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“He’s your best friend. Not mine.”
Ilya leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching Shane pack a grocery bag with snacks he knew Hayden liked. Shane’s big, doe eyes flicked up, a pleading softness in them that usually got Ilya to agree to anything.
“I know, I know,” Shane said, his voice a gentle counterpoint to Ilya’s accented rumble. “It’s just for a few nights. We’ve barely seen each other since our honey moon.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ilya pulled a face, “I’d hate for me, your husband, to take time away from your boyfriend.”
“Ha, ha, so funny.”
“So he invades our home,” Ilya finished, pushing off the island to stalk closer. He wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist from behind, nuzzling into the shorter man’s neck, inhaling the clean scent of his shampoo. His hands drifted lower, palms smoothing over the firm swell of Shane’s ass through his sweatpants. “And you make rules. Stupid, stupid rules.”
Shane sighed, a shiver running through him as Ilya’s teeth grazed his earlobe. “We can’t. It feels weird.”
“What is weird is a newly married man not fucking his husband,” Ilya murmured, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband, seeking the heat he knew was there. “We will be quiet.”
Shane’s resolve visibly wavered, his body leaning back into Ilya’s solid frame. But then he straightened, gently prying Ilya’s hands away. “No. It’s disrespectful. He already thinks you’re some sex crazed pervert that corrupted me with your evil ways.”
He says it with a sigh and it just makes Ilya laugh loudly, “Little does he know that you’re the sex crazed pervert.” He gives Shane one last nibble on his neck before pulling off.
“A few days. Be patient for me.”
Patient. Ilya clicks his tongue.
He had a plenty of patience. He waited ten years to lock down the love of his life. He had patience for many things.
However, he had no patience for Hayden Pike and his skeptical, judging eyes that followed Ilya around like he was a stray dog that had followed Shane home.
Hayden arrived an hour later, back-slapping camaraderie for Shane, and a stiff, perfunctory nod for Ilya.
“Place looks good,” Hayden said, his gaze sweeping the living room with a pleasant smile.
“Spasibo,” Ilya said dryly, not missing the way Hayden’s smile tightened at the Russian word.
The tension was a live wire in the room, coiled in the air between them. It simmered through a stilted dinner, where Hayden held court with stories with pointedly excluding Ilya from the timeline of Shane’s life. Ilya returning the favor with painfully passive aggressive responses. Leaving Shane awkwardly trying to change the subject whenever it got sour.
With a quick, “Play nice.” Shane had taken a load of dishes to the kitchen, leaving the two men in the dining room. Hayden picked up his beer, examining the top of it.
“So, how is married life?” Hayden tried. Ilya scoffed at the man’s attempt to be civil, placing his glass down with a soft clink and flicking his eyes to across the table.
“Good.” Ilya stated, stacking plates. “I can see why you make it half your personality.” He just has to add.
“Man, I fucking hate you.” Hayden shakes his head, turning away as his hand clenched around his drink. “Look, let’s just keep to ourselves this week.”
“Fine by me.”
There’s maybe half a minute of silence before Hayden can’t help himself.
“I just don’t get it.”
Ilya groaned. “Get what?”
“I mean, Shane is polite, thoughtful and he’s just a really personable guy—”
“Put the boner away, Pike.”
“Oh fuck you.”
“I am polite, thoughtful and also a very passionate lover. What is your point?”
“Look, you’ve got a pretty face but you’re a complete asshole.”
Ilya’s hands stilled. He turned, leaning back against the table. “You think my face is pretty?” he asked, a massive grin on his face.
Hayden flushed. “That’s not what I— You know what I mean. I don’t trust it. I don’t trust you. I don’t think you deserve him.” The words splutter out in a rush.
The accusation hung there. Ilya studied him—the tight jaw, the defensive posture. A smirk touched Ilya’s lips. “Ah. I see. It is not about trust. It is about you. You are jealous.”
Hayden’s face went from pink to scarlet. “Jealous? I have a wife and kids. Who I love.”
“That’s nice. Monogamy isn’t for everyone.” Ilya shrugged softly. His voice dripped in fake understanding. Hayden’s face gets impossibly redder with anger and embarrassment. Ilya gives him a tap on the shoulder. “It’s okay. My husband is hot and I would hate me too.”
“Go to hell,” Hayden spat, the veneer of civility shattering. He stormed out of the room, his footsteps heavy on the stairs.
Ilya watched him go, a dry chuckle escaping him.
“Where did Hayden go?” Shane had appeared from the kitchen with his eyebrows pinched together. Scanning the room but Ilya placed two hands on his shoulder, guiding him back.
“Who cares. I’ll wash up, yes?”
Much to Ilya’s delight, Hayden avoided Ilya like the plague for the next few days. He let Shane and his dear friend have some quality girl time together.
Talking hockey, more hockey and all about Hayden’s large extended family. Truly riveting, Ilya was sad to miss it.
It would’ve been a perfectly fine week if it wasn’t for Shane’s ridiculous futile ‘No Sex Rule’.
The rule held for two agonizing nights. Two nights of Shane slapping Ilya’s wandering hands away on the couch, of whispered arguments in the dark of their bedroom, of Ilya lying awake, achingly hard, listening to the silence of the house and hating the presence in the guest room below.
The third night, after another tense dinner, while Shane went to wash up. Ilya lingered, watching Hayden retreat to the downstairs guest bedroom. He heard the door lock, and a few minutes later, the obnoxiously loud, tinny sound of TikTok videos through the door. He also, on his way to the downstairs bathroom, quietly turned the lock on the door.
Less than ten minutes later, he was in bed, the sheets cool around him. Shane slid in beside him, radiating warmth and the scent of mint toothpaste. The second Shane’s weight settled, Ilya was moving.
He rolled onto his side, facing Shane’s back. He didn’t say anything. He simply laid his palm on Shane’s hip, then let it trace a slow, deliberate path across the thick muscle of his husband’s thigh. The cotton of Shane’s sleep shorts were thin, and Ilya could feel the warmth of his skin beneath.
Shane tensed. “Ilya… no. He’s still up.”
“He is not,” Ilya murmured, his voice dropping into that register that always made Shane shiver. He pressed his lips to the nape of Shane’s neck. “I saw him go to bed. It is just us.” His hand slid higher, fingertips brushing the crease where thigh met ass. “Only us.”
He felt Shane’s breath hitch. Emboldened, Ilya shifted, moving to lie fully behind Shane, their bodies slotting together in the position Shane loved. It allowed Ilya entire weight to push him down, he could barely lift himself up in this position.
Ilya’s chest was to Shane’s back, his legs bracketing Shane’s. And now, there was no hiding the hard, insistent line of his cock pressing against the swell of Shane’s ass.
Shane pushed back, just a fraction. A tiny, telling movement.
“We… we can’t,” Shane mumbled, but it was weak, half-hearted, lost in the pillow.
Ilya rolled his eyes in the dark. He brought his mouth to Shane’s ear, his breath hot. “I cannot fuck my husband in my own house? In my own bed?” His hand, which had been splayed on Shane’s stomach, slid down. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Shane’s shorts and the soft cotton briefs beneath. In one slow, firm motion, he peeled them down Shane’s legs, past his knees. The cool air hit Shane’s exposed cunt, and he gasped.
Ilya knew. He knew Shane was just as pent-up, just as desperate as he was. The proof was right there. Shane arched his back, pushing his ass more firmly against Ilya’s erection, the wetness of his pussy, a soft, needy sound escaping him. Ilya hummed, a deep vibration against Shane’s spine. He brought his hand back, letting his fingers skate through the neat patch of hair, then lower, through the slickness that has already gathered in abundance.
“Bozhe moi, Shane,” Ilya breathed, his accent thickening with arousal. “You are soaked for me.”
Shane’s only response was a broken whine, his teeth sinking into his lower lip.
Ilya didn’t tease. Not much anyway. He slicked two fingers through Shane’s folds, feeling the soft, sensitive flesh, before circling the tight furl of his entrance. He pushed one finger in, to the first knuckle. Shane’s hot silken body clutched at him. Ilya groaned. He added a second finger, working them in slowly, stretching him just enough, feeling the way Shane’s inner muscles fluttered and gripped at only his finger.
His cock twitched desperately in between his legs.
It was then, as Shane whined into his pillow, that Ilya’s gaze lifted. The bedroom door was conveniently left ajar. Just a few inches. Shane seemingly hadn’t noticed yet. Ilya’s heart gave a hard, triumphant thump. The hallway leading past their bedroom was dark, but the light from one of the tall lamps spilled out just enough to light up anyone walking past.
He withdrew his fingers, earning a sharp, protesting gasp from Shane. Ilya shuffled back just enough to free his own cock, painfully erect, the tip glistening. He gripped himself, giving a few rough strokes before aligning his length with Shane’s slick cleft. He glided his cock up and down, through Shane’s wetness, the swollen head catching on his clit with every pass.
“Ilya… fuck,” Shane begged, his hips canting back, trying to spear himself on Ilya’s length.
“You want it?” Ilya growled, still moving with that agonizing, slow friction. “You want my cock in your desperate little pussy?”
“Yes—Fuck—please…”
Ilya leaned his torso more fully over Shane’s back, crushing him into the mattress. He wrapped one arm around Shane’s shoulders, his hand coming up to cup Shane’s jaw. He pulled, gently but firmly, until Shane’s head was lifted from the pillow.
“No. I want to hear you,” Ilya commanded, his voice thick. “I want everyone to hear what I do to you.”
And then, with a roll of his hips he pushed inside with perfect precision.
Shane’s body was a furnace, so tight and wet and his. Shane cried out, a loud, unfiltered moan that echoed in the room before Ilya’s hand cupped his mouth to hold him there, to feel the vibrations of his pleasure.
Ilya started off slow. A deep, deliberate thrust that buried him to the hilt, making Shane’s toes curl. A slow, almost cruel withdrawal until just the tip remained, kissed by Shane’s clutching heat. Then back in, a fraction faster. He set a rhythm that was pure torture, each drag of his cock a masterpiece of friction, hitting spots that made Shane see stars.
He could feel Shane trembling beneath him, could hear the ragged, desperate breaths against his palm. He was close, so close, the coil in his gut tightening with every plunge. And that’s when he heard it.
Heavy footsteps ascended up the stairs.
Ilya probably should’ve mentioned that Hayden was actually very much awake. And coming upstairs for his nightly shower like he did every night since the bathroom he had been allocated was strangely locked.
Ilya didn’t stop. He barely even flinched. A feral grin spread across his face, unseen in the dark. He adjusted his angle, driving in harder, and Shane’s moan broke into a high, shattered keen.
The footsteps reached the top of the stairs. Then they paused. A floorboard creaked right outside their door.
Ilya turned his head, just enough. And there he was.
Hayden stood in the dim light from the hallway, completely frozen. One hand was braced against the banister. His eyes were wide, shock etched into every line of his pale face.
His gaze traveled from Ilya’s smug face to Shane’s wounded expression until it locked on the junction of their bodies, on the place where Ilya’s cock disappeared into Shane, on the glistening evidence of Shane’s arousal that coated Ilya’s length with every thrust.
And the pervert couldn’t look away.
Ilya’s flimsy plan to humiliate the shorter man and his pathetic crush had easily fallen into place.
Ilya finally turned his face fully, meeting Hayden’s stunned stare. The challenge fired up his eyes made Hayden flinch, as if struck, but his feet were rooted to the spot. His gaze flicked down again, hypnotized.
Ilya picked up his pace. His thrusts lost their measured precision, becoming harder, faster, more erratic. The bedsprings protested. The headboard tapped a staccato rhythm against the wall. Shane was beyond words, just a stream of “ah, ah, ah!” and incoherent curses as Ilya’s fingers, wet from Shane’s mouth, slipped past his lips again.
Hayden didn’t move. He had become a statue of voyeuristic shock.
“Show me.” Ilya growled, his voice loud now, meant to carry. His eye contact with the man in the hallway unwavering. He was talking at Hayden, through the performance. “Show me how you take my cock.”
Shane, delirious, just nodded frantically, his ass pushing back to meet every slam of Ilya’s hips. Before he reaches behind himself, spreading himself apart to show himself off.
“Mm, it’s all mine,” Ilya declared, each word a punch. “You’re all mine.”
He swore he saw Hayden lean forward, just an inch. He wanted a better look? Ilya would give him a fucking masterpiece.
With Shane’s pussy clinging to the tip of his cock. Ilya grabbed his hips, hauling him up onto his knees. He repositioned himself behind Shane, kneeling, his own thighs framing Shane’s. He placed one broad hand between Shane’s shoulder blades and pushed, gently but firmly, until Shane’s chest was pressed to the mattress again, his ass presented high in the air.
The new angle was brutal as Ilya gripped his cock and slammed home with no hesitation.
“Fuck!” Shane cried out, the sound muffled by the sheets.
This was the view. The perfect view. For Hayden, and for Ilya. He could see everything now. The way Shane’s hole stretched to accommodate him. The way the slick flesh glistened around his shaft. He pulled out slowly, halfway, letting the obscene, wet sound fill the room, letting Hayden see how Shane’s pussy clung to him, trying to keep him inside.
“Say it,” Ilya panted, his eyes locked on Hayden’s shadowed form. “Who do you belong to Shane?”
Shane was sobbing with pleasure, his legs shaking, his hands fisting the sheets. “Please, Ilya, please, I need it, God please—”
“That’s not an answer, sweetheart.” Ilya grunts, hands pinching at the skin on the back of Shane’s neck as he lets his thrusts pull back mockingly.
“You. I’m yours! Just please— don’t stop…” Shane manages to choke out between staggered breaths.
Ilya obliged before muttering a pleased, “Good boy.”
He drove into him, his balls slapping against Shane’s skin with every thrust. The sounds were filthy, wet, rhythmic slaps of flesh on flesh, punctuated by Shane’s increasingly desperate cries and Ilya’s own guttural groans.
Hayden clearly couldn’t take it. He shifted his weight, and the old floorboard under his foot let out a loud, unmistakable creeaak.
Panic lanced through Ilya.
Shit.
Shane stuttered beneath him, his moans cutting off. His head started to turn, his hazy eyes seeking the doorway.
Ilya didn’t think. He shoved Shane’s face back into the pillow with decisive force, and doubled down. His hips became a blur, a frantic, pounding rhythm that chased his own peak and dragged Shane right to the edge with him.
“No, sladkiy, feel me,” Ilya grunted, his control shattering. “You are going to cum on my cock. You are going to cum with me.”
It was an order Shane’s body couldn’t disobey. Ilya felt the first fluttering contractions seize around his length. Shane’s whole body rocking into him as his noises are cut off by the pillow his face was pushed into.
A violent overwhelming orgasm tore through Ilya. With a raw, ragged shout he buried himself as deep as he could go and poured himself into Shane with a piping hot pulse.
Shane’s own climax was silent for a second, a full-body seizure, then a long, shattered wail broke free, even muffled by the pillow and Ilya’s possessive hand. His back arched, his hips stuttered, and Ilya felt the new gush of wetness as Shane came around him.
It was the perfect testament to why Shane chose him.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Ilya, still buried inside the clutching warmth of his husband, slowly lifted his head. His eyes, heavy-lidded with satiation, found the doorway.
Hayden was still there. The loose fabric of his pyjama trousers tented prominently at the front. He was rock hard. And he was staring still, his face stunned and torn.
Ilya’s lips curled in a slow, victorious smirk.
He had proved his point. He was happy.
He gave Shane’s ass a sharp, congratulatory slap, watching the flesh jiggle, then gripped a handful. He finally slipped out, the movement drawing a soft, oversensitive gasp from Shane.
He leaned down, stroking a soothing hand over the damp hair at the nape of Shane’s neck, murmuring soft Russian endearments as his husband floated back down. But his eyes remained on Hayden.
Hayden met his gaze. For a second, something fierce and hateful flashed in his eyes. Then shame. He looked from Ilya’s smug face to Shane’s spent, blissful form, then finally to the glistening evidence on Ilya’s softening cock.
He broke. Stumbling back, he turned and practically fled down the stairs, his footsteps hurried and clumsy.
Probably to jerk off in the corner of the guest bedroom thinking about Shane and the way his perfect pussy took all of his cock with no complaint. And Ilya couldn’t blame him, any sane person would.
Ilya listened to the retreating sounds, his smirk settling into a deep, satisfied smile. He lay down, pulling Shane’s boneless body back against his chest, nuzzling into his hair.
“He’ll only be able to get off thinking about you,” Ilya whispered, his voice thick with his own triumphant victory. “Thinking of you. Of me. He will hate it.”
Ilya was talking to himself, Shane not enough in the space with him to understand anything he was saying.
“What?” Shane murmured, all the words blurring together. But he does make out the, “I love you.” That Ilya corrects himself with, stroking a hand down Shane’s chest.
Shane, already half-asleep, just mumbled, “Mmm… love you too.”
“I know,” Ilya said, holding him tighter. The house was quiet again, save for the distant, almost imperceptible sound of a door clicking shut downstairs.
Unbeknownst to poor Shane, tomorrow’s dinner was going to be very entertaining.