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The breath that Shane expels feels like the last straw. Ilya is so fucking tired of guessing. Wondering what he did wrong and how he can make it right. A pit forms in his stomach every time Shane looks at him like that. Like he’s done. Like he’s tired. Like he’s one stupid comment away from kicking Ilya out entirely. It’s not what Ilya should feel when in proximity to his husband. This shaken, tense situation is beyond fucked. Maybe it makes him a child that he hasn’t asked Shane point blank what is going on yet. Maybe it makes him a coward. Shane and Ilya spend a tense evening together.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,193
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #74260966
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Shane answers him with a question, voice rough and thoroughly fucked out. “How many fingers do you have inside of me?” Smirking, Ilya offers Shane just one brush over his prostate. “Four.” “Jesus,” Shane groans, eyes rolling to the back of his skull. “Do you think you could take more?” Surprise dances behind dark pupils, Ilya can see a fire ignite within Shane’s irises. His freckled face, which is red and splotchy and ruined with pleasure, twists with uncertainty. The intrigue behind them is too captivating to ignore. Finally, after getting a chance to breathe, Shane asks, “What, like your fist?”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 8,060
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #73662021