He skated away quickly, leaving Ilya grinning and shaking his head as he finished his slow journey to the bench.
* * *
Shane: Where the fuck are you?
Ilya huffed at his phone in the back seat of a taxi that was taking him—slowly—to Shane’s house.
Ilya: In traffic.
Shane: Fuck. Where?
Ilya: Montreal? I don’t fucking know.
Shane: Hurry up.
Ilya: Ok. I will ask the driver to make the car fly.
For a full minute, Shane didn’t reply. Then he wrote, Are you over the bridge yet at least?
Ilya chuckled and wrote, You seem a bit horny.
Shane: I’m fucking dying.
The blunt admission made Ilya’s cock twitch. He wrote, Get yourself ready for me then.
Shane: What do you think I’ve been doing for the past twenty minutes?
Oh. Fuck.
Ilya: You better not come without me.
Shane: Then you’d better hurry up.
Ilya was getting way too aroused in this unmoving taxi. He should put his phone in his pocket, take some cooling breaths, and think about something else. But instead he asked, Where are you?
Shane: Bed.
Ilya: Fingering yourself?
Shane: Yes.
Ilya: How many?
Shane: 3
Ilya sucked in a breath, then wrote, You need something bigger.
Shane: I know! That’s why you need turmeric.
Shane: Need to hurry, I mean. Fucking voice-to-text.
Ilya: Get yourself close. Right to the edge. But don’t come.
Shane: I already got to the edge once by accident.
Jesus fuck. Ilya could see it so vividly: Shane trying so hard to be good and productive, getting himself ready so Ilya could slide right into him when they were finally together. Working himself open, trying not to touch his cock. Probably giving it a few strokes anyway, until suddenly he’d found himself on the brink of orgasm. Ilya could imagine his panicked expression, the desperate way he’d squeeze the base of his cock, teeth clenched, breathing hard through his nose.
Ilya: But you didn’t come?
Shane: No.
Ilya: Good boy.
Shane didn’t always like that kind of praise, and, admittedly, Ilya was usually teasing him when he used it. But not tonight. Tonight, Ilya was proud of him.
Ilya: Can you do it again? For me?
Nothing for a few seconds, and then, Yeah.
Ilya palmed his right knee, pressing his fingertips into the fresh bruise there, trying to calm his dick down. He wasn’t even sure how this weird thing he’d asked for was supposed to work.
Ilya poked his bruise, and waited.
He loved playing these games with Shane. Even though they’d been an exclusive couple for over three years, and secret lovers for years before that, their sex life was far from stale. Every kind of sex they had was exciting: the frantic, heated, almost aggressive sex they sometimes had after a game, or after an argument; the unhurried, exploratory sex they indulged in when they had plenty of time and privacy; the playful, competitive sex they enjoyed when one of them challenged the other.
And this. The times when Shane wanted to prove something to Ilya—wanted to be good for him. And rewarded for it after. Ilya fucking loved this sex.
He wondered what Shane was doing at that moment, as the taxi finally crawled past the accident near the entrance to the bridge. Was he still fingering himself, or was he jerking himself off while he played with his balls? Was he reaching for a toy from the drawer that had gone from housing a solitary dildo to an impressive array of sex toys over the past couple of years? Ilya was fond of buying Shane presents.
Three minutes passed between Shane’s last text and the next one.
Shane: Fuck.
Ilya: Did you do it?
Shane: Yes. Fuck you. That was torture.
Ilya glanced out the window, then wrote, I will be there in five minutes. One more before I get there, ok?
Obviously, Shane could refuse. Tell Ilya to get fucked. Or lie about it. Ilya knew he wouldn’t do any of those things.
Shane: Ok. You have your key, right?
Ilya: Yes.
He smiled at the thought of making Shane answer the door like this.
Five and a half minutes later, Ilya was thrusting a wad of cash at the driver, thanking him quickly, and exiting the car. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and jogged up to Shane’s front door, past the hedges that secluded the house from the street. He’d given up trying to chill his dick out after the last near-orgasm confirmation text from Shane. Now he was rock hard, and desperate to get his hands on his boyfriend.
“Ilya?” Shane called out from upstairs as soon as Ilya opened the door.
“Yes.”
“Fucking hell. Get up here.”
Ilya practically flew up the stairs, and found Shane sprawled on the bed, naked and flushed and beautiful.
“Chert voz’mi,” Ilya muttered. He dropped his backpack on the floor and immediately began tearing off his clothes.
“The last one was a close call,” Shane said. “I haven’t touched myself since.”
He was on his back, legs akimbo, one hand resting on the pillow above his head, the other gently stroking his stomach. There was a bottle of lube on the bed beside him, and Ilya grabbed it once he was fully undressed.
“Is your knee okay?”
“Good enough,” Ilya said impatiently as he slicked himself up. “How do you want it?”
“Now,” Shane said.
Ilya grunted. “Condom?” They rarely used them anymore, but sometimes Shane preferred them for easy cleanup.
“Fuck no. Come on.”
Ilya kneeled on the bed between Shane’s thighs, wincing at the pain that shot through him as his bruised knee pressed into the mattress. He forced himself to ignore it, and leaned down to kiss Shane roughly. Fuck, he’d been wanting to do this for so long. He missed kissing Shane possibly more than anything else.
Shane chased his mouth when Ilya pulled away, but Ilya only smiled. Then he gripped Shane’s thighs and hauled his hips up off the bed. Shane rested his ankles on Ilya’s shoulders as Ilya lined up and drove into him in one smooth thrust.
They both swore loudly, then Ilya made eye contact with Shane, checking to make sure he was good. Shane nodded, and Ilya nodded back. Then, Ilya started pounding into him in a steady, powerful rhythm that had Shane panting and clawing at the bed sheets in seconds.