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Shane’s back is a map of freckles and moles, scars and bruises. It ripples as Ilya traces from freckle to freckle with his tongue, little bumps raising in the wet path he leaves behind. The muscles move too, little twitches like they’re trying to follow his mouth.
Shane isn’t limp, but he’s relaxed, more relaxed than Ilya ever sees him except when he’s sleeping or fucked out, and sometimes not even then.
“Such a good boy for me,” Ilya murmurs, mouthing wetly against a scar raised on Shane’s back. It’s from a broken tree branch when Shane was a child, catching skin under clothing and tearing him open. Ilya made Shane describe all of his scars to him, and how he got them, while Ilya licked and sucked each of them, until Shane sobbed and begged under him.
Ilya knows every centimeter of Shane’s body, because it is his to love, to worship. To take apart and put back together just as perfectly as Shane is now, every scar and bruise and mole and freckle.
“Such a good boy for me,” he says again, “being so still for me when I know my good boy wants to move.”
Shane hums, loose and warm. It makes Ilya smile against his skin. “C’ld make y’feel g’d,” he mumbles, more rote than like he actually wants to do anything. Though Ilya knows that, if he said he wanted Shane to do something, Shane would do it without hesitation.
But Ilya doesn’t want that, so he slides further down Shane’s body to say, “You’re making me feel good right now, like this.” And then he sets his teeth in the globe of Shane’s perfect ass, not biting down so much as increasing the pressure more and more until he knows there will be a set of bruises in the shape of his mouth right there.
Shane moans, low and rough.
“So good for me,” Ilya says again, warm and delighted. Being still is so hard for his love, and Shane is being so good, so still, letting Ilya do whatever he wants with him. “I don’t even have to tie you down.” He leans back just enough to survey the warm expanse of Shane’s body, and Shane whines, not words so much as just noise in his throat, almost on the edge of panic.
That’s not what Ilya wants at all, not right now, so he presses a hand to Shane’s lower back, putting pressure until that whine turns soft again.
“Maybe next time I will tie you down,” he muses. “I wonder if I tie you down like this, flat on your stomach so you can’t even see what is coming, so your cock is trapped under you but you can’t even hump the mattress like the pretty little slut you are. Or I will tie you face up and feed you my cock, but I won’t cum in your mouth no matter how much you want me to. I’ll make you just watch me cum, make you watch me jack myself off and wish that my hands were your hands. But maybe I’ll be nice and cum all over your face so you have some of me on you.”
Shane’s muscles shift under Ilya’s hand, and he mumbles, “Le’ me—face u—”
“I wasn’t offering you a choice, solnyshko,” Ilya reminds him.
Shane goes limp at those words, like that’s all he needed to hear. And it probably was. His good boy needs to make so many decisions, all the time, and sometimes it is too much for him.
“Good,” Ilya says, pressing his hand down again to remind Shane that he’s here. “Now you’re going to lie here and I am going to finish licking you all over, and then I will cum on your back, and then I will give you a bath, and if you are very good boy then I will let you cum. Do you understand me?”
Shane mumbles something into the pillow that isn’t a yes, so Ilya leans down and bites his shoulder, hard enough that it must hurt.
“I asked you a question, solnyshko.”
“I ‘nd’rst’nd,” Shane mumbles. He sounds very out of it, which is exactly where Ilya wants him to be. Not thinking, just feeling. Nothing in his head but Ilya.
“Good boy,” Ilya praises. “My very good boy, listening to me so well, being so soft for me.” He’s slipped into Russian, but Shane knows this much at this point, and even this deep he gets the tone whether or not he gets all of the words.
He starts at the top again, right at the base of Shane’s neck and his broad shoulders, licking and sucking and pulling up bruises but only where they won’t hide Shane’s freckles, because he doesn’t want to ever hide those freckles. He coos to the freckles as he licks them, telling them how perfect they are, how perfect their owner is, how much he loves them.
He’s hard, because there’s no world where touching Shane like this doesn’t make him hard, but it’s a distant thought, less relevant than the feeling of skin under his tongue, under his fingers, the way Shane trembles and whimpers but doesn’t roll over and climb on top of Ilya and the way some part of him no doubt wants to.
“My good, good boy,” he sings, “with his good, good freckles, and his beautiful ass, and his hole that I could fuck so easily. Just slip my cock right in and fuck him, and he would take me so well, wouldn’t he? My little cockslut is always ready to take me, isn’t he?”
He’s not going to fuck Shane tonight, because that’s not the plan he told Shane and he’s going to do exactly what he told Shane because he doesn’t want Shane to have to think about anything about what is happening, but Shane is being so good, so Ilya spreads Shane’s cheeks and licks his hole until he has to hold Shane down because he’s writhing despite his best efforts.
“‘m being good,” Shane slurs, “‘m trying to be good.”
“Oh, solnyshko, I know you are,” Ilya coos, pulling away from Shane’s ass with a little bit of reluctance so he can lean back up and suck a bruise on the side of Shane’s neck. “You’re being so good for me, even when I’m making it so hard for you.”
Ilya pulls back, making sure to keep as much in contact with Shane as possible, and wraps his hand around his hard cock. It’s red and leaking, throbbing, and he drags his fingers across the head then touches his fingers to Shane’s lips, barely visible where his head is tilted against a pillow. His mouth is limp, drool puddling at the corner of it, and he drags his tongue against Ilya’s pre-cum covered finger.
“That’s right, solnyshko, get my fingers nice and wet for me. Lube me up so it feels better when I jack myself off all over you.”
Shane’s mouth is sloppy, uncoordinated, but he licks and sucks and drools all over Ilya’s fingers until Ilya has to pull them away so he doesn’t just rut against Shane’s body to get himself off.
“So good,” Ilya says, then fists his cock. It doesn’t take much to get him off, as turned on as he is, but he narrates it for Shane, you made my hand so wet and it feels so good, I’m going to cum all over you so you never forget who you belong to, my love, my beloved, my life—
His orgasm hits him like a check against the boards.
It takes him a minute to catch his breath, braced over Shane’s back splattered with Ilya’s cum, and then he says, “Okay, Hollander, it’s bath time.”
“Ngh,” Shane moans, tilting his head a little more so he can almost look at Ilya. “C’n j’s sleep like th’s.”
“You will not be happy with me if you wake up like this,” Ilya reminds him. He leans down to kiss Shane’s hand, then climbs off of him, careful to keep contact with him the whole time. “Up, Hollander.”
He uses his captain voice, and Shane jerks upright like his body overrode his brain, sitting half-up with eyes mostly closed and a mouth wet with spit.
“Good boy,” Ilya says, shifting his grip on Shane’s hand so he can tug him up to standing. Shane’s cock is dripping, but he hardly seems to notice, leaning against Ilya’s body as Ilya leads him into the bathroom. “You were so good for me. I am so proud of you.”
“Ngh,” Shane says again, warm and a little bratty.
Ilya loves him more than the sun and the moon and hockey.
They have the world’s best hot water heater, so all Ilya needs to do is turn on the tap and within seconds it’s warm enough for Ilya to lower Shane into the tub, supporting him as the tub fills up.
Ilya already has everything he needs next to the bath, so he doesn’t need to let go of Shane to grab anything. He plans ahead, even if his beloved doesn’t always believe him.
Shane, blinking blearily at him, says, “The water’ll get dirty.”
“Maybe I get you off in it,” Ilya says. “Then it will be even dirtier.”
Shane blinks at him some more, vaguely irritated, and Ilya can’t help but laugh and press a kiss to the tip of his nose.
“You are so precious,” Ilya tells him, smiling when Shane wrinkles his nose. “So particular and needy, my little tomato. Says he can sleep with my cum all over him and then upset that that water will be dirty.”
“Fuck off,” Shane mutters.
“But if I fuck off then how can I wash your hair?” Ilya asks. “Will you not let me wash your hair, solnyshko? Will you forbid me that? My husband, he is so mean, not even letting his poor slaving husband wash his hair.”
“Okay, okay,” Shane says, laughing. “I—oh.” Ilya’s hand closed around Shane’s cock under the water, and Shane arches into it, water splashing against the lip of the tub. “I thought—ah, I thought you were going to wash my hair.”
“My husband would not be happy with me washing his hair with dirty water,” Ilya says, stroking him slowly. Shane’s cock feels almost burning hot in the warm water. “But my husband has been so good to me tonight, and I promised him if he was good I would let him cum.”
“I—Ilya, please. Please.”
“My husband was good for me, wasn’t he?”
Shane arches back, neck stretched, and he moans, “Ilya.”
Ilya stops his hand, right at the base of Shane’s cock, and prompts, “I asked you a question.”
“Wha—”
Shane tries to fuck up into his fist, but Ilya doesn’t let him. He repeats, “My husband was good for me, wasn’t he?”
“Ye–yes,” Shane moans. “Ilya, please. Please.” The last words slip into Russian, like Shane thinks that will be enough to convince him.
It is, of course, but still Ilya says, “You must answer the question properly, solnyshko.”
Shane whines, low in his throat, then says, “I was—I was good for you. I was so good for you. Wasn’t I? Wasn’t I good for you, Ilya? Please.”
“That’s right,” Ilya says, and starts jacking Shane off again, faster this time. He leans down to kiss him, because he can’t not, and Shane arches up into the kiss, all hot wet and tongue as he shudders and cums.
Ilya keeps his hand on Shane as he comes down from the orgasm, stroking him slowly until Shane starts to tremble with overstimulation.
“You were so good for me,” Ilya says into Shane’s mouth. “I love you. You were so good for me.”
“You’re not washing my hair with this water,” Shane tells him, and Ilya laughs.
All of his love is a bright star in his chest.