Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Dom/sub, Dom Ilya Rozanov, Sub Shane Hollander, Spit Kink, Blow Jobs, Enthusiastic Consent, Under-negotiated Kink, Degradation, Facials, Dacryphilia, some aftercare, Dirty Talk, Kissing, BDSM, Rough Oral Sex, Kink Discovery

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-02 Words: 6,183 Chapters: 1/1

Hit Me Hard and Soft

Summary

“Fuck, look at you,” Ilya breathes. “Ask me for it again.”

“Hit me,” Shane says instantly, not a moment of hesitation.

“Is your face not sore? You still want more?”

“It’s sore,” Shane answers. “Please. I want more.”

“Fuck,” Ilya hisses, and he extends his arm out, muscular and powerful, and he brings it down hard, harder than any of the previous smacks. This one makes Shane’s head reel, his entire upper half jolting in response to it. Ilya watches in concern and fascination, gauging his reaction.

---

Ilya's playful slap during the Hayden phone call scene awakens something in Shane.

Notes

Hello!

This fic is about face slapping. Ilya slaps Shane's face a lot. Don't read if you don't like that!

CW's with some spoilers:

The consent is enthusiastic, and Shane asks for it repeatedly, though they don't exactly talk as much as they probably should about it. Ilya has a little internal struggle as he copes with wanting to do what Shane asks and causing Shane harm, but ultimately he is very turned on by it too. There is some discussion of the d/s dynamic, with Ilya understanding he has control because Shane gives him control.

There isn't explicit sub drop or dom drop, but some implication. Aftercare isn't thoroughly written out but it is explicitly implied at the end, with both of them feeling better after talking, and reassuring each other.

Shane’s hand is smacking Ilya’s away from his face before it continues down and hits him in the shoulder. 

 

“Jesus, Ilya” Shane gasps. “Sorry, I gotta go,” he says to Hayden on the phone, before he hangs up and tosses his phone across the sofa. 

 

Ilya pouts at him. The phone call was part of the game, and Shane’s just ended it. Not that Ilya doesn’t want to blow Shane anyway, and not that, maybe, possibly, there was a little bit of jealousy that Shane was on the phone with Hayden, and that was part of it too. Which is stupid. But still.

 

It’s not that Shane hanging up is a bad thing, it’s just that it wasn’t the game, and maybe Ilya pushed too hard, pissed him off too much. “Sorry,” Ilya says, a little pathetically, his chin resting on Shane's knee as he looks up at him with his best puppy dog eyes, because Shane is… huh. Shane is not glaring at him, as Ilya had expected when he’d worked up the courage to look at him. Shane ended his phone call after Ilya’s actions, and doesn’t look like he wants to kill him, which is… surprising.

 

Shane is looking down at him with a flush across his cheeks, and slightly parted lips. Okay. So maybe Shane does really want his dick sucked and ended the call to focus on that.

 

“What the fuck did you just do?” Shane asks.

 

Or, maybe not. Ilya is a little confused. “I… I was sucking your dick. Have I not been doing this enough? You forgot what it was? Usually you like it,” he says, trying to bring levity to the situation.

 

“No, not… Jesus. Not that.”

 

Ilya lifts an eyebrow and gives Shane his best ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about’ look. “I did thumbs up. You didn’t stop me, I thought it was okay?” He’s not sure what the issue is. Sure, he pushed, but it’s not like if Shane actually stopped him, he would keep pushing. It was just a game, right? 

 

“You hit me,” Shane says.

 

Ilya’s blood runs a little cold and he stands up suddenly, making himself a little light headed with how quickly he’s on his feet. “Shane,” he says. “I… I was just. Fuck, I am sorry. Did I hurt you? I was just, I don’t know. Playing. Annoying you,” he says, because, yes, technically, he did sort of hit Shane’s face, but he didn’t think it would be taken as anything more, and now he feels awful, guilt and horror that his playful act has been taken the wrong way, that Shane hung up his call because he thinks Ilya slapped him seriously. 

 

Too many emotions cross Shane’s face for him to keep up with. “No,” he says. 

 

No? No what? Ilya doesn’t know what to say so he just stares, eyes wide.

 

“I…” Shane sighs. “Please do it again,” he says, like it’s obvious, like Ilya is being mildly inconvenient for not being able to read Shane’s mind.

 

“I… What?” Ilya asks, his voice pleading in its confusion. 

 

“Please,” Shane says again, slower this time as he lowers himself back down onto the seat of the couch so that Ilya is looking down at him. “Slap me again.”

 

“Oh,” Ilya says. “Is… Is that something you want?” 

 

“Apparently,” Shane says, sounding a little exasperated. 

 

“Shane,” Ilya starts. “Maybe, um… Maybe we should talk. First,” he offers.

 

Shane looks like Ilya’s doused him with ice water. 

 

“After. We can talk after. Please,” he begs again. “Just…” He huffs in exasperation and grips one of Ilya’s wrists tightly, bringing it down to his clothed cock. He pushes Ilya’s hand firmly against it, the thick, hard weight of it against Ilya’s palm.

 

And really, how is Ilya supposed to say no to that? How is Ilya supposed to do anything but grip Shane through his shorts, squeeze him just on the edge of too tight, enough that Shane whines and shudders slightly. 

 

“Okay,” Ilya agrees, nodding as he retracts his hand.

 

Shane’s face crumples at the loss of contact. 

 

“Okay, I will do this. But then we talk. And you talk during it. If it is too much, if you want me to stop. If you don’t talk, I stop,” Ilya says, his voice firm.

 

Shane nods. That won’t do.

 

“No. Shane. Talk,” he reiterates. 

 

“Yes,” Shane agrees. “I will. I’ll tell you if it’s too much or… or not enough. Okay?” He asks, impatience lacing every word.

 

Not enough? That wasn’t part of it but Ilya can’t say the idea doesn’t intrigue him. All of this intrigues him. He’s horny, because he was already horny, trying to blow Shane while he was on the phone. And sure, he supposes that’s inherently kinky, something adjacent to exhibitionism. He supposes a lot of what they do is inherently kinky, even if it’s not necessarily discussed or labeled. Ilya likes being in control, and it took about thirty seconds of their first sexual encounter for Ilya to realize Shane likes giving it up.

 

Still, slapping Shane is different, but Shane is asking for it, pleading for it so beautifully in a way that makes Ilya’s fingers twitch and his pulse jump and his dick throb.

 

“Okay. Bed,” Ilya says again, and Shane is scrambling up to his feet, squeezing past Ilya to race to the bedroom. He’s a few strides ahead, and already taking his shirt off by the time Ilya is stepping into the bedroom. 

 

Shane folds his shirt quickly, setting it on the dresser before he’s going for his pants. 

 

Ilya stands in the doorway, watching in mild surprise. It’s not that Shane doesn’t get eager, it’s just, usually Ilya is the one moving things along, telling Shane to undress, begging Shane to touch his dick like he had when they’d first gotten here. Shane had been so happy to hear Ilya hadn’t been with anyone else for months, and Ilya had been desperate, ready to end his dryspell, even with the knowledge that he wouldn’t last any respectable amount of time. Watching Shane pull his pants down and fold them, Ilya can’t imagine ever wanting to be with someone else. 

 

Shane is naked then, standing in the bedroom, his eyes flicking to Ilya. Ilya looks at him with mild amusement as Shane blushes, maybe realizing with a slight embarrassment that Ilya is still fully dressed and has been watching him rip his clothes off. 

 

“I…” Shane starts. 

 

“Get on the bed,” Ilya says, putting him out of his misery. He doesn’t undress though, as he crosses the room. Shane lays back on the middle of the bed, his head on the pillows, and Ilya climbs on top of him. He straddles him, sitting back on Shane’s thighs. Shane is quick to reach up, to curl his fingers under the hem of Ilya’s tank top, but Ilya shuts that down quickly, taking Shane’s wrists in his hands and pinning them to the bed, above Shane’s head, like he had done the first time they’d wound up here. 

 

“Oh,” Shane says simply. 

 

“Oh,” Ilya echoes back, a little more mocking than strictly necessary. “What? You beg me to do this, to hit you, and you think you call the shots? You think you get to undress me?” Ilya asks. He watches in slight awe as Shane’s throat bobs as he swallows, and he shakes his head. 

 

“No,” Ilya agrees. “You want this, yes? You are sure?”

 

“I’m sure,” Shane confirms.

 

“Okay. Then be good, yes? Tell me to stop or if it is too much, and if you don’t…” He struggles a little for how to say it. He’s used to being dominant with Shane, because Shane submits so easily, so willingly, but this? This is different. If Ilya is going to do this, he needs to be in the right headspace. He needs to feel in control. He needs to look at Shane, the man he is fully aware he loves, and slap him, because Shane wants it, because Shane is beautiful, his lips parted, his pupils blown, his cock hard and dripping onto his stomach. He needs to be in control because it’s what Shane needs, and Ilya thinks there is very little he wouldn’t do if Shane asked. 

 

“If I don’t?” Shane asks.

 

“Then I will give you what you asked for. If you don’t ask me to stop, I will keep going, okay?” 

 

Shane lets out a thready sounding whine and nods again. “Ilya,” he says softly. “Please.” 

 

The first smack is sharp. It’s not particularly strong or forceful, but it’s sharp, the sound of it ringing out in the bedroom. Ilya’s hand stings when he pulls it back. The smack lands right across Shane’s cheek, the flesh giving way. Ilya’s aim is careful, avoiding Shane’s cheekbones as much as he can, landing firmly on the fat of his cheek. It’s not even strong enough for Shane’s head to snap to the side, so he just looks up at Ilya looking impossibly turned on. His lips are parted more, one side of his face pink, and Ilya can’t help himself. He leans down and kisses Shane deeply, needy and consuming as he thrusts his tongue deep into Shane’s mouth. Shane is pliable, open and loose, reacting sluggishly to the kiss, his tongue lazily tracing along Ilya’s before Ilya pulls back. 

 

“Okay,” Ilya says to himself, as if confirming that this is, in fact, okay. “Was it okay? That’s what you want?” Shane’s face says yes, this is what he wants, but still, Ilya wants to be sure. Ilya isn’t a violent man. Maybe that would surprise people who don’t know him. He’s initiated his share of fights on the ice. He’s thrown punches, he’s shoved opponents into walls. He remembers seeing red, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurt as he shoved his brother back, only stopping himself from doing something he’d regret because of Svetlana’s calming voice. Ilya isn’t a violent man, but when Shane answers, Ilya knows this isn’t violence. Hitting his lover who looks at him like he’s the sun, like he’s powerful but nothing to be fearful of, like he is giving Shane everything he wants, is not violence. 

 

“Yes,” Shane nods. “Again. Harder,” he says. “Please.” 

 

“Fuck,” Ilya exhales, because he has the most precious thing in this world pinned down beneath him, naked and vulnerable and leaking, submitting and begging for this. “Yes. I will give you what you need, Shane. So beautiful,” he murmurs, letting his knuckles gently brush over Shane’s cheek before he raises his hand again. 

 

Shane flinches, because of course he does, and Ilya brings his hand down swiftly, harder than before. He lets the slap follow through, not stopping on the moment of impact, but continuing the motion, landing hard as Shane’s head turns with the force of it this time. 

 

The sound Shane makes is a closed mouth whine, a mix of pain and something else. Only when Ilya rubs his hand softly over the reddened skin does Shane open his eyes again. “Thank you,” he says softly. 

 

“Of course,” Ilya says. “Of course, sweetheart. You take it so well, don’t you? Tell me what you like about this? Tell me what you want.” 

 

Shane chews his lip for a moment. Ilya can tell from his eyes, wide and pleading, that he wants an out. He wants to be saved from having to answer. Ilya gives him no such mercy. He sits up, leaning back on Shane’s legs, and waits for an answer, not breaking eye contact. 

 

“It’s like… I don’t know. Giving up control. Feeling dominated,” he says.

 

“Yes,” Ilya agrees. “But this isn’t new. We knew this from the first time, hm? I knew this when you took my thumb in your mouth. What is different with this?” Ilya pushes.

 

Shane frowns, so Ilya reaches down and strokes his thumb gently over Shane’s cheekbone. “You can be brave. Tell me.”

 

“I don’t know. When you… on the couch. It’s like something lit up in me. I like the pain. I like feeling… weak. I never get to be weak, but… With you,” He pauses, inhaling, but Ilya is patient with him, waiting. “At your mercy. Like you could hurt me, but… but I trust you,” he says. 

 

Ilya thinks he understands. It’s hard for him, because he can’t exactly put himself in Shane’s shoes, but he thinks he gets it. He thinks about the inverse; how he would never want to do anything Shane doesn’t want. He would never be aroused by hurting Shane in any other context, but Shane asking for it, Shane rolling over in complete submission, trusting Ilya so devoutly, needing him so much he wants to feel real, physical pain, and he knows Ilya will give it to him in the correct dosage? Yes. Ilya understands, because he is hard, slightly manic with the feeling, the power, and he is itching to smack Shane again, to smack him hard, over and over, until Shane looks utterly untethered, undone and floaty and possessed. 

 

“Good boy,” Ilya says, because it’s easier than explaining any of that. “You did well answering,” he praises. 

 

Shane’s face relaxes with praise, a soft, sort of dazed looking expression developing over his features. 

 

“Okay,” Ilya nods, steadying himself. Now that he understands better, he feels more confident. Shane wants this, he reminds himself, and he realizes that it means it’s okay for him to want this too. He wants this. He wants Shane to hurt because Shane wants to hurt. He wants Shane to get everything he wants. 

 

He looks down to Shane’s cock, flushed dark and still leaking, and he gives it a soft flick, watching it bob as Shane’s muscles jolt a little with the sensation. “Look at that. So needy for it, hm?” 

 

Shane doesn’t answer, looking up at Ilya, so Ilya takes the opportunity. This time he uses his left hand, and he smacks Shane’s other cheek, twice in rapid succession, firm and sharp. Shane gasps in surprise, looking some confusing mix of surprised, turned on, and vaguely offended. Ilya supposes it will take more than a few smacks for Shane to shake his near instinctive stubbornness, even when he’s asked for this. 

 

“I asked you a question,” Ilya says sharply, his tone harsher than before. “Pay attention or I’ll slap you again. Are you needy for it?” 

 

Shane nods dumbly. “Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

 

Ilya grins at that. It’s just that Shane is so obedient it makes Ilya feel high sometimes, high on his own power, on the submission Shane offers. “That’s better. Are you going to be good for me?”

 

Shane pouts a little, which is just… ridiculous, really. “I am good.”

 

Ilya’s right hand comes down, and he’s hard with it this time, more forceful. He keeps his hand firm and flat, following through with the smack, and Shane yelps, high pitched and pained and pretty. 

 

“Fuck,” Shane says, bringing a hand up to rub over the abused skin, red and hot to the touch. 

 

“What?” Ilya asks. “You want to talk back, you get smacked,” he says. There’s the instinct to check in, to ask if he’s okay, but Shane had said he’d tell Ilya if it was too much. He isn’t saying that. He still is hard and he licks his lips, looking up to Ilya through his lashes. 

 

“Sorry,” Shane says softly. 

 

“Good boy,” Ilya says, and he reaches up to gently card a hand through Shane’s hair before he closes his fist and yanks Shane’s head back on the pillow a bit. He looks surprised, but not unhappy. “Are you going to be good, Shane?” Ilya asks again. 

 

“Yes,” Shane whispers. 

 

Ilya releases his hair and pats his face this time, just a gentle tap, but Shane shuts his eyes and frowns slightly, like he’s disappointed it wasn’t more. 

 

“Aw,” Ilya coos in mock sympathy. “What? Is not what you wanted?” 

 

“No,” Shane says petulantly. 

 

“No?” Ilya asks, feigning ignorance. “What did you want? Why don’t you show me?” He presses. 

 

Shane’s jaw falls open. “I… show you?” 

 

“Yes. Show me what you want,” Ilya orders. His hands are ready, half lifted, ready to snatch Shane’s hand midair when he tries to slap Ilya, to laugh at him, to mock him for thinking he could slap Ilya.

 

Only, when Shane lifts his hand, he doesn’t smack Ilya. Fuck. He smacks himself, a firm slap, his face looking pathetically desperate as he looks up at Ilya. 

 

“Holy shit,” is all Ilya manages to get out. Of course Shane would do this. Of course Shane, in his obedience and submission, would misunderstand Ilya’s baiting, would be unable to even fathom that Ilya was suggesting Shane take an ounce of control. No, that wouldn’t even register to Shane. Instead, he smacks himself, and Ilya needs to make him hurt. Ilya needs to give him what he wants. Ilya needs to ruin him. 

 

“What?” Shane asks, adorably clueless. 

 

“Nothing. Just… you are perfect,” Ilya says, and he can’t help himself once again, leaning down to kiss Shane. This time it’s softer, a gentle, slow glide of his tongue along Shane’s lower lip before he pulls back. 

 

“I’m going to undress now, and you are going to stay very still, yes?” Ilya asks, sliding off of Shane before standing beside the bed. 

 

“Yes,” Shane agrees. 

 

“Good boy. Don’t move,” Ilya instructs, locking his eyes on Shane as he pulls his tight tank top over his head and tosses it to the floor. He goes to his shorts next, pulling them off. Shane’s eyes follow the motion, but he’s being good, staying still, one hand by his side, the other resting on the pillow by his face. 

 

Shane wants to be good, Ilya knows. But if he’s good, he won’t get what he wants. Ilya needs to make him want to be bad, to make him struggle, to make him turmoil over the need to be good, to obey, and to rebel, to be bad so that Ilya has a reason to slap him again. Ilya goes for his briefs, and slides them down slowly, watching as Shane’s eyes track the movement. He holds them in his hand then, standing naked and hard. Shane’s eyes flick between Ilya’s cock and his briefs, which he’s looking at thoughtfully in his hands before an idea comes to him. He reaches out, and then with an air of indifference, he drops his briefs over Shane’s face, obscuring his nose and mouth. 

 

Shane’s eyes flash with something, annoyance and frustration. Ilya smirks, watching Shane’s hands twitch, before he can’t take it anymore, and he yanks the briefs off of his face, tossing them aside. “What the fu-” he starts, but he’s cut off when Ilya smacks him hard. It’s a little too close to his mouth maybe, reddening Shane’s slips, and when Ilya pulls his hand back, his fingertips are wet with saliva. 

 

There’s a fire in Shane’s eyes, and he’s so fucking red now, the flush spreading down his neck and blossoming over his chest. 

 

“I thought I told you not to move,” Ilya says simply. 

 

“You- What-” Shane stammers, so Ilya picks his briefs up off the floor. 

 

“Let’s try that again, hm? Be good this time,” Ilya says.

 

Shane stares at him, glaring with the level of intimidation of a slightly disgruntled kitten, but then he nods once, a sharp jerk of his chin, and Ilya grins triumphantly. 

 

He wads his briefs up a bit this time, and leans in. “Open your mouth. You didn’t listen the first time, so now we do it this way,” he says. 

 

Shane’s face registers a moment of surprise, but then he obeys, opening his jaw. Ilya pushes what he can fit of his briefs into Shane’s mouth and ignores the annoyed sounding grunt and the huff of air Shane exhales through his nostrils. With a gentle touch, Ilya pushes Shane’s jaw up, closing his mouth as much as he can around the briefs. 

 

“There we go. Much better like this. I don’t have to hear you complain,” he says, before frowning. He supposes that leads to another complication, so he quickly adds on, “tap the headboard if you need to stop.” 

 

Shane nods in understanding. He’s still glaring which makes Ilya feel a little gleeful. He’s mad, he’s pissed off that Ilya has put his underwear in his mouth, but still, he agrees to the modified way of communication. He lets Ilya do this, despite not liking it. His cock certainly looks like it’s enjoying this, though. 

 

“Good. Now, stay still,” Ilya says, before he brings his hand down to his own cock. He wraps his hand around himself and sighs at the feeling, giving himself a few slow strokes, pulling his foreskin back as he does so. 

 

Shane’s eyes look a little watery as they track the motion.

 

“Hm? Do you want something?” Ilya asks, continuing to give himself slow, lazy strokes. It feels like relief, something to take the edge off, but he’s careful not to go too fast, not to grip too firmly. 

 

Shane nods and lets out a whine, muffled by the fabric in his mouth. 

 

Ilya smacks him, quick and sharp, retracting his hand immediately, and Shane’s eyes widen in confusion. 

 

“Nodding is moving,” Ilya explains. “The thing I told you not to do. Did you forget already? So drunk with it already, you forget?” He says, his tone a little cruel, a little mocking. “Is a simple direction, no? Just stay still. Yet it is so hard for you to follow this simple order,” he says, pouting in mock sympathy. “Maybe I should tie you up, hm?”

 

Shane seems to perk up at that idea which makes Ilya chuckle lowly. “Next time, maybe. One new thing at a time, I think.” 

 

Ilya drops his cock, then. He thought about continuing with this teasing, jerking himself off in front of Shane and ordering him to be still, but he’s worried he’d only end up working himself up too much. Instead, he climbs back onto the bed, kneeling in between Shane’s legs this time. 

 

“I wonder if you could stay still while I do this,” Ilya purrs out, and he traces a finger up the underside of Shane’s cock. 

 

Shane’s hips jerk up immediately into the touch. 

 

Ilya holds back a grin and clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Such a hard time listening today,” he says. “Do you need a reminder of what happens?” 

 

Shane’s brows knit together as he braces himself. It’s really not fair how he looks, Ilya thinks. He lifts his hand again, and brings it down quickly, stopping only when he’s centimeters from Shane’s face, and then he caresses him instead, watching as Shane’s flinch smooths out into something more relaxed. 

 

“Just don’t do it again,” Ilya soothes, bringing his hand back down to Shane’s cock. It’s hot and heavy in his hand, but this time he watches as Shane clenches his abs, willing himself to be still.

 

“There we go,” Ilya praises as he gives Shane’s cock a few slow, drawn out strokes. Shane whimpers, but that’s allowed. Ilya reaches up and pulls his briefs from Shane’s mouth, tossing them aside. “Lets find something else to fill that mouth with, hm?” He asks, his tone soft, and he cups Shane’s jaw softly, moving his thumb up to pull Shane’s lip down a bit.

 

“Ilya,” Shane says softly, despite the way his mouth is contorted. 

 

“Do you want to suck my cock, sweetheart?” He asks. 

 

“Please,” Shane nods against Ilya’s hand. 

 

“I can’t say no to you,” Ilya winks, straightening up. “Get on the floor. On your knees.” 

 

Shane scrambles up quickly, but Ilya catches him by his elbow before he can go down on the ground. He pulls him in close, wrapping an arm around his middle, so that their naked bodies are pressed together, and his other hand goes to the back of Shane’s neck. He drags him in for a kiss, filthy and desperate, like he’s trying to consume him. His tongue pushes into Shane’s mouth and he draws needy sounds from him, little keens that Ilya swallows down. He can’t stop himself from grinding his hips against Shane, his cock dragging over Shane’s abs. Shane’s own cock is pressed to Ilya’s hip, leaving a slick trail of pre-cum. 

 

Ilya forces himself to break the kiss, a little breathless, and then he pushes Shane down, his hand wrapping around Shane’s shoulder as he pushes down. It’s a rude thing to do. It’s not something he’s ever done, in any of his past hookups. It’s so… demanding and chauvinist, and besides, Ilya hasn’t been with anyone who wouldn’t willingly get on their knees for him in the first place. But here? In this moment? To Shane? It’s another display of power that makes his gut swirl. Of course Shane would kneel, he was already going to, but Ilya making him, making the choice for him? Seeing Shane go along with it, bending his knees and lowering himself down under the weight of Ilya’s hand? It makes him a little delirious. He wonders if Shane feels just as delirious to give up that power, to hand over control of his body to Ilya. 

 

Shane looks up at Ilya with wide eyes, wanting and eager and there’s something so pure in them, trusting and reverent. He trusts Ilya in a way Ilya hasn’t ever felt before. It’s disarming. Again, Ilya’s brain says that word again; ruin. He wants to ruin Shane because Shane trusts him to. Shane trusts him to ruin him, to hurt him, degrade him, control him, knowing he’ll be right here for the aftermath. There is no running from this anymore. They know better than to fool themselves anymore. No one is looking for an exit sign. No one needs to know the quickest way out. When Ilya called Shane that night the Admirals won the Stanley Cup, he threw out every escape plan he ever had. He’ll burn alive before he even thinks of fleeing the fire that is Shane Hollander, kneeling beneath him, lips parted. 

 

“Fuck, look at you,” Ilya breathes. “Ask me for it again.” 

 

“Hit me,” Shane says instantly, not a moment of hesitation. 

 

“Is your face not sore? You still want more?” 

 

“It’s sore,” Shane answers. “Please. I want more.” 

 

“Fuck,” Ilya hisses, and he extends his arm out, muscular and powerful, and he brings it down hard, harder than any of the previous smacks. This one makes Shane’s head reel, his entire upper half jolting in response to it. Ilya watches in concern and fascination, gauging his reaction. 

 

When Shane straightens back up, Ilya is struck with two horrifying realizations: one, that Shane’s eyes are watering, tears threatening to spill over, and two, that his cock is throbbing at the sight of it, aching and bobbing in the air.

 

“Shane,” Ilya whispers. 

 

“Yes,” Shane says, his voice coming out a little wrecked. “Like that. Thank you.”

 

Holy shit. 

 

“Fuck. Open your mouth,” Ilya orders, because he can’t stand hearing another word out of Shane’s mouth, not if he wants to stay standing or actually get inside of Shane’s mouth before he cums. 

 

Shane does, of course. He opens his mouth wide, and Ilya doesn’t hesitate, feeding his cock past Shane’s warm, wet lips. Ilya groans when Shane takes him deep. Ilya is too far gone to go slow, to give Shane time to adjust. From the way Shane suctions his lips and sucks, Ilya doesn’t think he minds. 

 

“God, Shane,” Ilya groans. “I want to fuck your mouth,” he practically growls.

 

Shane lifts a hand and wraps it around Ilya, grabbing a handful of his ass firmly, and he pulls it forward, dragging Ilya in, deeper into Shane’s throat, encouraging. As if Ilya needed any more encouragement.

 

Ilya puts a hand in Shane’s hair, getting a firm grip for leverage, and then he starts to move. He thrusts his hips forward, keeping Shane’s head as still as he can, and he uses him. He fucks into his mouth and feels when Shane gags, the way his throat fights the intrusion, jerking against Ilya’s cock. 

 

“Like that,” Ilya breathes. “You take it so good.” He picks up the pace, snapping his hips forward, quick staccato movements. His eyes are locked onto Shane’s face. Ilya loves the part where Shane goes from meticulous and focused on a blowjob to something else, something fuzzier and calmer, like Ilya’s cock is the only thing that matters, like he’s floating. He’s been there since Ilya first brought him to bed. His eyes look glazed over, or maybe that’s the tears. They’re starting to spill over now, with how roughly Ilya is fucking his mouth. He gags but never harshly, not enough to cough or pull off. There’s the sound of his throat suctioning against the head of Ilya’s cock, wet clicks and slick slurping sounds, and an occasional whine or moan that Ilya feels on his cock.

 

“Fuck, you’re going to make me cum already,” Ilya breathes. “Do you want it now? Or do you want more?” He asks, watching as tears run down Shane’s cheeks. He pulls out, watching Shane’s face react to the emptiness, his foggy eyes following Ilya’s cock.

 

Well. That’s a reason to smack him, isn’t? 

 

“Earth to Shane,” Ilya snaps, his voice cold, and he smacks Shane again, watching as his eyes focus again, as he comes back to earth, and then seems to leave it just as quickly, looking up at Ilya. He looks debauched. His face is red and puffy. His cheeks are wet, covered in imprints of Ilya’s palm and fingers. His eyes are watery, his lips slick and swollen. “Focus,” Ilya orders. “Have I broken you? Are you ruined now?” Ilya asks, reaching down to cup Shane’s jaw.

 

Shane leans into the touch. 

 

“Yes, I think I have. Say it, sweetheart. Tell me what I’ve done,” Ilya says softly, gentler than before.

 

“Ilya,” Shane says. “You ruined me. For anyone else. I’m yours,” he says.

 

And that isn’t exactly what Ilya had asked for, but it’s better than he could’ve imagined. “Fuck,” Ilya murmurs. He can’t tell Shane he loves him while he’s crying on his knees, but… He does. He’ll say it soon, he knows that much. It’s becoming harder and harder to keep those words inside.  “Yes. You’re mine. No one else can do this to you, can they?”

 

Shane shakes his head still cupped in Ilya’s hand. 

 

“Do you want my cum?” Ilya asks him.

 

“Yes,” Shane breathes out. 

 

“You are so beautiful. Tears and handprints. I want to cum on your face. I want you to look as ruined as you are,” he says.

 

“Please,” Shane agrees. 

 

Ilya leans down then, bent over so he’s close to Shane’s face. Shane’s lips part like he’s going to get kissed, but then Ilya does something else, something even he hadn’t expected. He spits on him. It’s not a small amount, saliva smattering across Shane’s face, joining the wetness of the tears. Shane flinches, his eyes shutting, and maybe Ilya should have asked, but then Shane licks his lips, licking up where a glob of saliva is resting, and okay. Maybe this is fine too. 

 

“Good boy,” Ilya says reverently, before he straightens up and takes himself in his hand. “Touch yourself. Cum with me, Shane,” Ilya orders. Shane obeys immediately, wrapping his hand around his neglected, leaky cock, and he groans at the feeling.

 

It takes Ilya no more than a dozen firm pumps of his hand before he’s cumming hard, shooting rope after rope of cum all over Shane’s face. One long rope lands across his lips, another over his forehead, another over his cheek. The contrast of the stark white stands out even more over Shane’s bright red cheeks, the hot, brutalized skin marked by Ilya’s release. 

 

Just as Ilya’s fist slows down, as he squeezes out the last few feeble drops of cum and rubs the head of his cock over Shane’s swollen lips, Shane lets out a wrecked sound, something like a sob and a moan, and Ilya looks down, watching as his cock jerks and he cums over the floor, his eyes shutting tightly as he spills over. 

 

Ilya is still catching his breath when Shane nearly doubles over. Ilya’s knees hit the ground so hard it hurts, and he wraps his arms around Shane, pulling him into him, tucking Shane’s head into where Ilya’s neck and shoulder meet. He ignores the stickiness, the feeling of spit and tears and cooling cum, as he rubs his hands up and down Shane’s back. 

 

“You did so well, Shane. You are so good,” Ilya praises him, his voice soft, clinging to Shane. For a moment he worries it was too much, that Shane is hurt, overwhelmed, that Ilya went too far despite doing what Shane had asked. 

 

“Thank you,” Shane murmurs into Ilya’s neck, assuaging those anxieties. “Thank you, holy shit,” he says a little breathlessly. “It was so good. Fuck, it was so good.” His words are a little slurred and his skin feels hot against Ilya, and Ilya leans in, breathing in the smell of Shane’s hair, the shampoo, the oil he uses. It grounds him, and he feels his own breathing level out.

 

“You are welcome, darling,” Ilya hums. “Thank you. For trusting me. For asking for what you want. You know I’d give you anything,” Ilya says, the last few words so quiet he isn’t sure if Shane can even hear them, murmured into Shane’s hair.

 

“Did you,” Shane says, swallowing mid sentence. “Did you like it?” 

 

“Fuck,” Ilya says, a soft laugh slipping out. “Yes. Maybe um…” He inhales the smell of Shane again, finding it far more calming than it has any reason to be. “Maybe too much.”

 

“Too much?” Shane asks, pulling back just a bit, as far as Ilya lets him before he pulls him back in, his hand going to stroke through Shane’s hair. 

 

“You know I would never do this if you didn’t ask, yes? I would never hurt you,” he says.

 

“Ilya,” Shane says firmly, and he pulls back again, so Ilya lets him. 

 

He has cum smeared all over him now, despite a good amount of it left on Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya looks away, feeling slightly guilty about how red Shane’s face is.

 

“Ilya,” Shane repeats. “Look at me.” 

 

Ilya does. He can be obedient too, for Shane. Ilya looks at Shane, and watches as Shane’s eyes track over his face, searching for something, cataloging something Ilya isn’t sure of. 

 

“I know. I asked for it. I wanted it. I know you’d never… It’s just, like. You know.” He blushes a little, ducking his head before saying the next word. “A kink.”

 

“A kink,” Ilya agrees, and that seems to loosen something in him. He grins a little. “Shane Hollander is kinky. What will the world think?” 

 

Shane laughs and gently shoves Ilya’s shoulder. “Nothing, because they’ll never know. Anyway, you’re kinky too.”

 

Ilya lifts an eyebrow. “Ilya Rozanov being kinky wouldn’t exactly be newsworthy, Shane. It’s cold in Antarctica. Ilya Rozanov is kinky. These are not headlines,” he teases. 

 

Shane is smiling though, bright and happy despite how utterly wrecked he looks. “Okay,” he says, rolling his eyes fondly. “But you know what I mean, yeah?”

 

Ilya does. He nods. A kink is a kink, and it doesn’t have to mean more, and the next time Shane asks Ilya to slap him, Ilya will, gladly, as hard as Shane wants, because he loves Shane, because he loves this too, because he might be the one doing the slapping, but he is under no delusion that he wouldn’t do anything Shane asked. He gets to be in control because Shane chooses it. “Yes. Now can we go shower? Please? You are a mess, and I want to clean you and kiss you and then make you something to eat, yes?”

 

Shane nods. “Yeah,” he says, and lets Ilya guide him up into a standing position. “I’ll meet you in the bathroom, just one sec,” Shane says. 

 

Ilya heads to the ensuite and turns on the water, pulling out two fluffy towels, feeling lighter than he has in a while. 

 

“Oh, fuck,” Shane groans from the other room. 

 

Ilya steps out, peeking his head out of the doorway. “Everything okay?”

 

Shane is staring at his phone. “I have six missed calls from Hayden and a text asking why I said ‘Ilya’ before hanging up.”

 

Ilya can’t help laughing, the volume and the bubbly, happy sound of it startling him. “Well,” he says, “maybe a problem for when my cum isn’t on your face.”

 

Shane huffs and drops his phone back onto the couch. “Yeah,” he agrees. 

I love you, I love you, I love you, Ilya rehearses in his head. Soon.