Chapter Text
Shane hates strong sensory experiences. It’s always been this way: spicy food, loud noises, strong smells. They make him feel uncomfortable and itchy and, when exposed to them for too long, he will either start acting like a bitch or want to start crying.
So, it’s a bit of a surprise when he first realizes he loves the smell of Ilya’s sweat.
Being in professional sports means one learns to deal with the overwhelming smell of sweat and musty gear, and Shane has grown numb to it in the locker room. Not at home, though, not when Ilya is damp and flushed after a workout, the fabric of his t-shirt dark and soaked under his arms and along his back. Or, even better: the slow, happy sweat of a full day at the cottage, baking in the sun, cooking barefoot in the kitchen, playing soccer on the grass. Shane finds himself digging Ilya’s shirts out of the laundry basket after days like these, pressing them to his face and inhaling deeply, wishing he could bottle the scent.
It’s been one of the first warm spring days, and they’ve spent the entire day entertaining the Pikes at their home, Ilya chasing the girls around in their huge backyard all day long. Now, Shane is closing the front door after waving the Pike family SUV good-bye.
The second the door shuts, he turns to his husband, the low, slow thrum which has been there all day overwhelming him, becoming louder.
Ilya stands a few feet away from him with a lazy smile, and immediately wraps his arms around Shane when he slams into him, kissing him.
Ilya smells like grass and sunshine and outside and whatever it is that makes Shane go wild like this. He’s already almost fully hard, just from kissing for a few seconds, and when Ilya cups his ass and pulls him close, Shane happily starts grinding against his hip bone through layers of fabric.
Ilya hums, low in his throat. “Impatient today, sweetheart?”
Shane whines against his mouth, nodding. To his dismay, Ilya starts untangling himself from Shane. Shane lets out an offended noise of protest, grabbing Ilya’s wrist and placing his hand back on his ass, causing Ilya to chuckle.
“Let me wash up first, zaychik. I am so sweaty.”
“I don’t care,” Shane breathes, helplessly pawing at the front of Ilya’s t-shirt, fingers tangling in the hem of it, “I want-” He shuts his mouth, giving Ilya a pleading look, wishing he could just transfer his thoughts into his husband’s head.
“You want what, Shane?” Ilya’s eyes have darkened now, and mercifully, his hand has returned to Shane’s ass, massaging and squeezing just hard enough that Shane can feel his heartbeat in the tip of his dick.
“I- I want…,” Shane stammers, and it’s half from being distracted, and half from not knowing how to say this. Ilya’s fingers push into the clothed crease of his ass, and Shane loses the little control he had left. “I like it.” It bursts out of Shane’s mouth, “W-when you’re… when… you’re sweaty.”
Very briefly, surprise ghosts across Ilya’s face, but it immediately turns into intrigue and mirth. “Yes? You love my stink?” Of course he can’t help but tease, but unfortunately, Shane is into it.
He nods desperately, eyes shut tightly.
One of Ilya’s hands comes up to cup the back of Shane’s head, pulling it in, first against his collarbone, then against his shoulder. Shane comes willingly, dipping his head low, nosing along the slope of Ilya’s shoulder before bravely pushing his face into the fold of Ilya’s armpit.
A sharp inhale followed by a low little, “Fuck, Shane!” lets him know he managed to surprise Ilya. Ilya’s fingers tug on the strands of Shane’s hair, pulling him closer, and the feeling sends cascades of tingles down Shane’s spine, going straight to his already rock-hard dick. He’s leaking, surely, pre-come staining his underwear as he buries his nose deeper in Ilya’s sweaty t-shirt, getting drunk off of the scent of him.
Ilya swears in Russian, pulling Shane backwards. “Come on, come, on the couch-”
They kiss desperately, stumbling into the living room, and somehow make it onto the sofa, Shane on top of Ilya. They’re still fully clothed, but Shane can feel Ilya’s hard cock against his hip crease the same way his own presses into Ilya’s. They grind against each other like two horny teenagers, moaning into each other’s mouths.
Then, Ilya raises his left arm up over his head, revealing the sweat stain on his grey t-shirt, and Shane blushes relentlessly because he feels like Ilya is seeing into a deep, perverted part of his soul.
“Come,” Ilya breathes, and of course Shane cannot resist.
He dives back into Ilya’s armpit, nosing and mouthing at the sweaty fabric, tasting salt and laundry detergent and Ilya. Ilya’s armpit hair sticks out of the sleeve of his t-shirt, tickling Shane’s face, rubbing against his nose and his lips. Shane can’t help the desperate, now-muffled moans which make their way out of his throat as he keeps rutting against Ilya’s body, the inside of his zipper almost painful against his achingly hard cock.
Ilya groans, his hips snapping up rhythmically to meet Shane’s, both of them chasing their orgasms.
It barely takes a minute.
Shane comes first, keening, whimpering, fully engulfed in Ilya’s scent, his orgasm so hard that he sees stars behind his closed eyelids. Ilya follows a second later, crying out, movements erratic as he, too, spills in his clothes like a teenager.
After, they just lie there, both of them panting hard as they come down from their high. Shane has pulled back slightly, his cheek resting on Ilya’s bicep now. He can feel the dampness on his mouth, on his cheek, on his chin, from where Ilya’s sweat is drying on him, and the matching dampness in his underwear, slowly coagulating and turning sticky.
Ilya lets out a big breath, and a quiet, “Wow.”
Shane feels himself blush violently. “I-I’m gonna clean up.”
He peels himself off of his husband’s massive body, and hurries to the bathroom, unable to look back at Ilya, shame making his cheeks burn red hot.
Ilya finds him five minutes later, when Shane is scrubbing his face with body wash in the shower. He undresses wordlessly and joins Shane. Shane moves aside to make space for him under the warm spray of their rainfall shower.
He still can’t bear to look at Ilya.
Hands come up to his shoulders, gently smoothing out the tense line of them as Ilya presses soft, open-mouthed kisses to Shane’s neck. “Solnyshka.”
Shane hums, and it comes out unhappy and embarrassed, but he still can’t resist the temptation of leaning back against Ilya.
“That was so, so fucking hot,” Ilya murmurs against his skin, arms slowly snaking around Shane’s body, one of his hands landing on the plane of Shane’s stomach while the other one cups one of Shane’s pecs. “I didn’t know you were into that.”
Shane is glad they’re not facing each other. “Sorry, it’s… I know it’s weird, but just…” He heaves a big sigh, “You smell so good.”
Ilya laughs softly against Shane’s shoulderblade, pressing his lips there for a second. “You love the smell of my sweaty pits?”
“Ilyaaa…” Shane hears how whiney it sounds, but he can’t help it. He’s already embarrassed enough without Ilya teasing him.
“Hey.” The hand which rested on Shane’s stomach comes up to his chin now, cupping it, turning Shane’s head so he’s half-looking at Ilya. “That was really fucking hot, yes? I loved it.”
Shane closes his eyes with a hum, unable to make eye contact still, but lets Ilya tip his head back so he can kiss him.
“It’s weird…” Shane whines, scrunching up his face.
“Shane.” Shane can hear the barely-suppressed laughter in Ilya’s voice. “You know this is one of the most common kinks for gay men?”
Shane freezes, his eyes flying open. “What?”
Ilya is grinning down at him. “Seriously. There is so much porn about it. Sniffing arm pits, crotch sweat, smelly feet-”
“Ew,” Shane recoils in disgust, “No, that’s… I don’t want that.”
Ilya pulls him back against his body, laughing softly. “See, is not so bad in comparison, your new fetish.”
Shane huffs but says nothing.
“We can do this more often, if you want.” Ilya pulls Shane back in by the chin, kissing him. “Was fun. I liked it. I can get sweatier next time.”
“No,” Shane says a tad too quickly, “This… today’s amount was, uh, perfect.”
Ilya smirks. “Okay, yes. Good to know.” Another kiss. “I love you.”
Shane feels himself melt into the reassuring words. “I love you, too,” he whispers, letting Ilya pull him closer.