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He had told himself it was the last time. The last time he would slip out of his hotel room after Hayden had fallen asleep, the last time he’d creep down hallways, peering around corners, inpatiently waiting for a door to open.
Yet here he was, outside of room 1637, waiting for Ilya to open the door. His foot tapped nervously against the worn carpet, a nervous tic he barely noticed anymore.
The door swung open. Ilya Rozanov stood, sweats slung low on his hips and white tee a little too tight to be casual.
“Jesus, Rozanov, I’ve been standing here for like, 30 seconds. Your teammates are right next door!”
Ilya scoffed, exasperated yet amused.
“Your foot tapping is more attention getting than your waiting,”
“Grabbing,” Shane muttered, pushing past Ilya to slip inside, “not getting.”
Ilya stopped him with a hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him backwards to push him against the door. “does not matter,” he purred into Shane’s ear, “now get on the bed.”
Shane knew he should be embarrassed by how quickly he obeyed. He knew he would be when he thought about it later. But not now. Not in this room. Not with Ilya. Rozanov. From where he sat on the edge of the bed, Shane watched as Ilya slunk towards him, no trace of impatience in his slow movements.
“What are you-“ Shane paused. Took a deep breath. His words had come out too fast, too desperate.
“What are you going to do to me?”
Ilya laughed. “I won our game tonight, no? So I should ask what are you going to do to me? What’s my reward?” He stood directly in front of shane now. His chest rose evenly, concealing the excitement wrapping tight around his chest.
“Anything,” Shane breathed, “I’ll do anything you want me to.”
“Fuck, Hollander. You’re killing me,” he slid a hand into Shane’s hair, tugging lightly on the dark strands. Shane whined, pressing his head further into ilyas palm. His eyes had begun to water, glassing over. Ilya couldn’t wait anymore. “Take your clothes off.”
Shane scrambled to obey, pulling his shirt over his head and yanking down his sweatpants. He was too impatient even to fold his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor at the foot of the bed.
Ilya pushed him back, further up the bed, until he was pressed against the headboard. He settled there, sat in Shane’s lap. His hands trailed up and down Shane’s chest, feeling the sharp intake of breath he let out at the action.
“God, Hollander. You are so beautiful. I am going to ruin you.”
Shane whimpered. “Il-Rozanov. Please. Hurry up,” he was rutting his hips up into Ilyas ass now, to desperate to be embarrassed. His breaths came quickly, and his body was flushed from the sheer relief of some friction against his aching cock.
Ilya couldn’t keep his composure anymore.
“Hollander. When you said anything I wanted- did you mean it?”
Shane wanted to say that he would always do whatever he wanted. That he would always be Ilya’s. But he couldn’t. Not tonight. “Yes. Yes. Whatever you want. I’m all yours tonight.”
“Good. Now ass up.”
Shane shifted out from under Ilya, anxious to obey. Ilyas hands sat on Shane’s hips, guiding him back. Once he was situated, down on his forearms, ilyas hands ventured lower, taking Shane’s boxers with them. “Fuuuck, Hollander, your ass is perfect.” Desire dripped from every word he spoke. Shane whined at the praise, pushing back words into Ilya.
“Please,”
“Please, what?“ his hands gripped Shane’s ass harder, and he let out a surprised moan at the action
“I-I don’t know. Anything. Just do something. Please, Rozanov.”
Ilya couldn’t muster the words to respond to him. Seeing Shane spread out like this, needy and desperate, was too much for him to handle. He pulled away, crossing the room to his suitcase to grab a bottle of lube and condoms. Shane sat on the bed, trembling with need. He hadn’t moved from where Ilya had left him, and he groaned internally at the thought. It was like he was genetically predisposed to be obedient. Ilya kneeled behind Shane, who was growing more and more desperate.
“God, Rozanov. I need-I need-“
“Shh. I tell you what you need. Don’t think. Just feel.”
Shane went quiet, relaxing into the sensation. Ilya uncapped the bottle of lube, squirting some onto Shane’s hole before coating his fingers in it. Shane shivered at the sudden cold, letting out a tiny sigh.
“I said quiet, Hollander. Be patient.” Ilya was painfully hard now. His cock was pressing painfully against the tight fabric of his jeans, aching to be freed. He ignored it, pushing a first finger into Shane. They both let out a drawn out moan as he pushed back against Ilya’s fingers, a silent plea for more.
“Stop. You’ll take what I give you.”
Shane whined, but obeyed. His body stilled, save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His cock, stiff and untouched, leaked onto the bedding, evidence of his desire. Ilya began to move his finger, pushing it further into Shane. At the addition of a second finger, and a sudden brush against his prostate, Shane let out a low moan, his face flushed red and fell against the mattress.
“No. Up. Be a good boy.” Ilyas voice surprised even him; it was firm, confident - dominant. Reluctantly, Shane pulled his head back up, only to drop it once more as Ilya added a third finger. Through the fog of pleasure overwhelming his mind, Shane was overcome with the newness of it all. It was nothing they hadn’t done before, but somehow, it felt different. Felt real. Suddenly, ilyas fingers pulled out of Shane, leaving him whining at the loss.
“Shh, you’re doing so good, moya lyubov,” Ilya croons in his ear, slipping a condom on his aching cock, hissing in pleasure as he quickly lubes up, “such a good boy. Take a deep breath.”
As Shane breathes in, Ilya pushes in, past the tight ring of heat. Shane whines. Pushes back on Ilya, who stays, agonizingly, still.
Shane was lost to the world, too distracted by how full ilya always made him feel. As if from a distance, he could hear himself letting out whines, moans, pleas for more and now, Ilya. Mercilessly, Ilya stayed still.
Finally, finally, he began to move. Giving Shane no time to adjust, he slammed into him, fully sheathing himself in Shane’s tightness. Shane wailed- a sound Ilya had never heard before. It sent shockwaves of arousal through his body, and he could no longer think of anything but forcing it out of him again. He pulled out of Shane fully, flipping him over onto his back and plunging back in before the man had a chance to whine at the loss.
“God, Hollander. You don’t know what you do to me. So good. My good boy.”
Shane freezes, then stiffens. Comes. All over himself.
Ilya stops moving. Stops thinking.
Shane’s hips buck wildly, still spurting come onto his chest. Finally. He stills. Peeks his eyes open.
“Rozanov, I-“
He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence, Ilya capturing his lips in a heated kiss.
“God, you are so sexy. Coming untouched just being called a good boy. My good boy. Such a slut.”
“Only,” Shane gasps, “only for you.”
Ilya groans, still conscious of his cock buried inside of Shane’s heat.
“I should-“
Shane stops him with a hand against his chest. “No. Keep going.”
Now, it’s ilyas turn to freeze. His eyes meet Shane’s, who gives a tiny nod, as if to say, I’m ok. I want this. You told me that you’d give me what I need. So give it to me.
Ilya returns the nod. Then slowly, slowly, begins to move again. Instantly, Shane is twisting, squirming, from the overstimulation. With each thrust, Ilya’s cock just barely grazes his prostate, but it’s enough to send shockwaves throughout his body.
“Aww, my sweet boy. So eager to please. To listen to me. My little bitch.” Ilya is again whispering in Shane’s ear, thrusting harder, faster, deeper with every word. Soon his pace is again merciless, drilling directly into Shane’s prostrate. Tears stream down his face, the overstimulation nearly too much to bear. He’s fully hard again now, his cock still sitting untouched. Ilya reaches down, taking it in his hand and giving it a few slow tugs.
“God, Ilya- I’m getting close-fuck-“
Ilya knew this already. Shane only used his first name when he was too fucked out, too lost in pleasure to realize it.
“You’re not going to come. Not until I say you can.” He’s shocked that his voice sounds so calm, so authoritative, when he’s falling apart inside. Truthfully, he’s not far behind Shane. His thrusts speed up, making Shane’s moans turn into yells.
“You’re not going to come,” he repeats, “Because you’re my good little bitch. And I haven’t told you you can. Say it.”
“I’m not going to come yet,” Shane’s words come out as gasps.
“And why is that?” Ilya’s words are punctuated with thrusts, deeper and harder than before. He lets go of Shane’s cock to grab his leg, hoisting it up and over his shoulder. Shane wails.
“Because- because I’m your good little bi-bitch! And you haven’t-“ Shane’s words are cut off by a sob. His face, flushed and soaked with tears, has never been more beautiful, Ilya thinks.
“You can do it, moya lyubov. You’re so close. Just a bit more. And then you can come.” Ilya’s tone is gentle now.
“You-you haven’t-you haven’t said I can come.” Shane’s voice comes out as more of hiccups than words.
“You did so well, Hollander. My good boy. You can come now. Can you come for me?”
Shane erupts, Ilya following seconds behind. He thrusts once, twice, three times more before burying himself to the hilt and collapsing on top of Shane. Shane’s breathing slows, evens, shakes. His whole body trembles, and he gasps for air before breaking into tears.
Ilya’s arms come to wrap around him, crushing him in an embrace.
“Hey, hey, Hollander. It’s ok. You did well. You were perfect. Are perfect.”
Shane buries his head in Ilya’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. Ilya strokes his hair, murmuring praise into his ear, a blend of English and Russian. Slowly, Shane’s breathing begins to even out. His mind returns to his body. Panic sets in.
Ilya knows what Shane is thinking when he feels his body stiffen. Knows he’s about to pull away. Retreat. Hide. He doesn’t have it in himself to stop him. Instead he accepts Shane’s stammered apologies and excuses, watches him hurry to get his clothes back on, and slip out the door.