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Shane and Ilya had finally learnt how to be truly and openly honest with each other. It was a breath of fresh air not having to keep secrets from each other and their friends.
But Ilya was still nursing one itty-bitty secret.
Except it wasn’t exactly small. More like big. Too big.
Shane’s stupid cock was just too big.
After years of hooking up and fooling around, he’d never managed to deep-throat Shane. He’d never admit it—wouldn’t dare sully the playboy, sex-god reputation he’d spent forever cultivating.
In every other way, Ilya was the perfect lover. He knew Shane’s body better than his own and that was exactly why it hurt so much to admit that he couldn’t take all of Shane’s cock in his mouth.
It was simply too big: thick, long, heavy, useless when it flopped across his stomach or swung low enough for the tip to drag on the mattress.
If it weren’t for all the times Ilya had mocked Shane’s size, he might’ve been more comfortable coming clean.
There was the time he had Shane draped across his lap, legs open in front of the mirror as he pounded into him, making Shane watch his own limp dick bounce and dip with each thrust. Ilya would wrap his large hand around it, slowly pumping, just enough to wring out a half-hearted orgasm—and all the while he laughed at Shane for “not knowing what to do” with it.
Meanwhile, Shane, blessed with effortless talent at anything he tried, could deep-throat Ilya’s more generous endowment after a bit of practice.
He’d mastered the art of mouth work so quickly that it made Ilya feel small. Ilya liked to think of himself as having the biggest cock in the room, Shane included, and that usually true, but that only earned Shane extra brownie points.
So he kept his secret: his oral skills were good—immaculate, even. Shane never caught on that Ilya always stopped an inch or two shy of the base to spare himself from choking.
And Ilya intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. He had plenty of other tricks in bed to compensate.
And Shane stayed none the wiser. That was until Shane came back from an unnecessarily stressful dinner.
Ilya assumed it went bad even though Shane hadn’t said anything yet, from the way Shane moved through the dim living room like a ghost, his shoulders slumped and eyes tired. He dropped his keys on the counter with a dull clatter before moving over to the doorway of the bedroom.
He simply looks at Ilya with sad eyes and pure hollow exhaustion.
Ilya watched him from their bed, slowly patting his thigh. Shane shakes his head, moving to turn towards the bathroom.
“Come here,” Ilya said, his voice low, the command wrapped in velvet.
Shane didn’t speak. He just turned, his eyes finding Ilya’s again, and walked toward him. Ilya reached out, his hands—large, strong, settling on Shane’s hips, guiding him backward until he sank onto Ilya’s lap, his back against Ilya’s chest.
Ilya nuzzled into the space between Shane’s shoulder and neck, breathing in the scent of his obscenely expensive fabric softener. He mapped the territory with his lips, first delicate kisses, soft presses to let him know he was there.
Then small nips, teeth grazing the tan skin, making Shane keen and his fingers tangled in Ilya’s curly hair, pulling just enough to send a bolt down the back of his neck.
Taking in the pleading look in Shane’s eyes, his pupils blown wide with need and lashes lowered, Ilya grabs him by the waist, fingers digging into the firm muscle there, and presses him against the rumpled cotton sheets.
He flips them over in one fluid motion, his larger frame now hovering above Shane’s, casting him in shadow. Looking down at him and the flush spreading across Shane’s cheekbones. Ilya leans down, slowly traveling a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the valley between Shane’s pecs, over the ridges of his abs, lingering at the sensitive hollow where hip meets torso.
Shane’s hips shifted, trying him to urge him on. His hand guided Ilya’s head downward, toward the strained fabric of his trousers. Ilya pulled back, just an inch, to look up.
“You okay?” Shane whispered.
Ilya offered a smirk, a flash of nonchalance. “Just admiring the view.” He made his hands busy, undoing Shane’s belt, pushing the trousers off his legs, then the boxers. The fabric piled on the floor as Shane leaned back on his elbows to watch his boyfriend work.
Ilya’s gaze drank him in. Shane lay sprawled now, legs parted, his cock resting all substantial against his stomach.
The memory still burns clear: Shane turning in the shower years ago, water sluicing down his body, his cock standing erect.
Shane Hollander had exceeded every locker room rumor and whispered joke. Ilya’s eyes sized him up, the guilt of clearly underestimating him was quickly washed out by arousal. His practiced nonchalance slipping for just a heartbeat.
It was only later when he came face to face with it that he’d truly understood what he was dealing with. He wasn’t going to admit to the intimidation that bubbled up, and so unlike him in situations like this.
Something like awe had flickered behind his eyes, the weight of it on his tongue, the stretch of his lips. Unlike anything he’d ever had the pleasure of experiencing before.
And he’d cherished it ever since.
Now, Ilya focused on the path. He kissed Shane’s inner thighs, the skin warm and smooth under his lips. He used a strong grip to part Shane’s legs a little further, exposing more of him. Ilya slowly worshiped him with great care.
He moved up, his breath hot on Shane’s skin. Then, his mouth hovered over the tip of Shane’s cock. Shane let out the most beautiful broken whimper.
Ilya began with careful kitten licks. The softest flick of his tongue over the sensitive crown, tasting the salt-precum already beading there. He traced the vein running along the underside, then dragged his tongue down the full, daunting length.
He took the head into his mouth, sucking gently. Then, deeper. His jaw opened, his throat prepared. He took more, sinking down until he reached the usual stopping point—the point where his gag reflex began to warn him.
He held there, then began to bob his head at a steady practiced pace that used his tongue expertly, swirling around the head with each upward retreat.
He looked up. Shane’s eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth open in a silent gasp. Bliss painted his features and finally relaxed. His hips twitched up desperately seeking more.
Ilya could feel his own erection hardening and pressing against the confines of his pants. Admittedly loving the power he had, the power to render Shane speechless. Proving that he was useful and needed.
Shane’s hand settled back in his hair just to play with it at first. Twisting the curls between his fingers and then a gentle pressure downward. Ilya adjusted accordingly, letting his head be pushed. He took a little more, his throat stretching. He worked around it, using his hands to stroke what he couldn’t take, keeping the rhythm.
But then Shane’s body became desperate. The stress of the evening was boiling over, seeking a release. His hips bucked up sharply as an uncontrolled thrust.
The tip of Shane’s cock slammed against the back of Ilya’s throat, and Ilya’s mind went white. A sickening, involuntary convulsion seized Ilya’s throat. Tears sprang instantly to his eyes as saliva flooded his mouth with nowhere to go. His eyes blew wide open.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t swallow. He slapped Shane’s thigh hard in panic.
Shane stopped. Instantly. His hands flew off Ilya’s head. He pulled back, his cock sliding out of Ilya’s mouth with a wet, pathetic sound.
Ilya twisted away, spluttering and coughing violently. He gagged, spitting onto the floor, his body heaving with the trauma of the invasion. He wiped his mouth with his thumb, feeling his chest burning.
When he finally turned back, Shane’s brow was furrowed, concern etching lines into his handsome face. His erection lay wet against his thigh, now neglected, but his eyes were focused on Ilya.
“Fuck— I’m so sorry. Did I… did I do something wrong?” Shane’s voice was panicked and riddled with concern.
Ilya let out a dry, hacking laugh. He wiped his mouth again. “No. No. It’s fine. I’m fine.” He tried to climb back up Shane’s thighs, his mind screaming to move on, to get his mouth back on that cock and prove everything was perfectly fine.
Shane’s hand caught his shoulder to stop him. “Wait, no. Tell me. So I don’t do it again.”
Ilya froze. He looked at Shane, his jaw aching. He rubbed it absently, shaking his head in denial.
But Shane’s eyes tracked the motion. The hand rubbing the sore jaw. And Shane’s mind, always so annoyingly deductive, processed it. His expression shifted from concern to dawning comprehension.
A simple and amused “Oh.”
Then a longer, murmured “Oh my god.”
Ilya’s heart plummeted. His ears burned, going hot and red. “No. No, it’s not that.”
Shane shrugged. A smile touched his lips. “I didn’t say anything.”
Ilya rolled his eyes, a defensive flare. He stood up, hands on his hips, staring down at Shane. “I know what you’re thinking…” he grumbled, his accent thickening with his frustration.
Shane cocked his head to the side. The smirk grew. “What am I thinking, Ilya?”
Ilya gulped. He rubbed his neck, nervous, looking away with a moody expression. The shame was now dwindling just below the surface.
Then Shane said it for him. Voice quiet, but clear. “You can’t deep throat me.”
Ilya scoffs, “No…” he lies, “I suck your dick perfectly fine.”
Shane pulls a face, throwing the thought around his mind before speaking again, “Yes… fine.” he looks away for a second before looking back at the crumbling expression on his boyfriend’s face.
Ilya’s entire face felt aflame. The confession, spoken aloud by someone else, was a humiliation he’d never prepared for. Shane just watched him, then laughed mockingly and covered his mouth.
Ilya groaned and then stood up in frustration, pointing an accusing finger at Shane, “This is not my fault. It’s you and your…” his finger trailed downwards to Shane’s crotch, “Stupidly massive cock.”
“Yours is bigger.” Shane says quickly, still holding a playful smile.
Ilya rolls his eyes, looking away, “Damn right.” he mutters, hands on his hips now.
And then Shane’s eyes drifted downward. To his own cock, which seemed to grow even harder, impossibly thicker, at the sight of Ilya’s shame.
Shane found the perfect opportunity to monopolize.
“On your knees,” Shane said. The command was flat, devoid of its usual warmth.
Ilya stared.
“No.”
“Get. On. Your. Knees. Ilya.”
Another protest formed in his throat, but it died. The arousal was already coiling tighter inside him, fed by the humiliation and the sudden shift of power. He slowly sank to the floor, kneeling between Shane’s spread legs.
He still held some resistance. Keeping a distance from Shane’s cock.
Shane clicks his tongue, “Come closer.” he barks another order, but this time Ilya doesn’t budge.
“If you won’t let me teach you how to treat a dick correctly then yours isn’t coming anywhere near me.” then Shane’s hand naturally slipped down between his thighs and he lets two fingers graze over his hole. Ilya following the gesture and swallowing the saliva building up on his tongue, “So… are you going to let me do this?”
Ilya can barely look at him as he nods. Taking two hands on both Shane’s thighs as he pulls himself forward.
“Words, Ilya.”
“Teach me.”
Shane looked down at him with a pleased smile on his lips, a condescending master surveying a flawed servant. “Good, let’s teach you how to do this correctly,” he said, his voice dripping with false patience. “Since you clearly need the lesson.”
Ilya could retort the fact that he had Shane in his mouth only a moment ago, writhing around and whimpering. But he decides not to. Because this was so much better.
He reached down with clinical precision, and gripped his own cock. He presented it to Ilya. “Open.”
Ilya obeyed. His mouth opened, his tongue laying flat.
“Slowly,” Shane instructed, dumbing down every detail as if Ilya were a novice. “Take the head. Just suck. Like you were doing before you fucked it up.”
Ilya took the head into his mouth. He sucked like instructed, his eyes locked on Shane’s.
“Good. Now, down. A little more. Slowly. Don’t rush.” Shane’s hand wasn’t guiding now; it was just resting on his own thigh, observing.
Ilya slid deeper. The pressure built in his throat. He reached his limit, the point of resistance. He held, his eyes watering slightly.
Shane watched. “See? This is your problem. You’re rushing it.” He clicked his tongue, a sound of disappointment. “Try again. Slower.”
Ilya tried. He forced his head down another inch at a paused pace. The gag reflex fluttered. He choked, pulling back with a gasp.
Shane clicked his tongue again. “Again. You have to relax your throat. Imagine swallowing. Do it.”
Ilya went down again. Same result. A gag, a retreat. His face was flushed with effort and embarrassment.
Shane sighed, exaggerated. “Useless.” But as he said it, his foot lifted. He placed it against the front of Ilya’s pants, right on the hard, aching imprint of Ilya’s erection. He pressed down, harshly, then began to move his foot, a slow, grinding jerk through the fabric.
Ilya moaned, the sound muffled by Shane’s cock still partly in his mouth. The pressure was exquisite, cruel, perfect. His hips pushed against the sole of Shane’s foot, seeking more friction.
“Focus,” Shane ordered, his voice tightening with his own building need. “Take it all.”
Ilya, dizzy with shame and arousal, tried. He pushed. He gagged violently, tears springing to his eyes. He couldn’t.
Shane’s foot jerked him harder. “You’re bad at this. But I’ll reward effort.” His hand finally moved, stroking his own cock slowly. “Keep sucking. Just the head. Make me come.”
Ilya focused on the head. He sucked fiercely, his tongue dancing over the slit, lapping up the precum that flowed now. He used every trick he knew, every swirl and pressure point. Shane’s breath became ragged. His hips began to lift in tiny thrusts, feeding himself into Ilya’s mouth, but only as far as Ilya could take.
Ilya’s world narrowed to the taste, the weight, the punishing pressure of Shane’s foot on his cock. Feeling like a flawed instrument being used for pleasure. The thought made him throb harder against Shane’s sole.
Shane’s moans grew louder, less controlled. “Yeah… just like that… fuck…” His hand clenched in Ilya’s hair, not longer guiding. Getting lost in the sensation, shedding his harsh demeanor as he came closer to his climax “I’m gonna…”
Ilya wasn’t one to give up. He was stubborn and competitive. He strives to be the best and please Shane. So that’s what he was going to do.
Ilya redoubled his efforts. He hollowed his cheeks, sucked with desperate force. Subtly, and slowly like advised, took more and more. Distracted by Shane’s pleasure and moans, he barely notices the head hitting the back of his throat as the full length settles in his mouth at last.
“F-Fuck— Ilya, yes…” he mutters aloud, followed by a guttural moan.
Shane’s body tightened, his back arching off the bed. A final, deep thrust of his hips, as deep as he could go within Ilya’s hot, wet mouth, and Shane cried out one last time. The loud, raw moan filled the room.
Heat flooded Ilya’s mouth. He swallowed instinctively, taking what as much of the warm salty fluid as he could, his throat working around the intrusion of the head. Shane shuddered, his legs trembling around Ilya’s shoulders.
Then there was a deep silence, the only sound came from Shane’s deep pants.
The moment of ecstasy faded from Shane’s face. He looked down at Ilya, still kneeling, still with Shane’s cock softening in his mouth. Shane scowled. He rolled his eyes.
“Took you long enough,” he muttered, his voice dripping with bored contempt.
He pulled Ilya up by the hair, letting his cock slip past his boyfriend’s lips. Ilya rose, his jaw sore, his face wet with spit and a few tears. Shane leaned in and gave him a kiss as a stamp of approval for his adequate service.
Ilya looked tired and blissed out, his own need a screaming ache in his pants still. Shane surveyed him. Then his gaze dropped to Ilya’s jeans.
He saw it. A dark, wet patch blossoming on the fabric, right where his foot had been grinding.
Shane chuckled, mocking intertwined with the soft sound. He kissed Ilya once more, a quick smack on the lips.
“You think you’ve got another one left in you?” Shane mumbled, his eyes searching Ilya’s.
Ilya nodded, his voice hoarse. “Always.”
Shane’s smile widened. “Good.” He shifted, reaching across Ilya’s lap toward the bedside table. His arm moved with casual grace, his fingers finding the familiar bottle of lube without looking.
He didn’t give it to Ilya. Instead, his other hand gripped Ilya’s shoulder, guiding him up. “Come here,” Shane instructed, his voice dropping into that commanding register that made Ilya’s spine straighten instinctively.
Ilya moved, hands straddling Shane’s thighs and lifting them so he was perched on the bed, leaning forward so his chest hovered over Shane’s torso. Shane’s free hand pushed at his hips, urging him backward, moving them both further up the bed until they were centered.
Shane popped the cap of the lube with a soft ‘click’. He squeezed a generous amount onto his palm, the clear gel slick and dribbling onto the sheets. He looked up at Ilya, their eyes locking. Shane’s gaze now a hungry focus.
He reached for Ilya’s jeans, unbuttoning them, pulling them open. He didn’t bother removing them. He just pushed the fabric aside, exposing Ilya’s erection. It was flushed full as it awaited attention. Ilya watched, his breath shallow, as Shane’s lubed hand closed around him.
Shane’s fingers slid over his length, coating him thoroughly, from root to tip, the slickness making Ilya shudder. Shane worked him with efficient strokes, his eyes never leaving Ilya’s.
“There,” Shane said, his voice a low murmur. He released Ilya’s cock, letting it stand proud and glistening. He wiped his hand on the sheet. “Now. Fuck me. Since that is something you do know how to do properly. Something I can trust you to do without my help.” He said it with a biting edge, reminding Ilya of his brief inadequacy in one area, while acknowledging his proficiency in another. It was a barely a compliment. “You can, can’t you?”
Ilya stuttered. “Yes.”
Shane’s eyebrow arched. “So what are you waiting for?”
Ilya’s arousal surged as a twisted balm wounded his pride. He nodded again, more firmly.
Shane shifted beneath him, lifting his hips. He guided his own legs, bending his knees, planting his feet flat on the mattress. “Be careful…” he said, his voice softening slightly, but still holding the thread of command.
Ilya’s hands found Shane’s hips. His familiar grip was strong. He knew this body, knew every curve and plane. He positioned himself, his lubed cock sliding against Shane’s inner thigh. He reached down with one hand, his fingers finding Shane’s hole. It was already relaxed and ready.
Ilya guided himself, the tip pressing against the entrance. He pushed, slowly, watching Shane’s face.
Shane’s eyes closed. A soft gasp escaped his lips as the head breached him. “Fuck,” he whispered.
Ilya sank deeper. The fit was perfect, perfectly tight and familiar. It hit him the same way it did the first time. He slid all the way in, until his hips were flush against Shane’s, and he was buried completely.
For a moment, they just stayed there until Shane’s hands came up, settling on Ilya’s shoulders. “Move,” he ordered, his voice tight with anticipation.
Ilya obeyed. He pulled back, then thrust in. Shane’s back arched off the bed, into a beautiful curve. Ilya knew his rhythm. He knew the angle, the pace, the depth that Shane loved. He began to fuck him with a deep, measured certainty.
Ilya’s hips pistoned, driving him into Shane’s body. Shane’s moans began, low at first, then building. They were not the broken, desperate sounds from before. They were full, rich, pleased.
“There,” Shane gasped, his fingers digging into Ilya’s shoulders. “Fuck—Right… there.”
Ilya knew. He adjusted his angle slightly, tilting Shane’s hips up with his hands. He thrust, and Shane cried out, a sharp, breathy sound. The perfect, sweet spot.
Ilya’s rhythm became relentless. He fucked Shane with a deep, pounding cadence that shook the bed. His own pleasure was a mounting wave, but his focus was Shane and every sound out of his mouth, the way his body clenched around him, the flush spreading across his chest.
Then Shane’s arm slipped down Ilya’s thrusting body. He wrapped it around Ilya’s back, his hand splaying wide, gripping his side. With a surge of strength, Shane pulled Ilya even deeper inside him, altering the point of contact.
Ilya groaned, the new angle sending a bolt of pure, electric pleasure straight to his core.
“Fuck… yes…” Shane panted, his head tossing back against the pillow. “Harder. Give it to me.”
Ilya’s control shattered. He drove into Shane with raw, unchecked force. His hips slammed forward, each impact a jolt that traveled through both of them. The air grew thick with the sounds of skin slapping, his own gritted grunts and Shane’s escalating, incoherent moans.
Shane’s hand on Ilya’s back tightened, nails digging in. His other hand clutched at Ilya’s hair. “I’m close… so close…”
Ilya could feel it. Shane’s body was tightening around him, a vice of pleasure. His own climax was a freight train approaching, unstoppable. He grunted, a raw, animal sound, his thrusts becoming shorter, faster, a frantic race toward the finish.
Shane’s mouth fell open. His hips bucked, meeting Ilya’s thrusts, driving him deeper. “I’m cumming,” he choked out, a command for Ilya to follow and a plea.
Ilya’s forehead dropped to Shane’s. He could feel Shane’s internal muscles, gripping him and milking him dry.
Shane’s orgasm hit first. A violent, shuddering contraction that seized his entire body. He cried out, a loud, ragged moan that tore through the room, his back bowing off the bed. Ilya felt the pulsing around his cock.
It triggered his own. A white-hot explosion erupted from his core, rushing down his spine, bursting out through his cock. He thrust once more, a final, deep plunge, and held there, buried his release flooded into Shane. His body shaking with the force of it.
They collapsed together, still joined, Ilya’s weight sinking onto Shane, his head resting on Shane’s shoulder. Shane’s arm, still wrapped around Ilya’s back, held him tight.
Slowly, Ilya softened, slipping out of Shane’s body. He stayed where he was, draped over him, his face pressed into Shane’s neck. He could smell Shane’s comforting scent again.
Shane’s hand moved, stroking Ilya’s hair softly now. Ilya lifted his head slightly, meeting Shane’s gaze.
Ilya’s eyes were soft, satisfied. He kissed Shane’s forehead gently. “That,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but gentle, “was what you needed?”
Shane’s throat was too raw, too tired for words. He nodded, his head dipping again.