Chapter Text
Shane looks up from the book he's reading as Ilya walks through the door. "Hey, baby. How was your—"
He doesn't get the rest of the sentence out before Ilya is grabbing him, one finger threaded through the o-ring on the leather collar Shane wears whenever he's at home, one on his hip. He pulls Shane up off the couch and to his feet.
Shane immediately softens under his hands, melting like butter, pliant as clay waiting to be shaped. Ilya ignores the way he leans in, his obvious plea for a kiss, his soft wanting eyes, and instead manhandles him across the room and shoves him up against the wall.
He grips Shane's wrists hard, one in each hand, and pulls them up over his head, briefly pinning them to the wall while he bites Shane's neck right above the collar. "Keep them there," he orders, voice low and already rough with arousal. Shane, of course, stays where Ilya put him.
That's when he kisses Shane. Lips harsh and claiming, firm hand on Shane's jaw pinning his head against the wall so he can't move towards Ilya. Shane lets out a little gasp into Ilya's mouth as he is kissed.
Ilya releases his face, pats his cheek roughly. Shane looks dazed already, right where Ilya wants him.
Ilya goes to his knees in a single fluid motion, tugs Shane's pants down as he does. He presses the flat of his palm against Shane's bare stomach, over his right hip. "Don't move," he says. "Not a single twitch, or I stop, yes?"
"Yes, sir," Shane says, tensing so that he can obey as Ilya traces his other hand ever-so-gently up Shane's stomach, to his chest, to grab and squeeze at his pec.
"Good boy," Ilya says, and swallows his cock.