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“This is hard to talk about,” is all he says, though he knows it will amount to nothing. Shane’s fingertips are feather-soft on his chest. “You have to.” He has to, because Shane and Ilya have this thing, now, this agreement. Nothing is too hard to talk about. Nothing is off limits. They have to be bare, have to surrender the deepest crevice of their soul to one another. And Ilya, for whom this is easier said than done, whose chest carries a perpetual weight, an immovable mass, it’s all worth it – worth the relief smoothing over Shane’s features, the reassurance that he’s not worried anymore, that Ilya can give him this peace, albeit only a fragment of what Shane gives him by just being there when he wakes up. He would never say it, but he thinks that what he has to offer to Shane amounts to nothing – nothing compared to what Shane does, what Shane is, by simply nuzzling into his chest and sighing into his sleep, late at night when all Ilya can do is lay awake and just feel. “I need more,” Ilya says. “And is nothing you can do. I need you inside me, and it feels terrible.” He swallows, with great difficulty. God. “I need to– I need to eat you.” or, Ilya never knew love can hurt this good
- Language:
- English
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- 2,537
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77775521
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And Shane wants to let go. He wants to let go so bad, but he can’t help but feel like something bad will happen if he does, that the universe is somehow going to punish him for this, that everyone will be able to read this submission on his face and deprive him of everything he worked so hard for. As if reading his mind: “Just us in here,” says Rozanov, glancing around for emphasis, voice a solid, anchoring whisper. God, Shane wants. Shane wants so much that it hurts, makes his whole body ache with emptiness, and what he wants more than anything after to be held and pushed into – by Rozanov – is to listen and submit – to Rozanov. He wants Rozanov, and it should be scary, but all he feels right now is a want, an impenetrable need that makes him swallow around glass shards stuck in his throat and slowly put his palms flush on the floor in front of his knees, watching Rozanov like he’s in a trance. or, being the best might be starting to take its toll on Shane, and Ilya knows how to help
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 14,231
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76471881
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“More,” Rozanov grunts in English, but Shane is transfixed on the bead of sweat rolling down his temple, down to his tense jaw. “Say more, Hollander.” “Mm, more–” “No, more– Блять–” “No more?” “Ни хрена себе– Say more Russian, Hollander.” or, Shane knows how to say about four words in Russian, and Ilya loses his mind
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,246
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75944821