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Ilya wakes up first, a sun ray teasing at his eyelids.
Falling asleep last night hadn’t been part of the plan but Ilya can’t bring himself to regret it, not when it means he has Shane exactly where he wants him, pressed close and snuggled against him.
He’s lying comfortably on his back with Shane’s head tucked in between his neck and right shoulder, his slow breathing brushing past Ilya’s pulse point with each exhale.
The Canadian is draped all over him, smooth chest hidden under a white cottony tank top, rubbing softly against Ilya’s bare torso.
Their legs are tangled together and their expensive boxers are the only splash of colors in between the navy flannel sheets.
Ilya thinks about moving to check the time, before discarding the thought, his flight to Boston not until late in the afternoon and he’s not sure when he’ll get the chance to indulge in the feeling of holding Shane Hollander between his arm like that again.
He has one hand loosely holding Shane’s waist, snuggled under the rucked up tank, bare skin warm and tantalizing against his fingertips.
The other is caressing the back of Shane tights, going up and down slowly from the hem of the underwear to the back of his knee, relinquishing in the softness of the hair there.
His palm moves until he finds the dimples at the small of Shane’s muscular back, nails grazing slowly against the peach fuzz.
Ilya presses a series of soft kisses to the crown of Shane’s head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo. His eyes close back and he allows himself drifts off for a while until awareness creeps back in.
He stretches slowly, left hand massaging Shane’s nape, before squeezing, once, possessively.
Shane starts to stir at that, eyelashes fluttering open.
“You’re still here” he whispers, rubbing his nose against the side of Ilya’s neck.
Ilya hums, tilting Shane’s head to deposit a soft good morning kiss against his lips.
It feels like a special moment, one he wants to cherish, when for the better part of half a decade everything involving them in a bed had been frantic and rushed.
Here, now, Ilya can indulge in taking his time, unhurried.
They kiss like that for a while, closed mouth pressed together fleetingly.
Shane chuckles against his mouth “stop teasing.”
He thinks about toying with the man resting in his arm some more but can’t bring himself to do it, not when Shane is canting his neck to give him a better access to his mouth.
Ilya sloth their lips together and leads the kiss into something a little bit more heated, a little bit more hungry.
Their tongues intertwines and Shane shudders against Ilya’s mouth.
He rises a bit clumsily on his elbows, trying to get some control over their kiss but Ilya’s hand gets buried in his hair and yank until Shane is moaning, lips a few millimeters away from his, growing desperate by the second.
“Ilya please.” Shane pleads, fully awake now.
Ilya makes a big show of thinking about it, tilting his head pensively from side to side, pretending not to feel Shane’s full body shiver at being held back.
He caves, because how could he not, and allows Shane to dictate his pace as he wanted to.
The kiss turns sloppy, as Ilya knew it would and he knows Shane needs him to slow things down to really be able to enjoy it.
He flips them around, and Shane blinks at him, eyes going wide and unfocused at the show of strengh.
Ilya huffs a little, amused by his reaction and a lot more enamored than this warrants to be.
It’s not the first time he used his hockey skills in the bedroom to get the upper hand but each time it draws the most beautiful response out of Shane.
He makes himself some space between the Canadian’s strong legs and takes over where they had left the kiss, licking leniently in Shane’s mouth.
Ilya holds himself on one arm, free palm sliding against sleep-warm skin and stopping only when his thumb reach Shane’s throat where he applies the slightest amount of pressure.
Shane moans, going liquids in his arms, hands flying to Ilya’s shoulders to steady himself.
Ilya likes that, being an anchor for the man beneath him, Shane holding on tightly, bringing their bodies together even closer.
He stops the kiss, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by his desire to worship the muscular body at his disposal.
Ilya starts his slow decent, bringing two fingers to Shane’s mouth, who starts to suck on them eagerly before he could complain about the lack of mouth on mouth action.
He leaves trails of kisses almost everywhere, making his first stop around Shane’s chest, taking gently a nipple between his teeth. He mouthes at it, feeling the fabric turn damp against his tongue until Shane stops him to yank the offending piece of clothe out of the way, throwing it blindly across the room.
Ilya lets himself get lost in the feeling of sucking and nipping until Shane is writhing under him, moaning broken pleas to urge him down.
He usually has a low tolerance for Shane’s begging, almost always immediately caving in but today he wants to indulge in a low rhythm, needs it really.
“Stop it or I won’t give it to you.” Ilya warns him, not really meaning it but still reveling in the way the threat draws a broken hiccup from Shane, tears pooling at his lash line, already wrecked before he’d even had the chance to be touched properly.
With his tongue he traces the outline of each abs on his path toward Shane’s underwear, licking eagerly at the salt from the bit of sweat that had started to form from the prolonged contact with Ilya’s body like a four star meal.
Shane’s stomach is tensing and loosening in quick succession, breathing fast and pants loud in the otherwise silent room.
Ilya’s finger tease at the him of the boxer, index fingertip slowly caressing alongside the branded elastic band.
Shane’s being good, not a word getting past his mouth only half formed sounds but his lips are a bright red from how hard he’s biting at them in his effort to obey.
Ilya considers briefly going back up and letting his tongue soothe the indents of teeth on Shane’s bottom lips but gets distracted by the salted scent of pre-cum coming from just below his nose.
He still has his chin resting on Shane’s lower stomach and he allows himself a deep inhales before cupping the Canadian’s dick against his hand.
Shane’s breath is ragged, and he bucks into the touch mindlessly, desperate for some friction.
Ilya tuts and watches with rapt attention how Shane draws back his hips, trying to get some kind of control over himself just to please Ilya.
As a reward, he takes off the boxers, letting Shane’s dick springs free and doesn’t tease more before taking him into his mouth.
He brings his forearm against Shane’s pelvis and pushes, pinning him against the bed. Shane moans loudly at that, already straining against Ilya’s hold, testing the limits and probing at boundaries.
“I got you.” Ilya whispers before sinking down on his length again, smearing pre-cum and spit around the head as he goes.
Shane keeps twisting in his arms, whimpering with every centimeters Ilya swallows, until the noises stalls brutally when he hits the back of Ilya’s throat.
“Oh my god Ilya” Shane gasps, biting at his forearm while his other hand scramble for purchase against his curls.
Ilya hums in agreements, always pleased to hear the new intonations in which he can manages to make Shane says his name every time he takes him appart.
He bobs his head a few times, working up an even rhythm that he knows is making Shane brain’s leaks right out of his ears.
Shane’s a nice weight in his mouth and his cock is the perfect size to induce a pleasant ache in Ilya’s jaw, stretched wide to accommodate the intrusion.
His hand not holding down Shane splays out on his stomach, covering the width of his torso with his palm.
Shane’s skin is burning, hot to the touch under his fingertips and a flush is spreading out from the top of his nose and going as far down as his navel, almost completely covering the freckles Ilya’s loves so much.
From the way Shane starts to go a bit rigid underneath him, Ilya knows the Canadian is close, so he takes off his mouth from him completely, sitting back down with a wolfish grin when he hears the frustrated wails.
Maybe he could have given Shane the choice of coming like that or to keep going but Ilya’s acutely aware of how much Shane enjoy not having much of a choice on how they’re moving things in bed.
Restraining Shane feels like catching lightning, all that nervous energy contained in the palm of Ilya’s hands.
His cheeks are blotchy with patches of red and he looks frenzied, like he’s lost now, like he needs instructions to direct him wherever Ilya’s wants him to.
“Get on your stomach for me baby.” Ilya says, petting absently Shane’s tight while he looks around for the bottle of lube.
He’s not one for using pet names but when Shane got denied an orgasm and gets all quiet like this, he’s a little more sensitive, he little more frayed around the edges and needs reassurance.
Ilya grabs the strawberry jelly from the night stand and coat some on his fingers.
Shane is so beautiful like that, eyes closed, face on mushed on a pillow and lips shiny with spit. He already positioned his ass in the air, back bent perfectly for Ilya to reach and grab.
He starts slowly, skimming a finger from the small of his back, sliding over Shane’s rim teasingly before going down until he reaches his balls.
Ilya massages gently the area between his arsehole and his testicles, letting needs and desire build.
Shane’s trembling and looks so close to sobbing that Ilya caves and sink his lubed index in Shane fluttering hole.
He hisses, before seemingly adjusting to the intrusion and starts to moves his hips in slow circles to gets Ilya deeper.
Ilya shushes him, caressing at his back to soothe him.
Underneath him Shane is soft and pliant, moaning incoherently against the pillow, words mushed by the drool dampened fabric.
It’s a sight Ilya never got to enjoy until now, he had never been allowed to draw things out, to really bring Shane to edge of what he can take.
He’s still loose from the previous night, so Ilya don’t lose time before adding his middle finger next to his index and starting to fuck Shane open with them.
Shane’s body arches beautifully for him, the new angle helping, with barely any resistance at all and Ilya has to cup himself to take some of the edge off.
His own pleasure had taken a background role until now and if he’s not complaining, happy to draw things out, Ilya’s now toying at his own limits.
He probably has poured to much lube and the squelching noise of his fingers getting in and out of Shane’s body is obscene.
Shane gasps and bucks when Ilya’s finger finally finds the bundle of nerves which makes him see stars and the bed sheets are being ruined by the way his cock his profusely leaking on them.
He’s relentless, building a rhythm and when Shane moans starts to get high-pitched again Ilya withdraws completely.
Shane is full on sobbing now, blabbering about how unfair Ilya is, how he’d been good, how it’s too much but Ilya just bend overs and brush his lips to the tears streaming down Shane’s cheeks, tasting salt on his tongue.
The position makes the length of his cock rub against Shane lubricated hole and the glides draws a moan out of them both.
He indulges in grinding with a slow back and forth for a little while, until Shane tears have stopped completely and he’s back to begging.
From then on it’s a lost battle against himself and Ilya is helpless to do anything but taking what’s his.
He tries, he really do, to keep a slow pace, but he’s at his own limits in an instant and when Shane body starts to push back against him to build a quicker and harder rhythm he stops fighting against what they both wants.
Ilya grabs hold of Shane’s toned ass and uses them as leverage to increase the cadence of his thrusts.
On a good day he can make Shane come hand’s free but today, he needs to feel the weight of him in his hand, feel the pulsing of his dick while he finally reaches his orgasm, needs to remind Shane he’s doing the right thing by giving Ilya control.
He needs to ruin anyone else for Shane the way everyone else is ruined for him forever.
Once he gets his hand properly between his legs, it’s over for Shane, who come in two strokes, hole clenching around Ilya so tightly it brings him right there with him.
After he cleans up Shane, Ilya collapses right back into bed, with Shane wrapping himself like an octopus around him to keep him close.
Later he’ll have to rush, run to his hotel room to grab his bags and race to the airport so he can make it to his flight on time.
Right now tough, right now Ilya wants to indulge in the closeness of Shane’s body for a little longer, on how good it feels to know they made love for the first time, on how the slow drags of Shane’s finger on his skin is tracing the letters of an I love you and on how it’s echoed by Ilya whispers against Shane’s pliant mouth.
The rest of the world can wait.