Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warnings:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Explicit Sexual Content, brief watersports, Rough Sex, They are FREAKS, Breeding Kink, Light Angst, Semi-Public Sex

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of you can dominate the King cuz I'm tough, Part 4 of for years or for hours

Collections:

Anonymous

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-01 Words: 2,363 Chapters: 1/1

Get it deeper, get it deeper

Summary

Sometimes Shane feels like he’s going to explode with how much desperation, how much hunger, is inside of him. Hunger for cock and sex and Ilya. Maybe if he can get it deep enough he can finally scratch the itch long enough to feel relief, but it seems like it’s going to take a while. But that’s fine. Scratching it feels good.

Notes

happy pride here's some porn

“Oh, fuck.” Shane moans, as the bed frame shakes with the force of it. Above him, behind him, Ilya’s breathing is ragged. “Oh-uh-”

“Oh god, Shane.”

He drives himself back, trying to-oh, that’s it, that’s what he needed, right there. “Mmm, mm, harder, c’mon.” he gasps.

Ilya grabs his hips and pistons into him, dragging his long, fat cock over every single nerve. Shane can hardly think it feels so fucking good.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah-oh, yes, yes-fuck-” He claws for the pillow, needing to squeeze something.

Ilya is mostly making guttural sounds at this point. His name, occasionally, but mostly-

“Mmm...mmmm…” he sighs, when Ilya shifts, changes the angle, and now he’s hitting it far better, more consistently. “That’s, there-”

“Shane.”

“Yeah.” Shane moans, like that was a question.

“Mmgonnacum.”

“Please, cum in me, yeah.”

Ilya yanks him up, holds him against his chest, then pushes him flat. The weight of him along Shane’s back, all around him, holding him, is-

The angle is different again, but it takes him only a second to find-

Shane yells as he cums, his trapped cock twitching against the mattress and his stomach, spurting semen into a sticky, wet puddle. Ilya’s still fucking deep into him, and he reaches back to pet at his hair as his boyfriend takes in gasping breaths.

“C’mon, Ilya, c’mon”, Shane says, shuddering. “C’mon. I want your cum. Cum in me.”

Ilya pushes into him one last time, stills, and spurts for what feels like forever. He sighs, relieved, as he fills Shane up with it.

When he’s done, he carefully sinks down on top of him and they breathe together. Through the sweat coating them both, through the aftershocks, through the sex-drunk haze.

“Mmm.” Shane hums, content.

Sometimes they have sex outside. The summer allows for it, the seclusion of Shane’s cottage a good enough barrier that neither of them are really worried about getting in trouble. They’ve fucked on the couch out on the deck (on a beach towel, of course, that Shane bought specifically for this purpose), they’ve fucked in the grass by the lake, Shane has ridden Ilya in the woods (him bare naked, Ilya with his pants shoved down just far enough for him to climb on and sink all the way down), and once in the doorway coming back in from the yard, when he could not wait another second before getting it again.

Sometimes Shane feels like he’s going to explode with how much desperation, how much hunger, is inside of him. Hunger for cock and sex and Ilya. Maybe if he can get it deep enough he can finally scratch the itch long enough to feel relief, but it seems like it’s going to take a while. Longer than two weeks. But that’s fine. Scratching it feels good.

He can’t believe he ever used to think he didn’t like sex. Shane is hard near constantly, the tip wet, leaking, and the only thing he ever wants to put it in is Ilya’s mouth, his big hands, and now, memorably, between his thick, muscled thighs. Yesterday, before sucking him off, Ilya had slapped himself in the face a few times with Shane’s erection, kissed it messily, one hand splayed on the shower floor in front of him where he knelt at his feet. He’d jerked off to the memory of it this morning, outside, before Ilya woke up and got himself a cup of coffee from the pot he’d made.

It’s-it makes sense, now, because they’re both attracted to men. But it’s fucking hot how much Ilya loves cock. He gags sometimes around Shane, and his eyes roll back in his head, and he swallows again and again until he’s swallowing his load. He noses along his balls, sucks them and licks them and rubs them, and Shane has cum from that alone more than once this week. He moans while jerking him off, licks up his cum, watches it twitch and dribble with huge, dilated pupils.

He’s even watched Shane piss with something hungry in his eye, and it’s given him ideas. Couldn’t be more unsanitary than anything else, right, and as long as it was somewhere easy to clean like the shower then it should be fine. If Ilya wanted Shane to piss on him, he’d do it. Shane wants to piss on him.

Mark his territory. Christ.

Shane loves cock so much it seems completely inane that he ever thought he could deny himself. The smell of it, the taste of it, the feeling in his mouth and his ass and his hands. Semen shot across his stomach, his face, his crotch. The stink of Ilya’s sweat, his rough voice right after waking, holding him in his arms. Loving him, fucking him, being with him.

He’d had a wet dream two days ago that Ilya was pregnant. That somehow they’d had so much sex that it just had to happen, that his belly was round with Shane’s baby, his body forever marked by him, by something they’d done. “I want this baby.” Ilya had said to him, bringing his hand to it, to feel it kick. “It will be hard, but do you want this baby with me?”

Of course he does. Shane had told him so, and they’d ended up having sex on the couch, the positions murky and shifting the way they did in dreams. Ilya had fucked into him, hard, telling him what a good daddy he was going to be, how well he’d take care of them.

He’d woken up, seen Ilya’s flat belly, and thought oh, well, I guess I need to get to work on that.

It’s a weird kind of grief. Shane just can’t, not now that he wants to, and he has to figure out how to accept it. Part of him still thinks maybe this time, maybe, but bodies don’t work that way. He can’t.

(Not for a lot of other reasons, also. But then he’d have the option. Then they’d only be waiting.)

Shane has turned his attention to marking Ilya in other ways. Biting him, on the shoulder and neck and his hairy thighs. He loves Ilya’s body hair, the fuzz around his nipples and his happy trail and his pubes and even the bits he shaves down around his ass. Watching each other shave is oddly peaceful, oddly sweet. He doesn’t like the feeling of hair on his face, but Ilya will trace the shadow along the curve of his cheek at night, in the early morning, and that’s nice.

His arms, too, and his legs. His knuckles. Ilya pets whatever part of him is closest and fuzziest when they’re relaxing, and it has an odd, new charm.

So does wrestling with him. When they’re both trying, when they both want to win, it’s thrillingly unclear who’s going to pin who but it’s ended up being Shane five times out of seven. He’s got a streak going, and he wants to keep it. For the love of winning, and also because Ilya scoops him up, brings him outside, and fucks him over the hood of his car when he does.

Being picked up is incredible. Being carried is double that. Shane is big, and he’s only ever been bigger than everyone he’s dated before, and certainly stronger, and the dynamic never even leaned towards this at all. But Ilya is his match. Ilya can carry Shane on his back if he wants, for a few minutes, and it’s funny and it’s sweet and it drives him insane with lust.

Shane can also pick Ilya up, as he figured out a few hours ago, and carry him to bed. Finding this out seems to have had a similar effect on him.

“You are going to break my dick.” Ilya teases, in the shower.

“I think your dick can handle it.” Shane says, squeezing out some 3-in-1 and scrubbing himself.

“Mm, maybe.” Ilya leans in, kisses him beneath the spray. It gets distracting from there, and he ends up on his knees with Shane’s dick in his mouth, then all the way down his throat, and then he goads him into fucking his face.

Finding the panties stuffed into one of Ilya’s bags is not fun, but it’s understandable. Things probably got mixed up. In the laundry. Because he’s had so much sex with other people that they’ve lost their underwear in his house.

Shane is fine with it. He’s willing to laugh about it. Ha, ha.

“Oh.” Ilya winces when Shane tosses them over. They’re black, lacy, well loved.

“I think, uh, probably a woman lost this, at your house. So. If you know which one you can give them back.”

His boyfriend looks at him with something he can’t quite place. It’s close to worry, maybe?

“Is...good guess, but.” Ilya turns them over in his hands. Shane resists the urge to snap at him for it, that it’s gross to put his hands all over-but if he’s already-

Ugh.

“But not right.” He holds them up, and yeah, Shane’s seen them already, he doesn’t need to- “These are mine, actually.”

They’re what.

“Was going to surprise you with them, later.” Ilya admits, looking over to him fully. “But I did not know if you would want. Should have hid them better. Was going to have them on under robe, after shower, sit on your lap-”

“Stop talking.” Shane says, walking over to kiss him on the mouth.

They part, and Ilya licks his lips. They taste like cherry.

He takes the panties and realizes belatedly that they’re Ilya’s size, and furthermore, stretched out in the front. He gently pushes them back into Ilya’s chest.

“Please put these on.” Shane says, and his boyfriend grins slowly, toothily.

He also has a matching bra, it turns out. It fits him. Shane has never been this turned on by an underwear set in his life. Or at all, but it’s still a lot.

He sits in Shane’s lap, puts his lace-cradled pecs in his face, and says “You like?”

“I like.” he manages, as Ilya grinds on him.

Shane is fully blissed out, stretched out on the couch with the towel underneath him, Ilya’s face in his ass. His tongue swiping and thrusting into his hole, kneading and squeezing his cheeks, moaning into him and making him shudder with it.

He can’t even muster up more than a few contented sounds. It’s too good, too easy for that. Almost lazy.

Lazy fucks are so, so good. When they’re in the mood enough to have sex but not put much effort in, sometimes Ilya will just wrap his arms around Shane’s waist and cuddle him to his chest while buried inside him. Sometimes they watch TV, sometimes Shane reads, and sometimes they just doze. He usually jerks off at some point, and Ilya seems to like the occasional, shallow thrust until he’s worked up enough to cum. Usually they’re a lot more energetic, but sometimes it’s just nice to feel it for a while.

It will have to break at some point. Not end, because Ilya is Shane’s boyfriend now and that is not going to change. But they’ll have to pause for a while, and Ilya will leave, and they’ll be observed by other people again. They’ll have to wait until next summer to have their privacy back.

Not now, though. Now is Shane’s victory lap.

Ten minutes ago, he sent Ilya a text that said come inside and nothing else. He’d listened patiently to the sound of the sliding glass door, Ilya’s shuffling, his footsteps as he padded over to the bedroom where Shane had taken an afternoon doze earlier.

He’s not napping now. He’s stripped of everything but a jockstrap, his socks, and his glasses. Ilya’s eyes had lit up the moment he saw him, and he’d pretty much pounced.

The plan had been to keep everything on as Ilya fucked him, and he seems pretty enthusiastic about that idea. Clothes have never really done anything for Shane, but after Ilya’s panties had pretty much bowled him over with an unforeseen tidal wave of lust he was willing to give it a try. Looking at himself in the mirror, he could admit that this sort of worked for him. The thin sheen of sweat he’d worked up from the push ups beforehand helped, somehow.

His toes curl in his socks as Ilya shoves him forward, fucking into him hard, banging the headboard against the wall. His expression is slack, stupid, that open-mouthed, trembling lip, twitching look he gets when he’s too far gone to care about anything but the sex. Shane loves those stupid faces, those noises dragged up from his chest, the desperation to feel as much of Shane’s insides as he can.

He crosses his legs behind Ilya’s back, and his boyfriend moans low into his hair. “Feel good?”

“Fuck, Hollander.”

“Ah-yeah. Yeah.” Shane breathes around it, snakes a hand down to his belly to feel it bulging. Same thing he does to Ilya’s throat. It felt too intimate before, but now he’s held him there and touched along it, traced the shape of himself over the man’s skin. Made himself belong there.

Ilya’s eyes roll back in his head as he cums, but he doesn’t stop. The rhythm stutters, falters, but it’s still hitting Shane’s prostate on every thrust so he doesn’t care. When he cums hands-free in his jock, it’s with a deep sigh of contentment.

“You’ve killed me.” Ilya mumbles into his chest.

“You’re a baby.”

“So mean to me.” his boyfriend whines.

“Yeah. You like it.” To prove it, Shane tugs on a handful of his curls.

Ilya makes a pitiful noise. “Stop, Shane, I just came, I can’t.”

“Aww.” he coos.

“Fuck. Stop.” he pulls out, carefully, and Shane unhooks his legs so that he can flop over onto his back. “Don’t make fun of me.”

He can’t help but laugh. Ilya joins him, and then they’re giggling together over nothing. Naked, cum drying on sweaty, hairy skin, the smell of it permeating the room. They’ll get clean eventually.