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:

Alternate Universe - College/University, Hockey Player Shane Hollander, Frat Boy Ilya Rozanov, Stoner Ilya Rozanov, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Sub Top Ilya Rozanov, Sub Ilya Rozanov, Dom Bottom Shane Hollander, Dom Shane Hollander, High Sex, Intoxication, intox kink, Teasing, Verbal Humiliation, Verbal Degradation, Loser Ilya Rozanov, Pathetic Ilya Rozanov, Jock Shane Hollander, Mildly Dubious Consent, Consent is there but Ilya is high, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Riding, Orgasm Control, Kissing, some aftercare, First Dates, Shane Hollander Walks Ilya Rozanov Like A Dog

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Stoner Ilya

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-02 Words: 8,894 Chapters: 1/1

Trying to Forget Everything That Isn't You

Summary

“Fuck, that’s good. You feel so good,” Shane moans above him.

He pulls him down again, and this time he holds him there, his hands firm on Ilya’s head. Instinctively, Ilya fights it, his throat spasming around the intrusion, and he tries to pull off, but Shane holds him there.

“Ah, ah. No. That’s not how you say it’s too much. You tap my leg, remember?”

---

Immediate sequel to 'I Keep Telling Myself, I'm not the Desperate Type'
Stoner frat boy Ilya x cool, jock Shane

Notes

Hello! This is a sequel to I Keep Telling Myself, I'm not the Desperate Type' that takes place immediately after, so if you haven't read that, start there.

Important content warnings:

There is sooooo much intox kink in this one. Ilya consents to everything, but he is very stoned while Shane is sober, and Shane encourages him to be intoxicated.

Shane is extra mean in this one, but Ilya loves every bit of it and asks for it. There are some consent checks and some after care. If you don't like mean Shane and pathetic Ilya, you won't like this!

Don't worry about Ilya, he is exactly where he wants to be!!!

[8:24 AM]

s.hollzy 

[Contact Attached]

 

Ilya wakes up naked in his bed, his room dark from his blackout curtains. There’s a lingering smell of weed and booze, and maybe sex. His head is pounding a little, but he feels boneless, relaxed and happy. He checks his phone and smiles at the notification, opening it immediately, as he gets up only to grab a water bottle before climbing back into his bed to send a text to the number Shane sent him on Instagram.

 

[11:29 AM]

hi 

 

[11:42 AM]

Hi, sleepyhead. Just woke up?

 

[11:43 AM]

maybe lol

 

Maybe he should feel embarrassed, but he’s also too pleased to think much about it, admitting to the fact he’s been asleep for three hours since the time Shane messaged him.

 

[11:45 AM]

I don’t think I’ve ever slept in that late.

 

[11:46 AM]

what have you been doing?

 

[11:50 AM]

Worked out, got breakfast, cleaned, meal prepped, did some studying

 

[11:51 AM]

wtf all before noon?

 

[11:54 AM]

Some of us have lives, you know?

We can’t all sleep in all day.

 

Maybe here is where Ilya should question why there’s already something hot pooling in his gut, this casual condescension, the knowledge that he’s slept away the morning while Shane has been more productive in a few hours than Ilya is on a normal day. It doesn’t make sense. He knows it doesn’t. It’s just, the way Shane had talked down to him, had laughed at him, had remained confident and cool while Ilya was a mess beneath him… he wonders what other facets of his life it would apply to. Shane had seemed like he liked it too. Still, he doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, he just spreads his legs in his bed and smiles dumbly at his phone, remembering the events of last night.

 

[11:55 AM]

can i take you out tonight? like you said?

 

[11:57 AM]

Yes

 

[11:58 AM]

do you want some place off campus?

like i said i’m not like… you know. i don’t care if i am seen on a date with a man.

with you

is okay. but is also ok if maybe it’s not something you want people to know

 

[12:01 PM]

Lol. 

I’m not out except for to Rose. And I’m not really trying to change that, honestly. Being scouted for the NHL and all that, you know. I don’t need people thinking things about me before I’ve even started. 

 

[12:01 PM]

of course. this makes sense. yes. this is fine we can do off campus

 

[12:03 PM]

Let me finish.

I’m also not worried about anyone thinking we’re on a date lol

You think people are gonna see the two of us together and think you bagged me? 😂

 

Fuck, Ilya is hard. Something is wrong with him. If he didn’t already know that, he does now. Shane is laughing at the very prospect of someone assuming the two of them would be together, laughing at the idea that Ilya would be able to date Shane, and it has Ilya breathless and writhing, rubbing his feet against his sheets for any sort of comfort, grounding. Shane could have anyone and he’s choosing Ilya, despite everything. Maybe because of everything. And what does that say about Shane? Ilya isn’t sure. Maybe he wants someone… worse. Someone to control or fix, Ilya doesn’t care. He just wants. 

 

[12:03 PM]

oh 

no, of course

 

[12:04 PM]

No.

See, you’re smart sometimes. No one is gonna think we’re on a date together, Rozanov.

What time did you get up again today?

 

[12:05 PM]

11:40 

 

[12:06 PM]

Exactly. I’m the hockey captain. You’re… you.

Are you hard right now?

 

[12:07 PM]

so hard

 

He looks down at his cock, flushed and hard, resting on his abdomen, begging for attention, and then he watches as it twitches as the next text comes in.

 

[12:08 PM]

Fucking loser.

What did that do to you?

 

[12:09 PM]

please hollander

yes

i like that

 

[12:10 PM]

Tell me.

 

[12:11 PM]

im a fucking loser 

no one would think you’d date me

yes? 

you’re too good for me

 

[12:13 PM]

Are you touching yourself?

 

[12:14 PM]

not yet

 

[12:15 PM]

Oh? Why not?

 

It’s a good question, one Ilya hasn’t thought about. He should be. He looks down at his now leaking cock, his fingers twitching with need where they’re clutching his phone as he types out his response. He wants Shane here. He wants Shane in his lap, on top of him, telling him how needy he is, how he’s a joke, how he can’t believe he’d think anyone would think Shane would pick him. He wants Shane to touch his cock, to laugh at it, to tell him he’s useless and then to take mercy on him and get him off anyway.

 

[12:16 PM]

i don’t know

can i?

 

[12:18 PM]

Fuck

You’re so good

You’re so pathetic

No. You can’t. 

 

[12:19 PM]

fuck 

do you like seafood 

 

[12:20 PM]

Lmfao yes.

Do you have a car?

 

[12:21 PM]

no 

i can pick you up in uber

 

[12:22 PM]

I’ll pick you up. Make us a reservation for seven.

 

[12:24 PM]

done. 

 

[12:25 PM]

Good boy. Don’t touch yourself today. You’re saving it for me.

 

[12:25 PM]

fuck hollander

thank you

 

[12:27 PM]

For what?

 

[12:27 PM]

letting me take you out

 

[12:30 PM]

So good. See you tonight. 

 

—

 

Ilya gets up and the headache is easy to ignore when he thinks about what his evening will have in store. He goes downstairs to find the house only slightly messy. Someone must’ve already had the pledges do most of the cleaning. He pours himself a bowl of cereal, chugs a few mouthfuls of orange juice from the carton, and finishes off the coffee pot, just as Hayden walks in.

 

“You gonna brew a new one, or just leave it empty for the next guy?” he asks.

 

Ilya shrugs. “Next guy can make coffee, no?” he replies, lifting an eyebrow.

 

“God, you’re an ass,” he says, rolling his eyes as he shoves past Ilya to start brewing a new pot. “I’m the next guy.”

 

“Ah!” Ilya says, his tone sarcastic. “Perfect. You’re already here, looking very capable.” 

 

Hayden looks down at the bowl of cereal Ilya is holding against his bare chest. “You know that’s all sugar, right?” 

 

Ilya nods. “Important part of a diet.” 

 

“I didn’t see you much at the party, after beer pong.” 

 

“Smoked, got tired,” he says. 

 

Hayden huffs. “Alright, man. Good talk. Think you can help with some cleaning today?” 

 

Ilya looks down at his wrist for where his watch would be if he was wearing it, and studies the spot for a moment. “Ah, I wish. I’m very busy, though. Look at the time.” 

 

“I have no idea what anyone sees in you,” Hayden says. 

 

“Mm. It’s because I’m in sweatpants. What people see in me is covered up,” he says with a wink. 

 

“Gross,” Hayden says, and then Ilya is heading back upstairs, bringing his bowl of cereal to his room. 

 

He packs a bowl and smokes half of it before eating, and then he plans. He needs to shower and get ready. He needs to check his bank account to make sure he can actually cover dinner, or if he needs to sell some of his weed to some pledges at an upcharge. He needs to style his hair and pick out an outfit. All manageable.

 

His bank account, thankfully, is looking fine. Well. Good enough, really. He showers thoroughly and goes through his closet. He can’t wear khakis again, but he settles on dark jeans and a button up he got in Russia, one with a tiger pattern on it. It’s kind of douchey, but… Well. He likes it. Once he’s all ready, he has plenty of time to kill, so he spends that time smoking and playing video games and trying to keep his heart rate from spiking as he thinks about Shane coming to pick him up. If he pops an edible when he starts to get a little anxious, that’s between himself and his Xbox. 

 

[6:34 PM]

I’m outside.

 

[6:34 PM]

coming 

 

Ilya races downstairs, embarrassingly quick. He pats down the pockets of his jeans, confirming phone, wallet, joint, mints. All good. He doesn’t even acknowledge as a few of the guys in the living room ask if he wants to join their game. He’s single minded as he slips out the front door and crosses the front lawn, spotting the black car parked outside. Shit. Is Shane rich? It’s not like, a sports car, but it’s definitely luxury. Ilya eyes the Lexus logo as he walks around the front of the car. Shane reaches over the console and opens the door for him, so Ilya slips in, his knee bouncing the second he’s inside, pulling his seatbelt on. 

 

“Hi,” he says. 

 

Shane looks him over once, slowly, his expression unreadable. “Hey. Where are we headed?”

 

“Um. Shaw’s. You like that place?” Ilya asks, looking Shane over. Fuck, he looks so good. He’s in black slacks and a long sleeve floral button up with tiny little maroon flowers all over it. 

 

“Yeah,” Shane nods, pulling onto the road. “It’s good.” 

 

Good. He picked a good spot. 

 

“You’re nervous,” Shane states. 

 

“Ah, yes. I think so, yes,” Ilya admits. 

 

Shane reaches over and sets a hand on Ilya’s knee, and he jolts at the feeling. 

 

“Easy,” Shane teases. “You’ve never been on a date before?”

 

“No. I mean, yes. Of course. Yes,” he says, stumbling over his words. He has. As a teen, of course. He’d had girlfriends in Russia. Never anything that lasted longer than a few months, but sometimes it would be nice to have someone consistent. He hadn’t dated much in college, but it’s not like he was against it. Sometimes someone wanted a nice meal or drinks before going home with him, and that was fine too.

 

It’s just, he’s never had a date he’s cared about this much, one that feels this important. 

 

Shane nods. “Alright. I don’t date much, honestly,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like an admission when he says it. It’s just casual, a fact. 

 

“No?” 

 

Shane shakes his head, his eyes on the road. “I had a girlfriend before college, but… You know. I’m gay, so. And Rose and I tried, but…” he trails off, chuckling a little.

 

A realization dawns on Ilya. “So… This is your first date. With a man.” 

 

Shane nods once. 

 

“Okay. Fuck.”

 

Shane’s head snaps to him. “What? Is that an issue?” He asks, his voice clipped.

 

“No! No, no. Not fuck, like fuck. Fuck like… Um. Like, the pressure is on, you know? I want it to be good,” he explains. 

 

Shane nods again. “It’ll be good,” he says, and he takes a turn down a more secluded street, parking behind a shut down business. 

 

“It’s a little walk from here, there is closer parking,” Ilya says. 

 

Shane turns the car off and turns to him. “You’re trying so hard, aren’t you?” He says, his voice some mix of affectionate and mocking.

 

Ilya swallows. “Yes.” 

 

“Why?”

 

“So… you like me. So you have a nice time. Is important to me… Want to impress you.” 

 

Shane reaches out and touches Ilya’s arm idly, running his fingers over his bicep before he squeezes it gently. Ilya feels not unlike a piece of meat being assessed for quality. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?” 

 

Ilya nods.

 

“Say it.”

 

“I want to be good. For you,” he says.

 

“What did you do today?” 

 

Ilya blinks a few times, confused with the change up. “I showered, got ready. Played video games, smoked, I don’t know.”

 

Shane cracks a grin at the answer though, and then his hand is moving up Ilya’s arm, curling around the back of his neck. 

 

Ilya starts to lean forward, because this, he is familiar with; a hand on the back of his head, leaning in for a kiss, only then Shane’s hair tangles through Ilya’s curls and tugs him back sharply. Ilya lets out a soft gasp. 

 

“You’re so…” Shane’s eyes scan Ilya’s face like he’s searching for the right word. “God, you’re pathetic.”

 

Ilya nods against the hand holding him tightly by his hair. He feels like a dog being scruffed, and he finds it makes his stomach flip with arousal. 

 

“Look at you,” Shane murmurs, his voice awestruck. “You love this.”

 

“I do,” Ilya agrees. “Fuck, Hollander.” 

 

“Are you stoned right now?” 

 

“Yes,” Ilya nods. 

 

“Tell me,” Shane whispers. 

 

“Smoked. A bowl in the morning, a bong while I played games. Took an edible before leaving,” he tells Shane, his voice low and raspy. 

 

“You look so pretty when you’re fucked up,” Shane whispers. “You’re gonna be good on this date, aren’t you? Not gonna embarrass yourself, are you?” 

 

Ilya shakes his head. “I’ll be good.” 

 

Shane nods. “What the fuck is wrong with me, huh?” He asks. “Why am I even entertaining this?”

 

Ilya doesn’t know how to answer, so he just looks at Shane, feeling slackjawed and stupid. 

 

“Yeah. I don’t know either. Better make it worth my while, huh? You tried so hard to get this, didn’t you? Tried to get me to notice you, to give you my time?”

 

“Yeah,” Ilya murmurs. 

 

Shane tugs him forward then and clashes his lips against Ilya’s. It’s claiming, rough and uncoordinated, their teeth clacking together before Shane gets his tongue in Ilya’s mouth, like he wants to get it as deep as possible. Ilya can only react, moaning into the kiss. Shane pulls back, biting down on Ilya’s bottom lip before they separate. “Let’s get some dinner,” he says. 

 

Ilya is left to compose himself, taking in a steadying breath before he gets out of the car and meets Shane on the sidewalk.

 

Shane is quiet as he starts to walk, Ilya matching his pace. When they get to the restaurant, Ilya is quick to open the door for him, and he gives his name at the front for their reservation. They sit at their table, thankfully tucked away in the back corner of the restaurant in case there would be any issue, and they’re poured waters and handed menus before Shane speaks. 

 

“This is nice. You’re doing a good job,” he says. 

 

“Yes? Good.”

 

Shane smiles at him, quick and sharp, before he picks up a menu, scanning it. 

 

“You have an away game next week?” Ilya asks, interrupting him.

 

Shane’s eyes flick up. “Yeah. Minnesota,” he says.

 

IIya nods. He wants to make conversation, but the combination of nerves and the copious amount of weed in his system he consumed to combat those nerves makes it a little hard. He just wants to get to know Shane beyond what he already knows. “Do you like it? Going on the road?”

 

Shane sets his menu down. “It’s fine. Sure, yeah. I mean, I should like it, you know, since it’s what I want to do after college. I like hockey. I love hockey. The travel isn’t my favorite part, but it’s fun to beat a team on their home turf,” he says, smiling.

 

Ilya likes this side of Shane. He likes every side of Shane, but he likes hearing him talk about his passion with such confidence. “I loved watching you play. I’ll come to the next home game too,” he says. 

 

“Hayden will be happy,” Shane teases, and then their waitress comes over. 

 

“I’ll have a ginger ale,” Shane orders, then looks to Ilya, assessing him. “He’ll have the lager on tap,” he says, and she takes their order, walking away.

 

Ilya lifts his eyebrows. “Oh? So you order for me too?”

 

Shane shrugs. “Was I wrong?”

 

“No,” Ilya admits. “I wanted that. Maybe I was going to stick to water to be good, though. To be good for you.” 

 

Shane smiles. “You’ll be good for me. What about you? After college?”

 

Ilya sighs. “I am applying for internships for next semester. And for summer, so I don’t have to go home. I will need to have a job lined up when I graduate, so I don’t have to go back to Russia,” he says. He hates thinking about it. He’s sure he’ll get something, but the fear that he won’t overwhelms him sometimes. 

 

“You don’t want to go back?”

 

Ilya shakes his head. “No.”

 

“Why not?” Shane asks.

 

Ilya sort of wishes they weren’t talking about this. “I don’t like it there. There is nothing for me there. Maybe we can talk about other things? I will get some internship, impress them, they will offer me a job, and I will stay in America,” he says, the same thing he’s told his father a dozen times. 

 

Shane nods. “Okay. We don’t have to talk about it more. But you’re gonna start studying with me sometimes.”

 

Ilya’s eyebrows shoot up as his beer is dropped off at the table. The waitress asks for their orders, and Ilya hasn’t even had a chance to look at the menu.

 

“I’ll have the plank salmon, broccoli on the side,” he says, and looks to Ilya who has a blank face. “What? You need me to order for you?” Shane asks, right in front of the waitress. Ilya feels heat rising in his cheeks as he nods. 

 

“He wants the fish and chips,” Shane says. “Thank you,” he smiles warmly at the waitress, sweet and polite, like he didn’t just humiliate Ilya, who is now half hard in his pants. 

 

“Can you do anything?” Shane asks. “This is why you’re gonna study with me. I don’t trust you not to get too stoned you can’t even read,” he says. 

 

Ilya picks up his beer and takes a slow sip because his mouth is suddenly dry. “Thank you for ordering for me,” he murmurs. 

 

“You’re welcome,” Shane says.

 

“I don’t have bad grades, just…” He trails off. 

 

“You’ll need good grades for an internship, though. You can smoke as a reward, when you’re done studying, but you’re gonna have to study hard for that. And if you’re good, maybe you’ll get more for a reward,” Shane says. 

 

Ilya nods instantly. “I like this idea.” 

 

“Good. I’m not gonna date a bum,” he says, smirking.

 

Ilya blushes, and bites his tongue from pointing out that Shane seems very interested in the fact that Ilya is, as Shane put it, a bum. Somehow he likes it when Shane says it. His dad calls him lazy, and he hates it. It makes him mad, but rather than inspiring him to do better, it makes him rebel, to be everything his father thinks he is and worse. When Shane says it? It makes him want to be whatever Shane wants. He’ll be worse for Shane or better for Shane, he’ll study for him, he’ll get so stoned he can’t move for him, he’ll be there for Shane to use, to tease, to encourage.

 

“I don’t know why you want to date me at all,” Ilya says in a moment of vulnerability. 

 

Something softens in Shane’s face then, and he reaches across the table to take Ilya’s hand, his thumb stroking over his knuckles. It feels electric. “You’re not what I’m supposed to want. I’ve spent so long doing what I’m supposed to. It’s fun. It’s hot,” he says.

 

Ilya nods. That makes sense. He’s some sort of rebellion for Shane, the hot, bad boy, the loser Shane isn’t supposed to want, someone Shane can look at and know he can do so much better than. Maybe Ilya should mind.

 

“But that’s not all,” Shane says, softer, looking down at their hands.  “You’re nice. You’re nicer than I expected. You have this reputation, and… Some of it’s true. But you’re not like…” He sighs. “I’m around men all the time. My team. And most of them are good guys, right? But they’re still guys. Athletes. I hear the way they talk. About women. The things they say about teams we beat, you know, homophobic shit. And then I met you, and you’re just… Your best friend is a woman. And you brought me to your room at that party, not thinking about what it could look like to other people. And you just wanted me. Unashamed. Made me feel like… worshipped. Powerful. Not the way other people do, like it’s for them, you know? Like they want me so they can say they had me. Fuck,” he laughs. “Sorry.”

 

Ilya shakes his head quickly, thrown off but touched by the admission, by seeing Shane open up, put aside this dynamic they haven’t even begun to discuss, and say something that makes Ilya feel so deeply for him it should frighten him. “No. Don’t be sorry. Ah… Fuck. You made me emotional, sorry,” he says, sniffing once. “You were not what I expected either. I like you very much already, if you didn’t know.”

 

Shane smiles. “No, I knew.”

 

Ilya laughs then, louder than he means to as their food is dropped off. 

 

“Was ordering for you too much?” Shane asks.

 

Ilya shakes his head. “No. Was very hot.”

 

“Good,” he says, and he sets his napkin on his lap, so Ilya copies, trying to be polite. 

 

The conversation is lighter once food arrives. Ilya offers Shane some of his, but Shane declines, citing his performance diet. He talks about hockey, and Ilya asks questions. He learns about how Shane was young when he started, and how he got a full ride here. He talks about growing up in Ottawa, and his parents and their mix of support and pressure. He asks Ilya about his life, and Ilya is vague, brushing things off. If Shane notices, he doesn’t push, and Ilya is grateful.

 

Shane orders Ilya another beer once his is finished. The food is fucking good. It’s rich and salty, and better than the fast food and instant ramen Ilya usually eats. Sure, he gets home cooked meals at the frat often enough, and he does hit the gym for vanity purposes. He’s fit in a way that looks good. Shane is toned though, muscular in a way that looks powerful and strong and healthy. Still, he’d take his fried fish over Shane’s grilled salmon any day. 

 

The bill comes once their food is nearly done and Ilya’s second beer is drained, and Ilya reaches for his wallet, but Shane is already setting a card down. 

 

“What?” Ilya says. “No. I’m paying. I took you out,” he says. 

 

The waitress stands there a little awkwardly, so Shane turns to her. “Ignore him. This card, please. Thanks,” he says, and she leaves. 

 

“Hollander,” Ilya says. “I took you out.” 

 

“And I’m gonna be an NHL player,” Shane says. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

Ilya frowns, feeling a little useless, and not in a hot way. “I wanted to treat you,” he says, whinier than he wants it to sound. 

 

“You will,” Shane says. “I’m gonna take you home, and you’re gonna treat me so well,” he practically purrs, his foot moving under the table to trace up Ilya’s calf.

 

Ilya’s breath hitches. “Okay,” he says quietly, nodding. 

 

“Okay. Thank me,” Shane orders. 

 

“Thank you. Thank you for dinner,” Ilya replies, and… okay. Now it’s hot. 

 

“Good boy,” Shane says, writing the tip before standing. 

 

Ilya stands up too, and follows Shane out, reaching past him to get the door for him again. 

 

“You’re so polite,” Shane says, teasingly. He walks them back toward the car, and when it’s in eyesight, he takes Ilya’s hand in his. 

 

Ilya practically melts, squeezing Shane’s hand like he never wants to let it go. He does, of course, because they get to the car. Ilya pops a couple of mints in his mouth once he’s inside, and Shane is quiet as he starts to drive to his apartment.

 

“You live alone?” Ilya asks.

 

Shane nods. “Yeah. Since I got a full ride, my parents were pretty nice. Helped me with an apartment and my car so I could just focus on hockey.”

 

“Very nice,” Ilya nods. 

 

Shane pulls into a parking garage of one of the nice, modern apartment buildings on campus. It’s all glass and sleek, something Ilya’s father would have scoffed at the price despite being able to afford it easily. He parks and turns to Ilya.

 

“You look so fucking hot,” Shane says softly. “Kept thinking about taking you back at dinner. Fuck, the night at the party…” Shane breathes out, and leans in, his hand going back to the spot on the back of Ilya’s neck that makes him feel weak. “Was so hot. Never felt like that before,” he says, and pulls Ilya in for a kiss, wet and slow, their lips sliding against each other before Shane’s tongue traces along the edge of Ilya’s teeth. 

 

He pulls back, leaving Ilya reeling, and then he’s out of the car and Ilya is left stumbling to follow, once again.

 

Shane leads them to an elevator, and Ilya steps inside, leaning on the mirrored wall. He can feel the coolness through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it’s refreshing and grounding against his hot skin. 

 

“Come on,” Shane says, calling for Ilya like he’s a dog as the elevator opens. Ilya had been so dazed he didn’t even notice what floor or how long they’d been in the elevator. 

 

They walk down the hall, and Shane opens the door to an immaculately clean apartment. It’s an open concept, with a sleek kitchen in front and a living room with a grey sofa and a large TV, and a wall of windows. Shane shuts the door behind them, and before Ilya can continue to take in his surroundings, Shane pushes him back, hard, his back hitting the door, the back of his head hitting it with a dull thud.

 

Then Shane is on him, his hands running up Ilya’s sides, his neck craned so he can lock onto Ilya’s neck, sucking on it instantly, biting and harsh. 

 

“Fuck,” Ilya hisses, his hands going out to hold Shane’s hips. He tries to angle for more, for friction, hard and aching in his jeans, but Shane pulls back, denying him. 

 

“We should talk,” Shane says. 

 

Ilya feels like his eyes are going to bug out of his head. “Talk?” 

 

Shane laughs. “Relax. Just a little, okay?”

 

Ilya huffs but he nods. 

 

“Do you want a drink?” Shane asks. 

 

“Sure,” Ilya says, and Shane levels him with a look and a quirked eyebrow. “Yes, please,” Ilya corrects himself. “Thank you.”

 

“Better,” Shane says, and he opens his fridge, pulling out a beer. Ilya takes it, and Shane leads them to the sofa, turning on a lamp in the living room. Ilya sits beside Shane and waits. 

 

“You liked everything from the party?” 

 

“Yes,” Ilya says immediately. 

 

“You want more like that? You like the way I talk to you?” 

 

Ilya nods. “Yes, Hollander. Do you want it in writing? I love it. I want more. Anything. It won’t be too much,” he says desperately, craving it. 

 

Shane chews his lip for a moment. “Okay. Good,” he nods. “Get undressed and drink your beer,” Shane orders. 

 

Ilya can feel the words send heat through him, and he nods. He cracks open the beer and takes a long drink of it, before setting it on the coffee table. 

 

Shane clears his throat. “Coaster.”

 

“Oh,” Ilya says, grabbing a coaster and putting his beer on top. 

 

“Good boy,” Shane says. 

 

Ilya stands up, and his hands go to the buttons on his shirt. He’s stripped for people before. Plenty of times. He knows he’s hot, he knows he looks good naked, but he’s never felt quite so exposed as he does now, Shane’s eyes raking over him as he sits on the sofa and watches. Ilya lets his shirt fall off of him, and he brings a hand up to his chest, tweaking one of his nipples, showing off.

 

Shane scoffs. “Did I say play with yourself, or did I say undress?” He asks, his tone sharp. 

 

“Fuck,” Ilya hisses. He can feel his cock practically throb from the confines of his jeans at Shane’s words, and his hands go to his fly. It’s harder to be sexy stepping out of jeans, but Ilya manages to take them off, and then he’s standing in the living room, his cock obviously hard, tenting the grey fabric of his briefs. 

 

“Those too,” Shane says, nodding. 

 

Ilya’s hands go to his waistband, and he pulls down his underwear. The cool air of the apartment makes him shiver as it hits the wetness at the tip of his cock, standing hard and unabashed out in front of him. 

 

“God,” Shane appraises. “It already looks so desperate.”

 

Ilya looks down at his cock. “It is,” he says. 

 

“Poor thing,” Shane tuts. “Did you bring weed?” 

 

“Of course,” Ilya says. 

 

“Get it out, and sit back down.”

 

There’s some dichotomy Ilya can’t figure out, and it’s making his head spin. There’s a comfort in being told exactly what to do, step by step, in a firm tone that leaves no room for questioning. He doesn’t have to think, he just has to do. Then there’s the other side of him that craves being good. He craves Shane’s approval more than he’s ever craved anything. He bends down for his jeans, and he knows for a fact that Shane is watching his ass as he pulls his pre rolled joint and a lighter from his jeans, and sits beside Shane, his ass bare on the sofa. 

 

“How high are you now?” Shane asks.

 

“I don’t know… A bit. Not crazy, not like… last time. But I feel it. The edible hit,” he says.

 

Shane nods. “And if you smoke that?”

 

Ilya laughs a little breathlessly. “Yeah. I’ll be stoned.” 

 

“What would you do if you were home? Alone?” 

 

Ilya thinks about it for a moment. “I’d smoke a joint. I’d probably try to play video games and give up. I’d listen to music or watch porn,” he shrugs. 

 

“Yeah? Why?”

 

“It feels good. Relaxed and calm and good, like… I don’t know. Lighter,” he explains. “I love it. I love being so stoned I can’t even…” he shrugs. 

 

“Show me,” Shane says softly, almost reverently. 

 

“Okay,” Ilya nods. “In your apartment?” 

 

“Shut up,” Shane laughs. “Just this once.” 

 

Ilya flashes him a grin and brings the joint to his lips, lighting up as he inhales. He pulls the first drag in, long and slow, and exhales just as slow, the smoke billowing out in a steady stream. 

 

“Do you know how hot you look when you smoke? It’s fucking… erotic. Is this a fetish?” Shane asks, laughing. “Fuck, what’s wrong with me?”

 

Ilya laughs. “I don’t know. I like it, though.” 

 

“Me too. Give me a hit? Like last time?”

 

“Fuck. Okay. Yes,” Ilya nods. He inhales again, pulling the smoke in, and then he nods to Shane. Only, this time, Shane waits, taking his time as he leans in, to the point Ilya feels almost lighthearted as he holds his breath, resisting the urge to exhale the smoke. 

 

Only when he thinks he might start coughing, looking to Shane with pleading eyes, does Shane close the distance and open his mouth. 

 

Ilya exhales, a little more raggedly than he would normally, and Shane inhales against him, dragging the smoke from Ilya’s lungs and mouth into him, pulling it all in, before he straightens up. Ilya watches with hazy eyes as Shane exhales, pushing the smoke out into the room. 

 

“Fuck. You almost killed me,” Ilya says. 

 

Shane shrugs. “You lived.” 

 

“You have an ashtray? A cup?” Ilya asks.

 

Shane shakes his head slowly, a challenge written on his features. “No. You’ll have to use your beer can. Guess you better finish that, huh? I don’t want ashes on my rug,” he says. 

 

“Fuck,” Ilya groans. “You want me so fucked up.” 

 

“Yeah,” Shane says, and Ilya is pleased to hear his voice sounding a little wrecked too. “Fuck, I do. Want you to be so pliant and good for me. Want you fucking helpless for me to use.”

 

Ilya curses under his breath in Russian, and Shane inhales sharply at it. A note for another time, maybe. 

 

Ilya picks his can up, three quarters full, and looks at Shane, keeping his eyes locked on him as he brings the beer to his mouth and chugs it. He’s experienced with this, at least, being in a frat, but it’s never felt erotic before. 

 

He swallows mouthful after mouthful, his throat bobbing, as Shane watches, his eyes raking over Ilya’s naked body, exposed. 

 

“That’s it,” Shane praises. “You’re so good. Getting yourself so stupid for me, aren’t you? Just because I asked?”

 

Ilya moans around the opening of the beer, one single drop pouring out, running down his chin and then his neck, before he finishes the beer. He sets the can down and taps the joint on it, just in time, just quick enough that ashes don’t crumble down onto Shane’s clean rug. His cock pulses where it rests against his abs, needy and leaking.

 

“Hollander,” Ilya says, his voice cracking as he catches his breath. 

 

“Rozanov,” Shane says, more clearly. 

 

“Fuck.” 

 

“You don’t have to finish the joint,” Shane says. “If it’s too much.” 

 

“Fuck that,” Ilya says, taking it as a challenge more than anything. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him either. He doesn’t know why the idea of getting so fucked up, so stoned out of his mind he can’t do anything but lay back and let Shane use him, has him so turned on. It doesn’t matter. He brings the joint back to his mouth and inhales again as Shane watches. There’s a quiet few minutes, Shane’s hand going to Ilya’s knee as he murmurs a few encouraging words of support, and then the joint is ashed and Ilya leans back, letting his head loll back on the sofa. 

 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “This is how you want me?”

 

 Shane laughs. “How do you feel?” 

 

“So good,” Ilya says, and he gives the ceiling a lazy smile. “I’m so hard,” he says.

 

“I can see that. What do you think we should do about it?”

 

Ilya frowns. “Want you. Want you to touch me,” he says. 

 

“I don’t think you’ve earned that yet. But I do think your mouth looks pretty.” 

 

Ilya reaches up and idly touches his bottom lip. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. Think you can get on your knees for me?” 

 

Ilya turns his head to look at Shane. “I’m not going to be good at it. I’m good at… I mean. I’m good at head. I’m just… very high. Don’t want you to think I’m bad,” he says, struggling to string the words together. 

 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Shane coos. “You’re not gonna do anything. You’re just gonna open your mouth for me. You can manage that, can’t you? You can open wide and be a nice, wet hole for me?”

 

Ilya groans, shutting his eyes as his hips nearly arch off the sofa at the words alone. 

 

“Aw,” Shane says. “You’re making a mess.” 

 

Sure enough, Ilya is leaking pre-cum onto his abs, wet and shiny, glistening below his belly button. He forces his eyes open when he feels the touch of a single finger, as Shane drags his index finger through the mess, then brings his hand up to Ilya’s mouth. 

 

Ilya opens instantly, wrapping his lips around Shane’s finger and tasting himself, musky and salty. He locks eyes with Shane, pleased to see how he looks. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, and his cheeks are dusted pink. 

 

“Get on the ground,” Shane whispers. 

 

Ilya nods, and he clambers a little doing the simple task, but he manages, getting on his knees on the floor, right between Shane’s spread legs.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Shane says softly.

 

Ilya makes a sound like a hiccup, and he rests his head on Shane’s knee as Shane’s hands move to his fly. He doesn’t take his pants off, which for some reason makes it hotter; the contrast of Ilya fully naked and exposed, and Shane, clothed besides his thick, hard cock gripped in his hand. 

 

“You want this?” Shane asks, moving forward on the couch so he can tap his cock on Ilya’s chin. 

 

“Please,” Ilya whispers. 

 

“Open.” 

 

Ilya’s jaw falls open of its own accord. Shane moves forward more until he’s just seated on the very edge of the couch, and he guides his cock forward. The head of it slips between Ilya’s lips, and he suctions them around him, making a tight, hot seal for Shane to fuck into. 

 

Shane feeds Ilya his cock, inch by inch, slowly guiding it until it hits the resistance at the back of his throat. Ilya feels loose and relaxed enough that he doesn’t gag, not yet. He’s done this before, enough times. To Sasha back in Russia, and to the men he’s hooked up with on campus, granted it’s only been a handful. He’s always liked it; making someone feel good, making them fall apart from just his mouth. This isn’t that. This is Shane using his mouth, Ilya helpless to do anything but take it. He remembers he has hands, and he brings them up to rest on Shane’s clothed knees, looking up at Shane through his lashes. 

 

“Fuck, you can take so much of me,” Shane praises. “More?”

 

Ilya nods a miniscule amount. 

 

Shane pushes his hips forward more, but then pulls back, like he realizes there’s a better way to do this. His hand goes to the back of Ilya’s head instead, and he pushes him down so Ilya takes more of his cock, feeling it press on the back of his throat. This time he does gag, but it’s not hard, just a jolt, nothing he can’t handle. 

 

“You’re okay,” Shane soothes. “That’s all of it. You’re so good. You just tap my leg if it’s too much, okay?” Shane says gently. 

 

“Mhm,” Ilya agrees around his cock. He appreciates it, because he doesn’t know if he’s ever been quite this stoned with a dick in his throat, and Shane isn’t small, and he certainly doesn’t want to lose his dinner because he can’t pull off. 

 

Shane rolls his hips a few times, shallow little thrusts in and out, but then he stills, again deciding on a more efficient way to do this. He brings his other hand up, and then he’s holding Ilya’s skull in both of his hands, gripping his head firmly. 

 

He pulls him down only to let him up quickly once, a single back and forth before he checks in. “How’s that? Will that be okay?” He asks. 

 

Ilya ignores the way his heart pounds in his chest at the mix of Shane taking control and checking in with him. He lifts his hand up and gives a thumbs up, which makes Shane laugh. 

 

“Okay. Good,” he says, collecting himself.

 

Shane does it again, pulling Ilya down, then up, manuevering Ilya’s skull like a fleshlight, fucking into his throat, setting his own pace while Ilya can do nothing but take it, loose and sloppy as Shane uses him. 

 

“Fuck, that’s good. You feel so good,” Shane moans above him.

 

He pulls him down again, and this time he holds him there, his hands firm on Ilya’s head. Instinctively, Ilya fights it, his throat spasming around the intrusion, and he tries to pull off, but Shane holds him there.

 

“Ah, ah. No. That’s not how you say it’s too much. You tap my leg, remember?”

 

Ilya makes a choking sound, so Shane yanks him off quickly. 

 

Ilya’s eyes feel glazed over, but Shane grips his jaw and lifts his head. “Look at me,” Shane says.

 

It takes a moment, but Ilya focuses his stare. 

 

“What do you do if it’s too much?”

 

“I tap your leg,” Ilya says. “It wasn’t too much.” 

 

“Jesus… Fuck,” Shane hisses. “Okay. Fuck, you’re insane.” 

 

His hands go back to the sides of Ilya’s head, and he pulls him back down, nestling his cock deep in Ilya’s throat. Ilya gags around him, feeling his body protest.

 

“That’s it, good boy. Hold it. You can hold it, just a little more,” Shane says, his voice low and raspy, sending chills down Ilya’s spine. Shane lets him up just as Ilya thinks it’s too much. 

 

“Fuck, baby,” Shane murmurs, and his thumb goes down to wipe away a tear. Ilya hadn’t even realized he was tearing up. He’s drooling too, saliva running down his chin. He’s never felt this wrecked before, not even when Shane had rode him. He feels debauched, owned and claimed in a way he wants to sink his nails into and never leave. He wants to live here, with Shane buried deep in his throat. 

 

He ignores his own throbbing cock, ignores the way it’s been leaking a steady stream of pre-cum onto Shane’s rug. 

 

Shane fucks his mouth a little more, quicker this time, tugging Ilya down as he thrusts up, a quick rhythm that makes Ilya unable to do anything but take it, and then he’s shoved off roughly, looking up as Shane pants heavily. 

 

“Fuck. Almost came,” Shane explains. “I still want to ride you.”

 

“Uhh,” Ilya lets out a dumb sounding moan. 

 

“You want that?”

 

Ilya nods. 

 

“Say it. Ask for it. Nicely.”

 

“Please,” Ilya says. “Please, I want it. I want to be inside you, I need it. It hurts, I need it so bad,” he pleads. 

 

Shane pouts, mocking. “Do you think you’ll even last? Think your cock can take it? I don’t want to prep myself if it’s not gonna be worth it. Maybe I should just get a dildo and make you watch, hm? That’s all you’re good for right now, isn’t it? Just a big, hard cock for me to ride?” 

 

Ilya moans and he leans down, resting his forehead on Shane’s knee. “Shane,” he moans, because Hollander is too long to say. “Shane, please. You make me so crazy. I need it.” 

 

“Get on the couch,” Shane says. 

 

Ilya has to hold Shane’s knee tightly for balance as he stands, and then he practically falls back onto the couch. 

 

Shane stands, looking down at him. “Stay,” he says.

 

Like Ilya’s a fucking dog. 

 

Shane disappears, and Ilya shuts his eyes, vaguely aware of the sound of water running. Moments later, or minutes, or maybe hours, Ilya doesn’t know, a cold cup of water is put in his hands. 

 

“Drink this, sweetheart. I’ll be right back. Can you do that for me?”

 

“Yes,” Ilya nods. He does, drinking the water in slow, measured sips, draining it. Before he even realizes Shane is back, the empty glass is taken gently from his hands and set on the coffee table.

 

When Ilya looks up, Shane is naked, holding a bottle of lube and a condom.

 

“Wow,” Ilya says. 

 

Shane grins at him. “You’re going to be good, right? Sit still, hands on your knees, while you watch. I’d let you, but I don’t think you could do it right now,” Shane says.

 

Ilya’s hands go to his knees, and yes, they’re a little fidgety, but he does it. 

 

Shane gets onto the chaise part of the couch, where it splits into an ‘L’ shape by the window, giving Ilya a perfect view of him. He pulls a throw blanket to him, and he gets on that, presumably protecting his couch from any lube that may drip down. 

 

He leans back, and Ilya watches as he spreads his legs open, revealing everything. Ilya’s eyes rake over him, the curve of his ass, his hole, visible with the way Shane is open and exposed on the sofa, but still hidden by shadows, between the perfect, muscular cheeks of his ass. 

 

Shane doesn’t look at him as he opens the bottle and drizzles lube onto two of his fingers. 

 

Ilya watches with rapt attention as Shane’s hand moves down, gently toying with his balls briefly, before his fingers dip into his crack, two of them, and they circle his hole. 

 

“Fuck,” Ilya moans. 

 

“Yeah,” Shane agrees, and then, without even a warmup, without pretense, he plunges two lubed up fingers inside of himself, gasping at the feeling. 

 

Ilya’s fingers twitch on his knees as  he watches Shane’s abs tense and the muscles of his neck go taut. He adjusts, shifting a little on the sofa, before he drags his fingers nearly out, and then pushes them back in, up to his knuckles. Ilya is transfixed. Shane repeats the motion until he’s established a steady rhythm, fucking himself with his two fingers, and Ilya nearly whimpers when Shane spreads his fingers open, scissoring himself, stretching the tight ring of muscle. 

 

“Fuck, this is good,” Shane moans. “You can’t wait to feel it, huh?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ilya nods. 

 

“Good thing you earned it, huh? Sucked my cock so-” he cuts himself off with a sharp gasp as he rotates his wrist. “Fuck. So good.” Shane pulls his hand out, and Ilya almost thinks it’s time, but then he pushes a third finger inside, his wrist bent, his legs slightly raised into the air so he can get the deepest angle. 

 

Ilya is literally drooling, and he lifts a hand to wipe away saliva when Shane clicks his tongue. “Hands on your knees. Behave,” he snaps. 

 

Ilya’s hand clamps back down onto his knee. 

 

“Good boy,” Shane gasps, giving fucking his fingers into himself a few more times before he pulls his hand out. “Next time, I want to ride your face. Fuck, you don’t even know how gone you look right now. Want to grind my,” he stands, “hole, right on your tongue until,” he climbs into Ilya’s lap, and picks up the condom, “I cum on your tongue or you fucking pass out,” he finishes, opening the condom and deftly sliding it onto Ilya’s cock. 

 

“Holy shit,” Ilya breathes. 

 

“Shut up,” Shane says, and then he sinks down onto Ilya’s cock, fully seating himself in one go, and Ilya is gone, groaning out some ugly, broken sound, his body jolting at the feeling. 

 

It takes him a second to recover, and Shane seems to have mercy on him, because he stays still, waiting for Ilya to lift his head and look at him again. 

 

“You’re okay,” he says. “Fuck, you’re so big. Feel so full,” Shane moans. “Big fucking cock for me to use.” He leans in and kisses Ilya, claiming and consuming, his tongue intruding in Ilya’s mouth. Despite the fact that Ilya is inside of him, he feels like he can’t do anything but take what he’s given. Any attempt to thrust his hips up is feeble as Shane starts to bounce on him.

 

“Fuck, fuck, Hollander,” he gasps. He’s gonna cum. Shane’s been on him for thirty seconds, and he’s gonna cum. He’s never gonna live it down. He has to be good for Shane, he has to please him. He takes a sharp breath. “I’m too close, please,” he gasps.

 

Shane stills on top of him. “No,” he says. “Not yet.” He reaches up and grips Ilya’s jaw tightly, and Ilya looks at his eyes, or he tries to, but his vision keeps spinning to the point he’s nearly seeing double.

 

 “Shane,” he whines. 

 

“Ilya,” Shane whispers, and Ilya feels his cock puls inside of Shane’s tight heat at the sound of his name. “Shh, you’re okay. Relax. You can do it. Hold it. You’re not gonna cum yet, are you?”

 

Ilya shakes his head.

 

“Why?” 

 

“I’m gonna be good. I’m gonna wait,” he gasps.

 

“Yes. You are. Okay? You’re not gonna cum right away like some fucking loser, are you?”

 

Ilya groans. “Stop. That's not helping,” he rasps out. 

 

Shane kisses him again, softer this time, slow and gentle. He starts to move again with his mouth still latched to Ilya’s, kissing him as he slowly rides him, grinding his hips in slow circles. Something must hit right, because he moans into the kiss and breaks their mouths apart to rest his forehead against Ilya’s. He exhales right into Ilya’s mouth, sharing the heavy, humid breaths between them.

 

“Please,” Ilya gasps. He’s so high and he’s so hard, he doesn’t know how he’s gonna make it much longer. 

 

“Yeah,” Shane moans above him. “Hold on. Close. Fuck, wait,” he moans, moving on top of Ilya, using him, taking his own pleasure at his own pace, while Ilya writhes and digs his toes into the rug and wills himself not to cum. What is Ilya to do but listen? He tilts his head back and breathes deeply. He just needs to hold out just a little longer, long enough to see Shane fall apart. 

 

Shane picks up the pace then, just as his breath hitches, as his thighs start trembling a bit.  He slams himself down onto Ilya’s cock, once, twice, and then he gasps, his mouth falling open as he cums, untouched, his cock jerking in between them, bobbing in the air as he shoots out ropes of cum, painting Ilya’s abs and chest. 

 

“Fuck, fuck.” Shane gasps above him.

 

“Please,” Ilya cries, wrecked and needy, his eyes frantically flitting between Shane’s spent cock and his face, his open mouth, his pink cheeks. .

 

Shane nearly collapses against Ilya then. “Yes,” he says into Ilya’s neck where he’s nuzzling, pressing wet, uncoordinated kisses into his skin. 

 

It’s like his body gives in the moment he gets permission. He fucks up into Shane only twice, two quick, sharp movements before he spills, cumming hard. Pleasure hits him, coursing through his body, buzzing and electric. It feels like it goes on forever, his cock pulsing inside of Shane. He groans, his entire body quaking as he cums, his fingers digging into Shane’s hips.

 

Then it’s over, and he feels utterly drained, melting back into the sofa while Shane stays seated on his cock, now softening inside of him. 

 

“Holy fuck,” Shane says, then he laughs, pressing his forehead against Ilya’s shoulder. 

 

“Yes,” Ilya agrees, moving a hand up to stroke Shane’s back. 

 

“That was… holy shit. I’m keeping you,” Shane says, and Ilya laughs a little, but mostly, he feels intense warmth at the thought of that; Shane keeping him. He’d let him. He’d hand himself over willingly. He’d live in this apartment, cook, clean, anything Shane wanted. He’d wait for him to come home, ready to be used, to give pleasure, to be his kept man. 

 

“I would like that,” Ilya nods. “I can’t move. I think you killed me.” 

 

Shane laughs as he sits up, and Ilya feels the movement around his cock. Shane looks down at him, and lifts his hand, gently stroking along Ilya’s cheekbone. 

 

It looks like he wants to say something, but then he slowly lifts himself up, Ilya’s cock slipping out of him as he stands. Ilya ties the condom off. 

 

“Gonna shower,” Shane says. 

 

“Okay.”

 

“You want to come with?” 

 

Ilya perks up at that. “Yes.” 

 

“Good. I’ll help you wash off.” 

 

Shane does. They shower together, leisurely, Shane washing Ilya, lathering his hair, and Ilya groans into the feeling. He feels taken care of. Shane had used him, drained him, and now he’s taking care of him, his strong hands massaging Ilya’s back as he spreads body wash over him. Ilya feels dead tired, the weed making it hard to even keep his eyes open, but it’s okay. It’s okay because it’s warm and Shane is here. 

 

Once they’re washed, Shane gently pushes Ilya against the shower wall and kisses him. They’re wet, their slick skin sliding against each other. It’s a hot kiss, filthy and sloppy, but Ilya doubts he could get hard again. It doesn’t seem to be the goal, so he just lets himself relax into it, kissing back as well as he can.

 

After a few minutes, Shane pulls back and shuts the water off. He wraps a fluffy white towel around Ilya, and Ilya murmurs a quiet thanks. 

 

“Here,” Shane says, pulling out a spare toothbrush for Ilya. 

 

“I’m staying?” He asks.

 

Shane looks at him like he’s crazy. “Yes? Of course. You’re not going home like this, you look like you’re about to collapse.”

 

“Right. Yes,” Ilya nods. So, they brush their teeth, and then Ilya is being guided to Shane’s bed. He crawls into it, and Shane climbs in beside him, and then his head is being lifted, gently guided, until it’s resting on Shane’s chest, and he can feel his heart beat. 

 

Shane gently cards his hand through Ilya’s hair. “You’re so good,” he whispers. “You’re so perfect for me. You’re mine, okay? No one else gets you like this.”

 

“Yes. Yours,” Ilya answers.

 

“Goodnight, Ilya,” Shane whispers, kissing his hair.

 

“Shane,” Ilya murmurs before he lets sleep take him, sinking deep into the warmth and comfort of Shane’s bed, of Shane, of being owned.