Work Text:
Ilya sleeps with his mouth hanging slightly open. Shane nudges it closed with gentle fingers and then waits ten seconds to watch his husband's lips stubbornly part again, just like he knew they would. He breathes out a quiet laugh that ruffles the curls framing Ilya's face, and a second one—just a tiny bit loud, harder to resist— when Ilya takes a sleepy, deep breath that morphs into a strident snore halfway in.
God, Shane loves him. Genuinely can't remember a time when he didn't, and is convinced that every little moment of his life before he and Ilya even met were all just unconscious steps toward this. Him. Them, together, cuddling naked in their shared bed, in their shared room, in their shared home where their dog, Anya, sleeps with the commodities of a real, human princess.
"Ilya," he calls softly, running a hand down Ilya's spine, then making the way back up with just his nails. "Baby."
The goosebumps on his skin help Ilya's body slowly shift from groggy pliancy to instinctive resistance. He hugs Shane's midsection tighter, squishing his face impossibly flat against his chest, and throws a leg over his hips as soon as he realizes what's going on. Same as every stupid Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning, when Shane abandons him for fucking early yoga.
"I'll be late."
"I hate you," Ilya grumbles, and bites Shane's pectoral to prove his point. Except he also briefly sucks the nipple into his mouth and peppers approximately a dozen kisses on Shane's sternum immediately after. "No. I'm not the problem. You don't love me, is more accurate."
"Right," Shane deadpans, already used to the dramatics. He threads his fingers in Ilya's hair, trying to tame his curls back to a tidier mop than the one their bed decided on for him. "Of course."
"Do you really have to go?" Ilya grumbles, like he isn't the sole reason Shane had to find a yoga studio to attend instead of following his usual routines at home. Every time he got into downward dog, Ilya started salivating, cock chubbing in his shorts, which made Shane's own mouth water, and then neither of them were able to concentrate on anything else. "You cannot skip?"
"Well, I pay for these classes, so. That'd be a waste."
"Shane, we're rich," Ilya lifts his head to pout at him. Shane cranes his neck to try and kiss it away, but Ilya twists off of him before he can. He shifts onto his side, facing the nightstand. "Wow. You really do not love me."
"Ilya."
Shane's very mature husband blows a raspberry at him. He chuckles.
"You're a child."
Ilya scoots even further away, dangerously close to the edge of the bed. "Now you insult me. Good boy Shane Hollander— right. All a big lie."
Shane bites his lips to try and reign in the absurdly enormous grin threatening to split his face in half, right before he performs a well-aimed push to Ilya's shoulder that sends him sprawling down to the floor. Ilya looks up at him with wide eyes, giving Shane a front row seat to the lustful growth of his pupils in real time.
Roughhousing is how the majority of their sex starts. Pushing, wrestling, rolling around on the bed or even the floor. It doesn't take long for it to get heated beyond their usual competitiveness— that's when Shane starts to chew on Ilya's neck like he's genuinely bloodthirsty and Ilya gets pretty fucking close to purring as best as humans can.
Immediately, Shane's heart starts beating a bit faster to match.
When Ilya pounces on him, Shane's already waiting for it. He puts his hands on Ilya's chest and pushes, laughing as his husband battles against him. Ilya slaps his hands off, dives to close the distance, then grumbles under his breath when Shane blocks him again somehow. The same choreography loops for the first few minutes, but it wanes, turning a half-hearted push and pull into just pulling each other closer.
"You're so mean to me," Ilya whispers, finally finding Shane's lips. Shane's smile is so big he ends up kissing more teeth than mouth. "You should say sorry."
Shane snorts. "Not when me being mean gets you this hard," he says, arching up to brush his own heat against Ilya's. "You're the one who should be apologizing, anyway. I'll miss the warm-up."
"Oh my God, Shane," Ilya whines, hiding into the curve of his neck and pressing his whole weight on his husband's body. "We both know you're not going to that stupid yoga class today."
Shane buries his face in Ilya's curls, breathes him in. Of course he's not going. It's been years of this— freedom, truth, a forever— and he still doesn't know how to resist the ever present itch under his skin to feel Ilya's warmth under his fingertips. Hasn't really tried to find out the answer, anyway. Shane is happy right where he is.
"We are young, naked and in love," Ilya continues. "Early mornings are for deeply romantic sex, everyone knows this."
"Who is everyone?"
Ilya lifts his head up to look at him with a smirk. "Do you not speak English? Everyone is everyone."
"Shut up."
Shane grabs a fistful of hair and tugs him in for a bruising kiss. He opens his legs wider so Ilya can immediately shift to fit himself in between, perch steadier as he settles on his elbows and pushes his tongue into Shane's mouth. Shane melts with a breathy moan. He lets his hands roam all over Ilya's body, cupping a handful of ass on the way down, and thanks their past selves for implementing a no-clothes-to-bed rule. The less they have to wait, the better.
"We have an hour before Anya starts crying outside our door," Ilya pants, reaching for the bedside table on Shane's side and yanking the drawer open. "I think we can try to do three."
"No way," Shane says, even if his cock does twitch a little at the idea of it. He latches onto Ilya's neck, licking up his throat and along his jaw to suck his earlobe in. "I have shit to do today. I'm not getting out of bed before noon if you make me come three times."
"You're so boring."
"This is not deeply romantic," Shane lies. Everything Ilya says makes his heart skip a beat.
Ilya presses his lips to Shane's chest, like he knows. "You're boring and I love you."
Shane laughs.
"I love you too."