Work Text:
To: man whore DONT ANSWER
Thurs, Sep 4 10:03 AM
wtfff shane??
?
u kno what i mean
stop playing dumb
??
literally dont but ok
Person A:
sucks :/
probably one of your bitches idk
fuck u
ur fucked in the head
u cant fucking do this shit
we break up and u wreck my fucking car???
srsly shane???
ur fucking insane wtf
this is exactly why i dont want ur bipolar ass
i told you i didn’t fucking touch your shitty car you fucking dick
who the fuck do you think youre speaking too???
maybe stop being such a stupid slut and this wouldn’t happen
🖕
ur acting like a jealous bitch
idgaf
go fuck yourself
Fri, Sep 5 1:09 PM
yoo
sorry bout the other day. cliff was hazing and they got carried away lol
he said hes gonna fix it
mb малы́шbaby
fuck you ilya
dont fucking text me
still mad? 🥺
go text your side chick
baby u kno i only want u
call me later papi
i miss u
???
fuck you?? no
mhm
we’re gonna ft at 10
got tutoring after practice fmlll
i told you stop seeing that bitch
is good money
chill
stop whoring yourself out to freshmans
youre ruining my reputation
i dont even fuck her
yeah sure ok
no fr
ей-богуon god
shes into girls lol
🙄🙄 dumbass
she probably said that so youd fuck her
wtv doesnt matter
still not gonna fuck her
js u малы́шbaby 😘
yeah right
10 pm
don’t make me wait
Read
Fri, Sep 5 11:07 PM
моя любовьmy loveeee
baby
sorry tutoring went for foreverrrr
this girl so dumb lmaoo
im callin
baby
wya
ive been callin
y is ur location off??
shane answer ur phone
he’s busy
fuck off
??
shane ur not fucking funny
answer me
where r u baby
istg shane
answer the fucking phone or else
im gonna beat his ass
ur with rose???
shane wtf
i can see her story dumbass
im coming
Ilya considered himself to be a reasonable man; he didn’t ask for much, but when he did, he expected his desires to be fully satisfied. His hunger wasn’t for a legacy in a strong lineage like his father's or his father’s father; he was never going to be the perfect husband, settle down with a wife and a few kids, get a good job, provide. His appetite was juvenile, a fervour for something enigmatic and electric; something rare in the shape of a strong man with deep-set eyes, constellations that sprinkled his cheeks and up his temples with dry humour and quick wit that only landed with a select few: his Shane. Shane was the easy answer—at first. Initially, Ilya was rapt in the way he held himself rigid—in the strict routines and limited diet he followed diligently—then, in the small ways he could take him apart. Shane was not fascinating. Everything about him was measured and orderly, but ironically, his boring was the most enthralling part, or rather the surrender of typicality once Ilya's palms found him.
Ilya was the curious kid, and Shane was the pack of matches.
Tonight, Shane was not boring—pressed against another man, his hips grinding against a tall, slender, dark-skinned figure—nor Ilya, staring at him, jaw and fists both clenched. He stood under the shimmering pale blue, watching Shane sway with the stranger, leaning into his touch and pressing infinitesimally closer, a shift so small, hidden in the trustworthy dimness of the room, no one noticed—no one but Ilya.
He marched over in five short strides, hauling Shane backwards to peel him off the broad chest, and shoving the stranger before crowding his space. Shane yelped, his dark eyes blinking in reflex, as he stumbled, his head whipping left then right in subconscious refusal. The man—a rando, shorter than Ilya, with long hair and softer features—fought for his balance, stepping back once then twice, his angry eyes darting between the brooding Russian and bewildered Canadian. He scoffed once stable, rolled his eyes at Shane, and decided a dance wasn’t worth the trouble.
Shane tugged Ilya's wrist, spinning him around. "What the fuck, Ilya?” he shouted over the music, the bass dampening the irritation in his voice.
“КурвищаWhore,” Ilya spat out. His eyes traced Shane. They moved up his well-trained thighs barely concealed in tight black shorts (the same pair he'd only seen in nudes), the low cut of his tight, ribbed tank and the brawny muscle that hung at his sides—features guaranteed to garner the wrong type of attention. He bit his lip, drinking in the view of hisShane, his face scrunched like an angry kitten, yelling at him in a club.
Shane scoffed as he pushed past him, beelining for the exit.
“Shane,” Ilya pleaded, shoving through door after door Shane slammed in his face. Cold air hit him square in the face as he lazed onto the sidewalk, finding Shane stood straight and tall, scrolling erratically on his phone, quietly ignoring his presence. “Shane. I’m fucking talking to you.”
“It’s always about you—you, you, you. You don't like my friends. You think my food sucks. You don't want me going out. You're a fucking narcissist, Ilya."
"You know that's not true, Shane. Is not all about me."
"Oh yeah?" Shane huffs, "Then what the hell are you doing here?"
"Really?" Ilya chuckles. "You think this is where I want to be? On Friday night? Saving your dumbass?"
"Saving me?" Shane's eyebrows raise in disbelief. "That's what this is? A rescue mission?"
"Clearly." Ilya gestures at him. "You are pissy drunk grinding on some loser."
"I was having fun!" Shane snapped. "I was having fun. For the first time since I met your controlling ass.” Ilya rolled his eyes at that—the teacup was calling the plate yellow or some shit. “And of course you ruined it,” he laughed, a sharp sound, like he was whetting his blade before the cut. “I should’ve known. I should’ve known you’d pulled some shit. Should’ve told Rose to leave her slutty Russian–”
“Don’t.” Ilya’s face dropped to a stern stare. “You’re not mad at Sveta. You’re mad at me.”
“Don’t fucking tell me who I’m mad at!” Shane roared at Ilya, standing only half an inch in front of him. He turned to the side, refusing his eyes. Judging eyes one street over were undeniable now.
“Okay.” Ilya ran a hand down his face, exhaling his irritation. “You’re drunk. Get in.”
“I’m not fucking drunk, Ilya.”
“No, Shane. You are drunk.”
“Stop it, I’m not some lightweight.”
“Oh, so you just fuck men in the middle of clubs sober now, ДаYes?”
Shane huffed. “Okay, only you’re allowed to fuck whoever? Got it.”
“Get in the car.” He walked to the driver's side, leaving the passenger door ajar.
“I’m not going with you.” Shane folded his arms in protest.
Ilya licked his lips, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Shane, listen, I am sorry. I am so sorry. And look, baby—малы́ш—I’ll make it all better, okay? Will do whatever you want. Just get in the car, моя любовьmy love.”
“I’m not getting in your car.”
“Shane.”
“I said no.”
“Shane!” Ilya’s palm struck the silver roof, spit flying as his patience thinned. “I swear to god, I will beat your ass and tie you to the backseat. Get. In.”
Shane swallowed hard, his eyes flicking between Ilya’s pupils swallowed by black and the inviting upholstery of his Civic. His arms uncrossed as he climbed in. They pulled off, Ilya biting the inside of his cheek, one hand on the bottom of the wheel, head stiff while Shane watched the city pass as they sped downtown. It was quiet; the only noise was students enjoying their youthful Friday nights at bars and clubs they could barely get in, sounds that died as quickly as they started.
“Drop me off at my place,” he mumbled, the air whipping past them from the broken back glass hushing the sound.
Ilya laughed, “You are coming with me.”
“To the fucking frat?” Shane’s head turned from the blur of bodies in short skirts to the driver’s seat, catching the smug grin spread across his face.
“Yes, is where I live, Shane.”
“I’m not going to the frat. Drop me by Rose’s.”
“No.”
He kissed his teeth, shifting his entire body towards the window, inching further away and mumbling curses at Ilya under his breath in lieu of arguing with a man stubborn as steel about a plan as immutable as gravity. Ilya’s hand slithered from the console to his thigh, a grounding pressure squeezing up and pulling him out of the spiral he’d been priming himself for.
“I will give you my room, okay? Just sleep it off, baby.”
Shane's eyes shifted from dots of light scattered amongst the abstract black to the wide road stretched ahead. “Okay.”
The frat was cleaner than expected, quiet and clearly not expecting company. Ilya was always a tidy person; his floor was never cluttered, clothes were always folded, but tonight his bed was made, and the air smelled like Fabuloso and cinnamon spice.
“Want to shower?”
Shane shook his head, twirling his fingers over each other as he stared at his legs, neatly crossed, dangling over the edge of the bed.
Ilya walked up to him, his thumbs brushing over his freckles, his long fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck. He kissed Shane’s forehead. “I’m sorry, Shanya. I will make it up to you, угу малы́шyeah baby? Я обеща́юI promise.”
Shane’s eyes shone, a tear sitting at the edge threatening to fall. “I fucking hate you,” he whispered against his lips.
“Yeah, I know,” Ilya sighed.
Ilya was so close, so kind—everything was how it was supposed to be. Shane was a reasonable man; he didn’t want much, just one thing. He dove in, locking lips with Ilya as he tugged at his blonde curls, forcing him closer. Ilya moaned, his mouth opening for Shane, instinctively smiling into the kiss, his hands planted on either side of Shane as he draped himself over his body, their tongues sliding as Shane lay down across the mattress. His hands wandered up Ilya’s frame, groping every muscle and inch of skin he could, fighting off Ilya’s long sleeve while they kissed hungrily. He peeled off his tank top, wrapped his arms around Ilya’s neck, luring him down until they were raw to bare, their sweat mixing in real time as they moved against one another.
“You got tested?” Ilya broke the kiss.
“No, haven’t been out.” Shane surged forward again, their lips barely brushing before Ilya paused again.
“So?”
“So? I’ve only been with you, Ilya. So unless you’ve gotten chlamydia in the past two weeks…”
“Only me, eh?” Ilya grinned.
“Yeah, I don’t let just anyone dick me down.” His hands fumbled with the way-too-intricate belt Rose had loaned him.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Ilya quipped.
“It’s only you.” Shane rolled his eyes, shimmying out of his leather shorts, exposing pale pink lace stretched over his hips. He rolled onto his stomach, pushing the shorts further down to reveal the waistband of his panties: ‘Кукла Илья́Ilya’s Doll’ stitched into the sheer florals.
“О, Боже мойOh my god,” Ilya gasped behind his hand, the other cupping his erection still straining against his sweats. “Wowww, you twerk on boys with my name on your panties,” Ilya beamed like the cat who got the cream.
“I’m yours.” It came out a little more honest and a little less sexy than intended, but the sentiment was there.
“Prove it, курвищаslut,” he whispered into the bend of Shane’s ear as he shoved his grey sweatpants down, his fingers circling Shane’s tight hole through the sheer fabric.
“Твоя курвищаYour slut.” Shane arched, pressing his ass insistently against Ilya’s hand.
“What was that?” Ilya pulled the lace to the side.
“Yours…your slut.”
“Да, мой?Yes, mine?” He spat on Shane’s rim, pressing his index further in, past the ring of muscle.
“Всё твоё, па́почка All yours, daddy,” Shane moaned as Ilya fingered him, the friction of his skin burning pleasantly.
“БлядьFuck,” Ilya groaned as he shuffled through the nightstand, tearing the cap off with his teeth before generously drizzling lube where his knuckle stopped, and Shane began. He fucked into him gently, coaxing little moans here and there, before jackhammering into his hole, scissoring his fingers as he moved in and out. Shane was a mess underneath him in minutes, muttering foolishness as Ilya fingered his tight hole, staring at the words across his lower back.
“Fuck,” he groaned as he pulled out, pausing to stroke himself with the hand already drenched in lube, “So fucking sexy малы́шbaby.”
“Fuck me, Ilya,” Shane whined into the comforter.
Ilya’s hand drew back, smacking a stinging print on his right cheek. “Shut the fuck up,” he ordered. “You think I forget about the club, hm? Nice panties.” He plucked the waistband, letting it snap. Shane’s arch dipped at the sting. “But you were bad. Rubbing up on men? Is that what I taught you?” He pressed the head of his cock to Shane’s hole, rubbing himself in the crease to tease.
“No, no daddy,” Shane cried.
“Hm, my Shanya,” Ilya cooed, stroking a hand down Shane’s wet cheek. “You don’t deserve me.”
Shane shook his head in agreement, “No Ilya…don’t–don’t deserv—daddy please.”
“I like the begging.” He gave Shane a shallow thrust, drawing out a breathy moan. “But I want a show, малы́шbaby. You like to grind? Show me how you ride.” He rolled to his back, leaving Shane ass up and disoriented.
“What…?” He blinked in confusion.
“Cmon. You want my cock so bad? Come take it мой курвищаmy slut.”
It took him a full fifteen seconds, still cockdrunk and confused at the sudden swap.
“I…”
“Don’t be lazy. You want to grind? Go on, just like the club.”
He blinked at Ilya, mouth slightly agape in shock. Ilya raised his eyebrows, jutting his head slightly in an expectant ‘hurry up’. Shane crawled over Ilya’s long frame, pecking his collarbone as he straddled his hips. He grabbed him at the base, one hand splayed on his chest to balance himself as he sank down slowly, pausing every few centimetres.
“Mmm, good boy,” Ilya groaned beneath him, his hands behind his head in fake nonchalance.
“Fuck, Ily–.” A sharp, broad pain painted across his face.
“Is ‘daddy’, no ‘Ilya’.”
“Daddy,” Shane keened at the pain. The barrier between pleasure and pain was dangerously thin, his mind mistaking the two as congruent. He raised himself up, halfway off Ilya’s thick cock before sinking down again, knocking out little breaths each time he fell. “Fuck," his voice trembled, "you’re so fucking big, daddy,” he moaned, his hands cupping Ilya’s pecs as he tried to brace himself. “Fuck, fuck daddy I…” the word caught in his throat as he began to bounce, quickening his rise and fall.
“Yeah?” Ilya’s hands snaked to his sides, pulling him up and down as he rode his cock. “Gonna split you open, за́йчикbunny.”
“Mmgh, yeah, do it.” He squeezed his eyes shut, mouth open in ecstasy as he used Ilya. “Do it, please.”
Ilya laughed at him. He was pathetic, begging even now, when he had all he needed. “You’d let me do whatever I want,” he chuckled darkly, thrusting upward the minute Shane rose again.
Shane let out a guttural moan, his head falling forward as Ilya took what he needed now. “What…eve–yeah, daddy, do whatever,” he exhaled shakily, still trying to continue his wobbly pace.
Ilya kissed his teeth, flipping him onto his back without pulling out, fucking into him harshly as Shane clawed at his back for purchase. Shane couldn’t think to protest. He lay back, taking whatever Ilya wanted to offer.
“Can’t even ride. Good for nothing slut,” he spat out.
“No, please, I–I ca–.” Ilya’s purlicue pressed against his Adam’s apple, forcing the air out of his windpipe.
“Fuck,” he gasped out, his fingers prying at Ilya’s strong grip. “Right there, daddy.”
“Oh yeah?” Ilya paused, switching from quick jabs to a torturiously slow pace.
Shane whined, one hand clawing at his shoulders while his other palm pressed into his lower back, urging him to change the rate.
“You don’t like this? Don’t like making love?” Ilya goaded, his hand moving from his throat to stroke his jaw.
“Fuck me, daddy, please,” Shane begged underneath him, his hips twitching with need.
“Shut up, bitch. Take it,” he snarled in response, his hand tightening around Shane’s neck again. “Does not matter what you want. Tell me.”
“Doesn’t–what I–,” Shane stammered, trying to roll his hips, still chasing his orgasm.
Ilya’s hand unclenched, striking him across the face as the other splayed against his navel, holding his pelvis still. “Is not what you want, Shane. You had your fun. Is my turn.”
“Your turn,” he repeated through a moan.
“Is what I want.” His hips snapped forward, eliciting a breathy moan.
“What you want,” Shane groaned, eyes closed and wrinkled at the edge in pleasure.
“Mmm, yes, good boy,” Ilya praised him, fucking into him in quick, calculated jabs.
“Cum in me,” he begged, his brown eyes blinking open, focusing on the overwhelming black of Ilya’s, “Claim me.”
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya groaned into his neck, refusing the intimacy of eye contact.
“Close, I’m close,” he breathed out, tears streaming out the corners of his eyes.
“Hold it.”
“Can’t,” he sobbed underneath him, writhing against the mattress as Ilya pounded into him, desperate to fulfill his ask.
“Just fucking wait,” he gritted out, “So fucking selfish, fuck.”
“Please Ilya,” he cried, “Come, daddy, give me your babies, daddy please– fuck—need it, need…”
“Блядь, Я тебя люблюFuck, I love you,” Ilya moaned, his forehead falling on Shane’s. Ilya’s eyes flicked between his face scrunched in bliss, his throbbing cock shooting ropes onto their stomachs, and his own, fucking his seed into him. He collapsed in exhaustion, nuzzling into Shane’s neck and kissing every bit of skin he could reach. Their breaths synced in a matter of minutes, the haze of their joint high slowing their joint heartbeat.
“Fuck,” Ilya soughed. “You okay?”
Shane nodded, his eyes still shut, hair poking in every direction with a small smile playing his lips.
“Ня́шный за́йчикCute bunny.” He smiled, peeling himself off.
Shane frowned at the loss of contact, blindly reaching for him.
“Going to shower, малы́шbaby. I’ll lay with you after, okay?”
Shane nodded again, still frowning, and on his back and sticky. Ilya kissed him sweetly, thumbing over his freckles, then trodded away. As the static of the shower clicked on, Shane lay there, the heat of Ilya’s hands still fresh on his skin, the smell of him and sex potent in the air. He breathed it in, savouring the evidence of them still lingering in clouds over the room, almost meditating in the intoxicating feeling of being surrounded in pure Ilya.
An all too familiar chime shattered the peace. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his hand down his features, stopping at the sensitive skin, aching in rings around his throat. He smiled to himself, reaching for the nightstand and finding Ilya’s phone.
1:09
Saturday, September 6
alpha delta bleed
hayes
keep it down pls roz
5m ago
penny
u up? miss u bb ;)
1m ago
penny
Started Sharing Location
2m ago
He shot up, brows furrowed in confusion, worrying his right eyelid between his fingers. The request was unambiguous, subtext spelled out in the time, the emoticon, the casual pet name. He swiped at the screen, hoping the thread was old, just some random girl coincidentally texting him of all people on a lonely Friday night. ‘Enter The Password’ beamed at him as he tried all possible combinations—birthdays, names, dates.
1:12
Saturday, September 6
Iphone Unavailable
try again in 1 minute
Before he could take a breath, rationalize his next move, he hitched up the grey sweats, stomping out into the hall. He tried the knob, feeling it resist as he rattled the brass. His fist banged on the wooden door, vibrating the frame. “Ilya,” he shouted, apathetic to any other member trying to sleep, “Open this fucking door!” The shower continued for ten seconds more before abruptly shutting off.
“What?” Ilya’s voice was muffled through the barrier.
“Who the fuck is Penny?”
Silence.
“Answer me! Who is she?” He kicked at the wood, still yelling. Troy’s door cracked open in his peripheral; the fan that clicked every two seconds shut off in Cliff’s room.
“Is no one. Is just some girl.”
“Why is she calling you baby?”
He groaned in annoyance. “You know how it is.”
“No, Ilya, I don’t. Tell me how it is,” he argued.
“Don’t be like that, baby,” Ilya whined. “Is just some girl. She doesn’t matter.”
“Open the fucking door!” He threw his body at the door.
Silence.
“Ilya!” He wailed; his voice sounded watery with every word, like he was drowning, gargling the regret of giving his body to Ilya once again. “Open the door!”
“Why? So you can hit me again?” Ilya deadpanned. “I told you the truth. You want me to lie? Want me to tell you she was the best fuck of my life and I can’t wait to see her?”
“Fuck you!” Shane yelled.
“No, fuck you, Shane. I don’t fucking know what you want from me. I’m so sick of your shit.”
“Who is she?” Silence. “Who the fuck is she, Ilya?” his voice trembled.
Ilya sighed, letting the quiet sit for a minute before the tap resumed, the sound of the water dancing on the tile drowning out Shane. Shane flung the phone. It bounced off Ilya’s bedroom door, shattering on impact, clattering down the staircase.
“You’re a liar!” Shane sobbed, “A dirty fucking liar! I wish I never met you, Ilya. I fucking hate you!” his voice cracked; his eyes stung. “Fuck you, Ilya. I gave you…fuck…” sobs wracked his body as he pounded on the door, punching and kicking the sturdy oak.
Silence.
Shane crumpled to the floor, his breath hiccuping as he cried. “I can’t believe you.”
The floor shook as Ilya slammed the shower door.
Then silence.