Listen when they go in their honeymoon- in my head it’s somewhere so fucking remote and hot, bright bright sun and warm sticky days and total isolation. A stupid expensive beautiful island somewhere hardly anyone speaks English, where Shane and Ilya can just be husbands- nothing else, not know- not recognised, just two stupid in love young boy- newlyweds. Most of the time they are in their fuck off expensive huge sexy villa, the large pool it had, or on the small beach that is private to them. They’d bought groceries on the drive in from the dock- a hired old jeep that Shane had driven while Ilya had gripped at his thigh and babbled excitedly about the sun Shane- the trees, the heat- about how he texted David and Yuna they were here safely and now they could ignore their phones. It’s night four of the two weeks they have- they are running low on groceries and had fucked each other in every possible spot of the house at that point and decided they should maybe head into the small center of the village. Basically one main street with food markets, a couple bars and shops scattered.
They get dressed after a quick shower together that nearly sprawls into a long shower together but Shane is pushing Ilya’s hands away like “we need to see more than just the villa even once” and Ilya is all pouty but fine fine. So they are clothed fully for the first time since getting there, Ilya’s hair springy wet curls, a thin button down long sleeve with the sleeves rolled up, mostly unbuttoned, shorts that Shane is sure must be new, shorter than any pair he’s had before. Feet shoved into Birkenstocks because David has bought Ilya a pair last Christmas and Ilya treasures his “dad sandals”. Shane’s in a short sleeve button up, fabric so thin it’s basically see through, the colour bright against Shane’s developing tan- making his more pronounced freckles pop, a loose pair of long white gauzy pants that Rose had talked him into buying when Shane had been unsure. Shane was glad he had- when Ilya’s hands had already found their way to his hips and ass as they walked out of the villa.
They decide to walk, it’s not wildly far by foot and slow quiet still hand in hand in the low sun of the late afternoon is lovely, a peace over both of them they don’t usually have, a lack of pressure- of rush. It’s like the cottage, a warm syrup of bliss, the comfort of the two of them.
Two hours later they find themselves a good bit drunk, a bit sunburnt. Sticky summer humid warm and heavy and basically sharing one chair in a dark corner of the sand floor bar. Ilya had tugged Shane’s wide backed chair into his own after the third cocktail, a satisfied little grunt when he could get his hand on Shane’s thigh and play his fingers over the fabric covering them.
“These” Ilya paused for a moment, licked salt left over from the rim of his cocktail from his bottom lip. “are very” he waved his hand “you know- trendy, sexy” Ilya had flirted at him with a suck of his teeth and small shrug before the ordered them another round of drinks. Now, Shane had progressed to leaning into the edge of his chair that was pressed to Ilya’s, his fingers playing with the few secured buttons that hid Ilya’s snail trail and muscles of his abdomen, touch dipping below the fabric in teasing touches, scratches of his nails.
Shane’s face is flushed warm and he can feel the loose warm thrumming buzz of the drinks he’s had, across his chest and shoulders, down his throat, behind his ears. His head, his whole body, is turned toward Ilya, shoes kicked off and knees drawn up, feet resting on his seat. Ilya looks like an angel- a god. a man- Shane’s man. He’s all exposed skin, shining with the damp slick of his sweat, low warm light outlining his shape, the width of his shoulders, the light fabric that covers them, the round strong pretty shape of his chest shown off by open buttons, the hair between his pecks, the honey sunshine of his cross glinting, the matching gold from Shane tied around his ring finger, his his his his his his. Shane thinks, smug. The hottest man in this bar, in every room. His his his.
Shane’s cock gives a soft throb, heat rushes down to his groin and he adjusts his hips, sits further back into his chair and slides his hands in further into Ilya’s shirt, feels the rise and fall of his breathing, the strong muscles shifting. He eyes the shape of Ilya’s jaw, the scruff of facial hair unkept over the last few days, a bit rough when they kiss, the shape of his Adam’s apple, the long curls slick with sweat around his ears and the base of his neck. Shane wants to crawl into his lap and shove his nose into the sweat soaked hair, breath him in, boyish and warm- sweat and sunscreen and cologne he put on just for dinner, just for Shane to smell on him.
Music plays through the thick air of the summer night, others shift and talk and laugh at tables around them, the room moves around them, shapes and heat and strappy dresses and clinking glasses. Shane doesn’t care for any of it, he watches Ilya’s feet broad feet shift, body move as he reaches for the cocktail glass on the table in front of them, the drink inside fizzy and mint, icy and sweet, stacked with ice that fusses as he lifts it. His fingers are long where they wrap around the stem of the glass, condensation drips over them and Shane wants to be the glass, wants to melt over him, to drip. Shane blinks, eyelashes feel heavy and he parts his mouth, licks over his bottom lip, and he aches aches, wants wants- smooths his hand up Ilya’s body, fingers fidget on his chest.
Ilya hums, his head moves and his chin is then digging into Shane’s head. A large hand cups Shane’s cheek and then the glass is at his lips, pressing there cold and sweet smelling and his mouth waters. “Drink” Ilya mumbles, tilts the glass and Shane does, sips for as long as Ilya keeps the glass tilted up for him, till his nose tingles with it. Ilya pulls the glass away and Shane hears and feels Ilya sip and swallow the rest of it before the glass is placed back on the table.
Ilya’s hand shifts Shane’s face up, and Ilya is looking down at him then, gorgeous tanned face and parted lips and then he’s smiling down at Shane, cheeks bunched and eyes full of starlight and he’s whispering “you like this one Zaychik? Is yummy yes?” And Shane feels universes shift under his skin. Shane nods. “Very yummy” he repeats back and watches Ilya smile at his use of his word back him.
Ilya parts his lips to speak but Shane can’t wait longer with Ilya’s breath fanning out over his mouth and he tilts his head up and leans in, kisses kisses kisses the cocktail taste out of Ilya’s mouth, sucks at his bottom lip, feels himself turn starving- pulses in his wrist ache and he needs- he wants so much, and as he goes to pull away, shy of too much affection in public but he instead sways in closer, reaches up to fist his hand in the back of Ilya’s curls and kisses him more thoroughly. No one knows them here- his husband is fucking hot. His! Husband ! Wants to make sure he likes the taste of his drinks, kisses him like a slut and holds him like a precious thing. Shane kisses him hot and messy and needy, kisses him as he climbs across chairs and into Ilya’s lap, kisses him as the world shifts around them- warm and real and a thousand miles away from the pulse between Shane and Ilya. In this bar they can be the couple too drunk and messy to help themselves - and Shane sinks into that.
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