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They are still living apart.
Of course, Shane knew that this would be the case, and will continue to be so, likely until they retire. But somehow, things have improved. With them announcing their friendship and the subsequent launching of the Irina Foundation, the public no longer questions when they spend time together. This means that, more often than they probably should, Shane and Ilya have been hooking up at Shane's cottage.
Like they are right now.
Shane gasps and throws his head back against the pillow that Ilya has so carefully propped underneath him. His eyes fix on a point in the endless white paint that covers the ceiling. Ilya himself is draped over Shane's body, hot and secure and muscle-dense, covering him like a blanket. Soft curls of caramel-colored hair tickle his pale skin at the same time that two hot, slick fingers find the rim of his ass. It's nice- the fact that Ilya can apparently be bothered to warm the lube now.
The two fingers dip into him and he whimpers, already half-broken. The bastard teased him on the car ride the entire way here. While Shane drove, Ilya sat in the passenger's seat, casually murmuring filthy words about what he'd do to him when he got here while groping his thighs with his big hands and teasingly dragging his fingertips over his cock through his jeans. Then, the moment they got here, he'd had his clothed ripped off and been thrown onto the bed.
Just the way he likes it.
The whole set of circumstances makes him feel weak. Him being naked while Ilya is still fully dressed? Weak. His body pinned to the bed underneath the sheer weight of Ilya? Weak. The fingers inside of him, stretching him out, sending white hot pleasure spreading throughout his entire body? Weak. Shane opts not to ask himself why he associates the feeling of being fingered with being weak, because that is the last thing he needs when he's teary-eyed and wanton, hips rocking. He wraps one hand around the base of his cock to pump it in rhythm with the thrust of Ilya's finges, and uses the other to clutch desperately at the mop of brown curls atop Ilya's head.
"You take me so well," Ilya whispers, his voice like gravel in Shane's ear.
He probably means it to some degree. Ilya loves to mock, though his words to Shane are always layered despite their simplicity. So, maybe he's teasing, but even if he is, he means it, too. No matter how well Shane knows this, it flusters him in the worse (best) way possible.
"Shut-" He gasps again, choking on the two-word phrase in a way that is nothing less than pathetic. Somehow, he loves it. He loves that Ilya can get him like this, and he loves that Ilya wants to get him like this. It is evident, in the lustful haze that takes over the other man's golden green eyes, in the satisfied, crooked smile that has taken over his kiss-bruised lips. "Up…!"
"Never," Ilya rasps. His fingers crook, finding Shane's prostate and massaging it until Shane is left writhing on the bed and tightening his hand around himself to add more pressure, more anything. That crooked smile is pressed against his collar, lips sucking hickeys into his skin. If anyone other than his parents sees them, they'll assume that they're from some gorgeous woman; from the next Rose Landry. And they'll be very, very wrong. "Beautiful. Is okay, you know. For you to enjoy it," Ilya reassures him. His dick is hard and straining against the confines of his sweats, grinding against the muscle of Shane's thigh through the fabric. "To enjoy us."
The reassurance is everything he needs. Suddenly, what was probably meant to be foreplay turns into something much, much more overwhelming. Shane screws his eyes shut and slows his hand in an attempt to stop it from happening prematurely, but Ilya's fingers are too good at drawing it out of him, and the orgasm is building and taking over his entire fucking body.
"Fuck, I'm gonna come," Shane pleads- whimpers, whines. It is simultaneously the weakest and the best that he's ever felt in his life, and he decides, not for the first time, that he likes this feeling; the feeling of being weak, of being underneath Ilya. When they're like this, he doesn't have to lead, or to be strong, or to make the decisions. It's the most free he's ever been. "Fuck, fuck, please-"
"Please what?"
Shane is caught between 'please stop so we can fuck' and 'please let me come'. What comes out instead is merely-
"Please, please, please, Ilya, I-!"
-and Ilya, apparently feeling generous, doesn't take his fingers away. In fact, he adds a third and shoves them even deeper, roughly fucking the tips against Shane's sweet spot. His hand around his cock picks up speed again, the copious amount of precum dripping from the tip acting as makeshift lube. He thanks whatever god may be out there that they're somewhere so secluded, otherwise someone surely would've heard him with how loudly he's begging and crying Ilya's name. At one point in time, he would've tried to cover his mouth or bite his lip to keep from making noise- and at another, he would've maybe said Rozanov, not Ilya. He wonders exactly when things changed. Even more than that, he wonders why he didn't let the change happen sooner.
That, he can dwell on later. Right now, he's on the precipice of something wonderful, and he's going to chase it. He's damn near fucking himself on Ilya's hand, hips canting, grinding, his fist working over his cock even faster. Sweat forms on his skin, covering him in a glistening sheen that Ilya filthily licks off of his throat. Finally, Shane loses it. He arches his back and cries out as he comes, the hot white spurts coating his chest and abdomen. Ilya works him through it, whispering something like that's it, so pretty when you come for me, look at you.
"Good boy," Ilya murmurs. He wipes his lube-slickened hand clean on his sweats before pulling them down and tossing them towards the other side of the room. But he's considerate; considerate enough to drape himself over Shane again to lick the cum from his middle and swallow it down, licking his lips when he peers up at Shane from underneath long lashes. "Now, do I get a turn?"
Shane sits up the best he can, nodding, his hands already finding Ilya's sharp hips and grabbing them.
"Of course you do."