Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe, Autistic Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Hockey Player Shane Hollander, Sex Worker Ilya Rozanov, Accidental meeting, Phone Sex, Sexting, Dirty Talk, Shane owns a dildo, Yes it is purple, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Anal Fingering, Overstimulated Shane Hollander, Coming Untouched, Shane Hollander in Subspace, Anxiety, Betrayal, Time Skips, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Eventual Sex, First Time, Dom Ilya Rozanov, Sub Shane Hollander, Choking, Dacryphilia, Degradation, Spanking, Face Slapping, Slut Shaming, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, Whiny Shane Hollander, Belly Bulge, Spitting, Come Eating, Multiple Orgasms, Anal Sex, Good Boy Shane Hollander, this is filthy, Aftercare

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-26 Completed: 2026-05-01 Words: 11,391 Chapters: 2/2

Are You Listening Yet?

Summary

"Where's Rose?" Shane asked, the confusion in his tone obvious, but 'Ilya' didn't buy it. Or didn't care to.

"Ah, i see. This is .. foreplay."

Shane's lips parted in disbelief.

"Foreplay?" He practically squeaked, his voice a pitch higher and riddled with concern. For both his friends safety and because— is this person flirting with him?

Or NHL star Shane Hollander accidentally calls a sex hotline and Ilya Rozanov answers.

Notes

this started off as an idea that oomf posted so thank you @/evaesheim for the inspiration. it will be the first fic i've properly written & my first ao3 upload so go easy on me :') i'm pretty nervous. enjoy!

to my beta readers and to romy for letting me obsess over this fic and putting up with the constant plot changes. i love you all <3

Chapter 1: The fix of all fixes.

Shane Hollander was having the day from hell and all he wanted was to talk to his best friend.

It was blatant that the universe was out to get him. What with his parents hounding him at their weekly family lunch, paired with the start of the next hockey season on the horizon.

He'd sat there, zoned out as his mother droned on about work and the fact that he was still single.

Single, slightly miserable and definitely gay.

Shane's parents weren't aware of that yet, so talk of dating and women had him positively curling in on himself.

He loved his job, equally his freedom. He's prideful of the fact that he can be an inspiration and simultaneously follow his dreams, but lately things looked bleak. Not because he lacked motivation but because he felt down.

Shane needed a break and he also needed Rose to answer the phone.

He didn't think today could get much worse, not as he'd climbed into bed and decidedly dialled her number. Their late night gossip kept him sane.

After a few seconds Shane pulled the phone away from his face. Rose usually answered immediately, but now the string of numbers glared menacingly at him, like something were off.

Rose had gotten a new number. Paid for one, embarrassingly. She'd rambled about angel numbers and good fortune. Shane remembered rolling his eyes like the hot pink iPhone wasn't overkill enough.

He brushed it off with a shrug and raised the phone to his ear, tipping his head back. After another long stretch of nothingness his eyes snapped open, eyebrows furrowed as an unfamiliar and very much male voice filled the silence.

"Taboottawa. Ilya speaking, how may i be of service?" The voice was deep, thick with an accent that Shane guessed was European.

"Taboo- what? Who is this?" He spluttered, sitting upright in bed and adjusting his glasses.

"Ilya, sweetheart. I just told you that." The stranger retorted, sultry, like he was purring in Shane's ear.

Under any other circumstance, Shane might've acknowledged the shiver it sent down his spine, but not then. Not when, for all he knew, this random man had abducted his best friend.

"Where's Rose?" Shane asked, the confusion in his tone obvious, but 'Ilya' didn't buy it. Or didn't care to.

"Ah, i see. this is .. foreplay."

Shane's lips parted in disbelief.

"Foreplay?" He practically squeaked, his voice a pitch higher and riddled with concern. For both his friends safety and because— Is this person flirting with him?

"You are bad at this." Ilya replied, sounding significantly more disgruntled this time.

Shane didn't understand why. At all. He paused to mull over what he was missing, but his mind was blank. Surely this stranger wasn't expecting him to flirt back.

"Bad at- No, forget it. Stop messing around and give the phone to Rose." Shane said flatly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. It'd be an elaborate prank but Rose should know that Shane wouldn't believe it.

"Rose is not here. Now would you like to fuck? Yes or-" Ilya begun, but before he could get an answer, Shane had hung up. Slammed his phone down on the sheets beside him and stared at the wall ahead.

Fuck? Would he like to fuck?

Fuck what?

Questions buzzed around his head. Was that a joke or had he misdialed her number? The chances of accidentally calling an incredibly attractive sounding man were slim, but the chances of it also being some sex hotline were slimmer, right?

"What the fuck." Shane mumbled as he opened his messages, pulling up Hayden's contact and sending a short text.

To his dismay and relief, it was a digit off. Which clearly made a hell of a difference.

For three gruelling days, Shane thought about Ilya. He had no face to the voice, but apparently his imagination didn't need it.

When he wasn't on the ice or out with friends, it nagged at him. Shane didn't have that much of a life outside of hockey. He didn't take risks or pursue men. Shit, he hadn't gotten laid in ..

He physically batted away the reminder.

Shane just couldn't shake him no matter how hard he tried and it was beginning to irritate him.

How the words had rolled off Ilya's tongue like velvet, the way his lips wrapped around the offer to fuck.

Shane blamed it on touch deprivation.

He definitely didn't recall Ilya's voice as he fisted his cock with his eyes pressed shut and lower lip tucked between his teeth.

Twice.

Each time allowing the water beating down on him to drown out the far too needy noises he made.

He should be ashamed.

Especially because on the third day, he started to consider calling the number back.

To hear Ilya talk, nothing more and that same night Shane paced the length of his bedroom, up and down. Over and over. Until he caved in.

He called the number with a quickness, before he could change his mind. Feeling nauseous with anticipation as the line rung.

After being humiliated by an automated voice and some awful hold music, Ilya answered. With the same opener he'd used last time.

Shane swallowed hard. He had no idea what to do next. What do you say to a sex worker? Do you ask them how their day is? What the weather is like?

Shane needed to think fast, but Ilya cut in to remind him of why he'd called.

"Back for more?"

His expression twisted into something akin to mortification at the words.

"How did you-"

"I saved your number. You are .. what is the word? Enduring?"

Shane tried to fight the smile his lips threatened to curl into but his eyes crinkled despite himself.

"Endearing." He corrected softly, shoulders relaxed as he sat down on the edge of his bed. Shane almost felt guilty as he basked in the sound of his voice.

"Mhm, that."

A pause.

"Would you like something from me?"

Yes, Shane wanted to say but he wasn't sure what that something was. He knew what he needed, he was just too awkward to ask.

He figured Ilya took his silence as uncertainty because he changed the subject.

"What is your name?"

"Shane." He whispered, feeling his pulse quicken beneath his skin. That information alone was dangerous to give out.

"You happen to play hockey?" Ilya questioned jokingly and Shane swore he saw his life flash before his eyes.

He cleared his throat, composed himself and tightened his grip on his phone.

"Uh, no. Sorry." Shane clarified.

"Bummer. You can be second best Shane. For now."

Shane felt the anxiety settle in, creeping up his spine at the possibility of Ilya knowing. Of him being the first person to find out his secret.

Deep down something about it was slightly thrilling.

"And who's first?"

"Hollander. He is centre for Ottawa Centaurs. Very handsome." Ilya explained cluelessly, in that ridiculously sexy Russian /Shane concluded/ accent that made him drop focus.

He was putting his livelihood on the line for the sake of hearing Ilya talk. Shane's own voice wasn't particularly distinct but that didn't matter.

He must've lost his mind.

"He's pretty cool. Good player." Shane managed, feeling warm all over. His free hand squeezed at his thigh, for some kind of grounding or comfort because he couldn't hang up now. That would lead to suspicion.

"You like hockey?"

"I do."

"You would also like my number?"

Shane hesitated. Ilya already had his so the damage was done and sure, he had everything to lose, but he had to live a little. This once.

"You can text me." He confirmed, raising his hand to his mouth to bite at his nails, an anxious habit he'd tried to quit, but the oral fixation persevered.

"I will when my shift ends. Goodnight, Shane."

He quickly learned that Ilya saying his name made his stomach turn. The only time Shane Hollander got butterflies was from the familiar rush of winning a game. Never another man.

"Goodnight, Ilya." He muttered, his cheeks tinged a shade of pink as the line went silent and he was left with his thoughts.

Shane was strict with sleep. Even on weekends, he didn't stay up too late. He liked having routine, hated anyone interrupting it.

Being awake gone midnight for a guy he'd spoken to twice was beyond him.

Minutes had turned to hours and Shane found himself growing impatient. The shark related rabbit hole he'd gone down was no longer interesting and he'd flicked aimlessly through tv channels for an uncomfortable amount of time.

Until his phone fatefully chimed.

He wasn't one to keep it on loud. The desperation was uncanny, but he was past caring.

Ilya : are you awake?

Shane : Somehow.

Ilya : not a night owl?

Shane : I have a routine.

Ilya : and you are changing it for me?

Shane : Don't get cocky.

Ilya : i know how to thank you

Shane : How?

Ilya : let me send you something

Shane : You don't have to.

Ilya : you are pent up?

Shane : I called accidentally.

Ilya : both times?

Shane : No ...

Ilya : the hotline costs

let me repay you

Shane hadn't even considered that he'd be charged for the call. Knowing that would appear on his phone bill was a little disconcerting but he ignored that.

He wasn't entirely sure what Ilya was hinting at. He had an inkling, but he'd always been unreliable when it came to reading tone.

Shane was only grateful he no longer lived with his parents. His mother was certainly the type to snoop through those kinds of things, even at his age.

Shane : I'm not going to argue it.

Ilya : good.

*two image attachments*

Shane ogled, perhaps for too long. He'd gotten a partially unexpected face full of cock and wow.

It was something.

Ilya was big. Intimidatingly so. Shane had the brief, fleeting thought that that couldn't possibly fit inside anyone. He was uncut, veiny and with all that fucking length, came enough girth to make Shane nervous.

Shane wasn't lacking himself in that area, but Ilya was straight up over achieving.

He drank it in, hungrily committed it to memory as his eyes raked over the pictures. Shane didn't miss the snail trail or the hint of glossy abs begrudgingly cropped out at the top of the photos.

Shane was, needless to say, drooling.

Another notification pulled him from his stupor.

Ilya : do not go quiet on me now

Shane : I don't know what to say.

Ilya : is that good?

Shane : Yes. I think so.

Ilya : are you touching yourself?

Shane certainly wasn't. Not that he needed prompting, he could take care of himself, but he noted that Ilya wasn't asking for anything back.

He hadn't taken a dick pic since high school and even then, he never sent it to anyone.

Shane : Should i?

Ilya : are you asking for permission?

Shane : What if i am?

Ilya : it is granted. do it.

He adjusted himself, his mouth turning dry at the insinuation.

Shane jerked off a healthy amount, he thought. Plus he owned, well, a dildo.

It was purple, average sized and he'd only worked up the courage to use it on a few occasions. When he was forlorn to the point that he couldn't help himself and if that still made him tense, he's thankful for the current lack of strings attached to Ilya. 

Shane's fingers ghosted over the evident bulge in his sweats, apprehensive, as if this would change anything. He liked men. It was normal to indulge.

He shook his head, dipping his hand beneath the hem and curling it loosely around his leaking shaft.

He was hard, so painfully hard.

Ilya : tell me how it feels

Shane : Sensitive.

Haven't been this hard for a while.

Ilya : use me to make yourself feel good

you deserve it

do not reply just read

Those words alone elicited a low moan, his thighs parting where he sat as he gave a singular stroke, his fingers wound tight. Shane didn't feel like he deserved it, but he wanted to believe he did. 

He had nodded, though Ilya couldn't see, his hips jerking a little. The pace picked up but remained unhurried, languidly dragging his hand up and down the length of his cock, giving a small squeeze on the downstroke.

The phone nearly slipped from Shane's hand when he teased himself, rubbing his thumb over the slit to spread the pre-cum and aid the glide of his closed fist.

Ilya : i know you look so pretty

all desperate and flushed over me

wish i was there to help you

with my mouth, my hands, my cock

however you wanted me

i would give you whatever you asked

i could make you feel so good shane

make you forget your own fucking name

pin you down and fuck you until all you can remember is mine

Shane should've been reminding himself this was Ilya's job but the texts were coming through slowly, indicating that maybe .. maybe Ilya was touching himself too.

His eyes were glazed, mouth hanging open in pleasure and he could feel himself getting lost in it. Blissed out, easily with how much he'd denied himself.

Shane's fingers moved sluggishly across the keyboard, sending a 'Please.' in response because he could hardly type anything else.

Ilya : poor baby is so needy

what will i do with you hm?

There was a hint of faux sympathy and it made Shane's cock twitch. If he told himself a week ago that he'd end up in this predicament, he'd be dubious.

The need for release set in rapidly. Shane was teetering on the edge, a whine slipping out when he twisted his wrist, bucking his hips up into the grip. He'd sped up, at some point. Head having fallen forward as he cursed under his breath.

He found himself wanting the consent to cum from Ilya, but he couldn't stop, couldn't muster the strength to text him back.

That was when the screen lit up once more, like Ilya somehow knew what he needed.

Ilya : you want to cum?

if i was there i would make you beg

you would ask so nicely

now make a mess for me.

The phone was forgotten after that, tossed aside as Shane used his now free hand for leverage, leaning back on it as he fucked up into his fist, whimpering pathetically. He felt like a slut and he liked it. So much.

Shane gasped when his body stiffened, stilling for a moment before he came, coating both his hand and the fabric of his boxers as he shook softly through it.

It took him a short while to come back down to earth, to then peel his soiled clothes off and move to get some tissues.

Once he'd cleaned up, he grabbed his phone, re-opening their chat.

Shane : Thank you.

I needed that.

Ilya : do not thank me

it was mutual

Shane's heart continued to race, still in a haze from the orgasm. Does that mean Ilya had done it too? Strangely, he hoped so.

In his head, the conversation had died out. What more could he say? He tossed and turned for the majority of the night, stared at the ceiling until his eyes failed him.

Ilya probably felt obligated to repay him and Shane had spent days daydreaming about this faceless man. Now he'd prolonged it. It should be a One–N–Done, but Ilya would continue to consume his thoughts and Shane knew that.

In the morning, everything felt heavy. He'd slept through his alarm and inevitably skipped the gym. Shane didn't even tell Rose of his sexual venture on their coffee date. She wouldn't shame him, but the voice in his head told him otherwise.

A week passed.

When Shane wasn't busy, he wondered if Ilya was waiting on him. That was stupid. Ilya was a professional. Perhaps giving out his personal number wasn't wise, but it was all in the name of sex.

Which technically meant that Shane could reach out again. It wouldn't be weird, he just didn't want to come across as a loser.

There's a degree of loneliness that starts to feel degrading and Shane isn't willing to sacrifice his dignity for a Russian man with a big dick.

That's exactly how he ended up hovering over the call button at around midnight, two weeks later.

Shane always felt marginally brazen after a drink or two; precisely why he avoided alcohol. It didn't take much convincing for him to do it either. The dial on his moral compass was rather misleading.

The phone rang and rang, then rang some more and god forbid he called twice.

With no answer, Shane huffed and fell face down on the bed. He was hornier than usual lately. As if he'd had a taste and now his body couldn't function properly without it. Every time he touched himself, he was left disappointed. Shane physically couldn't replicate what Ilya had effortlessly given him with a couple nudes and some lewd texts.

He was frustrated, sexually and he deemed that the worst kind.

Shane lifted his head and glanced over at the drawers beside his bed. If Ilya wasn't available and his fingers weren't enough, something else would suffice.

He groaned and moved onto his knees, shuffling toward the edge of the bed and tugging said drawers open. The purple silicone stared back at him and he glared at it, mad that it had come to this again.

Shane took it out, along with a small, unopened bottle of lube and placed them down gently on the bed. He longed for that nice, full feeling and this was the only way to achieve it.

He undressed himself, folding each item of clothing meticulously and making a pile before climbing back onto the freshly washed sheets.

He sighed and swiped the bottle of lube up, tearing the plastic off with his teeth and popping the cap open. Shane squeezed a good amount into his palm, his eyebrows drawing together in impatience as he lathered his cock, spreading the clear substance before reaching behind him.

Shamelessly, Shane liked it wet. He wasn't initially fond of the sensation or the mess that came with it. He'd always used minimal lube, but with time and solitude, that changed.

He looked back over his shoulder, clenching his jaw as two fingers circled his entrance. Shane knew he didn't need much prep. He'd fingered himself in the early afternoon, until his wrist ached and he verged tears because he simply couldn't finish.

Shane pushed the two digits in with little difficulty, making a small noise at the intrusion. It was enough. He lacked the tolerance for any more suffering, pulling his hand away and reaching for the dildo instead.

He moved to lay on his back, coating the toy with an abundance of lube and spreading his legs apart. He only felt a splinter of excitement, having little hope that he'd manage to get off this time.

Shane slid a hand beneath his thigh, raised it higher and pressed the glistening tip against his hole. His body gave a shiver at the coolness, head tipped up to watch as he pressed it inside.

He let out a shaky breath, gradually pushing it deeper and letting the stretch consume him. It was undeniably good and he was greedy for more in spite of any resistance.

With the flared base snug against his ass, his head fell back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut as he clenched helplessly around the silicone. Once his breathing evened out, his fingers coiled firmly around it and he started to move.

"Oh, god."

Shane's hips shifted to correct the angle, his movements calculated as he watched the toy disappear inside him. The sight made his stomach churn and he wished he could pretend it were real, that he was being pounded into .. but no.

More, more, more. He needed more.

The motion quickly grew frantic upon finding the spot that made his cock twitch and a moan rip from his throat. Shane wasn't normally very loud. In his unfortunate experience, he'd only slept with women and he was yet to meet that person.

Man. 

The one that would change his perception of sex entirely.

Like some twisted joke, the sound of his ringtone cut through the air. Shane paused, his chest heaving as he looked over.

Ilya's name was right there on the screen, just to tempt him. He couldn't talk to him in this state, but Shane's neediness decided that didn't matter and within five seconds, he'd answered and placed the phone to rest on his dampening chest.

"Are you okay?" Came through the speaker and Shane was a tad horror-struck because there was a dildo five or six inches inside of him and he suddenly feared his voice would betray him.

"I'm okay." He replied breathily and Shane could hear the smile on Ilya's face as he said his next words.

"You do not sound it."

"I'm fine, I— Tell me about your day."

The line was silent for a moment then Ilya hummed.

"I am tired. English is too hard."

Shane fought back a whine, his fingers flexing around the toy. It was wrong, but he desperately wanted to hear his voice. To fuck himself as Ilya talked about whatever.

"Then don't speak English.". Shane suggested, restlessly kneading at the skin of his thigh. Ilya wasn't opposed, in fact he agreed and Shane's mouth fell open as he started to speak.

About mundane things, little to Shane's knowledge. What he'd had for breakfast, the workout he'd done at the gym, how insufferable his shift had been that evening. Shane didn't understand a word but he didn't need to. Every syllable was fuel to him, with Ilya's accent thickening in his mother tongue.

Shane covered his mouth guiltily, sliding the toy out until only the tip remained, then plunging it back inside. His hand muffled the whimper that escaped him, zoned in on the voice filling the space as he built a torturous pace. He couldn't go any faster, not with the obscene, slick sound coming from between his legs.

He prayed Ilya didn't catch on, but at the same time, Shane couldn't help himself. His hand fell away from his mouth, moved to squeeze at his chest as his eyes rolled into his head. All while Ilya talked about nonsensical things.

The pleasure was somehow tenfold and Shane found himself biting his fist to reduce the noise.

"Shane."

"Again." He all but cried, his thighs quivering with the pressure. He was using two hands now, one over the other and slamming the dildo into his prostate.

"Shane. Moy lyubov. What is it?" Ilya replied calmly, aggravatingly.

Shane was past hiding it.

He wanted to cum so badly it ached.

"I'm so close." He confessed, planting his feet on the bed as he worked his hips, meeting his own rough thrusts.

"Fuck."

Goosebumps rose on Shane's skin at that, his cheeks flushing a deeper red but he continued regardless. He couldn't stop. "Let me hear you." Ilya muttered and Shane sobbed in response, a string of moans following in turn, one for each time the toy split him open.

"I wish you were here." He whispered mindlessly, his brain clouded by want. Shane had a feeling that Ilya could give him everything he yearned for in that moment and Ilya would be more than happy to oblige.

"I could be."

The words didn't quite register for Shane, not with his current headspace. He couldn't dissect the gravity of them, nor the seriousness in Ilya's tone.

Shane moaned against his better, sober judgment. Far too focused on the drag of silicone against his walls to overanalyse.

"Please .. please, Ilya. I— I need you."

"I know." Ilya sounded worked up too. It pained him that he wasn't there to ease Shane. "Soon, I promise." He added quietly.

That was all the encouragement Shane needed before he was coming over his chest with a strangled cry.

The orgasm hit hard, washing over him in waves that made tears well in his eyes. His cock jerked against his stomach, both hands straining to still with the toy nestled inside as he rode it out.

Overstimulation set in soon after, along with an unfamiliar, floating feeling. The dire need to be taken care of that made his body feel light, but his feelings heavy. He almost forgot that Ilya was on the other end of the line.

"How do you feel, kotyonok?" Ilya had asked and Shane's head tilted to the side, his skin burning with desire for this—

Stranger.

That was what Ilya was. He didn't know anything about him outside of his job. He'd made Shane cum twice, but he couldn't recite Ilya's favourite colour.

Something about that didn't sit right.

Shane's body count was considerably low for a twenty two year old. That was what society said, stupidly. He hadn't spent his teenage years rebelling. He didn't have the time or inclination to party, drink, smoke. Hockey had been his primary focus since he was gifted his first pair of skates and it wasn't that he didn't like sex. Shane simply couldn't switch off, couldn't relax enough to utterly lose himself.

Until now.

"Dirty." He mumbled a bit absently, his nose scrunching up as he removed the dildo.

Ilya chuckled, the noise rich even through the phone. "Go clean up, baby." Shane could get used to that. He'd had a couple relationships in his time. Women had called him 'baby' often and it didn't feel like a jab at his masculinity or anything, it just didn't phase him. Then Ilya came along like he were sent with the sole purpose to ruin Shane.

Why was he getting butterflies? He hadn't even seen this guys face. Shane wasn't forming an attachment, no. Shane was latching onto something that satisfied him.

"I'll text you." He muttered and after Ilya responded with a smug "You better." he promptly hung up, letting himself get lost in thought once more. It wasn't long before he dove too deep and raised to his feet. Scooping his phone up and leaving an impromptu message. 

Shane : I’m sorry.

That was inappropriate.

Shane cleaned up, changed the sheets and showered, but his mind wandered throughout. What if Ilya was disgusted? He didn't sound it. Maybe he didn't want to embarrass Shane. That could be it.

Then his phone sounded with Ilya's reply.

Ilya : it was hot

you are hot shane

Shane : You think?

Ilya : i think you should consider my offer

Shane : What offer?

Ilya : to meet me

Shane : I can't. I’m busy.

Ilya : oh? you are busy all day every day?

Shane : Yes. I have practice.

Ilya : what are you practicing?

Not bottom etiquette, that was for sure. Shane was not going to sleep with Ilya. His first time with a man wouldn't be a stranger.

Shane : Soccer.

Ilya : you play pro?

Shane : Sure.

Ilya : you are famous?

Shane : I guess so. 

Ilya : now i want to fuck you more

Shane : Oh my god. Shut up.

Ilya : what position? 

for soccer not sex 

Shane froze as he realised he didn't know anything about soccer whatsoever. It was the first thing he'd thought of, his brain too fried from recent activities to function.

He scrambled to open the search engine, typing 'positions in soccer' into the bar. Many options came up and he filtered through the vague descriptions until he found a fitting one.

Shane : Centre midfielder.

Ilya : that is cool. what team?

Shane wished he kept up with the sport. He was ignorant to many things outside of his small bubble of hockey, exercise and dieting. Google had become his saviour but Shane was spoilt for choice. Which team did he want to play for?

On the other hand, he couldn't disclose that information because Shane was deceiving him. Ilya could look up his chosen team and quite easily discover that nobody by the name of Shane played for them. Worse yet, Ilya could be a fan of them. Then Shane would be royally screwed. 

Shane : You ask a lot of questions.

Ilya : you make me curious

Shane : Stop being curious.

I don't want to make you sign an NDA.

Ilya : that is a mood killer

Shane : It is. Goodnight, Ilya.

Ilya : goodnight shane

The use of an NDA was certainly the better excuse. Shane didn't want to utilise his fame, but he had no other option. He couldn't afford to have anyone find out.

The prospect of being outed terrified him and even if Ilya seemed trustworthy—

Shane had to be careful.

In his dazed disposition, he hadn't been. He'd been clumsy. Panicked and told an unmistakable lie in an opportunistic attempt at damage control. Something that wouldn't bypass Ilya's curiosity.

Chapter 2: Now you're all out of choices.

Chapter Notes

Ilya Rozanov wasn't the tenacious type, but there was something about Shane that made him lose composure.

He’d learned to disassociate at work. Not that he hated his job, he was good at it, but having to feign arousal did get exhausting. 

Sure, he liked to make people feel good. It was an ego boost to be able to make someone cum with a few words alone. But it was always ‘Are you doing it too?’ and lord knows there's only so many times he can fake an orgasm in one sitting.

Ilya was constantly answering calls, never knowing whether it would be a perverted old man, a possible prank or someone who moaned so obnoxiously that the call ended with a headache.

There truly was no rest for the wicked.

Customers would often request to speak with him. Shit, he even had regulars. They were mostly men, which initially came as a shock, but Ilya soon learned that he’d become some sort of safe haven for straight men testing the waters.

The hotline didn't specify what was/wasn't endorsed. Ilya was bisexual and therefore impartial to what was in his clients pants. Yes, he’d had some outlandish experiences, but he couldn't possibly expect less in this line of work.

It paid the bills and put food on the table. That was all that mattered.

He struggled to pinpoint what made Shane different from the rest— Never had the thought of giving his personal number out tempted him. There was a certain intrigue, but above all, Ilya was skeptical.

It was normal for people to remain anonymous; in fact, he had never asked anyone for details before now.

Even so, Shane was an athlete. A supposedly professional athlete and Ilya was a huge sports junkie.

The only Shane he knew of was Shane Hollander.

Ilya would be ashamed to admit that he’d looked Shane up the second he’d sent his goodnight text. There were no results, as expected and it was slowly becoming evident that Shane was lying.

Badly, on his part.

If he was going to be dishonest, he should've put more thought into it.

Hollander, Hollander, Hollander. 

Ilya clicked his tongue, arms splayed across the back of the couch as an ad played on the TV. The same one that had cast a glow across his skin a hundred times and he still couldn't tear his eyes away. 

It was corny but Ilya liked it. He liked Hollander. Not in a freaky, parasocial way, but he was certainly sporting a crush. Who wasn't? He was smart, alluring and a master of his craft.

Sometimes Shane alone made Ilya regret quitting hockey. 

He would've had him by now. 

Ilya watched intently while Shane Hollander struck unseemly yoga poses and ranted about his 'sanctuary’. Some self-built cottage in the middle of nowhere.

How Ilya loathed the rich.

"Mr architect." He’d muttered mockingly, tossing the remote from one hand to the other. "So sweet and so perfect." 

Svetlana passed by then, pausing in front of the TV with a pair of heels slung over her shoulder. With a tilt of her head and a hum of approval, she looked at Ilya.

“I get your obsession.”

“I am not obsessed.”

“He’s so sexy.” She countered dismissively, continuing into the kitchen.

Ilya scoffed, eyes tracking her as she strutted away. Svetlana knew him better than anyone and as much as he loved her, he hated that she saw right through him. Ilya was far from an open book, but Svetlana had read every single page.

He found himself rewinding the ad, allowing it to play again and letting it fester as he compared the two together. It was difficult to decipher through a phone, but there was a similarity in character, in voice and an abundance of proof to back it up.

If anything, Ilya could corner him. He wasn't within his rights, but he didn't particularly care.

The odds of it being The Shane Hollander were, in theory, so low that it proved to be reason to probe him. The number one hockey player had no business conversing and actively sexting a nobody like him. 

Ilya : good morning

Shane : Good morning, Ilya.

 Ilya : have a great day

*one image attachment* 

Shane was taken aback. He was half asleep when Ilya greeted him, wide awake after he'd sent him a selfie. The butterflies he'd been fighting off crowded in his stomach at the sight. 

Ilya was gorgeous.

The first thing he noticed were his curls, the perfect golden ringlets. Then his eyes because blue had always been Shane's favourite colour. He had moles on either cheek, plenty scattered across his neck and what was visible of his chest. It was blatant that the photo had just been taken and Shane couldn't fathom how someone could look that good at the asscrack of dawn. 

Shane : Wow.

You have a very nice face.

Ilya : thank you

odd choice of words

Shane : I'm sorry.

You caught me off guard.

You're really attractive.

Ilya : better in person

how did you sleep?

Shane : Decent. You?

Ilya : good thank you

you have a game coming up?

Shane didn't. He would if he were the soccer player he claimed to be.

With more research he learned that the hockey season begun when the soccer season ended.

He wouldn't have a valid excuse for his absence when October rolled around if he and Ilya still spoke then.

Shane : Enough about me.

Ilya : i want to know as much

as you will let me

Shane : I’m not that interesting.

Ilya : your favorite color? food or drink?

brand of clothes?

Shane : Blue, tuna melt, ginger ale, Reebok.

Ilya : reebok sucks nike is better

Shane : You have no taste.

Ilya : i like you

Shane : You have some taste.

Ilya : exactly

can i know more?

Did Shane need to lie? Would he be baiting himself out by describing his own looks or the things he enjoyed? He didn't know what was public knowledge anymore and he certainly didn't feel like researching himself.

Besides, he wanted to be honest with Ilya.

Shane wasn't even that fond of Reebok. He’d much rather be wearing Nike, but he was constantly highlighted as this ‘brand safe athlete’ and with that came endorsement deals that his mother refused to let him turn down.

The indescribable urge to tell Ilya everything gnawed at him. Down to the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.

Shane : I have black hair and brown eyes.

Ilya : you are edging me

Shane : I’m 5’11.

Ilya : shane.

Shane : Yes?

Ilya : that is boring

Shane : There’s something about feet that

 makes me feel extremely uncomfortable.

I almost always have socks on.

Ilya : that does not make you less gay

Shane : ???

Ilya : is a joke

Shane : You should be a comedian.

Ilya : i have been told

want some good news?

Shane : Hit me.

Ilya : you into that?

Shane : … As in?

Ilya : you like it rough ;)

Shane : Oh.

I haven't experimented much.

A little vanilla, I guess.

Ilya : vanilla? like flavor?

Shane : It means basic.

Ilya : that is very cute

does not answer my question

Shane : Yes. I like it rough.

Jesus, Ilya.

Ilya : i must know this so i can

fuck you properly

Shane : Who said you're fucking me at all?

Ilya : ok mr i wish you were here

Shane : I wasn't thinking straight.

Ilya : i will get on my knees and beg

i have no shame

Shane : No you won't.

Ilya : want to find out?

Shane : You’re serious, aren't you?

Ilya : have never been more serious

Shane : Even if you don't know

what I look like?

Ilya : i know enough

What Shane wasn't aware of was that Ilya was handing him an out, or trying to. Giving him leeway to tell the truth and Shane? he danced around it. Graceful as ever, to Ilya’s disappointment.

Shane : Mhm. Now your good news?

Ilya : yes my friend has tickets to

centaurs first game of the season

was meant to be surprise but she

cannot keep secrets

Shane : You must be a big fan.

Ilya : huge fan

of the captain mostly

Shane : Lucky him.

Ilya : such a pretty boy

i would do terrible things to him

Shane : You shouldn't objectify people.

Ilya : i do not think he would mind

Shane : Did he tell you that himself?

Ilya : perhaps

Shane : You're ridiculous.

The game was in a month.

Shane knew then that time wasn't on his side. He hadn't thought out how he’d tell Ilya or how to confess but it had to happen.

He couldn't keep his head in the game, knowing Ilya was in the audience.

Watching him, observing him, wanting him.

It made him feel apprehensive.

He didn't want to lose this either, whatever it was. Yet the fear of rejection outweighed the want to tell him and by the time Shane had come to terms with the significance of his lies, the game was a mere week away.

Shane had wallowed in jealousy and self-pity. Concluded that he didn't like having to share Ilya with others. Found himself struggling to sleep because he knew— he knew what Ilya was doing.

A job is a job but Shane would get irritable knowing Ilya spoke to others in the same manner. What was he supposed to do? Ask him to quit his job? That was off the table. So Shane settled for his attention.

He enjoyed Ilya’s company too much to forfeit. Whether it was a simple conversation or late-night calls that often evolved into sex. Shane liked the time they spent together. It was his escape from the constant chaos around him.

Ilya numbed his mind. He had this ability to make Shane feel like he wasn't quite real. Like every bad thing, melted away and he was left floating on a cloud.

The more they’d spoke, the more Shane learned and the more there was to appreciate.

He would send good morning texts daily, faceless pictures of himself post-workout and even the meal prep he did.

Ilya was equally as generous but Shane had the privilege of seeing his face.

One he’d grown rather fond of.

In the consecutive weeks they’d been talking, Ilya didn't push him. He stopped prying and instead went at Shane’s pace, accepting what he gave Ilya.

Shane knew it was selfish to string him along, leave him under the impression that he was someone else but the opportunity never arose.

Or it did and he was too afraid.

Ilya himself contemplated the truth more than he’d like to admit. In his heart, he knew that Shane wasn't who he said. Nonetheless, Ilya had come to adore him. His inability to receive sarcasm, his brattiness and how soft his voice would get. Down to the way he arranged his fridge.

Shane was very proud of that.

Ilya wanted to meet him. To feel him, talk to him, please him and he could only hope that one day, Shane would let him.

Working a sex hotline and being, what Ilya would currently describe as celibate, was painful. They never discussed exclusivity but neither of them were seeing other people.

Shane was pliant, teachable and everything Ilya needed. It left him with a lack of desire to sleep with anyone else.

There was nothing Ilya Rozanov wanted more than to be on top of him, with his nails digging into the skin of his hips as he fucked him. He’d fantasised about it a concerning amount of times. Wondered how malleable Shane was, which positions he could bend him into. How many orgasms he could pull from him before he was left shaking and trembling under him, eyes glassy with overstimulation and want. 

Based on their call history, three was the record.

Ilya loved to talk him through it and Shane obeyed him like it was second nature. It made Ilya feel powerful. Yet he detested that he couldn't touch him.

He wanted to hear Shane moan, right against the shell of his ear as Ilya praised him for taking it so well. For being such a good boy.

Though the face of his fantasies was contorted. When he envisioned Shane, he saw Hollander. With his freckles and sharp cupid's bow.

There was a certainty but also guilt.

It left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

During the quieter days, Ilya worked hard to ignore the voice in his head. It would cut in, loud and unwelcome, to tell him that he was right.

That there was a reason Shane would lead their conversations astray whenever hockey was the topic. A reason Ilya stopped talking about his passion for the sport and his eyes would divert from every news article or social media post that featured Shane Hollander.

As the season neared, Shane’s texts and calls became more sparse. Ilya knew why, even if the man claimed otherwise and he felt Shane’s absence. Increasingly with each day.

He debated his approach. If he should be straightforward and ask Shane outright who he really was.

He wondered if it was worth potentially scaring him away for good, but Ilya also knew himself.

He was irritable. Had a gentle heart filled with anger that had been layered on from his childhood and to finally determine that someone he’d given his time to had been lying to him .. well, it wouldn't bode well for Shane. Hollander or not.

Then, exactly five days before the Centaurs were due to play Montreal, Ilya received a text.

Because for Shane, peace was bound to give way to impulse.

Shane : We need to talk.

Ilya : you are alive then

ok? lets talk

Shane : In person.

Ilya : i think you have wrong number

Shane : Ilya. 

Ilya : where did shane go?

Shane : Not funny. I’m being serious.

Ilya : i am confused

why now? 

Shane : Give me your address.

Before I change my mind.

Ilya : do not get your panties in a twist

Shane : I do Not wear panties.

Ilya : oh my god

Shane : Just promise me

you’ll hear me out.

Ilya : okay

Shane : Say it, Ilya.

Ilya : i promise

Shane chewed on his lip, nauseous at the idea of meeting him. It was reckless. To turn up, knock at Ilya’s door and have to explain himself. Why Shane Hollander, captain of the Centaurs, was at his place.

He’d run out of options. Started to avoid Ilya, reply only when he’d left it too long.

The lead-up to the season had him busy and there were only so many excuses one could make.

The car journey was spent in deafening silence, only the hum of the engine audible in the dark, empty streets. Ilya was a mere twenty minute drive. He’d been within reach, so accessible the entire time and it made Shane uneasy.

He was scared.

Shane wished things were different, that he could be himself. Go to that gay bar, love loudly, not hide in the shadows surrounding the spotlight he’d been placed under.

But it wasn't that simple and he prayed that Ilya would understand.

The elevator up was all too warm. Shane felt mildly claustrophobic in the confined space, his breathing laboured as he tried to calm his racing thoughts.

How will Ilya react? Is this a mistake? Should I turn around?

Shane could leave, disappear from Ilya’s grasp entirely and what would the man do? All Ilya had was a phone number and a glimmer of hope.

The elevator sounded, the doors opening before him and Shane felt light on his legs. As if his feet were carrying him but he wasn't there.

No. This was real, this was happening.

With a wipe to his face and a moment of hesitation, Shane knocked twice. He glanced down the hallway, calculated the time it’d take to reach the stairway if he were to run, but before he could, the door swung open.

Their eyes met and Shane stiffened as recognition flashed across Ilya’s face. His expression didn't morph into one of anger or hatred.

There was nothing.

Shane didn't expect open arms.

He didn't expect this either.

Ilya stepped back, gesturing for him to come inside and Shane nodded, entering with his fists bunched up to calm his shaking hands.

He turned to Ilya, who slammed the door shut, the sound of it making Shane flinch. Ilya seemed to size him up, or check him out. Shane couldn't tell but the answer became clear when Ilya walked over to him.

He paused, raking over Shane’s form before he began to circle him.

“Shane Hollander.” He muttered, testing the name on his tongue. The same tongue that had spoken it a hundred times over.

It tasted differently now in light of their situation.

Shane’s lips pursed, hands clasping together behind his back.

He felt like prey under Ilya’s gaze.

“I’m sorry.” Shane said finally.

“What for?” Ilya asked, coming to a stop before him. He was close now, enough to make Shane go rigid. 

“Everything.” Shane whispered, unable to meet his stare.

Ilya gripped his chin with more force than necessary, tilting Shane’s head up.

“Look at me.”

Shane did.

“You lied.”

Shane’s hand moved to wrap around his wrist and Ilya’s hold tightened, fingers pressing into bone. It’d be a pleasant ache if he didn't look so resentful.

“And I still wanted you.” Ilya continued, leaning in until Shane could feel the warmth of his breath in his face, the remnants of a cigarette looming.

“Wanted?” Shane asked, incredulous, his eyes narrowing as he scanned Ilya’s face.

“I knew it.”

Ilya couldn't have—

“What are you talking about?”

Shane didn't get a response.

Instead, Ilya answered with a kiss.

A hand settled on his waist and then Ilya was leaning in. His mouth brushed against Shane’s neck, just below his ear, the contact light, almost teasing and completely at odds with the hunger simmering underneath it.

Shane's breath caught. He went still for a second, every nerve in his body fired up as warm lips hugged his pulse point, feeling the quickened beat there.

“Ilya …”

“You want me to stop?” Came a mumble.

Shane’s eyes fluttered shut, inadvertently baring his neck to Ilya. Who was already at war with himself.

They should talk about it. He knew that but—

“No.”

At Shane’s refusal, his eyes flashed with triumph. All he’d wanted was to have Shane, to ruin and unravel him completely, to take it out on him and make him come undone under his hands.

With consent, that was exactly what he was going to do.

Ilya boldened, planting rushed kisses down the column of his throat before trailing further. He paused at Shane's shoulder, pressing his tongue flat and dragging it back up until he reached the curve of his jaw.

The hand formerly on his waist dipped beneath the hem of his hoodie, splaying out territorially across Shane's stomach. 

Shane made a soft noise at the wet sensation, shivering in Ilya’s hold, folding under the pressure of his tongue. He didn't want to confuse anger for lust, but how did that translate?

What was the difference?

He curled his fingers into Ilya’s hair, tugging gently as his lips parted to speak.

“You’re mad at me.”

Ilya pulled back at that, his pupils dilated. The hand previously cupping Shane’s jaw moved to encircle the base of his throat.

“Of course I am mad. Fuck, Shane.”

The hand on his stomach pushed, guiding Shane.

His back met the nearest wall, their foreheads pressing together, chests heaving from the brief contact.

“Let me fix this.” Shane pleaded and truly, who was Ilya to stop him?

Ilya’s grasp tightened on his neck and he could feel Shane’s heartbeat spike. It was invigorating to have this kind of power over someone.

“You can fix it by getting on your knees.”

“What?”

“Get on your knees. Then maybe I will forgive you.”

Shane stared at him with glossy eyes, his chest tight as Ilya let go and pointed toward the floor.

He sank to his knees, slowly, fixated on the hardwood below. He didn't look up as Ilya’s feet came into view, feeling the air shift, crackling with electricity.

Ilya’s presence was domineering. It left Shane, a two hundred pound hockey player, feeling small and he berated himself for giving in under these circumstances.

The grip on his face was back, rough and unkind but this time, Ilya pressed a thumb to his lower lip. Goading him into it before pushing the digit past his pout.

“Suck.” He commanded dryly, free hand cradling Shane's nape, beginning to move his head in a subtle bobbing motion.

Above him, Ilya’s patience had worn razor-thin. Without care, he pulled his thumb out, replacing it with his index and forefinger. Sliding them in until Shane gagged.

“That’s it.” Ilya hummed.

Shane swallowed around the intrusion, his tongue swirling, wetting the fingers.

Ilya’s other hand threads through his hair, stilling Shane’s movements and instead starting to thrust his fingers in and out of his mouth.

He watched as Shane’s cheeks flushed, how his eyes twinkled and his throat convulsed.

Ilya wanted to replace them with his cock, abuse his mouth.

So he tugged them away, loosening his grip on Shane’s hair as he fumbled to undo his belt.

Shane was spaced out, nuzzling his thigh. Ilya’s touch served as a reminder, the pull harsh enough to make the power balance clear.  

He freed his cock, circled around the base and tapped it, once, against Shane’s cheek, eliciting a gasp.

“You want it?” Ilya asked, an edge to his voice as he yanked Shane’s head back and rested the tip against his lips, smearing pre-cum across them.

Shane only whimpered in response, his tongue peeking out to lick at the slit with a meek shyness.

Ilya hated how affectionate he felt.

He was trying to be mad.

“Open up, kotyonok. Tongue out.”

If he wasn't already drunk on Ilya, Shane would have half a mind to ask what that meant. Instead, he relaxed his jaw, tongue lolling out in compliance.

Ilya wasn't gentle, but rather careless as he tipped his head forward and spat directly onto Shane’s tongue, who whined delicately in turn. He wasted no time pushing into the wet warmth of his mouth, Ilya’s eyebrows drawing together as he sank inside.

His length throbbed, groaning deeply as Shane took what he could, like he was designed to.

“Good boy.” Ilya praised, his hands moving to rest on either side of Shane’s head, steeling himself. He could hardly contain his need with those doe eyes silently begging him.

Shane moaned with a full mouth, the vibrations making Ilya’s body hum with pleasure.

“You like being called that?”

A nod.

“My good boy.” Ilya reiterated, pulling his hips back halfway before thrusting forward roughly.

The sounds erupting from Shane as his cock hit the back of his throat were more than enough encouragement. It had him moving without rhythm, fucking sloppily into Shane's mouth, chasing every noise he could pull from him. 

Nice and hard, as the man beneath him went lax and took him in without resistance. Almost every inch, his eyes hooded and teary.

Ilya was in disbelief.

Shane Hollander was on his knees before him, willingly sucking his cock and fuck—

He was right. Shane was perfect.

There was drool seeping from the corners of his mouth, all messy as Ilya fucked his face with a drive that bordered on loathing. He wasn't going to last long like this, not with Shane lazily swirling his tongue, not with the way his throat contracted each time Ilya fed him his cock.

Ilya stopped then, cursing as he held Shane flush to the base. running his fingers through his hair and whispering dirty words of affirmation that made Shane’s cock twitch in his pants.

"Such a pretty little thing.”

“You are doing so well.”

Shane fussed, his nails digging into Ilya’s clothed thigh as he kept him there, stretched around the girth of his length.

A single tear cascaded down his cheek.

“Breathe through your nose, baby.”

Shane did, or tried, his jaw aching so beautifully.

Then Ilya was pulling out, leaving him gasping. His lips swollen and covered in spit.

There was a short moment to regain his breath before a sudden, mild slap to the cheek had his head whipping to the side.

Shane pouted, his fingers ghosting over the reddening skin as he looked up at Ilya, who stood stroking himself, in all his glory. Too close to the edge to use Shane’s mouth any longer.

Ilya smirked, landing another, testing slap to Shane’s right cheek. Forcing a strangled whimper out of him.

“Talk to me.” Ilya insisted, repeating the action.

He basked in the act of submission, in the ruined state Shane had been so easily reduced to. The way those tearful eyes stared at him, waiting for Ilya’s next command.

“What do you want?”

“Want you to fuck me.” Shane admitted, his voice hoarse.

“Ask nicely.” Ilya urged, promptly leaning down to eye level.

“Please .. please fuck me, Ilya.”

Ilya brushed his thumb across the curve of his mouth, gathering the mess of spit and raising it to his own lips. He made a show of licking it clean, grinning when Shane mewled at the display.

He patted Shane’s cheek gently after, in a weak attempt at bringing him back down to earth. Ilya had never seen someone like this.

Well, he had but Shane was different.

That far away, floaty look. It was addictive.

“On your feet.” He whispered, tucking himself away and extending a hand out, which Shane took gladly.

Ilya led him down the hallway, dropping his hand when they entered his bedroom. He locked the door behind them, turning to Shane and closing the distance in a stride.

Ilya picked him up as if he weighed nothing, pressing a kiss to his cheek and tossing him onto the bed.

“If it is too much, you tell me. Yes?” Ilya said with an abrupt seriousness that made Shane feel even dizzier. “Words, Shane.”

“Uh huh, yeah.” Shane murmured, watching as Ilya stood between his legs, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it aside.

“This is your first time with a man?”

“It is.”

Shane wanted to worship him. To litter his chest with open-mouthed kisses, but he couldn't because Ilya was soon flipping him over. With practiced ease and a strength that Shane still couldn't wrap his head around.

His shorts were tugged down, the fabric of his hoodie bunched up around his waist.

There was a brief moment where Ilya’s hands left the warmth of his skin and Shane panicked.

Only to hear the familiar pop of a cap, followed by a firm spank to his ass.

“Hands and knees.”

Shane let out a shaky breath, his head hanging low as he raised his lower half off of the sheets. He was quivering in anticipation, blood roaring in his ears and it must've been noticeable because a single hand ran soothingly over the exposed skin of his lower back. A lot like reassurance.

Shane’s hips curved eagerly into the touch, that same hand moving to knead and spread his cheeks apart.

Ilya leaned in, blowing gently against his exposed hole, watching him clench around nothing.

That needed to change.

“You are pretty everywhere.” And then teeth were sinking into the fat of Shane’s ass. Deep enough to leave a mark.

He hissed, his back arching further as a pleasurable pain shot up his spine.

This is torture. Shane thought.

Ilya coated his fingers with lube, then drizzled more over Shane’s hole. There was a scent to it, Shane realised and he looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as he read the bottle.

“Strawberry? Seriously?” He whined.

“What? It is fun.” Ilya shrugged and Shane groaned in return, burying his face in the sheets.

A singular, thick digit pressed to his rim. Teasing, tormenting him until it breached.

The slide was slow, painfully slow. Ilya eased in, knuckle by knuckle and Shane wanted to complain. To tell him to go faster but wordlessly, Ilya seemed to understand.

Once inside, Ilya curled said finger and Shane jumped, gasping loudly. There isn’t a chance that Ilya had found— not that fast.

“That was easy.”

Shane scoffed at the cocky tone, that sound melting into a broken moan as Ilya brushed his prostate again.

“Easy?” Shane breathed, pitch high.

“You are made for this.” Ilya continued, starting to pump in and out, base to tip. Getting the angle to hit that sweet spot with every drive.

Soon enough, Ilya had added a second finger. Then a third, watching Shane’s hole loosen deliciously.

Shane himself was out of it. Hoodie pulled over his head, crying out as his hips twitched, cock an angry red where it hung uselessly between his legs.

Ilya planted a hand on Shane’s back, keeping him positioned in that perfect arch as the slide of his fingers grew rougher, harder. Flicking and twisting his wrist.

The stretch was pronounced, burning in the best way possible. Shane doesn't remember when he started to move but he was pushing back, bouncing himself on Ilya’s fingers.

Ilya was fucking mesmerised, biting his lip and watching Shane’s ass ripple beneath his palm. As much as he wanted to eat him out, he needed to be inside of him.

That could wait for another day.

Shane felt himself drifting further away, smiling as Ilya rolled him onto his back. He leaned up on his elbows, watching Ilya undress himself with sparkling eyes.

“Need it off.” Ilya had stated, climbing onto the bed. He got rid of Shane's hoodie and dipped his head down to wrap his mouth around one of his nipples.

“You were hiding these.” He whispered against the skin, circling his tongue. Shane’s hands covered his own face, shaft leaking as Ilya sucked on the sensitive bud.

Perhaps it was one too many new sensations for Shane. He was overwhelmed, in the best way possible. He craved more but his brain was turning to mush and he’d already relinquished any control to Ilya.

There was an abrupt change in tempo, like Ilya was trying to memorise the feel of him. Covering any reachable skin in kisses that Shane wished would imprint on him. He kissed his chest, his waist, his inner thighs, all of the places Shane had never been kissed.

Until Ilya met his lips, for the first time.

It was tender and unhurried. Ilya pushed his tongue into Shane’s mouth, held his face like he was something precious and any nerves Shane had were washed away.

Ilya pecked them once, then twice.

“You with me, solnyshko?” He whispered.

Shane mustered a hum, completely untethered. He felt good, inconceivably good.

He lay patiently as Ilya rolled a condom on and coated his shaft with an honourable amount of lube, moving to hover over Shane and rest between his parted legs.

Ilya offered a nod and Shane returned it, biting his lip as he felt the tip of Ilya’s cock press to his entrance.

Ilya glanced down between them, his jaw visibly clenched and started to sink inside.

Shane’s eyes squeezed shut.

It was a lot. Hardly comparable to the dildo he’d barely used.

Shane reached out blindly, clinging to Ilya, choking on a moan.

“I know, baby. I know.”

Once he bottomed out, Ilya wrapped Shane’s legs loosely around his waist, burying his face in his neck. Ilya gave him time to adjust and relished the feeling of Shane wrapped around him.

Tight and hot and perfect.

He wanted to fuck Shane stupid, hold him down and slam into him until he cried but he couldn't be selfish.

Not yet.

When Shane gave his shoulders a squeeze, Ilya circled his hips, lifting his head for approval.

Shane looked wrecked in the softest, most devastating way— glassy eyed, his lips bitten red, cheeks flushed a shade deeper than before. He looked beautiful. 

Ilya was going to destroy him.

He ground his hips again, earning a little wail of his name, right against his ear.

“You feel so fucking good, Shane.”

Shane was clenching around him, pulling him impossibly deeper while Ilya’s hands gripped his hips, encircling the flesh and continuing to grind, stimulating that sweet spot inside him.

“I can't.”

“Can't what?”

“It’s— Ilya, it’s too much.” Shane whined, hooking his arms beneath Ilya’s and holding onto him. Desperately trying to ground himself.

“Oh?” Ilya quirked a brow, tilting his head.

He retreated, almost all the way, before thrusting back into him, making Shane’s body jolt.

Shane babbled something incoherent, dragging his nails down the length of Ilya’s back as he cried out.

“Yeah, you can take it.” Ilya deducted, pinning him by his hips and sending another deep stroke into his waiting body.

Shane was squeezing around him like a fucking vice, making Ilya’s head spin and he savoured it while he built a steady pace.

“Say it back.”

“I can— fuck, I can take it.” Shane whimpered weakly. It felt like air was being punched out of him as Ilya fucked into him, splitting him open on his cock.

Ilya, pleased with that answer, angled his hips and pushed Shane’s thighs up by his head. Practically bending him in half as he pounded away at his hole, giving his prostate the attention it deserved.

“That's my good boy.”

Shane was a good boy. He wanted to be that, for Ilya. He wanted to take his cock and make him feel good, as good as Shane felt right now.

There was pressure building in his tummy, dragging small “ah, ah, ah.” noises from him as Ilya hammered relentlessly into that special spot. The sound of their wet skin colliding filling the space.

Ilya’s eyebrows were drawn together, breathing raggedly. He leaned down to kiss Shane, temporarily muffling his moans as their mouths collided.

“Shit, Hollander. Soooo fucking tight.” He swore, his lips forming an ‘o’ shape.

Shane’s eyes rolled back, his head falling to the side and Ilya grabbed him by the jaw, turning it back toward him.

Shane was out of it.

All starry-eyed and boneless beneath him. Just taking it and fuck, Ilya couldn't get enough.

His hand trailed down, giving Shane’s neck a small squeeze before pressing his palm against his lower stomach.

Ilya’s rhythm faltered for a second, grunting at the prominent bulge there.

“Can you feel me here?” He breathed, reducing his thrusts back to more deeper, deliberate strokes that sent Shane’s body forward.

Yes, Shane could feel him in his stomach. He could feel everything, his body was on fire.

“Nngh— Ilya.” He moaned and Ilya kept that rhythm, fucking him like a man possessed, his hips snapping with precision.

He was staking a claim. Possessively.

“You gonna cum on my cock?”

That was all it took for Shane.

The orgasm tore through him. He was coming untouched all over himself with a drawn out sob, his entire body shaking with the effort.

“There we go.”

The high longed out, what with Ilya continuously sliding in and out of him.

Relentless.

Shane pushed feebly at his chest, but he didn't want him to stop. Not really. Ilya was undoing him in ways he’d never imagined.

He grabbed the hand clawing at him, pinning it above Shane’s head and delivering a light slap to his cheek.

“Cat got your tongue, malysh?”

Shane wanted to cry. He couldn't form words. Out of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

“Look at you, taking my cock. You are a slut for this.”

Shane was. He loved it. He loved being used like this, like a toy. Letting Ilya do whatever he wanted to him and maybe he should be embarrassed by how easily he caved, how readily he let Ilya take what he wanted— but he didn't. Not when it felt like this.

Ilya, who was manhandling him now. Swiftly pulling out and turning Shane over. Grabbing his hips and tugging him up onto his knees.

Shane’s legs almost gave out but Ilya kept a firm grip as he fucked back into him, his head tipping back.

He didn't think he could ever grow bored of the way Shane’s walls hugged him, the velvety drag of his cock.

Ilya rocked back and forth, watching his length disappear inside Shane. His ass was red from the force of his thrusts, skin on skin still loud in his ears.

The sheets beneath are wet, with shed tears that Shane couldn't contain as Ilya rammed into him from behind.

There was a brief pause as Shane felt a second orgasm start to build and Ilya leaned over him, brushing the hair out of his face.

“Are you okay?” He’d asked and Shane nodded softly.

It was like a switch flipped in him and with Shane’s agreement, Ilya just pounded him harder. More ruthless, somehow.

Ilya’s hands came down on his ass between thrusts, spanking and squeezing until handprints blossomed and Shane was losing his mind.

A pathetic mess of tears and drool.

“Shane.”

He heard his name, a bit distant in his own ears but Shane glanced back, his mouth hanging open as he met Ilya’s eyes.

He looked just as ruined. Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the veins in his neck and arms prominent under the strain.

“Fuck, Shane.”  Ilya started, breathlessly, his movements gradually becoming less coordinated.

“Mmph— mhm—” Was all Shane could offer, fisting at the sheets as his body recoiled.

Ilya was close, it was blatant and Shane was right there with him, sitting on the edge.

A hand reached down, curling around his neglected cock and stars clouded Shane’s vision.

He collapsed against the bed as he came a second time, biting down on the sheets to muffle what would've been close to a scream.

Ilya moved with him, bracing his arms on either side of Shane’s body and kept slamming into him, punctuating each word with a thrust.

“Take. It— Just. Like. That.”

He grunted, low and loud, that full feeling Shane had grown accustomed to fading away.

He’d discarded the condom, a fist wrapped around his cock as Ilya stroked himself to orgasm. Coming over the curve of Shane’s ass with a groan.

“Poor baby.” Ilya cooed breathily, taking in the mess he’d made of Shane. 

He dragged his fingers through the ropes of cum staining Shane’s skin, careful not to rest his weight as he bent over him and brought those same fingers up to his mouth.

Shane took them in, sucked on them gently as Ilya watched with dark eyes.

“Such a good boy.” He kissed Shane’s head and retracted his fingers, stroking his cheek.

After pressing an abundance of kisses to Shane’s damp skin, he disappeared into the bathroom, returning shortly after.

He cleaned Shane up, moved him carefully and replaced the soiled sheets with a blanket.

“Still mad?” Shane asked quietly as Ilya climbed into bed beside him.

He sighed, wrapping his arms around Shane and tugging him into his chest.

“No, moy lyubov.”

“You sure?”

Ilya looked down at Shane, with his mussed hair and tear stained cheeks, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile as he nodded.

“But no more lying.” He whispered, resting his chin against Shane’s head. 

Shane snuggled up to him and Ilya felt content, for the first time in— god knows how long.

“Deal.”

Chapter End Notes

i hope whoever reads this likes it :) share your thoughts if you want! it's my first time writing smut.

agness and aeri i love you to death for beta reading the hell out of this and saving me from punctuation hell.