Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

BDSM, Soft Dom Ilya Rozanov, Orgasm Edging, Cock Cages, Spit as Lube, lube as lube too, Sub Shane Hollander, Aftercare, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Canon Compliant, Soft, Wank and Tell | Creator is Open to Comments about Masturbating to This Work, Queer author

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Bellboy

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-02 Words: 2,108 Chapters: 1/1

The Bellboy

Summary

If he hadn’t been tied to the bed, arms and legs secured with burgundy silk to each of the four posts, he was sure he would have been floating away.

“Moy posyl'nyy,” my bellboy.

 

They have time, Ilya intends to use it.

Notes

Set after The Boston Year but before TLG. You do not need to read the Boston Year prior to this, as this work is simply smut and aftercare.

Shane was deep. He was under.

If he hadn’t been tied to the bed, arms and legs secured with burgundy silk to each of the four posts, he was sure he would have been floating away. 

“Moy posyl'nyy” My Bellboy. “Can you take another?”

His skin was hot, flesh sensitive, nipples peaked. Chest heaving. His back arched off the bed as much as it could when Ilya plucked his sensitive flesh between his teeth. 

Shane whined; he couldn’t speak. The make-shift ball gag (his briefs) prevented him from forming any actual words. His cock was caged, the vibrating plug that Ilya was slowly pulling and pushing out of him was ramping up again. Barely a moment had passed since the last wave of pleasure had almost taken him out of the game.  

Ilya pulled himself up to the head of the bed, looking into Shane's eyes, and he asked again, softer this time. “Can you take another?”

The tears streaking down the side of Shane's face mingled with the spit leaking out of his mouth. How did Shane look? 

Wanton. Desperate. Needy. His.

Could he take another? They had been pushing him for a while, what felt like hours. Or minutes. Who was to say? Time had no meaning anymore. All Shane knew was that Ilya was touching him. Teasing him. Bringing him so so close to the edge again and again. Over and over. 

Just to the brink.

Then pulling back. 

Could he do another? He took as much stock of his body as he could.

He was pretty sure he still had arms, maybe a bit more confident that his legs were still attached. His soft caged cock was screaming at its confines; it was definitely still present. Trying and failing to join the party.  

His ass was raw. Good raw. Gapping may be the better word. Ilya had fucked him, finigered him, and plugged him. And then did it all again. The vibrator was still in him, but the intensity had dimmed. Maybe it was because Ilya had turned it down a notch, or maybe it was because his flesh was just getting used to the relentless pulse. The result of being so totally and completely used. 

Ilya gripped Shane's jaw and forced him to meet his eye. “Just one, hmm? Just one more, moy lyubovnik, do you want one more?” 

Shane nodded. And whined. Still muffled by the damp fabric in his mouth. 

Ilya smiled down at him and leaned forward to press a kiss to his stretched lips. He spoke gently, “Just one more, and then we’ll be finished.” 

Shane wined again as Ilya pressed a kiss behind his ear, and then another and another, trailing his mouth down Shane's chest, his stomach, his imprisoned cock. Licking the red flesh that was trying to push through the hard plastic cage.   

Ilya began with the vibrator again. Pushing it in and angling it just so. Shane was instantly writing again, building, building towards something they both knew wasn’t going to happen. Yet. 

Shane arched off the bed as much as he could. Close. 

“Just a little more, moy posyl'nyy.” An eternity passed before Ilya began counting down. “Three,”

“Two,” He was so close to being good, 

“One,” So close to being perfect.  

Shane screamed as Ilya pulled the vibrator out of him. Tossed it aside. He was gasping for air around the cloth. Empty, he was so empty. His legs were being pulled now, released, bent. First his left, then his right. Exposing his hole, bending him in half. His hot, abused flesh was on display for the whole world to see. God. How did he get so lucky? How was Shane just allowed to have this?   

Shane felt a thumb enter him, “My bellboy, my lyubimyy, you have been so very good for me. Yes. I think you deserved a tip.” Ilya blew a breath of air against his hole before spitting on him and working it in with his thumb.

Shane was crying now, openly. Not from pain, not from pleasure. Just for the sheer overwhelming feeling of having this much attention, love, and adoration being poured into him. 

And then Ilya pushed into him; his hole was raw, slopy, loose. And Ilya made hard thrusts, driving deep. Fingers working over Shane's cock until it was free. 

Then the pounding really began. Relentless. Fast. Bruising. 

Before Shane's cock could truly join the party, he was at the edge. But this time, there would be nothing pulling him back. His body convulsed around Ilya, sobs escaped his lips. 

And then he was nothing. A ragdoll for Ilya's pleasure to be used. Ilyas's strong hands brought their bodies together one, two, three more times before he was calling out. Collapsing onto Shane.

For a moment, there was nothing but the heavy breaths they were each taking. Great gasps of air entering their lungs. 

Soft, warm hands cupped Shane's face; they found their way to the damp cloth in his mouth and gently pulled it free. Shane's jaw ached, the taste of cotton still on his tongue.  

“Colour?” Ilya asked, but Shane's brain was still a little too fuzzy for words. Ilya pressed his forehead to Shane's. Closed his eyes and quickly stole a kiss, “sweetheart, colour,” he asked again.   

Shane tried to use words, but it seemed simply insurmountable. Instead, he snapped his fingers twice, paused and snapped twice again. Green, I’m green you absolute behemoth of a man, you wonderful, beautiful, incredible man whom I love so very much. Shane wasn’t sure the sanps communicated all of that, but at least the first part. The important part. Ilya knew the rest. 

“Good, moy posyl'nyy, good. Ya tebya lyublyu. I love you.” 

Shane hummed happily and closed his eyes, just enjoying where he was. Soft, blissful, warm. Floating. 

“We have to get cleaned up moy posyl'nyy, can I leave you while I start the bath?

Two snaps.

“Would you like a blanket?”

Two snaps.

Soft material gently covered Shane's body. 

“Do you want me to release your hands now?”

One snap. A pause and then one more.

“You want me to leave you all tied up, secured like I’m still holding you down?” 

Two snaps. 

“Ok moy Solnishko, ok,” Ilya slipped a small horn into Shane's hand. “If I leave with your hands still tied, you must hold this and squeak it if you need me. I will not be long.”

Shane's empty hand snapped twice. 

With another kiss, Ilya left his side, and Shane let his eyes slip closed, happy, satiated. He drifted in the in-between. Not quite awake, not quite asleep. Floating. 

***

Ilya could not believe how beautiful his boyfriend looked like this. 

Sweaty. Satisfied. Wonderful. His. 

His arms were still secured to the headboard. But his legs were loose. The bed was a mess, lube and semen leaking out of Shane, into a puddle beneath him. Spit and tears combining to form more wet spots. Thankfully, this was the guest room, so he would not have to change the sheets tonight. Shane would insist the bed be at least stripped before they went to sleep. He would do it. Eventually. Probably. Maybe. Not before Shane came back to Ilya. 

Ilya had a different job to do right now. He slipped the horn out of Shane's hands, then gently tugged the silk and released his arm. Ilya pressed a kiss to Shane's wrist, soothing the flesh. He repeated the process with his other arm before gently placing it on Shane's chest. He ran his hands over Shane's shoulders, trying to soothe any tenseness that may remain. Shane was instead made of jelly. Just happily signing as his abused body was cared for. 

Ilya moved his attention to the silk straps that remained tied to Shane's ankles. He released them, kissed them, and touched them (he simply couldn’t help himself). He left each leg bent at the knees, feet flat on the bed. 

Ilya then climbed once more to face his lover. This time, Shane's eyes were open and a little more focused. “Hi,” he breathed, his voice raspy from, well, everything. 

Ilya smiled. “Hi,” he whispered back before bending to kiss Shane's lips. “Can you hold on to me?” he asked. Shane nodded before looping his arms around Ilya's neck. Ilya scooped Shane off the bed, easily lifting him as if Shane weren’t 200 pounds of pure NHL muscle. 

It must have been a sight to see, Ilya Rozanov, naked, soft. Still red from exertion and pleasure, carrying an absolutely blissed out (and also completely naked) Shane Hollander bridal style. Like they were lovers. Because they were.  

He gently placed Shane into the bathtub before climbing in himself. 

The tub was less than half full, but the warm water felt nice against his cooling skin. Ilya positioned Shane between his legs, pulling him against his chest, back to front, letting his head rest back on his shoulder. 

The water kept pouring into the tub rasing the water level. Ilya adjusted it to be a little bit warmer before reaching for one of the clementines that were resting on the wide ledge of the tub. He began pealing it, arms still wrapped around Shane. The air was quickly filled with an orangey tang. Ilya made quick work of the rind before pulling a slice free and pressing it to Shane's lips. “Eat.”

Shane took it and lazily chewed before accepting another piece. Ilya alternated after that, a slice for him. A slice for Shane, until there was no more left. Peel discarded, Ilya shut the taps and reached for the tall glass he had also set out earlier. He pressed a kiss in Shane's temple before bringing the water to his lover's lips. 

Halfway through the second clementine, Shane spoke, his voice still a little distant. “You're getting orange juice everywhere.”

“Is clementine, like at Christmas, you like them no?” Ilya placed the remaining fruit on the ledge and rinsed his fingers in the water. 

“Ew,” 

“Bathtub is perfect for eating this, no sticky fingers. Easy clean up.” Ilya used his freshly cleaned fingers to pull Shane closer to him. Shane’s mind was floating back to the surface, coming back to him. Slowly, gently. Just as he liked it. 

Ilya is pulled away from this soft thought by Shane, “We're in the bath water too. It's gross.” his eyes are still closed, his head still resting on Ilya. But his smile. His wonderful, beautiful smile is sharp again. Teasing. Happy. 

Ilya teased back. “I just spit directly into your asshole, and you are worried about a little citrus.”

Shane snorts before they both start laughing. 

“How are you?” Ilya asks, pressing kisses to Shane's forehead, his hair, his ear. Pretty much anything he can reach. 

“Good,” Shane says, pausing a moment before continuing, “intense. That was intense.”

“You were so good for me.” kiss, Moy posyl'nyy,” kiss, “my bellboy. Lyubov' moya.” 

Shane flushes against his chest, soaking up the praise, the kisses, the gentle affection. Everything that Ilya wants to give him. What Ilya has to contain within himself, except when they are alone. He doesn’t know when he will have Shane Hollender like this again. This pliant, this relaxed, this saited, in his arms. Not for a while atleast. Maybe they will have time in December for the holiday break? Otherwise, the All-Star break? No, Shane would never let go like this in a hotel room. He’ll have to look at their schedule and see if they can get two days together—

Ilya is pulled away from his thoughts by Shane saying, “The waters getting cold.”  

“Do you want fresh water or bed?”

“Shower first, then bed?” he asks, like Ilya wouldn’t move the sun and the earth for him. A shower, in comparison, is easy. 

They stand, draining the tub before moving over to the shower stall to wash properly. Hair and everything. Shane insists. “You got me all citrusy,” he says. Ilya smiles and supports Shane as if he is a calf standing on shaky knees for the first time. 

After, when he tucks Shane into bed, pressing kisses wherever he can, Ilya whispers “ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane whispers it back “ya tebya lyublyu.”

“I love you.” 

“I love you.”

“Ilya,” Shane asks, halfway to sleep. “Did you change the sheets in the guest room?” he mumbles. 

Fuck. “Yes?” he tries.

“Ilya,” Shane says, seeing right through him. 

“Ok, fine, be right back.”

Moments later, Ilya’s back in bed, the light is out, and Shane wraps himself around Ilya as if he were custom-built to fit there. 

Maybe he was.