Chapter Text
It started at the cottage, or at least that’s what they each independently remember.
Three days before Ilya’s return flight to Boston, they were making out in the hot tub under the blanket of stars, when Shane finally spoke up.
Ilya had his jaw in one huge hand, twisting his head gently to kiss down his neck.
“I like it when you do that,” Shane murmured, eyes closed and chest heaving, from either his arousal or the hot water, he didn’t know. Maybe both.
“Oh do you,” Ilya answered into his skin, lapping along the tendon and ending with a kiss behind his ear.
“I mean, I like it when you hold my face like that and-and-and move me.”
Ilya’s eyebrows shot up. Sex with Shane before this week, for seven and a half years, was sexy because it was forbidden. It was sexy because he was Shane’s first anything with a man and that was such a trusted, special gift, that Ilya couldn’t ever not give Shane whatever he wanted, what he discovered he liked. It was sexy because when Shane liked something, he practiced it until it was perfected.
Ilya also liked to be perfect: on the ice, with a lover. No, not lovers. Shane didn’t like that word. He used something else, partner, as if they held equal shares in this. And honestly? Ilya would happily follow Shane fucking Hollander to the ends of the fucking earth, through rubble and ruin, because he said to follow.
So Ilya squeezed his hand a little on Shane’s jaw and Shane’s nostrils flared and his pupils widened. Ilya moved his head, again gently, to the other side to kiss along the long line of his neck here, too.
“Again?” Shane asked quietly.
Ilya complied, both hands now cupping Shane’s face and bringing him in closer. Shane shifted in the water until he was in Ilya’s lap. Strong hands anchored him to Ilya as they kissed. Ilya was content to make out forever. Well, not forever, but a little while longer. Then he envisioned making out in the shower and then some quiet contemplation in bed before they fucked in the dark with the moon glinting off the lake beyond the windows.
Shane, on the other hand, was hard and his erection pressed against Ilya’s abs. He wasn’t sure what this was, but he liked that Ilya was taking charge and was strong. He was also strong and often in charge, so many decisions to be made every single day about every single thing in his world. The cottage was a place where decisions were languid and loose, but Ilya positioning him this way or that, telling him to get on his knees or go get a Coke or what he wanted for dinner? Shane felt free in a way he didn’t know how to put actual words to. It just felt good.
Like it did now, with Ilya pulling him in with those hands and kissing him like it was three in the afternoon instead of eleven PM and the clock was ticking toward a new day imminently.
Shane rocked his hips down frantically, trying to get Ilya to see—feel—the point of it all: Shane wanted to be fucked. This was beautiful torture and all he wanted was to have Ilya fuck him until everything else fell away.
“Hollander, Hollander, relax,” Ilya whispered, breaking the kiss. “We have all night.”
“We don’t,” Shane insisted, a hint of panic in his voice. “It’s almost tomorrow, which means then it’ll be two days until you leave, and I don’t want that. I want…”
Ilya lifted a hand out of the water just as a jet blasted into his back. He grunted a little, shaking it off, and slid his hand over Shane’s neck to pet quiet fingers over the nape of his neck. “Tell me what you want, Shane.”
Shane inhaled and exhaled in measured counts. “I want you to fuck me, but like. Not fuck. But fuck.”
Ilya opened his mouth to suggest that perhaps it was something he heard on a rerun of an American TV show Hailey, the brunette with freckles in Boston, liked to watch. It was a lovely sentiment: making love. Shane and Ilya loved each other and Ilya’s heart would burst from it.
“But I want you to do what you were doing,” Shane continued. “Where you move me.”
Ilya tried to connect the dots here. He was quiet so long that Shane began to shiver a little and his eyes darted anywhere but Ilya’s face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” Ilya murmured. Shane’s eyes snapped back to his. “I am thinking. You are trying to say something important, but I am getting only small parts.”
“Can we…can we get out and go sit?” Shane asked in a small voice. Ilya had only heard this twice before, six months ago when Shane came out to him in Tampa, and last week when Shane came out to his parents.
“Yes, of course.”
Shane got out of the hot tub first and Ilya followed, wrapping a towel around Shane’s shoulders as Shane turned off the tub to cool down before he covered it for the night.
Ilya watched as he toweled himself off, making note of what Shane was doing so he could do it next time. Next time. Next summer. He hoped.
Inside, sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, knee to knee, Ilya once again prodded. “You like when I am a little rough but you want to fuck but not hard,” he said. “Yes?”
Shane wasn’t sure that was it, either. “I don’t…know. Not exactly? Can I just…talk it out?”
Ilya shrugged an easy shoulder. “Sure.”
Shane stood up and began to pace, Ilya’s eyes tracking him with every step.
“I like when you’re strong, like when you move me around or tell me where to go or what to do. I like it when you hold my chin like that. It makes me feel like I don’t have to think about what to do next because you’re going to do it for me and it’ll be okay,” Shane said, punctuating his words with gestures and inflections.
Ilya stood to step into Shane’s path. Shane stopped and stared up the two inches to look into Ilya’s eyes.
“So you want me to tell you what to do.”
“Kind of.”
“So if I said…we will fuck in the shower?”
Shane swallowed. “I don’t want it rough right now. Like, I don’t want it to be like it used to be. Like, like…we had to rush or it was a race to come first. I want you to tell me what to do but gentle, nicely.”
“So you want to make love,” Ilya suggested.
“Ilya…no. No one says that,” Shane winced.
English had too many fucking rules about what was actually okay to say and what words meant. Ilya had to learn the phonetics, the definitions, and now the meanings. Fuck it all.
Ilya threw up his hands with an exasperated sigh. But he smiled down at Shane, laying warm hands on his shoulders. “So you want it rough sometimes but not right now. You want me to take control.”
“I guess….yes.”
Ilya nodded and swooped Shane up into his arms, hands under those thick thighs, and carried him into the bathroom. He deposited Shane on the countertop, hands bracketing his towel-clad hips, and leaned in for a kiss. “Stay.”
Shane bit his lip and did exactly that.
Ilya sensed his eyes on his back, watching his every move: turning on the shower to let it heat up, untying the towel at his waist and dropping it into the wicker hamper, sliding out of his swim trunks and putting those in the hamper, too. If this were his house and his rules, Ilya would’ve been in the hot tub naked and fucked Shane on the deck. Or, more probable, he would’ve left the damp items on the floor to be dealt with in a few days. But Shane cared. Shane cared a lot and wanted to do laundry as he made and ate breakfast and Ilya respected his wishes.
“Come,” Ilya said before thinking about it. But Shane was sliding off the counter to stand in front of Ilya. Ilya did the same for him: damp towel in the hamper with his trunks. He was also pleased to see that Shane’s erection hadn’t flagged at all.
Ilya opened the glass door and gestured Shane inside the shower. And he happily followed.
Shane was the one to kiss him first, hands skating over every inch of skin he could reach. Ilya’s hands spanned his ribs to keep him in close. As soon as Shane’s kisses became more frantic, deeper, Ilya once again slid those hands under those thighs and pressed his boyfriend into the tile wall. Shane instinctively wrapped his legs around Ilya’s waist and his arms around his neck.
Ilya pressed Shane a little harder into the tile to bring one hand up to hold his face in place, thumb cradling his chin, and nip at his bottom lip before sliding his tongue into Shane’s mouth. Shane moaned softly, fingertips slipping into the wet curls at the back of Ilya’s head.
Ilya gasped as his cock jerked and the tip brushed Shane’s balls. He wanted to fuck and now, but Shane wanted something softer. The noises he was making didn’t seem like it, though.
“Am I clean enough yet for sex?” Ilya teased, tilting Shane’s head back to kiss down his throat.
“Mmm, nope. Soap. Then sex.” Shane’s next moan was breathless, lost to the steam curling around them.
“I must put you down,” Ilya lamented.
“I’ll allow it,” Shane answered with a deep chuckle.
His feet hit the floor and he began to lather his drug store body wash—Raging Grizzly, woodsy spice scented—onto Ilya’s chest. He held the bottle out and Ilya put it back on the shelf. “I can clean myself, you know.”
“Yeah, but…” Shane flicked Ilya’s nipples with his thumbs. “This is better.”
Ilya was going to propose to this devious little asshole one day, right there out on that dock, and then fuck him senseless.
That day was not today, though, so he let Shane soap his cock, his ass, his chest, his arms, his thighs. And he so graciously allowed Ilya to return the favor. Though Ilya may have stroked Shane’s cock longer than he needed to.
“Fuck, fuck, stop,” Shane begged with a low moan. “I don’t want to come yet.”
Ilya smirked, filing that innocent comment under Shane is a slut when… in his mental folder. So far, he had collected: sex is a competition, he wins a game, he’s the little spoon, he’s the big spoon, and now when he likes edging.
“Okay.” Ilya shut the shower off, shaking his hair out. Shane yelped and slapped a hand to Ilya’s wet chest. “Are we clean now?”
Shane scowled and licked a droplet of water as it traveled between Ilya’s pecs and then pressed a kiss to two small moles on the curve of his chest. “Yes.”
Satisfied, Ilya stepped out of the shower first to hand Shane a fluffy towel. He dried his own body off in milliseconds and rubbed the towel over his hair to dry it faster.
He tugged Shane along behind him to the bedroom and crowded in until Shane’s calves hit the edge of the bed. He gave a gentle shove, delighting in the bounce Shane’s ass gave as he hit the mattress. Long limbs sprawled akimbo on the comforter, previously straight and tidy, Shane’s doing.
But he wasn’t alone for long. Ilya stretched his body over his boyfriend’s and slid his hands up Shane’s arms to his biceps. He held them down with firm but gentle pressure and kissed over Shane’s neck and shoulder. The kiss he laid over the spot on his clavicle that was still healing was reverent, respectful.
Shane squirmed under the strength holding him down, trying the boundary and failing. It didn’t hurt, but it was deliciously freeing.
And it stayed that way as Ilya kissed over his body and then used the same firm pressure on his hip as one slicked finger teased and stretched his hole. One became two and Shane arched his back off the bed as Ilya brushed his prostate.
“Holy shit,” he gasped, lips forming a perfect O.
Ilya chuckled, but he was not amused. Rather, this was new and interesting. Their sex was always too rushed and he never had the chance to undo Shane like this.
“You do not do this with your thing?” Ilya murmured, kissing Shane’s cheek and eyelids and forehead.
“No. I hate it. It’s not you,” Shane confessed.
“Then we must get you one that you do like.”
“Do that again, though.” Shane wiggled his hips to try and get more of Ilya’s long fingers in him. The pressure increased and immediately, Shane stopped his quest.
Ilya couldn’t help but obey, scissoring his fingers and pressing on that sensitive bundle of nerves every so often to keep Shane moaning.
“Ready?” Ilya asked, sliding his fingers out. Shane whined in protest and Ilya leaned down over him, hips rolling down to brush their cocks together.
Shane nodded, knowing Ilya would never accept that.
“I need words, Hollander.”
“Yeah—-yes,” Shane murmured, craning his neck up to kiss Ilya’s ear.
Shane sat up on his elbows to watch Ilya take a condom and roll it down his length, and then slick his cock with a palmful of lube and several quick strokes over his cock.
“On your stomach,” Ilya instructed patiently.
Shane scrambled onto his front, ass raising in the air and knees spread wide. Ilya positioned himself and smoothed a hand over Shane’s lower back before pressing in slowly.
Shane sighed contentedly. The weight of Ilya behind him and the delightful ache of his thick cock spreading him wide open made his mind go wonderfully blank. He didn’t need to know the day or the time. He had all he needed right here.
Then Ilya’s rhythm settled into a slow, deep roll of his hips. Every single thrust had Ilya’s cock pressing his prostate and Shane wasn’t sure he couldn’t die just like this.
A warm hand pressed between his shoulder blades and another gripped his hip. Something settled in Shane’s chest at that. He was safe and protected here with this man. Ilya had proven time and time again that he would not let anything bad happen to Shane, not at his most vulnerable or his strongest.
All Shane could think about was the curl of pleasure that was building and unfurling low in his belly and the way the comforter was now wet and a little tacky under his cock. He reached a hand down to stroke himself, matching the same lazy pace.
“Yes, perfect,” Ilya purred, stomach and chest pressing into Shane’s back as he leaned down to kiss his shoulders and the back of his neck. Last week, he had discovered a cluster of freckles right below Shane’s hairline and it was his new favorite spot to kiss and lick.
Shane groaned at the way Ilya’s accent wrapped around his Rs and especially during sex. His own last name, boring and Canadian, was something sexy and sweet, a little dangerous. He liked the weight of his name in Ilya’s mouth, on his tongue, and he would do anything to hear it over and over for the rest of his life.
But then Ilya kept talking: “You are so fucking hot, Shane. You take my cock so good. Come for me—fuck, please, come for me.”
An emotion swam to the surface and lit up Shane’s chest the way it had since he was four and began skating with the six year olds: pride. He was proud that Ilya thought he was good at sex. And he was more of an expert than Shane ever could be. This was endgame. He was done. He had two random hookups on two random occasions, just to prove he was definitely gay, and neither was Ilya and he hated them, even though he had come both times. Right now? Shane wanted nothing more than to keep being good and hot and sexy and perfect for Ilya.
Shane raised himself up on one shaky arm and stroked his cock faster, fucking his fist and then back into Ilya’s hips. He came on a strangled cry, release spurting between his fingers and down his wrist. He innately knew that some was on the comforter and it was all rumpled and messy anyway and he would have to change it before—
“Hollander, fuck, Shane,” Ilya gasped before he hauled Shane’s hips back into his and Shane whimpered as Ilya’s cock jerked inside him as his cum filled the condom.
Ilya’s strong arms eased them down onto the bed, someway, somehow. Shane always had his eyes closed during this and he knew he was doing his part to keep Ilya’s cock buried inside him so he could cuddle back and let Ilya’s biceps press his own tightly to his chest.
Sure enough, Ilya held Shane tightly, kissing over his shoulder. He knew, just by way of being a more-than-casual porn viewer and being, well, him, that the minutes after sex, regardless of roughness or kink, were crucial. Shane was feeling good; shit, so was he. He always got the highest from making Shane come and then following right after. He could not, would not, let Shane drop, as the lingo went. And selfishly, he wanted to keep his boyfriend as close as possible for as long as possible.
This was always the awkward part. But they were past that now, no? Ilya’s cock was getting too soft and he gently eased himself out and Shane made a soft grunt. Ilya kissed Shane’s shoulder, then neck, then behind his ear. “I will be back,” he whispered.
Shane nodded, though he already missed Ilya’s warm weight behind him.
He knew that Ilya would be back in less than two minutes. His brain didn’t need to count it down anymore. He knew it, like he knew the last ten seconds of the period before he looked at the clock or the exact millisecond the puck would drop by the movement in the ref’s fingers and hand.
And there he was, a warm, soft cloth cleaning the variety of tacky sensations on his body. Then, a new step in the routine: the thump of clothing against his chest. Ilya was already in his boxer briefs and had tossed Shane’s at him next.
Shane lifted his hips on the bed to wiggle into the briefs and then scrambled under the covers. The central air kicked on while they were fucking—no, not fucking, so maybe it was making love, even if that was so old and weird—and Shane’s skin was already starting to sprout goosebumps.
Ilya turned off lights as he went, slithering into bed and right against Shane’s side. He kissed over his chest and throat. “Was that what you wanted?” Ilya asked softly. He had to know. He was desperate to know if he had given Shane everything he wanted in that moment. If not, he’d never do it ever again. He couldn’t bear to not give Shane the world.
Shane stared at the dark ceiling, beaming like he just won the lottery. Hadn’t he?
“Yeah,” Shane sighed.
“But you are not satisfied.” Not a question, a statement.
“No, I am. I’m just…I realized why I like you to move me around like that and hold me down and stuff. It’s not because I want it rough. But that’s good, too. I think I like it when you tell me what to do because all I do is decide things. And I noticed that I felt really kinda blank? Like, I wasn’t thinking about anything but us fucking. It was nice. For once.”
Ilya made a soft “hmmm” as he shifted and moved Shane to lay against him. Shane laid his head on Ilya’s chest to listen to his heart beat. He reached curious fingers up to find his crucifix, laying over his dumb bear. Shane moved it to the center of his chest, like Ilya liked.
“Is that…bad?” Shane asked, suddenly afraid that he was a freak and not normal. He hated to be the unusual one. He spent his twenty-six years chasing being normal and he had just only come to accept that he was gay. And he had a boyfriend. And that boyfriend was supposed to be his archrival. But he wasn’t his archrival because they loved each other and you couldn’t love a rival. That didn’t fit.
“Is not bad,” Ilya reassured him, stroking lazy fingertips in random patterns on his back. “Is very common for many people to like that.” Which wasn’t a lie. Just because Ilya felt the world closing in on him if he were held down didn’t mean other people didn’t like it or even love it.
“Do you like that?”
Fuck. Ilya had given Shane a confirmation that he would do his best to be honest and open for these two weeks, so he had to. “Ah, no.” Shane stiffened in his arms. “But I think is because of my youth. No one can contain Ilya Rozanov. Probably.”
Shane relaxed and nodded a little. “Yeah, probably.”
Ilya cleared his throat. “There are many people who agree with you. They like to be told ‘good job, you are doing well’ or they like to have someone else take decisions away.”
“Oh.” Shane sounded surprised. He was surprised. He listened to Hayden on road trips or in the locker room complain that Jacki never let him pick things for the house because he apparently had bad taste. Dad sometimes teased Mom that she never let him have a say.
“What did that make you feel?” Ilya asked, huge hand settling on Shane’s shoulder so his thumb could stroke his deltoid.
“Safe,” he confessed. “I trust you.”
Ilya made that same funny “hmmm” as he listened.
“I also liked it when, um, you told me I take your dick good?” Ilya could practically feel the blush that radiated off his boyfriend.
“You like to be told good job.”
“Yeah. I felt proud. Like I’ve done something right.”
Ilya chuckled, shifting his leg to tangle with Shane’s. “You do many things right, Hollander. Is part of my job to give you shit about that. As rival and as boyfriend.”
The word hung in the air, a reminder of the new phase of their relationship. Or, perhaps, the start of the real one.
“So I’m not weird?” Shane asked quietly.
“Not weird for this. There are other things you are weird for, but not for how you are feeling during sex,” Ilya agreed.
“Oh. Cool.” A beat. “Wait. Like what? What else am I weird about?”
Ilya laughed openly now, shaking his head. “Good night, Shane.”
“No, Ilya, c’mon. Tell me. What am I weird about?”
“This.” Ilya turned Shane over so he could drape across his back.
Shane batted at the warm hand resting against his stomach. “No, tell me.”
“You have too many pillows,” Ilya said flatly. “No one needs that many.”
“It’s decor.”
“Is dumb. Good night.”
Shane huffed, “Good night,” and closed his eyes, smiling that some piece of the puzzle had finally slotted into place.
—
Shane couldn’t let something go, though. So he went to the internet.
Alone in his cottage, devoid of Ilya though the ghost of him lingered around corners and on surfaces, Shane balanced his laptop on his thighs as he sipped a Coke, the last one left in the fridge. God, this was a shitty drink, but Ilya liked it and therefore Shane would, too
Except it was just so fucking syrupy and bad and he liked his Canada Dry with its real ginger and less sugar and that was basically medicinal anyway.
Shane typed into his incognito Google Chrome window: what does it mean if i like being held down during sex
The search immediately populated with a link to Reddit. He didn’t care for the forum, but…he had to start somewhere.
He pushed his glasses up his nose and read the thread. Someone suggested that it was a way to separate out “real life” personalities from “bedroom” personalities. Another person offered that it was a Dominant/submissive thing. Shane snorted; neither of them were submissive at all. Then, a comment made him pause and re-read it a few times.
TrustInMe 3w
For us, it’s an exercise in trust and respect. She knows I would never hurt her so she wants me to be able to show my strength and start foreplay. I respect her so much and I’ll do whatever she wants so I hold her down and have my way with her.
Wasn’t that it?
Shane immediately grabbed his phone and sent a text:
Jane
I figured it out!!!!!
Lily
???
Jane
I liked what you did because you respect me and I trust you!!
Shane watched the three conversation dots appear and disappear for a few minutes before the phone call came.
“Hi,” Shane said as he picked up, tone soft.
“Hello,” Ilya answered. Shane’s heart squeezed hard. He missed Ilya so fucking badly and even though they were basically on their phones, either texting or calling, all day now while they still had some summer left, it wasn’t the same as having him there.
“So. I respect you, is that it?” Ilya mused. He sounded out of breath.
“Yes!” Shane sighed happily. “That’s what I found online and—”
“You went online about this? Where? Twitter?”
“No. Reddit. I’m not that crazy, Ilya.” Twitter was fucking scary on its good days. Nevermind if the Voyageurs lost. Shane was Public Enemy Number One. And if they lost to the Bears? He would need to go into witness protection.
Ilya cleared his throat. “And what is Reddit saying?”
Shane scrolled some more, reading more comments. “That wanting to be held down is, like, not a caveman thing. It’s foreplay. It’s about whatever turns me on, turns you on.” Shane paused. “Is that true?”
Ilya’s laugh was deep and low through the tinny speaker. “Hollander. All you do is turn me on.”
“Ilya,” Shane warned.
“Relax, I am in my gym.” He chuckled again. “Nice and sweaty. About to take my shirt off.”
“That’s not—I didn’t text you for…that.”
“Oh, so you texted me about sex because it is a Tuesday?”
Shane grinned at that, rolling his eyes. He really did love this idiot. “Shut up.”
“Look. Shane. Is okay to be curious. Is how we began this, yes? So…be curious.”
Shane paused, staring out the window at the forest. A gentle breeze swayed the branches. “Yeah. No, you’re right.”
“Mmm, I am always right.”
Shane scoffed. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, I know so.”
Shane groaned and rubbed a hand down his cheek. “I’m hanging up now.”
“No time for phone sex?”
Shane ended the call immediately. Now he was curious and hard. He wasn’t a porn guy, but…maybe it could be educational?
Hundreds of kilometers away, in a basement in Boston, Ilya smiled at the phone still in his hand. He really was in the gym in his apartment building. Everyone else who used it was at work and he liked having it to himself. No one ever came down here during the day. Either they worked out way too early or way too late.
He pressed play on Spotify again and went back to his bicep curls, watching his form in the mirror.
Leaving Shane sucked, but he also appreciated the space to process the whole trip. He went to Ottawa and then two hours to someplace he couldn’t even pronounce to see what would happen. Either they’d break up—though, you can’t break up with someone if you’re not dating them, which was Ilya’s first rule—or they’d come out of it the same. He couldn’t imagine getting a boyfriend, coming out to said boyfriend’s parents, and discovering said boyfriend was probably interested in some kind of Dom/sub relationship. And now he fucking was looking it up.
Shane wasn’t stupid. He was scary smart and he wouldn’t let this go until he figured it out. Ilya wasn’t…a Dom. And he most assuredly was not a sub. He didn’t want to dominate anyone. He wanted to give Shane the world and make him feel good. Goddamnit, if his boyfriend said he wanted to be held down and told he was doing good, then Ilya would fucking do it.
Which was how Ilya discovered both Urban Dictionary and some fun new terms.
He had been rolling around the concept of a “service top” for a few days, though he didn’t like labels. “Boyfriend” was about as far as he was willing to go here. He liked the exclusivity and he liked that he was Shane’s, officially, and that someone else knew about them. The secret was becoming too much to bear. Yet when he found the definition of “service top,” he was also okay with it. In fact, more than okay. Which then led him, naturally, to determine if there was a name for what Shane was. Lo and behold, he learned “power bottom” and it was the best thing he had ever read. Wasn’t that just so them? And other people were in these roles. Ilya even found porn that was service tops and power bottoms and he mostly watched the ones where the power bottom had dark hair and freckles. Everything else was stupid.
He finished his rep and re-racked the dumbbells, still thinking about what Shane had said: you respect me and I trust you; it’s about foreplay; whatever turns me on, turns you on. Ilya reasoned he was okay with the whole thing because he was strong. But so was Shane. He was sexy, but so was Shane. He was assertive, but so was Shane.
Later, as he was putting his dishes in the dishwasher before his nightly phone sex—sorry, phone call that turned into sex—Ilya realized that he was doing what Shane would want him to do. Fucker. Ilya left three dishes in the sink and started the dishwasher, merely out of protest to no one but himself.
Okay, so maybe Ilya was a service top and maybe he was into it and maybe he did get turned on by Shane’s asks and demands. They weren’t kinky, by any means. Ilya would never choke Shane or spank him—well, okay, maybe he wanted to see his beautiful ass jiggle under his hand and then kiss the sting away. But he’d never, ever use a flog or a paddle. Hand only. And then he might feel bad. Well, unless Shane said he liked it and then he’d do it more.
This was a vicious cycle.
Ilya had friends in Moscow who went to sex clubs, hidden away in basements and alleys, and enjoyed being racked and flogged, whipped and chained, put in the masks with the zippers over the mouths and bound with rope. That never interested him. He enjoyed making his partner feel good and being desired by said partner. He was no saint, so he didn’t judge the people who enjoyed that release. It just wasn’t what he liked, which was okay, too. Even his foray into the kinky side of porn showed him some things he watched with mild curiosity: a woman held down and fucked with a dildo on a machine, a man who liked women to step on his balls with the heel of their stiletto, people peeing on each other, some kind of metal contraption that went over the cock and balls. Ilya watched it because he wanted to rule out what he liked and what Shane would like. Shane would not like any of these.
He settled on his bed, fitting his iPad into the new tripod he purchased this morning. He didn’t like the awkward balance and angles that his new sex life required. This was much easier for two hands and using those same two hands for more pleasure for his beloved.
Ilya tucked his hands behind his head to stare at the ceiling in the apartment. The curtains were drawn to block out the city from intruding on his time with Shane. This was theirs, and theirs alone. So much had changed, but it already felt like it was old and routine.
After being lost in his thoughts for what felt like longer than usual, Ilya checked the time on his phone: fifteen minutes past ten. Shane was late.
Shane was never late.
Ilya took his iPad down and started the FaceTime, attaching it back into the tripod as he listened to the call ring.
Before it hung up, Shane appeared, red-faced and a little sweaty. Ilya’s eyes widened in surprise. “Whoa. Hi. Are you okay?”
Shane’s big grin filled the screen and Ilya’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah, I’m great.”
“You look like you just finished running,” Ilya commented.
“What?” Shane’s eyes focused on himself and then darted back to the camera. “Oops. I was, uh. Well, I kind of…already jerked off.”
Ilya’s grin was slow and predatory. “That’s not very nice for your boyfriend.” He licked his lips and slid a hand down to his shorts, already slipping fingers beneath the waistband. “Tell me about it. What got you hard enough that you had to touch yourself?”
Shane jostled his own iPad and cleared his throat, sitting up in his bed at the cottage. He looked recalcitrant, smile shy and eyes cast downward so his lashes fluttered against his cheek. “Well, I kept going in looking up stuff and I found that there are, like, so many people who like the same stuff I do.”
“What stuff is that?” Ilya asked, hand wrapping around his hardening cock to stroke slowly.
“Take out your dick and I’ll tell you,” Shane countered cheekily.
Ilya slid his shorts and underwear down and off, kicked aside on the mattress. He licked his lips as he watched Shane staring at his hand on his erection. Ilya raised both eyebrows to encourage Shane to continue.
“And, uh. I, uh, well….um…” Shane licked his lips and cleared his throat again.
“What stuff do you like, Shane,” Ilya reminded him.
“Oh, you know, the whole being held down thing. And the, um, being told I’m good thing. That’s apparently really common, especially in…well, here’s where it gets a little…I don’t know. I don’t know that I agree with this, but. The internet said it’s something called a ‘praise kink?’ And it’s common in BDSM. But, like, I don’t know that I want all of that.”
Shane couldn’t believe he was being so fucking honest and open with Ilya right now. But his brain did this thing where he got started on a topic and had to figure it all out first and then share it with the world. This whole new emotional aspect—being held down, being told he was good—was something he wanted to figure out, like if he wanted to perfect a shot or a play wasn’t clicking with a winger. The only person he wanted to tell was Ilya because the only person it involved was Ilya.
“So which part got you hard?” Ilya asked again.
“Oh, so that’s where it gets a little…I don’t know, not me. I decided to search up restraints and I couldn’t imagine how someone was being tied with some ropes I saw, so I went to a video. And then there were other suggested videos and some of them were kind of hot and some of them were weird, but there was this one guy who looked like you and he was fucking this guy who was in these, like, leather handcuff things.”
Ilya smirked. He had a pair of leather cuffs that he used exactly one time and the girl kept slipping out of them. But maybe Shane’s bigger wrists would be useful there? Then again, Ilya wanted the best of the best for his boyfriend. These leather cuffs were bought at the sex shop in the same plaza as his Dunkin’ and they were kind of cheap looking. If Shane wanted that, he’d buy the high quality gear.
“You like leather, then?” Ilya mused.
“Maybe? I don’t know. But the ropes look scary and metal handcuffs could be sharp and there’s important veins there, you know?” Shane answered, eyes flicking between Ilya’s face and the excruciatingly slow drag of his fist over his dick.
Ilya shrugged a shoulder casually, reaching over for his nightstand lube and coating his hand. He resumed stroking his cock as he replied, “Do you want to try that, the leather cuffs?”
Shane nodded once.
Ilya’s hand and heart sped up at the thought. Shibari was beyond his expertise. Then again—and he’d never tell Shane this—most of this was beyond his expertise. Ilya was good with his dick, his fingers, and his tongue, but he didn’t need more than that to make someone come undone. He was a master at foreplay that started long before the clothes came off. He was even better between the sheets. Or against a wall. The shower. The few times he fucked Shane over the arm of his nice leather couch in his sex condo.
“You are doing a good thing, looking things up, seeing what you like,” Ilya murmured. Shane’s smile was brilliant on the screen. “Tell me about what you learned. Praise kink.”
“I guess it just means that I get off—well, not off, but it turns me on, I guess you could say—when someone praises me.”
Ilya’s laugh rumbled in his chest. Shane shivered, wishing more than anything that Ilya was in bed beside him, laughing that way, relishing in Shane that way, looking entirely too fucking good for ten thirty at night.
“Mmm, I think you do like that. Explains why you are always in wet shirts in commercials. People online love how sexy you are.”
Shane rolled his eyes, though he was still grinning. “No, Ilya. I only like it when it’s you.”
It was really fucking cute how adorably clueless Shane was sometimes. The world thought this man was beautiful and undeniably sexy, and yet all he wanted was Ilya and his flaws.
“Want to know my kink?” Ilya murmured, fist gradually speeding up.
“Uh-huh.”
Ilya’s grin turned wicked and his eyes darkened. “My kink is dark hair and freckles and grizzly bear soap.”
Shane laughed openly, head thrown back, and Ilya suddenly realized his kink was this, seeing Shane be so himself. And, maybe, kinda, sorta, a little bit giving him anything he wanted.
But Shane shifted the iPad and he stretched naked on his bed, rolling his balls in a palm. His breath hitched as he watched Ilya’s hand on his screen.
The pair gazed at each other through half-lidded eyes, panting and quietly keening as they teased themselves to the edge. “Come for me, Shane. Can you come again?”
Shane nodded, mouth slack in pleasure as he stroked himself. This was insane. He had never, ever come twice in a night like this. He didn’t need to come every day like Ilya did. It felt really sexy and sinful to be so turned on again, all because he was watching Ilya’s hips thrust up into his slick fist because of him.
Ilya’s breathless voice floated over to Shane, his eyes closed for just a second as the heat and pleasure bloomed from his core. “I’m so close, Hollander. Come for me. I want to watch you.”
And that was that: Shane cried out as his orgasm rolled through him, dribbling fat drops down his dick to pool on his groin. He opened his eyes in time to see Ilya coming, thick ropes of cum painting his stomach.
Ilya panted as he blinked at Shane. Then he smiled slowly, licking his lips. “Mmm, good job, Hollander. I’m proud of you. First time you’ve come twice in an hour?”
Shane flushed brightly at the praise, heart fluttering in his chest. “Yeah,” he breathed out. “I didn’t know I could do that. I’ve never tried.”
Ilya filed that away under Shane is a slut…in his brain. “You are very sexy, Hollander.” Ilya drank in the pleased, proud smile that Shane offered him, fingertips hovering over his sweat-damp skin.
“I should shower…”
“Can I watch?”
Shane laughed, genuinely laughed, and Ilya felt his world tilt. God, what a perfect sound. How many people heard that?
“No. Electronics don’t go in the bathroom, Ilya.”
Ilya had half a mind to make a crude comment about what else was he supposed to read, but he saved it for a later chirp. “I am glad you are learning new things. You deserve to know who you are.” Ilya swallowed and licked his lips. “Go shower. I will talk to you tomorrow.”
“‘Kay. I love you.” Shane kissed the tips of two fingers and held them out to the camera.
“I love you, too, Shane.” Ilya did the gesture back, catching the dreamy smile Shane wore. “Good night.”
“Night.”
And for a few seconds, neither ended the FaceTime. They just smiled like morons at each other until Ilya whispered another, “I love you, good night,” and hung up.
He was sooo fucking in love, it was sickening. And he didn’t want it any other way.