I want to fuck you, whispered against his jaw.
Yes.
Yes? Hands moving down his sides.
Yes.
A shiver down his spine, a dry swallow. Ilya loved these moments, always started with a whisper, with Shane kissing down his chest. Ilya knows what people thing, he has seen the fanfics, and he felt pride in the knowledge that he was the only one who knew Shane like this, his hands firm on the inside of Ilya's thighs, lubed fingers probing and then entering. It was hot but it was also heady, Shane concentrating, breathing stable, eyes focused, and Ilya basked in it, in the attention, in the stretch, in the care of it all. It was good, because everything Shane did was, and it was new everytime.
And at the first push he always felt like it was a countdown, insistent at the back of his mind, finally reaching one, one, and he was in and he was full and heavy, panting. Shane moving. And now his hands on the back of Ilya's thighs, pushing forward, bending him in half, still focused, but his eyes now moving from eyes to connection, and Ilya allows himself to just lie there and take it, like he deserves - both senses of it - hands on Shane's shoulders, mouth agape, small sounds at the back of his throat, waiting, waiting for the moment he knows is coming, everytime, when Shane will push forward, bending, folding, to get closer, his mouth on Ilya's, his movements stronger, faster, masculine in their intensity.
Ilya is not like Shane, he can't come from this alone, and Shane is attentive and caring, and Ilya is proud to make him forget his manners, forget about Ilya, until Shane is coming, frantic, sweaty, loud and it is a release in itself for Ilya, the last push, deep, deep, and still. Shane takes a moment to breathe, to catch his bearings and Ilya will tease and clench until Shane is grunting but grinning, satisfied and moving back down, to put his mouth on his favorite place and to give Ilya one more moment of care.
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