Chapter Text
For all intents and purposes, Shane does love his husband.
Most of the time.
Sometimes.
Maybe.
Okay… not really.
Getting married at the ripe age of twenty to his first serious boyfriend seemed like an amazing idea at the time. Unfortunately, he’s grown miserable over the last fifteen years. They both have, to be honest. It’s been unspoken for quite some time, neither of them brave enough to bite the bullet and ask for a divorce.
Jason is nice, for the most part. He makes a lot of money running a tech company, which Shane loves. It’s shallow, he’ll admit that, but it’s nice that he doesn’t have to work. Jason is gone most of the time on business trips, Shane stays home, and they occasionally have a very awkward dinner together.
They were in love at some point, but it’s obvious that they’ve both fallen out of it by now. Shane knows that most of Jason’s “business trips” are not strictly business, he suspects there are several mistresses scattered across the world. It’s another unspoken agreement between them; a don’t ask, don’t tell situation.
Shane hasn’t found the right person to cheat with, if one could even call it that. Does it still count as cheating if you both already have one foot out the door?
Technically, yes. But Shane is fully under the impression that Jason wouldn’t care. It’s not like they ever have sex anyway. It’s been months of Jason dodging his advances.
“I’m really tired today. Rain check?”
“Sorry, babe. I have an early flight tomorrow.”
“This deal is stressing me out, I can’t tonight.”
Shane is pent up. Even if he doesn’t necessarily enjoy his husband’s presence, he is aching to be fucked. Fuck, he’ll take a terrible, toothy blowjob at this point.
Despite disliking his husband, he loves the privileges that come with the marriage. Particularly, he loves having access to the country club where he can gossip with other spouses of rich husbands, especially Rose.
“Just fuck someone! Jason doesn’t have to know. I doubt he’ll notice. I sleep with women all the time and my husband doesn’t care.”
“Okay, but that’s different,” Shane sighs, leaning back in the lounge chair by the barren swimming pool. No kids, no pets, no obnoxious entitled pricks. A perfect day for Shane to relax with his best friend.
“How is that different? Enlighten me.” Rose peers at him from over her sunglasses and takes a sip of her mimosa.
“Well, first of all, your husband is a heterosexual man. They love the thought of their wives sleeping with women because they don’t see them as competition. Which is really fucked up.”
Rose’s grin falls slightly, nodding in agreement.
“Like, it’s a fantasy for straight men. If you slept with another man, I guarantee that it would be different.”
An awkward silence falls between them as Rose leans back in her chair, adjusting her sunglasses to look out at the pool. Shane finally speaks up again after a few moments.
“You deserve a better husband. One that actually respects your sexuality.”
“You deserve a better husband, too.”
Rose’s words hit him like a freight train. He’d never really thought about it, but it’s true. He did deserve better. A husband that actually communicates with him, desires him, cherishes him. Not a husband that conveniently forgets to kiss him goodbye every single time he’s left for a trip over the last five years.
“Why haven’t you left him yet?” Rose asks.
“Jason is all that I’ve ever known. I don’t know,” Shane shrugs in defeat, trying to convince himself that there was a possibility for their spark to return. “I just don’t want to deal with starting over. Almost my entire adult life has been spent with him. Well, married to him. Actually spending time with him is another story. You know we haven’t had sex in nearly a year?”
“Yes, Shane. You complain about it all the time. That’s why I keep telling you to find someone else! Have an affair! Live a little!”
“But—”
“No ‘but’s. You already suspect that he’s cheating anyway, what harm does it do for you to cheat back?”
She’s right. Of course she is. Rose is always right.
“I don’t even know where to start. How do I even find someone to sleep with? I can’t just start using apps, that feels sleazy and I’m way too awkward.”
“What about him?” Rose points to the man pulling out one of the filters at the far end of the pool.
The breath gets knocked out of Shane. This might be the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Muscular, sculpted like a Greek god, adorned with curly hair and scattered with moles. He’s got one of the country club employee uniforms on, khaki shorts and a white polo with the logo printed across the back.
“He looks young…”
“Excuse me!” Rose shouts across the pool to grab the man’s attention.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Shane asks through gritted teeth.
“Helping you get laid,” Rose mumbles with a polite smile as she waves the man over.
“Hello, miss. How may I help you? Would you like me to grab a waiter for you?” The man asks in a deep voice, dripping in a sexy eastern European accent that Shane can’t quite put his finger on.
“Oh no, sweetheart. Nothing like that. My friend here—this is Shane, by the way,” Rose motions to the blushing figure next to her, “he was wondering if you did any freelance work with pools. We love the job you’ve done here and he’s got a pool at home that could definitely use a deep cleaning.”
If looks could kill, Rose would be obliterated by the glare Shane is giving her from behind his sunglasses.
“Yes, sometimes. Country club job is seasonal, so I like to find outside work.” The man smiles, his eyes noticeably lingering on Shane.
“Great!”
Rose snatches Shane’s phone from where it’s sitting next to him in the lounge chair, quickly punching in his password that she insisted on knowing. Before Shane can grab it back, she’s handing the phone to the man in front of them.
“Put your contact info in here and he’ll be in touch.”
Shane really wants to throw Rose in the pool. Maybe himself, too.
The next day, Shane makes himself some lunch and stares at the new contact in his phone. His thumb hovers over the call button, finally pressing it on a deep inhale.
It rings for a while, but no answer. Shane decides to leave a voicemail.
“Hi, there. This is Shane Hollander. We met yesterday. Please give me a call back, whenever you’re free.”
Three minutes pass before Shane’s phone starts ringing.
“Hello?”
“Hello, sir. This is Ilya Rozanov from Greenmarrow Country Club. I think we spoke yesterday about cleaning your pool?”
Shane’s heart falls out of his ass at the sound of a familiar accent coming through his phone speaker. Goddammit, Rose.
“Yes, hi! This is Shane. Um, Shane Hollander.”
Why the fuck did he say that? Goddammit, Shane.
“So, Mr. Hollander, are you still interested in having your pool cleaned?”
When the next morning rolls around, Shane is cleaning the house like a madman, making sure it’s presentable for the guest arriving in a few hours. The reason for wanting to impress someone that is simply cleaning his pool shall be unpacked at a later date.
“Hey! Come on in,” Shane answers the door a bit too eagerly, silently cursing himself for the amount of enthusiasm he’s exuding. “I’ll show you to the back.”
Handsome Mr. Rozanov—with his perfectly chiseled body and strong hands that could take Shane apart within a minute—politely smiles and follows him through the house to the backyard. Shane takes his time showing him around, getting him comfortable with the pool shed that houses all the cleaning tools and filter mechanics.
“So, Mr. Rozanov… Do you, um, want to be left alone? Or do you prefer when your clients linger?” Shane asks. The word client makes him feel like he hired an escort. All things considered, he sorta did, in one way or another.
“Ilya is fine. Does not matter to me. You can hang around if you’d like, I don’t mind,” Ilya smiles at him. Shane thinks he might pass out in the yard.
“Are you thirsty? It’s hot, I can bring you some ice water. It’s really good, I have my own well. It goes through a reverse osmosis system.” Shane wishes he would stop talking. Why does this beautiful stranger need to know about his fancy fucking water system?
Ilya smirks, pulling a pool vacuum and a long-handled net from the shed. “Your fancy water sounds great, thank you.”
Shane gives him a stiff nod, awkwardly turning to walk inside toward the kitchen. He grabs a serving tray, the light wooden one that used to make an appearance back when he and Jason actually had pool parties with some of their old couple friends. It hasn’t been used in quite a while.
He fills a pitcher with ice and water, setting it on the tray next to two painted glass cups. Shane had made them around two years ago. It was supposed to be a beginners glasswork class for him and Jason to enjoy together, a bonding experience to hopefully rekindle their spark, but Shane ended up going alone after being ditched for a supposed “late meeting” at the office. A common result for most of Shane’s attempts to spend time together.
Considering the frequency of his husband’s infidelity, Shane thinks that it might be a good thing that they haven’t had sex in a while. At least he doesn’t need to worry about catching something from his own fucking husband.
Shane shakes away the angry tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. No, Jason will not ruin Shane’s mood today when he’s not even here. Especially not when a beautiful man is here cleaning his pool.
The tray nearly drops out of Shane’s hands at the view he returns to. Ilya had apparently removed his shirt while Shane was inside, each curve and dip of his body now on full display. He has more moles than Shane originally saw, a nice golden glow on his skin from days spent in the sun. He’s fucking ripped too. Is this guy a body builder or something?
Shane clears his throat, licking the corner of his mouth to ensure no drool has fallen out. “H-Here you go. Fresh cold water. Um, the cups are handmade. By me.”
Another thing that this gorgeous man really did not need to know.
As a polite host, Shane pours both glasses. When he turns to walk the drink over, Ilya is already a few feet away, the details of his tanned skin more apparent than ever. Shane watches a droplet of sweat fall from one of his curls and trail down his body. He really wants to lick it off.
“Thank you, Mr. Hollander,” Ilya grins. His fingers brush over Shane’s as he takes the glass. If Shane didn’t know any better, he would think that it was on purpose.
“Please, call me Shane.”
Ilya nods, keeping his eyes trained on the other man as he takes a long sip that leaves a delicious wet streak across his top lip. Shane would love to lick that off, too.
“Ah, is Mr. Hollander your husband, then?”
Shane freezes, then remembers that they walked through the house. The hallway to the backyard had framed pictures of him and Jason together. Old pictures, back from the early days when they still loved each other.
“Oh! No, um. I mean, yes, I do have… a husband. I didn’t take his last name, though. We both kept our own.”
Shane remembers the sting of that conversation. Jason wanted to keep his last name for business reasons, refusing to even consider hyphenating. Shane wasn’t going to budge either, not for someone that rejected the idea of associating with the name Hollander. It was a rough night after that fight, Shane almost called off their engagement due to the cruel words Jason had said to him. Sometimes he wishes that he went through with it.
Something glints in Ilya’s eyes at the confirmation of a husband, or maybe Shane is overheating and hallucinating. Suspecting the latter, Shane sits on the shaded chaise lounge closest to the pool.
“And will your husband be joining us today?” Ilya asks, almost with a hint of jealousy.
“No, no, no,” Shane, for some reason, rushes out. “He’s on one of his usual business trips. He’s rarely home. I doubt you’ll ever see him.”
Ilya simply nods, a coy smile playing on his lips, and takes another sip of water. Some of it drips down his chin and onto his bare torso, Shane loses all self control and allows his eyes to follow the line down until it meets the small patch of hair that disappears into the waistband of his shorts.
“I hope this is okay,” Ilya motions to his exposed chest. “I like to avoid the uh… the lines whenever I can.”
“Oh, tan lines? Like from your shirt?”
“Yes.” Ilya snaps his fingers in recognition.
“No issue at all. No complaints from me.”
Rose would be proud of him, Shane thinks. It’s not outright flirting, but it’s a start. Ilya seems to think so too, if his smirk is any indication.
“I should get back to it, I guess,” Ilya says, setting the glass of water down to grab a net and walk back over to the pool.
Shane watches him in silence for a few minutes, wondering how creepy it is that he’s just… sitting there.
“So, Ilya, where are you from?” He finally asks, eyes locked on the muscles flexing as the other man fishes leaves out of the water.
“Russia. Moscow, but I left a couple years ago. Haven’t been back since moving to Canada. Are you from here?”
“Yeah, actually. I grew up in Ottawa, moved to Montreal when I got, uh, married.”
That word feels wrong coming out of his mouth. Married. Barely. The ring on his finger sometimes feels like a kettlebell weighing him down, burning his skin like a branding iron. He’s considered taking it off a few times, but wanted to avoid an inevitable argument. Well, Jason would need to pay attention to him in order to notice, so maybe he could get away with it.
“How long have you been married?” Ilya asks as he pulls a water testing kit from his bag.
And there it is. The question that Shane was dreading, despite the fact that he was the one to bring up his marriage.
“About fifteen years now.”
Ilya whistles and shoots him a look. “Wow. I was nine years old when you got married.”
“So you’re, what, twenty-four?”
This is bad. This is really fucking bad. Not only is this man incredibly attractive, but he’s eleven years younger than Shane. It’s wrong. Very, very wrong.
And yet, it makes Shane’s little crush feel more thrilling.
“Is that a problem?” Ilya asks.
“No, not at all. Just crazy to think about, I suppose.”
Shane thinks he might implode from the smile Ilya gives him, eyes full of fondness and something else that he can’t quite pin down.
To make matters worse, Ilya turns his back to him and leans to pull the pool vacuum out of the water, all of the muscles in his back flexing deliciously.
“So, do you like Canada?” Shane asks, hoping to distract his brain from sending signals to his cock.
“Ah, yes. Is very nice. I like the weather, the snow reminds me of home. Great people, nice to look at.” Ilya doesn’t turn around, but Shane can hear the smirk in his voice.
Okay, maybe this guy is flirting a little bit. Shane can definitely play along.
“Well, obviously, Russia has some nice looking people too,” Shane comments before he can stop himself.
“Ah, you think so?”
Shane flushes, clearing his throat and taking another sip of water. He’s already said too much, taken the conversation farther than he intended.
At least, he tries to convince himself that it wasn’t his intention. He’s not a very convincing person.
“I’ve actually got some laundry that I should get to. How much longer do you think you’ll be here?” Shane asks, attempting to find an excuse to get out of here before too much blood rushes to his cock.
“Well, the tests I just did show that the pH is too high and the free chlorine level is too low. I will need to add a few things to the pool to fix this. Maybe an hour and a half?”
Something about hearing Ilya talk so casually about water chemistry, unfortunately, arouses Shane even more.
“Great, I’ll come back outside around then. If you need anything, feel free to come inside.”
Come inside me please, Shane thinks.
He rushes inside as soon as Ilya gives him a nod, nearly tripping over his feet on his way up the stairs. Laundry be damned, he needed to relieve some tension.
The bedroom window overlooks the backyard, giving Shane a perfect view of the pool. More importantly, a perfect view of Ilya. He closes the curtains almost completely, leaving a foot of space open to keep his line of sight clear.
Every filthy thought that he’s had since meeting this beautiful Russian work of art comes rushing in, breaking through the barriers that he so desperately tried to put up. His inattentive husband isn’t home, he’s flustered, and Ilya seems to be putting on a show. Shane deserves this.
He scoots the leather ottoman at the end of the bed over to the window, grabbing a thick throw pillow along the way.
In the bottom drawer of his nightstand, a sleek black box is buried under a spare pillowcase and a few empty picture frames. As Jason became more dismissive, Shane began his collection of various sex toys. Ideally, they would use these toys together, but Jason has always been weirdly strict about keeping toys out of their sex life. Thankfully, that just means Shane gets to buy toys that he personally enjoys without the need to consider what Jason likes.
He pulls out of his favorite plug, a nice mix of thermoplastic and silicone to give the deep red color a nice shine, with a T-shaped flare at the base. The best part, the feature that makes it his favorite, is the fact that it vibrates. Not only that, but it has four different speeds, one of them including a pulsing effect.
Opening himself up is a rushed process. He doesn’t stretch himself nearly enough with his fingers before pushing the plug in, the sweet burn from the bulk of the toy is the closest he’s felt to being properly fucked in far too long.
With the plug nestled inside, he moves over to the ottoman, straddling the throw pillow and adjusting his hips until his cock settles flush against the material. Grasping the pillow in one hand, the other holds the remote to the plug and flips on the first setting. An easy, somewhat dull vibration that stimulates him just enough to get him fully hard.
His eyes lock on Ilya’s toned body moving around the pool, the various muscles of his shoulders flexing as he pours whatever solution he’s determined is needed to balance the water parameters. He imagines how they would look with scratches across the skin, and begins to rock his hips into the pillow.
Small whimpers leave his mouth with each movement, his gaze never leaving Ilya. He feels disgusting, maybe even a little perverted. Ilya has no idea that Shane is watching him, getting himself off to the mere sight of him working.
Despite the twinge of shame, the rush of arousal makes him kick the plug up to the second speed and roll his hips faster.
He wonders how Ilya would treat him in bed. If he would be rough or caring, dominating or submissive. Maybe he would whisper filthy things in Shane’s ear, tease him about his husband, force him to take whatever Ilya gives him. Maybe he would kiss along his neck, bite his shoulder when he fucked into him like Jason used to.
“Fuck,” he whimpers, clenching around the plug and grinding faster against the pillow.
Ilya sets down an empty bottle and raises his arms above his head to stretch, flexing his muscles even more. Sunrays bounce off of his bulging biceps, a slight tint of red beginning to creep across his shoulders. He walks over to his bag and pulls out a bottle of aerosolized sunscreen, spraying a nice layer over his entire body.
Now, not only is his incredible body on full display, but it’s fucking shiny with a oily sheen. Shane imagines this is almost exactly what he looks like when he’s covered in sweat, his lustrous body towering over Shane as he drives into him.
He turns the plug up to its third setting.
Part of him wonders if Ilya can hear him through the window, if the growing volume of his moans is loud enough to reach the backyard below. Another part of him hopes that Ilya does.
He watches Ilya pour himself more water, taking large gulps that make his Adam’s apple throb. He imagines what Ilya’s skin would taste like under his tongue, what sounds he would make when Shane licked across his throat.
He’s so close, heat spreading across his chest and down to his toes, coiling in the pit of his stomach. He fights to keep his eyes open and locked on Ilya, the current object of his desire. He imagines the vibration in his hole is from Ilya’s tongue as he moans against him, humming as he licks into him. Maybe Ilya would let Shane ride his face. Jason never would.
“Oh, Ilya. Fuck me. Oh my god,” Shane cries into the quiet room, letting his eyes slip shut in pleasure. He’s so loud that his voice is likely echoing through the house. All Ilya has to do is poke his head inside the door and he could hear Shane moaning his name.
His hips rock faster against the pillow, chasing the high as it comes barreling closer. He cracks his eyes open just slightly to get one more view of Ilya to hopefully send him over the edge, and flips to the last setting of the plug. High intensity vibrations with a pulsing effect.
He watches as Ilya scoops water into his hands and splashes his face, swiping them through his hair to cool off.
And that does it.
Shane squeezes his eyes shut as he shoots over the pillow and ottoman, loudly moaning Ilya’s name over and over with each pulse of his cock.
It takes a minute to open his eyes again, his breaths heavy and panting as his head spins. He hasn’t come that hard in a very long time.
To his horror, Ilya is looking up at the window.
Shane scrambles back, falling off of the ottoman with a loud thud against the floor. The plug shoves painfully deep inside of him at the impact, teetering on uncomfortable and weirdly pleasurable.
Fuck, did Ilya see him finish? Did he hear him through the window?
Did he like it?
Shane pushes these thoughts away, quickly cleaning himself and the furniture, tossing the cover of the throw pillow into the hamper.
Finding the courage to go back outside is a Sisyphean task, but he finally forces himself to do it.
“Laundry all done?” Ilya asks once Shane walks onto the patio. He looks smug, but not enough to show if he did actually catch Shane through the window.
“Yep. All done. Quick and easy.” Shane winces when the last few words leave his mouth, wanting to crawl out of his skin from how awkward he feels. “How is the, um, pool… and everything?”
“Well, I was looking at the pump you have and noticed some of the gaskets are damaged. I could replace them, but the parts would need to be ordered.”
Which means you’d be coming back, Shane thinks.
“Absolutely, yeah!” Shane tries not to pinch himself for how enthusiastic he sounds. “Just let me know what I need to order and I’ll cover the entire cost.”
Shane tries to focus on all of the other details that Ilya explains to him next, something about a diffuser and chlorine stabilizer and salt cells and blah blah blah. Shane can’t stop staring at his lips.
“So two weeks?”
Shane’s attention snaps back to Ilya’s voice.
“Yeah, totally. I’ll let you know as soon as it’s delivered.”
“And will your husband be here?” Ilya asks with a smirk.
“Nope. He’ll be at a conference in New York.”
“Interesting,” Ilya hums, “I will see you in two weeks then.”
Before Ilya leaves, Shane makes sure to write him a check that is far too large for simple pool maintenance. Jason won’t mind, if he even notices.
Shane spends the next two weeks thinking about Ilya more often than he’d like.
In the time that Jason was home, the farthest they’d gone was a heated makeout session before bed. Shane initiated it, as per usual. And Jason, of course, shut it down before it went any further, stopping Shane’s hand when it teased the waistband of his boxers.
Jason, once again, conveniently forgets to wake up Shane and kiss him goodbye before leaving for the conference. Another week and a half where Shane will wander around the house stewing over the thought of divorce, but never follow through.
On the bright side, the part for his pool pump is delivered two days early. He immediately texts Ilya.
2:17 PM
To: Ilya R. (pool guy)
[attached: 1 photo]
The new gasket(?) is here! When are you free to come over?
2:18 PM
From: Ilya R. (pool guy)
Great news. I can be there tomorrow morning around 9.
Shane catches himself kicking his feet as he reads Ilya’s message, slamming his phone down on the couch to pull his mind back to reality.
He has a husband.
This guy, while extremely attractive, is 11 years younger than him. Not to mention, he probably isn’t even gay.
Shane really needs to get his shit together.
2:19 PM
To: Ilya R. (pool guy)
See you soon :)
Shane doesn’t make coffee often, he’s not a big fan of it. He prefers tea, especially a nice iced green tea.
But Ilya might like coffee, so Shane brews a pot.
“Hey! Good morning!” Shane answers the door with a little too much pep in his step. In comparison, Ilya looks quite exhausted. Maybe he’s not a morning person.
“Morning,” Ilya mumbles, plastering a polite smile on his face.
“Thank you for coming by so early. Do you want coffee?”
Ilya’s eyes light up at the offer, a hint of fondness flashing across his face. He nods and follows Shane into the kitchen.
Shane hands him a mug, another handmade piece of kitchenware. It’s not perfect, a few bumps and ridges scatter across the side of it, attempted to be hidden by the paint job.
Shane made it in a beginner’s ceramics class, yet another attempt at spending time with Jason that ended up with him being ditched and going alone. He somehow had an excuse to miss every single class over the course of six weeks. Shane stopped trying to argue after week two.
“Did you make this?” Ilya asks.
“I did. Is it that bad?”
“No, not at all,” Ilya smiles, his gaze meeting Shane’s when he says, “is very pretty.”
“Oh,” Shane breathes out, “thank you.”
In an attempt to hide the blush creeping across his cheeks, Shane turns to the fridge to pull out some creamer for the coffee. Ilya takes it from him gratefully, letting his fingers brush over Shane’s on the handoff.
Okay, he can’t really blame this on overheating. Surely, that was intentional. It had to be.
Ilya’s eyes flick to his hand, then back to his eyes, holding his gaze for a moment before letting out a quiet hum and turning away. He finishes preparing his coffee and, instead of handing the creamer back to Shane, moves to open the fridge himself.
Shane’s breath catches, the warmth of Ilya’s body being mere inches from his—so close he could touch him, maybe even kiss him.
Their shoulders brush as Ilya sets the creamer back in its designated spot and shuts the fridge.
The warmth is gone as quickly as it was there.
Ilya takes two steps back to where he was previously standing at the kitchen island, stirring his coffee and taking a sip.
“You’re not wearing your wedding ring,” he comments, locking eyes with Shane over the brim of the cup as he brings it to his lips again.
“Oh.”
“Oh,” Ilya teases him with a grin, raising his eyebrows.
“I guess I’m not.”
“I guess you’re not.”
The room is quiet for an uncomfortable beat, both of them analyzing the situation with darting eyes as they silently plot the next move.
Ilya sets the ceramic mug on the counter and takes a slow step toward Shane, holding his gaze as he inches closer.
“Do you need to do laundry again today?” Ilya asks, voice low and bordering on a whisper.
Shane freezes.
“Um—”
“I could use an extra set of hands fixing the pool pump, if you don’t mind.” Ilya shifts closer.
“Yeah, absolutely. I-I don’t have anything to do today.” Shane is afraid to breathe, their bodies close enough to touch if either of them tilted the tiniest bit.
“Great,” Ilya grins, “I’ll meet you outside. Bring the package, please.”
With a wink that sends a shiver down Shane’s spine, Ilya turns and walks away.
Once Ilya makes it out to the patio, out of sight and earshot, Shane wipes both hands down his face and groans.
“Holy shit.”
He plants his elbows on the counter and buries his head in his hands. He is really about to cheat on his husband, he committed to not wearing his ring. At least while Jason isn’t home.
He also committed to letting Ilya make the first move, if he chooses to, but Shane won’t turn him down if he does.
Helping Ilya replace the gasket is one of the hardest things Shane has ever done in his life. Not because the replacement process is difficult, it’s actually fairly easy, but because it takes every ounce of self control not to pounce on Ilya like a starving animal.
It’s nearly impossible to tear his eyes away from Ilya’s hands as he works, veins and tendons flexing in a delicious rhythm with each movement. He’s saying a bunch of different words, identifying each part of the pool pump for Shane, but none of the information sticks.
Ilya tries explaining the difference between sand filters and cartridge filters, and Shane’s only thought is holy shit I need to suck your dick.
As some sort of cosmic cruelty, Shane also realizes that the ventilation to the pool shed is quite scarce and every passing second makes the room feel stuffier. He can feel the clamminess of his skin, it’s borderline uncomfortable. Ilya, however, seems completely unbothered, even as sweat drips from the loose curls along his forehead.
Once everything with the pump is done, Ilya stands up with a proud look on his face. His face is flushed from the heat, chest rising and falling as he takes a deep breath. Shane barely has time to think before Ilya is grabbing the back of his own collar and pulling his shirt over his head, leaving his chiseled body on full display.
Shane tries not to stare. Really, he does. It’s just really hard not to, especially when his muscles flex in such a mesmerizing way. His body is like a magnetic field for Shane’s eyes, never allowing his gaze to drift away.
A beat of silence passes, Shane feels on the verge of drooling the entire time. Ilya clears his throat, Shane quickly looking up at his face with a panicked expression.
“What?” Ilya raises an eyebrow, voice smug and teasing.
“Um, nothing. I should… head inside, probably.” Shane takes a shaky step back, fighting every nerve telling him to run and hide.
“More laundry to do?”
The look on Ilya’s face makes Shane’s stomach drop. He definitely knows. There is no doubt that he saw Shane on that first day.
“I—”
“Shane,” Ilya cuts him off and takes slow, predatory steps until Shane’s back hits the wall of the shed.
“Did you…”
“See you getting yourself off to the sight of me cleaning your pool? Humping your pillow like a desperate little slut?”
Shane’s head falls back against the wall, a small moan slipping out of his mouth at Ilya’s degrading words.
“It wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me, Mr. Hollander.”
Ilya lifts a hand to caress Shane’s jaw with his thumb, trailing his fingers down the side of his neck. Goosebumps rise on Shane’s skin as he shivers, a stark contrast to the warm weather engulfing them.
“What were you thinking about?” Ilya leans forward so that his lips graze Shane’s ear as he speaks, voice low and daunting.
“You,” Shane breathes out quietly.
Ilya chuckles deeply, almost mocking in nature.
“Obviously, yes. I saw you watching. Tell me what you thought about me doing.”
Ilya crowds closer into his space, caressing Shane’s sides as he begins pressing kisses to his jaw.
“I thought—oh fuck—about you, um, fucking me.” Shane melts under the affection, quiet whines breaking through the words as Ilya slots a thigh between his legs.
“Tell me more.”
“I thought about your body on top of mine… scratching down your back, you biting my shoulder when you fucked me, how your tongue would feel.”
Ilya pitches his hips forward, letting out a quiet groan and grinding his thigh into Shane’s crotch. He leans back slightly, eyes darting to Shane’s lips in a silent request.
They melt into each other once Shane nods, tongues sliding together and teeth scraping with passion. Shane lets his hands roam over Ilya’s body, tracing every crease and ridge under his fingertips. It isn’t until they break apart to breathe that Shane’s conscience catches up to him.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he whispers against Ilya’s lips, fighting the urge to lean back in. “I’m married.”
“And where is your husband now, hm?” Ilya toys with the buttons of Shane’s shirt, unbuttoning them one by one, slow enough for Shane to stop him if he wanted. “And your ring?”
Shane’s tongue feels heavy, his head starting to spin. Maybe it’s the heat, the thick air of the pool shed, but it’s hard to deny Ilya’s influence this time.
“Shane.” Ilya grabs his chin to look him in the eyes. “Tell me to stop, if that is what you want.”
Shane crashes their lips back together and grinds down against Ilya’s thigh. “Don’t stop. Please.”
Shane’s shirt drops to the ground as Ilya’s hands move to unbutton his shorts, barely getting the zipper down before shoving a hand inside the waistband of his briefs. The glide of Ilya’s sweaty hand on Shane’s cock is delicious, already shooting heat down to his toes.
All inhibitions are lost, Shane can’t bring himself to second guess his decisions at this point, and slides his fingers along the waistband of Ilya’s athletic shorts. One last steadying inhale is all he needs to drag the offending fabric down Ilya’s thighs, his briefs quickly following.
Jesus fuck, he’s big. Definitely bigger than Jason. Shane’s mouth waters at the sight, eager to get his mouth around him as soon as possible. Without thinking, he drops to his knees before he can talk himself out of it.
It has been entirely too long since Shane was able to lavish cock like this, taking his time to lick from his balls up the entire length until he can suckle on the tip, sliding his tongue through the slit.
Ilya’s arm shoots out to brace himself on the wall, the other reaching to bury his hand in Shane’s hair as he lets out a strangled moan.
Not to toot his own horn, but Shane has always been proud of his blowjob skills. At the risk of sounding arrogant, he could take someone apart with his mouth within seconds. The sounds coming from Ilya give him another ego boost, the corners of his lips perking up where they stretch around the girth. He hollows his cheeks and locks eyes with Ilya as the head bumps the back of his throat, priding himself in the way he’s trained his gag reflex.
“прекрасный.”
Shane has no idea what that means, but Ilya’s voice sounds incredibly sexy when he speaks Russian. The hand in his hair tightens as he moans around the cock in his mouth, drool spilling out and sliding down his chin with every bob of his head.
The warm weight in his mouth is gone too soon, Ilya yanking him fully off before gripping the base of his cock with his own hand.
“Sorry, just… fuck,” Ilya pants, squeezing his eyes shut as he fights off his orgasm. Another boost to Shane’s ego.
Ilya grips Shane’s biceps and pulls him up to stand again, reconnecting their lips in a sloppy kiss that is more tongue than anything. He shimmies Shane’s shorts and briefs down until they pool at his ankles. Their cocks brush slightly, eliciting a groan from both men.
Ilya steps impossibly closer, transferring some of the leftover spit on his cock over to Shane’s length and wrapping a hand around both of them.
“Oh my god,” Shane moans, tilting his head back as Ilya strokes them in tandem.
Ilya is quick to latch onto the exposed skin now that he has better access, scraping his teeth along Shane’s jaw and swiping his tongue over the sensitive spot just under his ear.
“You look so perfect sucking cock, how does your husband not have you on your knees all the time?” Ilya asks against Shane’s ear, his bottom lip brushing against the lobe.
Shane can already feel himself getting closer, thick beads of precum dripping from his slit to coat Ilya’s fingers.
“I try, but he never—fuck—never wants to. He’s always too tired.”
Ilya’s hand speeds up, twisting his wrist on each upstroke and squeezing to push their tips together.
“You deserve better than that. I would never let you leave my bed if you were mine.”
Any logical person would pull away. Well, to be fair, logic would’ve prevented Shane from ending up here in the first place. Logic hasn’t quite been at the forefront of his mind since he laid eyes on Ilya the first time. Instead, the word mine draws out a high whine that Shane didn’t realize he was holding in.
“Please,” Shane whimpers, not entirely sure what he’s even begging for.
“Please, what? Tell me.”
“Ilya, I-I’m gonna… oh fuck.”
“Come on, Mr. Hollander. Show me how good I make you feel.”
Shane’s eyes fly open as he immediately releases, not expecting that name to affect him as much as it did. The moan he lets out brings Ilya over the edge, burying his face in Shane’s neck as he mouths at the skin.
“Fuck, sorry,” Shane cringes once he looks down at the mess across their bodies, most of it belonging to him. “It’s been a while since someone else has… y'know."
“Your husband doesn’t touch you?” Ilya asks with a hint of anger, gripping Shane’s hip with his clean hand.
“Not really. We barely even kiss anymore.”
Ilya hums, studying Shane’s face with knitted eyebrows. “Fucking idiot. More for me, then.”
Shane snorts and blushes, but Ilya kisses him again before he can respond. It’s softer this time, less rushed. Ilya takes his time exploring every part of Shane’s mouth with his tongue, his clean hand resting on the small of Shane’s back.
“I feel gross,” Shane mumbles against Ilya’s lips, turning their kiss into mirrored smiles that occasionally brush as they both laugh lightly.
“I think that if we shower together, you will save money on water that you can use for the pool.”
“I mean, my husband pays for it, so…”
“So we should still shower together.”
A bomb would need to be strapped to his chest for Shane to say no. Even then, he might risk it. However, playing this little game with Ilya is fun. The mention of his husband fills him with both shame and adrenaline, his softening cock twitching in interest.
“Come on, Mr. Hollander, let me fuck you in the house that your husband pays for. I can touch you in all of the ways you’ve been missing.”
Within a matter of seconds, they’re gathering their clothes and rushing upstairs to the master bedroom. Shane drags Ilya into a kiss by the back of his neck, walking backwards to blindly lead him into the ensuite. They only break apart for Shane to turn on the shower, then again for him to check the temperature and drag Ilya inside.
They do manage to actually clean each other off. Shane massages every inch of Ilya’s hair with some of Jason’s stupidly expensive shampoo, kissing him softly as he tilts Ilya’s head back to rinse it out. They exchange fond looks while cleaning their bodies, only looking away to wash each other's backs.
Once they’ve helped one another dry off afterwards, Shane offers Ilya some of his clothes while the washing machine runs, which he happily accepts.
They’re about the same height, very similar build. Ilya’s shoulders are the tiniest bit wider, but it’s still noticeable how the fabric stretches over them.
Shane tries not to stare and immediately come in his pants.
Deep down, he also feels… something that he can’t quite decipher. A sense of domesticity, maybe. A glimpse into another life. Maybe not with this big of a house, but at least living in a relationship with someone that actually enjoyed his company. Someone that would go to ceramics class with him.
They spend time under the shaded portion of the back patio, enjoying the beautiful weather while their clothes cycle. It’s a lot more pleasant than Shane expected, fully aware that it’s been a long time since he bonded with someone like this.
Ilya tells him about Russia, opening up about his family, the tragedy of his mother. Shane learns about Svetlana, Ilya’s best friend that encouraged him to leave Russia with her at the age of eighteen. He learns that after his mother’s death, Ilya lost control of his life and was actively on a downward spiral until Svetlana made him get his shit together. Moving to Canada was a last resort, an opportunity to hopefully steer him in the right direction.
Once their clothes are switched over to the dryer, the tables turn. Shane isn’t as open about sharing information unprompted, but Ilya constantly has a new question to ask, eager to learn more.
Shane tells him about growing up in Canada, about meeting Jason as a teenager, fully believing he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. He tells him about how they used to take trips and actually act like they were in love, but it quickly started to fizzle out. Reluctantly, he tells him about the failed attempts of rekindling the relationship, the various hobbies and classes that Shane constantly ended up doing alone.
When it looks like Ilya might break his own teeth from how hard his jaw is clenched, Shane pivots the conversation to his family. He tells Ilya about his mother, how she runs a PR agency like it’s the navy, and how that job opportunity has always been waiting for Shane if he ever chose to do it—if he ever chose to leave Jason.
They lose track of time, only realizing how long they’d been talking when the sun starts to set and both of their stomachs growl.
“So, Jason is gone for, like, six more days… if you want to stay. I mean—for dinner, if you want. You probably have plans, though.”
Shane opens his mouth to continue rambling, but Ilya cuts him off with a soft kiss.
“I would love to stay, however long you’ll have me,” Ilya says softly, giving him one more kiss for good measure.
The next several weeks continue on like this. For a while, Shane always finds some pool-related reason to ask Ilya to come over. It doesn’t last very long, eventually he runs out of excuses. By the seventh invitation, Shane decides to skip the pool talk and just calls Ilya as soon as Jason’s plane takes off.
After four months of experiencing the most blissful affair that Shane could’ve asked for, Ilya finally brings an overnight bag.
Jason is in Europe for two weeks to attend some extravagant tech conference, and Ilya plans to stay at the house for the entire duration of the trip.
The door barely clicks shut before Ilya is picking Shane up with a grip under his thighs and carrying him over to the nearest surface, which ends up being the dining room table.
“Careful! Don’t break my new vase,” Shane grins, pushing at Ilya’s chest but keeping his legs locked around his waist.
Ilya leans up slightly and looks at the cylindrical ceramic flower vase, hand-painted with various shades of grey in a striped pattern.
“Did you make this?” Ilya asks with so much adoration in his eyes that Shane thinks he might explode.
“I did, yeah. I decided to keep going to ceramics class every other week. It gives me something to do that’ll get me out of the house.”
“You go alone?”
Shane blushes at the intensity of Ilya’s gaze, sighing as he nods.
“It’s fun. I’m friends with some of the other regulars, the instructor is nice. I think I’ve almost convinced Rose to come with me, at least once.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Shane scans Ilya’s face for any sign of amusement, or discomfort, or just… anything, really, that would point to Ilya making fun of him. He finds nothing but a sincere severity in his eyes and a soft smile.
“Do you want to come with me?”
“Why would I be asking if I didn’t want to?” Ilya raises an eyebrow.
“Right,” Shane chuckles, more at himself than at Ilya. “Just— I don’t know. Don’t feel, like, pressured to go or anything.”
“Shane,” Ilya says gently but firm enough to grab his full attention. “I want to do things with you.”
“Technically, you already do,” Shane comments with a smirk.
“Well, yes, I do things to you. So many wonderful things.” Ilya trails a few sloppy kisses down Shane’s neck for emphasis before pulling back again. “But I also want to do other things with you, even the boring things like making flower pots.”
Shane feels his entire world flip upside down, tears suddenly spilling from the corners of his eyes before he even feels them form. He suddenly feels twenty years old again, flooded with that familiar tightening in his chest that he hasn’t felt in a very, very long time.
“Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?” Ilya’s voice breaks through the pounding of Shane’s heart in his ears.
“No, no. Not at all,” Shane answers immediately, “I’m just… really happy.”
Ilya beams, leaning down to kiss him until they’re both breathless.
“Please fuck me,” Shane mumbles against Ilya’s lips.
“Bedroom?”
Shane shakes his head. “Here. I can’t wait.”
Ilya groans against his mouth, sucking on his tongue before trailing across his jaw.
“We don’t have lube,” he mumbles between kisses down Shane’s neck.
“We don’t need it.”
Ilya stops and pulls back to give him a bewildered look, scrunching his eyebrows together.
“I, uh, prepped… before you got here,” Shane clarifies. A surprised yelp erupts from him as Ilya drags him toward the edge of the table, quickly tugging his pants and briefs down to his ankles.
Just as Ilya flips Shane over to flatten his torso atop the table, his phone starts ringing from the pocket of his discarded pants. They share a panicked look before Ilya leans down to grab it.
“It’s your husband.”
“Fuck, why is he calling me?” Shane grabs the phone and stares down at the screen. “Hold on, give me a minute to make sure it’s not an emergency.”
Ilya pouts, earning an eye roll from Shane as he hits accept on the call.
“Hey, Jay, what’s up? How was your flight?”
Shane tries to pay attention to Jason’s answer, but is quickly distracted by Ilya pushing between his shoulders to bend his body back over the table.
He shoots a glare over his shoulder and silently mouths, “what are you doing?"
Ilya places the side of his index finger against his lips to signal for Shane to keep quiet. His jaw drops when he looks down and sees the plug nestled in Shane’s ass, a barely audible groan slipping out.
“And then, as soon as I landed, I realized that I left the flash drive on my desk!” Jason says.
“Oh shit,” Shane whimpers as Ilya tugs out the plug and replaces it with his tongue.
“I know, right? Luckily, my presentation isn’t until next week.”
Shane bites the inside of his cheek raw trying to keep quiet, Ilya’s tongue fucking in and out of his stretched hole with feverish desperation.
“Anyway, I need you to mail it to me. Express shipping, of course. It’s in my office, should be laying to the left of my keyboard.”
A ‘please’ wouldn’t kill you, Shane thinks.
Apparently, Ilya shares the same sentiment, and pulls his tongue out just to scoff before diving back in. He gives one more deep lick, shoving his tongue all the way inside and curling the end of it against the rim as he pulls away.
“Y-Yes, babe. I can do that, no worries,” Shane chokes out, sucking in a shaky breath as the tip of Ilya’s cock taps against his hole.
“Why do you sound so out of breath?”
Shane clenches down at the same time that Ilya fully sinks in, biting down on his fist to keep from screaming into the phone. Despite Ilya lathering him with his tongue, the lack of fresh lube causes a faint drag, a delicious burn that Shane sometimes craves.
Ilya pulls out halfway and looks down at where they’re connected, slightly tilting his hips to get a better view. One hand moves to cradle the underside of his cock as he spits where Shane’s rim is stretched around him.
“Sorry, um,” Shane chokes out, struggling to steady his breath, “I just finished my workout. Cardio day, you know how it is.”
Ilya snorts quietly behind him, resting his hands on the small of Shane’s back as he finds a rhythm. He goes slow enough to prevent the sound of skin slapping, but presses in deep enough that Shane’s thighs dig into the edge of the table.
“Ah, yeah, I get it. Don’t forget to try out the protein powder my buddy Oliver gave me. It has all sorts of…”
Jason starts listing off various ingredients and vitamins, stuff he knows (or, should know) Shane refuses to consume. He’s very particular about what he puts in his body.
He can’t bring himself to feel angry, not when Ilya is pressing against his prostate relentlessly and grinding his hips every couple of thrusts.
Ilya takes the phone and puts it on speaker before tugging Shane up by his hair, pressing his torso against his back as Jason’s voice keeps rambling in the distance.
“Tell him how it feels,” Ilya whispers against Shane’s ear.
“So good. So fucking good,” Shane groans, reaching a hand behind him to grip the back of Ilya’s neck.
“Oh, wow! So you’ve tried it already? I didn’t realize it was… that great. I’ll have to try some whenever I’m home.”
Shane is partly glad that he married such an oblivious, self-centered asshole that loves to talk about himself.
“I want to hear a story,” Ilya purrs quietly, “Ask him something boring since you love it so much. That’s why you married him, huh? So you can live a boring life together?”
Shane is also partly glad that he hired an attentive, sexy asshole that knows exactly how to get him off.
“H-Hey, Jay, I’m actually gonna make myself one of those protein shakes. I’ll put myself on mute so the blender doesn’t bother you. Why don’t you tell me about your presentation?” Shane asks, knowing Jason will agree. If anyone loves to talk about themself, it’s his arrogant husband.
“Didn’t I show it to you before I left? You probably weren’t paying attention. Fine, any practice is helpful, I guess…”
Ilya mutes the microphone before Shane can argue and speeds up his thrusts as Jason’s voice fades into the back of his mind.
“How much time do we have?” Ilya asks, still quiet despite the call being muted.
“Ten minutes, maybe fifteen if he goes on the same tangent about the stupid fucking puns that he hid in the software coding.”
“You really know how to pick them.”
“Can you please just shut up and fuck me?”
As predicted, Jason starts talking about his terrible coding puns very proudly. Shane did, in fact, pay attention and remembers watching his presentation before he left. He’s still a good husband—at least in that aspect.
Ilya can sense Shane getting lost in his own head, he’s developed an ability to read him over the last couple of months. He slides two fingers into Shane’s mouth, which are happily accepted with a broken whimper.
Ilya wraps his free arm around Shane’s chest to keep their bodies pressed together, slowly building his rhythm up until Jason’s voice is drowned out by the sound of their hips colliding and Shane moaning around Ilya’s fingers.
“That fucking asshole does not deserve you. He has not even asked how your day is, what you are doing. He does not care about you.” Ilya moves the hand holding Shane’s chest to grip his throat, squeezing at the perfectly practiced pressure that Shane coached him through. “не так, как я.”
“He’s almost done,” Shane chokes out, “I’m so close, Ilya. Please don’t stop.”
Ilya immediately stills his hips and grips the base of Shane’s cock, groaning at the way Shane clenches around him.
“Hold it until he’s done, then figure out how to end the call. I need to hear you,” Ilya mumbles against the skin of Shane’s neck, biting down on the junction where it meets his shoulder.
Jason talks for three more minutes, and Shane feels every single second of it deep in his spine as he fights off his orgasm. Ilya never slows his thrusts, aiming relentlessly at his prostate.
Ilya stills his hips again once Jason stops talking, buried as deep as possible inside of Shane. He bends their bodies over and presses Shane against the table once more, reaching for the phone and bringing it closer to where his face is pressed against the wooden surface.
“Say goodbye to your husband, Mr. Hollander. Don’t forget to tell him you love him,” Ilya whispers, kissing the corner of Shane’s mouth before unmuting the call.
“Good job, babe,” Shane says as steadily as possible. He waits for a thanks, any sign of gratitude, but receives no such acknowledgment. Only silence. “Um, I’m gonna take a nap after I finish this shake. You should probably go to sleep too, big day tomorrow.”
“If you say so.” Jason yawns, almost on cue just to prove Shane right.
“Goodnight, Jay. Good luck tomorrow. Love you.” The last two words leave a disgusting taste in his mouth. Unfortunately, he believes it might be for the wrong reasons. He doesn’t feel guilty for cheating, he feels guilty for saying those words to someone other than… well, someone that is definitely not his husband.
“Talk soon,” is all Jason says before hanging up.
Ilya scoffs and slides the phone away, leaning over to kiss the side of Shane’s face.
“I fucking hate that guy,” he says, close enough that his lips brush against Shane’s cheekbone. “You deserve better.”
“Like who?” Shane challenges.
“Don’t make me say it.”
Shane turns to look at Ilya over his shoulder, weaponizing the freckles that he constantly obsesses over.
Ilya curses under his breath in Russian, something that Shane can’t quite catch, then locks eyes with him. “You deserve me. I would treat you much better than him. You know this, you cannot deny it. You should be mine.”
Shane drops his head to rest on his forearms and lets out an obscene noise that echoes through the room.
“If—fuck—if I agree to leave him, can I please come?” Shane asks before his brain catches up to his mouth.
Ilya’s rhythm falters for a second, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his eyes widen. “Yes.”
“I’ll leave him,” Shane says without hesitation, “only for you. I only want you. Let me come now please.”
Ilya wraps his arms around Shane and yanks his body up from the table, flipping him around on his back and laying him down again gently.
“Let go for me, sweetheart. Я тебя люблю,” Ilya mumbles the last part against Shane’s lips as he moves in for a kiss, his thrusts growing sloppy and shallow.
Shane digs his nails into Ilya’s back as he releases between their bodies, staring up at him like he hung the moon. Ilya screws his eyes shut as he fills Shane shortly after.
After cleaning up, they toss their clothes in the hamper and lounge around in Shane’s (and, technically, Jason’s) bed, only wearing their briefs.
“What did you say back there in Russian?” Shane asks, finally breaking the silence as he traces invisible lines connecting the moles on Ilya’s body.
“Can we talk about it after you leave your husband?” Ilya, unfortunately, has a very convincing face that always brings Shane to his knees.
“That’s not terrifying to hear at all,” Shane quips back sarcastically. “Fine. Whatever. But you have to tell me what it means as soon as the divorce is finalized.”
“Deal.”