arms under his head casually as if Shane’s brain isn’t fucking melting.
Shane’s response is more of a gurgled moan. He can’t stop staring at how his cum is leaking from Ilya’s hole and sliding down his own cock. And when his hips jerk back in overstimulation, popping the tip out, Shane watches that hole open and close around nothing.
More cum escapes and drips onto the bed. Shane whimpers and licks his lips to catch the drool pooling in his mouth. Ilya’s hole looks so soft and wet and it’s covered in Shane’s spend.
“Well? Aren’t you going to clean your mess, sweetheart?”
Maybe Ilya means, like, with a washcloth or by grabbing a few tissues off of the bedside table. But as if he’s a man possessed, Shane flops onto his belly and places a sucking kiss to his boyfriend’s hole.
“Christ, Hollander,” Ilya hisses and fingers wind into hair at the back of Shane’s head to press his face closer into Ilya’s crease.
With his eyes heavy lidded and dazed, Shane can only see the blurry outline of Ilya’s face. His teeth are bared in a snarl, one arm propping his head up to look down at Shane between his legs.
For his cocky demeanor, Ilya isn’t as unaffected as he seems. His balls are tight and drawn up under his fat, weeping cock and he’s murmuring filthy words in both English and Russian that has Shane moaning as he licks his own seed from Ilya’s hole.
The hand on the back of his head yanks him back and Shane whines, tries to lean forward to taste more. More of how he and Ilya taste together.
“Enough, sweetheart. Enough. Get back inside me, am not finished yet.”
Shane groans, feeling his cock twitch painfully. “I fucking can’t. M’too–”
Too sensitive. Although he’s still hard, how could he not be, even the small amount of friction from where his dick is dragging across the sheets is almost too much. He can’t even imagine sinking back into Ilya’s wet heat.
“You wanted to fuck me, Hollander, so fuck me.”
Shane’s entire body is shaking as he crawls back up Ilya’s body, stopping to drop kisses along his sternum as if that would distract his boyfriend from his initial request.
Ilya sighs and scratches at Shane’s scalp, moving Shane’s mouth until it hovers over one hard nipple. Shane latches onto it greedily, soaking in the deep moans that reverberate in Ilya’s chest.
“Want to come on your cock,” Ilya is babbling. His neglected cock slides against Shane’s belly; so hard and a deep red that almost looks painful. “Going to fucking come on your fucking cock, sweetheart– take all of you– the only one– fucking mine–”
Well, that does sound very tempting, doesn’t it? Shane’s dick certainly thinks so, considering how it’s throbbing and pulsing anew between his legs.
Shane’s mouth pops off Ilya’s nipple with a wet sound. “Alright. Jesus. You’ve gotta stop talking before I blow again.”
Ilya hums fondly. “You are so easy, Hollander.”
“For you. Yeah.”
Ilya kisses him. This time it’s less frenzied and more tender, quiet, dry. Just small brushes of lips and shared breath, over and over. Learning from Ilya’s example, Shane grips the base of his cock to steady it against Ilya’s hole again.
This time, Ilya’s body accepts him easily. Inch by inch, Shane sinks into heaven. He pauses when he’s fully seated inside, his hips flush to Ilya’s ass, and breathes deeply.
It’s too much. It’s not enough. His hips tremble with the desire to thrust but every nerve ending in his dick is being gripped and squeezed by Ilya’s inner muscles.
When Ilya bears down and clenches, Shane’s loud moan is broken by a half-sobbed laugh. “Fuck. Asshole.”
“Yes,” Ilya drawls, but his voice is tight and grainy. “Is what I’m trying to have you do. Move, Shane, am dying here.”
With a shaky inhale Shane draws back before awkwardly pumping his hips. He feels suddenly very sorry for Rose Landry, who must have also experienced his fumbling.
He doesn’t think Ilya will make fun of him for it, but he is relieved when legs wrap around his waist to angle him correctly.
“Like this, yes? Just like this. So good, sweetheart– yes,” the word is punched out of him as Shane rolls his hips and the head of his cock slides against the front wall of Ilya’s hole.
Shane grunts with every thrust. How the hell does Ilya do this? It’s exhausting. But it’s also so fucking hot, wet, tight, fucking perfect that Shane’s hips just can’t stop.
“Ilya. Oh god. Oh god, Ilya, are you– please tell me you’re close. I’m losing my fucking mind here.”
Blessedly, Ilya snakes a hand between their bodies to fist his own cock. The first stroke has his channel tightening around Shane, who whimpers and loses his rhythm. It doesn’t matter, though, as Ilya spurts across his belly with a long, drawn out moan.
Shane tries to fuck him through it, tries to push his hips against the fleshy area of Ilya’s hole that he knows feels so, so good. He only gets in a few additional thrusts before he’s spilling into Ilya once again, is dick pulsing almost painfully.
“There you go,” Ilya collects him to his chest and Shane’s entire body jerks with aftershocks. “You did good.”
Shane laughs weakly. “Best you ever had?”
“Yes.”
Shane blushes and tucks his head into Ilya’s neck so he can’t see how the earnest, confident answer affects him.
“It was good? For you?”
Shane snorts and nips at Ilya’s jaw teasingly. “It was terrible,” he deadpans. “I hate coming my brains out– twice.”
“Mm, yes. Sounds horrible. Next time we will keep it to just one.”
Next time? Shane perks up a little. “You’d do that again? Really?”
“Of course not, moy lyubimyy,” he kisses the tip of Shane’s nose and then rolls them over until he’s on top, grinning down at him cheekily. “But give me an hour and I’ll remind you how much you like to be the bottom, yes?”