Chapter Text
Ilya Rozanov was as close to a household name as a porn star could be in conservative suburban America. He had come a long way from shaky-cam amateur videos in Russia where he was paid in beer and just enough money to put food on the table. Now he came on the most beautiful people in the world, has a penthouse in every major city, and good credit. It was a sick twisted irony that his bisexuality and smart mouth, the two things his father hated the most, was his golden ticket to being one of the biggest porn stars in modern history.
He lets out a tired but satiated sigh as he finally arrives home from a three-day shoot. His scene partner was a woman infamous for her squirt compilations, and even after yet another shower, Ilya still felt a little sticky. But just before he debates going for round four with his loofah, he gets a phone call from Svetlana. She speaks in English, a sign it’s a call for business and not pleasure. "You just got a message from a creator. He wants to collaborate. Big numbers."
She hooks him with ‘big’ but loses him with ‘numbers.’ Svetlana was the brains of their operation. It wasn't a coincidence that both his life and career flourished under her command. She helped him build his own studio full of people Ilya could actually tolerate and mercilessly destroyed the lives of anyone that had ever wronged him. All he had to do was show up on time and point his dick where his director told him to.
"Who?" He asks, towelling off his hair.
"Some twunk from Canada." She muses, presumably around a cigarette by the way her words curl at the ends. "He does OnlyFans. Never been on a real set before. He wants to try something new."
"And I'm something new?" Ilya laughs. He abandons the towel on his waist and admires the naked glory of his window reflection. Even against the hum of the busy city, his glistening body demands all attention. He speaks to his own reflection, walking closer as if compelled by his own siren song. "I only work with professionals. I do not have time to hold hand of stupid model who just takes pictures of his asshole. Anyone with ass and phone can do OnlyFans. Even my babushka could."
"Well unless your babushka sends me photos of her ass I don't have anything to work with. We need something new. I'm getting so exhausted organising your boring shoots. 'Russian stud fucks married couple,' and 'big dick stallion destroys tiny twink.' It's so fucking pedestrian."
"We need to change it up?" Ilya snorts. "I wasn't aware you were fucking behind camera too. Maybe you join me and that can be our something new."
Her silence is deadpan enough. "In your dreams stallion. I'm just saying it might be fun. He is big name."
"And what is his big name?"
"Shane Hollander."
Ilya yawns. He walks over to his fridge to crack open a can of soda. "Never heard of him. Sounds like dentist."
"He's bigger than you."
Both his mind and his can of coke erupt in surprise. His bare chest is covered in a sticky sheen. He was having serious flashbacks. "Impossible!" He snaps. "If he's so big why I never heard of him!"
"Because you are stupid and only look at your selfies online. Shane Hollander has two million followers on Instagram and a quarter of a million on OnlyFans."
"That's nothing. I have two and a half million followers on Instagram. My last video with the studio had five million views in less than one month!"
"Yes, but that was released free online. Shane Hollander charges at least ten dollars a month to subscribe." A noted pause. "That's over two million dollars a month you fucking himbo."
"A month? Just for pictures of asshole? Maybe my new thing can be OnlyFans too." He could do that. Hell, Ilya could do anything.
"Maybe one day, now you focus on the studio. Maybe if you collaborated with, let's say, big platform creator you can build up interest and make lots of money."
Another, longer pause. Ilya squints "…Like Shane Hollander?"
"Obviously."
"And he will make me millions?"
She exhales. Ilya imagines her lounging on an overpriced piece of furniture, exhaling smoke rings and cursing his existence. "No, he will make us millions. And make studio even bigger. We join our fan bases so we can keep giving each other lots of money forever with little work."
"Smart idea."
"I know!"
"I am so smart to have come up with this idea!"
She switches indifference to Russian in a dark tone, "Be smart enough to shut your stupid cock-sucking mouth or I will shut it for you."
"I thought you like my stupid cock-sucking mouth, it's going to make you millions."
"It’s making me so stressed I'm getting frown lines. I am too pretty to talk to you, need detox with nice man who not speak in my presence."
Ilya's cheeks twitch under the strain of his smile. He loved her so much. "Okay while you sit on man's face I will go look up Mr Bigshot."
"Shane Hollander. Sent you the link already. You will like. Fuck off now."
"Bye, love you-" But his words are lost to the static as she hangs up on him.
Ilya opens his phone to a blue link. He presses it eagerly only to be met with blurred photos and a message reading: 'Content Unavailable: Must be a silver tier subscriber or higher to view this creator's content.' Ilya rolls his eyes. This was stupid. If he wanted to see a photo of a naked person he could just search it on his phone for free. Svetlana even set up Siri on his phone so he could just ask his phone to show him naked people hands-free. And normally when Ilya wants to see that sort of content his hands are busy elsewhere.
Reluctantly he makes an account with his work email and types in a jumble of random letters as his username. His auto-correct changes it to Goose Fork which is, unsurprisingly, not taken. He clicks the silver tier button. It went all the way up to platinum where he had the audacity to charge seventy-five American dollars! A month! He better show much more than his blurry asshole to charge seventy-five dollars, Ilya muses. You could buy a real-life prostitute to suck your dick for that much. Not a high end one, but still.
Finally, he's granted access and there, in all his naked glory, was Shane Hollander.
He is, frustratingly, incredibly handsome. Not in the obvious rugged Ilya Rozanov way, but in the boy-next-door way. Like he has a great relationship with his mother and spends his weekends the way a reformed boy scout would. His body is toned and tight, muscular but slim at the hips, begging to be picked up and bent over. And bent over he is. So many posts pretend to be coy; a shirtless selfie with a smile so pretty Ilya swore he stole it from an angel, only to be scandalised by pages and pages of his round pert ass pointed at the camera with oblivious captions like ‘it's so cold here in Ottawa,’ and ‘wish you were here.’ It would be so laughable that if Ilya weren’t hard, he'd call it an embarrassment to the industry. Instead, he keeps scrolling.
One short clip is a masterclass of desperation; a tacky slim fitting shirt stuffed in his mouth to silence a moan as he slowly strokes his pretty cock barely in the frame. It feels perverse even for Ilya, like he's watching through a door frame. The vixen in the video shuffles, showing off a plug nestled between his round cheeks. He has stretch marks on his thighs, not obvious, but noticeable if you were as much of a seasoned pervert as Ilya. Like Shane's lithe body can barely contain its own size, splitting at the seams to create a gorgeous man who quivers and writhes in painful agony.
The same banner as before pops up and Ilya tries to violently swipe it away to watch the finishing move before he reads it: 'Shane Hollander: Now Live. Join stream?' The Russian looks down at his thickening cock. He usually liked to take it easy after a shoot day, but Shane Hollander's quiet whimpering can still be heard in the background. Fuck it. He'd already paid ten American dollars, he might as well get his money’s worth. It takes seconds to load, but it feels like a lifetime. Ilya slips a hand into his tracksuit pants and palms at his growing erection impatiently. When the buffering stops, he is met not with the sight of a naked moaning sex god, but Shane Hollander fully dressed in a large hockey jersey laughing.
"Yeah, I just finished watching the game, I can't believe he pulled off a hat-trick," He says seemingly to himself. Maybe Shane Hollander had lost his mind. A small chirp sounds. "Thanks for the tip, Big Dog. I really appreciate it!"
"Big dog?" Ilya repeats in a horrified tone. What was going on? And how where thirty thousand people watching? There were only eleven people at his church last Sunday. Different messages pop up on the screen. Some are crude and annoyed like Ilya, a ‘hrry up and take it off’ and a ‘cum for me now plez.’ But most of them are nice.
BigDog69: you look so good in blue. shame you support such a trash team :p
MightyRhino: you look tired! hope you're okay
It was so family friendly that Ilya could have shown this in church. He was starting to get soft.
"Yeah, Rhino I'm a little tired," Shane replies regardless to his withering erection. Or maybe more in spite of it. "I took Ginger on a run today. I'm still training for the marathon so even on my rest days I have to keep it up. It's so much nicer running with a furry friend though. She loves fresh air more than I do!"
MightyRhino: make sure you take it easy, you need some rest too <3
ShyneNo1Lvr: obligatory doggo mention!
BigDog69: give ginger a kiss from me gorgeous
Ilya had been in the sex industry for the majority of his life now. He had seen it all, the good the bad, the downright traumatic. He had made a lot of mistakes in his career before he learned to advocate for himself. Somehow, he had come out if it all on the other side, made friends for life and learned things about the human body that only someone with his plethora of dedicated hard work could achieve. But Shane Hollander had somehow managed to achieve something that even Ilya thought was impossible:
He made sex work boring.
The timer showed that forty minutes had passed. And Ilya couldn't even see his tits. He scrolls back down to the chat box and types one handed, the other still attempting to resuscitate his dying cock.
GooseFork: either show dog or show hole i falling asleep
His comment gets lost in the sea of praise, but finally Shane Hollander's perfect smile cracks. He leans forward and lies on his chest reaching towards the screen. Maybe his jersey will lift to reveal that same plug as before. Only then will Ilya apologise. Instead, he is met with even more clothes and a pop-up warning reading:
'You have been muted by this creator. You are no longer allowed to send messages publicly or privately. To appeal the claim or learn more...'
This was a crime against humanity. Ilya was just expressing his right of free speech. Shane Hollander was a scam artist. Luring men in with a pretty face only to steal their money which he uses to buy clothes to put on his stupid hot body. Even muted he can still see the stream. Shane picks up a blanket and wraps it around himself. Now he was definitely fucking with him. In almost an hour he was even more clothed than before. Ilya angrily deletes his account and throws his phone on the bed.
Why did boring Shane Hollander reach out to his team? Ilya wonders. He would have more luck reaching out to a nunnery than his studio. Ilya made real porn, good porn, where beautiful people came together and… well, came together. How was he even on the Canadian's radar? Surely this boring man wasn't a fan of his. But if he wasn't then why did he reach out to Ilya’s team personally?
The feeling of frustration is replaced by something far sweeter and easier to swallow. If Shane Hollander was gagging so much for a lesson in porn etiquette, Ilya was more than willing to be the one to feed it to him. He reaches back towards his phone, oblivious of his own desperation. He opens the same message chain, scowling briefly at the now purple hyperlink.
Ilya: I'm in. Tell his people to call my people.
Svetlana: I am your person. And you don't tell me what to do.
Unfortunately, Ilya can't simply throw the Canadian onto the closest flat surface and fuck the sense back into him. In the not so animal kingdom, he's forced to pretend to look at paperwork and not at the somehow even more beautiful in person Shane Hollander sitting across from him. He is wearing so many layers today, including a big fuzzy cream coloured jacket with a maple leaf on the sleeve. Ilya wants to burn it.
"It's very basic," Svetlana says from beside him.
They were sitting in one of the office rooms off from the studio floor only used for business partners and boring lawyers. Now boring Shane Hollander wrapped up like a grizzly bear like he hadn't been naked on Ilya's phone only a week ago.
Svetlana continues. "We can't say for sure what the numbers will be, but marketing predicts at least ten million views. We're happy to split revenue fifty-fifty, after our studio takes a ten percent cut of course. And with ad sales on website and sponsors we thinking maybe…" She slides a closed envelope over to Shane Hollander who was reading the business contract. He looks impressed at the notion. Svetlana had been re-watching The Sopranos again. Ilya could tell because she always made dramatic gestures like a mob boss every time she suggested anything.
Shane Hollander opens the envelope coyly. He had only brought one person to the meeting, a pretty red-head who looked humoured by the brown envelope as she reads over the contract herself. She looks at the number confused, not offended but searching for something on Hollander’s face. And despite the promise he made to himself, Ilya pities him. Being a sole "content creator" meant Hollander didn't have a big studio team to barter for him. He was just one man dressed in many layers, pretending to know what was going on.
"Sounds good," he smiles simply. "I'm not too caught up on the money side-" He stops as the red-head elbows his ribs. He tries to maintain his professional tone regardless. "It's more of a I scratch your back, you scratch my back, kind of thing."
Svetlana and Ilya meet each other in their confusion.
"It's an idiom," Zane says from the other side of the table. He was wearing a suit too big on him.
"You're an idiom!" Ilya bites back.
Zane groans in annoyance, but it's Hollander that clears the air. "It's a saying. Like, a polite way of saying that if you help me out then I'll help you out. Like teamwork."
Ilya holds his stare. "Oh. And how would you like me to help you out?"
Hollander blushes and rubs his neck. Finally, in an ironic miracle, he takes off his jacket to excuse his flush. "Exposure. I want to diversify my content more and your audience is reliable but not dedicated. I think with your studio’s connections and the exposure of my large audience, we could make something really… special."
Special? Ilya scoffs. Shane Hollander was such an idiom.
Svetlana nods in agreement. "That works for us. We are scratching each other." The Canadian laughs in reply, but not cruelly. "You film a video with Rozanov for our channel to build up excitement for your exclusive stream. You get half the ad revenue from video, we get half revenue for stream donations. Is fair, no?"
The red-head crosses her arms and directs herself to Svetlana, "so Shane gets fifty percent revenue of the video as long as it remains online?" At the exact same time Hollander looks at only him and says:
"What kind of video?"
And the space between them is filled with the possibility for such chaos. Ilya is finally the smartest person in the room. He leans into the sensation both spiritually and physically, elbows on the desk with his legs spread. And Hollander hangs on to every micro-movement like the touch starved fan boy that Ilya knows he is.
He makes a show out of licking his lips before he speaks, "We film porn video. This is porn studio, I am porn star. You know that right?"
Hollanders pretty face prickles in confusion before hardening. The remaining people at the table continue talking numbers that is tuned out as oblivious white noise. "I know that- obviously. I just meant-"
"-Obviously? Like how it so obvious you do not know what you're talking about. You message me because you want me to fuck you. Now you talk about revenue like you care about anything else."
And unbelievably, Hollander matches his tone. "No. It's obvious like how you have nothing intelligent to add to the conversation because you can only think with your dick." He holds up the envelope. "I've made more money than this during this meeting, and I didn't have to fuck anyone to do it."
"You fuck yourself, no? Like teenage boy with nothing better to do."
"Better than an aging porn star who needs three days to come because of all the Viagra he snorts."
Ilya leans even closer, close enough to reach over and drag another layer off his stupid body. "Aging porn star? I am only twenty-six. And I don't take Viagra, I'm professional! And you don't snort Viagra."
"You seem to know a lot about Viagra for someone who doesn't take it."
"You seem to know nothing about shutting up for someone who fucks himself for a living." His comeback is nonsense and Hollander knows it. Laughs at it. Laughs at him.
"Explain what I'm missing here. You're what, slut shaming me? You're like the biggest manwhore in the industry."
"I am biggest manwhore in the industry." Ilya gestures at his everything. "You are not even in industry."
"Yes I am."
"No. I make movies with professionals. You film on your own with phone."
"Oh!" Hollander exclaims in mock excitement, "you're an artist! Sorry I didn't hear about your Oscar nomination for Bareback Boys Four!"
Ilya smiles, brazen. "I was great in that. I knew you were a fan."
Hollander sighs, defeated. Match point. "I just want to make sure I know what I'm getting into."
Oh, Ilya thinks, I'll get into you alright.
Luckily, Svetlana interrupts before he can show the boring Canadian things he can't even name. "It's all in contract, along with full medical check-up. We don't do scripts just more… outline with what the performers feel comfortable doing. You can write list of things off limits but we're planning for a very vanilla scene."
Hollander nods, worries a hang nail on his thumb. "Define vanilla?"
And suddenly it's even more obvious that Shane Hollander is a one man show. When Ilya's career was as new as his, he would never have asked that question. The fact it was never asked to him was another issue entirely. While not being tied to the traditional industry might make Hollander a lousy negotiator, it did mean he was still unspoiled. And if it wasn't for that naughty video Ilya had watched, where Hollander writhed on the end of a sex toy panting out desperate cries for more, then he would have called this whole thing off altogether.
It shocked him how strong Ilya's first instinct is to shield him. "Nothing you don't want to do." He reassures, devoid of ego. "You want something you ask for it. I don't want to do it, I don't do it. Same for you. Like, how you said, itching each other."
Hollander barely suppresses a smile. "Right. Just two guys itching each other. Sounds sexy."
"It would be. Everything I do is sexy." Ilya peacocks again. "We don't even have to be sexy. We can just braid each other's hair fully clothed. Your audience thinks boring is very sexy so don't stress."
The other man's eyes light up like he just understood the punchline to a joke someone told him on the car ride over. "You're like, the worst person I've ever met." But he's smiling, stupidly.
"You are like, most boring person I've ever met. I don't even think I can fuck you without falling asleep." And fuck it if he's not smiling to. Even Svetlana's sharp elbow to his ribs doesn't falter it.
"Maybe we should put in the contract that you have to be standing up then," Hollander suggests eyeing the paperwork on the table. "That way if I send you to sleep and you crack your head open, we'll at least have some good content. I think the audience would love that even more than-"
"-Even more than watching me fuck you so hard you can't walk?" Ilya retorts, revelling in the way the other man shuffles in his seat. "Maybe that says more about how boring you are in bed."
Hollander's dark eyes reflect his. "You wouldn't know."
Ilya shortens the distance between them even more. He can smell his shampoo, can see the sweat drip from his bicep down to his ridiculously fluffy jacket, still pooled at his waist. The moment Hollander leans into it, Ilya grabs a pen and signs his name on the contract. "No, but I will."
The day of their studio shoot arrives without problem. Svetlana wouldn't have it any other way. The set was deliberately designed to feel relaxed. It looked like a fancy hotel room, commercial but inviting. The only thing that betrayed the illusion was the many members of crew that walked around holding recording equipment and Shane Hollander dressed in the ugliest outfit Ilya had ever seen. He looks like a missionary with too white sneakers. His shirt was buttoned all the way to the top.
"There's so many people here," Hollander marvels in a small, terrified way.
Ilya looks around the room at the crew. They were so familiar to him now that they were basically furniture. Annoying furniture that mostly got in his way, but familiar all the same. "Yes, like I said it is production. We are making movie, not video."
The jab makes the smaller man roll his eyes, so Ilya keeps going, selflessly, to calm his nerves.
"That is Svetlana, you know her. She is studio producer. She thinks of all the good ideas. Like you. She likes you very much," he winks and points to the woman scowling suspiciously at the set curtains before yanking them off. He whistles to get her attention but she just throws him the finger. Laughing, he slowly introduces the rest of the crew in a roll call. "Most people here have two jobs. They are talent on screen but also help on set. We are like fucked up little family. Wyatt is on camera when he's not crying when he comes, Zane does lighting, Evan does sound. I forget everyone else because they bore me. Everyone else does things that you not have to worry your pretty head about."
Hollander nods along. "I didn't realise so much effort when into porn. It's like-"
"-Like industry, I know. You know there is credits after porno ends, it's not secret." Ilya grins down at him. "Although maybe you come so quick you never make it to the end. We are hot, so I don't blame you."
"Are you always this big of a dick?" Hollander chides, and when the excitement blossoms on the other’s face he quickly cuts in again. "Okay, I get it! I walked myself into that one. Shut up."
"Don't threaten me with a good time, Hollander."
Luca approaches them unaware of the surge of energy. "Lighting's just colour matching the bed right now, but then we're all good to go. Why don't you guys get dressed? Or undressed, I guess. Just give us a shout when you're ready!" And just as quickly as he appeared he's lost again to the fast-moving traffic of the room.
Ilya leads Hollander to the dressing room where he throws off his own shirt. The room is incredibly clean except his clothes that now litter the floor. It was full of necessities; a dressing table with a light-up mirror, a cosy couch with a sign taped to it reading ‘do not sit on with your naked ass please’, and a door that led to a massive bathroom with a shower. Ilya surveys the space warmly before he throws his pants onto the floor, leaving him in only his underwear.
Like a deer in headlights, Hollander looks at Ilya's body and seemingly leaves his own.
"Do I make you nervous?" Ilya chides.
Hollander gulps cartoonishly. "No!" To prove a point, he shucks off his shirt and starts folding it neatly on the coffee table. Ilya felt like he was watching an exotic animal or some highbrow performance art piece. How was it humanly possible to make getting undressed so unsexy? As Ilya scrutinises his every movement, Hollander can't help but say, "sometimes the things you do make me nervous."
Ilya is aware of how long the shadow he casts over the nervous man's form is. He reaches down and runs a finger over those flushed freckled cheeks. He tilts his chin towards him. "Does looking at me make you nervous?"
"No," he whispers, holding Ilya's hungry eyes.
Said eyes that survey every inch of newly exposed skin, fingers dancing across his thighs. "Does me touching you make you nervous?"
"No."
Ilya hides his smile in the other man's neck, tracing the shape of his collarbones with lazy lips. He can feel Hollander's heartbeat fluttering like a songbird. "Does my mouth make you nervous?" He punctuates his question with a weak bite along his jaw.
"N-No. And don't leave a mark," he mumbles directionless as his back hits the arm of the couch. He fidgets on his perch, not sure enough to sit, but not brave enough to pace. "It's just some things you do, make me a little nervous."
Ilya's legs strain from standing, so he squats slightly, now looking up at the other man. "I do many things."
"I know."
"What things?"
Hollander's voice lowers to a stage whisper. "The things you do to other people."
Ilya's eyebrows furrow. "I only joke with Wyatt. He not so bad. I am not really mean to him."
"Not that." Hollander looks like a man on the cusp of a breakdown. He searches the room like it holds the answer. But it was just a dressing room, and the closet of thin robes, the tube of concealer and the bottle of lube do not have it for him. So, he flusters. "The things you do with people in your videos."
"You seen many videos of me. You are big fan, I know."
Hollander stands up and steps on him. "You're such an asshole. I'm trying to say something-"
"-It not my fault you speak in riddle like troll that live under bridge. Say what you mean!" Ilya bellows back. The Canadian has the audacity to look embarrassed. Ilya reaches a hand towards him like an olive branch, blossoming across his muscular thighs. "If you cannot say it, we cannot do it. I can't fuck you if you do not trust me."
Hollander swallows, the sound hollow. "That's what makes me nervous."
"You not want me to fuck you?"
"No! I mean yes." His hands fidget in the air like a bird trying to land. "Just not today. Not full-on sex sex. I know that’s the point of us collaborating. But there are so many people, and I've never done something like this before, and this is-
Ilya's face remains even. "-So, I will not have sex sex with you. Simple. That make you feel better?"
Hollander blinks at him in surprise. “It doesn't bother you?"
"No."
"But I thought you wanted to. After what you said in the meeting."
"I do want to. Me wanting you has nothing to do with you."
Hollander looks almost offended. "It kind of does."
"No. You have thousands of subscribers that want you, are you planning on fucking all of them?"
"No!"
"Exactly," Ilya says sagely. "They want and you are wanted. These are two very different things. It’s important you know this if you work in this industry."
That same challenging smirk returns. "I thought I wasn't in your industry?"
"You are not. But maybe after today you will be. Today is about you. And a little about me, but I think of me all the time, so you don't have to."
Hollander sits up straighter. "I don't think I've ever focussed only on myself before. Even when I'm alone. It's really hard for me sometimes. I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing."
If Ilya had a heart, it would break for him. He drops his bravado. "Then for today you focus on me. I will tell you what I want you to do, you do it, or you don't do it. And when you are feeling brave you can do the same thing. We just take it one step at a time. And if you need to stop at any time, we all stop. No one asks questions or is annoyed. It is important you know this."
"Okay, so I just focus on you?"
"Yes." Ilya kisses the crook of his knee with a smile. "Only if you promise to take yourself back at end of shoot, I do not want to take troll brain home with me."
Hollander laughs, despite himself. "Deal."
When they were all finally ready, Ilya is ordered to stand behind the stage door and knock like a housekeeper. Their studio didn't like to dabble with cliché plots like most common pornos. The story for his scene with Hollander was non-existent but it still makes no sense. Because thematically, why the hell would Ilya be knocking on a door in only his underwear? Okay, maybe Ilya would. But Shane Hollander definitely would not answer said door. But he does because he was told to. And Shane Hollander likes to do what he's told.
The door is barely ajar before Ilya throws himself on the other man and sticks his tongue down his throat. A desperate moan replaces a surprised gasp as Ilya deepens the kiss even further. He steps forward holding Hollander by the chin like leading a dog on a leash. Despite familiarising themselves with the set earlier, the two of them stumble in a daze in their embrace. They kick a table sending a prop lamp to the floor. Svetlana's curse of annoyance barely audible beneath the hum of their bodies and the wet sounds of their mouths fighting for dominance. Ilya wins, of course. But only by playing dirty and pinching Hollander's nipple. The moan that leaves his dribbling mouth as they separate is the most pornographic thing Ilya had ever witnessed.
For such a stuck-up prude, Hollander sure was a total slut.
"You so worked up over so little," he teases, gesturing to the obvious tent in Hollander's too tight briefs. "Maybe I slow things down before you come all over yourself like teenage boy."
His rival reaches down and squeezes his quickly thickening cock in retaliation. "Scared you can't touch me as good as I touch myself?"
Ilya muffles his laugh into Hollanders neck, wryly kissing any inch of skin that takes his fancy. "After I am finished with you, you will never be able to come without thinking of me again." And to prove a point he takes a step back, smirking at the way Hollander stumbles without his weight. Ilya enjoys it even more when he immediately and obediently follows him.
They're standing in the middle of the room now where the studio lights burn the brightest. The two cameras move around them frantically, trying to capture the sight of Hollander's hard and flushed body alone in the empty space. It tracks a trail of sweat from his brow all the way down his toned stomach to the hem of his briefs.
Ilya follows it too. "Get on your knees."
Hollander falls to the floor so quickly that he'll probably have bruises tomorrow. It's unclear whether it’s the force or the movement or the swiftness of his obedience that causes his mouth to open in surprise. Or maybe it was simply his natural desire to be filled. Ilya runs a praising hand through his already sweaty hair. Hollander repays the favour in kind by nuzzling his crotch before pulling Ilya's underwear down all the way to the floor.
Ilya had an amazing dick. He had fan accounts and an entire subreddit dedicated to his amazing dick. And although sources have yet to confirm it, there is a great possibility that Ilya's amazing dick is the basis of a religious group that meet up weekly to worship said amazing dick. And if there wasn't it looked like Hollander might start one with the way he surveys his size in awe.
Those big bambi eyes look at the camera at their side than quickly back up at him.
"You worried I am too big for you? I know I much bigger than your play toys, but I believe in you."
While rolling his eyes, Hollander accepts the challenge and grabs the base of his thick cock and deepthroats him with a sudden seasoned act of bravery. To contradict his dedication, he gags before he can reach the base. But instead of floundering, he grounds himself. Pretty lips stretched wide over his girth as he starts to bob his head.
Unfortunately for his ego, but luckily for Ilya’s body, Shane Hollander is amazing at giving head. One of his hands squeezes the part of his shaft his throat can't accommodate while the other comes up to cup his balls. It's a simple show of skill. A reminder of how dirty he really is, despite Ilya's reservations. And this doesn't surprise him. What does is how much Hollander fucking loves it. And Ilya isn’t the only one who notices.
The camera Wyatt was operating pans even closer. So close in fact that it leans over Ilya and zooms from over his shoulder. Ilya shuffles to accommodate the weight of the lens. It was a necessary evil when filming scenes like this. Both Ilya and his audience love POV shots during blowjob scenes. This way the audience can imagine themselves in his place. Imagine themselves being worshipped by Hollander's tight throat. Ilya watches him stumble mid bob through the camera lens. Hollander eyes the camera nervously as he pulls back. His eyes glaze over, only slightly, before he lets out a deep breath and returns to deepthroating him.
Ilya pushes Wyatt back. "Do you mind?" He chastises the other man with a humoured tone. "I am trying to watch him suck my dick. The sound of your breathing is making me soft."
Wyatt readjusts the camera to balance the weight on his hip. "It's for the shot, man. And for the record this camera is fucking heavy."
"It's annoying. You get good view from over there. We are busy."
"Svetlana, tell him he's being a dick!" Wyatt whines childishly.
"You are being dick," the woman complies in a bored tone.
Ilya snorts. "I am dick. Dick is my job. His job is mouth. Every other job is stupid."
The orchestrated tension is cut with Hollander's small laugh as he finally pulls up for air.
Ilya strokes his hair absentmindedly. "How are your knees? Need pillow? There are many pillows on bed."
Svetlana raises her voice to be heard over the crew complying with their orders to readjust the cameras. "No! Those are nice pillows. Make set look fancy. They only for decoration, don't come on them."
"He can come on pillow if he wants to. He is sucking my dick," he gestures to the kneeling man in front of him who no longer looked anxious. "You want a pillow?"
"I'm okay," he says. His throat sounds sore from overuse.
"Good. Now keep sucking my dick please."
Ever the obedient rule follower, Hollander continues performing one of the best blowjobs that he’s ever received. It's so good in fact that Ilya decides to start pulling his weight in their double act. He rocks his hips slowly and tangles his hands in Hollander's hair. Teasing with the idea of dominance. It was important to note that Ilya was good at this too. He didn't really dabble in BDSM content anymore. But his famed persona of daddy dom still followed him round from set to set. His audience still expected him to be the big bad wolf, making pretty people cry around his cock.
And Hollander's eyes are watering. Not from discomfort but sheer desperation. Asking for more. Needing more. Needing him. Ilya had the stamina of a professional, but he’s forced to pull Hollander off his cock by his hair in fear of giving him the satisfaction of losing his career-long streak.
"Get up. Take off your clothes."
Shane Hollander stands to attention in more ways than one.
Ilya finger's ghost across his leaking cock. "Get on the bed."
Behind him, the newly nude man throws himself on the mattress. It takes all of Ilya's self-control not to turn around immediately. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, looks down at his cock and eyes it like it was an out-of-control puppy with company over humping the throw cushions. He concentrates on only the sets decorative pillows as he turns around and not the incredibly naked adonis of a man spread out before him.
The cameras get to him first. One takes the obvious route, panelling across his body like a vulture as it zooms on his cock flushed and leaking pre-come on his defined abs. Ilya realises it's the same pose from the video he had seen before. The good one, not the shitty livestream. His legs are bent coyly while his hand slowly strokes his sore cock. The other hand rests on his face, so flush and sinful, contradicted only by his boyish freckles and expectant expression. Because he was looking past all that and at Ilya. The camera follows his eye and when they see the hunger in the Russian's expression they scatter, clearing a path towards the bed.
Ilya crawls on top of him, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. "You are so perfect. Nice studio lights make you look like angel. I can see every freckle." He kisses the ones across the man's face softly. "I'm not sure which one is my favourite."
Orbiting around the constellations of his skin, Ilya moves down his body slowly, savouring every gasp and new sensation of flesh warming across his tongue. He settles on one above his nipple.
"Maybe this one."
Lower.
"Or this one."
He doesn't settle until he's slithered fully down Hollander's body and mouths the swell of his ass. Obediently, Hollander parts his thighs. Ilya follows his favourite stretch marks like a ladder up to his winking hole. He gulps audibly and someone of camera scoffs so quiet that Ilya knows the mics won't pick it up.
Hollander does though, closing his legs in shame.
Ilya grabs his hand and sits up. He takes the man by the gaze and smiles. "Hey, it’s just me. No one else."
"Just you," he cries.
"Only me." Ilya kisses him simply on the mouth. "Can I eat you? Look so tasty for me."
The expression on Hollander's face is unreadable, but it definitely tourists in enthusiastic consent. Still, Ilya only continues his debauchery when he receives a nod. Then, and only then, does he return pride of place at the altar of his spread thighs.
His rim is loose slightly. Not obscenely so but just enough for Ilya to picture his morning routine. Ever the boy scout, Hollander obviously was prepared for anything even when he didn't wish to get fucked on camera today. Or maybe he was always this open, Ilya wonders darkly. Always searching for the sensation of fullness. And he looked so empty that Ilya, ever the pragmatist, vows to fill him with his tongue.
Hollander's back arches cartoonishly off the bed. "Fuck! Oh my fucking god!"
"Such a dirty mouth," Ilya chastises. The irony of him mouthing the words against the others rim is not lost on the room. To punctuate his point, he dips his tongue into the warmth.
"Oh my god! Fuck, Rozanov!"
Hollander speaks his name like he was both his saviour and the damned. Like the blinking cameras were passing judgment on the way he chose to both honour and defile him. And it was in their rivalry where pleasure burns. Maybe that's why they worked well together. Ilya consummates this in a sobering realisation with his head buried in his muse's ass. Maybe the push and pull between them was what made the air between them so electric.
But Ilya Rozanov was not a philosopher, he was a porn star. So, he stops thinking and starts fucking his tongue into the meat of the man's glorious ass.
"Don't stop!" Hollander moans, fingers tangling in curls, pushing him even deeper.
Ilya pulls back to prove a point to both Hollander and himself that no one tells him what to do. "Can I use fingers?"
"Yes!" The man beneath him groans in frustrated touch-starved agony. "Anything! Everything! I don't care just, please."
Ilya smirks. He was raised in a household of strict rules and taught to always use his manners, so the plea does lessen the blow of the command. Plus, he was always taught to finish his meal before being allowed to leave the table. So, he gets back to feasting on Hollander like oxygen was just a suggestion.
A member of the crew throws a bottle of lube onto the mattress. Ilya finds it immediately without having to pull himself from his studies. He opens the cap and pours a pea-sized amount on his index and ring finger. Warming the lubricant between his fingers, he moves his mouth to his left thigh and suckles on a cluster of freckles. And slowly, as if afraid of startling the other man, he works a practised finger into his hole.
"Just like that, fuck!"
Ilya looks up at him. He had a crowded view, quite literally. The two camera men huddle around them and Ilya knows from experience working with his team, that they were as elated as he was. Because Shane Hollander was a vision. His hand was tangled in his own hair, face creased closed in pleasure, pretty cock painfully raw and leaking. But he didn't search for his own release because Shane Hollander was a good boy and only did what he was told.
Just before Ilya can give the command to touch himself, he curls his fingers into his prostate with such accuracy that Shane yelps out and comes all over himself. Still untouched.
Ilya was visually aghast. He sits up, fingers still inside. And whether from overstimulation or shame, Hollander whimpers and covers his face.
"Fuck!" He groans. "This is so embarrassing."
Ilya laughs down at him. "Why is it embarrassing? Everyone already knows what a whore you are. You cannot help coming as soon as something is inside of you." He curls his fingers, and Hollander writhes like a perverted finger puppet. "I am just upset I not get to suck your cock."
His cock was still very pretty though. Even soft. Ilya would be a fool to waste the opportunity laid out before him. He waits for Hollander to push him away or at least bark back an insult. But the man is reduced to nothing but a puddle, so the Russian makes his way back up to lick the cooling come from his chest.
"Fuck," Hollander moans hopelessly. He squirms as Ilya curls his fingers once more against his sweet spot.
"You can come more for me?"
"I can't!"
"You can, I think you not want to." Ilya smirks at the base of his slowly hardening cock. "I think you not want everyone to know how good you are for me."
"I'm not!"
"But you are so good to me. Let me be good to you."
Like some divine miracle, Hollander hardens fully against him. It was the true bisexual fantasy. Shane Hollander came like a woman, Ilya rejoices. To reward the messiah, he swallows his newly awakened cock with fervour. When the other tries to arch of the bed, Ilya holds his hips down with one hand splayed across his ribs. The other still inside, now three fingers deep, unrelenting against his prostate. It was animalistic the way they pawed at each other, not fighting for dominance but something more primal altogether. If it weren’t for the long litany of his many sins, Ilya would have sworn he had somehow suffocated in Hollander's ass and been raptured to a higher plane of reality.
When Hollander comes again, he moans like pleasure incarnate. Ilya swallows it gleefully. Relenting only when the other man finds his voice.
"Shit, too much! Stop!"
Ilya complies swiftly, releasing his spent cock with a wet pop. He removes his fingers gently, revelling in the way his thighs quiver.
"I knew you could be good for me," he tells the exhausted man beneath him as he kisses his way back up to his neck. "You were so perfect."
Hollander's smile is humble, his words warm. "Shut up."
"I know how much you like to shut me up. I can't work out which I enjoy taste of most, your big cock or your little ass."
He purses. "I don't have a little ass."
"You rather I say little dick and big ass? I am a gentlemen."
Hollander laughs. He uses the last of his strength to push Ilya over and climb on top of him with still trembling thighs. "You are many things. A gentleman is not one of them."
"I make you come two times, is that not gentleman enough?" Ilya hypothesises from his newfound submission. He brings a hand to the swell of Hollander’s ass, but only to steady his stance as the other man settles on top of him. "And I never ask for anything in return."
Hollander smiles down at him wickedly. "Nothing in return?" He lazily drifts to Ilya's cock, still standing proud and slightly damp from his saliva. "So maybe I should just leave you like this."
Ilya's comeback is forgotten as Hollander starts pumping his cock with seasoned strokes.
"Maybe I should get you right to the edge and leave you there," he muses giving his cock an almost painfully tight squeeze. " Again and again."
When he stops, Ilya sits up like a deranged man on the stand. "No! I was so good to you. You are cruel."
"Any you are rude!" Hollander leans forward, so close he could commit every freckle to memory. A traumatic memory of neglect of course. "Say please, and maybe, just maybe, I'll think about it."
Ilya doesn't hesitate. "Please."
Hollander’s winning smirk struts his victory all the way down to Ilya's cock. His back is arched, meaning both Ilya and the camera can see the swell of his ass crown above the image of his sure mouth swallowing him down once again. Someone curses at the sight. Ilya is not entirely sure it wasn't him because the sensation of this warm wet mouth is somehow even better with the aftertaste of the other’s relief still warm across his tongue. But it could have just as likely to been one of the many men behind the camera, or even Svetlana herself. Because there was one thing they were all in assurance over:
Shane Hollander was everything in this moment.
Oblivious to their amazement, the man casually deep throats Ilya's massive cock. He nibbles across his shaft teasingly, rolling one of his balls in his palm and fiddling with his foreskin in fascination. When he looks up at Ilya with fluttering tear-filled eyes a fear rakes his body. Because he was on the cusp of pulling a Shane Hollander and coming pathetically after just a little bit of oral. His unshakable stamina was practically the basis of his entire porn career. Most shoots he had to concentrate to get to the edge. So why was he splitting at the seams so easy? What illegal aphrodisiac did Hollander consume that he polluted Ilya with when he came down his throat?
The answer is up for debate. But one had a far more pressing deadline.
"Where you want it?" Ilya asks, not the performer but the man himself. "You okay with swallow or you want to pull off?"
Hollander licks a long stripe up his cock and muses the question thoughtfully. "How about on my face?"
Ilya doesn't have time to answer before he complies, pulling the man off by his hair. His famed cock makes it an embarrassing three strokes before he's coming across his favourite freckles. Hollander opens his mouth like a good boy, catching the stray shots that miss his chin and forehead. He never once drops Ilya's gaze, even when the camera butts in once more to catch the finale. He doesn't let Ilya be alone in his defeat that Shane Hollander, the boring porn pretender, had reduced the great Ilya Rozanov to nothing but a prop in his own studio.
"If you could hold it for just a second Shane, that would be great," Wyatt instructs from the side. He was practically lying next to Ilya, balancing the camera on the mattress.
Ilya barely resists the urge to cross his arms petulantly. All thoughts of frustration are lost when Hollander parades his come covered tongue for the lens before swallowing it so audibly that Wyatt didn't have to be leaning on Ilya's hair to capture it.
Ilya elbows the other men to reach a hand across to Hollander's come covered face like touching a piece of forbidden art in an exhibit. He slowly feeds the release back into his now lonely mouth. As he suckles Ilya's thumb in return, Svetlana finally yells:
"Cut."
The clapping of her hands brings Shane Hollander back into reality. "Shit."
Only Ilya captures the words, the rest of the crew scurrying off like rats. "Are you okay? I not mean to come in your eye."
Hollander laughs at his grasping hands. "It's not that. Really, I'm fine. I'm good."
Yes you are, Ilya concludes frustratingly.
"It was all okay though, right?" The now frantic man questions. Outside of his performance persona, he was a ball of anxious energy. "Are the crew taking a break? Do we need to retake some scenes because I'm pretty sure the angle I had-"
"-Everything is fine. They stop because they are happy," Ilya relays.
Svetlana huddles over the monitor from the other side of the room. She crosses and uncrosses her legs several times. Finally, she settles on her verdict. "We have it."
"Have what?" Hollander starts, but his words are lost in the rumble of the crew who start to preen around the set.
Luca, their production assistant, walks up with a smile and hands the sullied man a warm washcloth. "You were great, Shane! You're such a natural. Do you want anything else? A glass of water or something to eat?"
Someone throws over a pair of robes. Luca practically dresses Hollander as Ilya sits on the bed like last week’s newspaper.
"T-Thanks," the star of the show says with an award-winning smile, like he just won Miss Congeniality. He starts to clean his face with the cloth. "And a water would be great, thanks!"
Luca nearly trips over a wire leaving to fulfil his request.
Ilya wants to say something. Ilya should say something. But all he does is stare at Shane Hollander like a distant observer, like a camera still blinking it all in.
Hollander has the bravery to break the tension. "You should give me your number." His casual tone is betrayed when he accidentally smacks himself with the washcloth. "I mean so I can text you -about my livestream. I might need you for some promo stuff and it'll probably be easier than going through your agent. Your team seems really busy."
"Yes. That works for me."
They stare at each other dumbly, still breathless.
Ilya's cheeks are more flushed than they should be. He drops his eyes, but the room is so unmade with the very essence of Shane Hollander that he can't pull himself away. So, he settles on making the other man blush more.
"I cannot give it you now. I'm naked and I don't keep phone up my ass. And I know you also not keep phone in your ass, I was just there."
Hollander looks up at him emotionless and throws the washcloth at him. "On second thought maybe don't text me. Every time you open your mouth it makes me hate you."
"You did not hate what my mouth was doing five minutes ago."
"Well, you weren't doing much talking with your mouth full, so maybe that's the secret."
Ilya smiles, cradling the soiled cum rag to his chest like it was a favour from a fair maiden. When Hollander smiles back, he feels something deeper than desire coiling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling he doesn't dare name.