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It’s Bid Day, arguably the most important day of a frat wannabe’s life. It's when you find out which frat you got an invitation to join.
Shane Hollander, however much he hates the title, is a frat wannabe. After all, he braved every event of rush week, conquered his social awkwardness to speak with countless brothers, and even managed to have fun along the way.
However, now, he is sitting in his dorm room, rather than at some Bid Day party, tapping his foot anxiously, not because he is waiting to hear which house he got into. No, he already knows that information. It was practically a foregone conclusion that he would receive a bid from Mu Tau Lambda. The brothers loved him there, and he really liked them back. It made the day even better that Shane’s roommate and current best friend at college, Hayden, also received a bid from them. They had drank and celebrated until Hayden had to leave to go visit his girlfriend for the weekend. And until Shane had to go back to his dorm room to await a visit from someone else, strategically timed for when Hayden would be away for the night.
He had barely drank anything at the Bid Day party, despite the heavy peer pressure to do so. He had skirted out of the mob surrounding the keg and kept his red solo cup filled with ginger ale to obscure the fact that there was barely a drop of vodka in it. He had been too nervous, stomach churning too hard, to keep much alcohol down.
Instead, he had left early with the excuse of escorting Hayden. As soon as he dropped Hayden off in Jackie’s car with an apology about the state of his drunken roommate, Shane had run to the showers to scrub the day off himself. It felt strange to change back into a nice outfit after showering for the night, but he would feel equally strange putting on his pajamas when he was expecting a guest.
So Shane pulls on a pair of nice black jeans and a nice blue sweater. He looks at himself in the full length mirror behind his door and feels stupid—it looks like he’s going for an interview. But then, someone knocks on the door and it’s too late to do anything about it. Shane swallows hard, hoping his beating heart goes down with it, and opens the door.
To his dismay and elation, Ilya Rozanov stands in the doorway, out of breath and still in his clothes from the day. Dismay, because he is dirty and will presumably want to get into Shane’s pristine bed. Elation, because he looks so good in his tight black tank top and ripped jeans. And because he is actually here. He actually wants Shane.
“Sorry,” Ilya pants. “Sorry, I am late. Time went too fast. I hope you did not… you know, think I was not coming.”
Shane flushes at the thought and the enthusiasm. Did Ilya run to him? He hadn’t even noticed the time, given his own crisis about his outfit. “It’s okay,” he says, trying to fight the urge to tell Ilya outright to shower first. “Um, did you come straight from Beta Sig? Congrats on the bid, by the way.”
“Yeah, party was too fun. I stayed as long as I could, but—” He smiles wolfishly at Shane. “This was important to me too.”
“Yeah…” Shane trails off. He still hasn’t stepped out of the doorway so that Ilya can come in. He can’t help but look at the sweat plastering Ilya’s curls to his forehead, or the stain on his jeans that looks like beer, or the smell of marijuana emanating off of him.
Ilya catches Shane’s roving—and wary—eyes and does the same, giving Shane a once over that is more cursory than sexy. “Did you shower?” His eyes land on Shane’s damp hair. “And change?” He looks pointedly at Shane’s fresh and soft sweater, clearly not worn out to a frat party.
Shane flushes further, this time with embarrassment. “Yeah, the party was gross, so…”
Ilya smiles. “Okay,” he says, kindly. “Do you mind waiting a little longer? I will shower too.”
“Really? You wouldn’t mind?”
Ilya laughs. “You make it sound like we Russians are dirty barbarians. Why would I mind showering?”
“Not all Russians,” Shane retorts. “But, you? Yeah. You’re a Beta Sig pledge now. I don’t expect anything more from you.”
Ilya blows a raspberry at him. “Boo, Mu Tau brothers are terrible.” But then, he reaches out to pinch Shane’s sweater between his fingers and feels the fabric. His smile softens. “This is nice. Soft. Kak malen’kiy kotonok. Wait for me?”
Shane’s heart skips, for a different reason than before. “Yeah, of course,” he says, his voice pitchy and embarrassing.
Ilya smiles and Shane almost thinks that he might kiss him on the cheek. But Ilya just turns and heads down the hall towards his room and the showers.
Shane lets out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. Half of him itches to change out of his sweater into something more sensible, like a t-shirt, but the other half of him is still beaming at the idea that Ilya liked it. Shane sticks the latch lock between the door and the frame so that it doesn’t shut all the way before going to sit on his bed. The silence and the tension creep into his head quickly, so he busies himself. He turns off the overhead light, leaving only his warm bedside lamp on. He double checks his bedside drawer, filled with items that he sheepishly bought in the dead of night when no other students were likely to be in the convenience store three blocks away.
Condoms in a variety pack, because Shane didn’t know what was normal or proper or preferred. Lube, the more expensive branded one rather than the generic because Shane didn’t want something random going into his body. An enema kit because he had read online that it was necessary, but he tried to use it in the fucking communal dorm bathroom and chickened out. He hopes Ilya doesn’t mind.
A gentle knock on the door announces Ilya’s presence. He pushes open the door before Shane can respond, but he still doesn’t step further into the room until he meets Shane’s eyes and Shane gives a small nod. Ilya closes the door behind him. This time, the latch closes properly. The door is locked.
Ilya looks softer than before. He is still in all black, though this time in a black t-shirt and black sweatpants. His hair has been blow dried, but still curls gently with dampness. He approaches Shane’s bed and Shane resists the urge to back up, away from the overwhelming presence in front of him. Ilya sits on the bed next to Shane and immediately takes Shane’s jaw in his hand, turning his face lightly from side to side.
“What are you—”
“You are not still drunk, yes?” Ilya asks, a concerned furrow between his brows as he stares right into Shane’s eyes.
“No, I—” Shane blushes. “I was too nervous to drink much. And I didn’t want to, you know, be drunk for this.”
Ilya nods approvingly. “Good,” he says. “I would not have fucked you for the first time if you were drunk.”
“Decent of you,” Shane mumbles, already feeling his stomach coil and tighten with how Ilya is manhandling his face.
Ilya just smiles and leans in for a kiss, his hand still on Shane’s jaw, guiding him closer. The moment their lips meet, Shane feels himself melt—body into Ilya’s, mind into mush. Ilya’s tongue pushes past his and for a moment, Shane braces himself to taste beer and cigarettes, but instead, Ilya tastes like a hint of toothpaste.
“You… You brushed your teeth too?”
Ilya pulls away slightly, but it’s enough for Shane to see him roll his eyes. “I think I should be offended.”
“No, sorry. Just… considerate of you, that’s all.”
“I want your first time to be nice, Hollander,” Ilya says. He dives back into kissing Shane before he can see Shane blush again. Ilya’s tongue slips past Shane’s lips and Shane lets out a little moan. Spurred on by this, Ilya pushes Shane backwards with a gentle but firm pressure on his biceps, until Shane is laid down on his twin sized bed with Ilya hovering over him.
The kissing doubles in intensity once they’re horizontal. Ilya’s tongue is insistent, dominating in Shane’s mouth, licking into intimate corners and making it hard for Shane to sneak a breath in, leaving him panting for air, his head getting foggy, from lack of oxygen or from overwhelming need, it’s hard to tell. Ilya’s hands have sneaked under Shane’s sweater, running over his abs, tracing across his pecs. Shane only lets his lips fall away from Ilya’s when Ilya swipes his thumbs over his nipples. It’s quick, barely a brush, but Shane can’t help the sound that falls urgent and desperate from his mouth.
“Ah!” he cries, instinctively pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to muffle the sound.
Ilya looks up at him, surprised but reverent. “Sensitive, kotik,” he says, thumbing over Shane’s nipple once more, this time with more pressure. Shane arches off the bed, chasing the touch. The thick knuckle on his thumb is pressed between his teeth, trying to stifle the moans trying to escape. It’s too embarrassing to sound like this, while still fully clothed and with barely a touch from Ilya. “No, I want to hear you,” Ilya whines, pressing a kiss to the corner of Shane’s mouth. “I want to hear you when you feel good.”
“It’s just— It’s a lot,” Shane whispers, pulling his hand away.
“I have barely touched you, kotik.”
“I know. That’s why it’s embarrassing.”
“No, do not be embarrassed with me.” Ilya pushes the hem of Shane’s sweater up to his armpits, revealing his bare torso. His nipples peak with the sudden rush of cool air. Shane swears he sees Ilya’s mouth water at the sight. “I want to see you, all of you, Hollander.” He pushes the sweater up further, and Shane gets the idea. He wiggles out of the sweater, and to his relief, Ilya gently sets it on the nightstand rather than throwing it onto the ground.
Shane reaches to unbutton his jeans, but before he can do so, Ilya dives down onto his chest, like a bird of prey swooping down to kill its dinner. Before Shane can think or react, Ilya has sucked one of Shane’s nipples between his teeth. His hot mouth on Shane’s cool skin is overwhelming.
“Rozanov!” Shane cries, embarrassingly shrill. His hands tangle in Ilya’s hair, unsure if he’s trying to pull Ilya away or push him closer. Ilya’s right hand comes up to tweak Shane’s other nipple, rolling and tugging the sensitive nub. “Please, please…”
Ilya lifts his head. His pupils look massive in the lamplight. “Please, what, kotik?”
Shane groans, frustrated at something and nothing at all. He doesn't know what he wants. He doesn’t know how he feels. All he knows is that he is rock hard, but they have barely started for the night. “I didn’t invite you to my room to just have my nipples sucked!”
Ilya stares at him in silence for a moment before he bursts out laughing. “And I didn’t come to your room just to suck your nipples either, Hollander.”
“Can we just get to the main event?” Shane grumbles, embarrassed and nervous. He doesn’t want to lose his nerve before either of their pants even come off.
“Patience, kotik, all of this is important. Foreplay,” Ilya says the word proudly, like he just remembered it. “But if you wish, we can move faster, yes. I know you are eager for this cock.”
Shane’s face burns red at the words, but he can’t deny it either. He especially can’t deny it once Ilya sits up and strips his t-shirt off—he throws his own shirt onto the floor. Every hard ridge and valley of his muscular body is thrown into stark relief in the dim light. He looks godlike as he towers above Shane in this position.
“Lift your hips, moy kotonok,” Ilya asks, rubbing his thumbs up and down Shane’s hipbones. Shane obliges, arching off the bed so that Ilya can pull his jeans off. Ilya reaches for the waistband of Shane’s boxers, when the first wave of self-consciousness hits.
“Can you… Sorry, this is silly—”
“Nothing is silly. What do you want?”
“Can you, um, take your pants off too? I don’t want to be the only one naked.”
Ilya smiles kindly at Shane. “Of course.” He doesn’t hesitate before stripping off his sweatpants and boxers in one fell swoop. His cock, large and already hard, arches towards his stomach. Shane lets out a whimper at the sight. Ilya smirks, self-satisfied, and strokes himself a few times. “You like what you see?”
Shane scoffs at the arrogance and the cliche of it all. But he still begrudgingly admits, “Yes.”
“My turn, I want to see now,” Ilya says, hooking his fingers into Shane’s boxers, and when Shane gives him a nod, Ilya pulls them off, leaving Shane naked and vulnerable. But Ilya’s mouth is back on him in a second, leaving him no time to overthink. Ilya kisses the patch of freckles on his stomach, before kissing the little freckle on his left hip, then he kisses the underside of Shane’s cock. Shane practically jumps at the contact.
“Have you ever touched yourself…” Ilya asks, his face nestled at the juncture of Shane’s thigh and crotch, forcing Shane’s legs apart to make room for Ilya’s hulking frame. His lips move featherlight against the sensitive, tender skin of Shane’s inner thigh. His hair brushes against Shane’s cock. It’s enough to make Shane’s nerves feel on fire. “Here?” He finishes his question, his fingers coming up to tap behind Shane’s balls, an inch away from Shane’s hole.
Shane flinches horribly, either from the question or the touch. He can’t be sure. “Um.” He tries to shake off the shame, the embarrassment, of his answer. He tries to forget the first time he did touch himself there, in the dead of night, when he was sure his parents were both asleep. He tries to not remember the awkward feeling of his wrist crooking in the wrong direction, of the shameful pleasure that came from playing with his rim, of the terrifying, scraping dryness as he tried to worm his fingers in. It wasn’t until he heard snippets of the older students talking in the hallways about their sexual escapades that he knew how to fix it. And yet, it took until his next sleep-away hockey game for him to sneak out to a convenience store and secretly buy his first bottle of lube, with his hood up and trembling hands at the self-checkout. He remembers senior year—when his parents finally deemed him old enough to stay at home alone overnight—sneaking the bottle out from his underwear drawer. He remembers the first time he properly fingered himself. It felt so good. Too good. It was dangerous for a perfect son like him to feel that way, touching himself like that. Touching himself there.
“Hollander? Everything okay?”
Shane shakes himself back to the present. “Um, yes. Fine. I’m fine.”
Ilya has scooted forward and pushed himself onto his forearms, bracketing Shane’s face with his elbows. He gently brushes Shane’s hair away from his forehead. “Where did you go?” he asks softly. “You… I don’t know. Disappeared for a moment. Are you sure you are okay? We do not have to do this tonight. Or ever. Whatever you want, Hollander.” For the first time tonight, Ilya looks nervous.
“No, I do want this!” Shane says, suddenly struck by the fear that Ilya might leave. “I just… I just…”
“You do not need to explain yourself to me if you do not want to, Hollander,” Ilya says.
Shane chuckles nervously. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I dunno. Ruining the moment.”
Ilya smiles and kisses him quickly on the lips. “You could never ruin the moment, Hollander. You are the moment.” He kisses down Shane’s cheek, his jaw, his neck. He kisses both his nipples, sending a shiver down Shane’s spine. He ends up between Shane’s legs again.
“Would you like to keep going?”
Shane nods vigorously.
“Okay. Do you have lube?”
Shane twists his upper body to open his bedside drawer without dislodging Ilya. He fishes out the bottle and tosses it down the bed. Ilya pops the cap open, but before he goes further, he touches the inside of Shane’s thigh.
“Hollander,” he says, so gently. “Is it okay if I touch you now?” He doesn’t ask Shane the same question again—whether he's touched himself—as if sensing that Shane wants Ilya to touch him, take him, control him, rather than anyone else, including himself.
“Yes,” Shane breathes, his heart hammering.
“Tell me if you want to stop, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Can you… Hmm, can you put a pillow under your hips? And bend your knees. Feet on the bed. Yes, just like that, kotik, you are doing perfect.”
The praise washes over Shane, soothing him from the inside out. It’s enough for him to even relax despite the open, vulnerable position he’s in, legs spread, hole present. Ilya drizzles lube over two of his fingers and looks up at Shane once more. When Shane nods, Ilya touches his rim with cold, wet fingers, but the coldness is quickly forgotten as Ilya circles his fingers, featherlight, around Shane’s rim.
Shane lets out a breathy little cry, as Ilya increases the pressure with each round around his puckered hole. Until Shane’s rim is coated with lube, wet and dripping.
“Going in, okay?”
“Okay.”
The tip of Ilya’s finger breaches his hole and it already feels overwhelming. Shane whimpers and throws his forearm over his eyes. It's too much to both feel and see Ilya touching him in the most intimate of ways.
“You have to relax, moy kotenok,” Ilya croons, his free hand running up and down Shane’s side in a comforting way.
“I know, I’m trying,” Shane says through gritted teeth.
“Mm, I think the point is to not try. You do not need to try so hard here.”
Those words unexpectedly bring tears to Shane’s eyes. He’s never been told he doesn’t have to try before. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and at the same time, Ilya pushes his finger in, down to the knuckle. The feeling would have knocked the air out of Shane anyway.
“Good?”
“Good,” Shane breathes.
Ilya pumps his finger in and out a few times, and Shane feels his body adjusting, loosening up, molding to it. His hips start moving subconsciously, chasing the sensation whenever Ilya pulls out.
“Can you take a second?”
“Yes.” It comes out as a whine.
Shane feels another blunt digit nudge against his rim. He inhales sharply as it pushes in, and as he breathes out, Ilya pushes his second finger all the way in.
“Uh, hngh.” Shane’s mouth hangs open. He feels a string of drool spilling out the corner of his mouth, but he can’t find the ability in himself to wipe it away.
“So tight, kotik,” Ilya says. “Relax for me.”
Shane doesn’t know if he can. He feels so wound up, like a spring ready to explode. He can feel himself crushing around Ilya’s fingers, but they feel so large already, so imposing and dominating like the man they’re attached to.
“Hmm,” Ilya hums. The mere suggestion of disappointment in his voice makes Shane want to apologize.
“I’m s—“ But before he can, Ilya leans forward and takes Shane’s cock into his mouth.
Shane’s body seizes and tenses for a moment before melting into the wet heat of Ilya’s mouth. Immediately, his body feels looser—the sudden onslaught of pleasure overwhelms any tension or fear left in his mind.
“R-Rozanov—” Shane pants. His hand finds its way onto Ilya’s head, fingers twining in his curls. His body now easily makes way for Ilya’s fingers, which pump steadily in and out of his hole. The sound of lube squelching around Ilya’s fingers is muffled by the sound of Ilya sloppily sucking his cock, the copious amount of spit making each slide of Ilya’s mouth up and down his cock silky smooth.
Ilya scissors his fingers apart and instead of panicking at the sudden spread, Shane moans, letting himself fall headfirst into the strange, slightly painful pleasure of the stretch.
“Sooo good, kotik,” Ilya says, his words long and syrupy, as if trying to coat Shane’s brain in the praise. It works. Shane’s brain feels like it’s floating along a lazy river, content and at ease. “Stretching out so nicely for me, yes?”
“Yes,” Shane agrees. Ilya has taken his mouth off Shane’s cock to say all these dirty words to him, and Shane is about to ask him to touch his cock again, when Ilya crooks his fingers.
Any pleasure derived from his cock is quickly forgotten as Ilya presses on a spot inside Shane that shoots shockwaves of pleasure up Shane’s spine, forcing a gasp out of his open mouth.
“Oh, right there, yes? It feels good here?”
“I— Oh.”
Ilya repeats the motion and Shane arches clean off the bed, off the pillow under his hips. When he fingered himself, he had touched that spot. Poked it, like a kid dared to touch a live wire. The pleasure he felt then shook him to his core, unaware that his body—honed for sport and perfection—could feel as tender as that. Now, it’s Ilya’s thicker, rougher fingers, not just touching it but petting it, rubbing it. It’s unfathomable.
Small ohs are forced out of Shane’s throat, each syllable breathier than the last.
“Rozanov. Rozanov!” Shane subconsciously darts his hand out between his thighs, grabbing Ilya by the wrist. Ilya stills immediately.
“Hollander. Everything okay? Do you want me to stop?”
“I— I—” Shane’s brain feels like a puddle, and attempting to siphon it up into coherent thoughts right now feels impossible. “I don’t— It’s just— It feels too good and I don’t—” Shane’s face burns as he realizes the reason for his sudden panic. “I don’t want it to end so soon.”
Ilya blinks at him a few times before his face melts into a soft, inexplicable expression. “Ty takoye miloye sozdaniye,” he mutters.
“Um?”
“Nothing, moy kotenok,” Ilya says, smiling at Shane. “You like it that much when I finger your hole? It feels so good, yes? Having my fingers in your desperate hole. It wants to be stretched out so badly.”
Shane burns even hotter. “Yes,” he admits. To liking both the lewd touch and the dirty words. It does feel so good. It does feel like Shane is floating on a heavenly cloud, all consciousness narrowed down to his dripping cock and his aching hole. But one question remains at the forefront of his puddle of a mind. “Are you going to fuck me now?”
Ilya’s eyes darken over the horizon of Shane’s hips. “Oh, malysh,” he murmurs dotingly. He withdraws his fingers from Shane. Shane almost whimpers at the loss. “You cannot keep talking to me like that.”
Shane’s heart skips a beat. The fog in his brain clears a bit. “What? Why? Did I say something wrong?”
Ilya looks curiously at Shane for a moment before shaking his head and kissing Shane’s hipbone. “No, absolutely not, kotik, I just mean…” Ilya’s forehead scrunches. “You will drive me crazy talking like that.”
Shane blushes. He still doesn’t know exactly what Ilya means, but it sounds like a good thing. It sounds like Ilya doesn’t mind being driven crazy. Maybe Shane doesn’t either.
“Oh,” is all Shane can offer in response.
“But yes, kotik, I will fuck you now. Because you asked so nicely.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have condoms?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Shane twists his torso to open his bedside drawer to pull out the box of condoms he had bought.
Ilya raises an eyebrow. “How many times are you planning to fuck tonight, Hollander? Or how many people? Already cannot get enough dick?”
Shane blushes. “Fuck off. I didn’t know what kind you liked or… ugh, just shut up.”
Ilya laughs and takes the box from Shane. “You are very, ah, considerate, yes? Thank you.” He sounds earnest. Shane blushes even more.
Ilya pulls out a long chain of connected condoms in different colored foil and Shane becomes even more self-conscious about how many he bought when Ilya asks,
“Hmm, you did not get magnum condoms?”
Shane freezes. Magnum? Like the ice cream bars? “No. I didn’t know… What does that mean? Were those the type I was supposed to get?”
Ilya laughs, but with such an overwhelming look of fondness in his eyes that Shane doesn’t feel embarrassed. “No, no, Hollander, I was just trying to make a joke.”
“Oh.” Shane feels stupid. He already felt young and, literally, virginal but now, he feels even more out of the loop from what he is probably supposed to know. He’s supposed to know what a magnum condom is. He’s supposed to know that Ilya was making a joke.
“Hollander.” Ilya must sense the clouds coming over Shane’s emotions. He crawls up the bed to kiss Shane on the lips. “Sorry. It was stupid joke. I should not have.” He kisses Shane again. “You did nothing wrong.”
“Okay,” Shane says meekly.
“No, you must believe me, you are perfect,” Ilya urges, kissing Shane between every other word. He ends his torrent of kisses with one on the tip of Shane’s nose, and it’s enough to make Shane smile. “See, yes, that is what I want to see.” Ilya smiles down at him too. “Ready again?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“No ‘sorry,’ Hollander,” Ilya says. He kisses Shane on the nose once more and Shane can’t help but giggle. It makes Ilya smile bigger. He retraces his earlier path down Shane’s body with his lips—alternating with kisses and sucks and licks—and by the time he gets back to Shane’s hips, Shane is moaning and trembling like he was before.
“You are good, again, yes? Happy? Ready?”
Shane nods. “Ready.”
Ilya rips open a condom wrapper with his teeth and slides it onto his cock. He drizzles an obscene amount of lube onto and strokes himself twice before lining his cock up with Shane’s hole.
Ilya pushes forward, breaching the tight ring of muscle at the entrance of Shane’s hole. Shane throws his head back with a gasp, already overwhelmed with the feeling. The stretch is only a little bit more than Ilya’s two fingers, but it’s the feeling of fullness, of solid, velvety flesh inside him that feels so different.
“Is only an inch, Hollander.”
“Oh my god.”
“You can take it.”
“I don’t—”
“Shh, yes, you can, kotik. You can do anything.” Ilya runs his thumbs up and down Shane’s hip bones as he presses forward, steady and insistent.
Seconds or minutes or hours pass and Shane can feel himself get filled inch by steady inch. He takes shallow sips of air, feeling so heavy and full that his lungs can only take in small streams of oxygen. At some point, he must have thrown his hands over his face, seeking comfort in the orange-tinted darkness of his palms, soothing in the overwhelming-ness of it all.
He feels something bump against the swell of his ass. Gentle hands peel his palms away from his face. The warm glow of Ilya’s smiling face greets him.
“So good, moy kotik,” Ilya croons. He leans down to kiss Shane gently on the lips and that’s when Shane feels the full length of Ilya’s cock shift inside him.
“Oh my god,” he gasps into Ilya’s mouth.
“Does it feel okay, kotik?”
“Yes, fuck, oh—” Shane looks for the words to describe it. His head feels like mush. “I feel so full,” he whimpers.
“Good, though, yes?”
“Yes, good,” Shane babbles, only able to repeat Ilya’s words back to him. “So good.”
“I will move now.”
“Yes, Rozanov, please.”
Ilya lets out a growl before he kisses Shane once more—this time rough and possessive, not sweet and tender like the last one. He pushes himself up, his hands pressed onto the mattress on either side of Shane’s head.
With the first roll of his hips, Shane sees stars. It’s slow and steady—Shane can feel every inch of Ilya’s cock easing in and out of his hole, the slight friction delicious. But it already doesn’t feel like enough.
“Faster. I want it faster, please,” Shane begs before he can second guess himself.
“Oh, Hollander,” Ilya says reverently. “You can take it?”
“Yes,” Shane whines. “I can take it.”
“I know. I told you—you can do anything, Hollander,” Ilya murmurs before he pushes Shane’s knees up to meet his shoulders. Shane barely gets a chance to adjust to the new position before Ilya snaps his hips against Shane’s ass, driving his cock deeper and faster into Shane’s hole than before.
“Oh, god!” Shane cries out, throwing his head back. “Oh, shit. Rozanov! Ah! God!” Nonsensical words and names and expletives fall from Shane’s open mouth. He’s breathing so hard—every thrust of Ilya’s cock pounding the air out of him—that he can’t close his mouth. A string of spit drips out the corner of his lips, but he can’t focus enough to wipe it away. All he can think about is keeping the grip on the backs of his legs so Ilya can thrust into his eager hole as hard and fast as he can.
“So good, Hollander,” Ilya grunts, his words also broken up by heavy breathing. His arm muscles bulge with the effort of keeping him up so that his hips can jackhammer into Shane. “So perfect for me. Your hole is so perfect, Hollander. Feels so good. Fuck.”
Ilya’s arms start to shake from the exertion, not that Shane would have noticed with how much he is trembling. But he does notice when Ilya kneels up, and brings Shane’s ass with him with tight grips on Shane’s hips. Shane’s legs end up crossed behind Ilya’s back, his lower back held aloft only by Ilya’s hands.
He notices the change in position despite his slow, foggy mind because when Ilya thrusts his cock in this time, it hits the spot inside Shane that shoots lightning up his spine.
“Oh, god!” Shane cries, the sudden spike of pleasure forcing tears out the corners of his eyes. “Oh, god—” He chokes on his own spit. His vision goes fuzzy.
“Easy, malysh, easy,” Ilya coos, even as he rolls his hips in the same pattern over and over, his cock grinding against that sensitive spot inside Shane over and over again. How can he say “easy” when he is driving Shane insane?
How can he say “easy” when, with his next breath, Ilya picks up the pace again, hammering his cock against Shane’s prostate with pinpoint accuracy?
“Rozanov. Rozanov. I can’t— I’m close.” Shane can’t decide if he wants to get closer or further away, like a child playing with fire. His body feels like it’s burning, a hot coil in his lower stomach winding tighter and tighter with every thrust of Ilya’s cock into his hole. He draws away then pushes back—in this, Shane finds himself grinding his hips against Ilya’s, to the same rhythm as Ilya’s thrusts. Their bodies sync up, finding a perfect, heavenly undulation.
“I know, malysh, I know. I can feel you squeezing around my cock, so perfect for me.” Ilya’s words start to slur, blend together. His thrusts get more erratic, less coordinated. Shane gives up trying to match his grinds with Ilya’s thrusts, and instead just takes it. He takes what Ilya gives. Ilya notices. Of course he does. “So good, malysh, yes, just take my cock. You are so good at taking my cock, tak krasivo dlya menya.”
“I’m gonna cum,” Shane gasps out, grabbing at Ilya’s biceps, nails digging into the flexed muscle. “I can’t hold it anymore. Please. Fuck!”
Ilya nods. “Yes, malysh, cum for me.” He shifts his weight onto his left hand so he can pick up his right, presumably to stroke Shane’s cock to completion.
But with the next thrust of his hips, his cock slamming into Shane’s prostate with pinpoint precision, Shane cums with a sob and without a single touch to his cock. He back arches off the bed and cum splatters up his chest, but he doesn’t even notice with how his vision has gotten spotty and how his body is shaking uncontrollably.
Ilya stares in shock and awe and it’s due to pure animalistic instinct that he keeps hammering into Shane’s trembling body. “Bozhe, fuck, what the— Oh my god,” Ilya gasps. “Hollander, I— You— Fuck!” He cums with a shout into the condom while buried deep inside Shane’s body. He collapses a second later on top of Shane, with no care for the stickiness now coating both their chests. He buries his face in Shane’s neck, kissing the tender skin there softly.
“Kotik,” he soothes as Shane shakes and cries softly. Shane wraps his arms around Ilya, squeezing tight. The weight of the other man on top of him feels warm and safe and steady. “Moy kotenok, you did so good, my sweet.”
Ilya kisses Shane until his breathing evens out and his eyes aren’t squeezed shut. He kisses Shane until Shane lets go of his flesh, fingernails having carved crescents into his skin. He kisses Shane until Shane comes back into his own body.
“I will pull out now.”
“Okay.” Shane still winces when he does, the emptiness feeling strange and cold now.
Ilya ties off the condom and throws it into the small trash can next to Shane's desk. The tiny sliver of logic left in Shane's mind reminds him to cover it with tissues before Hayden gets back. Ilya grabs his shirt off the floor and wipes off his chest and cock. Before Shane can be grossed out by it, Ilya turns to kiss him on the cheek and Shane forgets all about it.
"Do you have extra towels?"
Shane gestures vaguely at the plastic drawers at the foot of his bed. Ilya rifles through it and pulls out a small washcloth before putting his sweatpants back on.
"Stay right there, okay? I will be right back."
Shane nods. He probably couldn't move even if he wanted to. His eyes slip shut and he hears a jingle of keys and a click of a door before he drifts off into a half conscious state. The next thing he is aware of is a warm, damp cloth dragging across his midsection, and a gentle hand combing through his hair.
"Back with me, kotik?"
"Mm?" Shane hums, his eyes fluttering open to see Ilya wiping down his sticky stomach and looking at him with a soft look in his eyes.
He chuckles. "Barely, it seems like."
Shane lets his eyes fall closed again, feeling safe enough to do so. He hisses softly when Ilya wipes around his cock and inner thighs, still sensitive to the touch. Ilya shushes him gently and Shane instinctively presses his face against Ilya's palm, comforted by the contact.
"Can you turn around? Or lift your legs?"
Shane's legs still feel like jello, so it is much more feasible for him to roll onto his stomach. Ilya runs a hand soothingly down the swell of Shane's ass before he follows with the damp washcloth, cleaning off the lube from around Shane's tender hole.
"So good, kotik. All clean now."
Shane opens his eyes again to see Ilya toss the towel into his laundry hamper before turning to face Shane. He hovers near the door, his right thumb rubbing across the back of his left hand.
"You are comfortable, yes?"
"Yes," Shane mumbles, rolling back onto his side. He feels so content, like he is floating. But he doesn't understand why Ilya is hovering, rather than floating with him.
"Good. Well, you seem sleepy, so I will go now."
Alarm shoots through the happy clouds in Shane's head. "Go?" He sits up as best he can though his head is still woozy with some combination of endorphins and confusion.
Ilya nods. He seems confused too.
"I…" Shane is too tired, too fucked out to filter his words. "I mean, can't you stay for the night?" An indecipherable expression shoots across Ilya's face. "I kind of chose tonight for this to happen because Hayden would be gone for the whole weekend and I thought… I know these dorm beds aren't the biggest, but we could make it work." It's a twin bed and they are two men both over six feet tall, but Shane would rather be crammed up against the wall than have Ilya walk out right now.
"I… I do not think I should stay," Ilya says. Shane's heart seizes.
"Did I do something?" he blurts out. "Did you not have a good time?"
Ilya's face falls. He finally moves from his position next to the door and crosses the room in a few long strides. Within seconds, Shane's face is held in his hands and they are kissing, warm and deep.
"No, fuck, no, Hollander," Ilya whispers against his lips. "You were perfect. I had an amazing time."
Shane's heart relaxes. "Then, why…"
Ilya sighs, heavy. "I just do not want anyone to get the wrong idea. I mean, there are Beta Sig pledges who live in this dorm too. And they are already suspicious about why I left the party tonight early. I just think…"
Shane nods, suddenly understanding. Suddenly coming back to reality. He is a Mu Tau pledge now and Ilya is a Beta Sig pledge. It is already one thing to have a gay hookup with your dorm mate within the first month of college. It is another thing entirely to have lost your virginity to a member of your sworn rival fraternity.
"Okay," Shane says. "You're right."
"I am sorry."
Shane shakes his head. "Don't be. There's nothing to be done about it."
Ilya pulls his hands away from Shane's face, and Shane feels cold.
"I can stay until you fall asleep."
"No," Shane says, even though it hurts to do so. "You should go now, before people start getting back from the parties." He doesn't say that it's because he'd rather fall asleep alone, than wake up alone. He sticks to cold, hard logic about why Ilya cannot be next to him in bed tonight.
Ilya nods and steps backwards.
Shane can't bear the distance. "We should do this again sometime though," he blurts out in lieu of grabbing Ilya back and holding him close.
A smile spreads across Ilya's face, bright like sunshine.
"We should," Ilya agrees.
Despite the emptiness beside him, Shane goes to sleep that night with a smile on his face.