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    Summary

    "Do you want to have that day you said?

    Shane stops nuzzling his sweatpants, breathes in a last time and turns around until he's face up looking at him. Ilya touches his face for a second; his freckles, the lovely cupid's bow of his lip, the tip of his nose. Shane blinks. "You're sure?"

    Ilya doesn't laugh, but it is a close thing. Is he sure? Of being fucked to death by his husband? Easiest thing he's done in his life. "Yes. You want to—what. Use me?"

    Shane breathing picks up, hitches. He tears his eyes away from Ilya's, turns again until he can easily raise Ilya's shirt to press a kiss on his stomach, into a bunch of freckles he has close to his belly button. Shane loves that place. "Yes, like—" he starts, and then stops.

    "Like what?" Ilya encourages him.

    "Like a toy."

    Ilya thinks being free use for a day will be a piece of cake. Shane is glad to prove him wrong.

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