“Even better,” Ilya said, smiling. “Here.” He hovered the bottle over Shane’s dick and drizzled some lube on him. Because Ilya was full of good ideas.
“Oh shit,” Shane gasped. Ilya started stroking Shane’s prostate in time with the glide of Shane’s hand over his cock. Heat flared low in Shane’s belly, burning up the last of his control. “Ilya. Please.”
Ilya withdrew his fingers. A moment later, Shane felt the head of Ilya’s cock tapping against his hole. “This?” Ilya asked.
Shane didn’t answer. He just shifted his weight and sank down onto Ilya’s slick cock. He went slowly because they didn’t do it this way very often, and because he wanted to draw out Ilya’s delicious groan.
“Shit, Hollander,” Ilya rasped.
God, Shane loved it when Ilya used his last name, the way he’d used to, before. Back when they’d used to fuck but before they were…this.
Shane lifted a bit and sank back down, earning another groan. He grinned at the man he loved and said, “Hold on to something, Rozanov.”
Ilya gripped Shane’s hips, digging his fingers in hard while Shane rode him. It was exciting to watch Ilya like this, sprawled out beneath him, chest heaving as he struggled to keep his eyes open.
“Love your dick,” Shane panted. He had one hand planted on Ilya’s chest, the other gripping the back of Ilya’s left thigh. “Love taking you like this.”
“You just love,” Ilya gritted out, “exercise.”
Shane let out a shaky laugh, adjusted his angle, and rode him harder.
Ilya was falling apart beneath him, murmuring in Russian so garbled Shane couldn’t translate it. He didn’t need to. “You gonna come for me?”
Ilya sucked in a breath. “Too soon. Fuck.”
Shane stopped his ruthless bouncing and switched to a slow grind.
“Ah,” Ilya cried out. “Fucking…fuck!”
Shane smirked, loving the power he held. Loving how much he could make Ilya feel. Loving what he could reduce him to.
“Too slow?” Shane asked, his voice surprisingly steady considering how close to the edge he was himself.
“Yes,” Ilya said. “No. Fuck, you are perfect.”
“Yeah?” Shane rolled his hips, careful and controlled. “This all you need?”
Ilya huffed and reached for Shane’s dick. He wrapped his fingers lightly around him and just held him for a moment, his gaze locked with Shane’s.
“Is this enough?” Ilya asked as he gently grazed his hand over Shane’s cock, barely touching.
Fuck, it almost was enough. Shane arched and clenched around Ilya’s dick involuntarily as he tried to thrust into Ilya’s hand.
Ilya laughed and pulled his hand away. Shane whined in protest.
Ilya placed his hand on the back of Shane’s neck and pulled him down until Ilya’s lips were against his ear. “I think,” he said, in Russian, “you need to be fucked properly.”
Shane gasped and nodded, and seconds later he was flat on his stomach, face pressing into a pillow. Ilya grabbed his thighs and hauled his ass into the air, then thrust inside.
“Is this what you need?” Ilya asked in a low, rough voice.
“Yes,” Shane said breathlessly. “Hard.”
“Stroke yourself.”
It didn’t take long after that. Not with Shane ruthlessly jerking himself while Ilya pounded into him, making the headboard slam against the wall with every thrust.
“Now,” Shane panted. “Fuck, I’m coming.” His whole body shuddered as he began to spurt over his hand and onto the sheets.
Behind him, Ilya only said, “Hollander,” before he stilled and pulsed inside him.
Ilya didn’t pull out immediately. He carefully lowered himself until he was almost resting his full weight on Shane’s back, breathing hard against Shane’s neck. For several long moments, they just breathed together.
Eventually, Ilya began peppering Shane’s shoulders with gentle kisses, and his softened dick slipped out of Shane’s body. He kissed down Shane’s spine in an adoring way that made Shane sigh happily.
“Love you,” Shane murmured into his pillow. He reached a hand back, clumsily searching, and Ilya took it in his own.
“I will be back,” Ilya said. He squeezed Shane’s hand, then released it and shuffled off the bed. Shane heard footsteps, and then the bathroom door closing.
He was dimly aware that he needed to get up himself and get cleaned. The bed sheets should be changed too. But Shane was so loose and sleepy that he wondered how important any of that was.
Ilya seemed to take longer than usual in the bathroom. Eventually, he returned and tapped Shane on the shoulder. “Your turn.”
“Mmpf.”
Ilya laughed quietly and rumpled Shane’s hair. “Come on. You hate to be dirty.”
Shane couldn’t argue that. He dragged himself to the bathroom.
When he returned he noticed that Ilya had already changed the sheets and was sitting on one side of the bed, staring at the wall.
“You okay?” Shane asked.
“Yes,” Ilya said. He sounded distracted.
Shane got into bed, enjoying the crisp slide of clean sheets against his skin. “I’m zonked.”
Ilya hummed in agreement and got under the covers beside him. He curled against Shane, wrapping an arm around him and holding him close. Shane fell asleep in minutes.
He woke some time later, blinking at the darkness as he felt Ilya crawl back into bed beside him. He had no idea what time it was or how long Ilya had been gone, but he smelled the sharp aroma of cigarette smoke.
“You were smoking,” he complained sleepily.
“No.”
“I can smell it.”
Ilya kissed his shoulder. “Maybe your house is on fire.”
Shane huffed and fell back asleep.
Chapter Six
October
“How many men have you been with?”
Ilya glanced up with interest from the coffee mug he’d been spooning sugar into. Shane had blurted the question out and was now staring fixedly at his poached eggs. His ears were bright pink.
“This week, you mean?” Ilya asked calmly.
Shane turned his gaze up, his annoyance radiating across the breakfast table in grumpy waves. “No, asshole. I mean ever.”
Ilya took a long sip of coffee, his eyes locked on Shane’s over the rim of his Ottawa Centaurs mug. He very slowly lowered the mug back to the table, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Why?”
“Because you’ve never told me.”
“Maybe I don’t keep track.”
Shane glared at him, then turned his attention back to his eggs. “Never mind.”
Ilya’s mouth quirked up. He let a silence hang between them, just long enough for Shane to perhaps believe that Ilya was going to let this go.
He wasn’t.
“How many are you hoping it will be?”
Shane shook his head. “Forget it. I don’t care anymore.”
“Bullshit.”
It was clear from the tightness in Shane’s jaw when he looked back up at Ilya that he cared a lot. “You said there was one guy in Moscow. The, um…”
“My coach’s son. Yes. He was one.”