Ilya "want to trip and fall mouth first onto his dick for enrichment" Rozanov is alive and well in my mind:
Shane's in the kitchen looking at the reheat instructions for one of their healthy nutritious meals and he's holding the paper like twenty feet from his eyes so that he can see it. Ilya wordlessly brings Shane his glasses and as soon as he puts them on, Ilya's on his knees.
"Read it aloud to me, sweetheart," Ilya says, yanking Shane's sweatpants down in one pull, letting them pool over Shane's socked feet. "Nice and slow. Might be complicated."
And then he takes Shane into his mouth soft and with a few good sucks he's growing, reaching full hardness in Ilya's mouth. Ilya groans and shudders as the tip touches the back of his throat.
He backs off, jerking Shane's now slick cock. "Tell me how to make the chicken, Shane. I'm hungry."
"You fuckin' ass— okay. You have to preheat the oven to— oh my god."
Ilya sucks the tip before ducking his head down, giving him a few good bobs before drawing back for one more breath before—
"Stir halfway to ensure even—right there, right there, baby, god you're so—to ensure even, even heating—"
Before taking Shane to the root, swallowing around him and slurping and shaking his head like dog to take it all in. Shane's stomach caves in and he bends over him, the instructions crumpling against the top of Ilya's head as Shane grips his hair and the paper.
"Top with toasted panko breadcrumps—crumbs— oh my god, how are you laughing with my dick in your throat?"
Ilya laughs for real when he backs off, a thick string of spit connecting his mouth to Shane's cock until he snaps it, letting it fall on his chin while he jerks Shane off again.
"Gonna get you close. Want to come on my face?" Ilya asks, throat scratchy.
"In your mouth," Shane gasps, pulling Ilya closer again, hips bucking, bumping his dick against his cheek. "Come on, suck it again—"
Ilya does, giving Shane a few strong pulls with his hands circling the base until Shane is right there, and as Shane comes Ilya surges up on his knees, his toes braced and slipping against the floor, shuffling and moaning and choking a little as he mashes his nose into Shane's pubic hair, sucking him through it while he grips Shane's hips hard enough to feel handfuls of muscle bulging between his fingers.
Ilya pulls off with a good victorious glugging cough, getting a fistful of Shane's shirt and pulling him down to make sure Shane sees the mess in Ilya's mouth, followed by the indulgent swallow. Shane pulls him to his feet, licking and kissing Ilya's sore mouth. Shane's glasses go all akimbo on his face. The instructions paper flutters to the ground. All Ilya needs to do is rut his hips against Shane's softening cock while Shane holds him close, while Shane hooks a big juicy thigh around Ilya's hips and encourages him.
"Just like that, baby," Shane gasps, "Just from having me in your mouth. You like it, right?"
Ilya comes with a harsh inhale and a punched out moan against Shane's neck, licking with a flat tongue at the sweat collected there. They catch their breath, holding each other.
"Still hungry?" Shane asks, laughing softly. "After all that—"
"Preheat the oven, Hollander," Ilya says, swatting Shane's thigh still hooked around his hip. "Let's see what you learned."