One of the most recognized brand designs in Russia is a can of condensed milk. This design was created in 1939 (or 1937 according to some sources) by Iraida Fomina.
Condensed milk cans of this design were made by dozens and hundreds of manufacturers throughout the country.
1920s and 30s in Russia were the era of avantgarde or futurist design with its love for clear geometric forms, bold color contrasts, and functional simplicity.
The design is so ubiquitous and familiar today that even though I'm a fan of the 20s/30s avantgarde movement, I was perplexed to learn that this too is avant-garde.
Even today all condended milk in Russia is made with this design, or plays on this design.
▸ WARNINGS | shotgunning, smut, oral (giving), fingering (receiving), dazai has a spit kink, should be gender neutral (tell me if I slipped into fem, I want yall to be able to enjoy this), lots of dirty talk, praising and degrading, cursing (the usual), nicknames, masturbating mentioned, freak dazai at his finest, no beta we die like oda, MDNI (I love my kids, but I will block your ass, go read fluff)
▸ SUMMARY | you were so done with college if you were being honest to yourself. you just wanted to relax for 10 minutes, was that really too much to ask? returning to your apartment you shared with dazai out of all people, you settled down and hoped you'd be able to enjoy yourself for a bit. seems like your roommate wants to help you wind down a little...
▸ WORD COUNT | 4.4k
▸ AUTHOR'S NOTES | this has been in my draft for so long, tbh I didn't know if I should post it but after receiving tons of asks I just did. I'll try to post soon again but for now I need to focus on my exams, science, math, and german exams are coming up and are chasing me in the back of my mind, so does my homework (teach srsly gave me 20 problems to solve till next week- and i got 10 to 11 hours school daily-). since I'm so down for shotgunning I was like, hey why not pair that with dazai, and here we are. anyways, ignore any typos and enjoy <3
Living with Dazai was never boring. Between his unpredictable antics, sharp wit, and occasional bouts of quiet introspection, he was the perfect mix of chaos and charm.
Tonight, though, the vibe in your shared apartment was slower, lazier—a soft haze of smoke curling around the living room as the two of you passed the joint back and forth.
Dazai leaned back on the couch, his legs spread in that annoyingly cocky way, his long fingers cradling the joint like it was a precious artifact. His half-lidded gaze drifted to you as you leaned forward to take it from him, your fingertips brushing his for just a moment.
“You look good like this,” he said, his voice low and lazy. “All relaxed. It’s a rare sight.” You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed.
“Shut up, Dazai. Pass me the lighter.” He didn’t move, just grinned at you with that knowing look that always made your stomach flip.
“Say please,” he teased, holding the lighter just out of reach.
“Fine,” you huffed, leaning closer, the smoke from his exhale ghosting over your face. “Please, Dazai.”
He didn’t hand it over. Instead, he brought the joint to his lips, took a long drag, and leaned forward until he was inches from your face. His voice dropped an octave as he said,
“Come and get it.”
Your heart stuttered, but you didn’t back down. Leaning closer, you pressed your lips to his and inhaled the smoke he exhaled, the intimate exchange leaving your head spinning in more ways than one.
“Good job,” he murmured against your lips, his tone laced with mischief as he leaned back and let you process the hit.
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, coughing lightly as the smoke burned your lungs.
“And yet, you’re still here,” he quipped, his hand reaching out to toy with the hem of your hoodie, his fingers brushing your thigh. “Admit it roomie—you like me.”
You didn’t answer, but the way your body leaned into his touch spoke volumes.
Dazai leaned back, his grin growing wider as he patted his lap. “Alright, here’s the deal,” he said, holding the joint just out of reach again. “If you want another hit, you’re going to have to come here.”
You hesitated, your heart pounding. His tone was playful, but the heat in his gaze made it impossible to tell if he was joking or not. “Seriously?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, I’m dead serious,” he replied, taking another slow drag before exhaling the smoke toward the ceiling. “No lap, no weed.”
He said it so nonchalantly, like it was the most reasonable demand in the world. With a dramatic sigh, you got up from your spot on the couch and walked over to him.
Dazai didn’t bother hiding his satisfaction as he spread his legs slightly to make room for you.
Curse his sweatpants.
The fabric hangs low on his hips, just loose enough to hint at the definition of his body but tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination. The slight V of his hip bones peeks out from beneath his shirt whenever he stretches or leans back lazily, drawing your eyes down whether you want to or not.
It’s maddening, the way his toned abdomen transitions seamlessly into that sharp cut of muscle leading lower—almost like an arrow, guiding your gaze. His sweatpants rest teasingly low, the waistband threatening to slip further down, exposing just a glimpse of the dark hair trailing beneath it. When you perched on his lap, he let his hands settle casually on your hips, his touch light but firm.
“There we go,” he said, his voice softer now as he brought the joint to his lips again. After a moment, he leaned forward, his face inches from yours. “Open up.”
You obeyed, your lips parting as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, his dark eyes locked on yours. The closeness sent a shiver down your spine, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders for balance.
“That' it,” he murmured, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist. The air between you felt electric, charged with something unspoken but undeniable.
Dazai took another hit, this time pressing his lips to yours directly to share it. His kiss was slow and deliberate, the taste of smoke and him mingling in a way that left you dizzy.
Before you could fully process what was happening, he set the joint aside and pulled you closer, his hands slipping under your hoodie to rest on your bare skin.
“You’re so warm,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your jawline. “I think I’ve been way too patient with you.”
“Dazai…” you started, but the words died in your throat when he tilted your head to capture your lips again.
“You want this,” he said against your mouth, his tone a mix of teasing and certainty. “Don’t try to deny it.”
And he was right. As fucked up as it was to want a man like him, you did.
He shifted, guiding you onto your back on the couch as he hovered over you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thighs. His touch was maddeningly slow, like he was savoring every second, every reaction.
“You’re so pretty when you’re high, baby,” he said, his voice dripping with affection and mischief. Your body arched into his touch as his hands roamed higher, his lips trailing down your neck. He paused for a moment, pulling back just enough to look at you.
“Tell me you want me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“I want you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Good,” he said, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband to tease you. “Because I’m going to make you feel so good you won’t want to get off this couch.”
Dazai sat back on the couch, legs spread wide, his head tilted as he watched you with an amused smirk. The haze of smoke hung between you, wrapping everything in a slow, intoxicating warmth. You were already flushed, eyes half-lidded and glassy as you reached for the joint in his hand.
“Ah-ah,” he teased, holding it out of reach. “You want it, sweetheart? Then come show me how much.” You knew exactly what he meant.
Shifting onto your knees, you crawled closer, settling between his thighs. His smirk grew as he brought the joint to his lips, taking a slow drag before leaning down. “Open up,” he murmured, exhaling the smoke directly into your mouth.
You inhaled, the familiar burn hitting your chest as you gazed up at him through your lashes. His free hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your lips as he pulled back to admire the way your lips parted.
“You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured, his voice low and full of heat. “All fucked up on a little smoke.” He leaned back again, his other hand stroking himself lazily as he watched you.
“Now, be good and show me what that mouth can do.”
You didn’t hesitate, your lips wrapping around the head of his cock as you sank down slowly. The saltiness of his precum mixed with the lingering taste of smoke on your tongue, and the combination made your head spin. His groan above you was low and sinful, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided you deeper.
“That’s it,” he muttered, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take me just like that.” The joint burned idly in his other hand as you worked him, your tongue swirling around the thick length of him.
You felt his hips buck slightly, a sign of his growing impatience, but you couldn’t resist teasing him a little. Pulling back just enough to lick along the underside, you glanced up at him, your lips glossy and swollen.
“Tease,” he growled, his grip on your hair tightening as he pushed you back down. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as his cock hit the back of your throat, making him groan again. “Fuck, you’re too good at this.”
He brought the joint back to his lips, taking another long drag before pulling you off his cock with a wet pop. You blinked up at him as he leaned down to press his mouth to yours. Smoke and the taste of him mingled as he kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting his own cum from your lips, before he pulled back slightly.
“Spit,” he commanded, his voice soft but firm.
Slut, you thought.
You obeyed anyways, the motion making your cheeks burn as he grinned wickedly. You watched as Dazai groaned once your spit reached his tongue, hazy brown eyes rolling to the back of his head.
“So fucking good for me,” he murmured, then spat back into your mouth. The heat in his eyes as he watched you swallow sent a shiver through you, and he kissed you again, biting at your lips before pulling away.
“Now,” he said, his hand sliding between your legs, “let’s see how high you really are.” His fingers slipped beneath your waistband, teasing your clit before sliding inside.
Your head fell back, a moan escaping your lips as he set a slow, torturous rhythm. “You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “So wet and needy. You're just as fucked up as I am—you like this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand.
“Of course you do,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “You’re my little mess.” He didn’t stop until you were trembling, your body writhing as he pushed you closer to the edge.
When you finally came, your vision blurred, your head spinning so hard you almost blacked out. Dazai chuckled, pulling his hand away and licking his fingers clean.
“You’re adorable when you’re like this,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. You barely had time to catch your breath before he leaned down, his voice soft but insistent in your ear.
The joint laid forgotten in the ashtray as Dazai pressed you into the couch, his chest flush against your back, his lips trailing hot kisses along the curve of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, carrying the faint scent of smoke and the sweet tang of lust.
His fingers slid beneath your shirt, pulling it over your head to expose more of you to his wandering touch. His cock, hard and insistent, pressed against the curve of your ass, making you squirm beneath him. Dazai chuckled, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear.
“Impatient, are we?” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you everything you want.”
He undid his belt with practiced ease, the sound of leather sliding through metal making your heart race. You felt him push your legs apart, his hand slipping between your thighs to tease your already slick entrance.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “All this for me?”
You nodded, your breath hitching as he slid a finger inside, followed quickly by another. His pace was slow, deliberate, driving you to the brink before he pulled away, leaving you aching and desperate for more.
“Tell me you want it,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“I want it,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Louder,” he demanded, his teeth nipping at your neck.
“I want it, 'samu,” you said, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”
“Very well,” he murmured, positioning himself at your entrance. The stretch as he pushed inside was almost overwhelming, his cock thick and unrelenting as he filled you completely. You cried out, your hands gripping the back of the couch for support as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his forehead resting against the back of your neck. His thrusts started slow, each one deliberate and deep, his cock hitting spots that made you see stars. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet his movements.
“Look at you,” he said, his voice dripping with praise. “Taking me so well. Like you were made for this. Fuck I should've done this way sooner–agh‐, this is so much better than I imagined....so much better than fucking my fist whilst tasting your pretty panties, baby- fuck.”
You whimpered, your nails digging into the couch as his pace quickened, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His chest was pressed against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered filthy things.
“Guess you know now why your panties keep getting 'lost'- agh~ damn-, this is so much better than humping against your pillows, sweetheart- goddamn- ngh~ better than I ever imagined-” he whimpers out, feeling like he's about to bust any second.
“You fucking freak, agh~, that was all you-?” you spat, feeling so disgusted deep inside but also so turned on even though you know you shouldn't be.
“The wet pillows, the stolen underwear, the messy wardrobe, the white stains on the couch, my wet sweatpants I need you to wash every 2 days because I get so fucking wet whenever I see you, that was all me,” he whines, hands not leaving your body for once.
He remembers it all so clearly. Not like the latest sinful action of his was too long ago.
It started with a harmless visit to your room while you’re out, his excuse being to "borrow" something or check on a nonexistent issue. But the moment he stepped inside, the sight of your bed—perfectly made, your pillow fluffed and untouched—sparks something in him. He walked over, fingers grazing the soft fabric of your pillowcase, and the faint scent of you clings to it.
It’s maddening.
He brought it closer to his face, inhaling deeply as a low groan rumbles in his chest. His body reacted immediately, his cock twitching in his sweatpants as filthy thoughts of you flood his mind.
Before he knews it, he was climbing onto your bed, your pillow clutched tightly in his hands as he presseed his hips into it. The friction is perfect—enough to make him groan softly, his breath hitching as he grinds against the plush surface.
“God, you’d look so good under me,” he muttered, his voice low and breathy, imagining your body sprawled out beneath his, your moans echoing in his ears.
His movements become more desperate, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants as he rocks harder into your pillow. He didn't even try to hold back. His breathing grows heavier, his moans spilling out as he loses himself in the fantasy. The thought of you finding out—of you catching him in the act—only spurs him on, making his hips buck wildly.
“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face into the pillow as his body tenses. His cock twitches, and he came with a shuddering gasp, hot ropes of cum spilling out and soaking into the soft fabric. The mess is unmistakable, staining the once-pristine pillowcase as he rides out the waves of his release.
For a moment, he stays there, his breath ragged, his body still pressed against your pillow as a sly smirk spreads across his lips. He pulls back, examining the evidence of his actions, and chuckles to himself.
“Oops,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with fake innocence. He knows he should clean it up, but the idea of leaving his mark there, of you unknowingly resting your head on it later, is far too tempting to resist. With a final, satisfied glance, he fixes your bed just enough to hide any immediate suspicion, leaving behind a part of himself that only he—and maybe one day you—will ever know about.
The thought of you lying down later, none the wiser, only makes it that much sweeter.
Or that other time.
Maybe he’s putting away laundry for you, or maybe he just happened to see the lace peeking out of the basket. But once his fingers brushed against the soft fabric of your panties, all pretense flies out the window.
He held them up, his sharp eyes glinting with curiosity and something darker as he ran the fabric between his fingers. The faintest scent of you clings to the lace, delicate and intoxicating, and before he even realized it, he has brought them closer, pressing them to his nose.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse, the scent sent a jolt straight to his cock. The reaction was immediate, his length hardening beneath the confines of his sweatpants, and he knew there’s no way he’s stopping now.
Slumping onto the edge of his bed, he palmed himself through the fabric, groaning softly as he imagined you wearing the very panties he was holding. His mind ran wild, picturing the way they’d hug your hips, the way the delicate lace would press against your skin.
With a smirk, he tugged down his sweatpants, his cock springing free, flushed and aching. He wrapped his hand around the base, stroking himself slowly as he held your panties to his nose again, inhaling deeply. His movements quickened, his grip tightening as he pictures your face, the way you’d look if you ever caught him like this—flushed, wide-eyed, horrified.
“Bet you’d love it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement and lust. He dragged the fabric across his lips, his tongue darting out to taste it, to imagine it’s your skin instead. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and his hips jerked up into his fist.
The room was filled with the lewd sounds of his stroking, his breathing growing heavier as he lost himself in the fantasy. His mind races with images of you, of your body, of the way you’d sound moaning his name.
“God, you have no idea,” he groaned, his pace becoming frantic, the scent and taste of your panties pushing him closer and closer to the edge. His head tilted back, his mouth falling open as a deep moan escaped him.
When he finally came, it’s with a shuddering gasp, thick ropes of cum spilling over his hand and stomach. He chuckled breathlessly, glancing down at the mess he had made and the panties still clutched tightly in his hand.
“Guess I’ll have to wash these for you,” he said to himself, his tone dripping with fake innocence.
Or yesterday.
It was no different then as he had stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over his skin, masking the heat already pooling in his body. He had pressed his forehead against the cool tiles, letting out a shaky breath, his thoughts spiraling back to you—your voice, your smile, the way you had absentmindedly bitten your lip earlier.
"Fuck," he had groaned, the sound barely audible over the rush of water. He couldn’t get you out of his head, couldn’t shake the image of the way your shirt had hugged your curves or the teasing glint in your eyes when you had laughed at one of his jokes.
His hand had trailed down his chest, his fingers ghosting over the defined lines of his stomach before wrapping around his cock. He had already been hard, the mere thought of you enough to stir him to full arousal. He had given himself a tentative stroke, his hips jerking forward at the relief, a quiet whimper slipping past his lips.
"Shit," he had muttered, his head tipping back as he had stroked himself again, his grip tightening. He could picture it so clearly—your lips wrapped around him, your hands braced against his thighs as you had looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes. The fantasy had made his knees weak, and he had braced himself against the wall, his breathing growing ragged.
"Need you s'bad," he had mumbled to himself, his voice thick with lust. His hand had moved faster, his thumb swiping over the sensitive tip, and he had let out a choked moan, his hips thrusting into his fist. The thought of you beneath him, squirming and whimpering, had made his stomach tighten, the tension building with every stroke. He hadn’t been able to stop the broken sounds escaping him, little gasps and whimpers that he would’ve been embarrassed by if anyone else could hear.
But there, alone with his thoughts of you, he hadn’t cared. He had chased his release desperately, his strokes becoming erratic as he had imagined your voice—soft and needy, calling his name as he had pushed you to your limit.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he had chanted, his body tensing as the pressure had finally snapped. His climax had hit him like a wave, his hips stuttering as he had spilled over his hand, his cum mixing with the water streaming down his body.
He had slumped against the wall, his chest heaving as he had come down from the high, his mind still spinning with thoughts of you. As the water had washed away the evidence of his release, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking his head.
"God, what the hell are you doing to me?" he had whispered, his lips curling into a smirk. He had known he was screwed, completely and utterly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
That's when it hit you.
The moans coming from the bathroom, the undeniably lip biting whenever you scold him about not doing his part of the chores, the motion of his thighs squeezing together whenever you talk about your day- he's such a slut.
“Fuck 'samu, you're such a whore- agh~, a fucking dirty slut-”
“I am, I am, I am-” he repeats over and over again as his hips snap into yours faster, fucking into you like a man possessed.
The pleasure built quickly, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust. When you came, it hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. Dazai wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing as he filled you with his release.
He stayed there for a moment, catching his breath before pulling out slowly. You thought he was done, but then he knelt behind you, spreading your legs gently as he leaned in.
“Can’t let any of this go to waste,” he said, his voice soft but full of intent. His tongue licked a slow, deliberate stripe through your folds, collecting the mix of your arousal and his release. The sensation made you shudder, your body still sensitive from your climax.
“Sweet,” he murmured, his tongue diving deeper, swirling and teasing as he cleaned every drop from your aching pussy. You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he worked, the intimacy of the act making your heart race. When he finally pulled back—just for a second—his lips were slick and glistening, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
You felt his lips move against your thighs as he licked you clean, his tongue pressing deeper to lap up every drop of your shared mess. The wet, lewd sounds filled the room, and when you turned your head to glance back at him, you couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh.
“You’re such a fucking freak, Dazai,” you said, your voice a mix of teasing and disbelief. His eyes met yours, dark and glassy with arousal, his mouth still hovering against your slick skin.
He grinned, the corners of his lips curling up sinfully as he licked his lips, savoring the taste like he couldn’t get enough.
“And you love it,” he shot back, his voice low and hoarse, before dipping his head again.
You gasped as his tongue found you once more, his moans vibrating against your oversensitive flesh. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as he buried his face between your legs.
The sight of him—so utterly lost in the act, his own release smeared across his lips—was enough to make your head spin. “Oh my god, you’re actually getting off on this.”
He didn’t even bother denying it. Instead, he let out a muffled groan, his tongue plunging into you deeper as he squeezes his thighs together, as if to prove your point.
When he finally pulled back, his chest was heaving, his lips glossy and swollen as he looked up at you with that wicked, unrelenting grin.
“Can you blame me?” he asked, his voice dripping with lust. “You’re irresistible like this. A mess I made, and now I get to taste it. Why wouldn’t I enjoy it?”
You shook your head, a mix of laughter and disbelief spilling from your lips, but you couldn’t deny the heat pooling in your stomach at the sight of him.
As if sensing your resolve cracking, Dazai leaned forward, his breath hot against your skin as he murmured, “Let me do it again.”
You blinked down at him, still trying to catch your breath. “Again?”
“Again,” he repeated, his hands sliding up your thighs. His fingers dug into your flesh just enough to make you shiver as he added, “And again. I’ll keep going until you can’t even think straight.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t give you the chance. His tongue was on you again, his moans muffled against your body as he devoured you like a man starved. You writhed beneath him, your body oversensitive but unable to resist the way he made you feel.
“Fuck, 'samu,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pushed you closer to the edge once more. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re delicious,” he muttered between kisses, his lips brushing against your inner thigh. “Now be a good little thing and let me finish what I started.”
By the time he was done, your body was trembling, your mind a haze of pleasure and disbelief. Dazai leaned back, his face flushed and his chest heaving as he grinned up at you.
“See?” he said, his voice smug and self-satisfied. “Told you I was good at this.“
You could only laugh breathlessly, shaking your head as he pulled you into his lap, his lips finding yours in a messy, heated kiss.
“Now,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to grip your ass. “How about we keep this going? I’ve got all night, and you’re not leaving this couch until I’m satisfied.”
Ilya didn't think that this was how his week off with Shane would turn out. The men had been extremely busy with their careers for months, only meeting for sexual endeavours twice in the span of six months.
After both losing the cup to Florida, they both had enough free time for themselves. Luck had a wicked sense of humor, because unfortunately, Shane had come down with a nasty cold on what was supposed to be their first day of vacation at his cottage.
They had done the same last year and, of course, been caught by David. Maybe the cottage was cursed?
After three days of holding Shane over steam to help with his congestion, bathing Shane, and making sure that Shane was comfortable, it was obvious to Ilya that the other man was becoming.. jittery.
It started off with small gestures. Ilya would be taking Shane's temperature with an oral thermometer, instead having to halt the process because Shane was too busy trying to catch one of Ilya's fingers in his mouth. It would be waking up to warmth, a feverish Shane nuzzling at his neck, pressing little kisses to it. Extremely improper for his usually preserved boyfriend.
"How're you feeling? Any better?" Ilya asked after successfully pulling away from Shane's kisses to stand up from bed, something he's never had to do. Shane wouldn't be so jolly if Ilya got sick too.
Shane just whined in response, blinking over at Ilya from his side of the bed. From the look in Shane's eyes, Ilya could tell he was still feverish without even having to feel his forehead. Shane reached for Ilya's wrist, pulling him closer to the bed.
Ilya couldn't help but smile, kneeling back on the bed. "What is it, малыш? You need your medicine. Up."
"N'do," Shane frowned, shifting as he held Ilya's wrist. Shane was on his back, kicking off the sheets so he could spread out his legs with his knees bent. "Just — quickly? 5 m'bi'dnutes?"
Ilya stared, eyebrows shooting up. The sight of his Shane splayed out was certainly doing something for him. Fuck, it was so unethical. Shane was just feverish. This wasn't normal behaviour.
"Shane," Ilya sighed, trying to free his wrist from Shane's primal grip. "When you are better, yes? Not now. I've told you this."
Shane furrowed his brows, knees lowering slightly. He couldn't make sense of Ilya's rejection. Or multiple rejections, per se. "Why.. what? Did I do som'bethin'gh wrong?"
Ilya cocked his head at the question, silently cooing at how congested his boyfriend sounded. Ilya put his free hand on Shane's far knee, moving it to connect with his other to close his legs. "You can barely stand to shower, sick boy."
Shane made a weak sound of frustration in the back of his swollen throat, head falling down onto his pillow. Shane's expression of anger crumpled into one of desperation as Ilya watched Shane grab for his bedside tissues.
"Huh-tshhuh! Huhh'ts—NGGkxShhuh!" Shane had his little tissue grasped over his nose, thighs jolting open with each sneeze. Shane brought the now soaked tissue away from his nose, straining his waist to throw it in the trash can at the side of his bed that Ilya placed there for necessity.
Ilya hummed, perching next to Shane. "God bless," said Ilya, tone slightly marred with arrogance. Shane was clearly too sick for any erotic activity, he just proved it himself.
Shane made a crude sniffle, relaxing back into his prior position. "I tried to pre'bp — sndff! — while you sle'bpt. It'll be good, I pro'bmise.. I'm war'bmer inside. The fever," Shane rambled, subtly shifting his hips to rut against their sheets, catching a bit of the fabric between the solid muscle of his thighs.
"Fuck, Shane," Ilya breathed, voice coming out weak as he attempted not to let Shane's feverish confession nest inside of his brain. "I told you to rest last night."
"I k'dnow," Shane frowned, continuing to desperately rut against the useless bit of duvet between his thighs. "— and I did! I sle'bpt. But I needed to —"
"No," Ilya grabbed the duvet from between Shane's thighs, tossing it away from the boy. "You need to take medicine, that's it. Nothing else. Not this," Ilya made a vague gesture to Shane's dick. "— whatever this is."
Shane let out a dry sob of frustration, turning over with uncharacteristically sloppy movements so his face was now jammed against his pillow, ass up. It didn't help that Shane was only dressed in a pair of boxers.
It was so foreign to see Shane's movements be anything out of the little box he made himself, performed with thought and precision. On and off the ice.
"You're being ridiculous," Ilya hissed, his patience being tested. The teasing was getting to him, but Shane was so fucked up. Ilya could barely recognise this side of Shane. It was terrifying. It was exciting. "Get up."
"N'do!" Shane spat into his pillow, speech muffled by the thick cotton.
Ilya let out a big sigh. His right hand came up, delivering a swat to the exposed fat of Shane's ass. Shane jolted into their bed as if Ilya had physically thrust something into him, a broken moan leaving him.
Ilya furrowed his brow. Of course Shane liked that.
"Shane, you're being crazy," Ilya mumbled, putting his face in his hands. What would a mentally healthy person do given his current situation? Would they call someone? Shut this down completely? Probably.
"I'm no'dt crazy for wa'dnting to be fucked!" Shane cried into his pillow, adjusting his hips. His knees were probably already getting tired, for Christ sakes. Shane wouldn't be able to handle any physical activity.
"You're fucking sick, Shane," Ilya continued to mumble, patting Shane's calf that was visibly strained, arms shaking from where he held himself up on his elbows.
Shane made a little grunt into his pillow. "I'm no'dt crazy nor sick! You're sick!" the boy spat.
The words hit Ilya wrong. Sick? Ilya wasn't sick. Was that a jab at his mental health?
In a swift movement, Ilya got himself onto his knees behind Shane, positioning himself to loom over him. "Don't you ever call me sick."
Shane sniffled, bringing his head up for air, shaking his head to break the string of snot that was connected to his pillow from his nose. "Mmh.. Ilya, I didn't mea'dn —"
"Stop. You've done enough this morning," Ilya spat, subtly shaking his head. Was he being too mean?
Shane made a sad little hum, reaching back to tug down his boxers. The flesh of his ass was now visible for Ilya.
Ilya sighed, head down so he could see. "You don't deserve anything. I was going to, but. You're no good to me like this," Ilya said, lying through his teeth. Ilya's hands shoved Shane sideways, watching as the Canadian tipped with it.
Shane sniffled, getting himself back up on his elbows, ass jutted out once more. "No — no, please. I'm war'bm! Fever — please. Inside. I'll be good..! I'm good li'gke this," Shane rambled, pressing his ass back into Ilya.
Ilya held Shane's hips, giving his glutes a little squeeze. Sigh. Ilya's hands pulled down his own sweatpants, the material pooling at his calves.
"Yesyesyes," Shane sighed, sensing the movement behind him. "Fi'dnally."
Ilya hummed, taking in how sweet Shane was now that he was about to get exactly what he wanted. Ilya's hand halted, feeling the weight of his own dick in his hand as he finally got himself free. Fuck, the lube. They ran out of it from their last stay.
"I need to get lube, да? I think there's some, ehh.. in the couch somewhere," Ilya went to stand, his thigh getting grabbed instead.
"Don't leave!" Shane hissed, eyes wide as his head whipped right to look at Ilya. "Need you n'dow. Fuck, right n'dow. Fuck the lube."
Ilya grimaced, matching Shane's expression of shock. "Shane, that's.. not how sex works. You aren't woman, we need it."
"N'do," Shane whined. A word Ilya was coming to hear a lot today.
"Do you want sex or not, пчелка?" Ilya asked, attempting to maintain patience. Shane was making no sense.
"Use spit or somethin'gh," the other boy said, head ducking back down into his pillow.
Ilya sighed for the 50th time that morning, his hands rubbing up from Shane's ass to his spine, feeling Shane's ribs start to swell and deflate frantically under his hands.
"Hh.. hh.. hih.."
Before the idea could even become concrete in Ilya's mind, he was acting on it. Ilya grabbed Shane by the top of his hair, forcing Shane to bare his neck to his bed frame. Ilya cupped his hand over the lower half of Shane's face before any lube could be wasted.
"Hah'ktSHH! tTSHHXX! In'gsh! Ip'tsShhww.." Shane practically baptized Ilya's palm, head ducking down with each one. Ilya gave Shane's nose a squeeze, wringing him off and shoving the boys head back down before taking his hand back.
Ilya wasted no time, slathering the yellow gunk from his hand onto his dick. Ilya gave his dick an experimental stroke, using the leftover mucus to introduce his finger into Shane's hole. Ilya carefully worked his fingers into Shane one by one until the ring of muscles became relaxed, Shane's squeaks melting into comfortable moans.
Shane quietly whined with impatience under Ilya, his walls already fluttering under the pads of Ilya's fingers.
"Deep breath," ordered Ilya, lining himself up with careful precision.
Shane obeyed as usual, taking a deep breath. His lungs crackled with the inhale, his hole relaxing to completion. Ilya inserted his tip, and then his whole length at once.
"Oh, fuck, Shane.." Ilya breathed, finally understanding what Shane meant. The warmth of his boyfriend felt utterly different, a type of bliss he'd never felt before. Shane had always felt better than any of the girls Ilya had fucked, but this? This was elation in the form of a man. "So fucking warm, жук.."
Shane whined into his pillow, the flesh of his ass quaking with each thrust. The sensitivity that the fever brought naturally felt ten times more intense than it usually did for Shane.
Shane arched his back as his hips wiggled down a little, feeling Ilya in his lower abdomen. "Fu-u-u-u'gck! Fu'gck!"
Ilya felt a smile paint his face at Shane's broken curses, hitting the boy's prostate over and over again. Ilya groaned as he felt his balls grow tight, his orgasm coming faster than he had hoped. Ilya pulled out gently, painting Shane's back with the result of his pleasure. "Ah, Shane! Ooh.."
Shane crumpled at the same time, ruining the sheets beneath him as he spilled over them as he did his own stomach. Shane toppled into the bed as it was over, his body left trembling. Post orgasm bliss mixed well with a spiking fever.
Ilya panted, falling back on his knees as he recollected himself. "Fuck, that was good. You did good, Shanya," Ilya mumbled, leaning down to lick his mess off Shane's back. The temperature beneath his tongue surprised him. Ilya's hands rubbed at Shane's waist, massaging the dips.
"Let's get you in the bath, hmm? Да?" Ilya whispered against Shane's back, hands continuing their comfort.
Shane nodded into the sheets, producing a stuffy sniffle. "Mmh.. dirty.."
"Dirty," Ilya parroted in agreement, pressing kisses to Shane's back. "Dirty boy. Come, up."
Shane turned himself over, sitting himself up with little coughs. He winced as he felt lube slide out of him, lifting his thigh out of the way to see. He was sat beneath a little puddle of white and yellow.
"Wha'dt is tha'dt?" Shane rubbed at one eye, moving back to see the residue better. "Why's'it yellow?"
Ilya hummed, standing from the bed to stretch. "Lube. Come, bath."
"Where — I thought we ra'dn ou'dt," Shane babbled, eyes closing momentarily.
"Shh. Bath," Ilya explained, gathering some clean clothes for Shane out of his wardrobe. Ilya helped Shane wobble to his bathroom, sitting him down on the closed toilet seat.
Ilya ran the bath, pouring some dettol in that Shane kept in his cabinets.
"Need'a pee.." Shane mumbled, head down as he rocked himself on the toilet seat. Shane grabbed some of the toilet paper at his side, snagging some to his nose to produce a weak blow that sounded more like a baby elephant that was just realizing it had a trunk.
Ilya cooed quietly, drying off his hands in a towel. "Okay, up. I'll hold you?"
Shane nodded, moving to stand as he lifted the toilet seat up and shuffled down his sweats and underwear. His legs were still a little shaky.
Ilya came up behind Shane, taking Shane's tissue to wipe his boyfriend's nose himself. After disposing the tissue in the toilet bowl, Ilya snaked an arm around Shane's waist, resting his head on Shane's shoulder.
Shane relieved his bladder, leaning against Ilya as he weakly held his dick in one hand to direct the stream into the toilet bowl. "Mm, than'gk you. Real n'dice."
Ilya nibbled on Shane's shoulder, giving it a kiss. "Get naked, да? Bath."
Shane got himself undressed, weakly folding his clothes just to put them in the laundry basket anyway. He held onto Ilya's arm to step into the bath, lowering himself down.
Ilya crouched on the floor next to the tub, wiping Shane's back with a rag doused in soap.
"Cold," Shane complained, his features scrunched up.
"You have a fever, малыш. Is necessary for you right now," Ilya replied, wiping down Shane's bicep.
the first time viktor made the hexcore gem work was the moment jayce knew he would go beyond heaven and hell to be with him always. go argue with the wall
