As soon as he feels the tears spill from his eyes, Ilya tries to duck away, to hide his face against Shane’s throat, or maybe distract him with a hand around his cock between them. But Shane’s hands are strong, and he circles Ilya’s face, holding him in place. The tears wash over Shane’s fingers, finding Ilya’s skin again through the gaps. Wetness coats his fingers, slicking Shane’s grip, but he sures it up, pressing with the pads of his fingers.
“Keep looking at me?” Shane says, almost a question, but it’s not a question at all whether Ilya will obey.
“Of course.” Ilya turns his face enough to fit one of Shane’s fingers in his mouth, sucking the salt of his own tears until he only tastes skin.
It feels so good inside Shane, Ilya wants to stay there forever. It feels so good to look at him, to take in the serenity of Shane’s pleasure. Slow, slow, Ilya has said before, when it was Shane who had been in a hurry. It’s worth it to insist on taking their time, and they have nowhere to be. The windows are open and they hear birds outside, the lapping of the lake. Not all birds make pretty sounds, but it’s offset by the tinkling of the wind-chime hanging to catch the breeze. A gift from his parents when he’d first built the cottage, Shane has said.
“Look at you,” Ilya breathes, letting Shane’s finger fall from his mouth, pumping the full length of his cock inside of him. Inside of his lover. As much as Shane balks at the word, Ilya loves it. He knows Shane loves it too.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” Shane thumbs at the tears continuing to fall from Ilya’s eyes. “Come on baby, want you to come.”
The endearment sends a pang through Ilya’s chest, down his belly, and to the root of him. It’s not the first time Shane’s used it. He likes it, likes what it does to Ilya. Ilya speeds up the thrust of his hips. He braces himself on his elbows, his stomach brushing Shane’s cock on every stroke.
“I want you to come in me so bad, baby,” Shane says, finally closing his eyes and giving in to the pleasure. Ilya buries his face against Shane’s neck, a wrenching moan like a sob as fresh tears wash over Shane’s skin. Ilya kisses his throat, licks the skin there. Shane’s arms wind around him, massaging his back, urging him on. “That’s it, just a little more. Wanna feel it. Wanna keep it inside me. Wanna keep you forever.”
A wave of heat washes over Ilya, and he doesn’t know what is emotion and what is physical anymore as he buries himself inside, spilling hot and wet as deep as he can. He comes down slowly, with Shane petting his hair.
Ilya sits up, pulling out to see Shane wince as the evidence spills from him onto the sheets.
“Did you like it?” Ilya asks quietly, hearing the desperate need in his own voice.
“I loved it.” Shane rubs Ilya’s arms. His cock is still hard and red against his stomach. “Love you—“
It’s still painful, to hear it. Like a wound Shane insists on reopening. Ilya moans, leaning down as wetness fills his mouth instead, and takes Shane inside to suck.
