Archive of Our Own

“Alright everyone, we’re doing twenty questions on the bus home today,” Harris said brightly, and the locker room burst into a babble of mixed excitement and dread. Everyone was in various stages of undress, and Harris was standing with a notebook, wearing a bobble hat in Ottawa colours. 

“It’ll be fun!” Harris protested, with an over-exaggerated pout, glaring at those who had made noises of complaint, and Shane smiled. He hated these things, hated talking to the camera, but Harris was good at making people at ease, and he was such a good guy that Shane was willing to do it. The bus drive from Montreal to Ottawa was only about two hours (a drive that Shane was very familiar with), but it was clever for Harris to use that time.

“Me and Shane are staying in Montreal tonight,” Ilya announced, and this time everyone groaned.

“What for?” Bood said, suspiciously. Ilya just smirked.

“Stop, no,” Troy said, nose wrinkled. “We don’t need to know that.”

“We love you both,” Wyatt said, “but we know far too much about your sex life.”

The team broke out in a chorus of agreement, and Shane flushed.

Ilya frowned at Wyatt, looking around the room with his hands out, palms open, feigning confusion. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, mock-innocent, and Wyatt threw a glove at his head.

Ilya fielded it easily, talking some nonsense about lack of respect with his tone full of mirth, and the team laughed and broke into chatter.

Shane concentrated on getting his gear off, fighting back the arousal that had sparked immediately. He was usually very good at keeping any sex thoughts out of the locker room. Years of fear had made that easy.

But they had beaten Montreal today, and Ilya had kissed Shane after his goal, and now he was standing here half-naked and still very much the captain, confidently announcing his plans.

He hadn’t even told Shane before telling the team, knowing that he didn’t have to, and it was that as much as anything else that had the heat sparking in him.

He showered quicker than usual, getting dressed and waiting with what must be obvious impatience, enduring some more good-natured ribbing from the team.

A few years ago, Shane would have been appalled at the idea of his team knowing that he was leaving to go and have sex with Ilya. He would have been appalled at the idea of anyone knowing that.

But the Centaurs were his friends in a way that the Montreal Voyageurs had turned out not to be. They teased him and Ilya, of course, but it was gentle teasing, and they never made them feel bad. It was the same as how they teased Wyatt for how Lisa always wanted him back in a hurry if he’d made a spectacular save; how they made fun of Bood for the way he got when his wife sent him a selfie; how they all wiggled their eyebrows whenever Troy and Harris left together. 

And despite Wyatt’s words, they didn’t really know anything about Ilya and Shane’s actual sex life—merely the frequency of it. (And if Shane was honest, they were hugely underestimating that as well).

Ilya was always especially horny after they beat Montreal, and Shane was too. Usually they managed to wait until they got home, but the idea of Ilya wanting to head straight to a hotel so he could get his hands on Shane…

The urgency of it felt just like the early days.

Everyone was in a good mood from the win against Montreal. Shane had never found out exactly what Ilya had told the team about how Shane had come to leave the Voyageurs, but the Centaurs had all welcomed him with open arms and no questions, and they all gave extra effort against Montreal.

It was good to see that paying off. 

And Shane couldn’t deny it gave him a rush, to beat the team that had turned on him after all he had given them.

He thought about that in the taxi, trying to tamp down on his arousal while they were still very much in public. He wasn’t helped by Ilya’s big hand casually resting on his thigh, and it was all he could do to keep from jumping Ilya right there in the taxi.

But he replayed parts of the game in his head and that worked well to distract him. He didn’t play dirty against his old team—Hayden and J.J. were still two of his best friends, and there were new players who had never acted as if Shane had betrayed them. But he would be lying if he said he hadn’t specifically tried some cheeky trick shots, or hadn’t put in a bit more effort than his usual 100%.

It had been a good game. Most of their games this year had been good. It had in general been a fantastic year—so much better than it had seemed like it would be, back when the worst happened.

Now here he was, his husband in the car beside him, and the world knew they loved each other.

He couldn’t resist leaning over and kissing Ilya, fleeting and soft and pulling back before Ilya could deepen the kiss. Ilya smiled at him, eyes dark, and Shane willed the taxi to go faster.

The hotel was… a hotel. Shane had stayed in countless hotels just like this in his life, albeit not many in Montreal, and he stayed back as Ilya spoke to the receptionist. He watched Ilya’s animated face, the way the receptionist was smiling up at him, how good his post-game suit looked on him, and all he could think was that he would get to take that suit off of Ilya.

Ilya came away from the desk with the key card in his hand, looking very pleased with himself, and his hand settled on Shane’s back like it belonged there.

“Ready?” he asked, low, mouth close to Shane’s ear, and Shane swallowed back his immediate response in order to answer more sedately.

“Yeah,” he said, and Ilya grinned like he knew what Shane had wanted to say.

The elevator ride was far too long. Anticipation was building in Shane already, had been building since they had left the ice. He had seen the look in Ilya’s eyes then and he had known it would be good. This was unexpected, but even better than he had expected.

They held hands as they walked to the hotel room, and the feeling of it was still so new and so nice, the freedom here of knowing that people could know they were together. 

“Nice room,” Ilya said, approvingly, but Shane could not care less about another hotel room. The door had barely closed behind them before he had Ilya pressed against the wall, kissing him as if they’d been apart for weeks. 

Ilya groaned, and opened his mouth immediately for Shane’s insistent tongue, licking into his mouth and kissing him rough and desperate.

There were times when they took it slow, romantic, when Ilya worked him open and fucked him deep and caring. 

Tonight didn’t feel like one of those days. There was desperation and need coursing through Shane’s blood, and Shane could feel himself hardening and he could feel Ilya against him, hands on his waist and holding him close. 

Shane braced himself with hands on the wall either side of Ilya, relishing how Ilya let himself be boxed in, and the way Ilya was letting Shane take the lead. There were times that Shane wanted Ilya to take charge. More times than not, in fact. But sometimes he liked to be possessive and greedy and take what he wanted from Ilya.

He pulled away enough to look at the face he loved so much, Ilya’s kiss-reddened lips and the flush on his cheeks and the way his curls were falling over his forehead.

“Bed,” he said, demanded, and Ilya smirked. 

“Of course,” he said, and he didn’t even sound affected. If not for the hardness Shane could feel against his thigh he might have thought Ilya wasn’t as into this as he was—but Shane knew that even after all these years Ilya was just as hot for him as he ever had been, and the brightness in his eyes showed that as well.

Shane moved back, pulling Ilya with him, kissing all the way, and then he stopped to look around. The room was a hotel room like all others. The bed was big and looked comfortable, and Shane couldn’t wait to get pressed into it. There was one door ajar, and Shane could see the tile of a bathroom.

And then there was another door. Shane paused, and frowned at it.

“What’s that door for?” he asked, curious, a brief pause on the need. 

“Must be other room,” Ilya said. “What is word—joining? For families.”

“Adjoining,” Shane said distractedly.

“Is what I said,” Ilya said agreeably.

Shane frowned. “But what—”

“You will need to be quiet,” Ilya said, “if there are people there they will hear you.”

“What?!” Shane practically spluttered. He was loud, he knew it, and he certainly didn’t want to be worrying about people in an adjoining room hearing him shout Ilya’s name.

“Will be a challenge for you, yes?”

“Ilya,” Shane said, exasperated about Ilya’s complete lack of care here. “We can’t have a room that joins on to another. What if they hear us? What if they come through?” He took a step towards the door, assuming they would go down to reception and complain about the mix-up and switch rooms.

But Ilya wasn’t moving. He was standing there, in the middle of the room, looking at Shane with something oddly heated in his eyes.

“Ilya—” Shane started, but then Ilya spoke up.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes, of course,” Shane said, “but—”

“And you know your safe word?”

Every drop of blood in Shane’s brain headed straight to his dick.

“Red,” he said, far too fast, and Ilya grinned a wicked grin.

“Ready?” Ilya asked, and fuck, Shane was. His dick was half-hard already, just from the thought of this. Ilya had arranged something. 

He had to swallow, throat suddenly dry, before he could speak. “Yes.”

They didn’t have kinky sex that often. Their so-called regular sex life was exciting and hot as it was—if their only sex for the rest of their lives was Ilya fucking Shane in their bed, that would be enough.

But when they did… when Ilya had an idea, and planned something, and then set it all into motion… It was always spectacular. Not something they could do often (they both had careers, physical jobs in which they needed to be on top form) but always incredible. 

The last time they had done a big scene, when they had the time off, Ilya had tied Shane up and made him come so many times that he had actually passed out. His whole body had ached for days, but he had never in his life felt so good. 

Maybe there was someone on the other side of that door, in the other room, waiting for Shane and Ilya to start so they could listen. Maybe there wasn’t.

But Shane didn’t know.

Ilya was looking at him, steady and dark-eyed, and arousal was running through Shane’s veins like fire and Ilya hadn’t even touched him yet.

“Ilya,” he said, a note of begging in his voice already, and that was all Ilya needed before he was kissing Shane again, big hands possessive on Shane’s lower back, and Shane arched into him and held onto his shoulders and let himself be kissed hard. 

Sometimes, Shane and Ilya would kiss for hours, letting time stretch sticky and slow and letting the arousal build and build. After years of clandestine meetings and rushed hook-ups it was nice to take their time sometimes.

But not tonight. Shane was on fire already, and Ilya could tell. So Ilya walked them both, still kissing, over to the bed, and then he pulled back to smirk at Shane.

“Clothes off,” he said, the weight of a command to it, and Shane swallowed hard and then obeyed.

He bent to untie his shoes first, glad to have a moment without Ilya’s gaze on him. His socks followed, and he straightened up, toes curling in the carpet. Suit jacket next, draped over the ottoman at the foot of the bed, and then tie, loosening the knot he’d tied while he thought about Ilya. The locker room felt like a long time ago.

“Come on,” Ilya said, when Shane paused. Ilya was within touching distance but he wasn’t touching Shane, and he wasn’t helping, and he wasn’t moving to undress himself. He was just watching.

Ilya had seen Shane naked hundreds of times now. He had touched every inch of Shane’s body, with fingers or with his mouth. But Shane still flushed as he unbuttoned his shirt, untucked it from his suit pants, and slid it off his shoulders. He unbuckled his belt, stepped out of his pants, and put the whole mess with the other clothes.

And then he was standing in front of Ilya just in his briefs. Ilya was still fully-clothed, looking at him with dark eyes. He hadn’t even taken off his jacket.

And still he didn’t move to touch Shane. Instead he raised his eyebrows, and Shane flushed even more.

He stepped awkwardly out of his briefs and Ilya finally rewarded him with a smile, hungry and wicked. Shane was fully hard now, and Ilya hadn’t even really touched him yet, but he couldn’t be embarrassed when Ilya was looking at him like he wanted to eat him.

“Good,” Ilya said, and he stepped forward. Shane leaned in, expecting to be kissed, but instead, much to Shane’s surprise, Ilya went gracefully to his knees.

And then, with no preamble, he took Shane in his mouth.

“Fuck,” Shane said, too loud, and then, more quietly, as Ilya sucked hard on the head of his cock, “fuck.”

Shane loved sucking Ilya off. He loved the feeling of power that came from it even though he was on his knees, loved the taste and the weight of Ilya’s cock on his tongue, loved how desired he felt when Ilya thrust like he couldn’t help it. He loved getting Ilya to the edge with just his mouth, loved the sounds that Ilya made, loved when Ilya slid his hands into Shane’s hair and just held on.

But he loved this too. Ilya was fantastic at it, and after years together he knew exactly how to take Shane to the edge fast, knew exactly what Shane liked. But Ilya didn’t use that knowledge tonight. Tonight, he was teasing.

He was going slow, not taking Shane deep, licking at the head of Shane’s cock as if it was a fucking lollipop. He wasn’t going deep, even though he could. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and it was far too good.

It had been a while since they had had to be quiet like this. They had fucked in hotel rooms for so much of their time together, and Shane had always been so paranoid about being found out that he had tried so hard to hold back any of his sounds. There had been a vulnerability about it too, about letting out the ugly noises he made, letting someone hear them.

Ilya loved hearing Shane’s noises, and he always had. Moans and gasps and fragmented words, and Ilya loved specifically taking Shane to the edge so that he could hear them, loved encouraging Shane to be loud in the safety of their home.

But tonight Ilya’s words were running through Shane’s mind.

You will need to be quiet. If there are people there they will hear you.

Maybe there was someone next door, someone that Ilya had brought. Maybe they knew about Ilya’s plans. Maybe they didn’t. But either way, Shane needed to be quiet.

So he held back his moans as Ilya teased him, took his balls into his mouth, ran a gentle finger against his hole, biting his lip to stop himself letting out the noises. 

Ilya pulled off with an obscene pop and grinned up at Shane. “You are not having fun?” he asked, innocently, even as he used one hand to loosely stroke Shane’s dripping cock.

“No,” Shane gritted out, and Ilya smirked.

“Will have to try harder.”

And he did.

He swallowed Shane down to the root, and Shane almost screamed at the feeling of Ilya’s throat moving around him. Only through sheer force of will did he bite back the shout that threatened to escape. It only got more difficult to stay quiet from there.

Ilya, it seemed, was doing everything in his power to make Shane cry out. He wasn’t teasing anymore. In fact, he now seemed to be trying to make Shane come as fast as possible. 

Shane let out a moan he couldn’t hold back when Ilya took him deep and sucked hard, and then moaned again when Ilya pressed a finger against his ass, not even entering him but just threatening, and Shane felt wild and far too close to the edge when Ilya finally pulled off. 

Shane breathed in, shaky, his whole body tense from holding back his sounds, as Ilya stood up and took his mouth in a fierce kiss.

Shane kissed back, putting all the urgency he felt into it, and he was gratified when Ilya moaned into the kiss, quiet but there. Maybe he wouldn’t be the only one struggling to be quiet.

Ilya stepped back, and Shane felt another flood of arousal at the sight of him.

Other than a slightly loosened tie, Ilya was still fully-clothed, dressed as he had been when they had left the game earlier. 

The contrast between them, with Shane completely naked, cock rock-hard and wet from his own pre-come and Ilya’s spit, made Shane shiver.

Ilya looked like a model, in his suit with his hair loose and his lips red and swollen. 

From sucking Shane’s dick, Shane’s brain supplied, unhelpfully. Ilya was gorgeous, and Shane was so lucky to have him, and he needed Ilya to get naked now.

He reached for Ilya, but Ilya just smiled and took a step back.

Shane felt desperate, and stupid, naked and hard and reaching for Ilya, but it was so horrifically arousing that he couldn’t even be annoyed.

“Lie down,” Ilya said, and Shane was helpless to do anything other than obey. 

He sat down on the bed, shuffling back to lie against the pillows, sprawled out for Ilya to look at. 

Ilya did look, long and slow and hungry. 

And then he finally started undressing. 

It wasn’t a striptease, but it might as well have been.

He undressed methodically, and carefully, stripping down one item of clothing at a time, until he was standing there fully naked with Shane’s greedy eyes on him. 

Shane couldn’t stop his gaze going straight to Ilya’s dick. Ilya was hard, and Shane’s mouth practically watered at how much he wanted to taste him. 

Ilya, because he was an incorrigible flirt and show-off, struck a pose and flexed. 

Shane couldn’t even properly scoff, because it fucking worked for him. 

Ilya was gorgeous, and then he smiled at Shane and that was even better, and Shane loved him so much. That’s my husband, he thought, heart momentarily gooey, and he’s gonna fuck me. 

And I want everyone to hear. I want everyone to know. 

He blushed at his own thoughts, and Ilya grinned, and for one wild moment Shane thought that he must be able to read his mind. 

“Like what you see?” Ilya said, teasing and smiling and alight with it, and Shane laughed at him, happiness mixing with the arousal still coursing through him. 

“Yes,” he said, as deadpan as possible, and Ilya grinned again before straightening his face out into the intense look from before. 

Shane loved this about them. He loved how much fun they could have in the middle of sex, even when they were both hard and aching, how they could stop for a moment to just be silly. He loved how comfortable he felt with Ilya, after all this time. 

But he also loved how they could get right back into it, was his last thought before Ilya moved towards him and crawled up the bed to press the length of his body against Shane’s and kiss him lush and deep. 

The feeling of Ilya’s skin on his after what felt like forever made Shane groan, loud, as Ilya kissed down his jaw. 

“Shush,” Ilya murmured. “Remember?”

Shane had completely forgotten. He had gotten so caught up in this moment with Ilya that he had forgotten to be quiet, and that thought made him moan again, unable to stop himself. 

Ilya lifted his head and smirked. 

“Unless you want to be heard?” he said, and Shane’s hips twitched, his dick rubbing against the hard muscles of Ilya’s stomach. 

“No,” Shane managed, as Ilya took his mouth in a kiss once more. 

“You do not want them to hear how good this is?” Ilya asked, and his voice was so low and so quiet that Shane had to strain to hear him. 

“No,” he repeated, but it sounded false to his own ears, and he couldn’t stop grinding up against Ilya. 

“They will hear,” Ilya said, kissing Shane biting and rough and exactly what he needed. “You like this too much.”

“No,” Shane said, but his voice shook and his hips were moving frantically and Ilya grinned at him.

“Yes,” he said, simply, and then he was sliding down Shane’s body, hands holding his hips tightly.

This time, when he took Shane in his mouth, it was harder to be quiet, especially when Ilya once again pressed a finger against his hole. This time the finger was wet with lube—Shane hadn’t even noticed Ilya slicking his hand. 

Ilya’s mouth worked on Shane’s cock, and his fingers played at Shane’s entrance, but he didn’t give Shane what he wanted. He was teasing again, and it was driving Shane wild. 

“Please,” Shane moaned, and Ilya ignored him, just kept with the gentle but relentless pressure and suction, and Shane needed more. 

“Please, Ilya, please,” and this time he was definitely begging, and Ilya rewarded him with one finger. 

It had been a few days since they’d done this, a series of important games and not much downtime, and Shane was tight. 

He liked that more. Liked the feeling of Ilya’s patient fingers working him open, liked the anticipation of it, liked knowing what was coming. He had used to hate this part, for how vulnerable it made him feel, but he liked it now.

He liked it far too much, when  he was trying to stay quiet.

Ilya was up to three fingers now, sucking hard on the head of Shane’s cock, and Shane was definitely ready. He was also gasping, letting out tiny little noises that he couldn’t quite control as Ilya crooked his fingers in just the right way to stroke against his prostate.

“Ilya,” Shane moaned, “please,” and Ilya pulled his mouth off of Shane’s cock and looked up at him, eyes bright.

“What do you need, moy lyubovnik?” Ilya asked, and even with Ilya’s fingers in his ass Shane felt his heart leap as it always did at that phrase.

“Fuck me,” he breathed, and Ilya cocked his head to the side.

“Sorry, I cannot hear,” he said, with a shit-eating grin on his face, and then twisted his fingers again.

Shane groaned. 

“Fuck me, Ilya,” he said, louder, and Ilya beamed.

“Of course,” he said, and then he pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the sheet.

Shane sighed, exasperated. Ilya seemed to like dirtying hotel sheets. “You don’t need—”

But before he could finish his sentence, Ilya grabbed his waist and flipped him over onto his stomach, sliding a pillow under his hips in a move so fluid it made Shane yelp in surprise and then moan when he realised what had happened.

“Fuck,” he swore, breathless and dizzy with it, and Ilya laughed as his hands settled on Shane’s hips.

“Yes,” he said, and then his cock was pressing in and he was sliding home, one slow and steady thrust so deep that Shane gasped with it.

No matter how many times they did this, that first thrust of Ilya’s cock into him was overwhelming, almost too much, the pleasure and the stretch and the all-consuming fullness.

And Ilya knew that, now, and he always paused for a second, to let Shane feel it, breathe with it.

And then he started moving.

It took all of Shane’s significant willpower not to make noise.

He was so turned on, so worked up, that combination of the build-up and the situation and the whole day. 

And in the end he couldn’t stay quiet, knew the noises were going to spill out of him and no willpower in the world would keep them in. He buried his face in the pillow and let his desperate aching noises be caught, muffled by the fabric as Ilya fucked him steady and powerful and still slow, still teasing, still not giving it to him as hard as he needed it.

He wouldn’t beg. He was being as quiet as he could and he couldn’t lift his head from the pillow to ask for more, and Ilya was doing it deliberately. Ilya knew him so well and he was fucking him so good but Shane wanted more and he wouldn’t ask for it.

One of Ilya’s hands left his hip and slid up to brace between his shoulder blades, to push him down, and he loved that, the pressure of it and Ilya’s weight on him.

And then his other hand was moving up to Shane’s hair, to curl his fingers in and tug. The sharp pain of it mixed with Shane’s arousal and he whined. 

“Let me hear you,” Ilya said, his voice rough now, and he used his grip on Shane’s hair to lift his head, lift his face off of the pillow. Shane’s next moan filled the room, far too loud.

“Good,” Ilya said, and a thrill shot through Shane even as he tried to hold back his groan.

From there it only got even harder to be quiet.

Shane felt suspended between Ilya’s cock fucking into him and Ilya’s hand tight in his hair. His arms were braced on the bed but he felt weak and uncontrolled, and the curve of his spine made everything feel impossibly deeper. He felt helpless and strung out and so good, and he just couldn’t hold back anymore.

“More, Ilya,” he gasped, and when Ilya spoke Shane could hear the smile in his voice.

“Ask nicely,” Ilya said, and Shane moaned, loud and hoarse.

“Please,” he said, he begged, and Ilya’s hand tightened in his hair and Shane’s gasps were near constant now, with every powerful thrust of Ilya’s hips.

And then there was a knock on the door.

The adjoining door.

Shane gasped, tensed, the panic surging through him.

Someone had heard.

“Will you be done soon?” a voice said, muffled through the door. “You’re being very loud.” The voice sounded male, deep and maybe English. It didn’t sound angry, or irritated. Just mildly inconvenienced, a hotel guest asking a question of their rowdy neighbour as they would for any noise complaints.

And Ilya didn’t stop. 

Ilya kept fucking him. Strong, steady thrusts, deep and good and awful, because someone knew what they were doing and someone could hear them and Ilya kept fucking him.

He twisted his head, and Ilya let go, let him bury his face in the pillow again, but it was too late now. He felt wild and out of control and he should say something, anything, he should ask Ilya to stop, anything. 

But then Ilya spoke.

“We are not in rush,” he said, his voice loud and shockingly steady, and his thrusts didn’t change at all.

Shane lifted his head, panicked, twisting to try and catch Ilya’s eye. “Ilya,” he hissed, and this time Ilya’s hand moved to Shane’s hair to push his head firmly back down.

Shane gasped into the pillow, feeling horrified and yet still somehow so wildly turned-on, as the voice from next door said something he couldn’t quite catch.

Ilya laughed, the little laugh he did when he thought something was going to be fun. “If it is bothering you, come in and watch,” he said.

Shane was glad that the noise he made at that was caught by the pillow, high-pitched and embarrassing. And through the arousal and the panic he felt the steadiness of Ilya’s hand in his hair, the way his rhythm still hadn’t changed, and he knew that this had been Ilya’s plan all along.

And he wanted this. He wanted to be watched. Wanted people to see how well Ilya fucked him, how well Shane took it, how good they looked together, how good they made each other feel.

But even with the desire coursing through his veins, and even as he told himself to relax into it, the sound of the door opening made him shudder, his whole body clenching with the odd mix of fear and heat. It was the first time Ilya’s rhythm stuttered, Shane tightening around him.

“Well, the view is certainly good,” came the voice, no longer muted behind the door, and Shane’s moan was muffled by the pillow but still far too loud, because he recognised that voice. 

The crisp English accent, the vowels, the level tone… He had only met Henry Fox a couple of times but the other man had made an impact, and Shane remembered him well. 

Henry Fox, member of the British Royal Family before he had given up that position. Tall, blond, handsome. Shane and Ilya were pro-athletes and they were dense with muscle, as were their teammates, but Henry had made a good impression nevertheless. Apparently he played polo, which was a ridiculous sport but had given him an ass to rival Ilya’s.

And now he was here, out of sight of Shane, watching Ilya fuck him slow and steady as if unaffected by the audience. 

“Yeah, glad the door was unlocked,” another voice drawled, and this time the moment of recognition coincided with a particularly deep thrust from Ilya and Shane bit the pillow to stop his moan.

Alexander Claremont-Diaz, the son of the President of the United States, fiance of Henry Fox. Attractive, fit, clever. He had reminded Shane of Ilya in some strange way when they had met, the brash exterior hiding a softness. 

“Strange how that happened,” Ilya said, voice level and dry even as he kept fucking Shane. 

Ilya had always had good stamina, but Shane was already nearly over the edge and Ilya sounded virtually unaffected. 

Shane wondered hysterically what they looked like. He was on his elbows and knees, back arched and ass up, his arms holding tight to the pillow he had his face buried in. He was glad they couldn’t see his face, and he was especially glad he couldn't see them. It was overwhelming enough knowing that they were there.

He hoped they liked what they saw.

Fuck. Ilya had been right, of course he had, and as he kept pounding into Shane, the pleasure growing and growing, the noises spilling out of Shane became louder and more desperate, even through the fabric that was wet under his mouth now.

Ilya gave a particularly hard thrust and Shane practically yelled. Ilya’s hands had moved back to his hips and they were tight, his fingers like brands. Shane hoped that he left marks, something that he could run his own fingers over covetously in the morning.

He was close, so close, knowing that Henry and Alex were watching. Were they enjoying it?  Were they hard? Were they touching themselves, touching each other?

And then when Shane was right on the edge, a whisper away from coming, Ilya slowed right down. And then he started talking.

“See how much he loves this,” he said, and there were noises of agreement from behind him.

“He looks desperate for it,” Henry said, the words sounding filthy in his accent. “Can he come more than once?”

“Yes,” Ilya said, “but it is good for first one to be slow.”

“Henry’s the same,” Alex chimed in. “He gets so sensitive.”

Shane felt as if there was no air left in his lungs. They were talking as if he wasn’t here. As if he was just decor, and something for Ilya to fuck. His awareness was narrowing to the way Ilya’s cock felt in his ass, the way his spine was curved, the way his lips were sore from how much he was biting them to try and keep from making noise—not much good that was doing.

“Ah-ah,” Ilya tutted, “let’s hear you.”

He shifted his weight, one hand leaving Shane’s hip to fist in his hair again and force him to lift his head. Shane moaned, the pain of his hair being pulled and the way Ilya’s thrusts had hardly slowed even with the leverage changed, and then it was as if a dam had broken.

He was gasping, moaning, making an embarrassing amount of noise, loud and fucked out.  He felt like a slut and he fucking loved it.

“He sounds lovely,” Henry said behind him, and his voice was level and calm, as if commenting on the weather.

“He does,” Alex agreed, and he sounded just as composed, and in the end it was the thought of the two of them standing there completely unaffected and watching Shane cry out with pleasure that tipped him over the edge.

He came with a particularly loud shout, vision whiting out, cock twitching as he came untouched all over the bed and his stomach. The pleasure curled through him, hot and fierce, and he let out a shuddering breath as he came back to himself, toes curling.

Ilya kept going.

He slowed down his thrusts, let go of Shane’s hair, but he kept going.

Shane let his face drop back to the pillow, cheek smushed and neck twisted so that he could breathe. He almost sobbed with it, the movement of Ilya’s cock against his prostate too much, far too much, Ilya’s hands on his sensitive skin overwhelming. And then he was sobbing, could feel the tears on his cheeks, and Ilya stilled. 

“Moy lyubovnik,” Ilya whispered, leaning forward to whisper close to Shane’s ear. “Colour?”

Shane breathed in. Everything hurt, but it was so good, his skin feeling rubbed raw but sharp too, the pleasure of it all. “Green,” he said, quiet but sure.

“Good,” Ilya said, sounding pleased, and then he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin behind Shane’s ear. It was intimate, and gentle, and for a moment it was just the two of them, the weight of Ilya on his back and the thickness of his cock in Shane’s ass.

Then he raised himself up, hands back on Shane’s hips, and started moving again, just as slow and steady.

The pause had been enough that the overstimulation wasn’t quite as bad. It was still too much, still far too much, Shane feeling like every movement jarred his nerves, and stray tears kept leaking from his eyes, but it felt good now as well. And then there was a moment when Ilya’s slow thrust hit his prostate and suddenly the pleasure was overriding the ache, and Shane gasped.

“There,” Ilya said, satisfied, and he kept going, just as slow. His patience and stamina when it came to Shane were ridiculous. Shane had no idea how Ilya hadn’t come yet—but then he’d always been better than Shane at holding off.

“That was fast,” Alex remarked, sounding impressed, and Shane gasped to hear him speak. He had forgotten they were there, somehow, but now he was back in the room with them.

“Gorgeous,” Henry murmured, and Shane felt himself flush at the compliment. He was thickening up, could feel himself half-hard already.

“I bet he cries so well,” Alex said. Shane doubted it. He could feel the tears drying on his cheeks and was sure he was blotchy and red.

There was a pause, and then Henry spoke again, and at his words Shane felt a rush of heat through him.

“Can we see him?”

Fuck. He whined, a horrible desperate sound. They were asking Ilya, because it was up to him, and Shane was just here to be fucked and to be looked at. He was fully hard in seconds, just at the question, the thought of it.

“Shane?” Ilya asked, and Shane didn’t want to make the choice. He didn’t want them to see him like this, surely he didn’t. But then… he wanted to see them. And also… maybe he did want them to see him.

“Green,” he managed, voice thick and hoarse, and he could practically hear Ilya’s smile.

“Thank you,” Henry said, so posh and polite and deep, and Shane’s next breath was shuddering, as Ilya carefully pulled out.

“I will move you,” Ilya said, and even that made Shane gasp. He always loved when Ilya moved him. Shane was strong, of course, but Ilya was a little taller and Shane loved when Ilya used his own muscle to manhandle Shane into the position he wanted.

It was awkward, it always was, both of them hard, but Ilya settled himself sitting against the headboard, legs out in front of him, and he manoeuvred Shane to sit on his thighs, Shane’s back against Ilya’s chest. He could feel the metal of Ilya’s cross, a comfort against his skin. Ilya’s hands were on his thighs, helping him spread his knees, and Shane braced his hands on his own thighs too, helping himself balance. Ilya’s cock was wet with lube against Shane’s lower back, but Ilya made no move to fuck inside Shane again.

“Look up,” Ilya whispered instead, his mouth so close to Shane’s ear now.

Shane’s gaze had dropped, eyes half-closed, as he’d been moved around. But at that command he looked up.

And there were Alex Claremont-Diaz and Henry Fox.

They were sitting close together on the couch opposite the bed. And their gazes were locked on Shane.

He whimpered. 

They were both just looking, clear hunger in their eyes, and the idea that these two gorgeous men were watching him…

Henry was wearing a three-piece suit, light grey, and Alex was more casually dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt. They were both fully-clothed, barely touching other than their thighs pressed together. And they were both hard, bulges obvious through their clothes. Hard from watching Ilya fuck him.

Shane felt suddenly exposed. 

He knew he was attractive. He worked hard for the muscle he had, and he was constantly in the public eye, and Ilya told him constantly.

But this…

He was stretched back out against Ilya, chest and stomach and his hard cock and the mess of his first orgasm all in view, knees wide and thighs spread. His face was still wet with tears.

And still they were looking at him.

“Beautiful.”

Alex’s whispered word was reverent and breathy, and Shane’s moan was loud in the room, not muffled by his hand or the pillow.  

“Oh, he’s lovely like this,” Henry said, and Shane didn’t know if Ilya had told them to talk about Shane like he wasn’t in the room but it was working, fuck it was working for him, and his cock was so hard he felt like he was about to come again already, and just as he thought he might burst, untouched and exposed and all three of them with their attention on him, Ilya shifted his weight and the head of his cock slid between Shane’s ass cheeks.

“Yes,” Shane gasped, lifting himself up, and Ilya kissed his neck.

“Fuck yourself for us,” he said, holding his cock just at Shane’s entrance.

Shane looked at Henry and Alex, their gaze fixed on him. His heart was pounding, his breath coming fast. And with the two of them watching, he lowered himself fully onto Ilya’s cock.

He was still so wet, and open, but he was tensing and the stretch was almost overwhelming, and he clenched around Ilya’s cock, feeling like everything was too much.

Henry and Alex had both leaned forward, just a little bit, as Shane had fucked himself down, and Shane’s breath was coming shaky and unsteady.

“Relax,” Ilya said, and he sounded far too composed. Usually that made Shane want to try and take him apart, but he didn’t feel capable of that right now. He felt like he was going to fall apart himself, skewered on Ilya’s big cock with almost strangers watching him.

“Ilya,” Shane gasped, and Ilya pulled his face around to look him straight in the eyes, and this was good, to see Ilya’s familiar face and to see the way his pupils were blown.

He kissed Shane, far more gently than the situation seemed to call for, and then smirked at him, that smirk that always drove Shane wild.

“Ride my cock,” he said, and this was a command, and Shane moaned at his words, and moaned even more when Ilya ran his hands over his chest, down his stomach, smoothing across his thighs, and not touching his straining cock. “Now.”

And Shane did. He lifted himself up, feeling the muscles in his thighs engage, pulling almost all of the way off of Ilya’s cock, and then he let himself drop, let gravity guide him back down. He let out an almost-surprised noise at the punch of it, at the perfect way this angle dragged Ilya’s cock against his prostate, and then he did it again,

And again. And again, and again, until his thighs were burning and the moans falling from his lips were almost constant.

Nobody else was making a noise, the only sound in the room the obscene noises of Shane’s gasps and groans and the slap of flesh. Henry and Alex hadn’t looked away from him the whole time, and Shane’s skin felt two sizes too small, the pleasure running through him. He rather thought he’d never been so turned on in his entire life.

And then Ilya started moving his hips, thrusting just that little bit deeper, using Shane’s motion to fuck him, and with every time Shane bottomed out he felt a little wilder, a little more slutty.

“Ilya,” he gasped, and then yelped as Ilya thrust up into him just as he plunged down.

Ilya’s hands were teasing at his nipples, stroking over his ribs, his stomach. He moved his hand up to trace his fingers across Shane’s lips, and Shane opened his mouth greedily to take Ilya’s fingers into his mouth and curl his tongue around them.

“Fuck,” Ilya hissed, and then his hand was on Shane’s jaw pulling him around into a kiss, wet and awkward and messy and good, even as Shane kept riding him and Ilya kept fucking up into him.

He could practically feel the weight of the spectators’ gazes, and fuck, when he twisted his head to see them, they were watching this and just sitting there, so neat and careful and turned on but not doing anything about it, and suddenly Shane wanted to see them, wanted to see how good Ilya and Shane were making them feel.

“Ilya,” he whispered, and his voice sounded wrecked, and he gasped as Ilya bit at his shoulder.

“Colour?” Ilya murmured, immediately, and Shane felt a rush of affection within the heat of the arousal.

“Green,” he said, and then he hesitated. Maybe he was going too far. 

But Ilya was there under him and around him and in him and he was looking at Shane with eyes so full of love and heat. He could ask Ilya for this.

“I want to see them,” he said, as quietly as he could. Ilya paused in his thrusts, and Shane stopped as well, his screaming thigh muscles glad for the rest, Ilya’s cock big and solid and deep within him. “I want to watch them.”

There was a moment of silence, of stillness, and then Ilya kissed him again, hard and rough, before leaning to look at the other men.

“You can get each other off,” he said, brusquely, the words liquid on his tongue, and he had barely got the words out before Alex had his hands at Henry’s buttons.

They moved gratifyingly fast, desperation there that hadn’t been obvious before, reaching for each other and just undoing enough clothes to get their dicks out. When Alex wrapped his hand around Henry’s cock Henry hissed, closed his eyes briefly as if on the edge immediately, before reciprocating.

Shane couldn’t really see much, not from this angle, but he could see just enough to know that they were moving with an air of familiarity, touching each other easily and confidently.

They didn’t take their eyes off of Shane and Ilya for even a second.

Ilya had started moving as soon as he had spoken, slow movements to start with. The short break had staved off Shane’s orgasm, but it was clear that none of them were going to last long.

Ilya’s thrusts sped up, and this time Shane didn’t try to ride him. He just let himself be moved, let Ilya fuck him, and he watched two gorgeous men across from him touch each other while they watched him, heard them moan because of him, and he was making noises again as well, every thrust of Ilya’s nailing his prostate.

When Ilya finally, finally, touched Shane’s cock, leaking copiously and so hard it hurt, Shane moaned louder than he had all night, and that was all it took.

One last thrust, one stroke of his cock, and he locked eyes with Henry as he came. It was so good that it was almost painful, and he yelled with it, loud and unrestrained and not embarrassed of it anymore, not when Henry was moaning now too, and Alex was murmuring something under his breath.

It didn’t take Ilya long either, as Shane’s whole body clenched, and Shane felt the rush of warmth inside him as Ilya thrust deep and came, grunting in Shane’s ear and biting hard on his shoulder.

“Fuck,” Henry cursed, and Alex echoed him, and their hands were moving so fast they were almost a blur, and they came hard within seconds of each other, gasping and leaning into each other and then finally looking away from Shane to kiss each other hard and messy.

For a moment Shane felt an odd burst of desire through him, of longing, of wishing that they were coming inside him too, that he was full of Ilya and of Henry and of Alex.

He shook it off, literally shaking his head, and then he lay there, the heat of Ilya at his back and Ilya’s cock softening inside of him, and just let the satisfaction flood his body.

There was quiet in the room, just the sound of everyone’s breathing settling back to normal. 

It was Ilya who moved first. Ilya who had orchestrated this, Ilya who must have reached out to Alex and Henry. Shane wondered how, how he’d approached them and what he had even said, and then his wondering was cut off as Ilya moved him carefully, pulling out.

Shane winced, and Ilya pressed an apologetic kiss to his head as he slid out from underneath him, laying him down.

A wave of fondness shot through Shane as Ilya moved to the bathroom. They had been together for long enough that Ilya knew that Shane could only coast in the languid afterglow of an orgasm for a few minutes before he started feeling disgusting, and sure enough Ilya came back quickly with a warm wet cloth which he used to carefully wipe across Shane’s stomach and soft dick and ass, before helping him to sit up back against the pillows.

And from there he could see Henry and Alex.

They weren’t looking at him anymore, and he was glad of it. Without the arousal coursing through his veins, a sudden all-encompassing awkwardness was present, the awareness that he was lying naked on the bed.

As if Ilya could read his mind, he folded the covers over Shane, covering him from the waist down, and Shane glanced over at him in gratitude, and then looked back over at the other two men.

They were cleaning themselves up, using another cloth that Ilya must have given them, and tucking themselves back into their clothes, and Shane spared a thought for how uncomfortable that must be.

“That was fun,” Alex said, grinning over at them, and at his casual tone Shane felt himself relax slightly. Henry nodded in agreement, and Shane had no idea what to say.

“Yes,” Ilya said, standing up. He was still naked, and unbothered, and he raised his eyebrows. “You know where the door is.”

“Ilya!” Shane hissed, appalled at his rudeness, but Alex just laughed. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, mirth laced through his tone. “We won’t outstay our welcome.”

They both stood up, fussing with their clothes, and when Alex turned back to Ilya there was something daring in his eyes.

“Can I kiss you both?” he said, and Shane felt his cheeks flush at the question.

This whole encounter had been at a distance. Even with Henry and Alex watching them, there had been a measure of separation between them.

Alex was asking to bridge that gap.

Shane wanted him to.

He was nodding before he even realised it, and Ilya grinned, wicked.

“Yes,” he said, simply, and then Alex was closing the gap between them.

Alex and Ilya kissed hot and harsh, both of them licking into each other, and even naked Ilya was so much bigger and stronger than Alex that he looked so in control.

Alex pulled back, flushed, and looked Ilya up and down, appraising. He didn’t say anything, just smiled.

Shane should be jealous, probably.

But he wasn’t. And he especially wasn’t when Alex came over to him, leaned down, and kissed him.

Shane had expected that same heat, but Alex kissed him lush and soft and gentle. Shane felt himself melt into it, and it was over quicker than he had expected, and he had no idea what kind of expression was on his face but Alex looked fond.

“Thank you,” he said, softly, and Shane smiled up at him.

“Lovely,” Henry said, and when Shane looked over at him he saw that Henry was flushed, eyes darting between all three of them. “May I?”

“Yes,” Shane said, hoarse, and Henry was at his side in a second, kissing him hard and with a hint of teeth, suppressed desire and strength.

When Henry pulled away Shane was gasping for breath, and he watched Henry stride over to Ilya and he expected to see the same.

But Henry kissed Ilya so soft and thorough that Shane thought Ilya’s knees might buckle. Henry’s hands cradled Ilya’s face as if he was something special, and Shane felt something soft in his heart at it, at someone else seeing Ilya the way he did.

Henry smiled when he pulled away, wicked and warm, and Ilya looked a little like he had been sucker-punched. Shane understood the feeling.

“Goodbye, and thank you both,” Henry said, so proper and careful as if he hadn’t watched them fuck and kissed Shane like he wanted to see it all over again, and Alex raised a lazy hand in farewell, and then they were gone.

They left through the main door, and Shane felt a rush of relief and happiness at knowing that he and Ilya were now properly alone. That had been incredible, but now he just wanted to sleep, wanted to share the bed with his husband, after all of that.

He turned to look at Ilya, who was standing there fully naked and looking quite at ease, recovered from Henry’s kiss, and then he burst out laughing.

Hysterical, unhinged, because he couldn't believe that had happened, almost doubled over with it, and Ilya sat down next to him and grabbed his jaw, lifting Shane’s head up to look at him.

“Hollander, what is wrong with you?” Ilya asked, deadpan, and Shane took a breath.

“I just…” he started, and then cut himself off. What could he say? “That was just… wow.”

Ilya laughed, and pushed Shane to the side, sliding into the bed and wrapping his arm around him.

“How did you know?” Shane asked. “How did you know I would like that?”

Ilya laughed again, his hand carding through Shane’s hair. 

“Moy lyubovnik,” he said, affection and amusement in his tone. “I know you. And this…” he gestured towards the other door. “I knew.”

Shane took a moment to think about that. He would never have asked for this. He would never have even considered that this was something he would like. 

But Ilya knew. Sometimes Shane thought that there were parts of him that Ilya knew better than he knew himself.

And that knowledge was what made Shane speak up.

“I wouldn’t mind,” he started, and then coughed. “I would do that again,” he said in a rush, before he could lose his nerve.

“Hollander,” Ilya said, delighted. “Same again?”

“Yes,” Shane said, and then hesitated. But this was Ilya, who had set this up for Shane and who loved him and thought this was just as hot as Shane did.

“I would like them to…” Maybe he couldn’t say it. 

Ilya was looking at him, and Shane knew Ilya knew what he meant. But he was still going to make Shane say it. Shane thought back to the fleeting desire that had flashed through him, the desire that he had pushed down. He didn’t need to push it down. 

“I’d want them to fuck me,” he said, far too fast. “If they would want to. If you would like to see it.”

Ilya was quiet for a moment. A horrible long moment where Shane thought he’d said the wrong thing, upset Ilya, but then Ilya grinned, wide and thrilled.

“I would like to see it,” he said, and he kissed Shane brief and fleeting as if he couldn't help himself. “I would like to see them fuck you, watch them make you cry, and know that you were mine.”

The flash that shot through Shane’s veins would be enough to get him going again if he wasn’t so bone tired.

“I am yours,” he said, and Ilya kissed him again, this time soft and thorough.

“We will talk about it later,” he promised. “But now, we will sleep.”

Shane smiled up at him.

“I love you,” he said. “Thank you for this.”

Ilya smiled back at him. “Anything for you,” he said, and Shane fell asleep in his arms.