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It still feels like sex when Ilya stops blowing Shane and tells him to stand still, naked in the middle of the room with his arms above his head. It still feels like sex when Ilya disappears from view, leaving Shane hard and anticipatory, with no clue what touch is going to come next. It doesn't really feel like sex anymore when Ilya returns with a flexible measuring tape and a notepad, wrapping the tape around various parts of Shane's chest and writing down numbers next to a list of messily scrawled Cyrillic.
"What are you doing?" Shane asks reasonably, though he doesn't drop his arms or do anything to try to stop Ilya as his cock twitches hopefully in the air between them.
Ilya gives him a firm look as he drops back to his knees. A look that says Shut up. A look that says I know more than you. A look that says Let it be a surprise.
Shane's not very good with surprises—they mess with his routines, with the plans he's already made in his head, months in advance of actually taking action, and he finds them unnecessarily stressful in the vast majority of cases. He's especially bad at pretending to like something if he doesn't, particularly if he doesn't have time to prepare for it, which is why he doesn't even let his mom buy him birthday presents unless they're from his Approved List of Gift Ideas. He has structures in place to avoid them at all costs.
The only exception is Ilya. In his boyfriend's arms is the one place he feels safe to relinquish his tightly held grip on control—to secede it to Ilya's calm words and wicked hands—so he shuts his mouth, sucking his lips between his teeth. That doesn't mean he won't be thinking about it, though—constantly, fruitlessly trying to guess what Ilya is planning for him.
Ilya being back on his knees in front of him gives Shane's dick the false hope that it's about to get swallowed back down, jerking hard as Ilya's hot breath ghosts across it. Ilya wraps the measuring tape around Shane's hips, pointedly ignoring his dick pathetically begging for attention. He slowly and precisely measures the girth around the top of each of Shane's thighs, brushing against his balls with the back of his hand.
Maybe it's some new competition Ilya's thought up—to see who can gain more muscle over a set period of time, or something. That could be fun. Shane's not sure why Ilya couldn't just tell him that, and let him measure himself, but he can't say that the attention isn't thrilling, even if it is a little confusing.
Eventually, Ilya reaches the end of his list, snapping the notebook firmly closed. He doesn't say anything as he drops the measuring tape in a messy pile on top of the book, just slides Shane's cock back into his throat like there was no interruption at all.
Shane doesn't even begin to get an explanation until over a month later, when he enters the bedroom ten minutes after llya—on his boyfriend's instruction—to find a flat white box sitting in the middle of the bed, wrapped in a light blue ribbon tied into an ostentatious bow. There are a ridiculous amount of rose petals scattered across the sheets, and Ilya is lying horizontally across the bed by the pillows, leaning his head in his hand, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.
"What—?" Shane can't help but laugh softly at the absurdity of the situation. It's not an anniversary or a birthday, and even if it was, Ilya has never done anything like this before. "Who are you and what have you done with Ilya Rozanov?"
"You do not want your gift?" Ilya rumbles, looking between Shane's face and the present in the middle of the bed. "I can take it back."
Well he didn't say that. Shane walks closer to the end of the bed, taking in the whole scene. The petals look real, and they're definitely going to stain the white sheets if they get crushed against the bed. He should probably be thinking about how romantic it is, but he can't help but consider the admin.
"What is all this?" he murmurs, gently pushing petals to the side so he doesn't kneel on any as he clambers up onto the bed, taking the present into his lap. It's extremely lightweight, like Ilya bought him a box of air.
Ilya shrugs a shoulder as he sits up opposite Shane, uncaring of any petals squashed beneath his legs. "Open it," he instructs, though he seems uncharacteristically nervous. His face is as calm and stoic as ever, but the way his knee bounces slightly as he crosses his legs gives him away.
Ilya's nerves make him nervous, and Shane has to take a deep breath in as he pulls on one end of the bow, watching it fall apart under his touch. He can't ignore the compulsion to flatten out the ribbon—a wide, lacy thing—and fold it neatly on the bed before opening the box. He can feel Ilya's steely gaze on him as he slowly lifts the lid.
What's inside the box doesn't make sense at all. It's… lingerie…? Two pieces, sitting on a bed of scrunched up cream-coloured tissue paper. His eyes flick up to Ilya's, hoping for any clue, but his boyfriend is giving nothing away.
"Um," Shane says, dumbfounded. Fucking surprises. He tries to go for a joke, in the absence of any coherent thought entering his head—"I think you gave me the present meant for your secret girlfriend."
He can practically see the words fall flat between them, not eliciting so much as a soft huff of breath from Ilya, whose pretty blue eyes are staring deep and unblinking into Shane's soul.
"Can you say something?" Shane begs, putting down the box to carefully pick up one of the items inside. It's made of the same lacy blue fabric as the ribbon, and it's kind of like a bra, but longer at the bottom, maybe? He doesn't spend a lot of time looking at bras, so he doesn't really know how they're supposed to look. He also doesn't understand why he's looking at a bra right now.
"It is for you," Ilya murmurs, resting his palms on his knees to stop them shaking. He doesn't say anything else, just watches as Shane slowly inspects the items.
Shane picks up the… panties is the only word to really describe them, and he cringes internally. Maybe externally too. Ilya's shoulders are tense behind the fabric Shane holds up, which he can tell because the panties are practically see-through—the delicate lace certainly wouldn't leave a lot to the imagination. They're wide, he realises belatedly, and the bra thing was too—like they really are meant to fit him. His mind flashes back to the measuring tape, the numbers, the secret text encoded in messy Cyrillic.
"Why?" he whispers, biting his lip. He loves Ilya, and he loves doing what Ilya wants him to do, but this is beyond the scope of even Shane's imagination. Maybe it's because he's extremely gay, but he never really understood the appeal of lingerie. Tight tank tops and short shorts stretched over bulging muscles and a thick cock—now that, he can get behind.
"I want you to see how pretty you are," Ilya says, meeting his eyes, his gaze serious. "You never believe me. Let me show you."
Shane swallows softly, rubbing his thumb across the underwear in his hand—it's too feminine, too delicate—he's sure it would look ridiculous wrapped around his big hockey body.
"Will you make me?" Shane whispers, both a question and a request. He's not sure he can face wearing any of this unless Ilya forces him into it.
But for once, Ilya shakes his head. "No," he says simply, "I want you to do it for you."
Shane takes a deep, shuddering breath, noting how high quality the fabric feels under his thumb. This is clearly something Ilya really wants—has put time and money and research into—and even if Shane is reticent; has Ilya ever led him astray before?
He bites his lip, scanning Ilya's marble-cut face. It's not a difficult decision, when the alternative would be to watch Ilya's face drop in disappointment. "Will you at least help me put it on? I don't know about any of this stuff."
Ilya surges forward across the bed in a surprise move that makes Shane nearly jump out of his skin, dragging him into a kiss. "Yes, da, good boy," he murmurs against Shane's lips, and Shane can feel the way his mouth curls into a smile.
As they climb off the bed, Shane quietly verbalises his concern about the rose petals, because it's eating away at the back of his mind. There's already a small red stain underneath where Ilya was sitting, and Shane has to resist the urge to dash into the ensuite to get a warm, damp cloth.
Ilya huffs a soft laugh, watching Shane with fond eyes as he freaks out about something unimportant. He tugs at the hem of Shane's shirt, and he instantly lifts his arms, letting Ilya strip him. "Is okay," Ilya murmurs, leaning in to kiss Shane as he drops his shirt on the floor, "we will not be using bed."
He makes quick work of the rest of Shane's clothes, dragging him out of sweatpants and underwear and socks. Shane's cock is embarrassingly soft, tucked almost shyly between his legs. It's unlikely to be a problem, it's just that the only part of the situation that really interests him so far is Ilya.
Ilya is not so hesitant, already at least half-mast in his boxers as he runs his palms lovingly over Shane's smooth skin. He places a hand on each of Shane's shoulders and turns him towards the full-length mirror, and Shane can't help but cringe. "You see how pretty you are?"
Shane's eyes scan his own naked body critically—the boring, hairless planes of his chest, his abs that despite his best efforts are never quite as deep cut as Ilya's, his humiliatingly small-looking grower of a cock protruding from a patch of short-cropped hair. He turns his gaze on Ilya in the mirror, noting how all the same features on his boyfriend's body start a simmering fire low in his belly. "I see how hot you are," he deflects.
Ilya makes a disgruntled noise, turning to pick up the panties from the bed. "You will see," he promises, dropping gracefully to his knees in front and to the side of Shane, so he doesn't block his view in the mirror. It wouldn't be such a bad thing if he did—Ilya's ass looks gorgeous filling out his tight black boxer shorts as he leans towards Shane. "Step," he instructs, dragging Shane from his valid distraction.
He's holding out the underwear at Shane's feet, and Shane nervously steps into both leg holes. The fabric is surprisingly soft against his skin as Ilya drags it up his hairy legs—he thought the lace would probably be itchy, but it feels fine. Ilya settles the garment up around Shane's hips, reaching a warm hand inside to readjust Shane's soft cock and balls to sit more comfortably beneath the pale blue material. They're the exact colour Shane always wears, and when Ilya blinks up at him with those gorgeous baby blues, Shane feels himself start to stir slightly.
Shane is surprised how comfortable he feels, physically. The underwear fits him like a glove, sitting flush around his hips and his thick thighs, not pinching or digging in anywhere. His cock isn't even being crushed against his body, like there's built-in room for it that he didn't notice while holding them in his hands.
"Beautiful," Ilya breathes, sitting back on his heels to take in the view. "You see?"
Shane looks in the mirror. He looks like Shane Hollander with women's underwear on. "Where did you get these?" he pivots again, looking back at Ilya. "Why do they fit me so well?"
"I had them custom made," Ilya shrugs, like that's no big deal at all.
That must've cost a small fortune, and Shane is already looking ahead to when they're inevitably going to get covered in come, wincing softly. Ilya must really want this, to have ordered something completely, perfectly tailored to Shane's body, and Shane realises he's giving him absolutely nothing in return. It must be disheartening to put so much time and money and effort into buying something sexy for your boyfriend, only for him to be so boring that he can't even meaningfully engage.
"They're pretty," Shane tries. "I don't really get it, but I appreciate it."
It goes much the same with the bra. Ilya slips the loop of fabric down Shane's arms and over his head, adjusting the straps and the hem until it sits comfortably, flush to his body. The bottom of the garment sits below his pecs, long enough to almost cover his top row of abs, and the edge of the fabric has a cute wave pattern. The inside of the lacy material feels delicious against his hardening nipples.
Ilya takes a half step back, scanning Shane filthily with his eyes and letting out a low whistle. "Mmph," he grunts softly, brushing over Shane's shoulder with one hand. "You see?"
This time, when Shane looks in the mirror, it feels different. He's still not seeing what Ilya clearly sees, but it's better, looking at everything as a set. His cock is starting to show an interest, and it's incredibly obvious as it hardens beneath the thin blue fabric. "I see," he murmurs softly, touching at the delicate lace covering his hip. "Thank you."
Ilya loops around behind him, tucking his chin over Shane's shoulder as he scans Shane's body in the mirror. "Mmm, finishing touch," Ilya says, turning to kiss Shane's cheek as his hands lift to the back of his own neck.
He's not—he never—
Ilya carefully lifts his gold necklace from his chest, wrapping the delicate chain around Shane's throat. The simple act takes Shane's breath away, and he has to let his eyes flutter closed, too overwhelmed to watch as Ilya's fingers fumble with the clasp at the back of his neck.
In all the years Shane has known Ilya, he's never once seen his boyfriend without his mother's necklace around his neck. And now Shane is wearing it, and his cock is hard, tenting the pretty lace obscenely.
He gingerly lifts a hand to touch the Orthodox cross that he's kissed thousands of times over the years. "Ilya," he manages to whisper, barely louder than a breath.
Shane still thinks he looks a bit silly—his big, masculine body wrapped in feminine lace, his hairy legs a stark contrast to the pretty blue fabric—but the necklace wrapped around his neck makes a big difference, even if on mostly an emotional level.
It's clearly working for Ilya, who is pressed up tight against Shane's back, his boxer-clad erection rocking gently into the crease at the back of Shane's underwear. His big hands wrap around Shane's waist, making him feel small and delicate in his new outfit. "Good," Ilya whispers, drawing out the vowel sound, "good, good." He presses his lips to the chain at the side of Shane's throat, like he's steeling himself. "Good girl."
Shane can't help the way he freezes. "I'm not—" he whispers, though his cock pulses inside the panties at Ilya's words.
"Just for tonight?" Ilya murmurs back, his breath hot across Shane's neck as his hands slowly roam inwards, sliding across Shane's abs and tugging him back against his body. "You do not have to act different—just let me say it."
It's confusing to Shane. He is categorically not a woman, but Ilya wants to dress him up and call him one. He meets his boyfriend's eyes in the mirror, and Ilya is watching him hungrily. "You miss fucking women?" Shane asks softly. It's not intended as anything other than a genuine question, but Ilya still flinches slightly before schooling his face.
"Sometimes," he murmurs, sliding his hand down to cup Shane's bulge, "but no. That's not what this is."
Shane gasps softly, letting his head fall slack against Ilya's shoulder. The lace is comfortable to wear, but with friction and pressure, it's a whole new sensation against his aching cock—sending a delicious thrill up his spine. His hips buck lightly into Ilya's hand, chasing the sensation.
"Yes, beautiful girl," Ilya murmurs, running two fingertips gently up and down the length of Shane's cock, "you moan so pretty for me."
Ilya's never touched him quite like this before—like he's some precious thing that Ilya has to protect. Shane's used to a firm grip, pounding fingers, enthusiastic, biting kisses, not the delicate stroke of fingertips, and the achingly sincere smile.
Shane feels a thumb rub against the fabric over the head of his cock and looks down to see the area already saturated with precome. He feels his whole body flush, checking in the mirror to confirm that he's a healthy, embarrassed shade of pink.
"Good girl," Ilya murmurs, kissing the soft spot beneath Shane's ear, sending a shiver through him. "Getting so wet for me, mm?"
It feels like a question, and Shane's voice gets stuck in his throat trying to answer, his response coming out as a squeak. Ilya's face tugs into a smile as his free arm curls possessively around Shane's midsection, holding their bodies together. He's waiting for an answer, so Shane tries again. "I—" he says, sucking on his lips, trailing his eyes down his body in the mirror, stopping where Ilya's fingertips play gently over his bulge, "I'm sorry for making a mess in your gift."
Yes, he's still thinking about the admin.
Ilya laughs, soft and delighted in his ear. "Oh, baby girl," he murmurs, lifting his sticky fingertips to rub across one of Shane's hard nipples through the fabric of the bra, "I got them for you so you can ruin them."
Without Ilya's hand covering his crotch, Shane can see just how much he is leaking, a humiliatingly large wet patch slowly spreading out through the loops and swirls of the lace detailing, staining the fabric a darker blue everywhere it creeps. His chest tightens, embarrassment making his cock twitch hard, desperate for more as Ilya plays with his nipples.
"More," Shane begs, rocking his head back, but Ilya stops him this time, gently pressing a hand to the back of his skull.
"Only if you watch, sweetheart," Ilya murmurs, holding Shane's head towards the mirror until Shane stops resisting. He slides both hands back to Shane's waist, dropping a kiss to the strap sitting flat across Shane's shoulder. "Tell me how you feel."
That's a loaded request, but Shane does his best to answer honestly. He sucks in a deep breath, watching Ilya's necklace rise and fall on his chest, resting neatly just below his clavicles in the vee of the bra. He's not sure how he feels, really. He clearly got into it eventually, his leaking cock filthily tenting his new panties, but that may just be as a result of osmosis because Ilya is obviously very into it. He scans his body in the mirror, and is surprised to find that he's not nearly as ambivalent as he had been.
He looks good—already seeming fucked-out despite the fact that Ilya has barely touched him. His face is flushed, his freckles standing out against the reddened skin, his eyes half-lidded and hazy above them. The lacy fabric sits in beautiful contrast to his skin, perfectly molded to his body, tented up over his hard nipples and aching cock. Ilya's pendant glints in the soft lamplight; so much more than a necklace—a symbol of his trust, of his care, of his love for Shane.
Even Ilya calling him a girl isn't unsettling him as much as he thought it would. He thought he'd be jealous, or upset, or some other incomprehensible emotion, thinking that Ilya doesn't want him, that he wants some woman instead, but it doesn't feel like that at all. Ilya is undeniably into this because it's Shane, and that only makes the alternate word choice more thrilling.
"I feel amazing," Shane whispers truthfully. He meets Ilya's eyes in the mirror, pressing his body backwards against his boyfriend's steady form. "I didn't think I would like this as much as I do."
It's not the fast-paced, frantic sex Shane is used to, but the fact that everything is moving so slowly is actually turning him on even more—the anticipation of whatever Ilya has planned for him keeping his trembling body on a high simmer, right on the edge of boiling.
"Please, touch me," he begs softly. Shane could touch himself, but he gets the feeling that Ilya doesn't want him to—wants to watch him quiver as Ilya drip-feeds him slow, tender touches and intentional words of affirmation.
Ilya does exactly the opposite, stepping back from Shane's body. "Stay there, good girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Shane's scapula as he retreats, and Shane can't help the pitiful whine that escapes his throat.
Shane doesn't turn around, just watches in the mirror as Ilya strips out of his boxer shorts, his hard cock bobbing in front of his body. He's absolutely gorgeous—the man of Shane's dreams. Shane looks back at himself, hoping wildly that he can be the girl of Ilya's.
It's only a few moments before Ilya is back, tucking his body back into its rightful place against Shane's spine. His cock slides freely against the back of Shane's panties, and he groans desperately in Shane's ear. There's a small bottle of lube in his hand, and Shane can't help but smile that finally, finally, he's going to get fucked.
"Can I try something?" Ilya murmurs, and Shane nods without even giving it a second thought. Ilya doesn't need his permission.
What he's not expecting is for Ilya to pull back slightly, drizzling lube directly onto his thick cock behind Shane's body. Shane completed his bottom prep as instructed, but that only includes cleaning—he's not ready to take a cock without being opened up first. He probably could, but it would hurt, and Ilya doesn't seem like he's in a mood to hurt Shane right now.
Shane eyes him warily in the mirror, but doesn't say anything. The panties are still providing a barrier between them, so Ilya can't just shove into his hole anyway, even if he wanted to. Shane's breath leaves him in a rush as he feels the tip of Ilya's wet dick pressing against the area where his thighs meet, just underneath his lace-clad ass.
"Is this okay?" Ilya breathes, pressing forward into the tight space between Shane's thighs, dropping his forehead to Shane's shoulder with a broken groan.
Shane smiles as the tip of Ilya's huge dick presses up against the lacy pouch of his balls, continuing to shove forward underneath them until it pokes out the other side, red and dripping. "Only if you watch," he says, lifting his shoulder beneath Ilya's head until his boyfriend looks up, giving Shane a horny glare.
Ilya's glare quickly dissolves as he rocks his hips back, the tip of his dick disappearing into the clutch of Shane's thighs. After what feels like hours, his hand finally comes back to rub against the tip of Shane's dick, making Shane jerk and tighten around him. "Good girl," Ilya whispers, his accent thick, "never took a dick before… is good practice, hm?"
Oh.
Shane's not very good at roleplay, but his cock blurts into Ilya's palm at his words, making everything even wetter in the tight confines of the lace. "Will you fuck me?" he groans, rocking into Ilya's touch as Ilya's cock brushes past his balls. "I want you to—to—" The words stutter in his throat, embarrassment locking a tight hand around his esophagus.
"Say it," Ilya groans, biting down on Shane's shoulder over the strap of his bra.
Shane's going to fucking come, if he says it.
He tugs Ilya's hand away from his dick, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Ilya's gaze flicks quickly to Shane's twitching cock and back up with a knowing smile. He nods—he still wants Shane to use his words.
With a deep breath in, Shane rushes out, "Please take my virginity, Ilya."
The noise Ilya makes in his ear is unlike anything Shane's ever heard, and he wraps both arms around Shane's core, rocking a few more desperate thrusts through Shane's thighs as he curses softly in Russian, trailing kisses up Shane's neck. "Of course, beautiful girl," he groans against Shane's sweaty skin, his hips bashing into Shane's with all the frenetic urgency he's been holding back all night. "Good girl, I love you, I will make it so good for you, okay?"
Ilya pulls out with a pained groan, leaving the space between Shane's thighs sticky and wet in his wake. He trails kisses down Shane's spine, over the lace of the bra, all the way down his lower back until he's on his knees, his face pressed into the panties covering Shane's crack.
"Can I touch you here?" Ilya begs, his breath hot through the thin fabric, ghosting heavily across Shane's cheeks. He may be begging in the context of the roleplay, but they both know Ilya is still running the show; Shane but a trembling virgin pawn in Grandmaster Ilya Rozanov's chess game.
"Please," Shane moans, leaning forward to rest his outstretched arms on either side of the mirror as Ilya tugs just the back of the panties down. Ilya's necklace dangles from Shane's neck, and it looks right—he looks pretty. He can't see much of Ilya, just his folded knees and his hard cock behind him as Shane spreads his legs slightly. Maybe he shouldn't be helping, should be playing up the oblivious virgin role more, but he's desperate for Ilya's touch, hoping and praying that—
Ilya's hands spread his cheeks, his face pressing immediately into the tight space to lick at the soft furl of Shane's asshole.
"Oh, fuck, Ilya," Shane groans, immediately jamming himself back onto Ilya's pointed tongue, the sensation sending aching pleasure down the length of his trapped dick. Ilya laps and slobbers all over his hole like a man starved, dragging desperate whines and whimpers from Shane's lips.
Ilya pulls back just enough to say, "Touch yourself," his breath heavy and panting. His forehead presses hard into the skin at the base of Shane's spine, adding, "Good girls always get to come more than once."
Oh god, oh fuck. Shane moves a hand to his crotch, leaving himself leaning precariously on one arm as he touches his trembling cock gently through the sodden fabric of his panties, just like Ilya had been doing. It won't take much with how worked up he is, especially as Ilya dives back between his cheeks, sucking wet and sloppy kisses against his quivering hole.
He watches himself in the mirror, his face hazy through a layer of unshed, overwhelmed tears. His fingers trip up and down his cock a few times before landing at his frenulum, tickling the sensitive skin through his panties as air puffs from his lips in cut-off, breathy pants.
Ilya pulls back for breath and Shane whines, needy, but his boyfriend is already there with a lubed-up finger, pressing it inside and targeting Shane's prostate with perfect accuracy, rubbing hard across the bundle of nerves. "Beautiful girl," Ilya groans, leaning to the side to watch Shane fall apart in the mirror, "come for me."
Shane's knees give out beneath him as his orgasm burns like fire through his core, and Ilya has to rip his finger from Shane's body to catch him as he tumbles to the ground, sobs wracking his body as he floods the inside of his panties in pulse after pulse of come.
"Oh, you are so gorgeous," Ilya is murmuring, petting Shane's cheek with a gentle thumb as Shane blinks his eyes back open, not sure when he even closed them. He's rocking Shane in his arms, holding him tight through the twitching aftershocks. "Perfect girl, oh, you are so wet, sweetheart, look at you," he continues, sliding his hand down to the front of Shane's ruined underwear, and Shane jerks away from the overstimulating touch.
Shane can't think—there are tears running down his face, his body is buzzing with the aftereffects of his orgasm, and it's all he can do to curl into Ilya's firm hold, riding out the feeling.
Ilya gives him time, moving his hand away from Shane's sensitive cock and rocking him gently, whispering sweet nothings in a combination of English and Russian, neither of which Shane has the comprehension to understand.
Eventually, Shane takes a shuddering breath in, blinking up at Ilya's face. "Holy shit," he laughs softly, pressing his forehead against Ilya's firm chest.
"Ladies do not use language like this," Ilya teases, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to Shane's lips.
"Fuck off," Shane murmurs into his mouth, reaching up to tangle a hand in Ilya's soft curls, dragging him in deeper, sliding his tongue gratefully into his boyfriend's mouth. He can feel Ilya's hard cock pressing insistently against his side, and he brushes against it with his forearm as he gets back to more of a sitting position, wincing at the sheer amount of goop trapped in the small space surrounding his dick.
Kneeling here, looking at Ilya, he finally gets to properly see his boyfriend without his necklace for the first time. He looks truly naked without it—soft and vulnerable—and Shane lifts a hand to touch the gold cross hanging around his own neck gratefully. With shaking fingers, he carefully lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the warm metal. "I love you," he says softly, settling the pendant back against his chest.
"I love you too," Ilya smiles back at him, his eyes full of fondness. "It looks beautiful on you; thank you for looking after it."
Shane looks down at the hard cock jutting from Ilya's lap—this is the best way he knows to show his love. "How do you want to get off?" he asks, reaching out a hand towards Ilya's crotch.
Ilya grabs his hand, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I want to fuck you," he groans, tangling his fingers with Shane's. "I want to make you come again." He pauses before adding, "I promised."
"You're crazy," Shane says around a smile, "I'm not actually a girl."
"Mm, no," Ilya shrugs, "but I can make you come like one."
Shane doesn't have an argument for that; it's just true.
"Can I at least take these off?" Shane touches the hem of his ruined panties with his fingertips, "I feel like my dick is drowning."
He undresses gingerly, setting the soiled underwear down on the carpet and trying not to think about how much clean-up they'll have to do later. It would be easier if they had hardwood flooring in the bedroom, but then Shane wouldn't be able to stay on his knees as long, sucking Ilya's perfect dick. Swings and roundabouts, and all that.
Shane's dick never got fully soft, and it sits on top of his thighs at half-mast as he kneels back down facing Ilya, almost unintentionally awaiting instruction.
"You want to stay on floor?" Ilya murmurs, glancing between Shane and the mirror. "Or stand again? Or bed?" He pauses for a beat before adding, "Is polite to let woman choose."
"Fuck off," Shane pushes against Ilya's shoulder with a sticky hand, turning to look in the mirror over his shoulder. It is incredibly hot, watching Ilya watch him. And—he doesn't like to admit it, but—watching himself. Especially like this. Especially one orgasm down, when he's all loose and fuck-drunk. "Let's stay here."
He catches Ilya's grin in the mirror as he turns around on his knees, and he feels his heart pound happily in his chest—that was the right answer.
"Don't you dare go easy on my—" Shane stammers, but quickly picks himself back up, "—on my virgin hole, Ilya," he warns, his face flushing as he gets to his hands and knees between Ilya and the mirror so his boyfriend can open him up. "I can take it."
"Oh, I'm sure you can," Ilya murmurs, slicking up two fingers and holding them up so Shane can see in the mirror, "my little virgin slut."
Shane can't complain about the oxymoron when Ilya is already sliding two fingers into his body, punching a groan out of his throat instead.
"Mmm, good girl," Ilya hums, spreading his fingers as he fucks them in and out of Shane's hole, running his free hand up Shane's back to tangle his fingers in the strap of his bra. "You are so easy, baby girl, you are sure you are a virgin?"
Shane freezes, unsure what the correct answer is. Ilya clearly wanted to play in the virgin space, so by the rules of the roleplay Shane should say that he is. But now Ilya's changing the narrative, and he isn't sure which route to Yes, and.
"Hey, colour?" Ilya murmurs, and Shane realises that the fingers in his hole have stilled.
"Oh, green," Shane replies instantly. He is green, there's no doubt in his mind about that. Ilya's still waiting, watching his face in the mirror. "Sorry, I didn't know what to say," Shane looks away, his face flushed as he explains his predicament. "I'm not very good at roleplay—do you want me to be a virgin or not?"
The laugh that comes from Ilya's chest is one of surprise, and he leans down to press a kiss to Shane's back as his hand starts to move again, slipping a third finger inside with only minimal discomfort to Shane's desperate hole. "It does not matter," Ilya explains, tangling his fingers in Shane's hair to tug his head back up, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "Whatever you say, I will play along, and it will be hot. There is no wrong answer, Shane, it is okay."
Shane feels stupid, because of course that's the case. His black-and-white thinking gets in his way sometimes, and he needs the reminder that things are allowed to be messy, to not make total sense, and it'll still be okay in the end. He nods against Ilya's hand, feeling his hair tug in his grip and moaning softly. "I—I promise I'm a virgin, Ilya."
Ilya growls softly, ripping his fingers from Shane's body and wrapping both arms around his chest to tug him upright, until they're both balancing up on their knees, Shane's calves bracketing Ilya's. His mouth is right up against Shane's ear when he groans, "You will let me take it from you, da? Is just for me, pretty girl?"
He's already reaching for the lube before Shane can answer, slicking his cock between their bodies, making a mess of Shane's cheeks, his lower back.
"Only for you," Shane whispers, and Ilya slides inside him in one smooth, slick motion.
"Ohh, fuck," Ilya moans, sucking a kiss against the column of Shane's neck, "your pussy is so tight, baby."
Shane's next breath falls out alongside a shuddering moan as Ilya's words go right to his cock, making it pulse desperately into the air. "Please touch me," he moans as Ilya rocks into his waiting body, his eyes flicking to Ilya's hand on his hip. "I've been a good girl, haven't I?"
Ilya bites down hard against Shane's neck, his hips stilling, and Shane can tell he's one wrong breath away from falling over the edge. Shane counts to ten in his head before Ilya moves again, reaching down beside them to pick up the sodden panties. "You are the best girl," Ilya groans, biting down on his lip as he wraps the underwear around Shane's cock, jerking him off in time with his desperate thrusts. "The best, do you hear me?"
Shane hears him loud and clear, shuddering in Ilya's arms as the soggy friction of the panties against his cock turns his brain to mush. Accompanied by a loud yelp, he's swiftly shooting a second load all over the mirror, letting his body go loose and pliant in Ilya's tight hold. "Fuck, oh god, Ilya, come in me please," Shane babbles, desperate to feel Ilya's spunk flood his aching hole.
"Ask properly," Ilya groans, though he sounds about two seconds from orgasm regardless, "like a good girl."
"Ilyaaaaa," Shane whimpers as Ilya's hand tightens around his spent cock. He's lost all semblance of embarrassment in the wake of his second orgasm, clenching his ass around Ilya's cock as he moans, "Come in my tight pussy, knock me up, please."
He thinks Ilya might actually pass out as he comes, his head falling slack on his neck as he drags Shane's hips back against him. His whole body shudders desperately as he shoots his spunk deep into Shane's guts, his mouth pressed hard against Shane's shoulder over the strap of his bra. He holds their bodies together as he comes down, sitting back on his calves and tugging Shane onto his lap, still buried deep inside him.
"Holy shit," Ilya pants, laughing breathlessly against Shane's neck, "you do know how to do roleplay." He meets Shane's eyes warmly in the mirror, pressing his hand over Shane's pounding heart. "I do not know if you can tell," he murmurs, a twinkle in his eye, "but that was very good for me. All of it. If you ever want to do that again."
Even the part where Shane asked to be knocked up, huh?
Shane looks down to the absolute mess of a pair of panties on the floor by his knees, and Ilya follows his gaze. "I think those might be done for," he murmurs, finding Ilya's hand and tangling their fingers together, "but I liked it, too."
Ilya shrugs easily, kissing across Shane's shoulder blade. "I will buy more. Every day for the rest of my life, I will buy more."
Shane lets his face split into a fond smile, leaning his head sideways against Ilya's.
"You pervert."