1 – 1 of 1 Work in but he is also sweet boyfriend Ilya
- but he is also sweet boyfriend Ilya ×
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“Shane,” Ilya whispers. “Yes?” “What is wrong?” “Nothing,” Shane says. “It’s great.” “Hollander. You look like you will throw up or cry into fire. Both will ruin mood.” --- Shane and Ilya have to leave the cottage eventually. Shane spirals about it. Ilya makes it better. Shane is trying very much to enjoy his last evening with Ilya at the cottage. He is trying so much that he feels queasy. All he can think about as Ilya strokes his back and kisses his hair while they sit by the fire, is less than fourteen hours now. Thirteen and a half. Thirteen and a quarter. He can’t bear thinking of Ilya leaving, but he also can’t not think about it for even a second. “Shane,” Ilya whispers. “Yes?” “What is wrong?” “Nothing,” Shane says. “It’s great.” “Hollander. You look like you will throw up or cry into fire. Both will ruin mood.” And Shane definitely can’t tell Ilya what’s actually wrong because then he won’t just have ruined what’s left of the mood, he’ll have completely destroyed it, and then Shane fucking up will cast a shadow over their entire time here and Ilya will always think that it wasn’t actually that good and maybe he won’t want to come back, ever, and - “Shane. You said to say what we really feel while we are here. Say what you need.” “Fuck me,” Shane says. “Make me stop thinking about tomorrow.” Ilya kisses him, softly. “Okay,” he says. “Would you like it if I take these dishes inside and clean up and you go to bed and get yourself ready for me?” A gasp escapes Shane’s mouth, he can’t help it. The thought of lying in his bed, opening himself up while Ilya is loading the dishwasher down the hall, has him half-hard already. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I’d like that.” Ilya grins, and kisses him again. “Get started. I will see you in few minutes.” Only once he’s naked and fucking himself open with two fingers does Shane realise that he left the bedroom door wide open. It wasn’t on purpose, not really, except somehow it was. He can hear the clinks of cutlery and plates, the sliding of the dishwasher racks. He closes his eyes and pictures Ilya moving around the kitchen, unhurried, sure that Shane will be ready exactly when Ilya will want him. Shane still can hardly believe that Ilya is here, much less how settled he seems. But he won’t be settled here any more in thirteen hours. Shane forces his thoughts back to the present. Ilya will be with him soon. Shane wants to be ready, wants Ilya to be proud of him. Ilya will make him forget all about tomorrow. Just the anticipation is driving Shane wild. He wraps his free hand around his cock, stroking himself a couple of times, just to take the edge off a little. It doesn’t work, and he ends up moaning more loudly than he intended. He hears Ilya laugh from across the hallway. “Hollander, slow down. I still have to soak pans!” “Asshole,” Shane shouts. He opens his eyes again to glare at the open door. “Fucking hurry!” “No,” Ilya calls back to him. “Have to be thorough. Otherwise will be nightmare to clean. You like everything very clean, no?” Shane groans, half in frustration, half in arousal. But he can’t tell Ilya not to soak the pans. They can’t just leave them out on the counter all night without soaking them. That would be crazy. “Maybe I stay in kitchen for a while,” Ilya sing-songs. “Make cup of tea. Ah, here is camomile. Very healthy. You want tea?” “Fuck you, Rozanov!” Ilya laughs again. “So impatient, Hollander. I told you, slow down.” Shane curses some more but obeys, stops working himself open and just brushes his fingers over the most sensitive spots, sighing and enjoying the sensation, little sparks up his spine. And soon Ilya will be here. Soon Ilya will take Shane out of his head, and maybe they’ll say I love you again. Maybe Ilya will say it in Russian again, too. Ya tebya lyublyu. Shane looked it up the other day. He plans to practise saying it until he thinks it sounds okay, as close to Ilya’s pronunciation as he can manage. Then he’ll say it back to Ilya, so Ilya can hear that Shane loves him in his own language. He loses himself a little, floating for a couple of minutes, maybe longer. Eventually, he hears Ilya’s steps and comes out of it, starting to panic. He’s not ready yet. He got too distracted, too calm, enjoyed himself too much, stopped focusing on the objective. He was meant to get himself ready for Ilya to be able to fuck him straight away, and now he isn’t. Ilya looks stunning stepping into the room, framed by the light shining in through the doorway behind him. He’s already lost most of his clothes in the hallway by the look of things. He kneels on the bed, hungrily raking his eyes over Shane. “Sorry,” Shane whispers. “I was too slow, I’m not quite there yet -” “Hollander,” Ilya says firmly. “Is no hurry. I told you to slow down. You slowed down. You are perfect. Always, always good for me.” Shane has no idea why the words hit like they do, but fuck do they ever. He starts up properly again, arching his spine, pushing back against his own fingers. “Fucking gorgeous,” Ilya murmurs.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,200
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77166276