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Shane knew it was the medication. He had pored over the side effects and Reddit threads and WebMD articles on SSRIs before Ilya had even started taking the drugs. And it really was working, in small ways. Ilya showered more, laughed more, spaced out less. Even ate a vegetable once in a while, and tried his best to communicate on hard days. That was the worst part, Shane thought. Everything else was going so well.
Except the sex. It’d bothered Shane the first few times, of course. Even after Ilya’s aggressive reassurance that it wasn’t related to Shane, he found himself analyzing the memory play-by-play in the shower like it was playoff footage. He’d thought that surely there was something he could’ve done differently, or maybe he could have been more accommodating, less needy, less panicked when suddenly faced with an Ilya in the bedroom who looked embarrassed rather than one who was embarrassing him.
He knew it was more difficult for Ilya than it was for him, so Shane tried his best not to wallow about it. But they’d always connected best physically, and Shane missed it. Sex with Ilya was grounding. He loved him no matter what, and he’d wait for a lifetime if that was what Ilya needed. But knowing that Ilya was just as frustrated, and still unable to do anything to fix the situation? Shane felt unmoored.
Ilya had come into the kitchen from the home gym still flushed. He was shirtless and dripping sweat onto Shane’s pristine marble countertop, but the set of his jaw gave Shane pause before he could bitch Ilya out for it. Shane tracked the bobbing of his throat as Ilya took two, three heaving gulps from a glass. It felt like all of the heat in the room had been sucked down into Shane’s stomach.
Shane had put his laptop aside and crossed the room before his brain caught up. He landed far too close to Ilya; he could feel the warmth that his body radiated just as well as he could feel the other laugh at his neediness. The air between them felt thick with heady musk. Shane wanted to bury his face in Ilya’s armpit. Shane raised his brows in a silent question for propriety’s sake, but his eyes were embarrassingly glassy already.
“Eager, much?” Ilya teased, eyes sharp.
Shane leaned in harder than he was aiming for, crashing against Ilya’s lips. Their teeth clacked. An unspoken and well-loved game; sometimes Ilya could be egged into playing rougher if Shane pretended to fight for control. It’d been too long, and he was desperate. Not even for sex, Shane thought, but to be dominated. Claimed. Cared for in that way.
Ilya pulled away. Shane raised his hands to skate over Ilya’s torso, mouth opening automatically to placate. But Ilya wasn’t upset, he was laughing at Shane like he wanted to eat him. Shane’s breath stuttered in his chest, mouth snapping shut.
Ilya was smiling dangerously, a hand snaking up to wrap around the base of Shane’s neck like a collar. “I’m sorry, are you in charge here?”
Shane shook his head.
Ilya smiled wider.
Shane let Ilya fuss, moving him around and angling his jaw for better kiss leverage. His grip was just firm enough to leave ephemeral little pink kisses along Shane’s jawline. The corner of Shane’s lips quirked up in a half smile, mouth opening to Ilya’s exploring tongue. A hand rubbed appreciatively down his body, grabbing at his chest and rubbing over the planes of his abdomen. Shane didn’t even have to look down; he could tell by the unaffected rhythm of Ilya’s breathing that he wasn’t hard.
“Your tits look good in this shirt,” Ilya murmured appreciatively, “I think I prefer them naked, though.”
Shane flushed, straining in his shorts as Ilya tugged the shirt off of him. Ilya kneaded his chest, pushed the fat and muscle of his pecs together to make cleavage. Whatever protest he’d half-heartedly planned on had died in the base of his throat, and Shane distantly recognized that it was him that was whining.
“Fuck, I wanna-" Shane gasped against Ilya’s mouth. “Lemme eat you out. Please. Please, I’ll do a good job, I promise, just let-“
Ilya cursed under his breath, briefly closing his eyes. “I haven’t showered,” he said incredulously, as if that wasn’t the whole point for Shane. He didn’t pull away.
“Yeah, I’ve gotta Lysol the counters in here anyway, it doesn’t matter,” Shane responded, missing his point entirely. He worried his spit-slick bottom lip between his front teeth.
Ilya laughed at him again, endeared, but Shane was too laser focused to care about whatever was funny as soon as Ilya started to slide his track pants down his legs. Ilya kissed him again, scruffing him roughly before he bent across the cool countertop. He crossed his arms to pillow his head, turning to look back at Shane expectantly.
Shane spread Ilya with his thumbs, fingers gripping into the supple flesh of his ass. He gazed down at the tight whorl in appreciation before diving in. And if it just so happened that he cut Ilya off mid-taunt? It must’ve been a coincidence.
Shane licked a stripe from Ilya’s perineum up to the base of his tailbone. The salty, cloying taste of sweat was blooming on the tip of his tongue. He pressed his tongue flat against Ilya’s hole, savouring the wetness there while his thumbs slipped, grasping for purchase against the soft, damp skin.
Ilya moved back against him, back bowing. He was groaning low in his chest, urging Shane on, and Shane found that he wasn’t even bothered by Ilya’s limpness. A strong hand found its way to the crown of Shane’s head, pulling the hair there to drag Shane closer to Ilya’s body. Shane continued to lick his way from Ilya’s balls upwards and back again, lapping up as much of his musk as possible before pressing his tongue insistently against the other’s hole.
Something about sweat had always been irresistibly sexy to Shane. It felt so masculine, so primal. The smell and taste of it was so intense and all-encompassing, like static on his tongue. He wanted to be full of Ilya in every way, as if even his tongue could remember the feeling of being owned.
Shane stiffened his tongue, fucking in and out of Ilya’s tightness. He already had spit running down his chin, smearing against Ilya’s cheeks as he jerked backwards. Shane could feel Ilya’s rim growing puffy from the attention. He leaned back on his haunches to breathe, admiring the way Ilya’s hole, pink and glistening, continued to flutter and clench around nothing. The sight went straight to Shane’s dick.
“Oh fuck,” Ilya panted, patting the top of Shane’s head. “Feels so good, baby, keep going.”
Shane leaned back in, breathing in the scent of them combined; his clean spit, Ilya’s musky sweat. The earthy smell of arousal. His hand travelled from Ilya’s cheek upward to his hip, and then to his cock, which was still mostly soft. Ilya batted his hand away softly and Shane reached down to palm himself through his pants instead.
Spit glistened on Ilya’s open hole, and Shane barely resisted the urge to stuff his fingers inside. Both of them were making soft noises of pleasure and Shane felt his own breathing becoming ragged from the satisfaction of pleasing Ilya.
“Good boy, you’re so perfect for me,” Ilya groaned, free hand toying with his own nipples. “Fuck.”
Shane felt blown open by Ilya’s appreciation, his firm hand in his hair. All he had to do was be good, and he was doing it. Time felt liquid, and Shane didn’t even register the ache in his jaw and tongue as he continued to lave Ilya’s hole, sloppy and eager.
“Mm, good boy,” Ilya repeated lovingly. He stood up slightly, clearly enjoying the sight of Shane on his knees from over his shoulder. Ilya stretched slowly, luxuriated like a cat. “You’re so good for me. Let me reward you now, yes?
His first instinct was to agree with Ilya on anything when they were doing this, but Shane felt something nagging in the back of his head. A shred of doubt entered his peripheral when he remembered that Ilya hadn’t gotten off; in his daze, it felt like the most important thing in the world. Ilya must have noticed something change in his face because his hands gentled where they rubbed along Shane’s hips and thighs.
“Hey,” Ilya said, not unkindly. “Open your mouth.”
Shane opened his mouth wide without thinking. Before he could process the movement, Ilya had rocked up on the balls of his feet to loom above Shane before spitting into his mouth. Shane made a high-pitched noise, helplessly turned on. Ilya searched for something in his expression, then, reaching up to manually close Shane’s jaw. He hauled Shane up under the armpits, turning them around to press Shane’s back against the countertop before sinking to his knees.
Ilya made quick work of his pants and underwear, but left them pooled annoyingly around Shane’s ankles so that he couldn’t spread his legs any further.
Ilya pressed a tender kiss to the weeping head of Shane’s dick before swallowing him down without fanfare. Shane moaned high and whiny when he felt himself hit the back of Ilya’s throat, the ring of muscles tensing then relaxing to accommodate him. There was a hand kneading into his right pec, and a hand alternating between gripping the supple flesh of his ass and slapping it with an open palm. Shane grasped for purchase along the marble countertop with sweaty hands, doing his best to avoid bucking into Ilya’s mouth without permission.
Ilya bobbed up and down the length of Shane, humming approvingly when Shane rested a hand against his sweaty curls, not pulling.
“Ilya, I’m not gonna last,” Shane said uselessly, chest heaving.
“No, you’re not,” Ilya pulled off to reply, a string of spit connecting his puffy bottom lip to the head of Shane’s cock. “I must be good at this.”
“Fuck you,” Shane replied reflexively. “Please let me come.”
“Come whenever you need to, baby,” Ilya reassured, voice rough. “You were a good boy, this is your reward.”
Ilya sped up, delivering a series of particularly hard slaps to Shane’s ass as he sucked his cock, teeth grazing the sensitive underside of Shane’s dick. The wet sounds of Ilya blowing him and their joint moans echoing in the quiet kitchen felt deafening in Shane’s ears; everything else had shrunk down, nothing existed outside of them. Ilya’s eyes flicked up to meet Shane’s glassy ones, and he was gone.
“Thank you, thank you,” Shane babbled, vision whiting out as he came down Ilya’s throat. At the last second, Ilya seemed to have a change of heart and pulled off slightly to catch the last dregs of come on his tongue.
Ilya rubbed his hip gently, not pulling off until Shane had ridden out his orgasm and bordering on overstimulated. He stood up to bracket Shane against the counter, knees cracking. Ilya shuffled forward to crowd him, feet getting caught in Shane’s stupid ankle-pants-trap. They laughed about it, endorphin drunk and loving.
Ilya smiled at Shane warmly, tapping two fingers against his jaw in a wordless command. Shane’s jaw hinged open on instinct. Ilya spit once, twice, onto Shane’s waiting tongue; the bright tang of his own come bursting on his tongue. Ilya kissed him chastely on the lips, then on his cheek. Shane swallowed without having to be told.
“I trained such a good boy,” Ilya remarked fondly.
“Shut up,” Shane told him, burrowing his face into the crook of Ilya’s neck. Shane privately thought that sometimes the was just as good as the sex; the warm static in his limbs, the quiet in his brain, the fully satiated feeling that he could sink into, held up by Ilya alone. They stood in the middle of the kitchen embracing, basking in the fantasy of unlimited time and unhidden affection, until the stickiness between them could no longer be ignored.