#Ilya Kasharin | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

antisocialxconstruct · 2 months ago

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okay hiiiii can I interest anyone in uh. an in-depth character study :)

5.9k, Ilya gently tests both their boundaries and Maksim shows off an apparently under-utilized skill 👀

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Ilya let the door swing shut behind them as they trailed Maksim into the apartment, but only barely had time to check that it had latched before they found themself pushed fully back against it instead. Maksim had leaned in, using the same gesture to reach around them and turn the deadbolt as he pressed a kiss to the side of their jaw.

“That was pretty smooth,” they chuckled, gripping his coat collar and trading him a soft, lingering kiss on the lips. “You like me up against the wall like this, don’t you?”

Maksim pulled back, his gaze lingering on their lips for a moment as his own parted, closed again. Taken off guard so easily, even when he had opened with such a bold move. After another beat he said “it’s a good angle,” pulling another sharp little laugh from Ilya. Their turn to be pleasantly surprised, but they were a lot quicker on the uptake than he was.

“Well then.” With their fingers still curled into the fabric of his coat they pushed gently, until he took the cue to step back to an arm’s length away from them. Then they stretched their arms up to press their hands against the door behind their head, arching their back enough to grace him with a glimpse of their stomach and hips below the hem of their shirt. “I better see you really appreciating it.”

He didn’t disappoint. His eyes lingered on their face a moment longer before gliding down the length of them to rest on that teasing strip of bare skin. Nothing he hadn’t seen before, but not like this–a treat and a taunt all at once. Ilya could easily track the unsteady rhythm of his breath, the way his mouth twisted as he bit the inside of his lip, the barely disguised desire in his narrowed eyes. And how strange, that they had learned to enjoy this, to want it even. When had they ever known their own body as something to be desired, rather than simply evaluated, something they themself could delight in and invite someone else to appreciate, instead of…

They didn’t get to chase that thought any further. Maybe Maksim could sense it, the storm cloud just beginning to gather over their thoughts, or maybe his restraint had simply failed him. He closed the gap they had created to kiss them hungrily, to wrap his hands around them, trail his thumbs up over the lines of their stomach. Ilya indulged him for a few seconds before they purred against his still-seeking lips, “did I say you could touch?” Their tone was light, entertained by the display, and he shook his head but showed no further sign of really processing the question as he trailed kisses down to the dip of their collarbone instead. So they slid their fingers up the nape of his neck to the back of his head, took hold of a fistful of his hair, and pulled. He grunted as his head tipped back, until he had to lower his gaze to meet theirs. “Did I say you could touch?” they prompted again. “Answer me.”

Maksim breathed in slowly, lifted his hands away from them just as slowly. “No,” he murmured.

Ilya nodded, trailing their free hand up along his chest until it settled lightly against the throat so tantalizingly on display for them. All at once Maksim’s breath hitched and his hands jumped to their wrist, tightening and loosening around it, tugging lightly, desperately inviting more pressure. It was unquestionably clear what he wanted, but he knew what they wanted too, even if he was struggling to follow simple directions. Their grip remained light, barely there. After another moment Maksim finally surrendered, drew his hands away, and then for good measure he pressed them flat against the door, one on either side of Ilya’s shoulders. “Good boy,” they cooed, and he let his eyelids flutter shut as he made that shuddering little sound in the back of his throat.

Fuck. They already had him whimpering. Did he have any idea what that sound did to them? Did he even know he was doing it? At last Ilya relented, applied the slightest bit of pressure to his throat, just to make him do it again. He did, stoking the hungry heat quickly building in their core. “Well since you want to be close so badly,” they said, prompting him to meet their eye again as they loosened their grip on his hair, “why don’t you give me something to ride?”

No hesitation this time. He kept his hands obediently planted but he leaned in, forehead bumping the door over their shoulder as he pressed them more firmly back into the hard surface. Then he slid one leg between theirs, angled his hips until they responded by pressing into him with a satisfied hum. They ground against him, savored the steady pressure of his thigh, and the angle had become slightly awkward but they looped both hands around his throat. And squeezed, just a little harder. “Good, you’re so good,” they breathed, and the noise he made this time was shorter, tighter, as he panted hot and short against their neck. Maybe he’d finally earned back the privilege they had so arbitrarily decided to deny him. “Put your hands on me, Maksim,” they ordered, and he had to keep one against the door for balance but he wrapped the other around them immediately. When they insisted, “lower,” he trailed it down the slope of their back and snuck his fingers first under the hem of their shirt, and then cautiously, almost experimentally, past their belt and over the soft skin of their hip. Ilya shuddered unexpectedly, released his throat to slip their arms around him and grip his shoulders, only half-consciously trying to press his body deeper into theirs (even now, in the thick of things, they remembered he had his own rules, and they were careful not to even ghost their hands too low). Without any further prompting Maksim shifted his weight slightly, freed up his other hand to take hold of Ilya and drag their bodies closer, grind his own hips into theirs until he pulled a breathy moan out of them. They absently nodded their approval for an order they hadn’t even given him, then they panted out, “now kiss me.”

Ilya had had the thought several times before that Maksim kissed like he was starving, like no one in his entire life had ever kissed him the way he needed. He pressed his lips to theirs with something decidedly like a soft growl, a little tremor that passed into them and and slipped down to bloom through their nerves, gentle but bright and warm. And with that light, almost teasing orgasm came a supplemental thought: as long as they got their way–and they intended to–he would never have another opportunity to be disappointed.

Maksim was the one to break away, allowing them both to catch their breath. His gaze meandered over their features before darting away to the closed door on his left–the bedroom, which Ilya knew only because it was the one room they’d never seen. So he wanted more? That was good, because Ilya was pleased, but they were far from satisfied. Still, Maksim hesitated for just a heartbeat. He was a respectable host, usually. Had they just choked the hospitality right out of him, or was this always the timeline he had planned? When he looked back to Ilya they could practically read the nervous calculations being run behind his eyes. Was it too forward? Was it appropriate? Was it allowed?

They figured they’d spare him the trouble of wondering. “So,” they purred, draping their arms almost casually over his shoulders. “Are you gonna invite me to stay the night or what?”

“Please,” Maksim breathed, “please stay.”

Ilya bit their lip but it didn’t do a lot to hide the smirk that flitted across their features. They liked it when he whimpered but they liked it even better when he begged. His response had come with an immediacy that told them he was well past the point of having any kind of internal filter. That was a fun place for him to be. “Well, I can’t refuse when you ask so sweetly.”

Maksim nodded, relief written clearly across his features, and reached up to take hold of Ilya’s arms, easing himself out of their grip as he looked them over. There seemed to be something else coalescing on the tip of his tongue, so Ilya watched him in turn through hooded eyes until he finally said, “take off your shoes.”

That got a short, surprised chuckle out of them, but they complied all the same, crouching to loosen the laces on their boots. Maksim slipped out of his own far dressier shoes quickly, then plucked them off the floor and padded away into his bedroom without another word. He left the door ajar and Ilya squinted, trying to catch a preview of this newly unlocked territory. Maksim seemed eager to get in ahead of them, so they moved at a leisurely pace, though not so leisurely as to leave him at the mercy of his own nerves for too long. They straightened, shuffled somewhat gracelessly out of their boots (maybe it was best that Maksim had left them to do that alone), and left them by the door to follow him at last.

The room was all muted warm and dark colors that contrasted sharply with the greens and golds of the living room, and it was modest in décor, but comfortable in size. The space was filled by only a plush area rug, a king-sized bed, a punching bag on a stand pushed away into a corner, a tall but sparsely populated shelf, and an armchair. To their left was a spacious and precisely organized walk-in closet, where they could see Maksim had already returned his shoes to their designated place. Ilya again let the door latch quietly behind them, gently sealing them into this enclosed, personal space, and prompting only a momentary glance in their direction from Maksim as acknowledgement. He wasn’t looking at them as he carefully slid his gloves off, but it gave Ilya the paradoxical sense that he was at ease. If he was nervous he’d be keeping them in his line of sight, gaging their reactions to measure his own. He shrugged out of his already unbuttoned shirt and tossed it and the gloves idly onto the bed in front of him, and as he stood there for a moment in his undershirt, Ilya was struck all at once by a feeling of profound, quiet infatuation. It wasn’t as if he had stripped down to anything less than they had seen him wear in public, and in fact they had seen the full extent of his mods still concealed beneath the tank top once before, albeit under entirely different circumstances. It had never been like this, the two of them in the cautious privacy of his home, his bedroom, his guard so completely and conspicuously lowered. It made the sharp angles of his features, softened by his comfort, feel more beautiful. It made the shifting muscles of his exposed arms, without any of the tension and precision of combat, feel more sensual. It felt intimate in a way they would have struggled to describe.

That burst of infatuation quickly solidified into a more targeted desire. They wanted their hands on him, to mark him, they wanted to show him how few barriers stood between them, just how close he had let them get, how much he would let them do. As they took in the sight of him a single bright, crystal clear thought spurred them to close the distance between the two of them–that’s mine. Maksim finally turned to face them just as they planted their hands on his shoulders and shoved. They had just a moment to register the alarmed expression that leapt across his features as he stumbled back, the second step knocking into the side of the bed and sending him sprawling back onto the mattress with a quiet huff. Ilya didn’t allow him time to react as they followed, straddled his waist and settled their weight down on top, ran their hands appreciatively up over his chest. Then they caught his gaze, wide and still a bit bewildered as he stared up at them–not precisely the reaction they expected, and it was enough to rein them in, just a little bit.

“Are you okay?” they asked softly, leaning forward and resting their hands on the mattress above his shoulders instead. He nodded wordlessly, and they smiled. “That seemed like it really surprised you.”

“It did.”

Ilya chuckled, cocking their head slightly to one side. “Really, mister perfect, finely-tuned reflexes? That seems out of character.”

“I-” Maksim blinked, his gaze once again darting over their face before coming to rest somewhere a bit lower than their eyes. Lips? Throat, maybe? “I wasn’t expecting to be attacked here.”

“Oooh,” Ilya cooed, and then in a sing-song tone, like they’d caught him in a particularly embarrassing admission, “you truuuust me…”

Maksim responded with one of those familiar little startled cough-laughs, still looking a bit like he wasn’t sure how to proceed from the position Ilya had put him in. He raised his hands, but hesitated just a heartbeat too long… trying to decide where to put them? Or wondering if Ilya’s earlier rule was still in effect? It wasn’t, but in that moment Ilya decided it was time for a new one. They caught his wrists in their own hands and pinned them down to the bed on either side of his head. A startled look flashed across his features again, and with him pinned beneath them they had the luxury of taking it all in–the way his eyes widened, lips parted, the way his chest rose and fell with a quickened breath. Easy, Ilya thought fondly, and smiled as they bent down to kiss his neck. Then again, enough teeth this time to make him gasp. Then a deep, slow kiss on the lips that pulled a soft moan up out of his chest. When he tentatively strained against their grip they tightened it.

“You want me to let go?” they purred, placing the ghost of another kiss against his jaw. He nodded, and when they nipped at his ear he offered them something that landed somewhere between a frustrated grunt and a whine. “You don’t need these hands,” Ilya argued softly. “You weren’t using them.”

Maksim exhaled shakily, and with Ilya pressed so close he breathed his question against their ear. “Do you want me to?”

Ilya bit and sucked at his neck again until he squirmed, then pulled back enough to meet his eye. Their hair still tumbled over their shoulders to tickle at the pink welts already darkening on his skin. “Do you want to?”

“Please.” Maksim offered it up quickly and almost automatically, experimentally. Going through his roster of tricks, hoping to chance into the one that gets a reward. He was getting closer.

“Please what?” they pressed. Maksim’s brow furrowed, and Ilya imagined they could see the confusion momentarily give way to disbelief, then understanding. They gave him another nudge anyway. “Tell me what you want, Maksim.”

Maksim struggled halfheartedly under them again. “Please,” he repeated, then “please let go.”

“Why should I?”

He searched their gaze with wide, pleading eyes. “I want to touch you.” The words came tumbling out freely, and he only seemed to process the weight of them himself a moment later, when Ilya smirked. He doubled down with a growing note of desperation. “Please let me go so I can touch you.”

They did, and he immediately pulled them down into another ravenous kiss, gripping the sides of their head, moaning as they slipped their tongue playfully past his lips and then nipped at his lip as they pulled away. His hands trailed down to the front of their shirt, fingers balling up in the material, and he seemed only a heartbeat away from trying to drag them back down when they slid a hand back over his throat and he froze. Easy, they thought again, as he held their gaze and lifted his chin slightly.

The eager, needy way he invited every threatened choking made Ilya suspect it was taking the place of the other sorts of stimulation he had firmly established he didn’t like. His breath hitched as they curled their fingers a little tighter, and left him in a shuddering sigh as they traced their thumb along and then past his jaw, pausing to feel the soft, steady drumbeat of his pulse before they really pressed down. His fists clenched tighter around their shirt, not pushing or pulling but just grasping for something to hang on to, and he arched his back in a way that had Ilya consciously fighting down the impulse to grind their hips into his. “You look so pretty like this,” they breathed, basking in the way he writhed under them, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed as he kept staring up at them, hair splayed out around him like a dark halo. “Maybe you need something more permanent.” That cut through his haze enough to refocus his eyes just a bit, and he furrowed his brows in curiosity. “A nice thick collar for such a good dog,” Ilya went on, laying their other hand on his neck–no more pressure, they didn’t want to hurt him, but they knew the touch alone would be enough at this point. He whined, thin and pathetic. “You want that? You want me to cinch it nice and tight, so you can look this pretty all night?”

He tried to nod, but apparently fearing his enthusiasm wasn’t clear enough he managed to sputter out, “I want it- I want-” before choking on the tail end of the thought.

Ilya took the sign to ease off the pressure, letting their fingers linger on his skin as he gasped in a full breath. He swallowed, panted, head lolling to one side as his gaze drifted, unfocused. When his breath eventually leveled out he gave a long, contented sigh, and Ilya grinned, filing their suggestion away for later. “Enjoying yourself?” they asked softly. Maksim pulled his attention back to them, offering a blissed out, lopsided smile–a look they weren’t sure they’d ever seen before. It tugged at their chest, made them want to dig in their nails and teeth and push him right back over the edge, but they sensed he might need a moment.

In the space they left, he loosened his hold on their shirt, let his hands trail down again to play over their waist. His expression was still distant and dreamy, but there was a newly thoughtful crease to his brow as his eyes traveled down and then back up. Ilya waited another beat, wondering if he would need to be prompted to say whatever was on his mind, but then he asked in a distant, moony tone, “can I… see more?”

Ilya eased back. The request was unexpected, and something deep in the back of their mind squirmed against the idea, but the way he asked was so gentle, so easy, and they paused for only a second or two before nodding. Maksim edged the shirt up, exposing their hips, their stomach, the bottom of their ribs, and when it became awkward for him to lift the shirt higher from his supine position Ilya hooked their fingers into the rumpled fabric and eased it the rest of the way over their head, their hesitation perhaps translating to a tease from his angle. Then they twisted and let the shirt fall in a heap over the edge of his bed.

Given how intentionally he had dressed down himself, they wondered if he might be distracted by a carelessly discarded garment somewhere on his floor. They needn't have worried. As they faced him again his eyes were fixed on them, unwavering, a look of wonder settled over his features like he had never seen anything so flawless. He trailed his hands lightly down their bare chest, lingering an extra moment on each scar he found, traced the curves of their tattoo with a thumb, then slid back up along their back, drawing a shudder from them that was not nearly as unpleasant as they might have expected as he followed the outer edges of their spinal implant. They let their eyes close as his explorations began back down, just barely grazing them with his claws, no harder than ordinary nails against their skin, and this time they inhaled deeply before easing back into the caress with a sigh.

His hands settled at the subtle divots of their hips–a favorite place of his to linger, they had noticed–and when they opened their eyes again, they caught him with his gaze fixed on the same region, before a moment later he met their eye, thumbs trailing along their skin just above the hem of their pants. “Oh,” they chuckled, lightly taking hold of his forearms again. “Now when did you get so greedy?”

He tensed immediately, mumbled a quick “sorry,” but when he tried to pull away they tightened their grip, not allowing him to backpedal.

“I did say I wanted to see you enjoy the view, didn't I?” Ilya mused with a coy twist of their lips. Maksim stared back for another heartbeat, then nodded slowly.

Before they had a chance to rise, though, he said softly, “you can say no.” They paused again, eyed him quizzically. “If you're not… if you don't want to. You can tell me no.”

Ilya smiled. “I know, Maksim,” they answered just as softly. Then they lifted themself off of him and got to their feet. Maksim took the opportunity to sit up and shift a bit further back onto the bed, but he never took his eyes off them as they brought their hands up to the waistline of their pants. They hesitated again, just for a breath, turning slightly to angle their back and shoulder to Maksim as they tried to untangle exactly what emotions were coalescing in their mind. They weren’t afraid… not exactly, but it was strange to be quite this present and aware in their own skin. This was a threshold they had hardly ever had reason to cross, and certainly not for a long time–not since they had been a very different person. But there was an eagerness to follow through, a desire to trust Maksim, to allow the attention and reverence he seemed so desperate to give… and a physical desire as well, still bright and pulsing and impossible to deny. With a steeling breath they unbuttoned, unzipped, and finally shimmied out of pants and boxers simultaneously. A striptease didn’t really feel like their style, and they didn’t need to leave themself any extra time to overthink.

They glanced over their shoulder then, but it was difficult to tell exactly where Maksim’s attention was–not on their face, that much was clear. He had repositioned himself a bit more intentionally but he was still close enough to the edge of the bed that when Ilya returned to him, they could settle right back onto their knees in his lap, keenly aware of how much more this felt like a presentation now. As soon as they were within reach his hands were on them again, starting where they had left off at Ilya’s waist as he traced gentle, exploratory circles with his thumbs, over the newly bared skin of their pelvis and down along their inner thighs. Ilya’s breath came progressively thicker and heavier as they buried their fingers into his curls. They momentarily entertained the idea of those hands wandering back up, slipping between their legs to finally give them the release they were starting to ache for–until they remembered the claws, first with a wince and then with a sinking heart. A moment later the thought was jostled out of their mind with a small startled exclamation as he cupped their ass and pressed his face into the curve of their stomach, trailing languorous, sucking kisses over their skin.

Ilya groaned, shivering as they bowed forward and Maksim’s horns grazed their chest, rough and just cool enough to draw gooseflesh along their skin. “I take it you like what you see,” they quipped, albeit a little breathlessly. Maksim nodded wordlessly, the gesture translated into the friction of his skin against theirs. Then he did something that sent Ilya’s mind momentarily scattering into dissonant bursts of light–he licked them, trailing his tongue slowly up from the edge of their pubic hair to the divot of their navel, before glancing up to catch their eye.

Ilya bit their lip, all disappointment over the danger of his hands forgotten as they realized in that moment precisely how they wanted this evening to end. And just what message was Maksim trying to send them now? An invitation? A request, even?

It still felt like a risk to proceed. Ilya knew he had limits that tended to be firm but somewhat unpredictable, and that the last thing they ever wanted to do was overstep. On the other hand… hadn’t he made the first move? Hadn’t he brought them home, invited them into the last private sanctum he had, begged to be allowed to please them? If there was ever a time it felt right to test those limits…

“Hey,” they said softly, easing back so they could see his face more clearly. “Would you still do anything I wanted?”

Somewhere in the back of their mind, they were relieved that it took him a second to answer. They liked to believe that meant he actually paused and thought about it. Then he nodded, slowly, almost hesitantly at first, then with more certainty. “Yes.”

Ilya smiled, brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes before letting their hand trail down his cheek until their thumb rested against his lips. He waited, passive and obedient, as they traced the fingers of their other hand lightly over his brow and then laid their palm down in the space between his horns and tilted his head back further. When they slipped their thumb into his mouth at the same time they curled their fingers under his chin and pried his mouth open, he gave a soft grunt of surprise but offered no resistance. Their thumb pressed his tongue down against his jaw, providing them a clear glimpse of his teeth–more conspicuously unusual than their own, but not half as predatory. “Then I want you to put that pretty tongue of yours to better use.”

There was another silent beat as Maksim processed the order, then his eyes widened and for a split second Ilya feared they really had gone just a step too far. But before they could backpedal he blinked slowly, features relaxing, and with his jaw still in their grip and his tongue cradling the pad of their thumb, he started to drool.

“Oho,” Ilya chuckled, “look at my good dog trying not to beg. But he likes that idea, doesn't he?” Maksim didn't try to talk around their hand, but the way his breath quickened, the way his desperation threatened to dribble down his chin, was answer enough. Ilya let him pant just a few seconds longer, enjoying the heat of his breath over their skin, before lifting the hand away from his forehead and easing the pressure of their fingers. “Let me see him bite first,” they cooed. He let his teeth close gently around their thumb and sucked, sending an appreciative shiver up Ilya’s spine. They moved their other hand to the back of his head, forcing a ragged little moan out of him as they thrust deeper into his mouth. He wrapped his own hands gently around Ilya’s wrist, working his tongue around the base of their thumb and then dragging it up the length, before closing his lips around it again.

They both knew that wasn’t what Ilya had been implying, but he seemed determined to give them a thorough preview of the kind of attention they could expect. And it was working. Their breath shuddered and their other hand tangled into his hair, momentarily torn between the satisfaction of watching him work, and the growing need to have that work somewhere else. Finally they withdrew, thumb sliding free with a soft pop that left Maksim with lips parted and a glazed, distant look in his eyes. Ilya finally lowered themself down into his lap–quietly relieved to take the weight off their knees–then pressed the ghost of a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and whispered, “go on then.”

With the kind of enthusiasm he had just displayed, Ilya half expected him to dive straight between their legs. But when they let go he took hold of them gently and eased them to his right and further onto the bed. He stayed pressed in close as he shifted onto his own knees to follow them, brought his lips down to their throat, to the subtle dip of their clavicle, applied just enough pressure to coax them down onto their back as he worked his way over the rise of their chest and down, hands gripping their hips as he lingered again and nipped at the soft skin of their stomach. Through their quiet, breathy gasps, they had the distinct feeling that he was toying with them, even from the fuzzy depths of his submissive haze. They would have been impressed by the audacity, but it was hard to focus on anything beyond the mounting impatience, the need for release.

If he was going to leave them speechless, they had other ways of getting what they wanted. They took a fistful of his hair again and pushed, willing him down those last precious few inches. He didn’t resist, but he still tilted his head, placed a line of kisses along their inner thigh and paused right at the crux. He exhaled, slowly and deliberately, and just that caress of warm air against their folds, already slick and needy with anticipation, was enough to make them tremble. “Maksim-” they bit out, voice tight in their chest, and it might have turned into a proper reprimand but his tongue finally trailed up the length of them then and all they managed was a low moan. Their hips bucked and this time they allowed themself the impulse, tried to grind against Maksim’s mouth, until he moved his grip down to their thighs, held on hard enough that they could feel the tips of his claws prick against their skin as he spread their legs further.

He set a slow pace at first, leisurely strokes ending in light twirls around their clit that left them all but whimpering up to the ceiling, even as they brought their other hand down to join the first still buried in his curls. They let him tease as long as they could bear it, but when they tugged sharply on his hair they felt him gasp, losing his rhythm momentarily. But he got the message. His focus resettled on their clit, stroking, sucking, nudging them ever closer in sparkling, crackling bursts of pleasure communicated in increasingly undignified sounds.

Then he seemed to find a spot, Ilya breathed in sharply and their back arched as dots of light burst at the corners of their vision, and his grip tightened just a little more around their legs. They barely had a chance to process that before he found it again, sent the same bolt arcing up through their nerves, then a third, more insistent time that sent a broken, sputtering moan tumbling past their lips. Just as they felt themself teetering on the edge they stole a glance down the slope of their own body at him, and he lifted his eyes at the same moment, peering back through his lashes and the tangle of his disheveled hair, and even with most of his face obscured there was a glint in those eyes as they caught Ilya’s gaze–an almost smug satisfaction. Oh, you son of a bitch- was Ilya’s last semi-coherent thought before their climax crested over them, a full-body rush of sensation that had them trembling, gasping, curling in on themself as it washed over them in one wave, two, then tapered as Maksim slowly eased off.

Ilya fell back, panting, and melted into the bed beneath them as their head swirled and they stared dumbly up at the ceiling. They barely even registered that they had finally let go of Maksim, or that he had let go of them, until they felt the mattress shift with his weight as he sat up. They shivered, keenly aware of their own nakedness as they grazed their fingers over their thighs, wondering what kind of marks Maksim’s claws had left. Then Maksim stretched himself out on his back alongside them, and they rolled over to wrap their arms around him. He opened his arms in turn and allowed them to nestle in close, where they threw one leg over his and pressed eager, grateful kisses against his cheek, his lips, his neck.

“Fuck,” they breathed at length, when they could finally form even that simple word in their mind. They traced the shape of a particularly vibrant bruise on his throat and smiled appreciatively. “No wonder you were so eager to show off… you’ve done that before.”

He laughed softly, and they could feel the vibration of it as they laid their head against his chest. “It’s been a while…” he admitted. It sounded like there was more to that thought, but even if Ilya had been inclined to pry they wouldn’t have had the energy. After a moment he pressed on anyway, “it… used to be an easy way to keep my first girlfriend from questioning why I didn’t want her to touch me.” Ilya lifted their head to meet his gaze, trying to gauge how he felt about that, how he wanted them to react. He added, “we were seventeen, it didn’t take much to distract her,” and flashed them a smile.

This memory, this partner, didn’t seem to carry the same weight as… others. Still, Ilya felt a peculiar sort of protective jealousy stir in their chest–frustration not that there had been others before them… but that those others had so clearly not appreciated what they had.

“I would hope I’m better now,” Maksim mused, before Ilya could make any kind of comment. After a brief, thoughtful pause he continued, “I can feel the way your muscles tense… from the right place I can feel when your pulse changes.” He took one of their hands in his, ran his thumb up the length of theirs in a not-so-subtle reminder of his earlier administrations, coaxing another trembling bit of pleasure up their spine. “It’s easy to adjust moment to moment when I know what’s working.”

Ilya considered their hands briefly as they tangled their fingers between his. Then they arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you saying you’re using your combat reflexes to fuck me better?”

This time his reaction was another startled almost-laugh from the back of his throat. “I guess so?”

“Hmm…” They brought his hand to their lips, placed an almost chaste kiss atop his knuckles. “That’s kinda hot.”

#ghost city #maksim girard #ilya kasharin #rom fiction #I swear to god I'm still working on chapter 3 of the actual linear story but. well you know #anyway. these fuckers gayyyyy

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