Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

M/M, Multi

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

Bonded pair looking for a third, Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau Knows About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Himbo Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Top Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, First Time Blow Jobs, 69 (Sex Position), Negotiations, Bottom Ilya Rozanov, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch Ilya Rozanov, Shane is absent and yet VERY MUCH PRESENT, Long-Distance Relationship, Polyamory

Language:

English

Series:

Part 3 of What Happens In Tampa…

Stats:

Published: 2026-09-01 Words: 12,363 Chapters: 1/1

Hall Pass

Summary

Ilya has some stuff he needs to work out with Marly before he's letting him near Shane again.

This better not awaken something in him.

Excerpt:
Marly looks good. Really fucking good, with his shirt open and his hair tousled. It looks like he hasn't shaved in three days. It reminds Ilya of the picture, the sculpted hairy chest and the hint of one dark nipple, the detail cruelly obscured. He's overly aware of how Marly fills out this shirt now, unfastened in a deep vee, the button straining. This never felt like a problem before, how good he looks. How… touchable.

Ilya orders them both a beer. Like usual. Like the last time he had seen this man, they hadn't both been balls-deep in Ilya's life partner. 

Notes

So many thanks to everyone who has got behind the jock4jock4jock vibes. ❤️‍🔥

It is probably advisable to read the first two stories before this one, but not actually mandatory. This summary (aka epic bookmark) by officialspicybear may suffice to catch you up:

What Happens In Tampa: Cliff Marleau stumbles across Ilya and Shane making out, Ilya decides they should take Shane to Paris about it. Absolute filth (complimentary)

Fair Warning: It is NOT advisable to read this one if you are anaphylactic to the concept of bottom!Ilya. But if that idea just gives you an unusual tingling sensation, read right on…

Thank you especially to Goat, Feral, GlitteringRock and Hegemony

"So… we good?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome," Ilya says, nodding. "Get you a drink?"

"Sure." Marly looks good. Really fucking good, with his shirt open and his hair tousled. It looks like he hasn't shaved in three days. It reminds Ilya of the picture, the sculpted hairy chest and the hint of one dark nipple, the detail cruelly obscured. He's overly aware of how Marly fills out this shirt now, unfastened in a deep vee, the button straining. This never felt like a problem before, how good he looks. How… touchable.

Ilya orders them both a beer. Like usual. Like the last time he had seen this man, they hadn't both been balls-deep in Ilya's life partner. 

From the amused tension playing at the corner of Marly's mouth and eyes, Ilya suspects he's thinking about the same thing. He's definitely not meeting Ilya's eye for more than two seconds at a time. Looking at the ceiling, or his hands, or the baseball on the TV screen, even though the play tonight is hardly compelling. 

But then, Ilya's well aware that Marly's preferred mode of eye contact is through the bottom of a beer glass.

Waiting for their drinks, Ilya drums his fingers on the lacquered wood of the bar, glancing around the room. Nothing conspicuous about this, just two teammates getting a drink together, in their home town.

He's had an ominous feeling about this meetup all day, though. Could be tricky to say what he needs to say in English. None of this is good in English. Or in text.

For an insane moment he wonders about just coming out and saying it in Russian: Look, for real, that night was insanely hot, but the way you fucked my boyfriend's mouth was kinda homophobic.

He can't even imagine Marly's expression on hearing this. And to be fair, they hadn't exactly given him a bunch of instructions beforehand. 

He was super into it at the time but now he's all knotted up about it. You and me, we're good at casual sex, but Shane's new to this. If I'm going to let you touch him again, I need to know you are going to do it properly – and make him feel so good, so wanted, it more than makes up for last time, so he can stop feeling weird about enjoying it so much. 

Yeah, he's pretty sure Google Translate would fuck that up. 

The beers arrive and they drink in silence, leaning their elbows against the bar, watching the baseball. Getting into it despite themselves. Marly's knee scrapes the side of Ilya's leg a couple of times, when he's half-rising to his feet to yell at the TV. The pressure of it tingles. 

Marly orders a second round, then gives Ilya a long, side-slanted look. Then he gets a round of shots as well—vodka, not tequila, for which Ilya is grateful, but it's bad vodka. It's icy cold – no doubt to disguise the poor quality – and acrid on his tongue, burning all the way down. Despite this insult, he's aware of Marly's knee bumping against his leg again, lingering this time. 

"Yeah!" Marly grimaces as he swallows, pumping his fist, then reaches hastily for his beer. "Fuck, that's nasty." 

Ilya snorts. "You don't know good vodka."

"I know that's not it."

"No," Ilya allows. "That was cheap shit." He scans the menu, then flags the bartender and orders two more shots – extremely nice vodka, this time. "Here. Try this one."

He slides one little frosted glass across to Marly, lifting the other to his own mouth. Marly's gaze tracks the movement, lingers on the press of glass to Ilya's lower lip. Fuck, this genie's not going back in the lamp any time soon. 

The second shot is clean white fire. 

Ilya swallows, eyes half-closing in satisfaction, then makes a prompting gesture at Marly. "Better, yes?"

Marly wipes his mouth with his thumb. "If you say so. Still tastes like ass to me."

Ilya can't resist, he hikes an eyebrow at him and waits for Marly's brain to catch up with his mouth. 

To be fair, it's not long before Marly laughs, unflustered. "…Which is why you can't get enough, huh, Rozy?" 

Ilya's grin spreads across his face. Not in the way he was expecting, but he'll take it. "Hey. Don't knock it til you've tried it. Doesn't have to be with a guy." 

Marly looks him dead in the eye. "Could be, though." 

Fuck. Fuck, this is Marly actively flirting with him, and it feels deadly. 

The vodka is blazing in his belly as he says, "Could be. How's your schedule looking?"

"I could do this weekend."

Whoa. "I'm busy this weekend." 

Marly drops his voice to a rumble. "I could do tonight."

The rushing crescendo urge to go for it is almost unbearable. But—

"I… would have to check with Shane. I think he's not available for a while."

"Oh yeah, I guess the distance is a bitch. Fuck, that must suck for you guys. Week after?"

Ilya inclines his pout. The easy way that Marly pinpointed their major problem and then breezed on past it makes him feel crazy. "Maybe. Not sure."

Marly laughs, then lowers his voice. "Look, Roz, level with me – did I get the wrong idea here? You said we're good. Does Hollzy not wanna do it again, or something?" 

He looks like he wouldn't care either way. 

Ilya tests his thumbnail against his glass for a long moment before catching Marly's eye. "No, he is very up for it." 

Something shifts in Marly's eyes, a fragment of excitement. "Okay, wow. Cool. So when's good for you guys?" 

Ilya laughs, exasperated. "Is not that simple," he starts, then hesitates, trying to find the words to say somehow that he wants to protect Shane – except of course Shane doesn't need protecting, because Shane is strong and perfect and all man - but he does need more than what Marly gave him, which tracks, because Marly was weirdly hands-off, while any man lucky enough to lay their hands on Shane Hollander should be begging to touch him more – before hearing himself pause too long, almost stuttering, coherent words dissolving as he flushes hot in the face. And, fuck. Fuck, please don't—

"Roz, you're blushing," Marly crows, and Ilya rolls his eyes so hard he almost falls off his bar stool. "Was it something I said?"

"Fuck off." 

"Fuck you," Marly says easily, with a shit-eating grin. "It's cute." 

Ilya's mouth opens in outrage. "I am not cute." 

"Agree to disagree," Marly says, and winks at him, lowering his voice right down. "Hollzy's a lucky guy." 

It's not clear if the vodka has loosened his tongue or if this is just Marly's style when he's on the hunt; it's weirdly effective. Ilya feels the situation slipping away from him.

"Look, I think we need to talk," he says quickly, and Marly cracks up. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"Don't say that," Ilya snaps.

Marly laughs harder and Ilya's face gets rage-hot. 

"Fuck you," Ilya growls, straightening off the bar stool so he's looming into Marly's space, unsmiling now. 

Marly stops laughing, but he's still smirking at this attempted intimidation, especially since now Ilya's looking up at him. "Uh oh, can't take a joke. Sorry, Rozy – wrong time of the month?"

It's obviously nothing, a cheap shot, barely even meant to get a rise out of him, and normally it wouldn't—but right now it kindles a spark of real anger. 

"Enough stupid fucking jokes, okay?" Ilya snarls, quiet enough not to travel but loud enough that Marly will hear every fucking word. He wants to skewer him. "You wish we weren't guys, is that it? Easier for you, if you forget you're trying to hook up with two grown men."

Marly looks skeptical at the extra edge in Ilya's voice. "No," he says, matching Ilya's low volume, his gaze dropping to Ilya's mouth and then flicking back up, settling on Ilya's eyes. "I'm pretty fucking aware, bro." 

His calm makes Ilya more agitated. 

"So what's in it for you?" Ilya hears himself demand, getting in his face. "Novelty? You dare yourself to go through with it? Or—or you actually want it, with a guy."

Marly's mouth barely moves. "Two guys," he corrects, then cracks a grin again. Pathologically unable to take anything seriously, and visibly enjoying how worked up Ilya's gotten. "I dunno man – I'm like, that was hot, I'd do it again. Has it gotta be more complicated than that?" 

Ilya realizes he's breathing heavily and steps back. "No," he says shortly. "It doesn't."

"But if you're gonna get ripped over it, I'll back off," Marly says, shrugging and transferring his focus back to the TV, then shoots over his massive shoulder: "I don't go where I'm not wanted." 

Ilya bites back an exasperated noise. This is fucking awful. Talking instead of acting. Any usual hook-up, he'd just act, let it play out physically, pick up the pieces later if needed. But he can't do that without asking Shane first. 

"You are not 'not wanted'," he says stiffly. "But I need to know your vibe first."

Marly's forehead crinkles obnoxiously. "My vibe?"

Ilya makes a tiny frustrated shrug gesture. There is no good way to say this. It's all too much or totally inadequate. "Yeah? With Shane. What is your… you know, vibe?" 

Marly laughs. "Seriously bro, you wanna know my intentions? Are we in a Shakespeare movie? I'm not gonna steal your boyfriend, Rozy! Don't get your panties in a twist." 

That is a lot of fucking idiotic words for Ilya to parse at once. But from what he can make out, Marly is missing the point entirely. Not that Ilya's making a coherent point. 

Ilya makes a disgusted noise and signals for another two beers. 

Talking sucks. 

Might have to do this the old fashioned way. 

"Wait here," he tells Marly, and leaves him at the bar, walking straight out into the freezing dark parking lot, to call Shane. 

Shane answers on the first ring. "Hey." 

His voice makes Ilya's heart speed up. "Hey."

"Are you with him?" Straight to the point. Ilya fucking loves him. "Did he come meet you?"

"Yes. He is being really fucking annoying." 

"So, business as usual."

Ilya laughs around a surge of relief. "Pretty much." 

"So…"

"So." Ilya has thought about how to say this next part, the past thirty seconds, his thoughts whirling with the added stimulus of the cold. "I need to ask something. And if you say no, is cool. Actually," Ilya says, waving his hand around, gesturing in the chilly air, "I want you to say no, if answer is not one hundred percent yes." 

Shane makes an amused noise. "Noted. Go on." 

"Okay," Ilya says, nodding to himself. "Okay. So. You know how when you buy sports car, you do not know right away how it will perform. Even if body looks great, style is great, you still do not know. So the thing you do is, first – test drive. Everyone does this. Because it's important you do not make expensive mistake."

"I really don't think now's the time to buy a new car, Ilya." Shane's voice is so flat Ilya can't tell if he's fucking with him or not. 

Ilya tips back his head, huffs a white cloud into the cold night, and forges on. "I am saying—asking. I am asking if I should test drive Marly for us. Make sure he is good enough, on same… vibe. Because we are not good at talking. And anyway… I think the answers to our questions are not words." 

"You sound kinda drunk."

"I am not sober," Ilya admits. "But I am, I think, right." 

"Okay."

Ilya blinks. "What?"

"Okay! Test drive him." Ilya can hear that Shane is smiling. It's the sweetest sound in the world. "If he'll let you." 

Ilya recalls Marly's hot, dark gaze as he said, I'm pretty fucking aware. "Probably he will."

"Okay, great. Keep me updated." Now it sounds like Shane's talking about travel plans, flight times. Not like he's giving Ilya more than enough length of golden leash to trip himself up with. The peril of it suddenly surges over him. 

"Are you sure is okay?" Ilya asks, too earnest now. He needs to know that Shane understands what he's agreeing to here. "If you feel weird about it—"

Shane makes a dismissive noise, cutting across him. "Ilya. You are mine, yeah?"

Warmth blooms in Ilya's chest, even stronger than the residual glow of vodka. "Yes." 

"And you're checking him out for us, it's not something you're doing for your own gratification, right?"

These are the sorts of words Shane uses when he's been thinking about something at length. Probably since Ilya texted him that Marly had agreed to meet. 

Ilya nods harder. "Right." 

"And timing on this is important, I'd think? Striking while the iron's hot… If we wait for when we're all in the same city again it's gonna be more awkward—he'll have had a whole lot more time to freak out, so will we, it might be too late to find the, uh, vibe again."

"Maybe." 

"And I'm not saying if you take him home tonight I won't want to know all the details, because I totally will…"

"Of course." Fuck, he actually does sound cool about it. 

"...but I'll be even more frustrated if you chicken out and then we never know, you know? I… I really want this, I'm not kidding." 

"I love you," Ilya says, momentarily overwhelmed by it.

"I know. Now go do some damage to that enormous man." He can hear Shane's smile again, rich in his voice; he can almost hear the gleam in his eyes as well. "And then call me and tell me everything."

The next beer goes down super smooth. 

He's aware of Marly watching him drink. So he tilts his head a little more than necessary, showing off his neck muscles, and leaves his lips wet after he swallows and lowers the bottle. 

Marly gets that intent look to him again. When he catches Ilya watching him right back, he nods at the phone. "Was that Hollzy?"

Ilya smiles to himself. "Yeah." 

"You guys good?"

"Very."

"Neat."

Ilya finishes his beer, then stands and claps Marly on the arm. It's now or never and he wants it fucking now. 

"Okay," Ilya says. "Here is what will happen. I will call a taxi, drop you home. And if you want me to come to your place, I will. You can try whatever you want, see what it's like. Get it out your system if you're just… curious. No strings attached, no harm, no foul."

Marly's eyes darken. "Will Hollzy be joining us?"

"Not this time."

"Wow," Marly says, his grin broadening, actual wonder in his expression. "He gave you a fucking hall pass?"

Ilya glares at him. "You coming or not?"

Marly's grin turns predatory. The game face is back. "Bring it on."

Marly's Boston penthouse is audacious. Part hockey fanatic and part playboy, it's set up as a sports bar with a pool table where the dining table should be; there's a pair of crossed, uplit hockey sticks mounted on a bare brick wall, huge squashy couches arranged around a cinema-style flat-screen, and a large neon Boston Bears sign center stage, above a gaudy fireplace mantel littered with trophies. 

Ilya spins around, grinning and spreading his arms. "What the fuck? You live in a bar! Why have I never been here before? And why take us to a bar when you live in a bar?"

Marly shrugs off his jacket, hangs it on a gold antler-style hook wedged into the brick wall, then saunters to an enormous fridge. "Beer?"

"Sure." 

They haven't acknowledged that Ilya's inside the perimeter, on Marly's invitation. They haven't acknowledged anything since they exited the bar. But the air between them is thick, as staticky and electrified as his flickering neon Bears sign.

Ilya scans the room, zeroing in on the generous wraparound balcony with jaw-dropping views of the city. "I feel like you've got a hot tub."

"Of course I've got a hot tub. On the roof. Want me to fire it up?" 

Ilya wavers. "Next time." 

"With Hollzy?"

Ilya snorts. "He hates hot tubs." 

Marly slants a glance at him. "Yeah?" Clearly storing that fact. "You hate 'em too?"

Ilya has many, many excellent memories featuring hot tubs. "C'mon. Hot people naked, massage jets. What's not to like?"

"Right?" Marly grins, sauntering closer, and Ilya's internal temperature climbs steadily. Marly has the necks of two beer bottles crossed in his huge fingers. He looks like a bad idea. 

Ilya walks to him, extracts a bottle and brings it to his lips. "Yup." He over-pronounces the p. 

Marly watches him openly as he takes a couple of slow swigs, before setting the bottle aside. He's had enough, and from the easy way Marly abandons his bottle as well, seems they're on the same page. How about that. 

"So, are you for real?" Marly asks suddenly. "We can just…?" He makes a little unmistakable hand gesture that makes Ilya very aware he's been getting gradually hard beneath his clothes. 

He tries to play it cool. "If you want." 

Marly is suddenly closer again. "And what is it you want, Roz? Get me out of your system?"

Low ball, quoting his own words back at him at this proximity. "Uh, no—I dunno," Ilya says, staring up at his face, and Marly's big and dark and his smirk is knowing, keen, and suddenly Ilya is all unsteady inside. 

"I want—" he says, and then breaks off. "I just wanna see where this goes." Without hurting Shane. 

"And has Hollzy tapped out?"

"No. He's… on the bench." 

"Ohhh." Now he's smiling, the asshole. Smiling with the confidence of someone about to sink a puck in an open goal. "So you're the only one in play right now. Like… a defenseman I've gotta get past before it gets really fun." 

Ilya snorts. "Sure."

"But Hollzy's not totally left the game."

"Not yet," Ilya says, then sees something tighten around Marly's eyes. Maybe he's going too hard on him. "Okay, look. Level with you. I'm not just playing games. This is more like… check if we are all, uh, compatible. On same page."

"Huh. Even though we already—"

"But you barely touched him," Ilya interrupts, with more feeling than he'd meant to let escape. 

"I didn't know I was allowed to touch him," Marly counters, without missing a beat. "You guys look pretty fucking territorial, man."

Ilya scowls. "What is this word?" 

"Like…" He visibly searches for a translation. "Possessive. Like you might break my fingers if I lay a hand on your man."

"Oh. Really?" 

"Basically. The way you look at him is intense, Roz. Sweet, for real! But also like there's every chance you're gonna annihilate anyone who puts his hair out of place."

"But that's stupid," Ilya says, despite a certain level of primal satisfaction at hearing this. "We wouldn't have sex with you if we didn't want to touch you." 

Now there's a flare of satisfaction in Marly's eyes too. "Okay. Well, cool. You didn't make that clear." 

"You could've assumed, you fucking idiot," Ilya says, grinning now, and Marly flashes his teeth back at him.

"Say that to my face."

Exhilaration surges as Ilya gets in his face, squares up to him. His heart feels like it's trying to beat right out of his chest. "You're a fucking idiot."

"You want me to deck you or fuck you?"

Dammit, now Ilya's really hard. "Both?" He leans in provocatively, tilting his head, then pauses before the moment of his lips contacting Marly's as if something's just occurred to him. "Hey, did you ever kiss a guy before?"

Marly looks mortally offended. "C'mon, you know I did!" 

Ilya smirks to let him know it was an intentional slight. 

"Oh fuck you," Marly shoots back, and then goes pleasingly silent as Ilya leans in for real.

"Not unless you're really, really good," Ilya whispers, to get the last word before their mouths meet. 

And Ilya makes it really good. It's different, kissing uphill, his head tilted back. Marly is a fucking mountain. He tastes exciting, the same as Ilya's mouth but softer, hotter. And Ilya was fucking with him, of course he remembers doing this before; he’s thought about it a hundred times since that crazy night. The stubble-scrape is delicious. And Marly is big, bold, an immovable object when Ilya tests his resistance.

Ilya sucks his tongue because that seemed to get a rise out of him last time, and Marly grunts quietly, hands rising and—hovering. 

Ilya draws slowly back, capturing Marly's lower lip between his teeth and dragging on it. When he lets go and looks up, Marly's eyes flash black. 

"You can touch me, remember?" Ilya says, as if goading someone to fight. "In fact, is encouraged—" and then Marly is stepping closer and getting an arm around his neck, big palm enclosing the back of Ilya's head, and it is on. 

This second kiss is dirty and breathless, and Jesus, fuck. Now his hands are going everywhere. 

Ilya's not sure how he expected a head-on collision between the two of them to go – more like tackling than making out, maybe, with various attempts at putting each other into headlocks? – but this deliberate, sensual exploration is blowing that out of the water. 

Marly's definitely into it, kissing him with fierce force, his hands sliding over Ilya's back, his chest, down his sides. Gripping and squeezing, securing his hold. This is how Marly kisses girls, Ilya realizes. Intent and hungry and unapologetically filthy, holding nothing back. 

This is why the girls always look so starry-eyed, after. 

Ilya rallies, getting a leg between Marly's tree-trunk thighs and pushing him back against his own wall. He feels the soft thud of Marly's shoulders hitting the brick, and Marly makes another of those grunts, low and appreciative, and sucks Ilya's tongue into his mouth. 

Ilya hears himself grunt in reply, shoves him back. It's not like tussling with Shane, their playful charade of resistance being overpowered, with both of them perfectly secure in what the eventual outcome will be. He actually doesn't know if Marly will like being pushed around, or if he'll back off, close down. 

Marly doesn't seem to hate it, anyway. He's rock solid beneath his clothes, hard against Ilya's hip as they grind together. And kissing him feverishly, turning them again, pushing Ilya against the wall instead. 

It's been a long time since Ilya kissed anyone who didn't melt into it straight away. The challenge of it is thrilling. And the feel of Marly's massive, powerful body jostling against his is such a turn-on Ilya's immediately feeling faint. 

He's got to get him lying down. 

It's beginning to dawn on him that Marly's seriously into this. Nothing that Ilya feared – half-hearted or reluctant. Not even hesitant. Given this chance, Marly is all over him, bringing the enthusiasm of an overgrown puppy cut with raw, leonine power. Ilya is being pinned to a wall and kissed senseless, and it's hot as fuck, and his body's responding with thoughts of everything else he might want in this situation. 

It's definitely boding well for how Marly might treat Shane, given another chance. 

There's still time for Marly to freak, obviously. There are some touch-points where a guy who's never gone to bed with another guy before can reasonably be expected to balk. But Marly sails past Ilya unbuttoning his shirt, actually groans when he sees the purple-yellow bite mark Shane left on the underside of his left pec—a parting gift from that morning in Tampa, awake before their alarms, fucking face to-face and frantic as they registered the imminent distance about to be imposed again. 

"This Hollzy?" Marly says, tracing it with his thumb. 

"Yeah," Ilya says, shivering, and then Marly's ducking and mouthing over the mark, sucking Ilya's nipple into his mouth, and now it's Ilya who's groaning. 

Yeah, seems Marly has no problem with sucking on Ilya's tits until he's making plaintive little noises, scraping his stubble over the bruised skin; nuzzling and licking, sending ripples of heat deep inside him. 

For the first time Ilya wonders what Marly is expecting here—does he think they will fuck? Does he want to? 

Probably a good idea to establish that before they get much further. Let him know, this time, what the ground rules are, what Ilya does and doesn't do. 

Even though, right now, he's not completely sure himself where those boundaries are. 

He's weirdly lost for words. Well, not entirely—he's got plenty of low curses for Marly's hot mouth and groping hands, the way he's reverently squeezing his pecs, thumbing one nipple and tonguing the other. It must be uncomfortable holding this stooped position – Shane would be on his knees by now, sliding down like butter in a hot pan – but Marly seems lost in worshipping Ilya's nipples, half-mauling him, pressing him back against rough-cool brick. 

Pretty soon it's going to be Ilya sliding to his knees. 

"Where's your bedroom?" He manages it without his voice creaking, at least. 

He expects some sort of wisecrack or token resistance, but Marly just straightens enough to kiss Ilya's neck instead, and walks him backward through one door, then another, steering him in the darkness, lifting him slightly. 

And that's—that's Ilya's fucking signature. 

"Hey," Ilya protests, laughing, almost stumbling back, "you're stealing my moves."

Marly laughs easily. "Busted! Forgot you basically wrote the play-book on getting a chick onto her back in three easy steps. Neck, tits, carry through." 

"Never fails."

"Never fails," Marly agrees, voice hushed in the gloom of an unlit bedroom, and fuck, they actually are in Marly's bedroom, that's his bed bumping up against the back of Ilya's knees. 

"Is that how you want me then – on my back?" Ilya says it sardonically, yet can't suppress the shiver that goes through him at the words. 

"For starters," Marly says, and pushes him down. 

His bulk is glorious. He's pulling off his top and chucking it aside as he crawls on top of Ilya, sailing past the second potential milestone of hetero-freak-out without a flicker of hesitation. 

Ilya pulls off his own shirt and lets it drop, then suddenly misses Shane with a fierceness that makes his heart clench; Shane would never just scatter his clothes like this on the floor. Fuck, he wishes Shane could join them. 

Maybe neither of them has the stomach for truly casual sex now, when it comes down to it. 

"You good?" Marly asks, and Ilya realizes he's gone still in the gloom. For a moment everything is dreamlike, blurry. A little too like one of the many hookups of Ilya's past, where bodies collide anonymously in darkness, where it's fun and thoughtless and ultimately hollow. 

"Yeah," he says, groping for certainty. It's for Shane—this is all for Shane. Whatever happens, he's going to talk to Shane right after. Shane wants this. Shane told him, Go do some damage to that enormous man. 

"Is too dark," Ilya says, shrugging though it's possibly invisible to Marly. "I want to see. Is okay?"

"For sure," Marly says, moving off him for a moment, crawling over to tap something on the wall. 

It's a brief reprieve from the heady intensity of his proximity, and Ilya's thoughts swirl and settle as faux-candlelight fills the room from several uplighters. 

Shane would approve of this lighting, Ilya thinks. And Shane has approved this side quest with this man. 

"Better?" Marly asks, walking back around the bed—giving him space. Ilya wonders what must be playing across his own face that Marly has noticed he needs a moment, fuck. But maybe actually that's a good thing. They're friends first, and he does trust him. And he is – Ilya refocuses on him – extremely attractive in this lighting, tawny and topless, familiar and intriguing at once. And still hanging back, waiting for the green light. 

"Better," Ilya says, meaning it. 

"Great," Marly says, and crawls back on top of him. 

His shoulders are fantastic and Ilya’s next coherent thought is that he wants to sink his teeth into them. So, he does, and Marly grunts and shoves a knee between his thighs, and then somehow Ilya's sucking his neck and grinding against Marly's meaty thigh, and everything feels fucking incredible. 

He's got to get naked. It crosses his mind again that they should probably define what they're doing here—but he's getting increasingly hazy with desire, and doesn't want to invite the awkwardness back in, plus going with the flow feels amazing. He gropes the hot smooth musculature of Marly's back instead, clinging and arching up beneath him, digging his nails in, enjoying for a moment the simple pleasure of being weighed down.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Marly mutters, sounding disbelieving about it. "You're a fucking wildcat. I just wanna—" 

He breaks off and cocks his head, then deliberately pins him, one wrist after the other. Ilya growls, the foreign sensation of being genuinely immobilized triggering a surge of arousal as keen as a knife-blade. 

"Fuck," he says, squirming against Marly's hold. His cock is aching now, needs more attention than these glancing touches. "Fuck, let go." 

Marly doesn't let go. He ducks and kisses Ilya's neck, forcing his head back, sliding his tongue over the sensitive skin beneath Ilya's ear. Shivers pour over Ilya like running water. 

"Damn it," he gasps, amidst a sudden wave of embarrassment that Marly's seeing him like this, so undignified, so turned on. But Marly's clearly getting off on it; humming under his breath as he sucks Ilya's collarbone and rubs their bare chests together. The embarrassment wave peaks with the noise Ilya makes then, a heartfelt groan as he shoves his body up against Marly's, using the immobilization of his wrists as leverage. He's an athlete, he's got a lot of core strength; he's basically bucking beneath him like a wild horse.

And Marly just rides it out, grinning now. 

"Sorry Roz, got something there you need a little help with?"

"Fuck you," Ilya says breathlessly, twisting and arching beneath him. 

"Ask nicely," Marly teases, which hits him like whiplash; he's spreading his legs before he realizes it, locking an ankle around the back of Marly's knees, fitting their cocks together through their clothes. 

And this is surely the next milestone of potential freak-out, the unmistakable push of hard-on against hard-on, but Marly just kisses him again, wet and nasty, and gets a hand under Ilya's ass, locking the angle of Ilya's hips in place and grinding. 

Ilya hears himself actually whimper—before realizing Marly's freed one of his wrists with this move. He can surely get enough purchase now to flip them over, regain the advantage – even if he's not convinced he ever actually had it – but instead he finds his hand is sliding down to Marly's ass, grasping it greedily, squeezing. It's a fucking nice ass. 

"Ah, fuck," Marly says, against Ilya's mouth, and then they're thrusting against each other, and it's perfect, perfect, hot and heavy and—no! No, there's no fucking way Ilya's gonna come like this. Absolutely not. 

He's flying with the possibility, though. His body doesn't know what's going on; in the past few months he's gotten used to marathons of sex with Shane followed by weeks of drought; he got off two days ago, listening to Shane's elaborate fantasy of blowing them both at the same time, but he hasn't come since, and now it's all he can think about. And maybe this encounter has already been enough for their purposes? Showing Marly is definitely down to fuck, and definitely not spooked by the gay thing – or if he is, he's also horny enough that it's barely slowing him down. 

Yeah, Ilya reckons he's got enough evidence, by now, that it will be totally worth the extreme effort to get all three of them in a private room at the next earliest opportunity. 

But… that will probably be weeks away. 

And he's obviously not going to be hooking up with Marly again between now and then. This is a one-time thing. 

And so… he really doesn't want to come right away. 

Marly doesn't help by reaching down between them and rubbing his thumb along the line of Ilya's dick. 

"Can I get it out?" The eager American frat boy voice does something extra for Ilya, so help him. 

"Yeah," Ilya says, and kisses him again, relishing Marly's little sigh as he tugs down Ilya's jeans and closes his hand around Ilya's thick length. Another milestone vanishing into the rearview. "Yeah…"

He works his own hand into Marly's pants, wrapping his fist around the velvety firmness of his erection, feeling it swell even more in his grip. 

"Oh fuck," Marly says faintly, shoving his pants all the way down, then rolls them onto their sides. And that's—that's hot. Simple. Face-to-face, stroking each other, kissing and panting, exploring and goading; for a moment it feels like it'll be more than enough. 

"Aw fuck, why is that so good?" Marly demands suddenly, tipping his head back, and Ilya sees his chance to take the advantage, dives in, gets his mouth on Marly's neck and inhales deeply, stubble prickling his lips.

And, wow. He smells completely different than Shane, and yet the heated masculine notes are similar, musky and mouthwatering. Ilya licks his neck, lightly sucks, drinking him in. 

Marly moans and strokes him tighter, then pauses with his hand enclosing the tip of Ilya's cock, playing with his foreskin, working it rhythmically back and forth over the head. 

Ilya growls against his neck, feeling his cock pulse wet and sticky against Marly's fingers. 

"Yeah?" Marly breathes in his ear; fuck, Ilya hadn't been expecting him to talk. "You like that?"

"Mm," Ilya says, a low noise of acknowledgement, and Marly does it again. 

"Love that you're uncut, man," Marly says, massaging the slick skin back and forth, perpetual, incendiary. "Does Hollzy like playing with it?"

Ilya can't speak for a moment. When the fuck did Cliff Marleau develop an opinion on foreskins?! "Y-yeah." 

"So fucking hot," Marly says approvingly, and then, huskier still: "Can I suck it?"

Ilya's eyes open at that, and he draws back, unable to keep a note of skepticism from his voice. "Fuck, do you want to?"

"Yeah," Marly says readily, then laughs. "I mean—I think so? Been watching a helluva lot of gay porn since last time. Pretty sure I know what to do."

"Ohh. Research," Ilya teases, to cover the jolt that image gives him. "Well. Don't let me stop you." 

He has to remind himself, when Marly immediately slides down him and closes his mouth around the head of Ilya's cock, that it has to go at his pace. This isn't Shane, who loves getting his mouth fucked, loves being pinned down and made to take Ilya's full length while he wilfully submits; this is Marly's first time sucking dick and if he just wants a tentative taste that is more than okay. 

It's fucking hot, though. Hot and soft and—tentative is not the word. His mouth is eager and very wet, sucking him lavishly, and maybe it's all the gay porn he's been watching but there's a confidence to his technique that steadily takes Ilya's breath away. 

"Mm, yes," Ilya says, giving encouragement where it's due, in danger of succumbing to this wet rhythmic suction completely. He's forcing himself to keep his hips still, but Marly's moving his head, sparking a deep-seated pleasure that builds and builds. "Yeah, that's—that's good. Fuck. Ah, fuck. Keep going."

Marly hums and increases the pace, sloppy and eager. It's a deadly combination, and Ilya shifts his hips restlessly, trying not to just fuck up into him, use his mouth, hard. Very important not to do that. Very important. Fuck. Fuck, it feels so good though, it's making him throb all over. 

The bright sparks of it start to coalesce, and he wonders dazedly if Marly's going to let him come in his mouth, if he'll swallow—and then he wonders what Marly will want to do after, when Ilya's all pliant and contented, and Marly's still hard and urgent; what then? 

Maybe he’ll want to do something else. Maybe he’ll get Ilya all grateful and relaxed in pleasure, and then he’ll want to hold him down and fuck him, with his fantastic shoulders and rock-hard body and massive cock, and that—that’s not Ilya’s style, right? That's way off-side for Ilya, not his scene at all. He needs to let Marly know that, somehow. He should probably say something.

On the other hand, he is really fucking enjoying the attention of Marly’s mouth as he tries to swallow Ilya's cock. And he doesn’t want to spoil the mood. 

"Wait," Ilya hears himself say, tugging on Marly's hair through a rapidly building wave of pleasure. "Wait." 

Marly pulls off, panting, looks up. "What?" 

"This isn't fair." 

"Huh?" 

"This," Ilya says, and waves at Marly's lower body, a long way out of reach. "C'mon. Bring it here."

Marly's lips are still wet as he grins. "You wanna sixty-nine?"

"Sure. Sounds fair to me, no?" And safer. Hell of a lot safer. Slow things down for him and bring Marly up to speed, get them level again. 

"Fuckin' A, man," Marly says, hurriedly shucking the rest of his clothes, and then his eyes rake critically over Ilya. "Are you gonna take those off?"

Ilya feels weirdly self-conscious as he gets fully naked, which makes no sense whatsoever. He's the experienced one here. He's the one who has been fucking men for multiple years. So why does he feel Marly's hungry gaze over every inch of his exposed skin, breaking him out in goosebumps? 

Thankfully, opportunities for further eye contact are limited as Marly stretches out next to him the other way around, bringing his hard cock close to Ilya's face. He's cut – like Shane – and thick and sizeable, also like Shane, but there are differences as well. There's a bulging vein snaking up the underside that seems to call to Ilya's tongue, and more glossy dark hair around the base, and his thighs are hairy as well, much hairier than Shane's. 

As Ilya ducks in to take it in his mouth, the musky heated scent of hair and skin is almost overwhelming, making him salivate. He sucks on the head and swallows hard, tasting the salty slick of him, learning this new flavor, and is flooded by the realization that Shane has tasted this too. Shane has also held this dick in his mouth, felt this thick weight against his tongue. 

It turns Ilya on even more, remembering that night while feeling this. Fuck, this may not have slowed things down for him at all. 

"Wait, stop," Marly says, as Ilya starts sucking in earnest, "let me get the lube." 

Ilya looks around as Marly pulls away and gets back to his feet, utterly unselfconscious, his muscular hairy body all on display as he walks around the bed and fishes a pump-action bottle out of a drawer. A half-empty bottle, it looks like. 

Ilya raises his eyebrows. "You have lube?"

"Of course I've got lube, I'm not a fucking caveman."

Ilya's eyebrows inch up even more. Has Marly been on some sort of spree?

"You've been fucking other guys?" Ilya asks, strangely put out by this idea. 

Marly cracks up. "No! It's for chicks, idiot. They love it when you bring it out. It's like, ten instant points. And it feels great, even if you're not putting it in their ass – though more chicks are up for it than you'd think," he says casually, slicking his fingers then tossing the bottle to Ilya. "At least with me," he adds, smirking, before realigning himself on his side on the bed, bending Ilya's knee so he can rest his head on Ilya's thigh as he takes his cock back into his mouth. 

Ilya finds he's at a genuine loss for words. The image of Marly fucking various up-for-it girls in the ass is something, and watching Marly settle happily back down to suck his cock is something, and then Marly's fingers are sliding up between his legs, warm and wet and probing, and that is something else. 

The brush of slick fingers over Ilya's hole, in conjunction with a steady suction on his cock, makes Ilya's brain sizzle. That's—okay, that's… okay, he's… yeah, that's what he's doing. Circling his hole with a lubed fingertip, casual as anything. That's fine, Ilya's fine with that. Doesn't mean anything else. Feels good, in fact. 

Fuck, it feels dangerously good. 

He tries to distract himself by filling his mouth with Marly's cock, pillowing his head on Marly's hairy, muscular thigh, welcoming him back in. He's gotten used to the differences, and now it feels normal, decadent almost. So lazy, resting here sucking on Marly's cock as Marly's hips nudge slowly against his face. Before long he's going out of his mind with how warm and hypnotic it is, sucking and being sucked, getting lost in the sensation of rolling Marly's balls in his palm while rocking his own cockhead against Marly's tongue. So lost that—

He grunts around his mouthful, sparks flying behind his eyes, when Marly slips a finger into him. Fuck, that's wrong. Well—not wrong. Different. Electric – he loves it when Shane does it – but that's Shane, he knows Ilya's limits, his soft and hard lines, his stated preferences. 

Marly knows none of that and is just… teasing. In and out, testing the tightness of Ilya's hole, not forcing, just toying. Marly, who has fucked plenty of girls like this, who has lube and a rakish grin and says things like, More chicks are up for it than you'd think – at least with me.

Ilya would throw up a hand and ask for a pause, give Marly a warning that it's not for him, except now he can taste a fresh spurt of pre-come on his tongue, a delicious salt-sweet burst of it, and he can feel Marly's cock flexing in his mouth, hard as iron. He's getting really excited playing with Ilya's ass.

And it doesn't feel bad.

This is sort of for Shane, too, Ilya thinks. Making sure they know that Marly knows how to treat him. Doesn't rush him. Even though Shane has been known to take Ilya’s dick with zero prep beyond a meaningful glance and a smear of Vaseline, it still seems important now to check that Marly can open someone up properly, if he's ever going to be allowed near Shane again. It's a matter of standards. 

So yeah, okay. Ilya can cope with this, with letting Marly massage his hole and then slowly, gently press into him—for Shane. 

He makes a point of slicking his own fingers, returning the favor. Fair's fair. And Marly's tight, but not impossibly, and there is an undeniable pleasure in nudging and then retreating, again and again, until Marly's hips are shifting plaintively and Ilya's fingertip goes in easy as anything. Yeah, that's fucking hot. He licks methodically over the tip of his cock as he gives Marly a little more of his finger, wondering how much he can take… how much he wants… if anyone's done this before. Has Marly done it to himself? 

About halfway in to the second knuckle he hears Marly groan around his cock and it hits him – he's fingering Cliff Marleau, what the fuck?! This was not on his game plan for this year – so he releases Marly's dick from his mouth. He leaves his hand where it is, though. 

"You okay with this?"

"Uh-huh," Marly confirms, without pulling off, swirling his tongue around and around the crown of Ilya's cock, sucking furiously. He seems more than okay. 

And this is more familiar, the hot tightness around his slick finger, the gasps and shudders he can provoke with one knuckle, two. Ilya sinks in, feeling a little more in control, his own gasps and shudders less conspicuous by comparison. He starts sucking again, coordinating a soft flick of his tongue with an angled press deeper, and Marly makes a muffled noise of pleasure, before withdrawing entirely from Ilya's cock and ass, and burying his face against the sheets. 

"Shit, Roz, you really know what you're doin'," he growls, voice indistinct through the bedding, and Ilya smirks and bobs his head, adds a second finger. 

Yeah, this is familiar, feeling the muscles of Marly's thighs clench around his ears, the heavy furred weight of his balls drawing up tight. He wonders if he can deep-throat him at this angle – maybe, probably – or if it would be more satisfying to keep his mouth exactly as it is and go to town on his prostate instead. He feels so smug in advance that he's completely startled when big warm hands enclose his face and force him to back off, without negotiation.

"Fucking fuck," Marly's panting, curling around himself and smacking the mattress repeatedly with one fist. "Shit, you almost got me there. Fuck. Fuck! Goddamn it Roz, is this why Hollander's so fucking glowy all the time?" 

Ilya grins, wipes his mouth and sits up. "Yeah, it is." 

"Fuck," Marly says, still breathing hard. "Just wait a sec. I just need a minute. Fucking hell. I almost came in your mouth," he adds hoarsely, which is redundant information but his incredulous tone fills Ilya with delight.

Ilya presses his lips together to keep from laughing. "I mean… you can," he says, in case that needs to be said. 

Marly shoots him a wolfish look. "Oh, I still might." 

Ilya shivers, sucks his lower lip briefly between his teeth.

"—But not so soon, right? Don't want you going back telling Hollzy I'm a fast shooter."

Ilya thinks about the various sub–sixty second encounters he and Shane have managed in the past, so pent up and horny they barely manage to get a zipper open before the first explosions begin. "Of course." 

"Okay, I think I'm good," Marly says. He gives his cock an experimental stroke, then lets go; it bounces back against his belly with a low slap. 

Ilya goes to lie back down. 

"Nooooo," Marly says quickly, "no, two more minutes of that and I'm a goner. Can we just, uh…?" He crawls across the bed and kneels up in front of Ilya, drawing him up onto to his knees as well, letting their cocks graze against each other, putting their bodies back in line, their faces. "Just…" he says again, and smooths his hands over Ilya's shoulders, down his back, "do this for a while?"

"Sure," Ilya says, mystified, but then they're kissing again and he supposes that's fine. It's hot, kneeling on the bed, taking Marly's tongue in his mouth, sinking his hands into Marly's mane of hair. It's no sixty-nine-plus-ass-play but maybe that was kinda advanced for a beginner. Maybe Marly needs him to back off, go back to basics. Not unreasonable. 

Then Marly's hands reach his lower back, his fingers fanning out. "Fuck," Marly breathes, against his mouth.

Ilya makes a questioning noise, reaching down to align their cocks, hold them together. Renewed sparks of sensation roll through him. 

Marly kisses him again, his hands sliding down, cupping Ilya's ass, pulling him closer. Ilya thinks at first it's to increase the pressure on their cocks, but gradually realizes it isn't: it's Marly shamelessly groping his ass, stroking it, firm and almost reverent, shaping it with both hands.

"Oh my god," Marly mutters, breaking the kiss to groan against Ilya's neck. "Your ass is incredible. Hollzy getting to tap this on the regular is—he's a fucking giant among men." 

Ilya reels. Whoa, now there's an image. "He's… actually not." 

"What?" 

"Uh," Ilya says, finding it difficult to explain while Marly is still brazenly groping him. "That… is not a thing he is doing."

"Huh," Marly says, then draws back to look at him, forehead creased. "But I thought you guys were like, equal."

"We are," Ilya insists, "but there's still, you know. Preferences."

Understanding dawns in his dark eyes. "Hollander always prefers you fuck him."

"Yeah," Ilya says eagerly, nodding. Okay good, he gets it. 

"And you prefer fucking Hollander."

"Yeah, of course. He loves it. You have seen him, yes? Of course."

"Huh," Marly says again, which now sounds dangerous.

Ilya gives him a wary glance. "What?"

"Have you seen you?" He's still running his hands over Ilya's ass, stroking and squeezing.

"Marly." 

"Mmm?" He manages to sound innocent – and not at all innocent – at once. 

"You are getting ideas."

"Maybe," Marly says, and leans in, starts kissing his neck again. 

Ilya lifts his chin despite himself. Marly's warm lips feel incredible. His warm hands feel incredible. His furry chest, the wall of hard muscle jostling against him, feels— 

"Well, don't," Ilya croaks. "You will overheat brain and explode."

"Mmm," Marly rumbles, with a soft laugh that is so fucking sexy. "Damn right something's gonna explode." He presses his stomach against Ilya's, trapping their cocks together, and they both inhale sharply.

"We can just do this," Ilya says, half suggestion, half warning.

"Sure." His fingers drift down to Ilya's thighs, then trail pointedly back up, meeting in the middle. Ilya feels his cock twitch, grits his teeth. He's not sure why he's not putting a decisive end to this. Fuck, he just—wants. An indistinct, ephemeral want.

"Or I can blow you again," Ilya says faintly. "Properly, this time."

Marly presses a quick kiss to Ilya's mouth, then nuzzles along to his ear. "I'd like that," he says, a compromise if ever Ilya heard one, "but what I'd really like," and Ilya's holding his breath, hanging on his every fucking word, "is to fuck you so good you see God."

The dreamlike state descends again. Ilya makes a tiny negative noise, but even he can hear it's not that negative. 

"So is that like… totally off the table?" Marly murmurs, running light fingertips down the crease of Ilya's ass, making his mind stutter. His lips move gently over Ilya's earlobe, and he's waiting – now his breath is held – waiting attentively on Ilya's reply. 

He's using every trick in the book, Ilya realizes. Marly knows exactly what he's doing and he fully intends to fuck him, if he's allowed. 

"Ha, ah, I don't know," Ilya says honestly, the possibility zinging around in his brain like lightning trapped in a bottle. 

He's not… 

That isn't…

He has tried it before, of course, with a stranger who seemed to know what he was doing, but he didn't love it. And Ilya is very very good at doing what he does love, which is topping the hell out of Shane Hollander. He's had vague and dutiful thoughts that if Shane wanted to fuck him, he'd let him, as a badge of trust, as a demonstration of his devotion—but Shane's never shown the slightest inclination that way, so those indistinct notions have never been tested. 

He does trust Marly. And… Marly is definitely showing some inclination.

"That's… ah… fuck," Ilya says, when he realizes Marly's still waiting for an answer. "That's not something we do."

"No, I get that. But… could it be something we do?"

"Uh…"

"You never get curious," Marly continues softly, his fingers sliding down now, between the curves of his ass, purposeful, searching, "about what Hollzy likes about it so much?"

"What he likes is different from what I like," Ilya says, even as he tilts his hips, letting Marly reach his hole more easily. 

"Yeah?" Marly sounds pleased. His finger circles, circles. Ilya's still wet from earlier. Fuck, Marly could just—

"Yes," Ilya insists, his voice going faint as Marly pushes just an inch back inside. Fuck, that makes his head spin. "He doesn't even like to fuck girls."

"I've seen you fuck girls. You like that a lot."

"Yeah, obviously. But Shane doesn't—he just likes to take it."

"So it's your job to give it, right?"

It's a trap, Ilya thinks. "Not job. It's my, uh, what is word? Privilege."

Marly laughs. "You are fucking head over heels for that man."

"Yeah, so?"

"So you take care of him real good," he says, approving and—and pushing deeper.

"Yeah," Ilya gasps. 

"So why not let me take care of you?" 

And Marly actually has been driving this thing all evening, Ilya realizes suddenly. Ilya had thought he was holding back, in order to go at Marly's less experienced pace, but now it seems likely Marly's had this destination in mind all along. It's weirdly exciting to have someone else's foot on the pedal.

Fuck. Fuck, is he actually considering this? 

He forces a laugh. "Okay, level with me. Exactly how much gay porn have you been watching?"

Marly's replying chuckle does something funny to the base of his belly. "Enough to know that guys that look like us enjoy getting dicked down just as much as skinny guys with lisps and shit."

Yet again it's all kinds of offensive and yet really fucking sweet at the same time. Ilya can't keep the delight out of his voice as he asks, "Oh yeah, and is that what you want as well? To get dicked down?" 

He expects an explosive refusal, Marly smashing headlong into the final hurdle of hetero panic and disintegrating. Nothing Marly has done so far – he slowly realizes – has suggested to Ilya that he wants to bottom, which is possibly something Ilya should have examined more closely as they went along. 

And then Marly pulls the rug out from under him by saying warmly, right against Ilya's ear, "Oh, hell yeah! But I figured you'd wanna pop that cherry with Hollzy watching."

For the third time tonight Ilya's lost for words. 

"Meanwhile this, you know, what I can do for you… maybe that's something you wanna try without an audience. The first time, anyway," he adds, a skilful tap into the net—past the distracted goalie of Ilya's objections, as Marly's palm comes to press against his ass, his finger buried as far as it will go.

Fuck. Fuck. Ilya realizes he's shivering, rocking against Marly's hand, clenching around the base of his finger, reeling with the foreign sensation of being upright for this.

With Shane he is always face down, flat out, and it's somehow more… private? Whereas right now he feels all on display. Like every trace of feeling crossing his face is visible to Marly.

So why not let me take care of you?

That is not what Ilya needs. Is it? Not even from someone as reliable and strong and—and blatantly not flustered by sex as Marly, experienced even. Not with guys, sure, but with fucking in general; this is his hobby, and he has a confidence that transcends the gender of the person he's lusting after. He just lusts, and has the moves to back it up. He's—he's kissing Ilya's neck again.

"Ohhh," Ilya exhales, a noise that he would later deny he ever heard emerge from his own mouth. Shivers pour over him again, flowing from the brush of Marly's lips over his neck to the molten core where Marly's big finger is sliding, slowly, in and out now, steady and confident and fuck. Ilya wants more.

Fuck it. He brings his hands up to the back of Marly's neck and kisses him deeply, hanging off him, sucking his tongue, lets Marly's other arm slide up to enclose him completely. He feels so big like this, leaning over him, holding Ilya steady as he fingers him, deep and slow, his mouth muffling the tiny noises Ilya keeps making. 

Insanely, it seems Marly's moving less the longer it goes on. More shallow, as well; superficial even. Ilya rocks in increasing frustration against him, getting nowhere, and eventually has to break the kiss and draw back. 

Marly smirks at him, withdraws his hands completely, leaving a furious tingling in his wake. "Is that a yes?'

"Is a maybe," Ilya lies; he's breathing heavily, feels flushed all over. "I reserve right to kick you out of bed if you annoy me."

"Ohhh," Marly crows, delighted. "You're keepin' me on my toes, huh, baby?"

"Something like that."

"I better pull out my best moves then."

"Yeah. Stop messing about with one little finger," Ilya grumbles, and then regrets it when Marly grabs his wrist and pulls his hand down to his cock; Ilya's fingers and thumb can fully enclose it, just, but it's a strain. 

"Yeah?" Marly says, low. "You want me to stop messing around and give you all this? Right now?"

Ilya's mouth goes dry. Somehow his pendulum swing from fuck no to fuck yes has overlooked a few steps. He thinks again of Shane, who probably could, and his heart swells even as his cock throbs. Fuck, they are going to have the best time when they're all together. 

"Maybe not right now," he hazards. 

Marly ducks and kisses his ear, starts moving Ilya's hand lazily on his cock. "Soon, though, yeah?" he whispers, the words flashing hot against Ilya's skin. "Before tonight is over, you're gonna take all of me?"

Dreamlike again, Ilya stares down at Marly's cock in his hand, then slowly nods. 

"God, that's so hot," Marly moans, and starts kissing him more deliberately, down his neck, across his chest. "C'mon, baby, lie down for me," he says, and Ilya knows he should object to being called that but he just… doesn't, he just lets himself get drawn down onto the bed and kissed all over. 

It's heavenly. 

It's not better than what he normally does in bed, of course, but it is… pretty… easy, pretty languid and luxurious, to sprawl down on his back and let someone else dictate the action. 

Just feel. 

Sensation dances through him in the wake of Marly's mouth, Marly's fingers. Ilya still can't resist burying a hand in his hair and steering him a little, but overall, Marly's driving. Pressing against him and calling up those waves of warmth again, until Ilya's blurring and melting, caught in one tide and then another. Marly's fingers are back inside him and his mouth's on Ilya's hipbone, then his cock; Ilya's bucking up beneath him, screwing up his fists and throwing his head back; Marly's swirling his tongue over the head of Ilya's cock until he's shaking, and the languid feeling has gone, replaced by an urgent need to get off—overshadowed only by the aching need to get filled.

"Fuck—go on—go on," Ilya growls, pounding his fist against the sheets, driving his hips against Marly's hand. 

"Mmm." Marly's mouth is full and he's bobbing his head, corkscrewing his fingers as Ilya's toes curl. "Mm?"

"Get up here. Fucking now!"

And then Marly's moving, sliding up his body, reaching over him, across him – bedside table, drawer opening and closing, the ripping of a wrapper, fuck, Ilya had forgotten – and then he's stretching out next to him and shifting Ilya onto his side, and sliding an arm around his chest from behind. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah," Ilya says fervently, turned on beyond reason by the heat of Marly behind him, the solid lines of him dovetailing with Ilya's back, his ass, his thighs. 

It feels like he's underwater and the water is hot, shimmering. 

Marly fits his cock between Ilya's cheeks and the obscene unmistakable shape of it – there, pressing, dripping wet with lube – feels so good it's terrifying. 

"Just—go slow," Ilya hears himself say, which is not the tone he'd planned to take at all, but Marly just kisses the back of his neck and whispers,

"I know, baby, I've got you—" and in that moment he really does. He's got Ilya to the edge of sanity with wanting and writhing; he's got him secure in his warm, strong arms; and he is going super slow, hardly pressing his sheathed cock against Ilya's hole, barely a suggestion of pressure from behind, until Ilya can't stand it any more and pushes himself back.

"Fuck," Ilya bites off, taking the tip into his ass and hearing Marly's breath punch out; it's wider than he thought, so blunt and solid, and so fucking satisfying. He doesn't remember it being at all satisfying last time – he doesn't remember anything from last time except dismay – but this is good, it's intense, a stretch that's almost too much, a filthy rush of achievement, and he's shivering in Marly's arms, freshly sweating, glowing with forced exertion.  

"Aw, fuck, Roz," Marly gasps, sounding gratifyingly undone, his hand skating blindly from Ilya's chest to his bicep to his hip, and then his mouth is on the back of Ilya's neck, wet, hot, and he's curving his fingers against his hipbone, anchoring. "Is this okay?"

Ilya nods jerkily, squeezing his eyes closed. He's not normally the one who gets asked that. 

Marly's lips find his ear. "You feel so good," he says, and increases the pressure just a fraction, sliding a little further in as Ilya gasps and moans. "That's it, baby, let me in…"

Ilya makes a conscious effort to relax around his thick shaft, then grunts as Marly takes advantage of that, slips another inch deeper. He starts to tell himself that this is for Shane too, checking if Marly really knows what he's doing—but something about this position is making Ilya brutally honest with himself, because that is bullshit. He can say that this is for Shane, sure, but it's not. It's for him. Fuck, is this ever for him.

"Oh my god. Fuck, dude, you're so tight. We don't have to do more than this, I swear. I am barely holding it together, do you feel that?" Marly's fingers rub more lube over Ilya's hole, stretched around his dick, and they both groan. "Fuck, you are so fucking hot. Taking me."

Ilya nods again, not sure what he's agreeing to, only that he needs to convey yes, yes and he can't trust his voice right now. He gropes blindly for Marly's hand on his hip and covers it, pressing down, signalling, more. 

Marly's grip tightens. "Yeah?"

Another nod, as Ilya realizes he's forgotten how to breathe. He doesn't want to breathe, he just wants to float here, his body juddering with sensation, his mind adrift, bizarrely confident that this path leads to ecstasy and the only uncertainty is the route. Fuck, is this what Shane feels every time? 

"Roz…" 

"Yeah, do it, fuck," Ilya finds his voice at last, lets it rasp out, urgency flaring, "c'mon, don't be a pussy, I wanna feel it—" all of it, give me all of it, c'mon…

Marly pushes in. Really in, all the way, a steady slow slide that has Ilya's head falling back on Marly's shoulder, his mouth open as he groans. It's indescribable, the stretch, the blazing pressure, the sense of being entered, being filled up, receiving. If it was anyone else he would be freaking out right now about letting them into his body, he knows it—but it's not, it's Marly, he'll stop if Ilya wants—and Ilya really doesn't want him to stop.

"Jesus fucking christ you feel incredible," Marly hisses, his hand spreading wide on Ilya's hip, holding them together. "Can I move? I wanna—"

"Move," Ilya grinds out, and Marly starts by shoving in, cramming the last inches of himself inside and holding Ilya firmly as he takes them. "Fuck!" 

"Fuck," Marly echoes, pulling half out, then sinking all the way in again. It's smoother the second time, and the third, and the fourth, and the—

Ilya stops counting and melts back into it, the strange awesome feeling of being fucked, of feeling Marly's dick slide inside him, again and again. It feels impossibly illicit, his own cock leaking against his stomach, his body lost in this sensation and struggling to remember what it normally does for fun. 

As if he's thinking out loud - and maybe he is, he's not really keeping track of the noises he's making - Marly's hand shifts from his hip to enclose Ilya's dick instead. A couple of strokes has him cursing, bucking back on Marly's cock, and then Marly's making an impatient noise and rolling him forward onto his stomach. 

"Fuck," Marly bites off, grabbing Ilya's ass in both hands and hauling it back to meet his dick, on top of him now. "You are so fucking—" 

Ilya whines and spreads his legs, folding his arms above his head and hoping, hoping—

Marly grabs his wrists and pins them with one hand, a move Ilya is pretty sure he jokingly taught him. And it feels fucking fantastic, to be spread out and fucked liked this, as good as Shane made it look when Ilya was devising this position, and Marly is huge and powerful on top of him, fucking into him, making cut-off little noises as he hammers past his prostate, as Ilya curves his spine and pushes back for more. 

This is what Shane feels. This is what Shane loves, and Ilya can see why, it's blasting everything out of his mind except the raw shocked bliss of being fucked and crushed, and he's hard and trembling beneath the onslaught, unrecognizable to himself, needy as hell. 

"I'm gonna—fuck, Roz, I'm gonna come in your ass," Marly whispers, and Ilya knows he's wearing a condom, heard him put it on, felt it go in, but still the thought of that makes him want to bite down on something. 

"Do it," he says, breaking free of Marly's hold on his wrists and pushing decisively up onto his hands and knees. It's a strain with Marly draped on top of him but he manages it between one thrust and the next, and then Marly's getting with it, swaying heavily before helping him balance, and then kneeling up behind him. 

"Oh my god," he says, stroking fervently over Ilya's ass, mapping the rounded shape of it with his cock buried half-inside, and then he's slamming in again, making the most of the new angle, ramming him like something out of the porn that Ilya's definitely going to need to borrow. "Holy fuck, fuck, Roz, are you close? I wanna get you there—"

He's reaching around again as he says it, closing his fist around Ilya's cock and giving it a sleek volley of pulls. His grip is knowing and practiced but there's a shudder running through him that makes Ilya crackle like a live wire. There's something about reducing a man of Marly's size and strength to this trembling wreck that he's finding he really enjoys. 

"Yeah, I'm close," he grits out, bracing on his hands and knees, his mind going cloudy with the force of Marly's thrusts, the rapid-fire pleasure of his hand and hips working in unison. "You're gonna get me there, fuck—"

"Damn fucking right I am—"

"Jesus, Marly, that's—" His vision fills with twinkling black dots like he's about to pass out, and then it's like his body is filling up with them as well, like Marly's forcing more sensation into him with every slam of his hips, pressure mounting, until he's tingling all over, panting and moaning, slamming himself between Marly's dick and his hand. 

"That's it, that's it baby, you take what you need from me—"

"Goddammit, fuck, fuck," Ilya hisses, and comes. It's not a normal orgasm. It doesn't rise in a satisfying wave and crash through him, hot and hard. This is more like a volcano erupting through his dick, but the lava flow keeps coming, more from every pounding thrust of Marly's dick into his ass. He's just coming and coming, grinding back against him now, needy for every last jolt to that glowing point at the base of everything. 

Marly's making a hell of a lot of noise behind him, and not slowing down. Speeding up, if anything, holding his ass in both hands and jack-hammering into him. Too soon, it feels, Marly's following after, coming with a hoarse cry, burying himself deep and rocking there. 

Ilya braces on his hands to hold them both up, but his strength is gone, and his arms buckle, and Marly collapses on top of him. 

"Fuck," Marly says, almost a sob, into Ilya's hair, and he's hairy and sweaty and his heavy weight is delicious, and weirdly in that moment Ilya feels closer to Shane that ever. 

Because… he gets it now.

He gets how hot and all-consuming and right this thing can feel. Not just the getting fucked in the ass part, though that was pretty fucking enjoyable in Marly's expert hands, but more—the giving over of control. Above and beyond the physical sensations, Ilya gets how this works for Shane now, how incredibly freeing it can be to let someone else take the wheel. 

"Ugh, oh my god, holy shit. Fuckin' A," Marly mumbles, planting one hand on the mattress to lever his weight off Ilya, reaching down his other hand to hold on the condom. "Well I dunno about you, but I almost met my maker."

Ilya laughs, covering the little involuntary gasp as Marly pulls out. "Yeah, fuck. Same."

Marly hops off the bed and wanders away to get rid of the condom, and Ilya rolls on his back and throws his arms out as he gets his breath back, and thinks more about Shane. How Shane likes the feeling of Ilya staying inside him as he softens. He gets that now, too. He felt sort of weird as Marly withdrew, pulled away, sort of raw and temporarily incomplete, missing the fullness, the heated weight plastered against his back, that pleasant crushed safe feeling. He sort of wants… but that’s relationship stuff, he thinks quickly. It's not like that with Marly.

He hears the distant whir of an ice-maker, then Marly reappears and passes him a massive glass of ice water, before untangling his boxers from his jeans and tugging them back on. His hair is all messed up, like he's been dragging his fingers through it. Or like Ilya has. 

"You good?"

Ilya hasn't even wiped the come off his stomach yet. He drinks his water gratefully, relishing the coldness, then wipes his mouth on his hand. "So good." 

Marly eyes him for a long moment, then disappears again, runs a tap, returns with a wet washcloth. "Here." 

"Thanks," Ilya says, amused. He feels fantastic. He's not sure why Marly's still darting around the place. 

"You hungry?"

It's got to be one in the morning. Ilya grins, shakes his head. 

A momentarily agonized look crosses Marly's face. 

Ilya tries not to laugh, focusing on cleaning up instead. Then he tips his head to one side. "Okay. Are you coming back to bed?"

Marly rocks on the balls of his feet. Ah, so this is the bit he sucks at. Weirdly reassuring that he sucks at something.

"Is that allowed?" Marly asks eventually, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Allowed?" Ilya smirks, letting some of his normal scorn back in his voice. "Pfff. This game, we make the rules. Come here." 

Marly ducks his head with a sharp grin, then shakes it as if marveling at what he's got himself into, then walks around the opposite side of the bed – the dry side – and climbs on. 

Ilya welcomes him back down onto the bed with a heavy arm around Marly's neck, a slow demanding kiss with lots of tongue. He feels the tension gradually leave Marly's body; eventually he slumps against him, stretched out alongside, and buries his face in Ilya's neck. 

Ilya pitches his voice low. "Freaking out?"

Marly doesn't lift his head from its cave. He just lifts his hand, making the sign for little bit, finger and thumb pinched slightly apart. 

"Mm," Ilya says, arranging his arm comfortably around Marly's back, stroking between his shoulder blades. "Is normal, I think. You just fuck the hell outta your best friend." 

Marly gives a choked laugh against Ilya's shoulder. "But… you think the friendship can take the hit, right?"

Ilya thinks about being a colossal asshole, but reconsiders. "I think, yes. Bro," he adds, unable to resist being a teeny bit asshole. 

Marly snorts. "Fuck off."

"Mm." Ilya smiles to himself, tracing patterns over the nape of his neck, then pauses. "Wait, really?" 

"What?"

"You want me to go?" 

Marly pauses a moment too long. "Uh… well, uh, not—I mean, you don't—" 

Am I allowed? echoes in Ilya's ears. 

"Next thing I'm gonna do is call Shane," he says, making it conversational. Casual, almost. 

"Wow, right, okay," Marly says, and squints up at him as if to check he’s serious. "That's… yeah."

"So," Ilya says, over his visible disquiet. "I can do that from here. Like this. Or I can do it on my way home. No problem." 

"So you wouldn't mind me being here?"

Ilya smirks. "In your bedroom?" 

"Fuck off, you know what I mean."

"Marly," Ilya says clearly. "You are here. You are in this. Not as prisoner," he adds quickly, then makes a shooing motion with one hand. "You walk away whenever you want, is fine, free agent. But me and Shane… we are not free agents. We are a pair."

"Yeah, no, I get that," Marly says, though Ilya isn't sure he does. 

"And he told me, call him after we're done. He want to know everything."

Marly's dark eyes widen and color builds in his cheeks. Straight up blushing. "Everything?" 

"Everything," Ilya says seriously, then cracks a charming smile. "So. Should I call him on my way home, or is here good?" 

A deep flush spreads down Marly's throat and chest, turning him a ruddy golden brown, before he squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. 

"Here is good," he says.