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The hotel advertised a saltwater pool and lightning-fast WiFi. Ilya made Shane come with a forefinger pressing in alongside his dick, then wiped them both down and picked up the little paper tent on the bedside table. “Let’s look at the amenities,” Ilya said. He liked the way “amenities” felt in his mouth.
Shane was flattened, drooling a little onto Ilya’s arm. Ilya reminded himself that he didn’t have to resist his impulses anymore and rested his hand on Shane’s head. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Look,” he said. “Pool is salt water.”
“We can’t,” Shane said. He squeezed Ilya’s middle, apologetic. “No one knows I’m here.”
“I wasn’t suggesting,” Ilya said, although he kind of had been. There was no world in which Shane would agree, but if Shane had said, “Of course, Ilya, let’s throw caution to the wind and play mermaids,” Ilya was ready to say yes. It was January in Chicago, but there were swim trunks in his suitcase. When he was going to see Shane, Ilya liked to be ready for anything.
“We could watch something,” Shane said. “You were just saying you haven’t seen The Bourne Identity and it’s on TV literally every time I’m in a hotel.”
“Bourne Identity is boring,” Ilya said, mostly just to see Shane scrunch up his nose and get ready to retort. “No,” said Ilya. “I know what we will watch.” He slid out of bed, filing away the disgruntled sound Shane made for later contemplation, and got his laptop out of his backpack. “Lightning-fast WiFi,” he said.
“Yes?”
“There is a movie, I’ve forgotten the name. The man is circumcised and the woman squirts twice before he even gets inside her.”
Shane’s mouth was gently open. He was staring at Ilya. “Are you talking about porn.”
“No,” said Ilya. “X-Files.”
“What?”
“Of course I am talking about porn,” said Ilya. Then something occurred to him. He grinned and sat down beside Shane. “Shane, my baby. You don’t watch porn?”
“I watch porn,” Shane insisted. “Not a lot, but. Obviously I watch porn. But, like, with two guys.”
“Only?”
Shane shrugged.
“You are lying.” Ilya said. Shane didn’t say anything. “You are lying,” he said again. Maybe Shane hadn’t heard him. Ilya imagined the rush of blood in Shane’s ears must be pretty loud, with how hard he was blushing. Ilya thought a lot about what it would be like to be inside Shane’s body, not just his dick in his ass, but on the cellular level. On occasion, when he was having trouble falling asleep, Ilya considered which part of Shane he would put under a microscope first, if he could, if Shane would let him. His saliva. His sperm. The sweet sweep of his eyelashes.
“I’m not lying,” Shane said. He scooted up against the headboard and crossed his arms across his chest. “Don’t look at me like that. Just because I’m normal—”
“Watching gay porn is normal.”
“I’m gay!” Shane exclaimed. He was fighting a smile. Ilya decided to press his advantage.
“You have not always known you were gay. What about before—”
“I just figured I didn’t like it very much.” Shane raised his hand to his mouth to bite at his thumbnail. Ilya took it and held it between his hands instead. “Not everyone likes porn,” Shane said. “I thought I just didn’t like porn.”
Like so many things about Shane, this new information was as mind-boggling as it was easy to envision. Shane wanted Ilya so much, all the time. His longing was bone-deep. Sometimes it eclipsed Ilya’s own. Nonetheless, Shane once admitted to Ilya that it caught him off-guard, all that wanting. Shane still thought of himself as someone who had to think his way into desire.
For Ilya, every day with Shane was a new opportunity to get turned on in fresh and surprising ways, but he had also known himself for a very long time. His mental pornographic rolodex was well-thumbed. Women with their bras shoved down under their tits, moaning. Men pinned on wrestling mats. Those videos where someone tried to read a book out loud while getting head under the table. Anyone bent over tables, counters, sofas, assholes shiny with spit. Group sex with a lot of noise. Hard dicks in gray sweatpants. Wet panties. Women who could come again and again. And, best of all—
“What about lesbian porn?”
“Huh?”
“Is gay,” Ilya said. He dropped Shane’s hand and opened his laptop. “I think you would like the ones that are homemade, or seem homemade.”
“Oh my God, Ilya,” said Shane, but he didn’t push the laptop shut. Instead, he leaned his head against Ilya’s shoulder and watched him pull up PornHub. Ilya half expected Shane to flinch when the landing page loaded, but he just leaned in closer, brow furrowed, curious.
“You need your glasses?”
“Shut up,” Shane said, but he got up and got his glasses from his bag. Back in bed, pressed up against Ilya, he poked a finger at the screen. “That’s the kind of thing you like?”
In the thumbnail, a woman with a heart-shaped face was fucking a dark-haired man. His head was bowed, the crown of his head nearly grazing the bed. Her strap was deep oxblood, like the Doc Martens Svetlana made Ilya buy when he called her, sad, hungover and chain-smoking, in Columbus, Ohio. Ilya hadn’t watched this particular video, but he’d seen a lot like it. “He looks good in lace panties,” said Ilya. “But that is not why we’re here.”
Shane made a little sound low in his throat, like he was disappointed. Ilya made a mental note of that for later and navigated to the search.
“I like it all, obviously,” Ilya said. “You pick.”
Shane scrolled through the videos, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. He looked like he was studying for an exam, not perusing the world’s jerkoff material. Ilya felt himself grinning. Shane with his guard down was his favorite Shane.
“Maybe this one?” Shane said, finally. He blinked at Ilya. “It looks like it might be homemade.”
What a nice Canadian boy, paying attention. “Good choice,” said Ilya.
The first lesbian porn Ilya ever saw was a stolen VHS a middle school classmate smuggled home from god knows where. Ilya was taking advantage of the new freedom conferred on him by his motherless status. When he wasn’t playing hockey, he could pretty much go anywhere he wanted without being missed. It made him feel as though he was swimming through mud with a stone where his heart should be, to be so unmoored, but he also liked that he could go to Vanya’s apartment and watch blonde women with fake tits rub each other’s clits ridiculously fast, like they were DJs at the world’s hottest rave.
The video Shane picked was nothing like that. It was nothing special, either, nothing Ilya hadn’t seen before. Two women were kissing in bed. There was a window open behind them, the sounds of the street beyond. From the street sounds and the look of the radiator in the corner, Ilya thought it might be Europe. Maybe Germany. From what he could tell, they made a lot of porn like this.
The women took each other’s clothes off, still kissing. The taller of the two women cupped the other’s pussy. Shane rested his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “Is this hot, to you?”
“Yes,” said Ilya. He was getting hard again, but slowly, like a lazy weekend with nowhere to be. “You?”
“It’s nice,” Shane said. “It’s like they actually like each other.”
It was the kind of thing he used to say about the goat and coyote videos Ilya sent him. “Wow, so turned on,” said Ilya.
“Shut up,” said Shane. He slid a hand beneath the sheets, into Ilya’s lap. “It’s turning you on,” he said, lips catching on the skin of Ilya’s shoulder. “That’s hot enough for me.”
On the screen, the shorter woman was getting eaten out, moaning. She clapped one of her hands across her mouth. That was hot. She was louder behind her fingers. She brought her other hand down and gripped the back of her partner’s head, like she was fucking her mouth.
The first time a woman used Ilya’s mouth like that, he was taken aback. He didn’t know it was an option, to have a woman practically smother him—nose and mouth and chin—and use him like a hard edge to get off. He held his tongue firm and breathed when he could and tried to remember the way she moved, the way when she was coming, she just sort of held him there, motionless, for long moments while her clit pulsed against his tongue. He could swear he could hear her pussy clenching, or maybe it was wishful thinking. Afterwards, she let him fuck her and he barely lasted a minute. She was so wet.
In the video, the woman giving head brought out a vibrator and started masturbating, her hips tilted up so the camera could catch the motion of it.
Shane was jerking Ilya off. Long strokes, rubbing the head. When had he started? Ilya was breathing through his mouth. He felt hazy, so turned on he was light-headed. He flattened his feet against the mattress, to ground himself as much as anything. “There you go, baby,” Shane said in Ilya’s ear. “Fuck, you’re so hot.” And what was Ilya supposed to do in response to that other than turn and kiss Shane breathless?
On the screen, one or the other of the woman said something in German. (Ilya was right!) “Oh, look,” said Shane. “Fuck. Look.” Ilya wrenched his eyes away from Shane’s pink, wet lips. The taller woman was on all fours on the bed. The shorter woman had a black surgical glove on, now, and she was pouring lube onto the glove, and she was pouring lube onto her partner’s pussy, and she was pushing in, three fingers all at once.
The taller woman cried out. Shane was hard against Ilya’s hip. Ilya watched her pussy close around the glove, around the fist, squelching. Shane was rubbing himself against Ilya, even as he was saying, “Can I, please can I—” and Ilya said, “Yes, yes,” because he needed Shane always, because the answer was yes, no matter what.
Shane brought his head down and swallowed around Ilya’s cock while the tall woman begged for her vibrator. She got it and started crying, started coming, bearing down on the gloved hand. “Fuck me,” she moaned. Ilya didn’t speak German but he could guess. “Fuck me,” she said again, nearly incoherent. “Fuck me.” The shorter woman laid alongside her and fucked her on her fist until she screamed.
Ilya felt it in his stomach. He slapped the laptop shut and hunched down over Shane’s head, thrusting. Shane choked. “Shane,” Ilya said, the only warning he could manage, and came, like it was being ripped out of him, down Shane’s throat.
One day, Ilya thought as he came back to himself, we’ll be able to do it with the window open.
“Ilya.” Shane’s voice was wrecked, his forehead sweaty against Ilya’s thigh. He was humping the bed. “Touch me. Please.”
“Of course,” said Ilya. He felt like soup, but he managed to shift himself, to lay alongside Shane and take his cock in his hand. “Of course. There, have me. My hot boyfriend.”
Shane shot all over his stomach and Ilya’s and buried his face in Ilya’s neck. They laid there together until the air conditioning kicked on and Shane groaned. “We’re showering this time,” he said. “And then I need to sleep.”
They had early flights in the morning. Different airports. Ilya tried not to let his heart sink already. He still had Shane here, warm and heavy. “Okay,” said Ilya. “But first, I must tell you…”
Shane craned his neck to look up at Ilya. “What?”
“I think you’re gay.”
Shane laughed, startled. He reached for a pillow and swatted it against Ilya’s face. “Oh my god, dude, shut up. I hate you.”
“Mm,” said Ilya, “yes.” He batted the pillow away and kissed the top of Shane’s head. “I hate you too.”