Itâs a few years into their relationship when Ilya realizes that his left arm is ever so slightly stronger than his right
Itâs not really noticeable, not to anyone else, not even Shane. Itâs just something that pings in Ilyaâs brain when heâs in the gym strength training, that itâs just a teeny little bit easier to lift on his lift. He knows this isnât exactly unusual, even â most people are slightly uneven, most people are a little bit stronger on their dominant side
⌠except Ilya is a rightie.
He puzzles over this for a while, wondering if he ought to be doing a few extra reps with his right arm, wondering if he ought to try to even it out, wondering how the fuck this even happened when heâs literally always favors his right arm/hand. He uses it to pull Shane close, to open doors for Shane, to hold himself up while he fucks into ShaneâŚâŚ
And meanwhile, heâs using his left hand to jack Shane off.
Ilya puts the pieces together mid-hand job, when Shane is settled between his legs, back to chest. Heâs got his right hand on Shaneâs leg, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin on his inner thigh, while his left hand strokes Shane hard and fast until heâs whining and begging for release.
Ilya hides his reaction by biting into the sensitive skin on Shaneâs neck and lets him come before rolling them both over so he can laugh into a pillow.
âWhat?â Shane says, scowling as he wriggles underneath Ilya, sensitive and sated. âGod, youâre such an asshole. I didnât come that fast.â
âNo,â Ilya eventually manages to say through tears of mirth. Heâs still hard, but heâs pretty sure heâs accidentally killed the mood. âNo, no, you were perfect.â
âThen what the fuck is wrong with you?â Shane twists around so theyâre face to face, and Ilya can bury his face into the crook of his shoulder.
âYou know,â he says after heâs calmed himself down with the scent of his boyfriendâs sweat, that musky, salty smell heâs grown accustomed to having in his bed. âYou know how my left arm is stronger than my right?â
âYeah, so?â Shane says. Heâs got this adorable, frustrated look on his face, all scrunched up and angry. âWhat does that have to do with â oh.â His eyes flick down to Ilyaâs left hand, coated in his cum. âOh my god, Ilya, are you serious? Is this why your right backshot is weaker than your left?â
Of course thatâs what Shane worries about. God, Ilya loves him.
âItâs ok!â he says, grinning wickedly as he pushes himself up onto his left elbow. âI will even it out. Only rightie handjobs this summer.â
Shaneâs smile grows slowly. âI bet your right hand isnât as good at it,â he says, and his words reek of a challenge. âBet youâll need lots of practice.â
Huh. Mood not killed at all, then.
Ilya kisses Shane deeply and runs his hands â including the cum covered one â through his hair, ignoring the squeak of protest in lieu of the twitch of interest in both of their dicks.
âGood thing I have a great personal trainer,â he says and winks.
Training season has never been so much fun.
