Archive of Our Own

It was the first time Shane used a spare key to enter his boyfriend’s apartment. Ilya had given it to him during their last meeting, a little over a month ago at this point. It was an unusually long time between visits after Ilya’s move to Ottawa. The hockey player took his shoes off, placing them by the rest of Ilya’s. The house was classy, but a bit more cozy than the one from Boston. There was a vague smoky and earthy aroma in the air, similar to cedarwood, which Shane recognized from his boyfriend’s rugged cologne. He breathed in the comforting scent as he made his way upstairs.

Shane entered the empty bedroom, setting his duffel bag down by the nightstand. He knew he would beat Ilya home based on what he texted earlier, so he had nothing else to do except get comfortable. Until he noticed some clothes that were in a crumpled pile on the floor. Ilya must’ve been so tired (or lazy) that he abandoned yesterday’s clothes in a thoughtless bundle, just a ways away from the laundry basket in the closet. Shane got on his knees in front of the clothes. He picked up a tank top, taking a second to lift it up to his nose. He closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar cedarwood scent, along with sweat, but it was an aroma unique to Ilya, salty and sweet. Shane pulled it away from himself and carefully folded the tank, starting a new pile. But when he picked up a pair of shorts, something caught his attention, his eyes widening at the sight.

A jockstrap had been hiding underneath the other fabric. It was black, as most things seemed to be in Ilya’s athletic wardrobe. Shane put down the shorts, staring at the underwear. They had a Calvin Klein branded waistband, and Shane briefly thought about if his commercial played any part in the purchasing choice, his heart jumping at the idea. He knew they were good for support during physical activity, but he couldn’t recall ever seeing Ilya in a pair. A mental image appeared of Ilya wearing nothing but the jockstrap, cupping his front and leaving his ass exposed, the straps helping to define it. Of Ilya taking it off after a long work out or game to go shower. Any reasonable part of Shane’s brain was overtaken by a sudden urge.

To anyone else, it would have smelled nothing short of gross. But to Shane, the sweat and musk that coated the jockstrap was unmistakably Ilya’s. He felt his cock twitch in his pants, rubbing against his boxers. Keeping the garment up to his nose, his other hand reached down to lightly squeeze himself through his sweatpants, moaning into the underwear. He dipped his hand underneath to palm himself through his boxers, hips rolling. Shane knew he was getting himself worked up too early, but Ilya’s scent had seeped its way into his nostrils, into his skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body, aching that he couldn’t touch his boyfriend yet. Ilya consumed any previous thoughts, and Shane couldn’t wait any longer. But if he was going to spoil himself, he might as well do it properly.

Shane pulled the jockstrap away and slid his hand out of his pants. With shaking fingers, he took his phone out of his pocket to check the time and recheck Ilya’s message. Will be back at 6, let yourself in, his boyfriend had texted. If he was quick, he should be able to finish and clean up as if nothing happened. He should be able to fuck himself in Ilya’s bed as if nothing happened. The thought made his head swim.

Shane stood up, threw the jockstrap on the bed, and scampered over to his duffel bag. He unzipped a hidden pocket and pulled out a black drawstring bag. He walked back over to the bed and the bag joined the underwear. He studied the bed for a second, the blanket only disturbed where Ilya had gotten up that morning. “Shit,” Shane murmured, and he ran to get a towel from the bathroom. Once retrieved, he slid the items over and laid it down, praying Ilya wouldn’t think about the extra item in his laundry later. Finally, Shane tore off his sweatpants and boxers. With a bit more consideration, he took off his shirt as well. He folded them in quick succession and placed the pile on the nightstand, then opened the drawer to pull out the bottle of lube he knew he’d find. He poured the lubricant on shaking fingers, then got into position.

Shane never shook so much before the act, but any stoic composure was long gone, the nerves too much to contain. He got on the right side, which had become his side, of the bed. He set trembling knees down at the end of the towel, bent over, and propped himself up with one elbow, which brushed against the other end of the towel. He arched his ass up and reached behind him with lubricated fingers, pressing in with just enough speed and force that it didn’t burn. He bit his lip, then realized there was no reason to keep quiet, and let go. He grabbed the jockstrap and pressed it against his nose again, sucking in Ilya’s musk for encouragement as he curled and flexed his fingers. Precum dribbled onto the towel below him.

Once he was opened up enough, Shane carefully extracted his fingers and put the underwear down. He leaned over from his bent position to grab the drawstring bag. He opened it, pulling out a dildo. He discarded the bag with his clothes and grabbed the lube again, pouring a generous amount onto his palm and spreading it along the length of the toy. He cursed at himself for chickening out of asking Ilya to make a mold of his dick, but this would have to do.

Shane got back into his former position, lining up the tip of the dildo to his entrance. His hole pulsed around it as he pushed in. He let out a low moan as he planted the side of his face into the sheets. It wasn’t as big as Ilya, but it filled him up well. As he got a slow, steady pace going, he once again grabbed the jockstrap in a balled fist and breathed in his boyfriend’s scent. He closed his eyes as he got a matching rhythm between his movements and deep breathing. As Ilya’s musk wrapped around him, he was all Shane could think about. Imagery of fantasies flashed in his mind, moving between them like a montage. He dreamed about Ilya making him suck him through his jockstrap in a locker room, lapping at him like a dog, the barrier making him work overtime. He thought about Ilya coming in them and making him lick them clean. About what Ilya would do if he caught him like this. The thought was equal parts humiliating and exhilarating.

“Fuck me, Ilya.” Shane groaned, barely muffled by the garment. The toy was pounding into him now at a quick and brutal pace. He kept his face pressed down into the underwear as he reached underneath to jerk himself off. He was so close, the pressure building in his core. Fuck, he was going to come on Ilya’s towel, in Ilya’s bed—

“Ни хрена себе.”

All at once, Shane whipped his head over his shoulder with widened eyes, stopped his movements, then visibly shook from the popping pleasure all over his body from the sudden stillness. It felt like a shotgun with a bullet stuck in the barrel, causing it to explode with the next shot. He barely caught a glimpse of Ilya’s shocked face before he whimpered and groaned and collapsed, pathetic precum leaking onto his stomach and the towel.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m, m’sorry,” Shane blurted out profanities and apologies as he tried to shift to a less revealing position, but there really wasn’t any angle he wouldn’t be exposed from. He more or less became a hermit, tucking his legs in, covering his face with one arm, hiding the jockstrap with the other, and facing away from Ilya, who still had a perfect view of the dildo lodged inside him.

Ilya…laughed. A breathy chuckle out of bewilderment, reminiscent of when Shane told him he had hired a stylist. Shane wanted to curl up into himself and die, or stuff himself into his duffel bag and be shipped off to a foreign country. Yet his cock twitched as he heard Ilya close the door and walk around him. He could feel his boyfriend’s eyes burning into every part of him.

“You couldn’t wait for me? Missed me that much?” Ilya questioned, smirk audible.

Shane lowered his arm from his face, sternly meeting Ilya’s amused gaze, who was standing at the other end of the bed. “I thought you said you’d be back at 6,” he grumbled.

“Meeting finished early.” Ilya punctuated every word like it was obvious. His smirk dropped as his eyes met with something peeking out from underneath Shane’s arms.

He pointed towards it with a nod of his head, looking back up at Shane. “What is that?”

Shane didn’t move, but his eyes widened as he looked back and forth between the item and Ilya.

Ilya waited a second, then took a seat next to Shane, one knee up to his chest. He leaned over and pinched the garment between his fingers, then slowly pulled it out, as if he was taking food from a sleeping bear. Another breathy chuckle escaped him as he held up the jockstrap for both of them to see. Shane’s freckled face was more pink and hot than it had ever been that evening.

“You извращенец.” Ilya spat as he threw the underwear at Shane’s face. It landed on his nose and slid off to rest at his chin. “So impatient,” he teased, leaning back.

“Fuck off, I was picking up after you.” Shane tried, but heard how unassertive he sounded, knowing he had no right to retort. He pushed the jockstrap so it was further away from his face, just by a little.

“So you could fuck yourself in my bed, yes? Get my towel all dirty?” Ilya gestured at the stained cloth. “Want to come on all my other things, too?”

They both noticed how Shane’s cock reacted at the proposal.

Ilya leaned over to get a good look at the dildo still inside his boyfriend. He grabbed the base of it and pulled it almost all the way out, eliciting a gasp out of Shane. “Is not even as big as me,” he grumbled.

“Maybe you could—ah, fuck!” Shane yelled as the toy was quickly pushed back into place. He threw his head back, then down, forehead pressed into the sheets.

Ilya sat against the pillows as his boyfriend caught his breath. Shane looked up at him when he realized he wasn’t doing anything. Ilya mirrored his look of confusion. “Well,” Ilya gestured to the dildo with an open hand, “carry on.”

Shane’s eyes widened. “What?” He breathed out, eyebrows furrowing. “Fuck you, and fuck me already.” He demanded, exasperated.

“Looks like you were doing fine without me.” Ilya responded, a tinge of jealousy lacing his voice. How the fuck did he manage to be jealous over a toy?

“But I want you now.” Shane pleaded, feign frustration turning into desperation.

“And I want you to finish what you started.”

Shane’s head dipped in defeat. He had preformed for Ilya, sure, and they had used toys before, but nothing quite like this had ever occurred. Still, his cock ached against his stomach, waiting for release. With his eyes shut, Shane got back on his knees, chest pressed to the towel, ass arched in the air. He reached around to grab the base of the toy again, and continued to move it in a slow pace.

Shane didn’t know whether to acknowledge or ignore the man next to him. At some point, he looked up through half-lidded eyes. Ilya was still sitting back casually, except now his cock was outlined through his sweatpants. He had a perfect view of Shane’s face, half buried in the sheets, sweat gathered at his forehead and his mouth hung open, letting out airy moans every push. Saliva gathered at the corner of his lips. Ilya could also see the toy disappear and reappear as it slid in and out.

It didn’t take long for Shane’s movements to speed up. He shut his eyes as his eyebrows screwed together in pleasure, mouth forming a snarl as he went faster. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, reaching a hand down to wrap around his cock. He tried to time the motions with the dildo, but was going too fast to care.

“Doing this because you were thinking about me, yes? Working yourself open just at the thought of me.” Ilya’s words seemed to come from all around the room, circling Shane like clouds before wrapping tightly around his ears. “Impatient slut.”

“Close.” Shane warned in a raspy voice, movements now at the same pace they were right before he had been interrupted earlier.

Suddenly, Ilya’s jockstrap was pushed against his face, forced even closer by a hand on the back of his head. Shane’s eyes shot open and he inhaled deep from the shock. Ilya had moved in closer, leaning down to look at Shane, who fought to keep his eyes open. “What else gets you off, huh? The smell of my jersey, my hair, my armpits?” He interrogated.

“All of you.” Shane admitted, lips and tongue brushing against the fabric. “All of you.”

With Ilya’s smell and hands and voice all around him, Shane came with barely muffled groans, body shaking from the force. He pumped his cock as it spurted out white sticky strings, all over his hand and the towel. He pushed the toy in slow and deep to carry him through. His legs were trembling again as he finished.

Once he stilled, Ilya removed the grip he had around Shane, who appreciated the fresh breath of air. He laid there for a minute, catching his breath. His face felt warm, more of a pleasant glow compared to the burning from embarrassment earlier. After he floated back to earth, he carefully pulled out the toy and placed it on a corner of the towel. He rolled over to rest on his side, not wanting to lay down on the ruined area of the towel, as if he suddenly cared about cleanliness. He slowly blinked up at Ilya, who had been watching him with dark, hooded eyes. He was more at Shane’s level now, but propped himself up on his elbows, looming over the other man. He was pitching a tent in his sweatpants, and Shane briefly thought about lazily rolling his tongue over it.

Ilya leaned down to kiss Shane softly, all over his face, cupping his cheek with the hand not holding the jockstrap. “That was hot,” he praised between kisses, “you should miss me more often.” Shane’s lips quirked up at the comments.

Ilya pulled away, grabbing the towel and toy. “I’m going to clean these, get you water, then do whatever I want to you. Ok?”

Shane hummed in agreement, closing his eyes as Ilya went to do what he promised.

The next time Shane opened his duffel bag, he found a pair of his boyfriend’s underwear staring back at him.