Summary:

And the thing is, Ilya has never had to get Shane into a vulnerable state like that to exert that control; no, some sort of merciful God that he hadn't been sure existed since he was a child took pity on him and somehow sent him the most perfect man in the world who seemed to want nothing more than to allow himself to be Ilya's plaything, to be molded into the perfect shape to fit all of his terrible desires. But there's so much allure in it, anyway—the idea of taking that power, taking that control, plucking it from Shane's hands in a much less open way—just because he wanted to. Just because he knew it would feel good. Just because he knew, deep down, that Shane wanted it, too. Shane and Ilya's hospital encounter after the hit from Cliff goes a little differently. Ilya walks away with an invitation to the cottage, and a brand new fantasy about fucking Shane when he's high. Ilya gets what he wants. or: a bit of a love letter to power exchange, the romance of kink, and the beauty of someone matching your freak.