For Ilya’s birthday they of course do all the normal celebratory things like fancy dinner and a party and gifts and going to the bar with friends, but all that is scheduled on the few days before. On Ilya’s actual birthday he of course wants to spend it having marathon sex with Shane.
Shane of course agrees and once the clock strikes midnight they’re going at it, with Shane being extra good and letting Ilya do whatever he wants. It’s hours upon hours of blow jobs and riding and cockwarming and plowing and edging and somnophilia and grinding and being milked dry to the point of tears, and it’s relentless to the point of Shane being tired and wrung out and is deep in sub space.
Ilya knows this, but they talked about it before and Shane was more than enthusiastic to do this so he doesn’t think much of it as he’s grinding down into Shane who’s only been able to whine for the past hour. Ilya’s going slow, feeling the ache in his muscles after about half a day of nonstop fucking, but the feeling is just so addictive, and Shane is so cock drunk Ilya can’t help but be painfully hard just from looking at him. He pushes deeper, pressing against Shane’s prostate with a rhythmically paced thrust, pulling back in tantalizing inches before sinking back in with a deep exhale. He’s whispering praises every time Shane moans or goes a little cross eyed, an onslaught of “good boy” “taking me so well” “so needy and desperate” “my fuck drunk little slut” “mine” all on loop and then some, feeling a rush at every twitch it elicits.
It’s when Ilya leans forward to growl the words closer to his ear that he notices how Shane’s eyes track something. It’s slow, barely focused, and stuttering with every press of Ilya’s cock deep into Shane’s hole, but he’s undeniably locked onto something that isn’t Ilya’s face. For a second Ilya smirks, thinking Shane is staring at his tits, but as he glances down another possibility presents itself.
Ilya stills and experimentally leans forward, stretching his neck over Shane’s face, and sure enough, Shane follows dutifully as Ilya’s golden cross dangles right above his eyes, entirely enraptured by the shimmering necklace. Ilya rocks forward once again and watches in awe as Shane follows the pendant bouncing up before swinging back down in a gentle arc, gaze stilling as it comes to a stop.
Ilya feels himself take a deep breath, eyes blown wide as he rocks forward again with more force and stares as Shane’s neck shifts to accommodate, his dazed eyes following the cross swinging over his head. He does it again, and again, mesmerizing by the sight before him. The love of his love, eyes lidded and entirely glazed over, mouth parted to let out breathy cries, body pliant and loose and still so needy, solely focused on the gentle swaying of Ilya’s cross glistening before his eyes.
And it takes a minute for Ilya to really process what’s happening but then he’s grinning and whispering out an amused little ~Shane~ as he sinks back in, stilling at the base, stretching him wide. He tilts his head back and forth, just enough to get his necklace to sway, saying Shane name again. “Look at me” Ilya orders and after a long second Shane’s glassy eyes shift to Ilya’s, still panting deeply.
“Oh malysh, look what you’ve done,” Ilya coos, kissing Shane’s chest before biting into the soft mound. “Wanted to be so good for me, yes?” Ilya looks up, delighted how Shane is still watching him, giving a slow and shallow nod. “Yes, so good. So good,” he moves up, tapping his finger against Shane’s forehead who goes slightly cross eyed to follow, “there is nothing left in here.” Ilya punctuates the sentence with a harsh single thrust.
“Is okay. I will think for you, yes? Just listen to me. Only me.” And when Shane gives that same distant nod Ilya finally starts thrusting again, much harsher and deeper than before, feeling the possessive control go straight to his dick. Shane’s still looking at Ilya’s face, bouncing uselessly against the sheets as he watches Ilya rock through his vision.
“Open.” Ilya pants, tapping the corner of Shane’s jaw, trailing his finger along his chin as it falls open, taking a moment to pull just a little further down. “So beautiful. This wet drooly mouth all for me. You want me to fuck it, don’t you?” Ilya slips his thumb over Shane’s bottom lip, pressing down on his tongue. “Go on, tell me you want it. Nod your head for me like a good boy.” Shane nods slowly and Ilya uses his grasp around his bottom teeth to exaggerate the motion. “So good. Knew you wanted it.”
Ilya rotates his hand, trailing his now wet thumb down Shane’s neck, across his jugular, as three fingers replace its absence down to the third knuckle, petting over the soft warmth inside, thrusting against the contours of tongue and teeth in time with the grinding of his hips. Shane goes a little cross eyed, moaning breathily around the intrusion.
“There you go. That’s what you needed. Now suck.” Ilya commands, pushing his thumb back up to help close Shane’s jaw, feeling weak little pulls to his fingers with every thrust down. He pushes his hips deeper, mirroring the dive of his fingers to the back of Shane’s throat, massaging deep and dropping his head to nuzzle into his throat before nipping at the curve, wondering he pressed hard enough if he could feel himself from inside. Maybe from both ends.
That thought alone was enough to tip Ilya just a bit closer, right on the edge, but not before giving his dazed and obedient boyfriend everything he needed.
Ilya pulls his fingers free, grinning as Shane tries to follow, to keep sucking. “Stay malysh.” Ilya coos, pushing Shane back down and hooking his fingers as he finally pulls his hand free, gathering the extra spit against his digits, rubbing a small amount against slightly parted lips.
“My pretty little shchenochek. Need it so bad, can see it in your eyes, you’re about to cum for me aren’t you?” Ilya drags his spit soaked fingers down Shane’s chest, ghosting over the soft hairs of his stomach, and coming to rest right around his dick, giving one wet pump and then just holding. “You’re so close, about to cum on my cock, make a mess of yourself all for me. So close, so so close.”
And that gets the reaction Ilya was hoping for as Shane tenses under him, open mouth whimpering, still staring at him with now wide pleading eyes, hips twitching wildly under his grasp, but held still by the hand rhythmically tightening around his aching cock as Ilya’s own dick presses up against prostate, slightly bulging Shane’s soft tummy. Importantly though, Shane hasn’t cum, and Ilya feels drunk with power.
“Closer now, even closer. You’re so close malysh. It’s unbearable, isn’t it? You wanna cum so bad, wanna be my good slut and fall apart for me,” Ilya grips tighter on Shane’s leaking cock, angling his hips to grind more circularly inside his needy hole. “But not yet. You don’t know how to feel good without me. Don’t know how to get what you want without me telling you.” Ilya can feel himself matching Shane’s need, eyes rolling every other thrust. “Is okay, I’m here, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything you need to know and you can forget the rest. Forget everything that isn’t me.”
Ilya’s struggling to breathe properly at this point, and when he looks back into Shane’s eyes he sees him lazily nodding through all his words, mindless agreeing to anything Ilya says. It’s too much, so much control as Ilya pushes deeper and deeper, watching his own length split Shane’s hole open, able to abuse it again and again to the point of turning so beautifully swollen and red, dripping lube with ever push, but always taking, sucking him deeper and deeper until he can watch the curve swell just below Shane’s bellybutton. Then he hears it, for the first time in over an hour, wrecked and broken and desperate, “yes, please.”
Ilya’s gone. He grasps Shane’s hips with both hands, bruising, as he punches his hips forward, only able to pull out a few inches before shoving himself back in, needing to be so much deeper. He can hear whining, crying, moaning, but he can’t tell from who, solely focused on enveloping himself in warmth. He yanks Shane’s hips up, impossibly closer, painfully tight, and cums harsh and blinding inside.
Ilya jolts with every spurt, clenching around the massaging pressure to his dick, milking him desperately. Distantly he remembers how to open his mouth and manages to gasp out a pleading, “Cum. Cum now, for me.” A blinding tightness suddenly returns, working Ilya through his instinctual thrusts to push his cum even further, nestling it securely inside the spasming space.
Ilya opens his eyes and catches the tail end of Shane’s orgasm, a line of cum up to his neck, cock now weakly drooling over the bump in his stomach, trailing down his hips. His eyes are open but entirely rolled back, chest aching with the need to breathe but hardly able to get the muscles to work. Ilya works a hand heavily up and down his side, unable to loosen his possessive grip to anything gentler. It takes a few minutes for them to even out, neither moving more than to eventually fall into a boneless puddle, Ilya letting his tongue rest on Shane’s pulse point while his presses his teeth into his neck. He wants to bite and mark and suck but everything’s running on backup power and fading fast.
With Herculean effort Ilya musters the last bit of energy he has and rolls them over, keeping his softening dick plugged tight inside Shane, unwilling to let any of hard work go to waste. Shane wines, draped over Ilya’s torso, completely immobile. Ilya just shushes him, wrapping as tightly as he can around Shane, one arm secure over his waist while the other cups his ass, idly plugging any leaks.
Ilya sighs and presses his mouth against Shane’s ear. “Sleep. Now.” And feels a thrumming in his heart as Shane falls limp, instantly out from his command. He closes his eyes as well, content to take a short nap before continuing on with the rest of his birthday celebration.
Everyone who plays around with Tarot cards long enough winds up with a “bad” card that they love. I just barely persuaded my husband not to get the Ten of Swords tattooed on his body; traditionally, it shows a corpse with ten swords stuck in their body and means “utter ruin,” but he thought that if it took ten swords to kill you, then you must have put up a pretty good fight.
honestly this is the most badass ten of swords interpretation i've ever heard. i'm stealing this
honestly I'm very grateful that I got involved in queer community organizing basically as soon as I turned 18, because that's how I was exposed to other queer people saying things like "I just wouldn't trust a bisexual" and "I don't believe in that privilege stuff" and "I don't like when people act like you have to be a feminist if you're gay," all of which taught me at a very young age the crucial truth that queer people can be very stupid and very wrong
I think there's a pervasive tendency among very young baby queers to get kind of dazzled by being among other gay people for the first time and that combined with the heady drug of the first taste of independence can really make you start thinking of The Queer Community(TM) like it's one big enlightened rainbow utopia but unfortunately we have dipshits and malevolent freaks like every other demographic. Peter Thiel is in here.
The beautiful thing as you get older is that you realize so many “rules” are made up and you can just do whatever. Posters can go anywhere in the house not just my room. I can sit down while cooking a meal or taking a shower. I can make the same thing for breakfast lunch dinner for a week straight. I can roam around the house shirtless. I can wear a dress with jeans. The world is my oyster key word my and I can live as I please embracing little things such as this
got cornflakes for fried chicken & the back of the box has its own recipe. easy as pie. "rinse chicken tenders with cold water and coat with crushed kelloggs corn flakes cereal." and then cook. no binding agent. no seasoning. nothing but a pile of flavorless chicken with a side of the extra-dried-out cornflakes that fell off it. serve warm with your favorite dipping sauce. doesnt even say serve hot. Serve Warm. wouldnt wanna get too wild with it. truly this is the spirit of cornflakes
