Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Texting Fic, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, Possessive Shane Hollander, Toxic Ilya Rozanov, Toxic Shane Hollander, Jealousy, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Jealous Shane Hollander, Alternate Timelines, Sexting, Getting Back Together, Break Up, Spit Kink, Face Slapping, Anal Sex, Rimming, Humiliation, Verbal Humiliation, Degradation, Degradation Kink, Verbal Degradation, Slut Shaming, Happy Ending, Loverboy Ilya Rozanov, Love Confessions, Cock Warming, Lack of Communication, Under-negotiated Kink, the tags make this sound worse than it is, it ends romantically i promise

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-27 Words: 5,424 Chapters: 1/1

I Know You Want Me to Want You

Summary

Ilya:
9/10 she had freckles

Shane:
7.5/10 Medium dick but he ate my ass like he was starving for it

---

Shane and Ilya call it quits after the All-Stars game when Ilya says they can't be anything. He says no one will fuck Shane like he can, and Shane takes that personally, starting a two year cycle of sending each other ratings of the other people they fuck

Notes

Notes:

*SMAU posted to twitter, reuploaded here with the final scene. If you read the twitter SMAU and only need to read the final scene, it is the entire written part at the end*

Timeline change:

This starts with the All-Stars game in Tampa in 2017, but from there I have pushed back several key events: the death of Ilya’s father, and Shane getting hit on the ice. It should be clear when these happen, but I moved both of them later to prolong the suffering 🙂

Other notes, disclaimers, cw’s:

This will be fairly messy and toxic with both of them hurting each other, but will have a happy ending.

Shane and Ilya both fuck other people, so don’t read if you don’t like that, but they do end up together, in a monogamous relationship.

 

CW’s: some slut shaming, some slightly unintentional homophobia, D/s kink dynamic, under negotiated kink, toxic relationship dynamics at times, jealousy and possessiveness, neither of them are very nice to each other early on

All-Stars Game, Tampa, FL, January 2017

It’s not the words themselves that make Shane bristle; it’s their decisiveness, their finality. “We can’t be something, Hollander,” Ilya said, and sure, that was one thing. That was a fact, a truth,one that Shane understood better than anyone.

“Would you want to be, if we could?” Shane had asked, because he needed to know. Because he’d just told Ilya he was gay, because he wasn’t with Rose, because he couldn’t be, because they weren’t compatible, and because he knew his own answer to the question: yes, yes, a resounding yes, if we could, I would.

“We can’t,” Ilya had said, and yes Shane had thought, I know.

“That’s not what I asked,” Shane had said, trying, desperately, even though it was hard, to get an answer, to find out if this was one sided, if Shane’s first name had slipped out, or if it was more to Ilya too, if it meant something to him.

“What does it fucking matter?” Ilya had snapped, and Shane had said he liked him, he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t, even when Ilya had said Shane didn’t like him, Shane dug his heels in or dug his own grave maybe, insisting that yes, he does, he does like Ilya, more than he should.

And Ilya, because he was… something; smarter, or less brave, or with more to lose, or with more he had already lost, accustomed to loss maybe, to the point he knew the signs and how to avoid it, had asked Shane not to do this, not to push, not to keep going because if he did, they would both lose it all.

And Shane, because he was… stupid or in love or stupid with love, because he had recently had a life changing revelation, or more accurately, had accepted what he’d known for a while, because he only had one path, one option, had continued, despite Ilya’s pleading that he wouldn’t.

“I’m not…” Ilya had started, then stopped.

Not what, Shane wanted to ask. Not worth it? Not enough? Not in love with you?

“We cannot be anything, Hollander,” Ilya had said, final.

“Fine,” Shane had said, standing. “Fine. Then that’s it. I’ve spent… how many years, doing this? Maybe more than I should’ve. Because I thought… It doesn’t matter. But I said what I needed to. I’m gay. I like you. So.” Shane took a shaky breath, steadying himself. “So I think it’s time I started doing what’s best for me, and see if there’s someone out there who would want to be something. Even if we can’t be. Someone who isn’t too afraid to say they would want it.”

Ilya had stared at him for what felt like ages, his face unreadable, and then he nodded once, sharp. “Okay. No one will fuck you like I can. But okay. Go, then. If it’s what you want.”

Shane had looked down at Ilya with something like pity then, because try as he might to hide as much of himself as he could from Shane, Shane had gotten to know Ilya over the years, and he knew this was a front, a wall to push Shane away. Shane didn’t need it. He’d leave on his own.

It didn’t matter if he wanted it, and Shane wouldn’t get to know the answer to that question, which, in effect, meant Ilya was right. It didn’t matter, because whether Ilya wanted it or not, he couldn’t say it, and Shane had left the hotel room in Tampa feeling like he’d left most of himself behind.

Six Months Later
Start of the 2017 Season

October 2017

November 2017

A Few Days Later

December 2017

A Week Later

January 2018

February 2018

The Next Day

March 2018

The Next Day

June 2018

July 2018

August 2018

The Next Day

October 2018, Start of the 2018 Season

 

November 2018

December 2018

A Week Later

Another Week Later, Post Boston v. Montreal Game

January 2019

A Week Later

The Next Day

February 2019

March 2019

A Few Days Later

A Week Later

April 2019

April 2019, After their game in Boston. Shane is hit by Cliff and Taken off the ice.

Shane wakes up disoriented. “Hi,” he says, not recognizing his own voice, far away and a little slurred. He thinks he’s smiling up at the woman who is touching his arm.

“Hello there, Shane,” she says warmly.

“Do I know you?” He asks, feeling a little guilty for not remembering her name.

“No. I’m nurse Hannah. Do you remember what happened?” She asks.

Nurse? Oh. That makes sense. He’s in a hospital.

“Yes,” he says definitively, nodding his head. “Acc-i-dent,” he explains, enunciating each syllable.

“Yes. You got knocked pretty hard, but the good news is that you’re gonna be just fine, alright? A mild concussion and a broken collar bone, but nothing you aren’t gonna bounce back from. How about I go get the doctor, okay?” She asks.

Shane nods. “Okay,” he says brightly.

He thinks he must go in and out of consciousness for a while, maybe, but it’s hard to say. The doctor explains things to him, and he’s told his parents are on a plane to him. He wants to ask about Ilya, but thankfully, even in this state, he knows better.

It’s then, just after the doctor steps out, when none other than Ilya Rozanov walks through the door of his room, does he worry that he’s been speaking all of his thoughts aloud, that somehow he told the doctor and the nurses, and they called Ilya here.

“Ilya,” he says, instead of voicing any of that.

“Shh,” Ilya says, looking worried. Shane hates when he looks worried. “Hi, yes. I’m here,” he says, looking behind him at the closed door.

“Come here,” Shane says, reaching out.

Ilya doesn’t move.

“Come, come, come, come, come,” Shane whispers, wiggling his fingers at Ilya.

Only then does Ilya come over, taking one of Shane’s hands in his, wrapping his fingers tightly around it.

“You scared me,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Shane answers automatically.

“It’s okay. How are you?”

Shane looks over his body once. “I’m okay. No playoffs.”

Ilya nods. “I’m sorry. Cliff didn’t mean to hit you. He feels really bad,” Ilya tells him.

Shane grins at that. “Did you get mad at him?” He feels a little gleeful at the thought for some reason, the image of Ilya going off on one of his closest friends for daring to hurt Shane. Of course, even in his drugged up state, Shane isn’t mad, he understands it’s an occupational hazard, bound to happen at some point or other, but still…

Ilya doesn’t look like he finds any humor in it. “Yes,” he says, not elaborating.

“Oh.”

“I just came to check on you, okay?”

Shane nods. “We were supposed to meet. To talk. Remember?”

Ilya frowns, still holding Shane’s hand, stroking his thumb over the back of it. “Yes. I remember.”

“I was going to say-”

“Shane,” Ilya says firmly. “Maybe later. Not here, okay? Not when you are… On the good stuff.”

“I was gonna say,” Shane says, steamrolling over Ilya’s objection, “don’t marry Svetlana. Okay? Don’t do that.”

Ilya studies him for a moment, then nods. “Okay. I won’t.”

Shane nods, grinning a little lopsided, but triumphant. “Yay,” he says.

Ilya gives him a sort of sad smile, and then the nurse from earlier is walking in, ending the moment. Ilya drops Shane’s hand and says his goodbyes, and Shane is left feeling a little lighter than before, he thinks.

The Next Day

Late That Night

The Next Morning

After both of their teams are out of playoff contention

The Final Game of the Cup Finals, Post NY Admirals Win

The Cottage

Shane feels a little bit like he’s going insane as the minutes tick by. Ilya had texted when he’d landed, and then when he’d got the keys to his rental, and then again when he’d stopped for a snack and some gas on the way. Shane has been pacing, picking up invisible lint, checking and rechecking that rooms are clean, that his breath smells fine, that his hair looks decent.

It’s just, it’s been a long time coming. Over two years, since that day in Tampa, when Ilya had told Shane it didn’t matter if he wanted it, because they couldn’t be anything. Two years since Ilya had told Shane that no one would ever fuck him like he could.

Two years later, and that same Ilya has confessed his love to Shane, is driving to Shane’s cottage, can admit that he wants to be something. He can talk about something he had never been able to before: a future.

Maybe there’s a part of Shane that’s mad still, a part that wishes the last two years could have just been skipped. How much time had they wasted? How much pain had they caused each other? And for what? Why? Fear? Immaturity?

There’s the other part of Shane that thinks, maybe every misstep they took, every error, every experience, brought them to this, and so it’s impossible for him to be mad at any of it. He’s had experiences, many of them good, and he doesn’t regret them. He’s learned from them, he got to feel more free. He can admit now, that every one of them happened with Ilya in the back of his mind, but still. He can’t regret what brought him to this point, when it feels like getting everything he’s ever wanted.

He practically sprints to the front door when he hears tires on the gravel, forgoing shoes even as the pebbles hurt his feet.

Ilya is chuckling as he gets out of the car, a wide smile on his face, his shoulders shaking with the movement. Shane can’t see behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, but he knows the corners of Ilya’s eyes are crinkled in a way he loves.

“Wow, you really missed me,” Ilya says, still laughing at Shane’s enthusiasm, his eagerness.

“Shut up,” Shane says, colliding with Ilya’s chest so hard he makes a sound as the air is hit from his lungs. “Yeah. I did,” Shane says, burrowing his face into Ilya’s neck, inhaling the smell of him deeply, trying to memorize it, wishing he could be closer, wishing he could crawl under his skin and make a home there.

Ilya’s arms wrap around Shane and he holds him tightly, his hands running up and down the expanse of Shane’s back, their warmth seeping through the thin material of his t-shirt.

“Shh,” Ilya soothes, even though Shane isn’t speaking. Maybe he’s trying to quiet his thoughts. “I am here, Shane. I’m here at the cottage. We are together. I’m not going anywhere, okay? You want to let go so we can go inside?”

“No,” Shane murmurs into Ilya’s neck, aware he’s being petulant and childish.

Ilya just laughs again, a low, warm sound. “Sweetheart, if we stay out here longer, it will be longer until I can touch you, get my mouth on you, hm? Longer until I can take care of you and show you how much I missed you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to Shane’s hair.

Shane huffs because he knows Ilya is right. It takes everything in him, but he peels himself off from Ilya enough to look at him, to lock eyes, and they both stare at each other for a long few moments, their breaths heavy.

“Hi,” Shane says. It’s silly. It’s just, other than the visit at the hospital where Shane was hardly clear headed, and face offs on the ice, fueled with anger and adrenaline, this is their first time looking at each other in a long time.

“Hi,” Ilya says softly. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Shane answers. He doesn’t know which one of them moves first, but then they’re kissing, soft and slow, but deep, their lips sliding against each other, and neither of them has the dignity to hold back their tongues, wet and slick as they push into each other’s mouths, trace along gums and teeth, until Shane feels light headed and pulls back, gasping. “Fuck,” Shane exhales. “I forgot how good of a kisser you are.”

Ilya grins, too smug, but Shane supposes it’s deserved. “Mm, there is a lot I will have to remind you how good I am at,” he says.

Shane shoves his arm but there’s no heat behind it, and he helps Ilya carry his bags in, despite Ilya’s protests.

Shane had rehearsed this, not that he’d ever admit it. He had a whole plan. He’d let Ilya in and offer him a drink and food. He’d give him a tour. Maybe they’d sit outside after and talk, catch up, everything. They’d apologize, clear the air, talk about their mistakes and move forward.

Only, once the bags are dropped off in Shane’s room and he looks to Ilya, the plan falls apart.

Shane needs him. Shane needs him now, hard and bruising, in a way that makes up for the last two years, a way that feels permanent and claiming, and Ilya’s eyes look downright predatory, the way they track Shane as he straightens up.

“I want you,” Shane says simply.

Ilya takes a step into the room and pulls his stupid sleeveless sweatshirt thing over his head, his sunglasses with it.

Shane’s eyes run over his chest. He’s bigger than the last time, more muscular, filled out.

“How?” Ilya asks, taking another step closer, like he’s stalking his prey.

“I want you to take me. Make me…” Shane chews his lip. “Make me forget everyone else. Claim me.”

Ilya’s nostrils flare, and his hands go to his sweats, sliding them off in a fluid motion. “Undress,” he orders, but before Shane can even start to comply, Ilya is right up against him, pulling his shirt over Shane’s head. “You want me to claim you, Hollander?” he asks, voice low and husky. “You want me to show you, hm? How no one else can do it for you like me?”

Shane lets out an embarrassing whimper, and fuck, he wants it. It’s fucked up, but what’s new? The rankings, the antagonizing, the jealousy both of them denied, all of it was fucked up, so why change now?

“Yes,” he answers, his hands fumbling with the fly on his pants. “You’re the only one who can fuck me right, please,” he gasps. “Please remind me so I don’t forget again. Wanna feel you. Want you to fill me up, Ilya, god,” he groans as Ilya’s hand cups him through his briefs, once his pants are on the ground.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Ilya practically growls. “Poor Shane. Poor thing, hm? Had to go so long without it, trying to get the next best thing, but it wasn’t me, was it? Wasn’t good enough?” Ilya’s words are punctuated by his knuckles running up and down Shane’s length through his underwear, now damp where he’s leaking against the fabric. “Maybe it was fun, hm? But it wasn’t me. I’m going to wreck you, Shane,” he breathes, the words spoken right against Shane’s ear, sending shivers down his spine.

Shane is pushed back onto the bed, and Ilya yanks his briefs down before Shane can react, his hard cock smacking against his abs.

Ilya’s eyes rake over him, assessing. “So beautiful. Can’t believe anyone else got to see this. I want to mark you. Want to claim you,” he says.

“Do it,” Shane nods, feeling a little delirious. “Mark me. Make me yours.”

Ilya laughs at that, a sharp sound. “You’ve always been mine. Tell me you didn’t think of me every time, hm? That you couldn’t wait to text me. Was it the best part?”

Shane gasps below him, as Ilya pulls his own briefs off and straddles Shane on the bed, reaching to pin Shane’s wrists above his head.

“Answer,” Ilya demands.

“Yes, fuck,” Shane gasps. “The whole time, I’d just think about texting you after.”

Ilya’s hands tighten on Shane’s wrists, squeezing and then loosening his grip, testing. “God, Shane,” he breathes. “That’s fucking… That’s crazy,” he says with a reverence, like it’s the highest fucking compliment to be paid.

Shane blushes in embarrassment that makes his cock ache. “I know,” he agrees.

Ilya is quick with the way he adjusts his grip so that one hand is now gripping both of Shane’s wrists, his other hand going down to give Shane’s cock a slow, agonizing stroke. “But none of them were me, hm? Tell me. Tell me how they weren’t me. Were they too nice to you? Too gentle?” He asks, mocking as he gives Shane’s cock featherlight touches, his fingers just skirting over the length of it.

Shane sucks in a breath. “No. No, none of them treated me right. They didn’t, fuck-” he gasps when Ilya gives him one stroke just on the side of too rough, before resuming the gentle teasing. “They didn’t know me. Didn’t know how to be mean to me, how I like it.”

Ilya tuts, frowning in mockery. “Poor thing. You had to ask, hm? Show me. Show me how you asked for it.”

“P-please,” Shane stammers. “Please, I can take it. Be rough on me, I like it. Make me feel…” he trails off.

Ilya’s hand squeezes around the base of Shane’s cock as it spurts out a dribble of pre-cum. “Go on.”

“Make me feel embarrassed… Cockdumb?” He tries the word out, liking how it sounds. “Make me feel like this is what I’m for. No one used me like you.”

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya groans, the words clearly affecting him. “Fuck, my desperate little slut. That’s what you need, isn’t it? Need to be a good cumdump, a hole to be filled.”

Shane’s back arches at the words alone, his body writhing. “Please, Ilya. Please. Show me. Use me. Show me what I’m good for.”

“Yes, малыш. I will.” He readjusts Shane then, manhandling him so his arms are up by the headboard. “Hold your hands there for me. Stay still, like I’m still holding you. You want to be good for me?”

“For you,” Shane answers. “No one else.”

“No,” Ilya says, standing. “No one else gets this. Never again.”

“Never. No one had me like this. They couldn’t.”

It’s physical, the way the pride and ownership shows on Ilya’s features, his chest practically puffing up with it, and then he moves to the bedside table, opening it up. Shane stays still, but his eyes follow.

“Ah, so this is the vibrating dildo,” he says, taking it out. He presses the button, and the buzzing sound makes Shane jolt, and then just as quickly he turns it off. “We will have time for this later. Today, though, just us.” Ilya rummages a bit and pulls out a bottle of lube and an unopened pack of condoms.

“I…” Shane starts. “I got tested. I mean, I never was with anyone without… uh. But I got tested, after the last person. I don’t know how long it’s been for you but-”

“A while. I also was tested,” he says, the words slow and gentle, but it’s clear from his expression that he hopes Shane finishes the thought.

“So. We don’t need those. If you don’t want.”

With comical speed, Ilya drops the condoms back in the drawer and closes it with his foot. “Good. Only I get this too.”

“Yeah,” Shane nods, his cock now steadily leaking into a glistening pool below his navel.

Ilya climbs back onto the bed, settling low near Shane’s legs. “You remember the one rating? I do. You said he ate your ass like he was starving, no?” Ilya says, and there’s a bite to it, a meanness.

“Don’t quote me,” Shane says, his eyes narrowing.

Ilya levels him with a raised eyebrow. “No. I do what I want, to make you remember who does this with you. The only one. There will not be one inch of you that I won’t be the last one to touch.”

Fuck. Shane had suspected Ilya had a possessive streak, but seeing it, being under the microscope of it, it’s intoxicating. “Okay,” he nods.

“Okay.”

Ilya doesn’t hesitate. He drops the lube near Shane’s thigh, and he dives in like… like a man starved. Shane doesn’t know if it’s for him, or if Ilya simply can’t control himself, but there isn’t lead up, there isn’t teasing. Shane had expected he’d make him beg for it, but no. Ilya laves his tongue over Shane’s hole, wet and warm, exhaling hot puffs of air from his nose right over the sensitive part beneath Shane’s balls. He gives him firm, broad licks, and then he fucking spits there, and Shane shivers as the saliva runs down his taint and slides over his hole.

Ilya points his tongue then, and Shane groans as he realizes he’s fucking his own spit into Shane with his tongue. He spears it, pressing past the tight ring of muscle, and even hotter than the feeling is the way Ilya groans, the vibration of it against Shane, inside of Shane, the way he sounds like it’s a delicacy, like he can’t get enough.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane moans, reaching down to card a hand through Ilya’s hair, until his wrist is snatched tightly and Ilya retracts, making Shane whine at the loss of sensation.

“Did I say you could move?” he asks sharply.

“No,” Shane answers, voice small.

“No. I didn’t. Do you need to be tied up?”

Shane considers it for a moment, because… well. Maybe. But he also doesn’t want to take the time to do it.

“Isn’t that what one of them did? Hm? The teddy bear? He did this with you, and I haven’t.”

“Ilya,” Shane gasps. “Next time. Later. Tomorrow. You can do all of it. Just… need you. Need this. Please.”

His begging does the trick, because Ilya drops his wrist, and he doesn’t need to ask for Shane to lift it back up above his head. “Good boy. Be still,” he says, and then he’s back down between Shane’s legs, his tongue pushing back in, fucking into him until he’s just loose enough for Ilya to wriggle his tongue inside, to push and stretch, to lick every part he can reach, and isn’t that a rush?

“Yeah,” Shane gasps. “You’re… marking me. Every part of me, fuck,” he says, rambling his thoughts outloud. Ilya groans as if to confirm it, and Shane feels his hole pulse around the intrusion. He knows Ilya so well, he thinks. Even with the distance, of course he does. Ilya is making sure his tongue doesn’t miss a single spot, that no one else has been where he hasn’t.

He pulls back some time later, minutes probably, and then he gives attention to the outside, pressing sloppy, wet kisses, and it’s gross, it’s disgusting, wet and slick, slurping noises echoing in the room, the sensation of cooling saliva and his hot tongue, as he makes out with Shane’s hole until Shane is writhing, wringing his hands together to keep them by his head and resist the urge to pull Ilya closer or to push him away.

When Ilya finally emerges, he’s panting, the entire bottom half of his face slick and shiny, and he hauls himself up to kiss Shane, his tongue thrusting deep into Shane’s mouth so he has no choice but to taste himself.

They’re both breathless when he pulls away. “Like this, okay? I want to look at you. Tomorrow, from the back, hands and knees, like my fucking… my slut. My bitch. Today, I want to look at your face when you take my cock raw.”

Shane makes a sort of choked off sound, struggling to swallow his own saliva, but he nods desperately. “Please. Please.”

“So pretty when you beg for it. Did you beg them?”

“Fuck… Ilya. Fuck them. It doesn’t matter.”

Ilya studies him for a moment. “What can I do to you?” He asks.

Confusion washes over Shane. “What? Anything,” he says, in place of getting clarification. “Anything.”

Ilya frowns. “Is a dangerous answer.”

“I don’t care. I trust you.”

“Did you beg them?”

Shane hesitates, and he’s met with a slap, sharp and hard against his cheek. He looks up at Ilya with wide eyes, lips parted.

“Anything, yes? Is that okay?” Ilya checks.

“Yes. Fuck. Yes.”

Ilya grins, sharp teeth, eyes slightly crazed. “Answer.”

“No. No, I didn’t beg them. I didn’t have to.”

Ilya cocks an eyebrow. “No? No, of course not. Shane Hollander. Why would he have to beg, hm? Everybody wants him. But I get him. And I make him beg. Tell me what you want. Ask nice, and maybe I will give it.”

“I want you,” Shane answers immediately. “Want you to fill me, use me, cum in me. Want you to mark me inside and out,” he says, impressed with his own coherence and depravity.

Ilya looks at him for a while with an unreadable expression. “Hm. When did you get so good at dirty talk?”

Shane is brought back to a memory from so long ago, of the two of them together in a bathroom at an award show, when Shane had asked when Ilya’s English had gotten so good. Who have you been talking to? Why wasn’t it me? Who taught you that word?

He wonders if Ilya feels the same. “It’s for you,” he says. “I’m only like this with you.”

That seems to ease Ilya’s mind, because he picks up the lube then, and Shane’s eyes follow the movement, watching as he drizzles some on two of his fingers. “I think you can handle two, yes? You had my tongue. Should not be too much,” he says.

It will be, and they both know it, but Shane nods, and then Ilya strokes his thigh once, affectionately, with the unlubed hand, and presses the two lubed fingers to Shane’s entrance. He’s slow with it, but deliberate, smooth, one fluid motion for both of them to be nestled inside of him, down to the knuckles.

Shane opens his mouth but no sound comes out. There’s burn, a stretch, but it’s perfect, it’s consuming, and Ilya gives him a short moment to adjust before he moves, pulling them out a bit before plunging them back in.

He doesn’t waste time starting a rhythm, and Shane knows it’s deliberate too, when he doesn’t curl his fingers, doesn’t seek out his prostate. He’s just fucking them in and out, fast, efficient, before he spreads them inside of Shane. He scissors his fingers open, stretching him, and only then does he touch the spot that makes Shane jolt and moan, craning his head back.

“Fuck, so good for me. Look at you, baring your neck. You want to be marked? Want everyone to know who you belong to?” He snarls.

Ilya leans down, curling his body over Shane as his fingers continue their assault, and he sucks down on a spot on Shane’s neck, pain blooming as his teeth scrape and as he suctions, pulling blood close to the surface, giving him a hickey that will last. He pulls off, only to repeat the motion on the other side, lower, right over where Shane had broken his collar bone months earlier.

Shane gasps and whimpers, a litany of sounds as Ilya keeps moving his hand, brushing over but not giving quite enough attention to where he needs it.

“You like that?” Ilya asks. “You like being a good slut for me? Letting me mark you? You like getting your ass fingerbanged?”

And Jesus, what a dirty fucking expression. “Yes,” Shane gasps. “Need more. Need you.”

“Aw. I know you do. You always do,” Ilya says, sickly sweet. He retracts his fingers with a wet sound, and wipes them rudely on Shane’s thigh before he positions himself between Shane’s legs, lining up. He grips the base of his cock and smacks it against Shane’s hole, sensitive and stretched. “You need me,” he says again, maybe more to himself. “No one else will do.”

“No one else,” Shane agrees.

“Then you have me,” Ilya says, and he pushes in, groaning loudly as he thrusts forward, seating himself fully inside of Shane.

Shane thinks his eyes must roll back, because Ilya is snapping in front of his face, rude and mean and so fucking hot. “Look at me,” he barks.

Shane focuses his eyes and does. Ilya looks debauched, manic and predatory and high on his own power. “You have me, yes? But I have you too. Only you. Only you, Shane,” he says, and his voice cracks on Shane’s name. “No one else. You know that, yes?”

Shane nods. “Yes.”

“Tell me. Tell me, and I’ll fuck you how you need it.”

“You only have me,” Shane says, dazed and needy. “I’m yours and you’re mine. All mine. No one else can fucking touch you.”

Ilya reaches down to rest a hand on Shane’s throat, not pushing, but pressure, and he pulls back only to slam into Shane hard enough it rocks the bed. “That’s it,” he grunts. He starts up a rhythm, fast and punishing, firm, long strokes that make Shane’s entire body jolt, deep enough he can feel it so far up, feel it in his guts. The sound of their skin slapping together is filthy, Ilya’s balls, heavy and full, ready to empty into Shane, smack against him.

“Fuck, take it,” Ilya grunts. “No one else got this deep. Say it.”

“No one else,” Shane moans, “got this deep.”

“Good. No one else took me this fucking good. So tight, fucking made for my cock,” Ilya says, panting between thrusts, shiny with sweat at the exertion of how hard he’s fucking Shane.

“Tell me I’m the best you ever had. Tell me. Fucking,” Ilya lifts his hand and smacks Shane again, not hard, but sharp enough to sting. “Fucking rate me.”

Jesus fucking Christ, did Shane make him crazy. “Ten,” he gasps. “Ten, ten, ten,” he repeats with each thrust. “Fuck, you’re the best I ever had. The fucking best, Ilya.”

“God, shit,” Ilya gasps. “Open your mouth.”

Shane does.

Ilya spits in it, what feels like a whole fucking mouthful, and Shane moans at the taste, swallowing him down, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the sheer debasement.

“I love you,” Ilya says.

Shane hadn’t realized he was close. He should have. His orgasm had to have been building for some time, but it’s those words that make it slam into him, his cock jerking, untouched, without permission, pumping rope after rope of cum all over his chest and abs, and he shudders as Ilya fucks him through it.

“Holy shit,” Ilya gasps. “Perfect. So perfect, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna fill you with my cum, take it, fuck, take it raw,” he rambles, and his entire body collapses over Shane as he rolls his hips forward once, twice, then shudders, cumming inside of Shane, rocking deep in him, through his orgasm, flooding Shane’s inside with his cum, pressing wet kisses into Shane’s neck.

Both of them go entirely still after besides their panting breaths, chest to chest, for a long while. Shane is glad. He wants to keep Ilya inside of him as long as possible, his softening cock keeping the cum plugged inside of him.

“I love you too,” Shane speaks first.

Ilya nuzzles into him. “That was so good,” he murmurs. “So fucking good. My love.” Ilya starts to move, but Shane hooks a foot around the back of his thigh.

“Not yet. Please. A little more. Don’t want you to not be inside me yet.”

“Okay,” Ilya says, kissing his cheek. “I will stay as long as you want.”

Shane laughs, a giddy sound. “We’d die of dehydration then. I don’t ever want you to leave.”

“Needy boy,” Ilya chastises.

“Possessive freak,” Shane answers.

“Yes. I think so, yes. For you.”

“I’m gonna close my eyes for a few, okay?”

Ilya chuckles at that. “Okay. Yes. I will wake you up when my cock is pruny or when I have to piss, whichever is first.”

“Okay,” Shane says distantly. “You didn’t rate me,” he continues, only remembering before he’s about to doze off.

“Infinity. A number so high they haven’t counted it yet.”

Shane smiles at that, content and floaty, and so, so in love.