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The argument was in the past.
They'd done the days of silence moving into the eventual release of tension. Shane had cried only twice, which he was quite proud of, and he was even more proud of himself for being the one to pick up the phone and initiate an adult conversation about it. So they'd talked, they'd fucked, and they'd talked again before settling back into their routine.
Shane snuggled closer into Ilya's chest on the couch, rubbing his cheek against the soft, warm T-shirt that smelled vaguely of Ilya's cologne. The pressure of Ilya's arm over his shoulders was anchoring. He felt heavy, in the best kind of way, just sinking into it, boneless. There was a soft press of lips against his temple. On the TV screen, someone drove a car off a cliff.
It was hard to imagine that two weeks ago, Ilya had told him he could fuck someone else.
Things were back to how they'd been before. Maybe they were, in some ways, even better because they'd forced themselves to have some conversations that should've already happened. Shane was proud that they'd really sat down to discuss cheating, to set up their boundaries.
That had been what unsettled Shane the most. This sudden claim from Ilya that he didn't believe in cheating, that he didn't own Shane. It had caught him so off guard because somehow he'd never expected that from Ilya, who had certainly never acted like he was particularly open to sharing once they'd become exclusive.
But it was all fine now. Limits were drawn and they were on the same page.
"Why is he trying to steal this car?" Ilya said, his free hand gesturing towards the screen. "Is he stupid?"
"What's wrong with the car?"
"It is not the car. The car is fine. But clearly the police already knows about this car? He will just have a target on his back!"
Ilya had followed the plot of this movie far better than Shane.
"You're asking a lot of this movie," Shane said, his lips grazing the fabric of Ilya's T-shirt. "Considering it started with some guy loudly yelling his evil plans on the phone for a whole room to overhear."
"I take my car movies seriously. They can't be stupid."
Shane snorted and lifted his head to peer up at Ilya. "Most of them are extremely stupid."
"Has to be right kind of stupid, Shane. Fun stupid!"
He patted Ilya's stomach in reply.
"This man is an idiot," Ilya said, voice flat, as the police caught up to him immediately after stealing the car.
Shane shook with silent laughter at the indignation. "This is making me miss that movie where Rose got kidnapped by those weird twins."
"This man is worse than the thieves in the Christmas movie."
"Home Alone."
"Yes, that." Ilya's phone pinged and he reached for it, bending over Shane in the process.
Ilya rested his phone on the back of Shane's head and Shane was so comfortable he didn't even protest. His apartment was the perfect temperature and there was the slow, satisfying patter of rain against the windows. When Ilya dropped his phone back down, his arm wrapped around Shane again, fingers idly brushing his upper arm.
"What was it?" Shane asked, eyes on the car chase on TV.
"Just Dykstra." Ilya's voice rumbled under Shane's cheek. "Asking about shit for tomorrow."
All afternoon, Shane had tried not to think about their small pocket of time coming to an end. Ilya was going back to Ottawa after managing to steal a couple of days in Montreal, and Shane was flying out for a week long road trip on the US East Coast. Usually, this was just a part of their routine, always just trying to find their little spaces in between, but it had been a weird couple of weeks. Sighing softly, he gripped Ilya's waist tight and closed his eyes. Hands carded through his hair, slow and sure.
"I can't believe you picked this terrible movie, solnyshko."
"Okay, we're not doing this. You picked this!"
"That's not what I remember," Ilya said airily.
Shane pushed himself up, splaying his hand out on Ilya's stomach as he looked up at him, frowning. "Who exactly in this room are you trying to convince that I picked a car movie?"
"The universe has to know what is true."
Rolling his eyes, Shane leaned in and kissed him, then kissed him again, melting into it with a soft hum. Ilya's hand was light against his cheek, his fingers barely brushing across his skin.
"It's time for sad goodbye sex," Ilya said, lips grazing Shane's as he spoke.
Shane huffed a laugh. "Why does it have to be sad?"
"In the movies, it's always sad. Always looking at each other very intensely. Maybe someone cries." Ilya squeezed his arm around Shane and shook him. "I think we will leave the crying to you."
"You've lost your entire mind! I think you'll be crying, actually!"
Ilya's lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. "But you look so pretty crying."
"Don't—"
"Crying on my cock."
"Oh my god."
None of them cried, but Shane did hold Ilya's face between his hands as their eyes locked. They were wrapped tightly around each other, Ilya's hips rocking relentlessly into him, sending sparks of pleasure through every part of his body. In his hands, Ilya's face was slack with bliss, his hazel eyes burning with it, lips spit-slicked and swollen. Fuck, he was so beautiful.
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It was on the second day of the road trip that Shane realized how clingy he'd been. The distance made him see himself in a different light, like the kaleidoscope had turned and the picture had shifted.
He didn't think Ilya had minded, not really. Ilya always liked touch, and was often more likely to stay in Shane's orbit, seeking out his company throughout the day. It was always welcome, and on the days where Ilya was more withdrawn, Shane always missed it, but it was just less common for Shane to be the one to always seek it out.
Ilya had just accepted it, had let Shane wrap himself around him like an octopus while Ilya was cooking dinner, held his hand while they ate breakfast. Shane realized two things at the same time:
1) He was probably not entirely over the argument.
2) Ilya had understood this long before he did.
This came to him exactly when Hayden sat down next to him on the bus driving them from the hotel to the arena and said, "Dude, I thought you guys made up."
It took him too long to mutter an unconvincing, "we did," only for Hayden to give him a disbelieving look.
"No, we did," Shane said. "I just—" He stared out onto the streets of New York as the bus pulled away from the curb, biting down on his bottom lip. "We're fine, I promise."
"Oh, good," Hayden said dryly. "Whatever would I do if Lily disappeared from my life."
"Get a new babysitter, for one."
Hayden held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, so you're… fine, then?"
"I honestly don't even… I guess I didn't even know I was still bothered by it, and I don't know what it is, exactly." Bothered even seemed like a big word. He was just off. Maybe their dynamic had just shifted a little and needed to snap back into place. "I think I just need time to process."
"Jackie says you can talk to her, if you need it," Hayden said. "To be fair, probably more helpful than whatever I'm trying to do."
"You're doing okay, Hayds." Shane's lips pulled into a small smile. "But I might take Jackie up on that."
His phone buzzed and he looked down to see a string of texts from Ilya about the terrible grocery store near his house that was always out of everything. He pictured Ilya grumbling through the grocery aisles trying to find Shane's preferred cooking oil and his heart did a soft flip.
As soon as they arrived at the arena, Shane managed to put it all out of his head. He put every ounce of thought and energy into the game, channeling his frustrations into the power of his shots, into laser focused strategy, into beating Scott Hunter so badly he wouldn't be welcome back at his senior's Bridge club.
It was only after that it all came creeping back, when Hayden had forced him to come out to the bar with the team, when he was nursing a beer he didn't want and the loud chatter from his teammates was making his head feel tight. There was a guy at the bar and usually Shane was terrible at knowing when people were interested in him. He'd just never been that good at reading it and always just assumed people were being friendly. Ilya joked they were only together because he'd straight up jerked off at Shane in the shower. It was probably true.
This guy was impossible to misread, however. His eyes had been on Shane the entire time and whenever their eyes met, his look was downright hungry. He tried to ignore it and felt a visceral discomfort when he accidentally met his gaze, but the guy was just there. It wasn't even that he was actively bothering Shane. He was just looking. The weight of the attention was discomforting.
When Shane excused himself to the bathroom, it escalated. Before he realized what was happening, the guy had intercepted his route to the restrooms, suddenly standing between Shane and the door.
"Hey," the guy said, smiling brightly. He reached out and ran his hand down Shane's upper arm, making Shane want to jump back.
"Uh, hi." Shane shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm just going—"
"Hey, yeah, sorry." The guy didn't look particularly sorry. "I just wanted to introduce myself to the most beautiful person in the room."
Jesus Christ.
Shane opened and closed his mouth several times.
"I'm Thomas. Can I buy you a drink?" The guy continued, undeterred. His hand was somehow still on Shane, now squeezing over his bicep.
A sudden, visceral longing for Ilya smacked into his chest. He wanted Ilya to walk up behind him and throw an arm around his shoulders in a way he was never able to do publicly. To claim Shane with a simple touch, to show this man what Shane couldn't say out loud: I have a boyfriend. I'm in a relationship. I'm taken.
Ilya's arm would've been heavy around his shoulder, or maybe it would be slipped around his waist, fingers curling tightly into the dip of it. He'd be close enough for his scent to calm Shane down, for Shane to sink further into the familiar shape of him.
"I, uh, sorry, I'm not interested." Shane managed to sidestep him and hurry into the bathroom, hoping he wouldn't follow.
He ran into a stall and locked it behind him, falling back against the door and slamming his head into it. Fuck. Digging his hands into his eyes, Shane tried to focus on the way his lungs filled with air, how they felt when he held it, how it rushed out of him. He counted the seconds.
If things had gone differently two weeks ago, there could be a world where Shane had gone home with that guy. Thomas. Would Ilya have wanted to know? Would they discuss it casually over dinner when he came back from the road trip? He had never understood how Ilya had wanted it to work, because all of it had felt so outlandish to Shane.
The idea of Ilya teasing him about it, or even asking him if it was good, if Thomas took care of him—Shane hated it. Why? In some way, it would show that Ilya cared about him, that he was open and secure. Someone who wasn't Shane would probably love that side of Ilya. The one where Ilya loved him, but was open-minded enough to let him experience other people. Or whatever. So why did he hate it so much?
Shane thought of the words he weren't allowed to say. I have a boyfriend. I'm in a relationship.
I'm taken.
A shudder went down his spine and he opened his eyes, blinking up into the sharp light of the bathroom.
I'm taken.
I don't own you, Ilya had said. But, fuck, wasn't that the whole thing? Ilya had owned him since the day they met. Through the waxing and waning of their relationship, through month-long silences and the presence of other people, Shane had always felt like he belonged to Ilya in some way. Whenever they were back in bed together, he gave himself to that idea completely. Ilya's deep, slow kisses had always felt like being claimed. The hand on Shane's jaw had felt like branding.
When they'd decided to do this for real, Shane put all of himself into Ilya's hands.
I don't own you. Then what the fuck were they doing? If Ilya didn't own all of him, then Shane didn't understand what they truly were. That was the truth he'd always existed in, and without that truth, he was lost.
He didn't want Ilya to be okay hearing about him with someone else, but he also didn't want Ilya to allow it while pretending it wasn't happening. What he wanted, if he was really fucking honest about it, was an Ilya who put a hand at the small of his back, who would be aware of him from across a room, who claimed him in front of Thomases and said, actually, this one's mine.
Shane wanted to be owned.
A dizzying breath rushed out of him as he unlocked the door and stepped out of the stall, ignoring some other man fixing his hair as he stepped up to the sink. He met his own eyes in the mirror, taking in his blank expression for a moment. A stall door slammed behind him.
Somehow, he would have to find the words for this. Because if he learned anything from this whole damn situation, it was that they had to talk about it. What Shane actually wanted to do was to ignore it for the next hundred years and never, ever address it. It was too much like rolling over and exposing his soft underbelly.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he sent a quick are you free to talk? going back to the hotel to Ilya and pocketed his phone before heading back out into the bar, hoping Thomas had found someone else to latch onto. Somewhere between saying goodbye to his team and getting in a cab, Ilya had responded a quick yes i am free. Shane let it sit there until he returned to his room, desperate for the quiet privacy.
The bar seemed to stick to his skin and he swore his hair smelled of beer, so he jumped in the shower to wash away every trace of it, letting the water relax his tight muscles as he closed his eyes and tipped his head back. His thoughts roamed for a bit, as always settling on Ilya when he allowed them to go where they wanted to go.
When he sat down on the bed and pulled out his phone he felt calmer. A little bit more settled. He sat cross-legged atop the covers in his favorite sweatpants and one of Ilya's old hoodies when he picked up the phone, his finger hovering over Ilya's name as he smiled for a moment, just looking at it.
It rang for longer than Shane expected. It took so long that he almost gave up before the call suddenly connected.
"We should maybe prepare that Hunter will sue," Ilya said when he picked up. "Call your lawyer just to make sure."
"He's not gonna sue, Ilya."
"I think maybe he could call it… what, assault? You beat him so bad he lost another ten years off the little he has left of his life."
Shane laughed, putting the call on speaker and letting the phone rest on his thigh. "I think it probably wounded his pride more."
"Ah, he will sue for that then. Murdering his reputation."
"I'm sure my lawyer can handle it," Shane said dryly. "How was your day?"
Ilya hummed. "Practice was good, we tried out a new play that I liked and our defense is getting better. Yuna made me stirfry for dinner."
A smile tugged at Shane's lips and he almost, almost forgot what he had to get off his chest. It stuck in his throat and he swallowed, the silence lingering.
"You said you wanted to talk." The lightness in Ilya's voice had been washed away with the heavy silence.
"There was this guy at the bar." Shane paused, still not sure how to arrange his words. "He was sort of looking at me a lot. You know usually I don't even notice, but this time it was really obvious, maybe. And he came up to me and wanted to buy me a drink." He turned his gaze upward, his heart pounding for a reason he couldn't pinpoint. "Sorry, fuck, it's just so hard to explain things right. He wanted to buy me a drink and I just kept thinking: is this what Ilya wanted me to do? Would I have gone home with this… this random guy and then we'd talk about it later, like it was just a part of my day?"
Shane was about to speak again when a shuddering exhale interrupted him.
"Oh my god, Shane," Ilya said, his voice shaking.
"What? Ilya, what's wrong?"
"I thought you were saying you had changed your mind. That you hooked up with him."
Shane's eyes widened and he stared at the phone. His thoughts spun, going back through what he'd said, what he'd texted, and his stomach twisted. He'd basically sent Ilya a we need to talk text, left him hanging while he showered, and opened the conversation with there was a guy at the bar.
"Baby, fuck, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize how that sounded," he scrambled to say. "Can I videocall? Please?"
His heart was in his throat as Ilya changed to video, and he greedily drank in the sight of him. There was a tension around his eyes, around his mouth, and his jaw ticked. It made Shane want to reach out and brush his hand across his cheek, to wipe away the tension with soft kisses.
"I wasn't thinking about how this sounded on your end, I was so in my head about it." He rubbed at his temple. "I even took a shower, oh my god."
On the screen, Ilya was staring off into the distance. "I think I saw my life like a movie in front of my eyes."
"I'm so sorry."
"I deserved this, maybe."
Shane frowned. "No. Don't do that."
"Shane, I started this problem. We would not be having these conversations if I did not start it."
Sighing, Shane scooted back to lean against the headboard, holding the phone so Ilya could see his face properly.
"Are you good to talk about this, or should we save it for another time?"
"No, we should talk now. I will just be thinking about it until I can't sleep and I will play like shit and they will kick me off the team."
Shane gave a small, reluctant smile. "No one's kicking you off the team."
"This is true," Ilya said, some of the life returning to his face. "Who would eat all the Timbits?"
"See, you're irreplacable."
"Yes, of course."
Part of Shane wished they'd done this in person so he could hold Ilya's hand, or run his fingers through his hair, just to feel the connection, to ground himself. Maybe this was better, though? They could talk about it and then process it separately for a few days.
"I mentioned the guy because him asking to buy me a drink made me realize I'm not completely over this. I thought I was, but something's still been… I don't know."
There, like a splinter, stuck under his skin.
"I know, moya lyubov."
Shane looked up, surprised. "Really?"
"Something has been bothering you and I have been waiting, to see if it would come up, maybe. I thought it might still be this, even if we talked about it."
"I know that we agreed we don't want this, and that we talked about what we consider cheating, and I'm still really proud of us for doing that." Shane bit down on his bottom lip. "But today I realized that what really bothered me is when you said you don't own me."
Ilya's lips parted like he was about to speak, but he seemed to reconsider.
"I wanted you to be there in the bar and tell this guy to fuck off. I wanted you to put your arm around me, to kiss my cheek or my hair or my jaw, or… I don't know, grab my ass like a freak. I wanted to say I was taken. I know we can't do any of that, in public, really. Of course I know that."
Shane tipped his head back. "But I want… I want you to want to claim me. Maybe it's weird for me to want this? I know it's nice to say that you don't own someone, because we're people, not objects. But I've always—"
Cutting himself off, he took a shaky breath. Why was this so hard to say?
"Is not weird to want," Ilya said quietly.
"No?"
"No, of course not."
"Ilya, I—" Shane's voice lowered to a near whisper. "I've always felt like I belonged to you. And I obviously don't want to sleep with anyone else."
He'd tried, and even when they were heavy on the fuck and light on the buddy part of their relationship, he'd always compared everyone to Ilya. Always chased the feelings Ilya stoked in him with his voice and the unwavering confidence as he touched Shane in ways he could've never even dreamt up.
"But what really fucked with me," he continued, "was that it felt so different to me from anything we've ever been, like I didn't recognize you or us. That you suddenly said it's fine to go be with someone else, that you don't own me, when I've always felt like yours."
"Shane."
"I want you to own me." He swallowed. "Please."
"My Shane. Moya dusha."
Ilya's voice was so insistent that Shane finally looked at him. His stomach swooped at the look in Ilya's eyes, the intensity in it, the way his face was both soft and fierce at the same time.
"Listen to me, please, okay?" Ilya shifted until he was lying down, curled up on his side. "I made mistake. What I said was stupid. I made myself think this is what you needed, but it was maybe my own insecurities saying that this was a way to keep you happy."
Shane turned that over in his head a couple of times, looking at it from a different angle. It made sense, that Ilya might have spoken out of his own doubts, of his own thoughts lying to him. He slipped down on the bed too, curling up like he was facing Ilya in a bed thousands of miles away.
"You have to ask me what I need," Shane said. "And I will ask what you need."
"Yes," Ilya agreed, eyes going soft. "And what you needed is to be mine?"
Shane's throat went dry. "Yeah."
"What else?"
"I need you to want me to belong to you. I need you to not be, like, neutral to the idea of someone else having me."
"Will be no problem," Ilya said, voice raw. "No one else will have you. I have never been neutral to this idea, believe me."
Shane smiled, pleased. "And what do you need, Ilya?"
He felt Ilya's eyes on him, his heart flipping as he felt their intensity even through the phone.
"I need you to be my Shane. A life with you, is all I want. Someday, I want people to know, and I want them to know so I can say Shane Hollander is my boyfriend, he is my entire life."
"Ilya, fuck." Shane's eyes stung and he buried his face into the sleeve of Ilya's hoodie, overwhelmed. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, moya lyubov."
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Shane didn't know when Ilya's house in Ottawa had started feeling like home.
The solid oak door and the warm yellow lights on either side of it brought out a sense of bone-deep relief. There was a routine in wiping his shoes off on the doormat, stepping inside the spacious hallway, and hanging his jacket up on the hook furthest to the left. His shoes always went on the top shelf of the shoe rack and he left his overnight bag by the floor-length mirror.
Ilya was in the kitchen, head bopping along to a pop song as he hovered over the stove. Something smelled amazing and citrusy. There was a soft flutter in his chest as he took in Ilya's broad shoulders and the hair curling at the back of his neck. Shane moved into the kitchen, only making himself known as he slipped in under Ilya's arm, tucking himself into his side.
"Hi," he said, smiling helplessly as Ilya reacted on instinct, pulling him in closer.
Ilya paused his stirring and turned, a bright grin growing on his face. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Shane's temple, followed quickly by another.
"How was your flight?" He asked, letting Shane stay under his arm even though it made his cooking more difficult.
"It was okay. Hayden fell asleep and snored so loudly he woke himself up." Shane let his hand run across Ilya's back. "What's this?"
"Looked up new recipe for salmon, so we try something new today."
Ilya angled towards him and puckered his lips into a ridiculous expression that made Shane laugh as he leaned in and let Ilya kiss him with an audible mwah. A moment later, Shane claimed a softer press of his lips, letting his tongue swipe gently against Ilya's before pulling back.
The salmon was delicious—bright and lemony with a kick. They sat on either side of the kitchen table, legs entwined as they ate and discussed the games they'd played during the week. Shane always loved breaking the games down with Ilya, going through details that many others never bothered to get into with him. He loved how Ilya sometimes saw the games differently, making Shane turn the game on its head to see it from a completely different angle. They also had equally ruthless comments about other players, which Shane definitely never went into with anyone else, and it was freeing to just talk like this, no consequences.
"So," Ilya said as he rose from the table, bringing his plate with him. "You can choose now. You can get your gift or we can sit down and watch whatever you want on TV."
Shane's eyes lingered on him as he moved, clearing the table. He realized that Ilya was giving him an easy way out from whatever this gift was. Watching TV was safe, something familiar with no surprises. The gift was an unknown. Something Ilya wanted to give him the chance to turn down if he didn't feel up to it.
"I want my gift," he said, confident.
He didn't know why, but the though of it made his pulse race. Rubbing his hands together in his lap, he watched Ilya's warm smile turned towards him.
"What is it?" Shane asked as he scooped up the last few dishes from the table.
"Oh, lyubimyy, you do not think I will just tell you?" Ilya laughed. "Not that easy."
"Come on," he said, just a little whiny, his hand finding Ilya's stomach. "You know I don't like surprises."
He was complaining, but they both knew he was okay with it. He'd been given an out and he hadn't taken it.
Ilya ran a hand through Shane's hair, coming to rest on the side of his face. "Wait on the bed for me. Sit down, make yourself comfortable."
Blood rushed through Shane's body as he went upstairs, the low thrum of excitement from earlier kicking up into a thunderstorm. Sitting down at the foot of the bed, his feet flat on the floor, he clasped his hands together in his lap and waited. Muted sounds drifted upstairs through the open door. Ilya had messaged him about spanking earlier in the week. Maybe it was a paddle? They'd never truly gotten into that before. Shane wiggled a bit thinking about it, images of himself spread out on the bed, his skin red and swollen flitted through his mind. If it was a paddle, he might be into it. Or maybe he'd gotten it all wrong and it wasn't even something sex-related? Fuck, his mind really was one-track sometimes.
Maybe—
The door slipped open and Ilya walked inside, steps slow and steady, all calm composure. He said nothing as Shane tracked his every movement, taking in the pull of his tank-top across his chest and the way his arm flexed as he opened the top left drawer. Ilya turned, holding out a sleek, black box that Shane reached out a tentative hand for. He cradled it in his hands, looking up into Ilya's face. There was a tenderness there, a soft smile that Shane couldn't help but answer.
Shane slipped the lid off the box. Inside, the lining was black velvet and in the middle was a ring of black leather. Picking it up, his fingers grazed the inside, tracing the soft fabric. It felt really good against the tips of his fingers. He rested it in the middle of his palm and looked at it with interest, slowly processing.
It was a collar.
Shane got hard so fast he felt lightheaded.
Sucking in a breath, his head snapped up to look at Ilya, his skin tingling at the rush of adrenaline. Ilya had stepped closer, his hand coming up to slide through Shane's hair, his smile warm.
"We don't have to," he said and placced kiss in the middle of Shane's forehead. "I was thinking it is something we could use once in a while, and only here, in the bedroom."
Shane's hand shook as gripped the collar. Fuck.
"I haven't planned on this being a bigger roleplay thing," Ilya said. "Like slave, for example. If you want that, we can talk about it. I just want you to know where you belong."
Ilya's thumb brushed over Shane's cheek and he leaned down kiss him, deep and filthy. Shane's mouth had already gone slack and he barely found the werewithal to kiss Ilya back, his heart beating in his throat. Whiny, little moans were pressed into Ilya's tongue, spilling out of him like someone had thrown a door wide open.
When Ilya pulled back, Shane tried to follow, but Ilya bracketed his face and looked straight into his eyes, studying him.
"How do you feel?"
Like a fireflies trapped in a jar.
Like fireworks painting the sky in every color.
Like his chest was going to crack open to reveal untold treasures.
"I want it." His voice already sounded wrecked
Ilya smiled and took the collar out of his hand. "Get undressed."
With shaking hands, Shane stripped and left his folded clothes on the floor by the food of the bed. Swallowing against dryness in his throat, he sat back down, watching Ilya with his pulse thundering in his ears.
Ilya had opened the clasp and held the opened collar between his hands. "Ready?"
Shane nodded, both hands twisting into the duvet.
Ilya's breath fanned across his cheek as he leaned in, his fingers skimming the back of Shane's neck. The soft inner fabric of the collar brushed tantalizingly against his skin and it settled like a weight as Ilya snapped the buckle into place. When Ilya pulled away, the collar was a tight pressure around his throat, but only enough to feel like a comforting hand, almost like Ilya cupping the back of his neck to calm him down.
Shane's eyes rolled back into his head as the sensations caught up to him. He moaned, high and breathy, and Ilya ran a thumb along the bottom of the collar.
"So fucking beautiful, moya lyubov." His lips pressed to the hollow of Shane's throat as he pushed him further up onto the bed. "How does it feel to be all mine, hm?"
Falling back onto the bed, Shane sucked in a deep breath, his cock jumping in response. He was so hard it hurt, spilling out onto his stomach. Shocks of pleasure rattled through him, so overwhelming that Shane just writhed mindlessly in response. Ilya climbed up alongside him and his hand suddenly wrapped around Shane's cock, stroking him steady and slow. Shane hitched up into it, whining desperately, his insides burning, and when Ilya's hand twisted over the head on the fourth stroke, he came so hard his thighs shook.
"Oh, malysh," Ilya cooed. "I barely even touched you."
Shane was beyond words, his mind gone completely soupy. He still trembled from the orgasm that had slammed into him out of nowhere and blinked up into the ceiling as he tried to get his bearings.
"Well, this changed my plans a little." Ilya laughed, hands stroking over Shane's thigh, only to chuckle again when Shane just let out a strangled noise. "You're so gone."
He brushed Shane's hair away from his forehead, dropping a kiss to the smattering of freckles on his cheeks. Turning into Ilya's touch, Shane looked at him, lazily taking in the way Ilya looked at him like he couldn't stop.
"Open up," Ilya said, thumb pushing down at the corner of Shane's mouth.
It drew a deep groan from Shane's throat when Ilya swung his leg over him to straddle his chest, knees digging into the mattress on either side. Ilya towered above him, all warm, golden skin and muscle, peering down at Shane with dark eyes that darkened even more when Shane parted his lips and stuck his tongue out.
Ilya slapped his cock onto Shane's tongue, once, then twice, before he slid into Shane's mouth with a punched-out moan. Shane's hands splayed over Ilya's thighs as he closed his lips around it, head going fuzzy from the familiar weight of it. He'd known this for so long, learned exactly how to take it, what made Ilya lose his composure. It was fucking his. He felt drunk with it, hollowing his cheeks around the cock in his mouth. Ilya let him, for a moment, before he twisted his fingers in Shane's hair and pulled at it, making Shane gasp, tilting back against the bed.
He looked up, eyes wet, as Ilya fucked into his mouth with steady rolls of his hips. His fingers dug into Ilya's thighs, spit slicking his chin, his head floaty and weightless.
"Fuck, Shane." Ilya threw his head back, letting out a rough groan, before meeting Shane's gaze again. "So fucking good for me. My good boy, oh my God."
Pitiful little moans spilled out of him as Ilya used his mouth, making his jaw ache, and he tried to swallow around it only to feel his throat work against the collar. He almost lost it again, bringing one hand up to slip along the leather as he drank in the sight of Ilya's jaw dropped open, the look of awe on his face.
Fuck, this might actually kill him.
A line of spit clung to his bottom lip as Ilya pulled away and fumbled for the lube in his bedside drawer. Shane arched back into the mattress, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling. His eyes followed Ilya was he settled between Shane's legs, pulling his thighs apart. On Ilya's thighs, his nails had left little half-moon indents. His breath stuttered as Ilya's fingers circled his hole, one finger slipping inside.
It was always overwhelming to be back with Ilya, to realize how much better his fingers felt than his own, confidently stretching him open. They went so much deeper, felt so much more filling, always finding the angle that made Shane's spine turn to liquid.
"You're so hard again." Ilya smirked, leaning down to suck the head of his cock into his mouth, looking up at Shane with a satisfied glint in his eyes.
Shane's thighs clamped around him, his back arching. "Fuck, I swear I'll… fuck, I'll come again, you have to stop."
It was insane how on edge he already felt already. He scrambled for control.
Ilya pulled off and nuzzled against his cock, giving it a quick kiss. "So sweet. My sweet little slut. You're so pretty like this."
They met in a messy kiss that was all tongue and heat when Ilya draped over him, hands sliding over his ribs. Both of them moaned into it when Ilya's cock pushed inside, slowly splitting Shane open until he could feel his heartbeat in his throat, the sensation of fullness suddenly making him want to cry. He wrapped his arms around Ilya's shoulders and dug his nails into the skin there, barely kissing Ilya back when Ilya started to roll his hips relentlessly.
"Oh my God, Ilya," he whined, voice shaking. "This—I can't—fuck, oh—"
Ilya set a punishing rhythm, their kiss breaking, the sound of them filling the room. Leaning down, Ilya pressed his lips to the collar before looking up again, finding Shane's hazy gaze. He swore his vision was whiting out at the edges.
Letting his tongue run across the edge of the collar, Ilya groaned. "I love you so much, sweetheart. So fucking much."
Shane grabbed Ilya's face between his hands and kissed him desperately, their rhythm faltering.
"'ove 'ou too," he slurred, sinking back into the mattress.
In a moment, he found himself on his knees, arms immediately giving out. His face smushed into the covers, fingers spasming looking for purchase. When Ilya slammed inside, he yelled into the bed, muffled. His stomach coiled tight, lungs burning. It was so fucking good he thought he might burst out of his skin, explode into a million little pieces of pleasure. It was unfair how undone he felt, how he was drooling into the bed covers and losing his mind.
The collar felt like a brand around his neck. His eyes rolled back, clenching around Ilya's cock taking him apart. Ilya's hand splayed over the back of his neck, holding him down, and Shane bucked at the feeling, rocking back into Ilya's thrusts chasing the release he needed so badly he was seconds away from crying.
"God, please, please," he whimpered.
Ilya let out a long moan. Two of his fingers hooked into the back of the collar, pulling at it until it went tight around his throat. Shane jolted, his whole body going taut.
"Thank you," he said, voice soft and small, before he fell apart, untouched.
He cried out, sobbing as he bit down on the bed cover, the pleasure washing over him so completely that he felt drowned in it, inhaling it like thick, foggy smoke, getting high on it. It went on forever, his body twitching with aftershocks as Ilya thrust erratically, swearing in Russian under his breath and emptying inside him.
Flopping to the side, Shane groaned, his hips twinging in complaint and his throat scratchy from yelling. Ilya draped along his back, warm and almost too much for his overstimulated body. Careful fingers fiddled with the buckle of the collar, taking a few tries before it came loose, and Ilya removed it from around his neck.
Using his last strength, Shane turned in his arms and buried himself into Ilya's chest, inhaling the scent of him.
"Oh my god, that was so crazy," Shane said as he nuzzled against his warm, sweaty skin.
Slow hands caressed his back, coming to rest at the swell of his ass. Ilya laughed softly.
"I don't think I have ever seen you shake so much. Like a little leaf."
"Stop it."
"My little leaf."
Shane swatted at his chest and bit down for good measure. "Don't be mean to me, I feel like jello."
Ilya dropped a kiss on the top of his head. "Well, this is what you signed up for. You are mine to fuck completely stupid and make fun of for being cute after, da?"
"I take it back," Shane said, even as he grinned helplessly, heart clenching.
Ilya hummed. "I don't think so, no. No take-backs."